The Boneless Mercies

by April Genevieve Tucholke

  The beast still didn’t come. Not that night. Not the next.

  On the sixth morning, I looked up from my practice and saw Roth standing nearby. He stayed for over an hour, shifting positions occasionally to rest his right leg.

  The edge dance. All of us women moving in unison, Ovie calling out the steps, the hiss of our blades as they moved through the air, the thump of our boots hitting the ground—it gave me joy, sharp and pure, straight to the heart. I could taste the power of it on the back of my throat, like a long drink of Vite.

  I was no longer a simple wanderer, alone in the world except for my companions. I felt linked to these people, these women, to Roth, to this Hall. We’d been in Blue Vee only a week, but it was the longest I’d spent in one place since running away from the Bliss House at fourteen.

  * * *

  On the evening of the seventh night, a gray-blue mist rose and spread across the valley.

  Roth and I stood together on the hill outside the Hall and watched it come—the rare sight of smoke on snow. The haze moved swiftly, covering Destin Lush in the span of a few hundred heartbeats.

  “I wish I could take them in,” Roth said, nodding down at the wall below. “I wish I could keep all my people safe behind these gates. But how many could I fit inside? A tenth at most, elbow to elbow? And who would decide which ones lived and which ones died?”

  I understood. I had the same urge. “We traveled through several villages on the way here—it seems that the ones who could flee, did. The men hide in the forest. It’s the sick and injured who are left in the villages, the elderly, and the young. They must wait it out and live or die, relying on fate and luck.”

  Roth turned to me, eyes on mine. “I’d die in their place, if I could.”

  “I know.”

  Thunder echoed across the valley, so loud and deep I felt it ring through my heart. A moment passed, and then I heard it again. And again.

  I scanned the horizon, but all I saw was mist. I looked at Roth. “That’s not thunder.”

  “No.”

  I reached for the dagger at my calf and held it down at my side, sharp side out, in the fourth position of the Seventh Degree.

  Logafell’s howl was the sound of breaking, of slaughter, of ruin, of crush and beat and burn.

  “Look, Roth, there.” I pointed.

  A girl was running through the mist, toward the gates in the wall. She was young, maybe four or five.

  Her white wool dress was red with blood.

  Roth looked down at his right leg, then back at me. “Save her, Frey.”

  I ran.

  No guards stood at the gate. Roth had called them in when the mist started to rise—the guards never survived the attacks, and he couldn’t afford to lose any more men. I lifted the bolt myself, straining, straining, until it finally shifted off the latch.

  I pushed the tall doors open and was met with a wall of mist. I took a deep breath, and ran blindly toward the girl’s screams.

  My shoulder smacked into the trunk of a tree, and I staggered backward.

  My feet tripped on stones buried under snow, and I fell, knees smacking into the ground.

  Finally, the wind shifted, and a patch of mist cleared.

  I saw her near a group of three tall pines, running hard, her chubby arms and legs pumping. I raced toward her, close … closer …

  I bent down and swept the girl up into my arms.

  I unclasped my Mercy-cloak and tucked it around her cold little body. She was still screaming, the sound muffled now by my shoulder.

  I held her close and ran.

  Her legs bounced against my hips, her breath warmed my neck.

  I felt Logafell’s howl when it came again, the sound boiling my blood, pounding my bones.

  I spun around, eyes squinting through mist and snow …

  A wolf, a Giantine Wolf, shaggy red fur, yellow eyes, five feet at the shoulder, eight from nose to tail.

  It was magnificent.

  It was monstrous.

  It raised its front paw, in a point.

  Run, Frey. RUN.

  Roth met me at the doors. He slammed the gates shut behind me—

  The wolf crashed into the other side. It rammed the wood, blow after blow.

  The gates began to shake. To moan.

  The girl screamed again, and I clutched her even closer to me, so close I could feel her pulse. I counted the beats, waiting for the blows to end. One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred.

  The blows stopped.

  The wolf retreated, back into the mist.

