The Boneless Mercies

by April Genevieve Tucholke

  I went to Roth’s room and sat by his side for several minutes, as long as I could spare. He still hadn’t woken. His leg was bandaged, and his head wrapped in a clean linen cloth. He looked … young. I thought of the stories he’d told me about his childhood, of hunting trolls in the caves.

  Lastly, I sought out Trigve, in Siv’s hut. He was pale but awake, lying on a cot with his arm in a sling, dried herbs hanging overhead.

  “So you’re off to slay the beast,” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  He wrapped his good arm around me and pulled me close.

  “Don’t die,” Trigve whispered, his lips near my ear. “Don’t die, Frey.”

  I gripped his tunic in my fists and held him tight. “I won’t, Trigve Lothe.”

  * * *

  We tracked Logafell across the open plain, black cloaks fluttering over white snow.

  “They haven’t left a single print,” Runa said a few hours into our trek. “Neither she nor her wolves. As if they run on air.”

  “It’s a spell.” Juniper tilted her head, staring at the ground. “It’s ancient northern magic, older than Sea Witch magic. We don’t know the way of it.”

  We followed the drops north, on and on, until the trees gave way to berry-red lichen and purple heather.

  It was drier in the Heath, the snowfall slighter. We picked up speed, heels kicking up flakes as we ran.

  We stopped at noon, just long enough to start a fire. We rubbed the cold out of our tired limbs and melted snow for chicory tea. Ovie found winter lingonberries, and we ate these by the handful, grateful for the tart spice that heated our bellies, even if it didn’t fill them.

  Juniper, cheeks glowing red from the chill, swallowed a mouthful of berries and then lifted her arm and pointed north toward a small hill. “Look. A milk-white doe.”

  I saw it, a faint outline against the snow, tall ears, dark eyes, standing in a pocket of sunlight. It watched us as we watched it, before suddenly turning and bolting off, thin legs leaping easily over the drifts.

  Juniper smiled and made a witch sign for luck. “It bodes well. The gods are with us.”

  I looked at my Sea Witch friend. The lack of sleep was getting to us all, but she was suffering the most. I could see it in the dark circles under her eyes and in the tightness of her mouth. The white deer seemed to cheer her, though, and give her comfort, and I was glad of it.

  Runa took a sip of chicory tea and glanced at Ovie, who sat on a fallen tree, sharpening her ax with a small stone. “You and Logafell have something in common now.”

  Ovie tapped her finger on the patch over her eye. “True.”

  I heard a raven caw and looked up at the sky—it was a crisp, striking blue, though the winter sun provided little heat.

  I wondered when we Mercies would sit like this again around a fire.

  Perhaps soon.

  Perhaps never.

  * * *

  The trail of blood eventually led us to a river and a narrow canyon.

  The canyon was deeply shadowed—the tall, jutted sides blocked the sun. Yellow Cave Crows lived in the small, dark cavities at the top of the cliffs, and their songs were lonely and mournful.

  There was an eerie feeling about the chasm, one that made my spine tingle and my jaw ache.

  We stood at the entrance to the ravine, toes near a giant drop of blood, and squinted into the shadows.

  Ovie pushed back the hood of her cloak and took a step forward. “We will be trapped inside this canyon once we enter. We can’t climb these steep walls.”

  I nodded. “My instinct tells me Logafell does not yet know we are following her. She is in retreat, wounded, with five of her wolves dead. She’s thinking only of her den.”

  And with that, I entered the ravine.

  We did not run now, but walked, feet on soft snow. Quiet. Silent. We followed the edge of the canyon stream, keeping watch on all sides. The Cave Crows flew overhead—a burst of yellow across the black cliffs. One came so close that I reached out and touched her wing as she passed, fingers sliding down feathers. They are brave birds.

  I heard the waterfall before I saw it—a misting white stream slipping down over black rocks, crashing into a small pool at the bottom. I came to the last bead of blood and stood, toes pointed forward.

  It was the end of the trail.

  I gripped my ax in one hand and reached for my dagger with the other. “Logafell might have been able to pull herself up those rocks,” I whispered, “but her wolves sure couldn’t. Get out your weapons, Mercies. She went behind the waterfall. It must conceal the entrance to a cave.”

