10: His Holy Bones

by Ginn Hale

  “You’ve lived among us, as one of us, for a long while, haven’t you, my lord?”

  “For years,” John told him. “Please, call me Jath’ibaye.”

  The priest met John’s gaze directly for the first time and there was a warmth in his expression that reminded John strongly of Samsango. “May I ask what you thought of infirmary work…Jath’ibaye?”

  “It was good work. I only wish I’d been better at it,” John told him honestly.

  “You have borne many wounds for men who would have otherwise died. As far as I have seen, you would be a blessing to any physician.” The priest might not have known how badly John needed to hear that simple reassurance that he was capable of more than destruction, but John felt the words like a relief.

  “Your Kahlil is fortunate to be in your hands.” The priest offered Ravishan a fatherly smile before withdrawing to his own small worktable to prepare more salves for the injured.

  John rinsed his own hands and then bathed Ravishan.

  His body felt different now that the curse was destroyed. A slight tension ran through his muscles. He seemed more alive and responsive to John’s touch. As John ran the wet washcloth over Ravishan’s bare back, he noticed that his skin prickled with cold. Ravishan shivered. When John lifted the chain and golden key that hung around Ravishan’s neck, he shifted just a little. It was nothing more than a reflex and yet the sight flooded John with relief and joy.

  After John dried Ravishan and replaced his blankets, he leaned down and kissed Ravishan’s cheek. The old priest lowered his gaze but didn’t appear as horrified or shocked as John would have expected.

  Ravishan seemed to smile slightly. John lingered a moment, simply gazing down at him. Then he withdrew to face the chasm he created of Vundomu’s pastoral valley and the dead littering its banks.

  •

  John wrapped a thick scarf around his nose and mouth, but the stench still came at him in sickening waves. Even before he laid eyes on the sea of rotting carcasses scattered across the valley, their presence reached him, saturating each breath he drew in. The cold winter air had delayed the rate of decay and spared him from far worse odors, he knew.

  And yet it also ensured that many of the bodies retained a terrible semblance of the men and animals they had been in life. John flinched from their wide, staring gazes as he picked his way through the wreckage of both remains and shattered land.

  It was the landscape of a nightmare: all ragged trenches, jagged eruptions of stone, and splintered mortars. Amidst the shattered rock and broken wagons, fallen bodies lay tangled in almost obscene positions and John caught sight of several packs of wild dogs ranging among them.

  The lean, tawny animals ripped into the carcasses of men and tahldi alike. White carrion birds swooped over the dogs and settled on their own feasts.

  When John at last reached the edge of the chasm, he felt relieved to simply take in its geology. It stretched across miles of the valley. John could hardly see to the far end of it. The chasm walls dropped down at steep angles to a distant, ragged floor. Three towers of earth and stone jutted up like islands in the midst of a vast canyon.

  Already, small streams of ground water trickled down the chasm walls. Shallow, muddy pools flowed over the floor. John concentrated on the water seeping in. Gently, he tugged at the faint rivulets, trying to coax more ground water from the surrounding earth. Immediately, he felt thousands of tiny streams gush through the loose dirt and spill down the chasm walls. John pulled more water through the rich soil.

  Suddenly a huge section of wet earth collapsed down to the floor of the chasm. Stones and more soil cascaded down after it. Water gushed free. John felt the ground under him slump.

  “Shit.” He stumbled back as the ground gave way.

  John poured his strength into the earth beneath him. A wave of heat rolled from his body and surged through the soil. John felt clay and sand fuse to monoliths of stone. Masses of silica erupted around streams, capturing the water in columns of lustrous opal. John forced salts and minerals from the ground water into the soft, decaying roots and bones around them, creating immense lattices of fossils. Walls of loose, chaotic soil compressed to hard insoluble stone in seconds.

  Geysers of water gushed through the few open veins of stone and fossil and crashed down to the floor of the chasm. The roar echoed through the chasm like thunder. John felt the cold spray on his face. Rivers poured out into the chasm while John held the walls.

  Above him he hardly felt the sun’s light climb to its zenith and then begin to fall. John’s thoughts moved with the water, rushing free with cascades and geysers, then slowly calming to a glassy serenity.

