Brood of Bones

by A. E. Marling

  Deepmand’s arm reappeared, and before the Feaster could wriggle away, the Spellsword planted a metal foot on him and compressed. The Feaster writhed, gawking up at a sky that brightened with dawn. I moved toward them through the mass of citizens. When my gowns rippled around their feet like flowing water, the bystanders sucked in their breaths and shuffled back.

  “Masterfully done, Spellsword Deepmand.” I inclined my nose to the Feaster. “Now, degenerate, I suggest you answer my questions.”

  Day Four, Third Trimester

  “I never hurt anyone. Never killed them.” The Feaster wiped at an inky substance dribbling from his lips. “I’m just cursed. Please don’t—”

  “That is quite sufficient sniveling,” I said. “First, did you witness anything untoward during the night, between five to seven months ago?”

  “No, nothing.” He clamped his pudgy hands over Deepmand’s boot, failing to budge it.

  “You have sufficient time, degenerate, to consider your answers, yet none to try my patience. Did anything seem out of place on your nightly escapades?”

  “Wait, yes, there was demons made of flames.”

  “There were demons.” I corrected him.

  “They chased me down the streets, the demons did, always after me with their knives, and me just hungry and drenched in the rain and always so hungry.”

  Deepmand asked, “Flame demons, in the rain?”

  “No, no, no, it wasn’t raining then. Only later.”

  I did not know if he spoke truth, yet I would in my dream. “As a Feaster, you have an olfactory perception of fear. Correct?”

  “No, I swear by the Fate Weaver I never did!”

  Deepmand leaned farther over him. “The elder enchantress asked if you can smell fear.”

  “No, no! Well, a little.”

  “Then,” I asked, “has any home contained occupants who seemed particularly fearful in the past months? Or, when the pregnancies became obvious, did any household lack fear?”

  “Do not listen to it.” The Bright Palm edged toward the Feaster with his scimitar lifted. “Their kind will say anything to avoid justice. I insist on the right to avenge the meek.”

  The fat man wailed. “Lord of the Feast, save me!”

  Deepmand glanced to me for approval then caught the Bright Palm’s descending scimitar, yanking it from his grasp. By activating an Attraction between the dorsal sides of his gauntlets, he snapped the blade in two.

  The Bright Palm’s face never changed as he watched his sword broken, and with a voice that might have commented on the relative humidity he said, “You are aiding a thing of lies and despair. Desist, or the Order of the Innocent will condemn this city.”

  “Does this look like aiding to you?” I waved to the pinioned Feaster. Fortunately, I had anticipated this point of contention and planned in the dream what I would say. “I have enchanted seven swords for Bright Palms, which together will have slain dozens of Feasters. I am not their ally.”

  “What you have done in the past is irrelevant. Morimound is shielding this Feaster and harming the meek.”

  I did not like how he attributed my actions to the city, although I admitted that he might have some grounds for doing so. The Bright Palms had already condemned me multiple times, for the prices of those enchanted swords, and their toneless disapproval no longer bothered me. More flustering was the thought of my city receiving condemnation, the first step on the path to a declaration of righteous war.

  Unsure of myself, I glanced to the Spellsword, yet he only bowed his turbaned head. I heard a woman’s voice behind me.

  “He can’t help himself. Arsumi is a good boy at heart, and never wanted to cause hurt.”

  A woman I understood to be the Feaster’s mother wrung her hands among the wreckage of the house’s door. Four children peeped their heads out from behind her.

  The Feaster pawed at Deepmand’s boot, gasping for air with which to speak. “Let me go! Or my sisters and brothers will kill you.”

  “That I doubt.” I glanced back at the children in the doorway.

  “No, my other family.”

  A coldness seeped through me. Although I did not consider myself susceptible to physical attacks, a Feaster’s magic could circumvent my defensive enchantments and frighten me to no minor degree. I remembered the pain of the sting and wondered what Deepmand had felt when his arm had been lopped off at the elbow.

