The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection

by Scott Hale

  If I’d stayed, she thought, I would’ve never met Joy. Then these words began to echo like a mantra through her head: Sadistic alchemist. Sadistic alchemist. Sadistic alchemist.

  Isla threw The Disciples of the Deep. As she did so, Edgar entered the room, a tome in hand.

  She let out an awkward laugh, arm still extended.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, coming in. “I was never a fan myself. That’s mostly Amon’s.”

  Isla looked past Edgar. No guards as far as she could tell. She backed up to the window, glanced out it. Yeah, they were alone.

  “Thank you for bringing Hex and Sloane back. Forcing the Holy Order to give up the Marrow Cabal and the Compellers was necessary in making sure they knew their place in our city.”

  “Sure,” Isla said. And then, against her better judgment: “my Lord.”

  Edgar went to the shredded chair and took a seat. He laid the tome on his lap. The cushion sank. He fell into the chair, laughing. “Last time I sat in this chair, Amon was at his desk, scheming. Hmm.” He picked at the fabric. “I do miss him.”

  Isla was at the desk now. The symbolism wasn’t lost on her, or him. “What happened to Amon?”

  “Amon was dying, finally,” Edgar said. “Also, Valac ate him.”

  “Oh.” Isla fumbled for her words. “What’s going to happen with the Arachne now?”

  “Now that Ikto’s dead?” Edgar asked. “Nothing. Lotus is the Warden of the Nameless Forest. Most answer to her, regardless. I told Lotus to kill Ikto…” he stared at Isla, “… or to kill you.”

  Isla felt that Rimean chill again.

  “I told her to she could choose the one who she thought would be most useful. I figured she would kill you, because she doesn’t seem to like you, but I guess she changed her mind.”

  “I… I guess… I guess so.”

  Edgar licked his vermillion lips. “This is for you,” he said, setting the tome on the desk.

  Apprehensive, Isla opened the book as if it might try and kill her. Everything else was trying to, apparently. Inside, there were pages after pages of data. Words like murder, sexual assault, and drug use stood out to her. Also, a rudimentary scale for gender; that is, male or female. And numbers, a lot of numbers, with dates and what appeared to be coordinates.

  “I had my people make a copy for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Statistics. As much data as we could gather, qualitative and quantitative, on every village, town, and city. I think we can learn a lot from the Old World. I think a lot of the problems they faced then, we’ll begin to face now, as the continent becomes united once more. Before God, we were split, left to our own devices. But now there will be a definite hierarchy of power, and with power comes corruption, oppression, institutionalized racism, sexism, and violence against minorities.”

  Isla, conflicted by this gift and the revelation she was lucky to be alive, mumbled, “All that’s already happening.”

  “It is, but it will get worse. The Night Terrors are almost wiped out. Their rhetoric turned humanity into the minority, and humanity bought into it.”

  “Are you saying you shouldn’t have started the Great Hunt?”

  Edgar didn’t answer for a moment. Then: “They erupted Kistvaen. I had to give the people something to take their fear out on.

  “I want you to study our data, and when you feel as if you’re ready, present to the council your ideas on how we can avoid letting our New World become the Old. The Night Terrors tried, but genocide is not going to cut it.”

  Isla felt funny. Was this anxiety? Was she nervous? She’d been sure of herself her entire life of everything, and when she wasn’t, it was either met with anger or depression. But what was this fluttering inside her? He’d given her the opportunity to finally do what she’d set out to do all those years ago, when Uncle had made her write a thousand times how useless she was, and now… Now, she didn’t know how to feel. She’d always worried that, when this time came, she wouldn’t know what to say or to do, that it’d all been nothing more than hot air, but no, it wasn’t that. It was almost as if this was too good to be true.

  And then Edgar kept talking, and she realized it might be.

  “I need two more things from you, Isla,” he said, standing. “Joseph Cleon has gotten a free pass on account of having come here with you.”

  Isla opened her mouth, as if to ask Edgar not to hurt him. It surprised her how quickly that concern welled up inside her.

