The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection

by Scott Hale

  Felix understood what he was getting at. He was half-tempted to show him the scars of his anxiety on his thighs just to prove it.

  “I’ll show you the place,” James said. “I’m sorry. I’m a wimp.”

  Will said, “Yeah, you are.”

  Clementine cocked her hand back for a slap that’d make him go cockeyed.

  “I’ll go with you,” Will said, putting as much distance between him and his mom as he could.

  James shook his said, “No, no, that’s not—”

  A large moth fluttered into the tent. Felix had never seen anything like it before. It was a deep, dusty purple, and there were white designs on its back that almost looked like skulls. It flew behind Clementine’s head, and when she turned to face it, it was gone.

  She sat there a moment, working on something in her head. Then, her eyes slid to the side, got large and watery, and said to Will, “Alright, that’s the way it’s got to be.”

  Will nodded at his mom.

  James put his hands to his face and rubbed it until it was red.

  “Are you sure?” Felix asked, not understanding what was going on.

  “Yeah—” Clementine got up, met Will halfway, and threw her arms around him, “—it’s for a good cause. Can’t say that about much these days. He’s not much of a fighter, either…”

  Will laughed as he pulled away from her, sniffling his nose.

  “… but he’s got his father in him, so I expect he’ll hold his own.”

  James turned away from everyone. Shoulders slouched, he mumbled, “I better get to work rounding up those disguises, your Holiness.”

  “James, what’s…?” But Felix didn’t bother finishing the question. He realized he hadn’t yet earned the answer to it. Instead, he asked, “Do you know a cabalist named Allister?”

  “Allister?” He looked at Clementine. “I remember him. He joined the Marrow Cabal before we killed the Red Worm. He’s from Nyxis. After the Worm, we sent him here to keep tabs on things, but he went dark. Figured he left the Cabal.”

  “He delivered two letters today to us from Islaos and Bedlam. All they said was that the Compellers had taken over. Why would he have those letters?”

  James cleared his throat and wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Hex made it so if any cabalist cells were compromised, communications would be forwarded to the other towns, to try and keep everyone in the loop, so people could be prepared or go into hiding. If Allister brought those letters, he’s either still in the game or… he stole them. Who did he give them to?”

  “I don’t know. Millicent showed them to me. Islaos and Bedlam are… compromised? By the Compellers?”

  Clementine chimed in: “Didn’t you say morale’s been pretty bad lately with the bombings?”

  “Yeah,” James said. “With us splitting up the army every town, the Commander’s been offloading those soldiers in particular. At least, I think that’s what’s going on. I never saw them again after we got back on the road. The Commander wants Felix guarded by the best. It’s a convenient way to not have to deal with deserters, but it’s leaving them open to being taken in by the Disciples.

  “Rumors are spreading, though. Every town we’ve passed talks about the Disciples bombing their own elsewhere. The Cabal’s making sure to detonate and place the blame in the right places.”

  Will ignored that last part and said, “Of course, the Compellers are taking over. It doesn’t sound like those soldiers would give a shit if they did.”

  Felix doubled the conversation back. “Are you sure the cabalists are targeting the right people when they detonate the Disciple bombers?”

  James shook his head. “It sounds like a lot of innocents are getting killed, too. It looks bad on King Edgar…”

  “And on us if anyone finds out! I don’t want innocent people dying.”

  “Compellers used to come around Gallows,” Clementine said. “Gallows was always a few people lighter by the time they left. They’d either indoctrinate some poor son of a bitch, or we’d end up finding a few dead bodies out by Mr. Haemo’s haunt a week later, all bloodied up. Got no love for Compellers.”

  And I don’t know enough about them to say if I should or shouldn’t.

  “Compellers have always had free rein of the Heartland, though,” James said. “They’ve always been in control.” He furrowed his brow. “What’s different now?”

  “They’re working with the Marrow Cabal, aren’t they?” Clementine said.

  “Yeah…” Felix said, feel like an idiot. “The Compellers were supposed to run the missions, the soldiers to assist them, and the cabalists to gather intel.”

  “But all we’re hearing about is bombings, coming from both sides, on both sides,” James said.