  The citizens had backed away from me, or perhaps from the Feaster, and they thrashed their scimitars in the air, indicating that they hoped for the entertainment of the Feaster’s death.

  I began to think I should have Deepmand kill him, although I had planned otherwise in the dream. Granted, I had not fully anticipated the ramifications of my actions, and I wished I could rest to analyze my situation.

  Dawn’s light crept over the street, and the Feaster gasped as his skin bubbled and fumed. His mounds of flesh collapsed, shrinking him to the size of a boy with far too many ribs showing. His beard withered until only an awkward fuzz remained on his chin. The day had turned him from a menacing man to a sickly adolescent.

  Afraid to go back on choices made while asleep, I turned to the Bright Palm. “Feasters, I can stand. Impertinence, I will not. The, er, the gods have chosen me to serve this city, and I judge that delaying this boy’s—I mean this degenerate’s—execution is the best course of action.”

  Men in the crowd groaned. “Why not do him? He’s right there and pinned.”

  “Feaster, I will grant your temporary freedom, if you promise to search for unexpected fear levels. You also must speak with any brethren you have in this city, few as I trust they are, and then return to me with a full report.”

  The Bright Palm lunged for the Feaster. Before his fingers could close on the scrawny boy’s throat, Deepmand shoved him aside.

  “Yes, yes, I promise I will,” the Feaster said. “I will, I will!”

  “I want you to swear in the name of the Lord of the Feast.” Anecdotal evidence had suggested this was an effective way of ensuring a Feaster’s cooperation.

  He paled, one eyelid fluttering in a series of tics. “I mah-mustn’t do that.”

  “And why ever not?”

  “No, no, I can’t. He’s close.” His gaze darted to the streets around him. “He’s always close. Aiiaaahhhh!”

  The Feaster convulsed and vomited a fan of black liquid over the street bricks; it boiled to nothing in seconds under the sun. The boy stopped twitching, his moans quieting to whimpers.

  I tried a few more times to convince the Feaster to commit to the oath, yet I grew convinced he preferred to die than presume himself on the Lord of the Feast, a fact I found disconcerting.

  “Then, degenerate, I will advise you to leave your family’s house, as you are disgracing them.”

  I realized I should not have said that, because I might not be able to find him later in another dwelling. The shadow walls of sleep closed around me; I made a shooing motion to the Feaster then turned to the crowd.

  “Accosting this Feaster, or this household, is forbidden by order of the God’s Eye Court.”

  Deepmand returned to my side, and the Feaster scampered back in the dimness of the house. The Bright Palm gazed after him with a placid face.

  Not trusting the Bright Palm to obey local law, I accosted two acolytes as they walked the streets on an early-morning task. “Assign city guards to protect this house during the day,” I said.

  Permitting Maid Janny to assist me into the carriage, I observed that her hand trembled. She said, “However did you manage? You never flinched or fainted, and I was obliged to do both for you.”

  “I was in no danger, from illusions,” I said. “Reading the texts prepared me for that much, although not for how disgusting and pitiable Feasters are.”

  Sri the Once Flawless had scrunched herself into a corner of the carriage, and she was shaking her head. “He seemed sweet, at first. I thought he would free me from the cage.”

  �
�Your intelligence must be impaired, from toxins accumulating in your blood. I will see to your convalescence at my estate.” The words left my mouth with more confidence than I felt, as I planned to view the interior of her womb at the same time. If I found a stillbirth then I would be obligated to attend to it with my magic: Not an easy task nor a pleasant one. “Deepmand will now convey us there.”

  Once asleep, I saw that the Feaster had lied about demons chasing him through the streets. He had told the truth concerning an absence of anything strange five to seven months ago, at least to the extent he had pondered it.

  The Feaster had scanned the streets around him after mention of the Lord of the Feast, and I too examined the alleys and avenues through the mirror, finding nothing. The boy had screamed and gone into spasms but not in fear of strangulation from the Bright Palm. In that case he would have glanced in the glowing man’s direction. His eyes had instead unfocused; the terror had been from a memory, I judged.

