The Bone Maker

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “This is bullshit!” Zera yelled. “You killed him! You were there! And after, Marso confirmed it. He swore he was dead! Even if you flaked out after, Marso didn’t.”

  Kreya was about to respond when they heard a sound: voices echoing through the caves.

  The villagers, she thought.

  And they were close. Much too close. Intent on their own conversation, Kreya, Zera, and Jentt hadn’t been paying enough attention to the sounds in the tower above. She swore silently to herself.

  She was too weak to fight, and Jentt was too newly revived to risk. They’d have to flee.

  Quickly, without a word, they gathered everything—the linen strips, the knife, the lantern. She scanned the cave. There wasn’t much they could do about the bloodstains on the stone except hope whoever followed didn’t notice them. Without the direct sunlight, the stains faded into the granite.

  Kreya opened her coat, and the rag dolls climbed up to the pockets and squeezed themselves inside. She lifted the bird construct onto her shoulder. Catching the attention of Zera and Jentt, she nodded toward one of the tunnels.

  They fled through the caves, with Kreya in the lead. She couldn’t move fast. She felt as if her muscles had been sapped of their strength.

  Glancing back, she saw light splash across the rock. Harsh whispers ricocheted through the tunnel. She signaled Zera to douse the lantern.

  Zera obeyed, and the tunnel fell into darkness. Kreya felt Jentt’s hand on her shoulder. On her opposite side, Zera pressed a talisman into her palm. “Cartini,” Zera whispered.

  “Cartini,” Kreya and Jentt whispered.

  Blackness lightened to overlapping shadows as the talisman adjusted her eyesight. She hurried forward, stepping as quietly as she could. Behind them, the voices were growing louder.

  She didn’t think they’d left any clues to which direction they’d gone.

  Their dumb luck, Kreya thought. Our bad luck.

  She moved faster, pushing her body to obey, never mind how bone-deep weary she was from the spell. Beneath her feet, loose pebbles rattled.

  Behind them: “Up ahead! I hear her! She’s here!”

  Jentt whispered, “Give me a knife.”

  “You can’t—” Kreya began.

  Zera withdrew a spare knife from one of her pockets and handed it to him. He tested the weight and adjusted his grip on the hilt. “Go,” he said. “I’ll hold them off.”

  “No,” Kreya said. “We all escape.” She thought fast. From the sound of the footfalls and voices, she estimated a dozen villagers, undoubtedly armed with either blades or farm equipment. She thought of her cellar—they could have helped themselves to weapons there, albeit rusty ones. Enough to do damage. “Scare them. We’re not killers.”

  “They are,” Zera muttered.

  “Only because they’re scared. Because I committed an atrocity, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember this is all your fault.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the time . . . ,” Jentt said.

  “Zera,” Kreya said, “you must have at least one speed talisman that isn’t drained. Check your coat.”

  Zera dug into each of her pockets and withdrew a talisman. She passed it to Jentt. “It’s already been used, but it might have a few seconds of juice left. No more. One burst. Use it wisely.”

  “Get their lights,” Kreya told him.

  He nodded once and then darted backward through the tunnel.

  Abruptly, the lantern light that had been dancing on the walls vanished, and she heard men and women cry out in alarm.

  Jentt was suddenly back with them.

  To her rag dolls, she whispered, “Fast and silent. Go for their ankles, then return to me.” To Jentt and Zera, she whispered, “Keep moving.”

  She felt the rag dolls swarm out of her pockets and saw with her enhanced vision as they scurried back through the tunnel. She wanted to tell them go for the throats. For all her speechifying about not wanting to kill, the villagers had burned her home, and they would have burned Jentt if they’d found him. They definitely want to burn me.

  But escape was more important than revenge.

  Kreya, Jentt, and Zera kept moving, as silently as possible. She heard cries behind them and the thud of flesh on rock. Soon, the rag dolls tumbled back down the tunnel. Bending, she scooped them into her arms. They crawled over her and back into her pockets.

  She counted them—all here.