  Juniper raised a hand, palm out. “In the Blood Frost Saga, the Lone Girl finds the entrance to the Ice Elver’s cave behind a waterfall. It is right that the giant led us here. It feels … balanced.”

  Ovie stared ahead into the white surge of water, body tense, ready to spring.

  Indigo grinned and lifted her bow. “We will kill this giant or die in the attempt. If we die, then we will drink and feast tonight in the golden Great Hall of the Slain, and all of Holhalla will kneel at our feet. I’m ready, and I’m eager.”

  I smiled, despite myself. “You are fierce, Indigo.”

  Runa nodded. “She is Vorse.”

  We waded into the pool, feet treading carefully on the icy stones.

  I closed my eyes and stepped through the water.

  The cave tunnel was dark, pitch dark, new moon dark. I shook off droplets of water, like a dog, then gripped my ax in my fist so hard my bones ached. I couldn’t see the girls next to me, but I felt them, felt their tension and their warmth.

  “Fire,” I whispered.

  I heard Runa fishing around in her pack—she always carried one or two unlit torches—oiled strips of wool tied to a stick of green wood. I saw sparks, and light cut through the dark, banishing it back into the corners.

  She handed me the torch, and we moved forward. I heard water trickling, a soft patter like rain.

  We walked on and on. The air smelled stagnant and clammy, with a faint earthy tinge. I had the unnerving sensation that we’d entered the belly of some ancient, gargantuan sea beast. The hero of the Sung and Told Saga was swallowed by a whale when out fishing, and he lived in its belly for several weeks before escaping. I would not wish for this fate.

  Something brittle cracked loudly beneath my heel, and I flinched.

  Bone.

  I lifted the torch. We had entered a large cavern, the roof as high as the ceiling of Roth’s Great Hall. Higher.

  Bones. Stacks upon stacks of them, some taller than me, some almost as tall as Logafell. The skull of a wolf sat near my feet, cradled against a human femur. I saw the rib cage of a bear and a pile of delicate, tiny bones that looked as though they belonged to mice. I saw the skulls of birds and cats and cows. The far corner was filled with the tangled antlers of giant red deer.

  “Troll cave,” Juniper whispered. She drew a circle in the air. “Nante, nante.”

  I spun around slowly, eyes on the shadows. “Trigve said trolls don’t exist.”

  Ovie shifted position, gaze circling the room. “All the same, the giant didn’t do this all on her own. There’s a hundred years’ worth of kills here.”

  We picked our way through a century of skeletons to the other side of the cavern, careful not to touch any of the larger piles—a clatter of bones would not aid our stealth. We came to another tunnel, this one leading farther down. Runa lit the second torch and went first, fire held high.

  I had felt safer in the dark.

  Ovie’s fingers touched my elbow and I slowed.

  “Logafell will send out her wolves first,” she whispered, “and they will find us with or without light.”

  Indigo halted in front of us, drew her bow, and fired an arrow into the dark. It flew down the tunnel and struck a stone in the far distance. “I thought I heard something,” she hissed. “Feels like we’re being watched.”

  We moved closer together, shoulder to shoulder.
The tunnel opened again, this time into a slant-roofed cavern with a wide pool.

  White cave icicles hung down from the roof like teeth.

  “Careful, Mercies.” I went up to the edge of the pool and stared down. “I don’t like the feel of this place.”

  I lifted my torch until I could see my reflection. The water was unnaturally still. Savalikk. I reached my foot forward and gently touched the edge with the tip of my boot …

  I heard a noise, and looked up—

  Dripping red fur—

  White teeth—

  The Giantine Wolf burst from the pool and lunged at Indigo. They both hit the ground. Indigo jerked her body to the left and sank her blade into its neck, just as the wolf sank its teeth into her shoulder.

  “Indigo.” Runa dropped her torch and drew her bow. An arrow hit the wolf’s flank. Then another. It growled but didn’t release its grip.