  “Didn’t Hex hire the Compellers when you guys attacked Carpenter Plantation?” Will asked.

  James, laughing in disbelief, said, “Yeah, she sure did. And you know what they did?”

  Nobody answered.

  “I totally forgot. Most of us didn’t realize it because we were inside the plantation, but the Compellers Hex hired? Meat shields. Died just being a distraction. And those that didn’t? They covered themselves in Brimstone, Edgar’s men in Rapture, and when the two touched with all those powders all over them…”

  “Suicide bombers,” Clementine whispered. “This is nothing new for them.”

  “What side are they playing, then?” Felix whispered.

  “Every side,” she said. “No one ever stopped to wonder who’s really running the show while Hex is gone. Warren by default, I guess, but I know it isn’t me or James. Who, then, stepped up to the plate, if not him? Whoever it is, if it’s what it sounds like, they’re batting for their own team.”

  Disguising the ten stone Holy Children couldn’t have worked anywhere else except in a place like Nyxis. It was the last major area before Eldrus, and most of those who had business in the city-state were constantly passing through. This, in combination with Nyxis’ reputation as being a common gathering point for the strange (the Skeleton’s stay here years back had, apparently, increased tourism), made the child-sized living statues with their star-shaped heads and baggy clothes actually somehow, somewhat, blend in.

  Half past the Black Hour, Felix, Will, James, and the ten Holy Children set out for Nyxis. They went the long way to the city, sticking to the fields and farms, trying to minimize their encounters with the graveyard shift guards. Those that’d seen them quickly realized they hadn’t seen anything at all, when Felix flashed his face and said, “If you want to get into heaven, forget we were here.” That made Will laugh, and James loosen up some, and it kept the Holy Children from ripping the guards to shreds.

  It did feel good to finally get away from that carriage, and Narcissus, and Justine, really. Knowing she was locked away, constantly fighting Lillian to stop her from taking over, and not being able to do anything about it yet? It was too much. It would’ve been like if he’d left Audra in her prison cell, and knowing that with every single day that passed, she was suffering, dying. He couldn’t do that to anyone, especially those he cared about. And there was that word again. Care. Caring. Cared. His greatest strength and weakness.

  Felix pulled the hood of his robe farther over his head. He plunged his hands into its pockets, making sure the daggers were still there. Will had a short sword in a sheath at his side, and by the way he kept touching the pommel, Felix could tell he was itching to use it. James appeared unarmed, but Felix had his doubts. The Holy Children actually were unarmed, but given that their arms themselves were their weapons, in a way, they were better equipped than the rest of them.

  James brought them to a torch-lit, covered bridge that spanned a stream outside Nyxis. Giant windmills with decayed vanes ran along the bank, creaking ominously in the humid dark. People shuffled by, oblivious to those whom they were passing. Whether it was the god-drunk addicts with vermillion lips, the meaty brawlers with chewed-up fists, the traders with their worn-down dog ta
gs hanging around their necks, or the tired-eyed citizen just trying to get home without having their pockets turned inside out, their attentions were all fixed on the same thing: Narcissus in the fields.

  “They’re finally here,” one person said.

  “What the hell’s Edgar doing?” someone asked.

  A group of women with tall pointed hats and robes that looked as if they’d been used as cat scratchers hurried down the bridge. The husky woman mumbled, “I’m done going to the missions. Heard they’re poisoning food.” Another, slimmer sister barked, “Who cares about that? I’m not getting blown up.”

  A trader pushing a covered cart in front of him said, “Better stay inside, then. Holy Order’s been bombing places from Hvlav to Maurdras.”

  Felix and the others quickly got out of the way as a bald man chomping on a hunk of vermillion veins hollered, “Jakob! What the hell you doing up here, so far from Nora?”

  “Business is booming along the Spine, literally,” Jakob said. He lowered the cart. Passing into the torchlight, his dense scarring was shown to all. He embraced the bald man. “You old son of a bitch. Hooked on the God stuff, too?”

  He shoved the veins at Jakob. “Try it.”

  Jakob refused, “No, sir. Had my fill of fucked up plants in my life. Need my wits about me when the King comes-a-calling.”

