The Bone Maker

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Jentt, forgive me.

  She took a breath, and Zera caught her arm. “If this is the only way, then use me,” Zera said. “It’s my turn. Let me be the one to sacrifice.”

  “I’ve hurt you enough.” She’d abandoned her. Doubted her. Taken her for granted. At least she could spare her any more pain.

  Zera snorted. “I’ve forgiven that, or haven’t you noticed? Kreya, you aren’t doing this alone, remember? Besides, we don’t need to revive him for long, right? We’re taking moments, not years, long enough to stop the army. A few minutes is not such a great sacrifice to save the lives of the people we love. And, you know, everyone else. Please, Kreya. I want to bear this burden.”

  Kreya shook her head.

  “It’s my choice,” Zera said. “Not yours. This is it, Kreya—the moment you prove whether you’ve changed. Respect my right to make this choice about my own life.”

  Kreya couldn’t refuse her, but she hated herself for having this plan. She switched her knife from one hand to another. “Hold him down,” she ordered.

  “He won’t twitch,” Zera said. “He’s dead.”

  She knew that. Of course. But . . . Stop delaying, she told herself. This had to be done. Her thoughts flew again to Jentt, Stran, Marso, and Amurra. To the people of Cerre. Of Vos.

  Bearing down on Eklor’s torso, she sliced along his sternum. It was a precise incision, and her hand didn’t shake. She knew where the extra bone had entered his body. He hadn’t completed enough of the spell to absorb it, she hoped.

  Separating the skin, she plunged her hand in. Her fingers wrapped around the loose bone, and she drew it out. Blood coated her hand.

  Efficiently, Zera began to sew him up. “Not sure he’d survive this kind of wound if he weren’t already dead.”

  “It doesn’t need to be perfect,” Kreya said as she cleaned the extracted bone in the buckets of rainwater left to extinguish any pyres. “I’m not giving him more than a few minutes of your life.” She hoped. She ran over the words in her head, determined to get every syllable right. This was not a time for mistakes.

  Finishing, Zera rolled up the sleeve of her coat.

  Again, Kreya hesitated. “You’re certain?”

  Her friend didn’t even bother to reply. Just held her arm out, wrist up, veins exposed. Kreya drew the blade over her skin deep enough that the blood welled in its wake. She wiped her blood over the used bone and hoped she’d cleaned it well enough. She couldn’t do anything about the blood from others that had already dispersed into his system—the bone workers he’d already killed. But he shouldn’t be able to kill any more. She just had to hope that Zera’s fresh blood, combined with her spell, would enable her to control and limit the life transfer.

  Pressing the bone against the freshly sewn wound, Kreya whisper-chanted in Eklor’s ear: “Take her breath, take her blood. Sixty breaths, she gives you. Sixty breaths, you’ll take. Iri nascre, murro bey enlay. Iri prian, esa esi roe. Iri sangra. Iri, iri, nascre enlay.” She finished the incantation and then stepped back.

  Eklor sucked in a breath.

  Her hand shook. She wanted to pull that breath out of him.

  Struggling to sit, Eklor was bound too tightly to move. “Iri nascre—” Shit, if he worked the spell with Zera’s blood—

  Zera laid a knife, blade flat, hard against his throat.

  He stopped.

  Kreya leaned over him, opposite Zera. “You have three minutes to live. You will die at the end of those minutes. That’s inevitable. But we have granted you three minutes so that you can stop your army. Command them now.”

  Eklor croaked a laugh, beneath the press of the blade. “Why would I?”

  “Because if you do, I will grant you what you want.”

  Zera eased the pressure on the blade minutely so he could speak. “I want my family back. You can’t grant me that.” Bloody spit pooled in the corner of his mouth as he rasped out the words. His body shuddered with each stolen breath. They didn’t have much time.

