Cathedral of Bones

by A. J. Steiger

  “We have to go. Now.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Leave Blackthorn? Why? We just got here.”

  Simon raked his hands through his hair. “I snuck into my father’s laboratory, and I saw . . .” His eyes lost focus, and he shuddered. “I think he may have done something terrible.”

  She hesitated. “Maybe it’s not what you think. Have you asked him about it?”

  Simon’s teeth caught his lower lip, and for a few seconds he considered the idea—then he shook his head. “Too risky.”

  “You think he would hurt you? Your own father?”

  “It’s not myself I’m afraid for.”

  A pause. “Just what did you see?” she whispered.

  “His experiments. He’s been . . . reanimating corpses.” Even speaking the words aloud made him nervous.

  “So? Maybe it’s against the Foundation’s laws, but how does that concern us?”

  “There’s more to it.”

  Alice pushed the covers aside and sat up. She was wearing a knee-length cotton nightgown, loose enough to accommodate her tentacles. Not ideal traveling clothes, but nothing in Veera’s wardrobe was. “It must be bad. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He laughed; the sound emerged a little too high-pitched. A lunatic sound. He clapped a hand over his mouth and muttered, “Excuse me,” as though he’d hiccupped or burped.

  She stared. “Simon . . . your eyes . . .”

  “What?”

  “They’re green again.”

  He shivered, shut his eyes tight, and forced himself to breathe slowly. His eyes opened. “Now?”

  “Hazel,” she said.

  He didn’t have time to try to puzzle out what was going on with his eyes, or how it was connected to any of this. But he had a feeling it had something to do with the cathedral. With that shadow. “Never mind that,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything once we’re out of Blackthorn. Just . . . trust me. Please?”

  She gave him a strange, sad smile. “What else can I do? You’re the only friend I have in this world.”

  A lump rose into his throat. “Alice . . . I’m sorry. I brought you here, and now—”

  She sighed. “Well, the food was good, anyway.” She stretched out a tentacle and grabbed her patched, ragged cloak from the nightstand, where she had draped it. “Where are we going? Any ideas?”

  “The train station. There’s a train that leaves Eidendel at midnight—the last one. If we’re quick we can catch it.”

  “Where to, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She stood and slipped into her cloak. “Well, we’ll figure it out on the way.”

  Part II

  In Realms Apart

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fog lay over Eidendel like a damp woolen blanket. The moon hung overhead, a pale sickle shrouded in clouds. Simon wore his Animist’s robe and a pack with a few essentials—biscuits and dried fruit hastily snatched from the kitchen, a change of clothes, and a knife, wrapped in cloth. He took the photograph of Alice, too.

  He still wore the amulet, the gift from the newspaper seller. Now he clutched it tight, feeling its smooth warmth against his palm as he and Alice hurried through the moonlit streets. His thoughts spun in dizzying circles. He knew that something had happened to him after he fled his father’s laboratory. He’d seen and heard things that seemed both less and more real than reality—a vision? A dream—but he couldn’t bring the memories into focus. Had he really felt his mother’s presence, or had it all been an illusion?

  He wished desperately that she were here now. She would know what to do.

  He pushed the thoughts away. Just get out of the city. Away from Blackthorn. He’d worry about the rest later. If he stopped moving now, panic would set in. So he kept running, clutching Alice’s hand tight in his, as though he could outrun his thoughts.

  The city was silent and still. Unusually still. The glow of streetlamps burned dim yellow circles through the haze. Pale buildings loomed like sculptures carved of bone. The comparison touched faint memories in Simon’s head. A cathedral of bones . . .

  Where had he seen such a thing?

  He and Alice walked past a gas lamp, and their shadows flowed across the wall. Overhead, air whooshed, and a breeze stirred the hairs on the back of Simon’s neck. He looked up just in time to see a grayish-white, hairless form soaring on leathery bat wings. It circled, looked down with burning red eyes, and screeched, then swooped away into the darkness.

  “What was that?” Alice asked.

  “A wraith,” Simon whispered. “An Eldritch creature.”

  “So it was summoned by an Animist?”