  “He is no longer Penance’s Demagogue, but Eldrus’. I want you to have him go into the city and begin spreading stories about the greatness of Joy and her Choir.”

  “Wait… what?”

  “Absolutely no negativity. He must paint Joy in a positive light. The goal is to have these rumors reach the ‘rich and powerful,’ especially those outside Eldrus. I want them trying to break into Ghostgrave to meet her.”

  “I’m not sure…” Isla lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why?”

  “I can see that you are afraid of her, and you should be.”

  “She doesn’t feel welcome here. She’s going to know something is up.”

  “Exactly,” Edgar said. “Where does she keep her portal to the Void? The torture chamber?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it always open?”

  Isla started to smile. “It is. She has to keep it that way. There’s some… reservoir under Ghostgrave. It’s so the flesh fiends can come and go. Her, too, if she needs to, I guess.”

  “Tell her we’re planning on doing something to her children,” he said. “We’re going to do it, while we have a celebration to celebrate her arrival and services to Eldrus.”

  “There’s going to be a… celebration?”

  “The ‘rich and powerful’ will want one, to meet Felix and Justine. Joy is going to want to feast on them, in every way she can, so let’s go ahead and make her think she can make it about her. And when you tell her we’re going to do something to the fiends… I promise you, she will do something belligerent, thinking that somehow, she’s outsmarted us.”

  Isla couldn’t believe how much of a weight was being lifted from her. She scooped up the tome into her arms and held it against her chest. “Yes, my Lord. Okay.”

  “Also, I’m sure you’ve realized the predicament you’re in.”

  Isla stared at him blankly.

  He shook his head at her, laughed, as if ashamed. “I forced the Holy Child to give up the Marrow Cabal because they were traitors. I could tell he had friends amongst them. Right now, he will not speak to me. But there may come a time when he realizes that we harbor traitors in our midst, too.

  “You, and Joseph, and whatever Winnowers may be left in the Void. If the Holy Child asks me to put you to death, I’d have to, wouldn’t I? That would be fair, wouldn’t it?”

  Isla gulped.

  “Do your part. And don’t utter a word of what was said here to Joy, except for what I told you to tell her. And if that moment ever comes when the Holy Child demands your head, I’ll make sure it stays attached to your neck.”

  CHAPTER XLIII

  Felix felt like a total jerk asking Justine this, given that she was literally falling apart right before his eyes, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Please, can I have your boon again?”

  It was a good thing they were well-guarded; well-guarded, in the way meat could be well-done. There were so many soldiers between them, their quarters, and the rest of Ghostgrave that it was stupid. Overcooked, really, to the point that it only bred the paranoia it was supposed to have burnt out. But for now, it was fine. Because Justine, having used all her power to do the meet-and-greet, wasn’t Justine anymore; at least, not the Justine anyone would know or recognize or not kill on sight. Today, Justine was a head, and the rest of her, a moldering amalgamation of white tentacles and flesh that covered most of the floor and part of the walls.

  As soon as they’d shut and locked the doors behind them, she’d begun melting,
her limbs hanging from her body, stretched and sickly, and slickened with the sweet, clear water that must’ve been her blood. Dutiful as always, Felix had tried to pick up what she’d dropped off, to help put her back together, but it was no use. Whether it was an arm or a leg, or a quivering tentacle, it always managed to wriggle out of his grasp and rejoin the pale mass that’d once been the Mother Abbess.

  Justine didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure she could. Her head looked like a broken vase, and the sum of herself expanded outward from it—a collar in the shape of mating snakes. Her one good eye rolled back in her skull, while the other appeared in her mouth and rooted itself on her tongue.

  Felix cringed. He kept his distance, then found a chair, set himself up in a corner, and sat, elbows to knees, palms to chin. All he was missing was a dunce cap, because at this moment, he felt like a complete dumbass.

  He could’ve run. He should’ve run. With Gemma and Warren, James, or just Justine in the dead of night, he could’ve got away. But he’d doubted himself, and he’d cared too much, and - dare he say it? - trusted too much.

