“Elder Enchantress Hiresha,” Deepmand said, his voice reverberating in the carriage, “we are not the first here tonight.”
As I muddled myself into focus, I grew aware of lights outside the carriage and a ruckus, which shocked me with a fear that I had somehow slept to the dawn. I began to flush at the embarrassment of leaving Sri the Once Flawless out all night.
The lights shifted before me, and, after blinking, I perceived lamps with flames leaking from their brass nozzles, carried by men around the cage. Stars shone in the sky, and it was still night. At least I thought it was, yet the premise conflicted with the presence of civilians outside.
I overheard men speaking in the crowd. “When the Feaster shows, throw these nets on him.”
“Will they hold him?”
“They hold cheetahs, don’t they?”
“Right, then we’ll see how he likes eating swords.”
“I will abolish the Feaster.”
These last words came from a man armored with shield and scimitar. I identified him as a Bright Palm by his radiance, his glow most marked in the veins of his hands. His presence explained the boldness of the other men, as his magic rendered him immune to Feasters’ fear attacks. This failed to make me pleased to see him.
The Bright Palms had no respect for the divine. Neither did they approve of the weighty fees I charged for my enchanting and regeneration services. Their magic could heal faster but not better, and it leeched the Bright Palms’ emotions, rendering them passionless constructs of flesh.
An idea struck me: As the Flawless, I could order the Bright Palm to leave the city. I hesitated to exercise that power, however, because his open vest and loose, sheet pants suggested he was a Morimound native.
Sri the Once Flawless spoke from her cage. “Did you imagine a Feaster would come with the street alight? Even cockroaches are smarter.”
A citizen asked, “You expect us to catch him in the dark?”
The Bright Palm stood silent and expressionless. The other men looked at him, and one said, “Suppose we can’t help but catch him, with a Brighty to help.”
Another man lifted his lamp toward the cage. “What say we kill her instead? Was her disgrace what caused my Salha to grow in a motherly way.”
I realized I should leave the carriage and order Deepmand to free Sri. My desire to sleep outweighed my sense, and the voices outside grew distant.
“Heard today that it wasn’t nothing to do with the Flawless. The Ever Always is having his way with us again.”
“All I know is none will wed my daughter now. We should kill the Flawless, to be on the safe side.”
I dragged myself from the carriage. Deepmand steadied me when I stumbled.
“I was, I am the new arbiter of this city,” I said with slurred words. “Sri the Once Flawless is innocent and will be released.”
“You can’t do that,” a man said, “she’s the bait.”
“By edict of the priests, I am...” I could not bring myself to say “the Flawless.” “... I have the authority to order you to disperse.”
“But I just tapped this barrel. Men, fortify yourself with my best red wine, and you’ll catch a Feaster yet.” A one-armed man paused from passing out clay cups to bow to me. “With the lady’s permission, of course.”
“I concur with the Once Flawless,” I said. “This is not a proper way to catch a Feaster, and everyone must return to their homes as promptly as possible.”
The Bright Palm spoke in a monotone. “We know the Feaster’s lair. We will seek him there at dawn.”
I attempted not to cringe. “You know where he lives?”
“At the Mitul house on Rainsweep Street,” the one-armed man said. “Most of the neighbors have suspected for years, but mistress Mitul is a gem. Hated to drag her son onto the street and beat him to death.”
Spellsword Deepmand asked, “The Feaster is living at his mother’s house?”
“Yes,” the man with only one arm said. “Wine?”
Maid Janny smacked her lips behind me, but neither she nor I accepted the cup. Deepmand’s armor plinked as he tapped his gauntleted fingers against it.
He asked, “Then why did you not attack yesterday, during daylight?”
“Takes time for men to build their courage. And wine.”
“Why did you need more than one man?” Deepmand waved to the Bright Palm.
The one-armed man noticed a cut on his thumb, which he thrust into his mouth. Once he had sucked away the blood, he said, “Will give them something new to talk about. Too much ‘who bedded who’s daughter,’ if you understand me.”
