Brood of Bones

by A. E. Marling

  Tethiel stood in the doorway, a black triangle on his brow. His hands were raised.

  Then I understood: I had not hallucinated but seen an illusion, which had frightened my attackers to death. Tethiel had begun Feasting for my sake, counter to all his plans, and as I spluttered blood, I dreaded that I would be but the first Morimound woman of thousands to die.

  Tethiel began to bloat, his head and body expanding and stretching upward while his arms thickened into trunks. More fingers sprouted beside his thumbs on his palm, and all his digits sharpened into black fangs; his hands were enlarging into the jaws of monsters.

  Now I knew why they said the Lord of the Feast had three heads. The sight froze me and obstructed my breath, although that might have been the blood in my chest.

  With a yell, he slammed his hands to the ground and pinned them under his knees. The teeth at the end of his arms gnashed while he bent forward to vomit a dark fluid. The tar-colored ooze rippled over the floor then melded into shadows.

  As he retched out more darkness, Tethiel shrank back to normal size. Fangs diminished to bent fingers, and the black triangle receded into his skull.

  “Hiresha!”

  He scrambled to me. I had fallen to my side, gagging, and he rolled me forward, holding my head and shoulders steady as I coughed blood. While I gasped, he cradled me and wiped my mouth.

  “Can you heal yourself, in your dream?”

  I had never heard of someone falling asleep with her throat cut, yet if anyone could, she would be me. When I nodded, my neck stung.

  “Then you must sleep. You will sleep and heal yourself.”

  Hearing him say it made it almost sound plausible. I relaxed my grip on my neck and forced my eyes closed. Aware of blood sliding down my esophagus, I saw the stair leading to my dream dripping with red. The steps multiplied, the stair twisting and knotting itself into a maze that I could never hope to traverse before I drowned in my own blood.

  I waved my hand and willed the stair back to straightness, the one hundred steps leading down to safety. As I began to descend them, blood trickled after me, slicking the steps and forcing me to worry what would happen if I fell from the stair into the darkness on either side.

  By step thirty-five, blood sheeted down the stairs, and I was wading downhill. My foot slipped, and I tumbled five steps and began to slide off the edge. I threw my arms over the wet steps, hauling myself back onto them and wobbling to my feet.

  Stooping for a lower center of gravity, I flattened each foot on the step ahead of me before trusting any weight to it. This grew impossible by step seventy-one, as the blood flow had increased into a red waterfall. I did not so much walk as was swept down the last steps, relying on flailing and willpower to stay on the stair.

  The hundredth step approached, and I feared that if I went past it then I would hurl downward into nothingness. Jumping too soon would result in waking to death, and with blood preventing proper footing, I was unsure if even leaping at the right moment would grant me sufficient clearance to reach the dream.

  Above the ninety-ninth step, I heaved my legs downward into the blood.

  My feet connected with the hundredth step and sent me soaring.

  A moon shaded of amber and spessartine gems shone in the jeweled sky above me, and I stood amid broken basalt. From the rubble lifted my operations table; I replicated myself onto it, and with golden clamp in hand, I sealed her throat shut.

  I Attracted the blood out of the replica’s lungs, throat, and gowns, forming it into a weightless, gelatinous globe. The blood siphoned in and out of my sapphire jar, purifying, and two streamlets returned to the replica’s veins through incisions in her wrists, where I had Repulsed her skin open.

  Meanwhile, rocks levitated below me, reforming into the island of stone. Blocks of basalt swirled around the operations table, fitting together into a round foundation. While I repaired the veins in her neck, we rose higher into the night, and the walls of the laboratory rebuilt. My spell baubles arranged themselves on their shelves around me, jewels whirling down through a newly formed skylight.

  As I angled pins around her throat and wrists to stimulate healing, elation filled me. I felt that I, similar to my jewels and baubles, glowed with a golden warmth.

  The replica laughed with a high, tinkling sound. I scowled down at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but we are marvelously happy.”

  “I have no right to be,” I snapped.

  “The laboratory is rebuilt, and we are whole.”

