The Bone Maker

by Sarah Beth Durst

  He sounded so earnest. Kreya looked into his eyes, the eyes of the man who had killed her husband, and didn’t know what to believe or what to feel. “You feel guilt?”

  “Guilt and remorse.”

  “When?”

  He blinked, confused. “What?”

  “When did you start to feel guilt and remorse? Was it after the twentieth death? Or the hundredth? Was it after you were killed? After you’d finally faced the consequences of your actions? Or was it even later than that? You rebuilt your army, whether you deny that fact or not—so it must have been later. What did it?”

  He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he placed his teacup in his saucer, rose, and crossed to the window. My exit, she thought. She glanced at the silver door. With the speed talisman, she thought she could make it to the door while he was at the window, if she needed to.

  Or with the speed talisman, she could run toward him instead. Break the window with his back and shoulders, and then release him midflight. She doubted he had one of Zera’s special talismans, and it was a long way down to the mist-cloaked valley.

  “It was a sunrise,” Eklor said softly. “Like any other. After the war, I used to sleep beneath the tower, in the tunnels, but this one morning, I woke early and climbed out . . . The sun was just rising, and I thought, as I always did whenever I saw the sunrise, that here was another sunrise that my wife and daughter would never see. And the sun”—he raised his hand as if tracing a beam of light—“hit the bones in the meadow, and I realized they would never see the sunrise again either.”

  “Yeah, that’s what happens when you kill people.”

  She saw his shoulders tense and then he took another breath.

  But he continued in the same urbane, slightly wounded voice. “Before then, I was so consumed with grief and rage that I couldn’t see them as real people. I saw them only as the ones who had stolen my happiness. I was a wounded creature striking out with every weapon and bit of knowledge I possessed. I wanted to hurt those who hurt me. Make them suffer.”

  “You succeeded,” she said. “Congratulations.”

  Eklor faced her again. “You are infuriating. I am baring my heart to you—”

  “You’re giving a speech. It’s lovely. I like the bit about the sunrise on the bones. Nice touch.” Rising, she again calculated the distance between the chair, him, and the window. But she knew she wouldn’t do it. She’d promised Jentt she’d return to him alive, and attacking Eklor here and now . . . She couldn’t guarantee she’d survive that. Plus there was so much she didn’t understand. “What do you really want, Eklor? Why are we even having this conversation?”

  “Because you are the only other person in Vos who knows how to perform a resurrection,” Eklor said. “You know what it costs, and you know what ingredients it uses.”

  She didn’t tell him that her team knew the “ingredients” as well. “Yes?”

  “I plan to resurrect as many of the recently dead as are worthy,” Eklor said. “There’s little I can do about those whose bodies were burned, but those who lose their loved ones to illness, age, or accident from now on . . . I want to save as many of them as I can. But if the public knew how the magic is done, I would be stopped.”

  “You want me to keep quiet about the fact you use human bones,” Kreya said. “And that they only gain as many years as you have to give?”

  “I am hoping Grand Master Lorn will see fit to change the law on the use of certain bones, but until then . . . yes. I invited you here to ask for your silence on this matter.”

  She was tempted to say no, run out the door, and scream the truth to all the masters and wealthy who no doubt still lingered outside the grand master’s palace. But the fact was it could implicate her too. Zera had been right to worry about that. “Where are you going to get the human bones? I won’t condone more murder, and I doubt you’re going to have much luck sneaking around to steal them from city dwellers. They’re far too careful with their pyres.” She’d only succeeded because she stole from remote villages where there was plenty of room for escape.

  And because she went to the forbidden zone. Which was when she understood.

  “I brought the dead with me,” Eklor said, as if seeing her dawning realization. He added quickly, “Not the army. As I told you, I destroyed all the bones that I used for my constructs—that was no lie. But the untouched bones of the noble dead, as many as I could bring . . . It felt fitting that they should go to grant new lives.”

  “Show me,” Kreya commanded.

  He hesitated, studying her as if reading her thoughts.