  John released a breath and opened his eyes. A vast lake stretched from where he stood to the end of the valley. Three stony islands jutted up above the murky water.

  John gazed at the dark water. In a few weeks the sediment would settle out and the lake would be clear. They would need to populate it with water plants, John thought. And fish. Where would they find freshwater fish?

  He stopped his train of thought. That didn’t matter right now. They had fresh water. It would need to be filtered, but it was here. People could drink and bathe as they needed.

  A deep fatigue spread through John’s body. He crouched down at the edge of the lake. Despite his exhaustion, he felt good. He’d brought the people in Vundomu a source of water. He’d ruined so much else, but this he had done without taking a single life.

  He wondered what Ravishan would think of it.

  Slowly, he straightened. He should get back to the infirmary. As he lifted his head he caught sight of four riders. They led two additional tahldi behind them. Their clothes were simple and mismatched. They wore heavy coats and had wound scarves over their faces to keep back the stench of the valley. John noticed the distinct shapes of rifles slung beside their saddles. He squinted at the riders and then caught sight of the auburn hair working free from the closest man’s scarf.

  That had to be Saimura.

  John sprinted to them. He caught up with the riders just as they reached the midpoint of the new lake.

  “Saimura!” John called.

  All four riders looked to him. Even with their noses and mouths covered with scarves and rags, John recognized them all: Saimura, Tai’yu, Pirr’tu, and Lafi’shir, though Lafi’shir’s face looked so gray and drawn behind his thick beard that John suspected he wouldn’t have known him if he hadn’t been in the company of the others. Lafi’shir held his reins in his left hand. His right arm seemed bundled against his side beneath his ragged coat.

  “Jath’ibaye.” Saimura pulled his scarf down, coughed on the foul air, and then went on, “We were afraid that you had gone back to the Warren.”

  “No,” John replied. “Ravishan summoned me to Vundomu. I should have told you, but I had to leave immediately. The situation was desperate.”

  “It looks worse than desperate here. This looks like the end of days,” Pirr’tu commented. John followed Pirr’tu’s gaze to a tangled mass of a munitions wagon and the remains of men crushed beneath it. “We felt the ground trembling earlier and there were terrible noises out there.” Pirr’tu glanced back over his shoulder to where the lake now stretched out. John doubted that they had seen him crouched amidst the shattered stones and so many dead bodies.

  “Probably some of the kahli’rashim, trying to salvage the iron from the train engines,” John suggested.

  Pirr’tu scowled but didn’t argue.

  “It certainly smells like the ass of damnation out here,” Tai’yu commented.

  “It’s better away from the battlefield,” John assured them all. “Come on, I’ll take you up to the camp.”

  John led them along the lake and up past the wreckage of the train tracks into the shelter of Vundomu. Once they were shielded from the foul air and the sight of decaying bodies, they hesitantly shared their news.

  “People on the road are saying the kahlirash’im have called the Rifter down from Nayeshi.
” Tai’yu surveyed the surrounding wreckage with an expression of open dread before returning his attention to John. “Have they brought him?”

  “No, they haven’t,” John said. “Things are better higher up in the fortress. It isn’t all like this. Ji is here. She has the refugees from the Warren repairing Vundomu’s defenses.”

  Both Pirr’tu and Tai’yu seemed to relax a little. Saimura nodded, as if he’d known his mother would have been doing exactly that.

  “The morning after you disappeared, Ji sent word that we should meet her here,” Saimura said. “Lafi’shir met us on the road.”

  John glanced to Lafi’shir. He gave the briefest nod but said nothing. John almost dreaded the knowledge of just how badly he must have been injured when the Bousim rashan’im sacked Amura’hyym’ir. But not as much as he feared to ask about Fenn’s obvious absence. One of the two riderless tahldi behind them was his own big buck, but the other was Fenn’s long-legged doe. John couldn’t imagine Fenn ever being without her.

  Saimura followed his gaze.