  “Yes.” And it had just spotted them, which wasn’t good.

  Easy, he told himself. As far as that thing knew, they were just two pedestrians out for a stroll at night. But often, Eldritch creatures could see and sense things that humans couldn’t. If it sensed what Alice was—

  He quickened his pace. There was nothing to do but keep moving.

  They hurried through the streets in breathless silence, making their way toward the train station.

  “Someone is coming,” Alice murmured.

  Simon froze, listening. The clip-clop of hooves on cobbles reached his ears. His back stiffened. A patrol.

  A line of horses stamped through puddles, splashing water. They were headed straight toward him. “Hide,” he whispered to Alice, gripping her arm. They ducked into a nearby alley and waited, holding their breath. The hoofbeats stopped.

  “Come out, Swoony. I know it’s you. My wraith can smell you.”

  He recognized the voice. Oh, Spirit. Not him.

  “Come out, or I’m coming in.”

  Simon stepped out of the alley, heart hammering. Alice remained where she was, concealed in fog.

  Brenner sat astride his horse at the head of the patrol, a pale, winged form crouched on his shoulder, its creepily human-looking mouth open in a toothy grin. The wraith let out another shriek, then vanished in a puff of smoke.

  “Handy little creatures, aren’t they?” Brenner asked coolly. “They were my suggestion. Every night, the patrols summon a few dozen of them. Much easier to keep an eye on things from the air. Any suspicious activity is instantly reported.”

  “I’m just out for a walk,” Simon said, keeping his tone neutral. “There’s nothing suspicious about that, is there?”

  “Well, that remains to be seen.”

  Brenner’s minions remained motionless on their mounts. Brenner urged his horse forward until it was standing directly in front of Simon, who stood rigid, fighting the urge to bolt.

  Brenner stretched out one arm, holding his whip. Simon tensed as Brenner placed the whip handle under his chin, tilting it upward. Simon didn’t move, didn’t react. “That cut has healed up nicely, I see.” The whip handle pressed harder against his jaw, forcing his head back at an uncomfortable angle. “You remember that incident with the newspaper seller? Apparently, someone reported me, and Neeta—your old Master—had me disciplined for ‘excessive cruelty.’ Seven cracks with my own whip.”

  Simon’s eyes widened. He hadn’t actually expected Neeta to punish Brenner.

  Brenner gave him a hard smile. “She did it herself, the sadistic cow. Told me that if I could take it without crying out, I could keep my position. ‘A man who wields the whip must know what it feels like.’ Those were her words. At the moment, I’m not feeling very charitable toward whoever reported me. Any ideas on who it was? Well, Swoony?”

  He said nothing. It seemed like the safest course.

  Brenner kept the whip handle under Simon’s chin, pressing painfully into the soft flesh there. “So. Do you often walk around the city alone at night? Rather a dangerous habit for a weakling like you, isn’t it? You never know what you might run into.”

  “It’s touching that you’re so concerned for my well-being,” Simon muttered.

  Brenner’s eyes narrowed. “You will address me as ‘sir.’”

 
; Simon knew he couldn’t afford to antagonize Brenner. Not now. Maybe if he said the right things, Brenner would leave. But at that moment, the pressure of every humiliation and defeat, every cruel taunt he’d ever endured at Brenner’s hands, came bubbling up inside him. He met Brenner’s gaze, his jaw tense, and replied, “Sod off.”

  The whip handle cracked across his face, hard. Simon lost his balance, slipped, and landed on his back. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.

  Simon started to push himself to his feet. Brenner leaped off his horse and planted a boot on Simon’s chest, shoving down. “Let me go,” Simon gasped.

  “Or what?” Brenner pressed down harder.

  He gritted his teeth. He grabbed Brenner’s ankle with his right hand, pressed his left palm to the ground, and drew meta up through the stones. Smoke curled from beneath the fingers of his right hand, and Brenner’s pant leg blackened and crackled. Brenner yelped and stumbled backward. “You little . . .” He sounded more stunned than angry. “You burned me!”

  Brenner’s minions let out a collective ooooh from atop their mounts, breaking their silence. “You gonna take that, Bren?” one girl asked.