  “What’d you say about the King, eh?” someone asked, a threatening shape in the shadows.

  The figure emerged. Another seed mutation. His head was a crown of vermillion veins. He wore a lot of jewelry, and everyone went quiet around him.

  “Come on,” James whispered, urging them across the bridge, into Nyxis.

  Beneath the spell-scorched sky, each part of Nyxis seemed desperate to touch distant Eldrus. The city wasn’t obsessively laid-out like Cathedra, nor was it a sprawling country of burrows like Penance. Nyxis was a scroll painting; a flat image, story-like in aesthetic, that built like a wave, from the mansions on the crests, to the row houses in the troughs. Everything was pushed forward, inward and upward; as if at some point the city planner had imagined a living bridge spanning from Nyxis to Eldrus, to close the cultural divide between the city-state and the rest of the Heartland.

  Several soldiers bearing the tentacle-wreathed eye of the Disciples on their breasts marched into view. Felix and the others quickly ducked into an alley where a couple of rats were pushing around some garbage. They waited until the soldiers passed.

  “There’re two missions,” James said. “Always two.” He peeked his head out of the alley to make sure the soldiers weren’t in earshot. “One for the public, and the other is secret. Only a few know its location.”

  “Do you?” Will asked.

  “It’s down by the abattoir, last I heard.” James leaned out of the alley again, looked both ways; he was losing his cool. “We’ll need a distraction.”

  “Wait,” Felix said. “What—”

  Two handsy men, each with their hands plunged down the front of the others pants, stumbled into the alley. They both dropped to their knees at the same time, bonked their heads accidentally, then fell backwards, laughing hysterically.

  “You first,” the one said.

  “Oh, no, no, be my guest.”

  James grunted, said, “Dudes, get the hell out of here.”

  The two men jumped, shrieked, and laughed some more.

  “What the hell are you all doing in—”

  One of the Holy Children stepped forward and dropped its hood. Faster than seemed possible, it grabbed a rat off the ground, squeezed it until its head exploded, and hurled the tiny, flea-covered body at the men.

  They hurried out of the alley, their pants down around their asses. The city swallowed them seconds later.

  Will gasped. “Holy Child.” Then, staring at Felix: “I mean…”

  “Don’t… do that!” Felix cried.

  The statue put its hood back on.

  “I don’t know about them…” James jerked away as a few statues inched towards him for saying that. “What… what were you going to say, Felix?”

  “What’s the deal with the Marrow Cabal? Clementine was right. Who’s running it? Are you getting reports?”

  James looked hurt. “I’m loyal to you, your Holiness.”

  Will said nervously, “I… we don’t have a lot of time. Can we not do this…?”

  “As far as I know, the Marrow Cabal is doing exactly what you asked it. It is gathering intelligence on the Disciples’ movements and reporting them to me, which I am sharing with the Commander. They are singling out suicide bombers and turning them against Edgar’s soldiers. I get reports every day, your Holiness, about these things. No one is running the Marrow Cabal since Hex has been gone. Like Clementine said, Warren’s probably doing his best. Really, its sleepers have always worked well on their own. It’s the only way our organization can work, when we’re so scattered and covert. I gather the data, and Warren and Gemma have been busy making sure we’re established in every locale along the way. They’re often playing catch-up with us after raiding the seed farms. I rarely see them, just as I haven’t seen you for weeks since today.”

  I was afraid to leave the carriage. Can you blame me?

  “You gave everyone a job, and everyone’s doing it. No one’s heard anything from you or the Mother Abbess since.”

  Felix could feel the veins in the side of his head throbbing. Anger mixed with self-loathing into a volatile mixture that would have him spewing vitriol at James. But instead, he kicked his heel against the wall, stared off at nothing particularly, and said, “I don’t know what I’m doing, damn it!”

  James glanced at Will.

  Will, getting antsier, started towards the mouth of the alley.

  “That’s what war is. Bigwigs giving orders that don’t make any sense, expecting the grunts to figure them out.” He bent down, went face to face with Felix. “Truth is, I don’t know what the Cabal is really doing. In none of the reports I get are the Compellers ever mentioned. That makes no sense to me. So, I don’t know what the Compellers are doing, either.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me? I figured you knew!” Felix cried.