  The only evidence of the legendary three-headed Feaster in Morimound was no evidence at all: a caricature, crudely drawn in charcoal on the wall between two homes, glimpsed by me yesterday. Contorted and bloated, the figure resembled a leaping bullfrog with the heads of a screaming man, a snake, and a crocodile.

  This act of vandalism upset and unsettled me, and I washed it from the mirror with a sweep of my hand.

  Uncertain whether or not I had gained anything this night, except an enemy in the Bright Palm, I focused on the unsavory prospect of pulling Sri into my dream laboratory, where I could cure her. The process was always unpleasant, and completing it in Morimound would not be ideal. To be precise, it would be illegal.

  I rubbed my eyes. “Maid Janny will escort Lady Sri into one of the guest rooms, and I will follow.”

  A gaggle of servants negotiated Sri the Once Flawless out of the carriage and carried her away on a gravel path, one holding her knees, one her back, and two more her shoulders. She mumbled, her head rolling and eyes unfocused.

  “See that she is bathed,” I called out after them.

  Spellsword Deepmand shook his head, his beard sliding over his armor. “I fear the Lady Sri has little time left.”

  “Fortunately, the Fate Weaver placed me in her path.”

  “An amulet will heal her?”

  The safest and fastest way for me to regenerate Sri would be to draw her into my dream for a custom enchantment. Deepmand knew this, and he had lifted one black, bushy brow, no doubt concerned that I meant to break the Propriety Pledge, which I did. A professional statute forbade enchanting outside the Academy’s walls, to protect the dignity of our magic.

  Before I could think how to reassure him, a clop of hooves approached, ending with the sound of someone dismounting, and a male voice spoke nearby. “A Spellsword, I see, so they must’ve given the correct address.”

  Deepmand swiveled one leg at a time to turn as a man in a foppish red coat trimmed with lace stepped into view, his face powdered to an absurd degree.

  “Elder Enchantress Hiresha, Provost of Applied Enchantment, I am Tethiel, interim ambassador from Jordania.”

  For a foreigner, he pronounced my name well. Beginning with a high sound, he avoided stressing the harsh middle syllable and ended with a resonant “ah.”

  “You have my attention, Ambassador. Jordania exports some of the finest topaz in the lands.”

  “Jordania values them so highly, Enchantress Hiresha, that it sells all it can. I believe you requested my assistance, and I am at your service.”

  I realized I had remembered wrong: Jordania mined fewer topazes than garnet jewels, and the ambassador had made light of my mistake. He must wonder how someone with such poor mental faculties had risen so high, and I could not even recall where I had met this man before, although I felt I must have.

  “When did we first meet, Ambassador?”

  “Why, just now. But I have it on good authority—or perhaps not so good yet much trusted—that your powers of observation match those of the Pharaoh of the Opal Mind, the greatest enchantress who ever lived.”

  Well used to sycophants attempting to ingratiate themselves to my wealth, I hesitated only a moment before saying, “If we never before met, then I could not have asked you for assistance, and I see no need for this conversation to proceed. I bid you good day.”

  Even after his defeat, the fop held my gaze and had the audacity to tell me his place of residence. To that impropriety, he bowed only from the neck, as if between equals, and I added Jordania to the long list of nations I would never visit.

  Deepmand lifted a hand, to help me down from the carriage. “Elder Enchantress, may I present your estate and manor, Sunchase Hall.”

  Gravel crunched under my slippers. Scores of servants bowed along the path to the doors, touching the hems of my gowns as I passed.

  I had seen the manor before in my dream, where I had designed its construction, but never under true daylight; the morning sun streamed off the crystal windows like molten gold. I grinned even as I sucked my breath through my teeth. I had hoped to arrive here under more joyful conditions, such as wakefulness. I batted my gloved hand over my yawn.

  “Lustrous Elder Enchantress, we have waited five years for this day.” A servant with a white beard and a black turban lowered himself to greet me when I entered my manor’s stairwell entrance hall. “I am Pallam Obenji, and I will ensure all you desire is yours while staying at Sunchase Hall.”

