Brood of Bones

by A. E. Marling

  The Bight Palm walked through the doors. “Take me to this worthy soul.”

  I felt uncomfortable beside the Bright Palm, aware of his uncanny strength. Even with eyes turned away, I could point out his direction; the power flowing in his veins created a sensation of pressure in my skull.

  As we arrived in the sickroom, Sri the Once Flawless cried out. “Mister Obenji! What a pleasure to see you again.”

  “We have come with help, Lady Sri.” He knelt beside the bed, and she gave his nose a playful squeeze.

  The Bright Palm touched the silk sheets. “I disapprove of this as a place of healing.”

  “I will have flax blankets sent for, straight away,” Mister Obenji said.

  The Bright Palm’s face stayed neutral as he looked down at Sri. “How many winters has she lived?”

  Mister Obenji said, “She’s youthful at fifty-eight.”

  “She appears older,” the Bright Palm said.

  “The sun has aged her skin prematurely,” I said. “She deliberated her days away on the God’s Eye Court.”

  “I believe she has lived more than sixty years,” the Bright Palm said. “Her time has been spent.”

  Sri wailed, yet the Bright Palm seemed not to hear her as he turned to leave. He would have departed by the time I thought of something to say.

  Mister Obenji defied his own aged body and leapt in front of the Bright Palm. “You must heal her. She carries a child who will never live a single year of life unless you intervene.”

  I believed the Bright Palm considered, although his face gave little sign of it. He said, “Expose the wound.”

  Sri held the covers over herself. “Not in front of Mister Obenji!”

  “Worry not, Lady Sri,” he said, kneeling beside her and taking her hand, “I will gaze only into your beautiful eyes.”

  Maid Janny lifted the covers, and the Bright Palm laid his hand on Sri’s swollen hip. White light pulsed down the veins of his arm, spreading from fingertips until his hand held such power that I could see it even with my eyes closed. The light leaked into Sri, her bluish skin turning pink, and the bruises shrank.

  “Sri,” I asked, “why did you rise and break your hip anyway, instead of sensibly staying in bed?”

  “Heehee.” She touched one of the curled ends of Mister Obenji’s white mustache. “Maybe I saw someone worth falling for.”

  Thrusting my chin outward in disgust, I glanced back to her most prominent feature and thought of the unchild growing inside her like a bone tumor. “Bright Palm, I will donate twenty gold pieces to your Order, if you direct your magic into her womb.”

  The light flowed deeper inside her, tracing paths to her heart and down again, pooling in her womb’s nutritive sac. It percolated farther, the pattern of veins blurring white in her abdomen; I planned to analyze the sight in my laboratory.

  “There is nothing there to heal,” the Bright Palm said. “I have completed the blessing.”

  Their magic worked in an imprecise manner, strengthening the body to mend its own wounds. Apparently, Sri’s constitution did not know where to begin with the unchild.

  I pursued the Bright Palm on his way out of my manor, to guarantee he did not abscond with any small treasures, “for my own good.” As he approached the front doors, Spellsword Deepmand said, “You have done a good deed, Bright Palm.”

  “I serve the Innocent,” he said.

  The doors opened onto the view of a man riding a horse up the gravel path. I recognized him by his satin coat as the fop ambassador.

  “Enchantress Hiresha,” he said, “I hope you have not corrupted this simple Bright Palm with your gold. We wealthy are such a poor lot.”

  “Those of my order may handle gold safely,” the Bright Palm said. “We are immune to avarice.”

  “And for that,” the fop said, “you paid no more than your humanity.”

  The Bright Palm regarded him with a statue’s gaze. The fop withstood it, his hands resting in an overly relaxed manner on his saddle horn, although his horse stiffened as if preparing to bolt.

  The Bright Palm said, “The richness of your clothes speaks to the poverty of your soul.”

  “A respectable soul of good quality costs entirely too much to maintain,” the fop said, “and I find your clothes pretentiously poor.”