  Ovie charged forward, ax raised—

  The last two wolves leapt from the pool, spraying water. One hurled itself toward Juniper …

  And the other rammed into my left side.

  I fell, arms covering my face. My head hit the floor of the cave, and I saw stars.

  I felt heat near my ear, the wolf’s breath, teeth snapping …

  Use your dagger, Frey.

  I sliced the wolf across its tender black nose. It recoiled, and I gained a few seconds of freedom. I jumped to my feet and skidded on wet stone. I dropped my dagger, and it skittered across the cave floor.

  Hel.

  The wolf shook its head, and its eyes cleared. It turned to me—

  I grabbed my ax—

  It jumped forward—

  And I buried my blade into its side.

  I grabbed the handle in both hands and began to drag the beast back to the pool. It gnashed its teeth, but I held. Its blood spattered my cheeks, and I held. I dragged the wolf in, step by step, until the water hit my waist.

  I took a deep breath, deep, and pushed the wolf’s head under water.

  I held.

  “Frey.”

  I turned and saw Juniper astride the second wolf’s back.

  “Juniper,” I shouted. I craned my neck toward her—

  My foot slipped on the rocks at the bottom of the pool.

  I let go of the ax and fell.

  The wolf lunged upward. It broke the surface and howled.

  I heaved myself out of the water and howled back. I scrambled forward, hands reaching for the hilt of my blade, still in the wolf’s side—

  It snapped its jaws, close, too close. I shielded my face—

  It snapped again, and bit down.

  I screamed.

  Pain. Pain like fire. Pain like death.

  I pounded on the wolf’s nose with my free arm, again and again and again. Its jaws slackened. I yanked my hand from its mouth.

  The first and second fingers on my left hand were gone.

  Blood. Blood everywhere.

  I wedged my wounded hand into my right armpit and screamed. I grabbed the ax in my right fist and shoved the wolf under the water again. I held, through the haze of pain and blood loss, straining, panting …

  I smelled fur and blood and fire and steel. I held.

  The wolf went still.

  I yanked my ax free, caught my breath, and looked over my shoulder—

  Ovie was slicing the first wolf across the throat, blood streaming until I couldn’t tell where girl ended and wolf began.

  Runa knelt over Indigo. She was tearing at her tunic, trying to get to her wound.

  Juniper.

  I waded out of the water and went to the Sea Witch. She lay on her side, eyes closed. She had a large red welt at her right temple. I put my ear to her chest and winced at the pain in my hand when I shifted forward.

  Her breathing was shallow but regular. She would live.

  I rose to my feet and went to Indigo. Her shoulder was ripped open to the bone, a raw mass of muscle and skin and blood.

  “What a fight, Frey,” she whispered, as Runa fussed over her shoulder. “What a fight.”

  Runa cauterized my wound. She held her knife over the flame of her torch until it turned red, then she pressed it to the stumps of my fingers. I screamed. And screamed. But I didn’t faint.

  I’d seen many things as a Boneless Mercy. I’d done many things as a Boneless Mercy. But I’d never smelled the scent of my own flesh burning. Yet I was ready for it when it came, and I did not shame myself.

  Runa wrapped a clean woolen rag around my hand when it was done. I would still be able to use it, if necessary. I took a long swig of Vite. Then another.

  Ovie bent down and picked up Juniper, one arm under her thin neck, and one under her knees. She carried her across the cavern and set her next to Indigo.

  Her eyes met mine. “So it’s down to the three of us.”

  I looked at my bandaged hand, then at Runa. “You still with us?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  I nodded. “Then let’s give this giant a good death.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Logafell’s cavern glowed like the moon. Patches of phosphorus mushrooms grew along the cave floor. The eerie, blue-white light made her bare skin shine like wet stone.

  She sat at the far end, her muscled arms wrapped around knees the size of cauldrons, thick white-blond hair hanging down over broad shoulders. She looked up at us when we entered, but didn’t rise.

  She was beautiful.

  And she was vulnerable, without her wolves, without the mist.

  I looked around. A giant pile of furs was in the far corner—her bed—as was a simple wooden table, legs as tall as Juniper. It was set with golden plates and wooden mugs. Bones were scattered here and there—remnants of past feasts.