  “I can tell the world you were the hero, though,” Kreya said. “You saw how we spread the tales of the Bone War in just a few days—that’s the reason the people of Cerre were primed to rise up against your army. We will spread the tale of how your family truly died, how the bone guild wronged you and then lied to cover up our evil, and how the council and grand master lied, even to us bone workers. We will tell them you were a martyr and would have been their savior.”

  Zera leaned against her. “Kreya . . .”

  Kreya did not look at her. She kept her eyes on Eklor’s as he drank in her words. “We will tell them how we were wrong, and you were right.”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Stop the army,” Kreya said. “And I will correct your legacy. You’ll have the immortality you wanted. Not in flesh. But in memory.”

  “You will truly do this?” her enemy asked. And for a moment, she felt pity. She, perhaps more than anyone who had ever lived, understood him. She knew what had made him cross unforgivable lines. She knew why he felt what he felt and believed what he believed. She understood why he saw himself as the martyred hero, because she was not so different.

  “I will,” she lied.

  Zera dug into her pockets for a talisman that would carry his words across the city. She activated it as Eklor called the command to stop: “Vron!”

  Beyond the roof, she heard silence spread as every construct halted—their gears ceased, their cries and roars and screams fell quiet. But she did not go to the edge to look. She kept her eyes on Eklor as he drew another breath and, in a whisper, began the spell to steal Zera’s life: “Iri—”

  Kreya slammed her hand down on Zera’s wrist, the one that held the knife hovering over Eklor’s throat. The force of her hand plunged the blade down. Together, with Kreya’s hand over Zera’s, they silenced him for the final time.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  They lit the pyre.

  Kreya stood with her hands clasped behind her back as the flames coated Eklor. She kept her eyes on his face as his skin blackened and shriveled. She didn’t intend to stop watching until it was finished.

  In her ear, Zera murmured, “I am half expecting him to sit up.”

  “It’s over this time.”

  “I’m not sure I believe in ‘over’ anymore. You remember that ballad about us from the Bone War, the one that ends with us watching the sunset together over the plains?”

  Of all the ballads, that had been one of the least cringeworthy tunes. It had gotten about half the facts right, which was better than many others. “Sure. But I’m not going to sing it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Zera smirked. “I’d pay money to hear that. You have to do the alto part, though—remember, you’re not a soprano. But my point is: the song ends when the sun sets. Really, though, you know what happens when the sun sets? It gets dark. Stars come out. The temperature drops. Eventually, you sleep. And then the sun rises again, and it’s another day, and when you look back on your life, you don’t know if you’ve made all the best choices or said all the right things, but it’s not like it ends on the final ballad chord. It ends when it ends.”

  Kreya thought about that, as the burning man began to crumble in on himself. Soon, he’d be ash, and the wind would scatter the last speck of him across the city he’d nearly destroyed.

  She had three more years of her story after the sun set today.

  It would be enough.

  Out in the city, the constructs lurched to a halt.

  Every inhuman soldier, every monstrosity cobbled together from flesh and metal, every nightmare that had crawled out of the mist-coated valley and poured up from the bowels of the mountain, stopped simultaneously.

  Jentt let his knife fall to his side. He sagged against a broken lamppost. Around him, he heard ragged cheers, between the cries for help. He took one more breath, and then, limping, without the benefit of any talismans, just with what strength of will he had left inside him, he moved from
construct to construct, yanking out the bones that powered them so that they could never come back and kill. He didn’t stop until he had reached every single one in the street before him. Only then did he look toward the guild headquarters.

  At the top of the headquarters, flames licked the sky as the pyre burned.

  She did it, he thought.

  We did it.

  And maybe, just maybe, we all came out of this alive.

  There were so many dead.

  As they left the guild headquarters, Kreya saw pyres lit in every square on every tier of the city. Gripping her by the elbow, Zera pulled her through the streets. “Move quickly, and don’t make eye contact,” Zera advised.

  “Eklor intended to save them. We could do the same.”

  “By killing countless others. Even if you do it your way, taking life from the willing, it’s a very bad plan. Don’t even think about it. You’d be arrested and added to the pyres before you even finished explaining the cost.”