  My brows lifted in astonishment. I always had wished to say something similar but had never done so, and I wondered how the Bright Palm would react. Of course, he lacked the ability to take offense at the slight.

  As if he had not heard the insults, the Bright Palm marched down the hibiscus path and away from the manor.

  “Ambassador,” I said, “you waste your breath arguing with a Bright Palm. Their minds are intractable.”

  “To sway opinion should never be the motive of argument. I argue only for pleasure.”

  “A most impractical philosophy. Ambassador, since you were not invited to Sunchase Hall, you may now leave.”

  “I came after witnessing the parade you gathered at the God’s Eye. You do know that nothing good will come of those full bellies.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I wondered if he could know of the unchildren. His tone had been calm, not at all conspiratorial, as if he merely had a low opinion of infants in general. “I find your flippancy offensive,” I said. “Deepmand, inform Mister Obenji to never allow this person on my property again.”

  “With pleasure, Elder Enchantress.”

  “In that case, Enchantress Hiresha,” the fop said, “I will await you at the High and Dry Inn. You have the power to see everything, while I know everything but see nothing. Together, we have much to discuss.”

  Again, the rapscallion presumed to invite me to his quarters. Wishing I could demonstrate my offense with a sharp heel turn, I dragged my gowns around and into the manor.

  Once the doors shut behind us, Janny said, “He’s a handsome gent, isn’t he?”

  “He powders his face,” I said, “a sign of lasciviousness and deceit.”

  “I have noticed,” she said, “that women here paint their faces.”

  “Painting is entirely different. Quite respectable.”

  “Of course.” She grinned in a most childish fashion. “Also noticed he sweated under all his fancy yarns. You should meet him and discuss how stifling clothes can be, ask if he might suggest a way to find relief.”

  “Maid Janny!”

  “I could ask him for you, if you’d like.”

  “Your effrontery is only surpassed by your impropriety. Now, if you will assist me, I must contemplate.”

  We had reached my guest room, and Janny helped secure my arms to the harness to facilitate my sleeping. Although embarrassment had accelerated my heart rate, I required only a hundred seconds before I lifted into my laboratory.

  I reviewed the portion of the fop’s conversation when he had mentioned the women’s “full bellies.” No guilt or shame disturbed his face then, too little emotion at all to suggest he knew more than he should about their wombs’ unwelcome guests.

  For the remainder of my sleep, I prepared myself mentally to meet Salkant of the Fate Weaver and his non-pregnant daughter.

  The priest had shed his yellow and black robes to work bare-chested in his vineyards. Over his sweat-glistening potbelly dangled a wonder, a paragon diamond. The size of a strawberry, this emperor of jewels threw specks of prismatic light over the moist dirt and green grape leaves. The priest pruned the vines, shears clutched in his partially amputated fingers.

  “I know you bargained with a Feaster, Flawless,” he said accusingly. “A scorpion-tailed spider revealed it in her web.”

  “It did?” I could think of nothing better to say.

  “I studied the silk prophecies, in which your pattern lies always at the center. But because you will prevent the Seventh Flood, or provoke it? I realized I could not be certain.”

  The priest’s words stung me and increased the temperature within my gowns from broil to roast. Under my breath, I said, “I am
not the Flawless.”

  I stood on the path at the edge of the vineyard, unable to approach Priest Salkant, as the vines tied to wicker supports grew too close together to allow my gowns clearance. And I would not be seen walking on dirt.

  “I judged the Feaster innocent,” I said.

  “They never are.”

  “Innocent of involvement in the mass pregnancies. I solicited his reconnaissance in exchange for a postponement of his sentence. The transaction was both reasonable and upright.”

  “Will people see it that way?” Priest Salkant had narrow shoulders and a thin head, forcing one to speculate on the relative size of the brain. Below his line of sight, a spider with translucent orange legs and a bulbous yellow abdomen crawled up his flowing canvass pants.

  “They should concern themselves with the imperiled state of their wives and daughters, rather than a few societal parasites,” I said. “Not to imply that it is a parasite, but you have a certain individual close to your knee.”