  “I will thank you to stop moving.” I set another six pins in place in the air, and my mind raced. “Tethiel may no longer be able to kill the Soultrapper, as he revealed himself by saving me.”

  “Goodness! Then what can we do?”

  I checked over my work then embedded all my spellcraft into the red diamond. The jewel had the capacity to hold this enchantment as well as the one that dissembled Bone Orbs, and wearing it would keep my throat from opening until the tissue units had a chance to mend.

  Hovering over the diamond dais, I considered what I could do upon waking, if anything. The realization that I would prefer the coming of the Seventh Flood troubled me no little amount, and I was shocked I could willingly sacrifice so many.

  I wanted my people to live, yet as soon as the Soultrapper died, the Bone Orbs would kill all the women who carried them. To prevent that, I would have to draw him into my dream alive, an impossibility that he would never allow; I needed a hundred seconds to fall asleep, and his touch could putrefy me to death in about ten seconds.

  No, the only hope for Morimound lay in Tethiel and the Seventh Flood, a catastrophe I was no longer certain lay within his ability.

  I awoke in Tethiel’s arms.

  Night Forty-Two, Third Trimester

  “I have witnessed a marvel.” Tethiel gazed down at my throat and wrists. “Hiresha, yours is the most wonderful of magics.”

  He lifted his arms halfway up to help hoist me to my feet. I peered at his hands, yet they showed no signs of transmogrifying.

  My throat was dry and tender as I spoke. “You said you could not stop Feasting once you began.”

  “It seems I can.” He lifted one hand to waist-level and flexed its fingers. “So long as I focus on you.”

  My face heated, and I felt lightheaded as if after hyperventilating. “You are stronger than you thought.”

  “No, weaker.” He picked up my cane and handed it to me. “If I had been stronger, I would’ve let you die.”

  “That is an impolite thing to say.” His rudeness recalled me to my senses, and my dizziness dissipated. I walked over the dead follower, out of my prison, and into the hall.

  Tethiel made way for my parade of gowns. “Now the Soultrapper may kill me as I approach, or as I kill him. Upon my death, my children will cast illusion into homes and slaughter many, perhaps even you. No, you first of all, Hiresha. They can be jealous.”

  “Then I must hope you live.”

  Although I had Attracted all the blood from my gowns, they still felt unclean, dangerously unwieldy, and entrapping. Even in the hall, I felt stifled by the close walls; I needed fresh air and openness. After days spent worrying that Morimound had been destroyed by flood or Bone Orbs, I had to reassure myself that civilization yet remained. I had to know that deluges had not yet washed away our homes, and women yet lived.

  Remembering Kishala had mentioned a roof garden, I ventured upstairs for a commanding view. Tethiel hesitated then climbed the steps after me, although the train of my gowns prevented his following with any closeness. With him clothed in simple acolyte garb, I felt foolish wearing a conglomerate of colored silks. My cane tapped its way ahead of me; we reached the third flight, and I realized the rain would drench us. Yet, when I opened a door onto the roof, a full moon beamed through a break in the clouds.

  Bright and enormous from its light refracting off water vapor, the moon turned the night into a silvery day. The White Ziggurat sparkled above us, and pas
t the shadows of groves and gardens, I spotted the roof steeples of Sunchase Hall.

  I asked, “The Soultrapper will have sensed your magic, from my manor?”

  “As a distant feeling of doom.” Tethiel walked along a stone path to where I stood at the edge of the building. “He would also have felt the loss of the dominated guard, perhaps of his follower, too. He might be inexperienced enough to confuse the sensations and believe you enchanted them to death.”

  “Then you may yet surprise him.”

  “Or he’ll recognize my magic and disbelieve my attack long enough to turn me into a sack of meat pudding.”

  His perfectly symmetrical face was calm, and I noticed that without the powder, he appeared far less deathly. Now only his slouch flawed his figure; the weight of his magic had ruined him as my somnolence had ruined me.

  “You do not appear in the least afraid,” I said.

  He snorted. “Dying will be a relief. It’s the mess that comes after that troubles me.”