  But if she didn’t try to save them, did that make her as bad as he was? On the other hand, did she have a choice? Zera was right—there was very little chance she’d be allowed to complete the spell. She’d be killed too.

  Quickly and efficiently, Zera handled everything. Dropping gold in the right shop, she obtained a crawler. Slipping silver into the right hands, she located Jentt, Marso, Stran, and Amurra, and the relief she felt at seeing them was palpable. All of them piled into the crawler and left Cerre before the fires burned out.

  Kreya worried silently as they traveled: Eklor had called the resurrection spell a “gift,” and now she was the only one alive capable of giving it. But it was a gift that should never be given.

  Yet I made an exception for Jentt. And for Amurra.

  Was it morally wrong to deny that same choice to others? Or morally wrong to offer it? She’d always believed the knowledge of the spell should die with her . . . but after seeing the fires in Cerre, now she questioned that.

  What if there was no right answer? That was a horrible thought. What if she never knew whether she was making the right decision because there was no right decision? She kept turning that over and over in her mind.

  At nightfall, they halted and slept outside beneath the stars. Without talismans, it was a multiday journey, but none of them complained. Jentt hunted for rabbits, which Stran skinned and cooked. Zera insisted on bathing in a stream and returned happier and cleaner but with dampened silks. She didn’t seem to mind the lost fashion.

  They talked about minor things as they ate: tasks that Stran and Amurra would need to complete at the farm, whether or not the winter would be mild, how much better Stran was at cooking than he used to be. Eventually, they spread blankets out on the needles and moss.

  Lying beside Jentt, Kreya stared up at the clouds drifting across the stars. The air had the crispness of coming winter to it. At last, she hinted at the question that had been haunting her since they slipped away: “Should we have stayed in Cerre?”

  He knew what she was asking. Of course he did. He knew her. “Eventually you’d have been arrested and executed.”

  “Unless the laws were changed,” Kreya said. “We could have tried—”

  “Did you ever think that maybe this is why the law was written?” Jentt wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his warm breath on her neck. “Eklor may not have been the first to discover how to cheat death.”

  She considered that. It was one of the oldest laws in Vos. She’d no idea of its source or original purpose, but she did know it wouldn’t be easy to overturn. The taboo ran deep, as she’d seen from her encounters with the villagers around her old tower. If people knew the cost of extra life, both to themselves and to others . . . Some wouldn’t care, Kreya thought. But those with a conscience, who cared about others . . .

  “Eklor’s spell makes a lot of evil possible,” Marso said. He was lying only a few yards away, closer to the fire. “You saw what he nearly did.”

  “Plus who will supply the bone?” Amurra said from the opposite side of the campfire. “Some would have to stay dead for others to live. Who makes that choice? Not that I’m not grateful for you bringing me back, but . . . I don’t know that that’s a choice anyone should be allowed to make.”

  Stran spoke up. “I am more than grateful. And I’d ask you to do it again in a heartbeat, and I think most people would. The temptation to save a loved one would be irresistible.”

  He was right—that was the problem, wasn’t it? If the spell were known, it would be used. And abused. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed, she thought. Eklor’s books had been burned. So had Eklor himself. In three years, with her death, the knowledge would pass out of the world entirely.

  And that was a good thing.

  I can’t tell, though, if this makes me the hero or the villain.

  Maybe both. Maybe neither.

  Maybe there were no perfect choices for anyone to make, hero or villain. Maybe there was only doing the best you could do with the time you had. That was an unsatisfying thought, but just because it was uncomfortable didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  “I wish I could have done more.” She thought of Briel and the other bone workers who’d fallen. She thought of all the bodies in the street and pyres in the squares. If she’d been faster, smarter, less certain that she knew Eklor’s plan . . .

  Jentt cupped her face in his hands. In the amber glow of the campfire, she could see the seriousness in his eyes. “You can’t save everyone. But you should know that you saved all of us. Gave us all second chances. And that’s not nothing.”