  Clementine was gone. Will was gone. Hex was imprisoned. Sloane was imprisoned. The Marrow Cabal, abandoned. The Compellers, abandoned. Gemma, James, and Warren, forsaken. Narcissus, nearly nothing. The Holy Order had filled the Heartland with mercenary missionaries that, instead of bringing aid, brought tainted food supplies and suicide bombings. And then there was Cathedra, a few hundred people shorter, because of the Bloodless that’d been let loose, for the blood well that Hex had only used as a distraction to disappear.

  Justine had told Felix the point of coming to Eldrus was to slowly absorb the Disciples of the Deep into the Holy Order of Penance by becoming allies. The more the Holy Order appeared to be like the Disciples, the more their changes would go unnoticed, and the longer Lillian would sleep because of it. Eventually, the Holy Order would take over the Disciples, as they had the Lillians after the Trauma, and things would go back to the way they were.

  But after reading through, in his head, that laundry list of fuck-ups, Felix struggled to see what was so special about the Holy Order anymore. If someone who didn’t know any better looked at both religions, they’d have a hard time telling them apart. They were both the same, except one was the original, the other, the remake. Avery and Mackenzie would’ve probably told him to get his eyes checked for being so short-sighted, but he didn’t see the purpose of the Holy Order anymore. And he wasn’t so sure they should be the ones to come out on top when the dust settled. There was no reason for him and Justine to pretend to be gods if they couldn’t do godly things. It’d sounded good, that chilly night on Pyra’s rooftop when she showed herself for the Worm she was, when she said they could save everyone, that kids like him wouldn’t have to suffer people like Samuel Turov. But since then, they’d lost so many, so many times. And the only time they’d actually made a difference? Turned the tide? When Justine had given the Conscription her boon.

  “Felix…” she said, a piece of jaw reattaching to her head. “You don’t… want it.”

  Ready to argue, he stopped. In his mind’s eye, he saw his memories of the battle on the Divide and the red lines crossed through them, like his teachers used to do when correcting his papers. Justine’s boon hadn’t turned the tide of the Divide. Commander Millicent’s number-crunchers had concluded, while twirling their moustaches, that both sides had suffered equal losses, with a thousand survivors for each the Arachne and the Conscription. Her boon hadn’t made them fight better. It’d just made them die better.

  “Why do you call it a ‘boon?’” Felix asked, drawing the chair up to the edge of the Justine pool and sitting on it. “It’s not a good thing.”

  Her head sprouted from the organic sludge, now attached to a neck. “It sounds better than forced martyrdom.” Two hands appeared several feet away where her arms ought to be. “You brought us here. That is all that matters, my love. You are the bravest man I know.” The hands inched along the tentacles, and attached to the wrists and forearms pushing out from below her head. “It hurts me to see how much you must shoulder, and I did this to you…” the forearms reclined; two jagged legs like mountain chains built in the substance of herself, “… because I chose you. But I knew it had to be you.”

  Felix held the White Worm’s sealing stone through his shirt. It was funny that he only remembered he was wearing it when he wanted to use it on her. “Did you know about the Marrow Cabal and the Compellers?”

  “The Compellers? Yes.” The white mass sucked inwards, ballooned outwards, causing the tentacles to flail and break off, until the whole thing took the shape of a fish tail. “They have always been murderers and rapists. Some power and little supervision will do that. But they were our murderers and rapists, and though they were not always loyal, they were always useful.”

  “If they were like that, why did—”

  The tumorous fish tail rolled up into a throbbing ball, curdled and leaking, and with the tentacles along its underside pulled itself between Justine’s legs. The tentacles reached out, stuck to and then pulled on the legs, fixing them to the ball.

  “The Marrow Cabal was a lot of things. Remember what I told you? We could use them as allies—”

  The ball, a swell between Justine’s boneless legs, inched forward, taking her arms.

  “—or we could take them to Eldrus and turn them in. I told you Edgar would want to have their heads.”