  “Your god’s voice,” James said. “I can’t do that. Someone’s ordering people around. Must be the Mother Abbess.”

  No, I’m not the voice, he thought. This is my fault. I told them god wanted us to go to Eldrus. And they’ve been blind this whole time, following bad orders. I’m so stupid.

  “Hey, your Holiness—” James squeezed Felix’s shoulder, “—we’re going to find out what’s going on, together, right now, okay? Maybe this all part of god’s plan, you know?”

  Felix put his hand over James’.

  “We might find out some things you don’t want to hear about the Marrow Cabal and the Compellers, things they’ve been doing under your banner,” James said. “But that’s war. I know you want to be sure. I do, too. I want to make sure I’m on the right side still, because if I’m not…” He laughed. “I’m putting in an application with you. Just promise me it won’t be a group interview. Can’t stand those.”

  Felix smiled and shook his head.

  “If we find out something bad, just remember what you told me.”

  “What?”

  “That she’s worth it.”

  Felix laughed-cried and, collecting himself, said, “You mentioned a distraction?”

  Like any good mission, this one required improvisation. The changes were simple; so simple, Felix wished he’d thought of them. Coming out of the alley, James had five Holy Children take off their disguises. Once the people of Nyxis saw the statues, they need only put two and two together (the statues plus Narcissus in the farmlands) to fall into a gossipy furor about the Holy Child being somewhere in their sleepless city at this late hour. The five would lead the growing crowd through the city, until they eventually arrived at the Compeller’s public mission on Novn Avenue. There, they’d tease and irritate the crowd with their stony silence, hopefully drawing into
the fold any Compellers and cabalists in the nearby area.

  “Don’t kill anyone,” Felix told the five disrobed statues.

  They cocked their star-shaped heads as if he’d just insulted their mothers.

  A few seconds out of the alley and the whispers and shouting had already started.

  “What’s that?”

  “What are they?”

  “What… does that mean?”

  “Look, look.”

  “I think the Holy Child’s…”

  “Oh, no, the Disciples aren’t going to like this.”

  “I got to get a look at him.”

  Felix, James, Will, and the other five went the opposite way down the alley, deeper into Nyxis. The streets rose and fell, like the waves they resembled, and wrapped around the burrows nesting in the hills. They were eyed, stopped, and questioned every few minutes, either by Disciples, drug peddlers, or territorial meatheads with bruised egos. It should’ve scared Felix, but it exhilarated him, instead. The sour sensation of adrenaline made his mouth pucker and his muscles tense. To these suspicious strangers, he could’ve been anyone, and for the longest time, he’d thought he’d hate it. But he didn’t. Not all the way. He kind of liked it, especially when they’d back down or get out of the way, or kept hurling insults and threats but from a safe distance. The Holy Child could only be one thing, but as Felix with his mysterious few, he could be so much more.

  Felix and his mysterious few. Sounds like a good band name.

  By the time they reached the abattoir, a bell pealed from back the way they’d come. He caught a glimpse of torches and lanterns hanging from disembodied limbs swimming through this cobblestone sea. The distraction wouldn’t last for much longer. He had to get back before word reached camp that he was supposedly in Nyxis. The last time he turned up somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, Justine had the whole town of Cadence butchered. He couldn’t have that again.

  Felix was glad the secret mission wasn’t that close to the abattoir. Even out on the street, thick stone walls between them, he could hear the livestock inside, rustling, rummaging; crying out into the night, their voices familiar only because his mind assumed they must be cows, pigs, or chickens, but they didn’t sound like any of those at all. It was all too… hot; warped, the way things get when left out in the sun. It was all the pounding, too; it wasn’t stopping them from begging for their lives, just making them quieter and quieter, like how Mackenzie’s voice used to do when she’d noticed Felix falling asleep to one of her bedtime stories. He wanted to turn away and plug his ears up with his fingers, but he couldn’t. The abattoir drew him in as much as it pushed him away; caught between giving a care and a cuss.