  It knew it would get another chance at us from the other side of the wall.

  We saw the smoke from the village when we reached the top of the hill, a darker shade than the haze. Below the smoke, flickering orange flames danced with abandon, like Elvers after a Midsummer feast.

  “Thorsten burns,” Roth said, looking down at his valley, his voice low, and sad as twilight.

  Siv took the girl from me when we reached the Hall. The poor thing panicked when I handed her to the healer, fingers clutching at my tunic, eyes wide and terrified.

  “Shh,” I whispered, rubbing my thumb across her cheek, “Siv will take care of you. You’re safe.”

  Siv hushed the girl, rocking her back and forth. I hadn’t spent much time with the Mender, but I could see she had a tender way about her, like Juniper.

  Siv caught Trigve’s eye, and then gestured to the girl’s pearl-white toes. “Rub her feet. She’s been running on snow.”

  Trigve took both of the girl’s feet in his palms and began to massage them until the color came back, his touch gentle and expert. “What village did the giant burn?” he asked, softly.

  “Thorsten.”

  He nodded and said nothing.

  Roth was by the yew tree, talking to his men-at-arms. I noticed for the first time that none of the men was younger than thirty. I understood now that these last sixteen warriors were the best of Roth’s fighters—the seasoned veterans who’d outlasted the rest.

  Roth looked up and saw me watching. He motioned me over with a nod of his chin. I went to him, the Mercies at my side.

  “So what is your plan, Frey?”

  I put my hand on the hilt of my ax and let the warriors run their gaze over me. “We go out beyond the wall and meet her.”

  The men began to shout and swear. I’d expected as much.

  Roth raised an arm, and they fell quiet. “Logafell has lured us out before. It is certain death.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it’s a trap. But this time we will not try to kill her. We only need to stand our ground until we wound her. If we can believe the Stregas’ vision, then I will be able to follow her trail of blood back to her den and slay her in her lair.”

  Roth held my gaze. It was the right choice, and he knew it. Even if it meant more of his men would die.

  Their blood would be on my hands.

  Juniper stepped forward. “We go after Logafell tonight, and we don’t hold back. We make it count.”

  Runa glanced at me, then gripped her new bow in one fist and turned to the men. “I, for one, am not afraid.”

  Ovie drew her ax and faced Roth. “We do this in the old way, with steel and blood.”

  I saw the faces of the last sixteen Blue Vee warriors slowly shift from wariness to … pride.

  Roth walked over to the wall and grabbed the double-headed battle-ax that hung there, lifting it easily, strong shoulder blades sliding down his back.

  “We won’t cower,” he said, deep, accented voice ringing down the Hall. “We won’t huddle behind locked gates while a giant sets our villages on fire.” He raised the ax above his head and let his voice rise to a shout. “We fight, for Blue Vee.”

  “We fight,” I said, louder, loud enough for all to hear, “because we are Vorse.”

  * * *

  We moved slowly toward Thorsten, the mist curling around our bodies like claws, clinging to our skins like icy spiderwebs.

  If this was a hunt, we
were the prey.

  Trigve, Indigo, the Mercies, and I made up the middle of the pack, along with Roth. His warriors surrounded us on all sides, weapons out.

  Silence.

  Nothing but the crunch of our feet on frozen snow. I breathed in and felt the fog moving down my throat, settling into my lungs.

  Sweat trickled down my spine, despite the cold.

  Roth had given Trigve a large ax with a hickory handle, and he gripped it in his fist, eyes on the mist. Despite his prior claims to know very little of fighting and weaponry, Trigve looked confident with the blade. Brave. I would have preferred he stayed safe at the Great Hall, with Siv, but I knew better than to ask it of him.

  The smell of burning drifted in from the direction of Thorsten, and this is how we stayed on course, for we could barely see the ground six feet in front of us. We flinched at every sound, every snap of a twig, every whistle of a Great Owl. On and on, through the clammy fog.

  I prayed.