  Brenner’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up, Haru.” He leaned down, grabbed a fistful of Simon’s curls, and hissed into his ear: “I warned you not to cross me.”

  Panic leaped in Simon’s chest. He struggled, kicking, fingernails scrabbling against the cobblestones. His ragged breathing echoed through his ears. Brenner shoved him down, pressed a boot into his stomach, and raised his whip.

  Simon covered his face with his arms. He heard the whistle as the whip started to come down . . . and then it stopped. Slowly, he lowered his arms.

  Alice stood over him, one arm raised, the whip wrapped around her forearm as she glared at Brenner. Brenner’s upper lip curled back from his teeth. “Damn it! Get away from—” He stopped, mouth open. The blood drained from his face, and the whip retracted with a snick.

  Alice’s face had changed. Simon could see a long snout, full of fangs, poking out from under her hood. Simon scrambled to his feet, still gasping for breath.

  Brenner stood rigidly, face pale. “What are you?” His voice wavered.

  She glared at him.

  He tugged his whip free and raised it again. “Stay back!” The whip flicked out, snapping across Alice’s face.

  She grabbed the whipcord and yanked the weapon out of his hand, tossing it aside like a toy.

  The other patrol members edged away. Their mounts pranced and reared, whinnying. “What is that thing?” Haru asked, shaky-voiced.

  Alice crouched protectively over Simon, a low growl rumbling from her throat. Brenner backed away, white as cottage cheese. “Monster,” he whispered.

  “Alice!” Simon cried.

  Her head turned slowly toward him, and a chill seeped into his veins. Her face was reptilian, covered with dark gray scales. Her eyes had gone blank and feral.

  Brenner’s voice rose to a scream. “What are you doing? Don’t just stand there! Kill it!”

  Haru yanked a pair of slender blades from sheaths at her hips. They glowed furnace-red. Her horse galloped toward Alice as she spun the blades.

  Alice reared up, casting off her cloak in one smooth movement as her body swelled and distorted, ripping through her nightgown. Tatters of cloth fell to the street. “Alice!” Simon cried. She didn’t seem to hear him. Her jaws stretched wide in a roar. One huge arm snapped out, knocking Haru and her horse aside. Haru tumbled out of the saddle; the horse lunged to its hooves and took off in a flash. Haru had dropped one of her blades. She clutched the other as she crawled along the street, dragging one leg.

  Alice towered in full reptilian form, her chest heaving. Her tentacles lashed in a writhing storm around her. Her eyes were glowing orbs of rage.

  “Help!” squealed Haru. “Galen!”

  A bearded patrol member scooped her up, onto his mount. He raised a hand straight up into the air and light burst from his palm. A flare shot into the sky, exploding in a shower of golden sparks. A distress signal.

  Alice stalked toward them on all fours.

  Galen and the other patrol members turned their mounts sharply and fled with a clatter of hooves on stone. “Cowards!” Brenner shouted. “Come back!” They ignored him. He lunged for his own horse, but Alice was faster. She wheeled around and pounced, pinning him to the street with one clawed hand. The horse—which had been standing motionless, fear-frozen, until that point—finally turned and bolted.

  Brenner thrashed, panting. Alice placed a talon-tipped finger over his windpipe and pressed down. He gurgled, spittle bubbling from his lips. She pressed harder, and his eyes bulged.

  “Alice, stop!” Simon cried out.

  She froze. A shudder rippled through her powerful bulk. Her wedge-shaped head turned slowly toward him.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  She blinked, her eyes slowly focusing. She looked down at Brenner, then back at Simon. Her jaw fell open, and a pained groan escaped her throat. She reared up on her hind legs, bowed her head, and gripped it between massive, clawed hands.

  “Alice, it’s all right,” Simon said. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  Still clutching her head, she backed away from Brenner, and he lurched to his feet. He stumbled, slipped, and landed on his bottom with a thump. He was trembling visibly, his lower lip wet with drool. A dark patch spread across the crotch of his pants. “Help,” he whispered. His voice rose to a shout. “Help me!”

