The Bone Maker

by Sarah Beth Durst

  She was glaring at yet another report when Marso knocked tentatively on her open door. Waving him in, she put down the latest bit of vapid gossip, detailing what fashion miracle number three wore, as if that mattered to a genocidal monster like Eklor.

  “You look better,” she observed.

  Color in his cheeks. Clothes that didn’t hang off his skeletal frame. It had undoubtedly helped that he’d been eating and sleeping with more regularity. Nice to see our reunion has made at least one of us happier, Zera thought.

  “You look worse,” Marso said.

  She grimaced, though she couldn’t argue with that. “Lack of sex.”

  “I can’t help you there, but . . .” He hesitated. Behind him, Amurra popped her head up over his shoulder and whispered, “Go on, tell her what you saw.”

  That is one tiny woman, if she can hide behind Marso.

  Zera waved them inside and shooed them onto couches. She signaled to one of her followers to fetch refreshments and wondered when she’d last eaten. She remembered Guine coaxing her into slurping down some whipped duck liver, but that could have been hours ago.

  Marso studied his hands as if he’d written the words he wanted to say on his palms. She peeked but they were clean. Glancing at the report again, she waited until Marso spoke.

  He didn’t, though. Instead Amurra did. “He’s been reading the bones.”

  “A little,” Marso said. “Not like I used to.”

  “But regularly,” Amurra said.

  “Good for you?” Zera tried to sound encouraging, though she didn’t know why Marso wasn’t just spitting it out. She flipped to a new report. “Any chance you found our stray enemy army?”

  He hung his head. “Not that. But: one dies and another lives.”

  She put down her papers. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know what it means. But I see the same vision over and over, with every question about Eklor and his miracles: one dies and another lives.”

  Zera digested this.

  “I know I’m new to bone magic,” Amurra said hesitantly, “but I watched him do his readings, saw the images in the smoke, and it seems to me there’s a clear interpretation. If we could pair it with evidence . . .”

  “Yes,” Zera agreed. She dug into the piles on her desk. In seconds, she’d located a list of the dead. “Do we know exactly the time of each resurrection?” When Amurra and Marso were silent, she raised her voice. “Guine!”

  He entered as if he’d been lurking just outside, which he might have been.

  “Exact times of Eklor’s ‘miracles,’ please?”

  He joined her at the desk. Sorting through her notes, they compiled a list of the six new resurrections, plus Lorn’s son. Zera and Guine then pored through the lists from the hospital and mortuaries.

  “I think—” Amurra began.

  “Shhh,” both Zera and Guine said.

  Zera handed him a page. “Look at this.” He handed her one. “You look at this.” They traded pages back and forth until they had found matches for every single time.

  For each resurrection, there was a death recorded at the same exact time.

  All were from the same location: the hospital on the third tier, all from the recovery wing, a mix of men and women in their early twenties. “Look at the causes of death.” Zera waved the papers in front of Guine’s nose. “‘Inconclusive.’ ‘Heart attack.’ ‘Unknown.’ Another ‘heart attack.’”

  He intercepted the papers. “All the dead were young.”

  “Young and not hospitalized for anything that should have been fatal. No prior histories of heart problems. None were under any kind of special near-death watch. You can’t convince me this is a coincidence: at the exact time Eklor works his spell, a hospital patient, one who shouldn’t have been in danger of dying, dies.”

  Marso exhaled a loud breath. “One dies and another lives.”

  “It’s not proof enough for Lorn,” Zera said. “But it’s proof enough for me. Eklor hasn’t repented.

  “He’s killing again.”

  At dawn, Kreya woke tangled in Jentt’s arms. With her head on his chest, she listened to him breathe. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. So alive.

  She matched her breathing to his. He smelled like a mix of soap and sweat, sweet and sour and woodsy and distinctively him. She wasn’t sure why she’d woken so early when they’d fallen asleep so late, but she was grateful for the extra moments.