  To my horror, he lifted the spider by its abdomen between two finger stumps. He placed it on a vine post, speaking all the while. “You stopped a Bright Palm from slaying a Feaster. You may as well have taken a bone from a wolf and expected not to be bitten. Morimound cannot afford condemnation by the Order of the Innocent.” His shears snipped away grape leaves. “If the reputation of Morimound suffers, our trade will diminish. If our mercantile clout diminishes, we become vulnerable to invasion.”

  “The state of our unmarried women poses a greater threat to our reputation.”

  Priest Salkant had moved far enough down the row of grapes that I was uncertain he would hear me. I walked uphill, to the other side of the vineyard, annoyed that he would consider his plants of greater import than myself. More so, the truth of his words agitated me.

  I waited for him to tread into the range of polite discourse. “Lustrous Priest, the mothers must be well nourished, for a chance at delivering their...their babies. I request shipments of sardines totaling forty-three tons. In addition, a mandate to eat egg and spinach daily to replenish their blood.”

  Although I expected him to call an acolyte to arrange the task, he only nodded and continued his clipping. I realized he expected to remember the requests, something I would never trust to my waking memory.

  “Then, Lustrous Priest, all that remains for me to do is examine your daughter.”

  “There is no need. The Fate Weaver has assured me of her safety.”

  “As an anomaly, she may give insight into the condition of the other women.”

  “The benefits of seclusion for young ladies is no secret, and I am proud that Kishala has not lived an unguarded day in her life.”

  “Nonetheless, I must insist.”

  The priest rammed his shears into a belt loop then led me into his manor. The clutter of his furnishings and gaudiness of his chandeliers demonstrated a lack of taste.

  We approached two women wearing scimitars who played a game of stones. The one with the spinning stick let it fall as they hefted themselves to attention in front of a brass door. Their bellies jutted outward.

  “Men know to guard their gold,” Priest Salkant said, “but daughters are far more perishable. Observe the slot at the base of the door that permits the passage of necessities into the chamber and undesirables out. Kishala, it’s me.”

  He rapped a signet ring against the brass portal, and a bony hand reached out from under the door, giving me a shock. The priest squatted down and cupped the hand in both of his.

  “I make a point to hold her like this every day. I am not an uncaring father, after all.”

  Maid Janny cleared her throat behind me with a strangled noise, which would have been rude had it been louder.

  “Spellsword,” Priest Salkant said, “if you would situate yourself out of sight, I will open the door.”

  “By your order, Lustrous Priest.” Deepmand’s voice sounded a tad stiff as he clanked around a corner.

  “You will note, Flawless Hiresha, that I carry the only key.”

  I shook my head at the honorarium as Priest Salkant unlocked the door, and I noted the portal’s thickness. The flickering light inside attested to a room free from windows. A wealth of candles burned with the scent of jasmine.

  The priest strutted into the chamber. “Kishala, I brought you a gift. A visitor, Elder Enchantress Hiresha. One day, you will have the same grandeur.”

  I met the stare of a girl with an unfortunate resemblance to her father, her body with so little breadth that it appeared compacted. Her face was narrow enough to give the impression that her eyes were mounted on the sides of her head, although her gaze assessed my gowns and me with calculation. She wore only a silk shift.

  The girl asked, “Am I to be an enchantress, Father?”

  “Perhaps, my hatchling. Perhaps.”

  My gaze had wandered past her to an overflowing bookshelf then to hanging planters of ferns and small flowering plants growing toward the candles. Tables were strewn with maps, glass bowls on tripods full of bright fishes.

  Jealousy tasted in my mouth as overripe lemon, not for the girl's imprisonment but for the forethought given her by her father. My own parents had never considered me more than a nuisance. The priest believed the lavish confinement best for her, a point I would not argue, not then.

  My skin itched and twitched as I thought of her imprisonment. I worried she would be ill prepared for entering the world, no matter how well read. Her leanness also concerned me.

  I asked, “Are you underfed?”