  Thoughts of death and the Soultrapper tensed me to the point that my abdomen ached, and my heart sped to two hundred beats per minute. To relax myself, I breathed in air cleaned by rain and sweetened by jasmine.

  I asked, “Will you attack tonight? I worry he may harvest more Bone Orbs for power.”

  “I will, but before I place my life on the betting table, I have one last request.” He lifted a hand to me, and shadows around us fluttered as if a wind buffeted our clothes. “To dance with the greatest enchantress on Loam.”

  The night must have been a sweltering one because at that moment my gowns heated to an insufferable degree.

  “This is not,” I said, finding myself short of breath, “well, it’s hardly a proper time.”

  “True, but it may be our last.”

  “There is no music.”

  “With you, I could do without.”

  Our shadows ebbed and flowed as if we already danced.

  “I could never dance in these gowns,” I said quietly.

  As heat morphed into nausea, I questioned my unwillingness to dance. I needed Tethiel’s cooperation to remove the Soultrapper; if in return he wished to indulge in an admittedly absurd waste of time then I might consider agreeing to the exchange, before I fainted from the heat in these terrible gowns. Dancing, I reasoned, although imprudent, would likely not result in any lasting harm.

  “No, I could never dance in these gowns. Therefore, they must be removed. I insist that they be excised, using my enchanted sword.”

  When he grasped my hand, a prickling sensation rose up my arm, along with a soothing coldness. I attributed the feeling to his magic.

  For the first time, he smiled without restraint. He straightened his shoulders, and his whole aspect changed, becoming a man emblazoned by unguarded courage and naïve lightheartedness.

  “Hold steady,” he said.

  A blade flashed to my right, from a dandy swordsman who had stepped from the shadow of a fruit tree. He substantiated himself out of nothing, or so his illusions would have me believe.

  I said, “Slice away all but the innermost gown, the sixth layer.”

  The enchanted sword split through silk and gold thread with a sound like wind whistling through the reeds of rice plants. My gowns peeled apart, and I shrugged my shoulders out of the plethora of sleeves and stepped into the open.

  Twenty-six gowns deflated behind me, sinking to the ground in a glittering heap. Now I wore next to nothing, only one single gown.

  I dropped my cane. I had no more need of it.

  When I pulled off my headdress, my scalp tingled, reminding me of gliding headfirst into gusts in my dream. On impulse, I removed the pins from my hair bun, and my locks fell to my shoulders. Tethiel guided me to a wider stretch of garden path; jasmine flowers on the rooftop shone white. A fountain shimmered with water. Fresh air trespassed through my sleeves and up my skirt to breeze between my dress and skin.

  “By casting elegance aside, Hiresha, you wear more than ever.” He touched the red diamond hanging on its necklace amid polished amethysts at the center of my chest.

  Since I could not seem to meet his eyes, I stared instead at the collar of his robes. “I admit, I constructed this gown myself, using equations for ideal aesthetics.”

  “And you hid it until now? A tragedy.”

  I drew in a breath as his fingers slid around my waist to clasp me by the small of my back. When I lifted my hands to lay them on his shoulders, amethysts on my sleeves sparkled darkly in the pale light.

  Bats dove overhead; crickets chorused, and moths fluttered. We moved around in a slow circular manner, and because we went nowhere, the dancing was pointless. Yet his closeness increased my self-awareness, how silk flowed over my skin like water, the delightful prickling of the gems through my dress; the synchronicity of our movements even granted a certain manner of pleasure.

  Our closeness caused an even greater amount of fright. I felt vulnerable. Touching him felt wrong, when Tethiel would soon begin to Feast, to harm the Soultrapper, yes, but also perhaps many of my people. I worried I would remember this night with him forever, even when awake.

  Of course, if anyone saw me dancing with the Lord of the Feast, my reputation would be null. I took reassurance in knowing that the Feaster swordsman would cleave any witness in half with my enchanted blade.

  “You might now guess,” he said, his breath lifting strands of my hair across my brow, “the reason I began Feasting.”