  Every moment still felt stolen. She knew it shouldn’t—that had been the entire point of the last resurrection spell and everything she had gone through all these years to reach that point—but every time she looked at him, it seemed like a new miracle. She couldn’t shake the memory of him gray and lifeless, wrapped in linen strips. She’d gotten her second chance, and she was determined not to waste it by feeling as if she didn’t deserve it.

  She heard a click-click from near the window. The last of her constructs—the only one that hadn’t reported in yet—had returned. That must have been what woke her.

  She felt her breath seize in her throat.

  Please, no army. She wasn’t ready for this to end yet. She wanted to go on pretending that she could have peace—that her happiness wasn’t an illusion.

  Careful not to wake Jentt, Kreya slipped out of his embrace. She crossed the room and knelt beside the construct. It was clogged with reddish-brown dust, picked up from the caves within the mountains. Grabbing a towel, she wiped down its gears. This particular construct looked like a mechanical tree squirrel. “Did you find something, little one?” she whispered.

  Say no, she thought at it.

  It shook its head.

  Relief flooded through her. Maybe there is no army.

  Maybe we get a future after all.

  “Have you finished searching the caves?” she asked. She’d assigned each of them a portion of the tunnels that burrowed through the mountain, and this construct had the final unexplored region.

  It nodded.

  She smiled at it. “Excellent work. You’ve done well.”

  Straightening slightly, it seemed proud of itself.

  “You can rest now. You deserve it.”

  It shook its head. It didn’t want to rest.

  “Everything has been searched,” Kreya said. “Jentt and Stran have explored the forest around the city, you and your brethren have looked below the city, and there’s nowhere to hide an entire army within the city.” It seemed as if Eklor had told the truth: there was no army. He’d destroyed it, as he’d said. She’d let paranoia fuel her convictions.

  The construct drooped as if disappointed. She’d built it to search. She wasn’t allowing it to be itself if she forced it to stop. “You want to search more?” she asked.

  It perked up, waving its metal tail at her enthusiastically. Carrying it to the window, she looked out at the city, the mountains, the valley below . . .

  She hadn’t considered the valley. A tight knot seized her stomach. Far below, she could see a hint of mists. The mists were thick enough to hide an army, and Eklor could have taken his monstrosities from the plain through the valleys to below Cerre.

  Just because no one ever traveled through the mists didn’t mean it was impossible. After all, they’d done it themselves to reach Eklor. He could have had the same idea. “How about you search the valley, within the mists?” she said, with fake cheer in her voice. “Nothing there would be interested in eating you. You’re much too crunchy.” She patted its metal body. “Would that make you happy, to search more?”

  It nodded, clicked at her, and then waddled out the window. She followed it, watching it climb down the side of Zera’s palace. Please let me be wrong. She hated that her imagination was so good at supplying new horrible possibilities. It was highly unlikely an army could have survived passage through the deadly valley. Made of partial flesh, Eklor’s soldiers would have drawn too many predators. Unless Eklor took steps to keep them concealed. Which he couldn’t have, right?


  But he shouldn’t have been alive, either. Yet here he was.

  “It won’t find anything,” she said out loud, as both a promise and a prayer.

  Behind her, from the bed, Jentt said, “It’s good to be thorough.”

  “Yes, but I’m not convinced it’s healthy to be paranoid. The war is over, and Eklor isn’t our problem anymore. He’s Grand Master Lorn’s. And Grand Master Lorn made it clear he doesn’t want our help. Or our paranoia.”

  “You want to leave the city now, then? Say we’re done, and begin our traveling?”

  She couldn’t tell from his voice whether he was hopeful or critical. His tone was bland, as if he had only a passing interest in her answer. Returning to bed, she climbed in with him. “Maybe we could. Maybe it’s time.” Except it didn’t seem right to leave yet, while Eklor still lived. He had to expire soon, given the rate at which he was doling out his future years, and then she’d finally feel free. “Soon,” she said. “Let’s let the construct search the mists first, just to be sure.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Whatever you think is best.”