  The pregnant torso, with the arms and legs hanging off it, looked like a doll that’d been jammed together with random limbs that didn’t fit. Justine’s neck stretched along the ground. When it touched the torso, it melted into it, joining the two.

  “You also said we would let the Bloodless out in Eldrus, and we’d make the Marrow Cabal take the blame!” he cried.

  Justine shushed him. As fully formed as she was going to get, she pushed herself up, scooted backwards, until her back was in the corner. “You cannot have one plan, Felix. You must have many, because most of them will fall through.”

  He squeezed the white stone necklace harder. “You told me to get to know them,” he pouted.

  “Oh.” She let out a sigh of relief, as her massive belly toyed with the air with its numerous ashen tentacles. “This is about your friends.”

  “You tried to turn Clementine and Will into another Avery and Mackenzie!”

  “I thought it would be good for…”

  “And Gemma’s never going to trust me after this!”

  “I did not realize you liked her in that way.”

  Felix fought to breathe, what with all the words clogging up his throat. He had so many for Justine right now. So many he’d never had before.

  “James is a good guy,” he said. “And… Warren, too, I think.”

  “No love for Hex?”

  “No,” he spat. “Did you… did you know the shepherds would take Clementine and Will away?”

  Justine stared at him for several seconds before saying, unconvincingly, “I didn’t.” She rested her hands on her belly. The tentacles twisted around her fingers. “I just thought it would be nice for you have more… friends. But they are human, the vampyre withstanding, and humans do not last.”

  He laughed, said, while pointing at the mess she was, “And you do?”

  “I have, and I will.”

  “I’m human.”

  “You’re the Holy Child, and my love. You are more.”

  “Guess all I needed was you, in the end.”

  “Felix…”

  He stood, shaking his head. In a dramatic twist, he kicked the chair, sent it spinning into the other room.

  “You were the one who gave the Marrow Cabal up.”

  “You told me to!”

  She smiled in a way that made him want to slap her. “You are the embodiment of god. No one tells you to do anything.”

  “Except you! You’re the…”

  “Embodiment.”

  “…embodiment, too!”

  “Giving E
dgar the Marrow Cabal has put us in his favor. It was the only way to get through the front door, and you know that. Think of the alternative. The Bloodless would be here, possibly unleashed, killing the whole city.”

  “Not if I didn’t agree to that.”

  She eyed him like he wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter. “We are here. Edgar will not harm us. We have thousands of soldiers back home, and many more that can be conscripted, if need be. But it will not come to that, because we are here.”

  “Since you’ve been telling me what to do this whole way, why don’t you just say it? What do I need to do next?” He approached her, going red in the face. “Huh? What next?”

  Wearing a crown of tentacles, painting the corner in the oily runoff of her grotesque pregnancy, her face flashed, like light catching a gem, and mumbled, “I liked you kids better before your balls dropped.”

  That hit so hard it knocked the wind out of him.

  “Audra is here. You have a special connection with her.”

  She’d never said anything like to him before, ever.

  “Find her. She has not given into being Speaker yet. She must still bear a grudge against her brother.”

  She wasn’t even acting like what she’d said was a big deal.

  “You might even be able to free your friends that way. Edgar will do anything to get his Speaker.”

  She’d said you kids, like she was talking about the other Holy Children, too.

  “But we are running out of time.”

  Whenever the Holy Children got too old, they got replaced. How many “chosen ones” had come before him?

  “Lillian will interpret our being here in Ghostgrave as one step closer…”

  Justine trailed off.

  Felix came to.

  She stared at him, vacantly. Her irises began to split like cells into smaller irises. She grabbed the sides of her belly. Suddenly, it sucked inwards. Flattened out like an empty sack, the heft that’d been inside her torso rushed up her neck. Her mouth opened, ripped apart at the edges. The top of her head flapped back and got smashed against the corner. With a guttural groan that rocked the walls, she vomited out a fully-formed woman. The woman smacked into the floor, her frail legs catching at the knees in Justine’s esophagus. Lying there, nude and hairless and just as white as the White Worm herself, Lillian rolled her wrinkled face across the ground until her eyes met Felix’s.