Brood of Bones

by A. E. Marling

  In the fountain, water flowed between miniature ziggurats and down hundreds of tiny blocks representing Morimound homes. It really was dreadful. Strangler fig trees surrounded the fountain, their trunks a mesh of root branches as if normal trees had partially melted, oozing down and spilling over each other.

  The Lord of the Feast took a long step down from his saddle, without using his hands. The horse snapped his yellow teeth in my direction in a carnivorous manner then bent down to drink from the fountain.

  I began, “Lord of the Feast—”

  “Never call me that.” His hands tensed into fists. In the blue light of my earrings, his coat had turned dark. “Not unless that is what you want to see. My name is Tethiel.”

  I was not about to call him by his first name, as a lady should only assent to that for the man she had married. “Well then...before your interruption, I wished to note that you once claimed we had much to discuss. Did you lie?”

  “Not in the slightest. Oh ho!” His chin dropped to regard a moth that had landed on his coat's carnation. As its wings fluttered, their eyespots blinked at me in a most forward manner.

  “Your magic could not have caused the mass pregnancies,” I said. “They must concern you in some other way.”

  I followed his glance upward, after the moth, to find the sky sprinkled with stars. The muscles between my shoulder blades tensed.

  “If you think about it,” he said, his face solidifying back to a blank expression, “the worst a Feaster will ever do is scare someone to death. Morimound faces something less pleasant.”

  “The unchildren.” I gripped the ruffles of fabric over my throat. “Are they the progeny of a divine?”

  “I would humor you, Enchantress Hiresha, but I’m supposed to be angry right now.”

  If he was angry, I could see no trace of it in his calm demeanor. “Because of your mood, the women’s lives will all be risked?”

  The left corner of his painted lips dropped a seventh of an inch in sadness. “Enchantress Hiresha, nothing I do will be for the sake of your people, or you.”

  I had guessed his motives self-interested, yet to hear him say it outright in no way encouraged me. He would demand something, some boon in return for his aid, and I could only wait and worry what it might be.

  My blue glow turned his powdered face to the color of a frozen corpse’s, which spoke. “And here they are. Pall, Wane, Gorge, show the enchantress your metal.”

  Shadows stood around the fountain, despite a lack of anything to cast them. One shadow sharpened in focus to become a handsome man in dandy clothes, who darted to Deepmand’s side to kiss his bearded cheek, and when the Spellsword swiveled in his armor to seize him, the man back-flipped into the darkness.

  Another man wearing only velvet pants strode forward, his muscles threatening to tear open the skin of his chest and shoulders. If I was not mistaken, more muscle groups bulged in his arms than existed in humans. Behind this brute, a man-shaped creature with an exoskeleton of silver walked toward me like a metal insect, his face jutting with gold fangs and antennae, his jeweled sword locked in the grasp of his gauntlet hand.

  The sword and attached gauntlet forced my mind into contortions; I had seen both early today, on a decrepit leper who should have had barely the strength to lift a sword, let alone march while covered in silver. I recognized also the other two leprous dandies by their swords, although their once-halting movements had become smooth and confident, the stances of weapons masters.

  The rumors had not lied. The magic of Feasting had cured the lepers, at least in appearance.

  They grinned at me with their youthful, unblemished faces. I forced myself to overcome shock and sniff at the one who had kissed Deepmand, to indicate that his lewd display had not impressed me.

  Earlier, the jeweled hilt of one sword had struck me as familiar, and I now saw why. The dandies flourished swords with sophisticated silver and gold etchings that glittered along their lengths. I recognized interlocking hexagonal patterns, along with stylized broken shields, and a panorama of the mountains south of Morimound.

  “I enchanted those two swords for Bright Palms, and that one for a prince.”

  The first two swordsmen stuck out their tongues at the one with the prince’s sword. For the silver insect, this involved a muscular pink appendage with spikes coiling in the air.

