Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  Kath looked back.

  “Go,” he said.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “You’re supposed to help me. You can’t do that if you’re dead.”

  “I can’t help you if you’re dead, either,” he barked.

  No. It won’t end like this.

  The night wind threw dust and debris out of the Bonelands. Thunder ripped at the sky like the snapping of a massive bone. Memory of her dreams came at her, the Black Tower, the circle of Skullborn children, the dark lightning.

  Kath took up position beside a rock, readied his axe, and cursed when he realized he’d left the crossbow down below. All he had as a backup weapon was his dagger.

  Ijanna stared at the thar’koon blades. They were cold and thin, dark metal striated with veins of white. Power pulsed through the weapons. Veilcraft had been used to construct the artifacts, which had been forged with the specific purpose of tracking down the Blood Queen. That meant it had to contain some trace of her power…power she could use.

  The fires were dying. The Chul were just edged shadows in the moonlight as they ascended.

  Ijanna focused. The deathly chill of the Veil flowed up from the blades and into her arms. She felt her heart slow, and blood pulsed thickly through her veins. Everything seemed to fade, like she drifted on the surface of a turgid sea.

  The Chul’s Skull of the Moon was more than some magic emblem: it was a runic key which unlocked the potential in their bodies and minds, a means by which they tapped into their own primal energies. The Veil coursed through the deepest recesses of every human soul, for it was the power source which allowed people to live. That innate energy was impossible to tap into even by mages, save in the rarest of circumstances.

  The Skull of the Moon uses those energies, Ijanna realized. It was similar to dae’vone, the dreamwalking. The Chul’s vile sorcery and dae’vone were just two ways of reaching the same untapped power, that vast web of dormant magic strung between all living beings. And since the thar’koon were designed with trace elements of that power embedded in their folded steel, I have a direct conduit to the energy the Chul are using to make themselves unstoppable.

  She closed her eyes. The power of the thar’koon pulsed in her hands. She opened her mind to the sky, felt the night bleed into her. When she took a breath she imagined herself swallowing moonlight.

  Kath called out, but his voice was distant and faded. Ijanna felt her thoughts turn molten. The pulse of her heart sounded in the distance, a beat of thunder.

  The Chul were upon them. Kath snarled and braced himself. A blade took him in his side, but he knocked the weapon away and put his axe-blade through the man’s head.

  Her consciousness floated above the battle, a spirit of fog and vapor. Centuries of power roiled through her blood. Ijanna saw flashes of violence, black fires burning in the night. She saw the girl, and the tree. Her mind cast to the dreamscape, and there, mired in the sea of unconscious energies, she came upon the pale and dripping beacons of the Chul.

  Time was running out. Ijanna squeezed through the frames of seconds and rushed back into her body. Utter cold lanced across her skin and turned her bones to ice.

  Her eyes opened. The last few Chul glowed in her vision, their runic masks shining bright like exploding stars. Power hammered through her mind. She glimpsed through the doorways to the untapped Veil in the Chul’s souls, doors opened by the Skull of the Moon masks they’d painted on their flesh. She sensed more than just those few: there were others who wore the arcane war paint, scattered far and wide as they carried out murderous missions for the Witch Mother.

  Ijanna reached for them all. Physical distance was intangible, nothing more than an inconvenience. They’d all tapped into that power and left themselves vulnerable to mirror shards of nightmare, repressed memories of torture and pain.

  She smelled their skin cook and felt their hearts stop. Not all of them were affected – a few of the more powerful Chul managed to pull away in time – but most fell to the ground dead, their minds shredded from within.

  Sensation returned to her body. Blood dripped from her nose and the breath escaped from her lungs.

  Twenty-Seven

  Kath couldn’t believe his eyes. If he still held any doubts as to how powerful Ijanna was they were easily wiped away after he watched her kill a half-dozen Chul with just a thought.

  Their bodies slumped to the desert floor, still charred and bloodied from being set alight and falling into the trench. Kath had taken serious wounds in his shoulder and thigh, as well as a nasty gash across his face and another cut on his left hand. It hurt to breathe, and every motion made him wince in pain. He grew more dizzy by the second, but he stumbled over to Ijanna as she stood stunned, seemingly drained of her strength.