  Her heart was thudding fast, worse than it should have been—these were villagers, not undead soldiers. They’d faced far worse. So why was fear clawing at her throat?

  Because now I know what I could lose.

  They kept going.

  Kreya felt her muscles begin to shake. The spell had drained her. She wasn’t certain how much energy she had to draw on. She needed to rest, but had to—

  Her knees gave out.

  Jentt caught her.

  Lifting her by the armpit, he braced her against him. She tried to make her legs walk forward, but they felt as limp as cooked noodles.

  She heard him whisper to a strength talisman, and she felt him lift her into his arms. Her head swam. It was hard to make sense of the shadows. But she was the one who knew the way—

  “Give us orders,” Zera whispered.

  “Left three hundred feet,” Kreya told them. “Then third tunnel on the right.” She listed the rest of the directions, picturing the caves in her mind.

  “Got it, Commander,” Jentt said. “Now rest.”

  When Kreya opened her eyes, they were outside the tunnels and it was sundown. The mountains were bathed in amber and rose. “Put me down.”

  Jentt lowered her to the ground.

  “Everyone okay?” she asked.

  “Are you?” Zera asked her.

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath, taking stock of her body—all the old, familiar aches were there, and she still felt drained, but she could survive all that. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” Jentt grinned at her.

  “Rather not repeat that, thanks,” Zera said.

  Looking around, Kreya took a minute to orient herself. She knew exactly where they were—they’d followed her directions, and they were now far from both her tower and the village of Eren.

  There was a traveler’s hut nearby, stocked for hunters and usually empty this time of year. She led them there and was relieved to see it was vacant.

  The mountains of Vos were riddled with huts like these, maintained by travelers for other travelers. Kreya had used this one herself a few times.

  At the hut, they fell into tasks: Kreya hauled wood from outside into the hearth and lit the fire, while Jentt aired out the musty blankets on the cots and pulled water from the well outside. Zera discovered a dead mouse in the corner of the hut and liberated its bones, using them to carve a speed talisman—the kind that would give a five-minute burst. She offered it to Jentt, and he returned with a rabbit, which Kreya skinned and Jentt cooked.

  They ate before Jentt said, “Do you truly believe he’s alive?”

  She knew exactly who he meant. “Yes.”

  “Maybe,” Zera said.

  Kreya admitted, “Maybe.”

  “We have to warn people,” Jentt said.

  “Absolutely not,” Zera said. “Didn’t you hear me say ‘maybe’? We don’t know Eklor is really there. Imagine how it will look if we claim he lives and he doesn’t. I have a legacy to protect, you know. I’m not tarnishing that with unfounded accusations that will make me the laughingstock of Vos. You guys too.”

  “So we make sure he’s dead ourselves,” Kreya said. “No one else needs to know. If he is, no harm done. If he’s not . . . we handle it.”

  “How?” Zera crossed her arms. “I’m not going back.”

  “Marso. He saw the body. And he can read bones to confirm it.” Once she said it, Kreya liked her idea more and more. There was no other bone reader with the range, clarity, and accuracy of Marso. He was unique and extraordina
ry. If he saw what Kreya believed he’d see, it would be evidence that neither Jentt nor Zera could ignore.

  “Love it,” Jentt said. “Love you.” He kissed her.

  Zera sighed heavily. “Yes, you’re adorable. And smart. It’s a perfect solution. How’s this: if Marso says Eklor’s dead, then we never speak of this again, and we send a nice anonymous note to Lorn about the remaining constructs. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” both Kreya and Jentt said.

  Staring into the fireplace, Kreya watched the flames dance from log to log. The crinkle of the fire was soothing, and she allowed herself to enjoy being here with Jentt and Zera. It would be nice to see Marso again too, even if he laughed at their paranoia. He should be told that Jentt lived. He’d mourned his friend as they all had, and he could be trusted with the truth.

  I shouldn’t have distanced myself so much, Kreya thought. She’d missed this, being with friends without fear of losing them. She felt at peace, for the first time in . . . well, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this.