  Seeing my enchanted swords in the hands of Feasters shocked me; I had eschewed empowering weapons and armor, whenever possible, because nothing better came of such immature devices than killing idiots in war. Now my swords might dismember my own people, perhaps even Deepmand and Maid Janny.

  “Exquisite,” the Lord of the Feast said. “Weapon crafting is not even your specialty, yet you surpass all other enchantresses. The lightness of these swords is a great help to my hearts.”

  I decided he was not entirely devoid of discernment. “My swords better utilize positional weight change. However, do not ask me to enchant any for you, as Academy edicts would force my refusal.”

  Pleading crept into my voice because the Mindvault Academy maintained records of all enchanted items, and any constructed outside of legality might be traced, giving the Lord of the Feast proof of my complicity and even more leverage over me.

  “No,” he said, “that would take the delight from finding them.”

  His words sickened me as I realized he must have an even more deplorable task for me planned.

  The dandy brute said, “Bet the lady would like seeing me cut a tree in half.”

  He began to puff out his chest, breathing in the night air. His skin inflated, his abdominal muscles lost behind a potbelly filled with swirling darkness.

  “No, Gorge,” the Lord of the Feast said. “Purge yourself. Now.”

  The dandy leaned over, and shadows spewed out his mouth. The grove turned frigid, and I rubbed my gloved hands together.

  “Restraint,” the Lord of the Feast said. “Always restraint.”

  His horse half-kneeled and half-squatted, allowing him to step into the saddle without using his hands, and by this time I felt too overwhelmed to be further surprised.

  “Enchantress Hiresha, I no longer feel safe in your city.”

  “You no longer feel safe?”

  “I will be gone with the dawn.”

  Cracks of panic spread over my poise. He would leave me with no more knowledge of how to help the women. “Will you return?”

  The Lord of the Feast peered down at me, and I feared he would now give me an ultimatum, a task I could not accept in exchange for assistance I could not refuse. I hoped he would divulge it now, to end the suspense of not knowing what would be asked.

  “The bone children were not created by a god,” he said, “but by a man who would become one.”

  His horse reared, and he galloped off into the night. Shadows obscured the swordsmen, and the dandies disappeared as suddenly as they had come. My servants and I were alone in the dark grove.

  Relief welled through me, even as my drowsiness returned to bow me over, and I hobbled back into the carriage. Maid Janny huddled inside, her hands pressed to her ears, and her eyes squeezed shut.

  If the Lord of the Feast was not wrong then I could find this man, the mortal god. Evidence of him might reveal itself at my estate ball. I might save my city without further need of the Lord of the Feast; I hoped the threads of our fates would never cross again because, in a flash of mind-wracking pain, I realized what he quite probably desired.

  He did not want me to enchant swords but to enchant him. Tales that I had regenerated nobility would have reached his notice, and he must have concluded I could replace his severed ears and teeth. I could even remove the tattoo on his brow, permitting him to better disguise himself, to escape the Bright Palms and to sow horror.

  Acceptance of such a bargain would bring my ruin.

  Once he committed another atrocity and the Bright Palms identified him, they would know what I had done. The world would realize I had assisted the Lord of
the Feast, and all my enchantress colleagues would know I had ruinously broken the Propriety Pledge alongside him.

  Day Seventeen, Third Trimester

  Alyla’s complexion had improved over the last week and a half. She reclined on a chair, stroking her abdomen. “I was thinking of naming her ‘Neema.’”

  The fork spearing my quartered floret of broccoli quivered, and I had to set it on the table. “You might not want to name your, ah...after all, what if the baby is a boy?”

  “I always wanted a girl,” Alyla said. “I could sew her the most darling little dresses. Would Mister Obenji take me to the Bazaar if I asked him? To look for cloth?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  Her father had not returned for her, and I had begun to wonder if something unfortunate had happened to him.

  My appetite perished as a quavering spread outward from my stomach. When I rose from the table, Maid Janny placed my teacup in my hand.

  “You should drink more, you only took three sips.”

  “Tea is insufferable in this weather.”

  “Don’t try that excuse. This kettle was chilled.”