  Not for victory, but for the mist to clear, so it could be a fair fight, and so I could see this creature, this last remnant of the northern giants, before I was killed.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath to my right.

  One of the warriors, a tall man with sorrowful eyes, had fallen to his knees, weapon on the ground, hand to his waist, blood seeping through his tunic.

  The second man was taken as I watched, yanked backward by his hair, a flash of white fangs, his ax dropped at my feet.

  I felt the swish of air as the third man was pulled from our circle. I heard the snap of his bones as they broke under giant teeth.

  We squeezed into a tighter circle. I felt the fear coming off the men. I felt it pouring off myself.

  Fear would overtake us, then panic, and then we’d simply run back to the Hall.

  “Enough,” I screamed. I turned to Roth, squinting in the haze. “Logafell’s wolves are going to pick us off one by one. We need to lure her out of the mist.”

  Roth shifted the battle-ax to his right hand. “Kill the wolves,” he shouted, his deep voice cutting through the fog. “Force her out of hiding.”

  I raised my voice to match his. “Go by scent, not by sight. Run into the mist and attack them before they attack you.”

  Mercies and men-at-arms scattered into the dark mist. I moved blindly to the east, arms out before me, weapons ready. I breathed in, and smelled juniper berries and snow …

  And also fur. The wet, earthy stink of fur, like a whip across my face.

  I lunged into the haze, my ax in both hands—

  I screamed—

  And buried the blade in the creature’s flank until it crunched through bone.

  I wrenched my weapon free and hit it again, this time lower down.

  It howled …

  And howled …

  And then it fell. The thud echoed up my legs.

  I would make this quick and clean. A Mercy-kill. I screamed again, and hewed open its neck. Blood splattered my face.

  The wind swelled, and a patch of the blue mist dissipated. I looked up. Ovie and Trigve stood off to the right, a dead wolf at their feet. One of the warriors, a lithe man with red hair, had taken another. I spun to my left and saw Roth, battle-ax raised, a dead wolf by his side.

  Our eyes met.

  “Back to the circle, everyone,” he shouted.

  I called out to Juniper and Runa and heard the answering cries. They were alive and well, thank the gods.

  Together we stumbled our way through the mist and moved into position, back-to-back. Silent. Waiting.

  “That will have gotten her attention,” Roth whispered. “Prepare yourself, everyone.”

  The wind swelled again.

  Ovie lifted her blade and pointed. “There.”

  Logafell.

  She crouched near a tall, snow-covered pine, elbows hugging bent knees, white-blond hair flowing around her muscled, half-naked body, like a Gothi nun’s veil.

  She stared sat us, eyes the size of apples.

  Logafell curled back her lips and snarled, pearly teeth the size of oyster shells … then she tilted her head back and howled.

  It was raw and ancient and primal.

  She rose up from the ground as we watched, up and up, as tall as a tree, as tall as a god, arms as thick as pillars.

  The ground shook as she circled around us, the thud of her footsteps rhythmic and deep, like the Cut-Queen’s drums. Thick muscles rippled under her worn wool tunic.

  Indigo and Runa exchanged a glance, and then moved to stand shoulder to shoulder. In unison, they pulled back their bowstrings.

  We all watched the arrows as they soared into the air, felt the thrum—

  Each bounced off the giant’s skin, leaving only faint lines of blood.

  “What now?” Runa screamed. “What do we do, Frey?”

  The wind shifted again, and the mist swept back in, great patches of milky haze. Indigo and Runa spun in the fog, arrows ready …

  Logafell dodged forward. She gripped one of the male warriors by the shoulder, fingers like tree branches. We watched his body rise into the air, and then disappear into the fog.

  Blood dripped down on our faces like rain.

  She tossed his limp body aside and lunged forward again. One swift move of her arm … Roth flew backward and landed on his right leg. Hard.

  Somewhere, off to my right, I smelled wet fur.

  Somewhere, off to my left, I heard Trigve scream.

  “Trigve.” Everything was happening too fast—I couldn’t see, the damn mist—“Trigve.”