  Zera speared another piece of rabbit. “So what’s death like?”

  Jentt considered it.

  That was a question Kreya had never asked him, and he’d never spoken about it. It had always felt better to focus on the living moments while he was alive. They were so few and precious. Still, she didn’t try to stop Jentt from answering. She found herself wanting to hear what he’d say.

  “Dying was painful, until it wasn’t,” he said.

  Zera whistled. “Yeah, figured that. At least the way you went.”

  Kreya wanted to glare at her but couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know how you functioned in high society and still never learned tact.”

  Zera wiggled her finger. “Power. And wealth, which is the same as power. You can get away with outrageous behavior if you have what others want.”

  Jentt offered her more rabbit. “You didn’t used to be so cynical.”

  “Hard living. Or soft living. One of the two.” She waved her jeweled hand. “But you didn’t answer my question. Death. Is it endless dreaming? Or timeless nothingness as you’re suspended in the eternal now? Were you in the great silence, and was it truly that quiet? Tell me which of the philosophers is right.”

  “Can’t.” He shrugged. “Every time I wake, all I remember is life.”

  Disappointed at that answer, she tried a different tack. “How does the math work? Are you younger than us now, since you’ve been alive for technically much less time? Kreya, how often did you bring him back? Are you married to a younger man now?”

  “Does it matter?” Kreya asked. She’d never considered any of this. It wasn’t as if temporary death were a valid way to preserve one’s youth.

  “Curiosity, my dearest. Never talked to a formerly dead guy before.”

  Jentt laughed. “I want to hear what you’ve been doing since I died.”

  “Oh, little of this, little of that.” But she was being modest. As they ate, Zera regaled them with tales of life on the fifth tier in Cerre, the galas and the banquets and the excesses. She shared gossip about the debaucheries of her tier-five neighbors, and they laughed as the fire dwindled late into the night.

  Only when they each lay in a cot, Zera by the hearth and Jentt and Kreya side by side, did Zera’s voice shift to serious. “Many call me frivolous,” Zera said. “They say I have wasted the life you gave me with your sacrifice.”

  “Nonsense,” Jentt told her. “You made a success out of yourself. A farmer’s daughter, living with the elite of Vos, the toast of the town. Your parents would have been proud.”

  Kreya agreed with him. “You can return to Cerre, if you want. Jentt and I can find Marso, reassure ourselves that we heard nothing, and send word to you. You’ve done more than anyone ever could have asked of you.” Especially given how Kreya had distanced herself, never reaching out, never considering Zera’s pain as equivalent to her own. “You made this possible. Thank you.”

  Zera was quiet for a few minutes, and Kreya wondered if she’d offended her.

  “We’re not trying to get rid of you,” Jentt said.

  “Yes—please. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you should go. Come with us if you want,” Kreya said. “Visit Marso with us. It will be like a reunion. All we’ll be missing is Stran.” She couldn’t read Zera’s reaction to tell what she thought, which was a switch. Years ago, she’d been able to read Zera better than she could read Jentt. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

  The fire in the hearth burned low, its embers smoldering. It shed a soft light throughout the hut. Outside, the mountain forest was black, alive with the chirp of crickets, the cry of night swallows, and, far away, the howl of a wolf.

  At last, Zera said, “I’m thinking I heard a laugh. And I want to hear Marso say that’s impossible.”

  Chapter Ten

  The mountains of Vos boasted three cities: The gleaming city of Cerre, renowned for its wealth and beauty and as the central headquarters of the country’s most important guilds. Tevvan, the holy city, famous for its philosophers, its flute music, and the serenity and wisdom of its mostly elderly citizens.

  And then there was Ocrae.

  The city of Ocrae was significantly less dignified than either of its two sisters. Like the others, it was still run by the guilds, but here, they were less concerned with decorum. Known for being loud and garish, Ocrae was, as Jentt had once described it, the rebellious younger sibling who didn’t like to wear pants. Full of the hopeless and the hopeful, it was the city you went to when you wanted so desperately that it ate at you until you were willing to risk it all.