Worrying that fatigue would slump me onto my side on the street, I forced my eyes as wide open as possible. “Then this gathering may continue, as long as it avoids disturbing the surrounding occupants. Deepmand will take Sri the Once Flawless into my care, however.”
None of the men with weapons attempted to impede the Spellsword, likely due to careful consideration for his excess of two hundred pounds of arms and armor. Gautam Deepmand would not have the capacity to move if not for his Spellsword ability to activate Lightening enchantments, which I had crafted into his gold-etched bronze.
I sensed him Lighten one leg and one arm at a time as he marched forward. His armor fitted together without chink, the plates on his legs additionally reinforced to support the weight of his torso. The scimitar on his back was too large to be wielded by a normal man, and I took pride in the enchantment in the silver-tinted diamond on its hilt.
Through force of will, I reached my carriage before falling asleep. I could not expect myself to stay awake at night when all civilized people slept.
My respite was brief. The amethyst in my dream laboratory pulsed, and I faced it with dread, knowing I was wanted awake.
Upon returning to the world, first I noticed a stink. Then I saw Sri the Once Flawless in the carriage with me, wearing her tattered skirt and blouse.
Deepmand said, “Your pardon, Elder Enchantress, but when I asked where I should deliver mistress Sri, she could make no reply.”
The wrinkled, jaundiced, and swollen woman said, “I can’t go back to my house at the top of the hill, as it’s for the Flawless. Did those do-nothings declare you the Flawless?”
“They believe they did, yet I am not the Flawless. I cannot be.”
“I didn’t believe I could either.” Sri laid a hand on the outmost of my six layers of sleeves, her veins bulging under her shriveled skin. I worried her touch would soil my gown. “I suppose I was right, in the end, but I think you are stronger. With an elder enchantress in the Court, the city has a chance to escape its fate.”
“And what fate would that be?” I asked, worrying about the women and their motionless wombs.
Her head drooped. Sri’s bent back brought her chin close to reaching her belly. “I admit I’ve had nightmares of a flood. Only it wasn’t a flood of water. It was worse, somehow. Strange as it sounds, in the dreams I always thought my baby and I had caused it.”
“It is natural to have anxious dreams, while carrying a child.” I squinted down at her abdomen.
“These were not normal dreams. I felt I could see the future, without reading a web.”
“Vivid dreams are also typical in your state,” I said. “Do you have any family at whose home you could stay?”
“I have nine grandnieces and twelve grandnephews, and I would never do them the injustice of asking for hospitality. Their reputations may never recover.”
“Neither can you stay at an inn. It would be below your dignity. My manor is empty.” I had commissioned the mansion five years ago but had never entered it. “You may stay with me.”
“I could never ask you for such a favor.”
“You did not ask. I invited.” My eyes dropped to the wrinkled mound of her pregnancy. “There is one detail...have you quickened, Lady Sri?”
“I should have by now, shouldn’t I?” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with the sleeves of her blouse. “Do you thi
nk the wormwood has hurt my baby?”
“That, I will determine tomorrow.” I would regenerate her liver then as well, in private. Enchantment magic was not suitable for public eyes. “Spellsword Deepmand.”
“Elder Enchantress?”
“We will stay here tonight, so you can ensure that none of our people come to harm from Feasters.”
“As you wish, Elder Enchantress.”
In three seconds, I had fallen asleep. Reviewing my prior conversation with Sri, I noted her self-deprecating comments, which, combined with facial slumps around the corners of her mouth, indicated intense shame. I would have to ascertain the cause, as it seemed less than warranted if she numbered among the faultless-yet-pregnant virgins. My own reputation might diminish by housing Sri, I realized, yet I had already agreed to host her. Until proof of wrongdoing surfaced, I intended to give preference to the aged lady.
I also contemplated the Feaster situation in regards to the condition of the city’s female populace. Although responsible for cowardly hunting the weak, the Feasters could not be at fault for the peculiar pregnancies. Their magic was no more than illusion, fleeting things of shadow that evaporated under daylight.