  “Ijanna,” he said as he fell next to her. He wanted to keep falling and never get up. Every time he thought he’d been through the worst of it another jolt of hurt lanced down his limbs, rattling his teeth and making him hiss. His eyes squeezed shut in agony.

  Ijanna collapsed just before he reached her. Kath took her head in his hands. She was sweaty, almost feverish, her blonde hair pasted to her scalp. Her breaths came quick and shallow, and she seemed to have passed out.

  He heard a scream from down in the trench. He’d dropped his axe, so he gently set Ijanna down on the ground and struggled over to his weapon. The pain from his shoulder and leg were so intense he thought he’d be sick.

  Axe in hand, Kath rose to his knees and stared down the stony hill. A shadow made its way out of the rift and moved in the opposite direction.

  “Ijanna, get up,” he said quietly. She lay there, shaking as if seized by a terrible chill. “Ijanna, please…I need you to wake up.”

  What did you do? he wondered. And what did it cost you? All he could tell was that she’d somehow used the thar’koon, and that had granted her the ability to release some form of magic that had struck all of those cannibal bastards down. What the hell am I supposed to do now? He wondered if there was some way he could heal her.

  He watched the shadow recede into the darkness at the edge of the clearing below. There was no way he could pursue the killer, but Kath kept his eyes on the fleeing figure while he tore strips of cloth from his shirt so he could tie tourniquets around his arm and leg. He was losing a lot of blood, and Kath knew if he didn’t staunch the flow quickly he wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  Once he tied off his wounds – the tourniquets were sloppy, but he was in so much pain he didn’t care – he gulped down several mouthfuls of water from his canteen. The clouds were returning, and they blanketed the moon and darkened the landscape. He kept an eye out for the last Chul, and he only hoped the man was too injured from the fire and whatever Ijanna had done to him to have any fight left in him. Kath wasn’t sure if he was up to another battle.

  He remembered one of his scouting patrols, an early assignment with the Ebonmark Watch. He, Gorg and Jurok had been riding the south road, one of the lesser trails used by small bands of merchants out of Jorgaveth. Most of the job had been waiting – waiting on people they’d been sent to escort, for bandits to attack, for signs of Tuscars. Sometimes it was nerve-wracking, and it was usually boring, but being on those patrols had helped make Kath patient and taught him to carry on even when he was smothered by a sense of fear.

  Goddess, those times were simple compared to what I’m going through now.

  Ijanna didn’t wake. Time passed while Kath bandaged himself up, and though he’d watched for the Chul survivor he’d also kept a close eye on Ijanna to make sure she was still breathing. He didn’t have the strength to put his armor back on so he sat there shirtless.

  Kath tried to decide what to do about Ijanna. He knew little of the Veil aside from what she’d told him, and even less about the thar’koon. If there was some way he could help her he didn’t know what it was.

  He gently removed Ijanna’s cloak, set part of it under her head and covered her with the rest. He opened his canteen and
tried to get her to drink, but the water just ran down the side of her face. She murmured something, so quiet that even when he put his ear close to her mouth he still couldn’t make out the words.

  Kath thought about home. He thought of Drogan and Calestra, of Julei and her nameless cat. He thought of his mother. He wanted so much for them to be together again, all of them, but that time was past, and would never come again.

  Ijanna’s hand suddenly shot out and took hold of Kath’s arm. He jumped in fright. Her eyes were shut, but she gripped him as if seized with terror. He grimaced as she clawed into his skin.

  Something was happening inside her. Wisps of black smoke escaped from between her lips. She breathed deep, and for a moment he thought she was going to gag, but she just lay there and held onto him, and for some reason he feared that if he broke contact it would somehow harm her.

  He heard something. Kath turned, axe in hand, and looked out through the stones. The plains to the north stretched on forever. Clefts of rock and gnarled trees shook in the wind, and shadows danced across the broken desert landscape. His eyes went back to the hill and he realized with horror that the last Chul was headed straight for them, but he was still at some distance and moved slow.