  “He was killed in Amura’hyym’ir,” Saimura said quietly. For an instant Saimura’s composure seemed to waver and John thought he caught a glimpse of open sorrow flickering over Saimura’s face. Then Saimura looked up to the heights of Vundomu.

  John bowed his head. His chest ached and tears welled up in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly.

  “He knew what he was doing,” Lafi’shir spoke slowly, in a rough whisper. John could hear the strain in his voice. “Fenn drew the rashan’im away while I evacuated people from the city. He said that it was what you would have done, Jath’ibaye, if you had been there with us. He knew you would have been proud of him.”

  John felt almost sickened by the thought that he had inspired Fenn’s death and yet he nodded. Fenn had been braver than he could ever have been.

  “He was a good man,” Pirr’tu said. “I wish we could have had more time to know him better.”

  “I don’t know that he had any family. He left his tahldi and rifle to Saimura,” Tai’yu commented.

  Saimura looked like he was on the brink of tears.

  “There!” Tai’yu called suddenly in a relieved tone. “I think we have a welcoming party.” He pointed up to the pearly walkway John had created the previous week. Two Fai’daum women in dark russet coats descended the stairs. They were followed by a thickly built man. As they drew nearer John recognized the women as Kansa and Tanash. The man was Arren. Then Ji bolted out from behind them and loped down the walkway.

  Saimura swung down from his tahldi and led it ahead to meet Ji. He knelt down beside her and Ji leaned in close to him. Saimura wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her golden coat. For a moment they remained pressed close. Then Tanash came running to Saimura. He stood and hugged her.

  Kansa and Arren caught up soon. And both Tai’yu and Pirr’tu dismounted to greet them. Kansa hugged her brother, but when she turned to Tai’yu, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Kansa wrapped her arms around him, returning the kiss.

  “Keep this up,” Pirr’tu commented, “and I’m going to start to suspect that you two are more than friends.”

  Tai’yu flushed and drew back, but Kansa just rolled her eyes at her brother and kept an arm wrapped around Tai’yu’s slim waist.

  Arren greeted Lafi’shir much more formally and offered him news of how the Fai’daum were settling into Vundomu. He casually caught Lafi’shir’s reins and began to lead his tahldi.

  Under her breath Kansa asked about Lafi’shir’s wounds and Saimura assured her that he’d already set their ground commander’s broken bones and cauterized his severed fingers. There wasn’t much else to do but get him to a comfortable bed.

  The walk back up to the fifth terrace passed quickly after that.

  All around the camp, ragged stones marked the remains of building foundations. Here and there pipes and broken iron supports jutted from pieces of walls. The air still smelled of ash and seared veru oil. Despite this, the tents, pens, and wagons of the Fai’daum camp spread out in neat rows.

  “What did happen here?” Pirr’tu asked as they walked past the gutted hull of an armory.

  There was a moment of awkward silence. Both Tanash and Kansa glanced to John but said nothing. John had no doubt that they suspected something. They had seen his blood flare through Ji’s spells and illuminate the entire courtyard for several minutes.

  “The kahlirash’im came over to our side,” Ji replied.

  “But what did all of this?” Pirr’tu pointed to the huge cracks in the tiled road.

  “Powerful sorcery,” Ji said. She spoke with a certain maternal finality. Pirr’tu started to ask something more, but Ji cut him off, “I know you want more specific answers, but now is not the time and this is certainly not the place. Just be patient a little longer. All of you.”

  Pirr’tu scowled but nodded his obedience.

  “Good,” Ji said.

  “So, is there anything we can do to help here?” Tai’yu asked.

  “There’s lots of cleaning to do,” Kansa replied.

  Tai’yu gave her a pained look and she smiled.

  “And scavenging,” Tanash added. “There are still hundreds of buildings we haven’t gone through for supplies. And there are tunnels as well—”

  “We need to get Lafi’shir somewhere he can rest first and foremost,” Saimura said. Arren nodded in agreement. John glanced to Lafi’shir. His eyes were pressed closed, but he still sat straight in his saddle.

  “The kahlirash’im have an infirmary up in their temple,” Kansa said, “but Tanash and I have been setting one up here in our camp as well.”