A Feaster had almost killed Sri, yet he could have played no role in her unnatural condition. He might, however, have seen or heard someone who had, such as another magic user, one powerful enough to keep Feasters at bay as he crept from house to house at night, touching each woman as she slept.
I would confront this Feaster tonight, and he had best behave himself.
“Inform Deepmand to depart for Rainsweep Street.”
Maid Janny hiccupped in surprise. “But that’s where the fear nibbler is!”
“Do not dawdle. I must arrive before the dawn.”
“If Feasters it is, I’ll have another cup.”
While Sri the Once Flawless dozed across from me, Janny returned to the carriage, wrestling with my gowns for room. Her cup remained vertical, never spilling a drop as we raced over the streets.
Janny gulped her wine in a fashion less than civilized. “Wonder if the city has any lady Feasters with the big bump.”
“Excuse me?”
“There are lady Feasters. I’ve seen Bright Palms nail them onto temple doors,” she said. “Think any here have the breeding belly? The jug full of trouble? The nine-month bellyache?”
“Why would they not?”
“Heard they couldn’t. If peppers give me the burns, eating all that fear must blacken their insides. You know, shrivel their wombs, no children. Now that I think of it, might not be half bad.”
“Do not be absurd. They have all the requisite reproductive organs.”
“Just how much do you know about their re-productive organs?”
“I have received an education at an academy of higher learning, the benefits of which you could not begin to appreciate.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She upended her wine glass.
I turned my eyes away from the vulgar woman. My study of Feasters had begun after one of those mornings when my drowsiness swamped my perceptions, shut out all potential for satisfaction, and forced me to consider the benefits of killing myself. This avenue of thought had focused my attention on Feasters, whose magic was rumored to cure all deformity and afflictions. As a Feaster, I might escape my endless fatigue.
My ruminations of becoming a Feaster had spiraled into obsession, which I had escaped only by reassuring myself that no theory existed as to how a magic of fear and nightmares could cure so much as a hangnail. True, a disproportional number of lepers became Feasters, yet their illusions might cover their disease rather than cure it. I reminded myself of that now, as best I could with my gelatinous thinking, because I would soon face temptation.
My gaze rested on the sleeping Sri. She faded in and out of view as my eyelids fluttered closed, yet I saw her clearly in my laboratory, through the hovering mirror.
Her white hair reached her ankles, or it would if its tangles were brushed straight. The hair had thickened near her scalp because of her pregnancy, yet otherwise the condition did not become her. Stretch marks crisscrossed with wrinkles over her abdomen, while her nails had cracked and dulled, and her skin had discolored to the pale yellow shade of a toadstool.
I could purge her blood of wormwood and restore her liver. Even so, I judged she would not survive the last months of pregnancy, let alone the birthing. My magic could save her but not all the city’s elderly matrons. Each family would lose its grandmothers.
I remembered with fondness my grandmother Sandu, the only female relative who had not beat me for forgetfulness and oversleeping.
Although a frown line etched the brow of Sri the Once Flawless, she slept with a smile. She believed she could bear her child, raise it, and find happiness. I could not help but wonder if I would feel the same way if I had resided in Morimound six months ago and had become pregnant like the rest. I had sufficient strength to bear a child. I was not too old to raise it. My somnolence might not be inherited. The possibilities cramped my stomach.
Worst of all, I suspected increasingly that the children would be stillborn. I imagined what I would feel after carrying a baby inside me for nine months, pouring a thousand hopes and affectionate thoughts into her, braving constant fears of miscarriage then the trial of childbirth, only to hold my daughter for the first time and find her shriveled and lifeless.
The pain of that possibility was too great, and I had to wake to dampen my thoughts.
The carriage stopped, and Deepmand helped me step down to the street.
Maid Janny said, “You expect me to go out there? The Feaster might pounce me.”
“You may stay with Sri the Once Flawless,” I said, turning to read the writing on the wall of the home before me.