  Alice dropped to all fours. Her amethyst gaze fixed on Simon, and he knew what he had to do.

  He grabbed her cloak from the street, scrambled onto her back, and held on. Muscles bunched and flexed beneath him as she broke into a run.

  Simon wrapped his arms around her neck, clinging tightly. Buildings rushed past in a blur. It took all his strength just to hold on.

  They ran past a scruffy old man sprawled on a staircase, a bottle in one hand. He let out a shriek.

  This was no good. The more people saw them like this, the slimmer their chance of escape. “Alice!” He had to shout to be heard above the rush of air. “Change back! You’ve got to change back!”

  She lurched to a halt. Simon spilled off in a tumble, and the ground rushed up to meet him with a bone-jarring smack. Simon picked himself up, shaking, and gingerly patted himself down. Miraculously, he wasn’t hurt. Just a few scrapes.

  Alice was dwindling, shrinking back down to human form, small and naked. He handed her the ragged cloak. Fumbling, she grabbed it and wrapped herself in it. She stood, clutching the cloak shut, head bowed. “Simon . . .” Her voice cracked.

  They were on a narrow, quiet side street, no one in sight. Simon sagged against a nearby wall to catch his breath. “We lost them, anyway.”

  Alice’s face was fully human again. She raised trembling fingers to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to change shape. I . . . I slipped.”

  Simon shook his head. “It was my fault. I made him angry. You might have saved my life.”

  She looked away. “I probably just put us both in more danger. But I saw you on the ground, and I . . .” She gulped. “What should we do?”

  “Get out of the city. Like we planned. I think I recognize this area—the train station isn’t far.”

  Galen had set off a flare, which meant more patrol members would soon flood the streets. They had to reach their destination quickly. Simon clutched Alice’s hand, and they ran.

  Rain began to fall, slicking the cobblestones. The fog thickened, until Simon felt as though he were pushing it aside with every step. The dull burn of exhaustion crept into his muscles. He was running on pure fear; every time he started to slow, another burst of terror sizzled through his nerves, giving him fresh strength.

  “Just ahead,” he panted. “Almost there.”

  They turned a corner, and Simon heard hoofbeats. He froze. Ahead, more horses—at least a dozen of them—paced around the train station. Winged wrai
ths swooped through the air, pale shapes in the night, their eyes glowing bloodred, like crimson search lamps. Simon ducked into a nearby alley, pulling Alice with him.

  “What now?” she whispered.

  He bit the inside of his cheek, mind racing in every direction. “This way.” He gripped Alice’s hand tighter and quickened his pace.

  The rain came down harder and faster, soaking their clothes.

  They turned another corner, and the dull thunder of hooves reached his ears. More patrols. He veered down another street, aware that they were being driven farther and farther from their destination, toward the heart of the city.

  Ahead, a familiar structure loomed through the sheets of water: the Gregor Temple, a soaring construction of gray stone, elegant in its simplicity. He’d been there numerous times as a child. In the front was a single arched doorway with no door.

  “Here,” he said, breathless. “We can hide in here.”

  And then what? Simon had no answer, so he ignored the thought.

  They slipped into the building.

  The space inside was cavernous and empty. A large, round hole in the middle of the ceiling allowed the rain to drip through. The floor of the temple was of white sand, raked smooth . . . all but the center, where a massive Gaokerena, almost as tall as the temple itself, rose up from a circle of earth.

  Rain drummed on the rooftop, a hollow sound, and pattered on the leaves. The temple was empty.

  Simon sank to the ground and sat on the damp sand, staring at the tree.

  There was no one coming to help them. They were alone. He wondered how long they had before the patrols closed in. Twenty minutes? Ten? Not much time to come up with a plan. He felt despair closing in on him. This had been a terrible mistake.

  “Maybe we should go back to Blackthorn,” Alice said.

  “We can’t.” Even if that were an option, he doubted they’d make it without running into another patrol. The entire city, it seemed, was crawling with them. “I’m sorry, Alice. I’ve led us into a corner. I—I don’t know what to do.”

  For a minute or two, the only sound was their breathing and the drone of rain.