  No reply.

  I smelled wet fur again. Close, too close—

  Juniper spun around, eyes wide. She grabbed my arm. “Kneel, Frey.”

  I crouched down, and the Sea Witch jumped onto my back, and then into the air, swift and light as a deer. She cut the wolf’s throat with one quick jerk of her hand, its teeth gnashing inches above my head.

  The wolf dropped to the ground. It began to writhe on the snow, red blood, red fur.

  Juniper and I backed away from the beast and into the mist. A breeze brushed by my cheek, and a patch of fog cleared …

  Logafell. She knelt next to her dying wolf, her hands on its neck, trying to stanch the blood.

  “Now, Runa,” I shouted. “Quick. Aim for her eye.”

  Runa ran to my side, Indigo at her heels. She raised her bow …

  And missed.

  “Again,” I screamed.

  Another arrow hissed through the air, this time from Indigo.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Runa shifted position. She took a deep breath—

  The fifth arrow flew straight and true. It sank deep into Logafell’s eye, the tip disappearing into iris-black.

  Logafell howled.

  The sound cut through my mind like fire, burned my skin, my eyes, my scalp. It went on and on …

  And then suddenly … silence.

  I put my hands to the earth and felt the thud of four beasts fleeing back into the mist.

  * * *

  I found Trigve under a juniper tree. His arm was broken, but he was alive.

  I knelt there in the snow and gave thanks to Valkree and to Obin.

  Roth lived as well. His leg was badly hurt, and he suffered a deep gash to the back of his skull, which bled like a stuck pig.

  We found the remains of his warriors in pools of blood … missing limbs, crushed skulls, sharp teeth marks on tender skin. Nine of the last sixteen, gone.

  It was a slow journey back to the Hall, the injured and the dead dragged in on hastily constructed sleds made of pine boughs, spilled blood freezing hard in the cold night air.

  Roth fell unconscious on the way back to the Hall. We brought him to his room so Siv could tend to him.

  Indigo and the men-at-arms burned their comrades, the Mercies and I went back into the valley to search for survivors.

  Thorsten had a scattering of homes, two dozen at most, and more than half were burned to
ash by the time we arrived. We found no one alive.

  Ovie discovered the bodies of three young girls near a smoldering outbuilding. Three bruised, broken corpses, the oldest eight years at most.

  I dropped my ax in the snow. “Logafell will die for this. I swear it on my life and every life I’ve ever taken.”

  Juniper made a Sea Witch sign for justice, a cross with one long line, one short.

  Runa pushed back her Mercy-cloak and knelt beside me. “We came here to kill this giant. We will keep our promise.”

  My eyes met hers. “I swear vengeance. For Jarl Roth and all the people of Blue Vee. For these three dead girls, and for Vorse girls everywhere.”

  * * *

  We found the trail of blood on the way back to the Hall, each drop the size of a gold coin, glowing crimson in the snow.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Once upon a time, in the final days before the Salt and Marsh Witch War, four Boneless Mercies turned their backs on the death trade and went west, seeking immortality.”

  I said this with my fist on my heart, my back to the Great Hall of Blue Vee, my gaze scanning the Destin Lush Valley, the sun rising pink in the east.

  Ovie nodded. “Even if we fail, we still succeed, Frey.”

  Juniper pushed back the hood of her cloak, and her pearl-green curls shone against the white snow. “We are doing something that hasn’t been done before. That is what matters.”

  Runa simply lifted her chin and stared ahead, past the valley, to the Sleet Heath.

  Indigo had joined us as well, claiming she didn’t want Runa to get all the glory. She moved to Runa’s side and grinned. “Let’s kill this monster, Mercies.”

  The Glee Starr girl, for all her boasts and bravado, had blood of fire and a heart of gold.

  We’d stayed at the Hall only long enough to report on Thorsten, clean the grime from our faces, and gather supplies. Logafell’s blood trail would last only until the next snowfall, which could come any moment. It was now or never.