  She kept her face implacable.

  “Very well,” he said at last.

  He led her out of the room and to a passageway painted in subdued blues, with glints of diamonds. She’d never been to this part of the grand master’s palace. It felt odd that the greatest traitor to the guild, the man known in legends and songs as the Betrayer of Vos, should be more familiar with Lorn’s home than she was, but it wasn’t the strangest thing of today. The fact that I’m not stabbing him between the shoulder blades right now is the strangest. She remembered the rage and grief she’d felt after Jentt’s death—and now that she’d learned it was the same kind of rage and grief that Eklor had felt, she didn’t know what to think or how to feel.

  She shuddered. By the bones, I’m not the same as him.

  Reaching a nondescript wooden door, Kreya tensed as his hand dipped into a pocket, but he only drew out a key. He unlocked the door and swung it open. Inside was a storeroom. Scanning it, she saw there were no other exits or windows. She stayed in the doorway.

  He went inside and unwrapped a bundle of velvet. Inside were human bones. He’d cleaned them, removing all the flesh so they’d be odorless and ready to use. There was no question that they were older bones—she could tell from the sun-bleached color and the fine cracks. She stared at them, nodded, and he rewrapped them and placed them carefully, respectfully, back on a shelf. The shelves were full of them. Returning to the hallway with her, Eklor relocked the door. She noticed he was again twirling the same unfamiliar talisman. So long as he didn’t activate it, she could choose to ignore it. Perhaps it was a nervous habit.

  “You killed my husband,” Kreya said softly.

  “I know.”

  “There is no apology you can make, no act of redemption, that will ever be enough for the pain you have caused me and the people of Vos. You know that, don’t you? You can drain your life force giving it to others, but it won’t erase what you did or undo the harm you caused.”

  “You are still angry, even though you have your husband back,” Eklor said. In the dim passageway, his face was shadowed. She thought he looked sad, though. A strange look on his face. She only ever pictured him contorted by rage. She hadn’t ever known it was fueled by grief. “You don’t want me to feel any relief from my guilt.”

  “I don’t. But . . .” She thought of the bones that lay in that storeroom, wrapped in velvet as if they were precious treasures. “If you want to give what remains of your life to others so that they never feel what you—what you and I—felt, I won’t stop you.”

  He exhaled, and she thought she saw the flicker of a smile touch his lips. It was gone before she could be certain. She never wanted to do or say anything that would cause him to smile or feel even the briefest hint of joy. But she meant what she’d said. If he wanted to use these bones and drain his life force to save others, that was a far better way for him to die than in a violent act of revenge.

  “But if you’re lying to me,” Kreya said, “know that my team and I will tear you apart and burn every trace of you so that there is no chance of you ever coming back again.”

  “I understand.” He held out his hand.

  She didn’t shake it. “How are you alive?” she asked again.

  “I was never dead,” he said. “Merely seriously injured. Eventually, with the aid of my constructs and with the use of medicines I’d stored in my tower, I recovered.”
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br />   “Huh.” She stared at him, trying to read his face for any lie. She didn’t believe him, but she also didn’t know what the truth could be—there was no way he could have resurrected himself. We should have burned him then, Kreya thought. “And your army?”

  “I told you—there was no new army, only the remains of the old, and I destroyed them all thoroughly,” he said. “After one of my constructs harmed Stran, I wanted no chance of their resurrection. I wished I’d destroyed them sooner, before any of my creations could hurt anyone.”

  “You expect me to believe you.”

  “I don’t,” he said, and she could read nothing but honesty in his eyes. He was spinning the talisman again. Still hadn’t activated it. “I expect you and your team to keep searching. But I know you will find nothing, because there’s nothing to find. And eventually, I hope you will come to believe me. I am a changed man.”

  “We’ll see,” Kreya said.

  With a bow, he walked away from her. She watched him until he disappeared around a corner, and then she returned to the main hall with the massive carved pillars, retrieved her coat, and walked out into the sunlight. She answered no questions and spoke to no one until she reached Zera’s palace.