  Yet he sounded relieved. She pushed back, her hands on his bare chest. “Do you think I’m being selfish, spending time with you instead of pounding on the grand master’s door, demanding a report on Eklor’s every move?”

  Jentt hesitated for the barest of seconds—He’s going to say yes, she thought—but instead he said: “If you’re selfish, so am I.” Lifting one of her hands, he kissed her knuckles. “I’ve loved this time with you. Vast improvement over being dead.” He hooked his other arm around her and pulled her closer so she could feel the hardness between his legs. “Let me demonstrate again how much of an improvement it is.”

  She laughed and returned his kisses.

  Still, a worm of doubt twisted inside her: the army could be in the valley, Eklor could still be planning to destroy the guild, and the Five could be the only ones with both the awareness and the experience to stop him. Or it could be all in her head. And memories.

  A brisk knock sounded on the door, and they broke apart.

  “Clothe yourselves,” Zera demanded as she opened the door. “It’s all of us, and we need to talk.” She barged in, followed by Stran, Amurra, and Marso.

  For a brief instant, Kreya was annoyed, but that faded fast. For all of them to be here so early, something had to be wrong. She swung herself out of bed as Jentt wrapped a sheet around his waist and sat up. She noticed the others were all dressed, though they could have been wearing the same clothes as last night. She kept her voice calm and even, despite the way her heart rate had increased. “You have my attention. Talk.”

  “There are a lot of unknowns,” Zera began, “but here is what we do know. Eklor has resurrected eight people, the latest revival occurring this morning—”

  Kreya cut her off. “Eight?”

  That was impossible. Even if his body had another fifty years left of life in it, how could he have resurrected so many? Unless he was only giving a few years to each. Or less. That’s possible, she thought. He’d said he was giving them new life, but he could have been lying about the length of that new life. “Sorry. Continue,” she said.

  “We believe that for every person he saves, he’s murdering another.” Zera waved papers in the air. “The dates and times of the resurrections and deaths line up exactly.”

  Amurra gently pushed Marso forward. “Tell them what you saw.”

  “I can confirm the connection,” Marso said. He was trembling as he spoke, his eyes flitting back and forth as if he wanted to flee to the comfort of a fountain. “I read it in the bones. For every life Eklor gives, he’s taking another.”

  A few decades ago, Kreya would have believed him without question, but she’d seen what happened when he tried to read the bones now. “You read this?”

  “I . . . It’s not the same as it was. I can’t . . . But I can answer a single question. Amurra helped me. I’m not . . . healed . . . but I’m better. And Eklor is killing to heal.”

  “All the murders—yeah, I’m calling them that, even though they’re recorded as natural,” Zera said, “happened in the hospital on the third tier.”

  “What we don’t know is why he’s killing them,” Amurra said.

  “Bones?” Stran suggested. “Could he be using their bones for the resurrections and counting on no one making the connection?”

  “Except he’d need the bones before the spell, which should mean the deaths are occurring before,” Zera said. “Plus he should have plenty of bones from the plains. Kreya saw them in Lorn’s palace.”

  Kreya had a thought. A terrible thought. It shouldn’t have been possible, of course, but this was Eklor . . . “Did you check with the hospital? Were the bodies missing?”

  “No, but—”

  That was not the answer she was hoping for. “Were the bodies missing bones?”

  “Not that the hospital reported, but—”

  “You said that the deaths occurred at the precise moment of resurrection.”

  Zera waved her papers again. “Yes. All the times line up exactly, and we confirmed with the hospital that the victims weren’t sick or injured enough to die. Their deaths are all unexplained. Their bodies untouched.”

  “Shit,” Kreya said. She closed her eyes. “He’s not taking bones. He’s taking blood.” Probably sent a construct to infiltrate the hospital. It wouldn’t have been difficult to design one to perform that task—she could’ve done it in a few hours. You could even make it look like a typical cleaning construct, like the kind that she’d had cleaning the tower stairs. It could have passed unnoticed, retrieved the blood, and delivered it to Eklor for use at a later date.