  Kath’s heart hammered. He stood up and leaned against one of the rocks. Blood pounded in his ears and his axe felt too heavy.

  I can’t just sit here, he thought. He had to intercept that bastard and keep Ijanna safe. Fear iced through his gut, and for a moment he thought he was going to retch, but Kath thought of his family. I’m going to see them again, he thought. I can do this.

  Gritting his teeth in pain, Kath hobbled down the hill, keeping his eyes locked on the Chul as he drew to within a few hundred yards. He had to move carefully so he didn’t fall. Every step was agony, and the cut on his face stung beneath each snap of the wind. He imagined he looked half a corpse, especially without his armor on.

  The air was almost silent. Even the wind faded as he made his way down the slope. Kath silently prayed.

  Corvinia, grant me the strength to do what must be done. Give me the courage and resolve to face this foe, and all the foes I’ve yet to face in the name of what is good. Forgive me, Goddess, for all of my weaknesses, but I am ever your humble servant. It’s been a long while since I’ve asked for your help, and for that I beg your forgiveness. These are confusing times for me. All I want is to do what’s right.

  He felt his strength returning. Blood flowed beneath his bandages, and his face felt like broken glass, but in spite of his pain he was revitalized.

  With a last glance at Ijanna he carried on down the hill.

  Twenty-Eight

  Mother, Kol thought. Please. Help me.

  Kol, leader of the band of Chul who until recently had resided in the city of Ebonmark, where they’d kept to the shadows and preyed on the weak while searching for the Dream Witch, stumbled up the hill in agony.

  Pain rippled across his body. They’d never imagined the Dream Witch was so powerful. Echoes of hurt sliced through to his very soul. Each step was like walking on burning coals, even with the Skull of the Moon…because of the Skull of the Moon.

  She somehow turned it against it – our own power, our own weapon.

  Kol’s fleshless face stung like fire. Dirt and sand had pasted to the raw blood. He’d had no choice but to tear the skin away – he sensed the sharp energy tearing through his mind, felt the force hammering at the inside of his skull, and he had to remove the threat to his life before it was too late. He tasted his own blood, choked on pieces of his skin. Sticky flesh clung to the insides of his fingernails.

  He delighted in pain, feasted on it, whether it was his own or that of another, but Kol had never felt torment such as this. Terrifying emotions he’d kept suppressed since his conversion to the Chul all came rushing back at him. He was weakened by waves of desolation and loss. Tears of blood streamed down his face, bitter to the taste and hot as acid on his mangled cheeks.

  He advanced up the slope with his curved longsword in hand. The blade was serrated along its back edge, the hilt protected by a clawed guard. He’d killed dozens with that weapon, and before his time was done he’d kill again.

  As terrible as the pain was, he wouldn’t let it overwhelm him.

  I am Kol, leader of the Ebonmark pact, strongest of the Witch Mother’s Chul warriors. And no magic-yielding whore will best me.

  Haunting images flashed through his mind, pain that wasn’t his, memories belonging to others. Kol was reliving the dying moments of all of the people he’d killed.

  He saw his own face, the pale visage stained with scars and fetishes, teeth filed to points, dark hair pulled back with clasps of silvered bone. He saw blood run from his mouth as he snarled in fury, felt his own hands reach into his body and pull an unborn child from his torn womb. He saw himself gnaw on a foot as it dangled from tendrils of sinew and blood, ram his blade in and out of his stomach, stalk through the dark for a crying child he intended to torture and kill.

  Kol felt other people’s fear and pain over and over again, saw himself through his victim’s eyes, felt his body torn, his entrails ripped free, the last breath of life squeezed from his mouth

  No!

  Pappa?

  A voice froze him in place and echoed through his body like poison. At first he thought it was just another fragment from someone else’s dream, a vestige of one of his victim’s minds, but it only took him a moment to realize that wasn’t the case.

  It can’t be her.