  Her team rushed forward as soon as she walked inside. “You’re alive! Did you see Eklor? Did he hurt you?” “What did Lorn want? Did he have an explanation?” “Did you kill Eklor? Half-hoping you didn’t and half-hoping you did.” “What did you learn?” “You should never have gone in alone. Was it worth the risk?” “What’s his plan? What does he want?”

  Kreya looked at her friends. Really looked at them. Marso, his face anxious, his body skeletally thin, his hair escaping the braids that Zera had forced it into. He still seemed so fragile, as if wind would shatter him, but he was coherent now, improving every day. Stran had his arm around Amurra. The years hadn’t shrunk his great heart, only expanded it. Zera, her face painted and her body bejeweled, looked the same as she had when Kreya had intruded on the life she’d built, but Kreya knew she wasn’t the same. She forgave me, Kreya thought. Zera may not have said it in so many words, but she’d shown it again and again by staying with them and by being here now. They were like sisters again, something she had thought wouldn’t happen.

  And then there was Jentt.

  Eklor was right. She had gotten her husband back. Eklor had never gotten that chance. It didn’t excuse what he’d done, but . . . For the first time ever, she thought perhaps she understood better what had happened and why.

  If she understood the past, could she begin to let it go?

  All of her friends were here, now, changed but here. Maybe it’s time for me to live in the present too. And the future. “I spoke with Eklor,” Kreya said. She described everything he had told her and shown her. Finishing, she said, “He wants a chance at redemption. I think we should give it to him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “That’s a fucking terrible idea.”

  Zera could not believe what had just come out of Kreya’s mouth. She must have fallen and hit her head. Or eaten a hallucinogenic mushroom and was experiencing delusions. Or maybe she’d finally lost it.

  Kreya defended herself. “I am not saying forgive him. Or trust him.”

  “Good. Because that’s not happening.” Zera put her hands on her hips. “No more going off to chat with genocidal maniacs without supervision. You come back with your brain messed up.” She was relieved when her friends nodded their agreement. They may have all reverted to following Kreya’s lead, but at least there were limits.

  Concerned, Jentt took Kreya’s hands in his. “What did he say to you? What could he have possibly said to cause this change of heart?”

  “He pointed out that he crossed a line. Many, many lines. But I’ve crossed them too.” She drew his hands to her lips, kissed them, and then released them. “If he can be redeemed even a little, if someone so broken and twisted can find some measure of forgiveness and peace, maybe I can as well.”

  Jentt cradled her face lovingly, and Zera contemplated vomiting on their shoes. Instead, she shouldered between them. “Okay, false equivalence. What you did”—she waved her hand expressively at Jentt—“is in no way the same as what the Betrayer of Vos did.”

  “She’s right,” Amurra said.

  Zera glanced at her, surprised she’d volunteer an opinion. It was obvious the woman was intimidated by Kreya, though she had relaxed a bit recently. It was nice to hear her speaking up, especially to speak sensibly.

  “You acted out of love,” Amurra continued. “He was fueled by hate.”

  “Yep,” Zera agreed, nodding vigorously and pointing. “That.”

  “He’d lost his wife and daughter,” Kreya said. “When I lost Jentt, I lost my mind. I abandoned all of you on the field, wrecked our plan, and chased after Eklor by myself.”

  Rolling her eyes, Zera groaned dramatically. “Not. The. Same. This is absurd. He’s playing you. Can’t believe you fell for it.”

  Softly, Marso said, “People can change. Heroes can stop being heroes. Villains can stop being villains.” It was obvious he was talking about himself as well as Eklor.

  Zera rolled her eyes at him too. “You know, the last time we saved the world, you people didn’t have so many issues.” She’d imagined reuniting the old team dozens of times, but she’d never once imagined it would be so annoying. Seriously, defending Eklor? Eklor? It was like . . . like . . . she couldn’t think of a comparison; that was how absurd it was.