  “I cannot drink all this. I am too busy to stop every fifteen minutes to ask for a chamber pot.”

  As I set down the teacup, I realized the indelicacy of my last statement. Thinking had become even more impossible as late-spring rains had exacerbated the heat with humidity. Taking off my gowns would bring inordinate relief, yet I would never—not when they were all I had accumulated in life.

  Through a haze of awareness, I saw Mister Obenji bow. “Elder Enchantress Hiresha, I am assured the new windows will arrive before the ball. Also per your request, I have interviewed several promising young men to play the parts of women servants and guests. They will appear feminine, but not pregnant.”

  “Yes. Wait, did you ask me a question?” His words and their meaning wriggled from my grasp like oiled slugs, and I had already forgotten everything he had said.

  He glanced to Deepmand before answering. “Of course. I asked if you could speak with the chef today, and I am thankful to hear you can.”

  I was annoyed at myself for agreeing to meet with someone so beneath me as a chef. Before heading to the kitchens, I checked on Sri the Once Flawless. She was sitting up in bed, the sheets folding outward over her midsection as if she clutched a pillow.

  “If you must confine me here,” she said, “then promise to send Mister Obenji. I have not seen him for twenty hours.”

  “He is heavily occupied,” I said.

  “You are cruel, Hiresha.”

  Janny asked, “Have you been practicing?”

  In reply, Sri winked.

  My tongue curled in disgust. “It is unseemly for elders to woo.”

  Sri smiled, unabashed. “When I see Pallam Obenji twirl his cloud-white mustache, one side at a time, my heart feels like it will stop. It’s never too late for romance.”

  “Maybe your heart will stop,” I said, “if you continue to excite yourself with this nonsense.”

  “Have you noticed how he wears several rings on each hand, two on each of his little fingers? But you must have. At first, I thought to ask him not to be so ostentatious, but I think I will love him best just the way he is.”

  “Unless you have pains or emissions to report, I will leave.”

  Sri replied with no more than a sigh as she plied her needle to embroider blue thread into black cloth.

  In the kitchen, only one oven burned, yet its heat combined with a sticky, suffocating scent of dough forced me to lift my gloved hand to hide my gagging. I never remembered feeling so nauseated by baking.

  The chef waddled to me, a papyrus in one hand, his other tugging on the few remaining tufts of his hair. “Mister Obenji gave me a list of sixteen ingredients. Sixteen! I cannot orchestrate appetizers and seven-course meals for eighty people with sixteen ingredients.”

  “I should think that many courses would be redundant,” I said.

  “Fate Weaver, bite me! Just two spices on the list, chili peppers and garlic, and only muddies eat garlic.”

  “Garlic has numerous health benefits, and flax seeds are a spice.”

  “They taste like wood pulp.”

  “The objective of dining is nutrition, not taste.”

  The chef clutched the lobes of fat on either side of his neck. “You have no respect for art.”

  “I should have warned Mister Obenji against hiring an obese chef. You are clearly not objective toward food.”

  Maid Janny muttered, “Then you’re clearly not objective toward gems, dressed like a royal treasury.”

  “Your extrapolations are unpardonable, Maid Janny.”

  “Excuse me, Madam Enchantress.”

  This new voice came from a one-armed man loading barrels into the larder, and I recognized him as the wine merchant. His remaining arm waved to the jewels on my gowns.

  “Such masterful cuts! I was a gemcutter once, you know. They said I was the greatest in Morimound.”

  “Not with one arm.” He could never have held the chisel and the mallet.

  That arm dropped to his side. “My chisel slipped on the hundred and forty-seventh cut of a paragon diamond. I ask you, is it right that a man’s livelihood should be ended because of something that happened in a split second?”

  “Of course it is right.” I thought of a fist-sized diamond, a faceted miracle sent by the gods and destroyed by a man’s blunder. “If you marred a paragon diamond, then they should have cut off more than your arm.”

  His face turned as red as his nose. Veins descended his brows like bolts of blue lightning.