  Kol’s blade sent up sparks as he ran it across the stones on the hill. He saw the big man up above, the soldier, who was hobbled and moved with an uncertain gait. At full strength Kol knew he could take him, but between the burns on his arms and chest and with so much blood lost he feared he might not be up to dealing with the brute.

  Fear. There is no fear. You know no fear.

  His feet stamped slow and heavy as he climbed. Everything shone green in the light of the moon. Kol pushed himself forward, poured every last bit of his strength into his single-minded resolve – he would take the Dream Witch, the source of his agony. He would send the bitch to meet her fate and make sure she suffered every step of the way.

  Pappa?

  No.

  It was no dream fragment, no shred of someone else’s mind. That voice was from his past, his weak past, the life he’d long since abandoned.

  I’m no longer of that world. No longer human. That was another man, a weak man. Soft.

  Kol’s mind blazed with madness. He howled up at the sick moon. Images of his daughter being tortured and sacrificed played out in his mind’s eye, the first offering he’d made to the Witch Mother in exchange for a new beginning, for the role of a hunter in the new order.

  He felt something shift in his pack: a token he’d taken from Ebonmark. For some reason memory of his daughter

  Not your daughter, His!

  made him think of it, made him realize it would hold meaning to this man more than it would to the Dream Witch. He pulled it loose and held it high, then charged up the hill to meet his fate.

  Twenty-Nine

  Kath’s blood froze when the Chul came into the moonlight. The skin had been ripped from the man’s face, and his neck and arms were black and charred. His wild black hair swayed as he ran, a nightmare with fangs and a bloodied sword. His eyes were wild with rage and madness.

  Kath steeled himself. He braced his weight on his good leg and stood against one of the waist-high stones. Hurt blazed down his shoulder, and his head swam.

  As the Chul drew close something flashed in the moonlight. A head. It looked artificial, like the bust of some demented doll, half-rotted, its hair knotted and tangled. Petrified eyes stared out at nothing, and a dried-out tongue lolled from its dead mouth.

  But as the cannibal drew close Kath saw that it was no doll. It was Julei.

  His sister, his smart and sweet little sister, who was barely nine-years-old. The semblance was a mockery, an uncanny an
d grotesque toy.

  It can’t be.

  They’d ripped his baby sister’s head from her body and carried it across the wastelands like a trophy. He saw her on the stairs, looking at him and crying, heard her singing softly in her room, saw her sitting there on the bed with her many-named cat.

  Kath screamed. His pain forgotten, he launched himself forward.

  The Chul was fast and ducked beneath Kath’s swing and countered with his own strike, but Kath battered the weapon aside with a clang of steel on steel. He grabbed the blade of the cannibal warrior’s sword in his hand and pulled it away, ripping it from the other man’s grip. Blood squirted out through his ripped gauntlet, but Kath barely felt anything.

  The Chul grappled him head on, pushing Kath against a stone and knocking the air from his lungs. They both struggled for the axe. Kath’s muscles strained with effort and sweat poured down his face. He was larger and stronger, but the Chul was more agile, and just as Kath thought he was getting the upper hand the cannibal reached down and dug his fingers into the wound in Kath’s leg, ripping the tender flesh and tearing at muscle and meat. Pain tore through his thigh.

  Kath threw himself forward and brought his considerable weight down on top of the Chul. They fell onto the discarded sword and snapped it over a loose stone. Kath reached around, found the broken tip and rammed it into the cannibal’s stomach, once, twice, a third time, somehow imagining if he could only plunge it in deep enough that Julei would be okay, that it would all be some cruel trick, that killing this maniac would bring her back. Blood covered Kath’s arms. He tasted guts in his teeth.

  The Chul tried to rise, but there was little left of his abdomen. Kath was on the verge of passing out but he stood up, lifted the axe, and brought the blade down on the Chul’s gruesome face. He left it there, and stumbled back.

  His strength gone, Kath fell to his knees. He started to moan, which built to a hoarse cry. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to collapse in on himself. Tears poured from his face, and Kath clutched the ground, fingernails dug in the earth, clawing, searching, trying to dig his way to somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere he’d never met Ijanna, where none of this had ever happened. A place without pain.