  “But is it enough?” Kreya asked.

  “I think . . . Yes,” Jentt said.

  Marso: “Yes.”

  Stran and Amurra: “Yes,” and “Yes.”

  “Yes.” Zera.

  And Kreya let herself believe them.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  They didn’t speak of it again, or of much else. Quiet, they slept. At dawn, they packed their camp and continued on. The crawler lurched through forests and across cliffs, until it reached the old farmhouse.

  Bathed in late afternoon light with the remnants of frost still clinging to the tips of the grasses, the farmhouse looked like a painting. Kreya climbed out of the crawler behind the others. Stran and Amurra both ran toward the door, their arms open.

  Seeing them from the window, two children tumbled outside: Vivi and Jen. An elderly couple followed more slowly, the man holding little Nugget, soon to be called Evren. Stran and Amurra fell to the ground and were swarmed by their family. Following them came the bird construct and the other rag dolls. They flocked to Kreya.

  She couldn’t help smiling. This felt right.

  The others held back, allowing Stran’s family their moment, until Amurra beckoned them over, and they were all enfolded into the group embrace. Jen immediately climbed onto Jentt’s back. Vivi tugged on Zera’s arm. “You want to see me climb a tree?”

  Zera laughed. “Absolutely.”

  “And you’ll catch me when I fall?” she asked.

  “Maybe we should save tree climbing for later,” Zera said. “Climb on Jentt.” Squealing, the little girl joined her brother in scrambling over Jentt. Stran was already holding the baby and breathing deeply as if he exuded an exquisite perfume, which Kreya was fairly certain no baby did.

  Watching the children, Kreya picked up the bird construct and let it climb onto her shoulder. The rag dolls burrowed themselves into her coat pockets, chittering happily.

  Amurra herded everyone inside, where they were greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering soup, made by Amurra’s mother and father, who proceeded to serve everyone dinner. As she scooped the soup into bowls, Amurra’s mother asked them, “Will you all be staying here for a while?”

  “A few weeks,” Kreya answered. “While we recover.”

  “Not so long for me,” Zera said. “I’ll have to get back. See what’s left of my business. Rebuild my home. Make sure Guine and the oth
ers aren’t permanently traumatized.”

  Kreya heard what she didn’t say: Or dead.

  They’d left before they could be sure of the full cost of Eklor’s attack, before the bone makers could compare their stories and realize what Kreya knew. We left to save me, she thought. Everyone had fled the city for that one reason. She looked around the table and felt tears prick her eyes—she’d thought the bonds between them had faded over the many years, but as it turned out, they’d only strengthened with time.

  We all saved each other.

  “Marso, you’ll stay as long as you want,” Amurra said to him without even a question in her voice.

  Kreya approved. This would be a good place for him. Far better than where they’d found him, at least until he decided what he wanted to do with his life.

  “I’d like that,” Marso said, “if there’s room.” He smiled tentatively at them. “You’ll have a full house, with four children.”

  Stran clapped him on the shoulder. “Always room for you, my friend.” And then: “Four?” He shot a look at Amurra, who looked picturesquely confused. “You said that before, but . . .”

  “Congratulations,” Kreya said.

  “But I’m not . . .” Amurra trailed off and then her face blossomed into a smile. “I will be? You read it in the bones, didn’t you? You knew it when you first came here.”

  Chatter turned to new babies and the future, and Kreya let it all wash over her. She reached beneath the table and caught Jentt’s hand in hers.

  Zera lingered at the farmhouse for three weeks before returning to Cerre. She kept inventing excuses to stay: she’d leave once her cuts and bruises healed, she’d leave once Marso was settled in, she’d leave after Amurra confirmed she was expecting, she’d leave when the weather was clear . . .

  At last, it was a perfect blue-sky day, a winter chill in the air, and she had no more excuses. She had responsibilities to both people and her business.