  In a satisfied voice, Amurra said, “I told you we should tell her. She knows more about the resurrection spell than anyone.”

  Except she clearly didn’t. He must have stumbled onto, or more likely intentionally developed, a new variant of the resurrection spell, one where his own life force wasn’t affected.

  Actually, now that she thought of it, she could see how such a spell would be crafted. A few tweaks to the words. Substitute in your “donor’s” blood. I just didn’t think of it, because I’m not pure evil. Someone like Eklor . . . He could have created a spell to do exactly this.

  No—he did create such a spell. That was apparent now.

  “What is it?” Jentt asked. “What’s wrong?” He added, “Aside from everything.”

  Kreya opened her eyes and looked at Jentt. She didn’t want to tell him. Not now. Not like this. Not when she wasn’t alone with him, to explain, to beg him to understand. She’d thought she’d have years to explain what she’d done and why she’d done it.

  Jentt laid his hand over hers. “Kreya?”

  “Try to understand,” she said to him. She stared into his eyes and tried to will him to forgive her for what she’d done. “I’ve lived life without you, and I couldn’t bear it. Not when I had the strength to save you.”

  He withdrew his hand. “What are you saying?”

  “The resurrection spell requires three things: the right words, human bones, and the life essence of the caster. Not all of it. But as much as you choose to give.”

  Jentt’s voice was hushed. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  But she couldn’t tell him that, as badly as she wanted to. “In order to bring someone back to life, you have to give them some of yours. That’s why I believed Eklor—I thought he was sacrificing his future to give a future to an innocent child. But eight . . .”

  “How much?” Jentt asked.

  “If the people in the hospital are dying, he must be draining—”

  He interrupted. “How much of your future did you give me?”

  She looked at him. “Half. I’ll die when you die.”

  Jentt stood up abruptly and walked to the window, his back to her.

  “That still could be many, many years away,” Kreya called after him.

  Zera waved her hand. “You two have plenty to d
iscuss, I know. But do it later. Right now, we have to focus on Eklor. You think he’s stealing other people’s lives?”

  Kreya steeled herself. She didn’t want to have to think about Eklor in this moment, with Jentt in pain, but she had no choice. As Zera said, she had to focus on their enemy and only on him, if they were to find a way to defeat him. She forced herself to drag her gaze away from Jentt’s angry eyes and look instead at the others. “Yes, that’s exactly what I think.” And she explained what had come to mind as soon as she’d heard the news. As she spoke, another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “If he used such a spell on himself while he was close to death and stole the life of another . . .”

  “There were plenty of wounded on the battlefield,” Stran said.

  “Or he could have prepared in advance,” Zera said. “He was always a fellow who liked to plan. He could have had all the necessary ingredients already with him.”

  “Ingredients,” Amurra said. “You’re talking about a person.”

  “But Eklor wouldn’t have thought of them like that. And right now, we need to think like him.”

  Amurra shuddered.

  Stran punched one fist into his other hand. “We should have made certain he was dead.”

  “We did,” Zera said. “He was. We’re not idiots. Kreya examined the body. Stuck him with a few knives, as I recall, and before we left the plains, Marso read the bones and saw him dead.”

  Kreya nodded.

  “He could have drafted a flunky to work the spell after we were gone,” Zera said. “But how about we ask Eklor about the nitty-gritty details after we take him down? Plenty of opportunity for reminiscing about the past once he’s behind bars.”

  All of them looked at Kreya, expecting her to command them as she always did. Yet at the moment, her heart ached to go to Jentt, talk to him, try to fix what she knew she’d broken. Her head knew her duty, however. There was no question what the right thing to do was: Report Eklor immediately. Expose his crimes, and keep him from fleeing as the bone guild and the city authorities came down on him. “It’s time for another visit to Grand Master Lorn.”