  Spellsword Deepmand lifted a gilded gauntlet toward the merchant. “The elder enchantress meant no judgment. She merely has strong feelings toward gemstones.”

  By Deepmand’s tone, I realized I must have said something offensive and unbecoming to my station. Inwardly, I groaned, wishing that caution outpaced my tongue. Embarrassed, I could do no more than nod to the merchant in apology before leaving the kitchens.

  Outside, I oversaw the replanting of the gardens. Alyla and estate servants joined me in walking the grounds.

  “These purple flowers do not quite match the hue of beryl jewels,” I said. “I suppose I must be satisfied.”

  “I think it’s pretty.” Alyla bent forward to sniff the hydrangea.

  “Careful,” I said to her. “And, confound this heat!”

  My head pounded, and I rubbed my temples, my fingers damp with sweat inside their gloves. Even with four servants waving fans at me, I sizzled in air choked with water vapor.

  Although rain clouds gathered on the horizon, they would only increase the heat’s stickiness. The storms terrorized me, each a reminder of the Flood Wall being deconstructed below. I could only hope that the Ever Always would have mercy and withhold his rainstorms next month.

  “Oh, my!” Alyla said, accepting a bouquet of the purple hydrangeas from a servant.

  “Flowers are a horrible gift,” I said. “They only wilt and die.”

  Seeing Deepmand wince made me realize, to my shame, that I had erred again.

  “But they’re lovely now,” Alyla said. “Thank—”

  One moment, the girl was speaking, and in the next, I found myself in my laboratory.

  Unsettled in the break of continuity, I checked my latest memory. My mirror showed my eyes fluttering as I slumped, my chin hitting my cane.

  I, Elder Enchantress, had fainted. Perhaps no one would notice, I thought, if I returned quickly.

  The diamonds on the dais below my slippers separated as I Burdened myself, the jewels’ sparkling formations stretching downward. With a snap, they returned to their place, and I remained in the laboratory. Consciousness eluded me.

  Anxiety pained my insides as if I had swallowed gemstones with sharp edges. I worried that my gowns might be the death of me. Any water I Created in dream would have no bearing on the real world, as I could not add or subtract matter from reality but only
change its weight and how it was bound together. An Attraction could save me if I gathered water vapor near my unconscious body into my mouth.

  Selectively targeting airborne water with a spell that crossed the dream threshold would tax my abilities. I Created a silver ladle in preparation to hold the enchantment, yet in my desperation, I feared heat stroke might damage my brain before I could construct the requisite magic.

  My amethyst flashed with people calling my name. I had a sense that my real gowns had become sodden, and I left the silver ladle floating to try fleeing the dream once more.

  I awoke as water gushed over my head, and I lifted my drenched headdress to see Maid Janny reach for another bucket.

  “Enough!” I said. “Enough!”

  “Open your mouth,” she said as she hurled the water at me.

  Spluttering, I accepted help to my feet but had to bend over just as fast to vomit. Fortunately, Janny had a bucket in hand.

  My gowns automatically Burdened dirt and water, which wicked off them. Soon I had dried enough that the weight of the water no longer immobilized me, and Janny led me into the manor for some shade and rest.

  As I settled my arms into the silk harness, I noticed Janny taking the key out of the door. She closed it behind her and locked me inside.

  Her shout carried through the keyhole. “You’re not coming out until you promise to drink more.”

  “This is preposterous!” I sat up and drummed my palms against the door. “You cannot trap me in here. All the mothers’ lives depend on me. Open this door. Deepmand!”

  With no rescue forthcoming and not about to comply with Janny’s duress, I settled back to sleep. I had procrastinated on something unsavory for far too long and now would attend to it.

  Under the jewel stars shining through the laboratory skylight, I rotated my mirror parallel to the floor and gazed down to see a dream memory. A reflection of myself labored over the dying Faliti, her belly half-translucent from the enchantment of my blue diamonds. During the procedure, I had manipulated and scanned the interior of the unchild but had sequestered it, rather than spending time analyzing its organs.