  Wanted what? Well, that was up to you.

  What is Marso doing here? Kreya wondered.

  She rode the cable car up to the city center, squashed between Zera and Jentt. Twice the number of people were crammed into the cable car than was considered safe, and she kept her eye on the roof, as if she’d be able to do anything if it suddenly separated from the wire.

  Beside her, Zera was unfazed. She’d already befriended ninety percent of the passengers and was regaling them with tales of half-tested talismans failing in spectacular ways and of wild parties where the revelers all used speed talismans to make love to as many people as possible. I don’t even want to know if that’s true, Kreya thought.

  Catching Kreya’s eye, Zera winked, which meant either that she was making the whole thing up or that not only had Zera done it, but it had been her idea. With Zera, it was hard to tell.

  Jentt murmured in her ear, “At least she’s distracting them from us.”

  True.

  No one had noticed that Kreya and Jentt were traveling with Zera. It helped that both of them kept the hoods of their coats up, and that no one expected them—a known hermit and a dead man—to be here. She hoped their anonymity would last.

  With a jolt, the cable car reached its destination. The passengers lurched forward from the impact, and a woman who stank of cheap wine smashed up against Kreya. Untangling herself, Kreya squeezed out the door and checked the contents of her pockets.

  Already she felt filthier than she’d ever felt in her dilapidated tower.

  “I hate this place.” Out on the landing, Kreya was jostled as the other passengers flowed around her. She squinted up at the buildings, all of them with multiple spires, each painted a more garish color than the last. It gave her a headache.

  Zera breezed past her. “I love it. Next time I send instructions to Guine, remind me to tell him I want to buy a second home here. Expand my business.” She waved at a few strangers who were staring at her and blew a kiss at another.

  “You’re going to need to stop drawing attention to yourself or we’ll never get anywhere,” Kreya complained.

  “Your wife is a spoilsport,” Zera told Jentt. “I don’t know how you tolerate her.”

  With an absolutely straight face, Jentt said, “Because she’s excellent in bed.”

  “Ah, that explains it. I’ve been ba
ffled for years. Can’t be her personality.”

  Jentt gave a fake shudder as they pushed their way through the crowds. “Definitely not. She’s much too bossy.”

  “Mmm,” Zera agreed. “Always thinks she’s right.”

  “And far too serious. So a guy dies. So what? She overreacts to everything.” Wrapping an arm around Kreya, he casually elbowed a few pedestrians out of the way.

  “I hate you both,” Kreya said.

  “Aw, I’m wounded.” Zera mimed a knife wound to the heart. “We mock because we love. You know that.” She skirted a clump of acrobats who had halted in the middle of the sidewalk to practice flips.

  One of the acrobats tumbled in front of them, straight into a lamppost. He lay there upside-down, puckering his lips and flopping his hands like fins in an imitation of a beached fish.

  “Sorry to disappoint, sweetie, but you are not a trout,” Zera informed the acrobat.

  Kreya stepped around him.

  Leaning down, Jentt pressed a coin into the acrobat’s hand. He then put his arms around both Kreya and Zera, and they plowed on through the crowded street.

  “Where did you get that money?” Kreya asked when they were a block from the acrobats. “You didn’t have any coins.”

  “Zera did.”

  Yelping, Zera whacked his arm. “You picked my pockets.”

  “Technically, one of the passengers on the cable car picked your pockets, and I rectified the situation. You’ll find that most of your coin has been returned to you.”

  “Most?”

  “Finder’s fee.”

  Kreya grinned. Death hadn’t slowed him or changed him one bit. Dying may have had an impact—she knew he had nightmares—but all the important parts of Jentt were there. No matter how much time had passed or how much they’d gone through, his essence remained. He was so full of life, even in his second life. “Remember how we met?”

  “I stole your necklace, and you stole my heart.”

  He smiled as he looked at her, and she felt as if she were melted goo inside.

  Zera rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You know it didn’t happen that way. I introduced you, and you talked to each other every day for, like, a month. The ballads had to spice it up because you two were so damned boring.”