  “Here,” Lafi’shir said in a low whisper. “Near my men.”

  “Absolutely,” Arren agreed.

  The rest of them started into the camp, but John stood back. Saimura looked at him questioningly.

  “Ravishan’s up in the temple,” John said.

  “In the infirmary?” Saimura asked.

  John nodded.

  “Is he—” Saimura began and John could see the pain of Saimura’s own loss surfacing in his expression.

  “He’s going to be fine,” John said quickly. “Ji saved him.”

  Ji gave an oddly derisive snort.

  “I didn’t sit beside him day and night calling him back to life,” Ji told John. “Go on. We’ll see you later.”

  “Of course. Take care.” John offered the hand sign of peace to them. Then he rushed up the walkways to the temple.

  Inside, sixty or so of the kahlirash’im knelt before the statue of the Rifter, praying. Since he’d arrived John didn’t think there had been more than an hour when at least a dozen of them weren’t praying. Their whispers filled the chamber with a soft hum. Today they were quieter than usual.

  Wah’roa glanced up at him as he strode into the central chamber. His expression was oddly expectant. John paused and then he caught sight of the slim figure kneeling at the foot of the Rifter’s statue. Even from behind, John recognized Ravishan. His short, black hair just brushed the nape of his neck as he bowed his head in prayer.

  John walked closer.

  Ravishan’s clothes were nearly as tattered and ill fitting as John’s own. The leather coat he wore strained across his broad shoulders only to sag around the rest of his lean frame. A dark bloodstain marred the right leg of his pants. His feet were bare and his skin looked blue against the cold stone floor.

  Ravishan’s eyes were closed and his expression strained. He moved his lips just slightly as he prayed. His skin still looked pallid and Tanash had been right; he’d lost too much weight.

  And yet, just seeing him alive and awake, John felt as if he were looking at the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. His hands shook slightly as he touched Ravishan’s shoulder. Ravishan’s eyes opened. He gazed up at John, a flush slowly spreading across his pale cheeks. John smiled at him.

  John expected him to stand and embrace him. Instead Ravishan collapsed dow
n against the floor, prostrating himself at John’s feet.

  “My most holy lord.” Ravishan’s voice sounded raw. “Forgive me.”

  “What are you doing?” The sight of Ravishan crouched at his feet like this alarmed John. The gathered kahlirash’im stared at the two of them in silence. Their expressions were serene, as if they found the sight of Ravishan groveling on the floor somehow gratifying.

  “I beg you to forgive my offenses against you, most holy lord,” Ravishan whispered. His eyes were clenched closed. His hands were locked together in prayer.

  “Ravishan,” John said softly. “Don’t do this.”

  “I looked upon you and did not know you,” Ravishan continued as though he hadn’t heard John. “I felt your perfect love but only filled my own heart with lust—”

  “Stop it!” John caught hold of Ravishan’s arm and jerked him up to his feet. “Get off the floor…”

  Ravishan struggled to get his feet under him. He straightened and then swayed. Slowly he lifted his head and gazed at John.

  “I will stand if you wish it, my lord. I am yours to command—”

  “No, you aren’t, and I’m not your lord,” John said firmly. Kahlirash’im were staring now with wide eyes and alarmed expressions. Their prayers fell silent.

  “You are. I know you are now and I will never forget. You are the divine wrath, my most holy lord.” Ravishan’s dark eyes drifted in their focus. Again, he swayed but didn’t seem aware of it. He shouldn’t have even been out of bed, John realized. He could barely stand.

  Ravishan lifted his hand, just brushing the front of John’s coat. Then he stumbled and fell back. John lunged forward. He caught Ravishan and held him against his chest. Ravishan leaned into him. Very slowly, he lifted his hands and touched John’s back.

  His stiff hesitance frightened John. Why had he become so cowed and distant?

  “Do you still remember me, my lord?” Ravishan asked.

  “I’m not your lord,” John whispered to Ravishan. “I’m your lover. And I could never forget you.” John was sure that Wah’roa and many of the other kahlirash’im heard his words carry through the silence of the temple. He didn’t care.