  The walls of the cave were not slick and damp, but rugged, with jutting black ridges like misshapen steps. A worn tapestry hung in the corner—it showed a snow-covered mountain under an orange sun. There was a hearth in the middle of the cavern, cold now, but with iron cookware nearby.

  This was not some deep, dark cave of carnage and horror.

  It was a home.

  I looked back to the beast, to the woman, at the far end of the cavern. Caked blood covered her left eye. She’d ripped the arrow out, leaving an empty black hole.

  Even after all the destruction she’d caused, all the death, those three young girls in Thorsten … I didn’t like seeing that wound.

  “These tunnels lead under the Skal Mountains.” Logafell’s voice was softer than I’d expected. It echoed across the cavern like the hush of ocean waves. “There is treasure to be had there if you are brave enough to go after it. I found those gold plates down one of these tunnels. There is plenty more.”

  She spoke in perfect Vorse, though not with the Blue Vee accent. Her accent was … colder. Crisp and tinged with frost.

  She glanced toward my bandaged hand. “Lose something?”

  “Just a few fingers. Nothing I’ll miss.”

  “Are all my dogs gone now?”

  I nodded.

  “Pity. I raised them from pups. Little Torvi was my favorite, but they were all loyal pets. I’d hoped to take them home someday, back to the north, and set them free to run with the last Giantine Wolf pack in the Ice Plains.”

  Logafell heaved a great sigh, and then rose to her feet.

  She was giant. Hill, tree, mountain.

  “So you’ve come to kill the famous Blue Vee Beast. The Lean Ones, the Night Stalkers, the Jotun … My people have been called many things throughout time. Well, what do you think, now that you’ve seen me and my home?”

  “I think you are beautiful.”

  She laughed, and it was a pleasant sound, low like thunder, soft like rain. “Nothing is simple, is it? Not quests, not heroes, not beasts, not glory.”

  I craned my neck and stared up, up, up. I met her gaze. “No. Nothing is simple.”

  She nodded, and her white hair fell like silk across her shoulders. “Well, if you’re goin
g to kill me, girl, then get on with it.”

  I lowered my chin and glanced at Runa, then Ovie. As one, we unclasped our Mercy-cloaks and let them fall to the ground.

  We charged.

  Runa yanked the thick rope out of her pack as she raced toward the giant. She took one end and threw the other to Ovie, who caught it midair. They pulled the rope taut and ran it straight into Logafell’s tree-trunk thighs.

  Logafell swatted at us, great arms swinging. I scurried to the far wall, deep in the shadows, and started to climb. I wedged my ax into a narrow cleft and pulled myself up with one arm onto a four-inch ledge.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Runa and Ovie darted across the cavern floor, dodging the giant’s fists. They wove the rope around Logafell’s legs, once, twice …

  Logafell took a step forward, stumbled, and nearly fell.

  If she falls, we have her.

  I pulled my ax free, and climbed higher.

  Runa wrapped her end of the rope around her waist and cried out as it cut into her flesh. Ovie tied the other end around her shoulders, and they both began to move backward, away from each other, step by step, pulling the rope tight, rigid as the string in Runa’s bow.

  Logafell tossed her head and then jerked her shoulders backward, wrenching the ropes around Runa and Ovie until they screamed.

  They couldn’t hold her.

  “Now, Frey,” Ovie shouted.

  I dropped my ax and ran across the ledge. I bent my knees, jumped—

  I landed on Logafell’s back, fingers clutching her hair.

  She howled.

  The giant began to writhe, her whole body twisting. She dragged Runa and Ovie across the cavern floor, their boots scraping across stone. I dug my feet into her back and held on.

  Logafell howled again. She arched, then wrenched forward—

  I went flying. I hit the ground. Hard.

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  I willed my eyes open—

  I saw a shadow, rising above me …

  A foot. Logafell’s giant foot.

  “Frey.” Runa let go of the rope and drew her bow. An arrow ripped through the tender part of the giant’s ankle.

  Logafell screamed. With one flick of her wrist, she threw Runa into the wall, near the tapestry.