  “What I desire is irrelevant, Mister Obenji,” I said. “What I need is privacy to tend to the Lady Sri.”

  “I recognized the great lady instantly, even with her recent...alteration.” He ushered me down a corridor hanging with monochrome green tapestries. “You are a veritable paragon for bringing her in, and she is an honor to your home.”

  We stopped in front of a guest room. I saw Maid Janny tucking Sri into a lavish bed while other servants filed out the door.

  “Your ring.” I pointed to one of two diamond rings on the smallest finger of Mister Obenji’s right hand. “I require that.”

  “This?” He gave the ring a half turn. “It is a family heirloom.”

  “My gold will buy you more heirlooms.”

  After a deep breath, he twisted the ring off his finger and handed it to me with a bow. I waved him and the rest of the servants away.

  “Deepmand, allow no one inside, under any pretense.”

  The Spellsword peered down at me, kneading his lips between his teeth. He had to know what I intended, and I wondered if he would try to stop me. As a representative of the Mindvault Academy, he would be as concerned as any about my breaking the Propriety Pledge and revealing the secret of enchantresses: Accessing our magic required our going to sleep. Entirely too much lewdness surrounded the name “enchantress” without the world knowing we slept with the swords we imbued with power.

  He and I both grew up in Morimound, although Deepmand had a decade before I. Sri had arbitrated during both our childhoods, and I at least had always seen her as something priceless and pure. Witnessing her in this state had to pain him, too.

  Without nodding or giving any other sign of consent, he said, “I understand, Elder Enchantress, and you will not be disturbed.”

  When the door closed behind me in the guest room, I began to doubt that Deepmand was correct about my not being disturbed. Bringing another into my dream laboratory required physical contact, an inordinate and repulsive amount of physical contact.

  “I trust, Maid Janny,” I said, “you will be good enough not to remember today.”

  “‘Forgetfulness is your greatest asset,’ that’s what my mum always said.” She winked and began untying my gown laces.

  Maid Janny was a regretful necessity. I might as well be wearing chains and padlocks, for all my capacity to undress myself. I spent most of the wait half-asleep, and I had little memory of anything that occurred before I slipped under the covers with Sri and slid the diamond ring onto her right pointer finger.

  The Once Flawless
had not spoken, and I was thankful for her comatose state. Wrinkled and discolored though she was, she thankfully was not the most unpleasant person I had been forced to sleep alongside. Few dared to tell kings and pashas they stank, and nobility seemed to be bred for their hairy moles, along with the occasional weeping ulcer.

  Sri smelled of scented soap. I tucked my chin over her shoulder, reaching around her watermelon waist and easing myself closer for maximum skin contact. We both wore nothing, only our undergarments. I closed my eyes and found myself on the stair, my hands empty for the moment.

  I walked downward, alone, darkness undiluted on either side of the marble steps. Upon reaching the last step, I grabbed at the air, and Sri appeared in my arms as I lifted into my laboratory.

  The elderly woman disappeared from my grasp just as quickly and materialized on the indented stone of the black operations table. Even though I no longer wore my gowns in the real world, they swirled about me here in their full copper-and-silver-threaded majesty.

  “Hiresha?” Sri blinked awake, her eyes following the yellow topazes flitting past her nose. “By the gods, where are we?”

  “Your consciousness is not required.” I reached toward a shelf and Attracted a silver pillow. The magic bauble sped through ten feet, to my fingertips, and I brushed it over Sri’s cheeks.

  She closed her eyes again with a sigh. The spell would hold her in a deeper sleep and prevent her from remembering anything.

  My first order of business was to search her hair. In one second, I had found thirty-four lice; one had even crawled onto my arm. A spell of Attraction crushed the nuisances against a quartz crystal I held between two fingers.

  A sapphire honey jar leaped from a shelf to float above the operation table, followed closely by a series of vials holding powdered gemstone. Together they contained spells that would clear her blood of bodily contaminates as well as any residual wormwood. Flecks of light leaked down from the glowing trinkets to sift over her while I prepared to repair her liver.