  Although I possessed a more feminine frame than Kishala, my enchantment-induced nightly exercise prevented the accumulation of fatty tissue. My gowns hid all vestiges of this deficiency.

  “We have talked about this,” Priest Salkant said. “You must eat more, Kish.”

  The girl shrugged, the motion subtle with her truncated shoulders.

  I asked, “Do you never leave the safety of these walls?”

  “Father takes me to the roof garden twice a year. He even lets me decide what to plant, and I have written essays on horticulture, if you’d like to see.”

  “That will not be necessary,” I said.

  “So much more will grow outside, it’s amazing.” She reached to a planter, touching pale white flowers with her fingertips. “We haven’t gone out this year. Father says it’s not safe.”

  “Something is negatively affecting the women of Morimound,” I said, “yet your father’s consideration has protected you. Lustrous Priest, I believe that will be all.”

  The girl asked, “Can’t you stay and tell me about enchanting?”

  “The Propriety Pledge prohibits my doing so.”

  “What if father apprenticed me to you?”

  “Many depend on me now, young lady.”

  “Then, goodbye, I suppose. You have made this a memorable month.”

  Although the size of the room had allowed most of my gowns to enter after me, I found myself unable to turn. Maid Janny heaved at the avalanche of silks, the gowns slipping from her grasp to spread outward in new directions. When I left the chamber, my raiment compressed in the doorway then swelled outward in the hall.

  The priest locked the door behind him. “You will not wish to leave without tasting the estate vintage.”

  Maid Janny mumbled behind me. “I need a drink, after seeing that poor girl.”

  “Most kind of you,” I said to the priest, “yet I must return to the God’s Eye.”

  “A golden-web spider dictated that you would stay. I always have a bottle on ice, along with a comparison. And I thank you for not mentioning you are the Flawless. Kishala studied law, before I realized the Fate Weaver had chosen you for the position.”

  “I am sure she deserves it more.”

  “Perhaps this weave is better, though. The position would have required her exposure.”

  In a parlor, he uncorked a bottle and trickled into a glass a fluid with the coloration of dilute urine, which he subsequently forced
into my hand.

  “Here you are, the second best wine in Morimound.”

  “I am afraid, Lustrous Priest, I must decline. Alcohol makes me drowsy.” In point of fact, it stupefied me.

  “Just a sip, then.”

  Scowling down at the pale fluid, I lifted the glass. It tasted exactly like what it was: rotten grapes.

  “Now, experience this vintage. I enhance its flavor by exposing the grapes themselves to the maximum possible sunlight.”

  He thrust me a glass with considerably more wine. I wanted to refuse, yet I deemed he would have taken it as a slight. The wine stung my mouth in much the same manner.

  A smile stretched over the priest’s face, admittedly no great distance. “Is it not bliss? I drink nothing else.”

  I took a proffered handkerchief from Maid Janny and scrubbed my lips. “A staggering accomplishment.”

  While Priest Salkant turned to pour more wine into another glass, I passed mine to Janny. She tipped it upside down, drinking the fluid in two gulps then returning the glass to me, now empty.

  “By the Fate Weaver,” he said, upon turning around again, “you must have enjoyed it!”

  “Indubitably, although I must excuse myself. I am expected at the Court.”

  “May your thread shine.”

  Spellsword Deepmand accompanied me to the carriage. Once I reached my flying laboratory, I considered how the daughter reinforced my theory of tactile spellcraft. The walls surrounding Kishala had thwarted the pregnancy-evoking touch. For the sake of sanity I decided to assume I dealt with magic users, with mortals I could hope to understand and surmount.

  Now I had to locate the perpetrators. The Feaster had claimed not to have seen anything during the night. Therefore, I would have to speak to the acolytes about other possible groups who had the opportunity to touch every woman in the city.

  A brief analysis disturbed me with the thought that the acolytes themselves, through their duties, would have had access to the greatest number of women.

  As my gowns fluttered outward from my carriage, I pointed to the nearest acolytes, picking one representative of each god. “You and you. Attend me at the center of the Court.”