  With a sad smile, Kreya said, “That’s just it, Zera. Maybe the world doesn’t need saving this time. Maybe we do. We deserve a future beyond Eklor.” She turned to Marso. “Think of it: You don’t have to be a bone reader anymore. You can declare that part of your life done and pursue whatever you want.”

  He fidgeted. “But if I’m not a bone reader, who am I?”

  “You could discover that,” Kreya said. “You could travel.”

  Marso shuddered.

  “Okay—how about a career in the arts? You’ve liked coordinating with artists and theater troops in Cerre. That could be a future to explore.” She turned to Stran and Amurra. “And you have a future to return to, one that you already built.” To Zera: “You as well. You’ve built a life here. Let Grand Master Lorn handle Eklor. He’s as much as said it isn’t our concern anymore. Maybe we’re seeing problems that don’t exist.”

  Zera stared at her old friend for a long moment. At last, she said, “That’s bullshit. You need to get yourself together and quit letting genocidal maniacs mess with your mind. You already tried dumping this problem on someone else’s lap. Remember how you had this lovely epiphany that that was wrong? Nothing has changed since then. Nothing.” To emphasize her utter disgust at Kreya’s idiocy, she walked out the door.

  She instantly felt silly for stalking out of her own house. But she was also convinced she was right. Yes, people could change. Yes, people could seek forgiveness and redemption. Blah blah blah. But not everyone. Some got worse. She was willing to stake a lot on the conviction that Eklor was firmly in the “got worse” category.

  After all, she’d heard him laugh on the plains as his soldiers chased them. How could Kreya have forgotten that? She wants to forget, Zera thought. She wants there to be no threat, for this all to be over, for her to have her happily-ever-after where she can ride off guilt-free and responsibility-free with Jentt into the sunset.

  “Arrrgh!” she shrieked out loud.

  A small crowd of voyeurs beyond her yard gawked at her.

  “Shoo,” she told them. “Hero stuff going on here.”

  “Master Zera?” one called. “Did you see the miracle on the pyre? Is it true that Grand Master Lorn’s son died and now lives again?”

  “Go ask him,” Zera told him.

  Because certainly no one here knew what was going on.

  She’ll come around, Kreya thought, once nothing disastrous happens. Or she’ll revel in saying “I told you so” if it does. Either way, Kreya
didn’t intend to relax her guard completely. She wasn’t going to recall her constructs or ask Jentt and Stran to stop searching for signs of Eklor’s army. If Eklor betrayed her, she wasn’t going to be caught by surprise.

  But she was going to allow herself a moment of peace.

  She turned to Jentt. “Have dinner with me?”

  He kissed the back of her hand. “Of course.”

  She toyed with the idea of visiting one of their favorite restaurants, if any were still in business after all these years, but in the end decided it wouldn’t be private enough. Not with the public so interested in the “miracle of the pyre” or whatever they were calling it. Bringing Jentt out into the open wouldn’t be wise.

  So she talked with several of Zera’s servants. As she suspected, they had zero problem with preparing an elaborate dinner—apparently, what Kreya described as a gourmet meal was just an ordinary snack for Zera. After confirming the menu, Kreya retreated to her room to dress. Again, she asked a servant for assistance. A few moments later, the man brought her a silk dress, the kind she’d sworn off, then bowed and retreated.

  Holding the dress up to the light, she twisted it. It shimmered, forest green and sky blue. Minuscule diamonds had been sewn into the hem, delicately, so as not to tug on the silk.

  She shed her bone worker coat, hanging it by the door, close just in case, but still separate from her. She felt fifty pounds lighter without it. Changing into the silk dress, she let it flow around her, along with the memories of who she had been long ago, the last time she’d worn silk. This time, she found she could bear the memories.

  Just one moment of peace, Kreya thought. She might have been deluding herself into thinking she’d have more, but she wanted this one.

  Crossing to her hanging coat, Kreya fished in one of the pockets and took out one of her rag doll constructs. It had rolled itself into a tight ball and was, if such a term could be applied to a nonliving creation like this, asleep. “Are you okay?” she asked it.