“Alali Mitul,” the wall read, “the Ever Thriving bless you. Your caring is most deserving, your generosity true.”
Under that couplet, flecks of paint and discolored bricks indicated passages had been scrubbed away. A persistent someone had carved a message, “This roof hides a....” The final word had been removed by chipping bricks from the wall.
Stars in the east sky faded. The street behind us brightened from nearing day and the incoming lamps of the crowd, lead by the Bright Palm and his raised scimitar.
I lifted a gloved hand to the house door. “Deepmand, we cannot wait. I must speak to the Feaster, before the Bright Palm interferes. Bring him to me.”
Maid Janny spoke behind us. “You expect me to stay in the carriage by myself? Sri hardly counts, she’s old.”
The door shuddered when Deepmand thumped it with his plated hand. “Open this door, by command of the Flawless.”
“I am not the Flawless,” I said.
“Open the door, in the name of Elder Enchantress Hiresha.”
The Spellsword’s vociferations and knockings failed to bring about a response, although I believed I saw a light move behind the shutters. The east sky had turned pink. Deepmand smashed the door to splinters with an armored shoulder.
Women screamed inside, and I heard Deepmand’s muffled apology. Outside, men waved scimitars and yelled, “Get the shadow swallower!”
“Bring ’im out so he can see the dawn!”
Despite their words, the men abstained from following Deepmand into the house. The Bright Palm’s neck flashed with the magic flowing up his arteries as he eyed the second story windows.
I followed his gaze to see shutters swing out and a man jump to the street. The black-bearded man landed on his feet, but the sight of my gowns seemed to startle him. I wondered if this was the Feaster. When two citizens charged him, he snapped his gaze away from me and threw a sack; it opened in a burst of hornets.
Buzzing insects landed on the citizen’s faces, and the men dropped their weapons and howled, slapping at their cheeks. The man I presumed to be the Feaster gulped in air, and his belly expanded, his paunch slumping over his belt buckle. More disturbing than the sudden growth was a darkness that swi
rled beneath his stretched skin like spilled sewage.
“Deepmand, your presence is requested.” I failed to keep a frantic note out of my voice. A hornet’s large, segmented body crawled on my arm, and I felt it bite through my glove. Telling myself it was an illusion only partially lessened the sting.
Two men with nets approached the Feaster, who reached into his own mouth and pulled out a sword, an obsidian blade sliding between his lips like an overlong dark tongue. In a sweep of shadow, the black sword chopped off a citizen’s hand. The man stumbled back, clutching the stump of his arm.
The Bright Palm shoved his way through the crowd, and when he passed me, the hornet on my glove vanished. The Feaster spotted him, and the fear-eater’s face twisted with horror. He turned to try to run, his sides swaying and jiggling with his sudden fatness.
Scimitar raised, the Bright Palm closed the distance between them, his veins shining through his skin in a blur of white.
“Stop him!” I reached toward the Bright Palm with fingers hooked, knowing he would catch the Feaster in seconds and decapitate him.
In a spray of bricks, Deepmand leapt through the second-story window; rather than falling, he sailed overhead. He had activated to the fullest his armor’s enchantments of Lightening, and for a moment, a man wearing two hundred and twenty pounds of arms weighed nothing.
He arched through the air, overtaking Bright Palm and Feaster. His flight stopped when he Burdened himself, plunging straight down. I admired his technique; he smashed between pursuer and pursued, pulverizing the bricks he landed on. His armor absorbed the impact and channeled its force up his legs to his torso. Deepmand batted away the Bright Palm’s scimitar with his gauntlet, yet when he swung his arm to do the same to the Feaster’s blade, the obsidian edge sliced through Deepmand’s enchanted bronze.
A disembodied arm clattered to the ground.
Obsidian could never cut metal. I knew it was impossible, an illusion. Apparently, Deepmand knew it, too, because he reached for the Feaster with his seemingly missing hand and bludgeoned him to the street with a fist temporarily unseen but nonetheless weighted with gold knuckles.
Brood of Bones Page 4