  “Given the timing of that statement, I deduce you used it to save someone’s life.”

  “As I said, it reflects most negatively on me. I thought I could use the magic to do good.”

  I asked, “Your magic failed you?”

  “Once I had a home, as you do. A land, and a people who I called family.”

  He had meant “whom I called family,” yet I decided I would not correct him.

  “We were attacked, and I thought I could protect them by reaching into darkness.” The shadows trembled around us, and whether conscious of it or not, he tightened his grasp, drawing me closer. “I defeated the invaders but horrified my people. They exiled me, leaving me with nothing but my magic’s hunger. Bright Palms led the next invasion, to draw me out. I survived. My homeland did not.”

  I remembered the ulcerating pain I had felt when my people hated me for building the Flood Wall. How much greater that suffering would be, I thought, if I lost Morimound forever to the Soultrapper, as Tethiel had lost his people to the sword.

  A tear rolled down his expressionless face. It landed on my hand, surprising me with its heat.

  “My magic failed me as well,” I said. “It has never cured my somnolence.”

  “But you never need be ashamed of it.” His chin now brushed the hair draping over my ear. “Your magic has never goaded you, never punished you for every good deed. Your magic is pure.”

  I thought of my wish to have never encountered my magic, to have never experienced lucidity and known the full poverty of my waking hours. A sadness filled me, an ache I knew Tethiel shared. As he had once lost everything, so would I, tonight; either Tethiel would succeed in bringing about the Seventh Flood and slay most of the city, or Morimound would become enslaved by the Soultrapper.

  “My magic failed me,” I said. “And failed my people.”

  I had no power to save them and would be forced to accept the terrible cleansing of the Seventh Flood. I wanted to believe I could do something to protect Alyla, Sri, and the rest, yet to do that I would need to fall asleep with the Soultrapper; the unattainable desire crushed me, heavier than all my gowns had been.

  My tears astonished me, flowing in rivulets down my face. I slid my arms off Tethiel’s shoulders, meaning to step away from him. He did not release me, although I was unsure if he clung to me for my sake or his own.

  His fingers at my back felt more like claws, each a pinprick that set hair on end all over my body. I was beginning to feel overbalanced by the sensations transmitted through the sin
gle gown; his arms held me, and his chest brushed against mine. Why, without even any gloves on, I could run a finger down his neck and feel the warmth of his skin.

  I felt naked. I felt powerful.

  The second emotion I found inexplicable but also undeniable. I thought of the opportunities that would open to me by wearing barely anything. In one gown I had the chance of ascending ladders, and I would not require the support of a cane. By extension, I allowed myself to analyze if any further benefits could be gained by removing the twenty-seventh gown.

  An idea jolted me with such force that I gasped in his arms.

  He leaned back to look into my eyes. “What is it, Hiresha?”

  “Tethiel,” I said, “I can save everyone.”

  “I thought it was impossible,” I said, “yet I only have to fall asleep with sufficient surface area of my skin touching the Soultrapper’s skin. In my laboratory, I will have control.”

  “Your laboratory? What is this?” He took a step back, his fingers sliding off the small of my back but still holding me. “You mean your dream? You think you can trick him into bedding you?”

  “He wears an open vest. I need only lean against his chest...” I grimaced at the thought of touching his oiled breasts. “...and fall asleep, and he would not know what I was doing until he found himself in my dream.”

  “I think the Soultrapper would very well know an enchantress was falling asleep on his lap.”

  “He would never recognize me, not with short hair. Not if I wore no clothes.” I gulped. “He will believe I am one of the boys he forces to wear women’s clothing.”

  “If you were nude, he could hardly mistake you for a boy.”

  “Do you think me a slattern? I will be wearing my undergarments!”

  “You’d be a model of propriety in them, I’m sure, but remember, sometimes men’s eyes stray and accidentally look at faces.”

  “I will paint my face. Hide it like you hid yours.”

  “That can only go so far.” His gaze roamed up my body. “And I still cannot believe anyone could mistake you for a boy.”