Brood of Bones

by A. E. Marling

  I watched dumbfounded as Deepmand’s beard shriveled, and the skin on his neck bubbled, wheals swelling and bursting to release a stench both sulfurous and rotten like a bloated goat I had once found by the riverbank.

  “His death is on your hands, Enchantress,” the Soultrapper said. He bit his thumb then traced a symbol of blood on Deepmand’s forehead, a glyph.

  I waited for Deepmand to stand, for his gaping eyes to show some sign of life. He was a Spellsword of the Mindvault Academy and my protector; he could not die.

  When he stayed still, I sank to my knees; the weight of my saturated gowns bore me down, and the knowledge of my failure paralyzed me. Deepmand’s gilded plates now were not armor but a sarcophagus.

  “You are to blame for their deaths as well.” The Soultrapper gazed over the fallen women, shaking his head. He motioned to his two followers. “Bring me my sons.”

  “Yes, Your Divinity.”

  While the followers drew knives and approached a woman, I could only stare at Deepmand’s shriveling face. He should not have been fated to die, not so soon before retiring with the family he loved, in the city of his birth. I glared up at the Soultrapper, the person who deserved death more than any, yet the one man who could not be threatened, let alone killed.

  The Soultrapper waved his hand to the nearest onlookers. Many had run away, yet a few remained to gawk. These now stiffened, walking forward as the Soultrapper spoke.

  “Remove the enchantress’s golden humpback. I’d wager it’s the source of her power.”

  Five men—three of them guardsmen—gripped me, tugging at my back. I could not believe they would listen to the Soultrapper after what he had done; by the surprise on their faces, neither could they believe it. The Soultrapper had possessed their minds.

  The men struggled with the bindings that tied my hump to my gowns. Eventually, they would have them unknotted, and then I could be killed by anyone with so much as a knife.

  I could only think how Tethiel had betrayed me, how I had lost Deepmand and even Janny. My worthless magic could not save me. I was alone and helpless.

  The Soultrapper buckled my golden hump onto his back; it made him glitter like a jeweled scarab, one with a fleshy underbelly and missing three legs. He palmed his shoulder stump with his remaining hand as he walked between rows of Bone Orbs. His followers had brought them one by one, and the rain washed them free of blood.

  I could scarcely focus my eyes. A boiling sickness filled me.

  “Twenty-six of your sons died, Your Divinity.” The followers carried a crushed Bone Orb and knelt as they rested it beside others that had broken, fractured into white pieces and leaking strong-smelling venom.

  “Born before their time, at a great loss to Morimound,” the Soultrapper said. “Enchantress, you murdered my sons and fifty-one women today. You do not deserve free will.”

  He waved his hand, and something gripped my mind, pawing at it and digging fingers into my consciousness. I felt as wronged as I had as a girl when Uncle Gobind had touched me. Then, I had struggled against shame, drowsiness, and stronger hands. Now, I felt worse, yet this time I embraced my lethargy, fleeing down the marble steps to sleep.

  I had a sense of the Soultrapper reaching after me, not with his true hand but with a ghostly arm, one extending from his amputated stump. A bone hand like a five-legged white tarantula gripped my face even as I leapt upward into the laboratory.

  I Repulsed the skeletal hand and Burdened it to the basalt floor, crushing it to powder. The white dust vanished.

  Waking myself, I saw the Soultrapper stagger back and grip his shoulder. His tearing eyes locked on me.

  “You jackal bitch! You won’t refuse me once I’m fully divine.” He panted, his face working in fury. “But, no, you are not worthy to even worship me. Throw her into her carriage.”

  Men gripped my sleeves. I caught hold of my cane and tried to beat them back, yet they dragged me across the Bazaar. Before they could force me into my carriage, I spotted the followers packing the Bone Orbs with straw into barrels.

  The carriage began to move; I guessed the possessed men were driving, yet I did not know where they would bring me. I gazed out the window but recognized nothing. I could not even decide if it still rained: A fog of nausea had settled over me, blurring everything.

  I retreated into my laboratory, only to find it tilting, listing to one side. The floating island on which the laboratory perched was falling and would crash into the replica of Morimound. A thought from me could stop it, yet I did not see why I should bother.

  I did not deserve a laboratory, or anything else, not with Deepmand and fifty others lying dead in the Bazaar, not with a Soultrapper and the Lord of the Feast free in my city.

  Glowing baubles slid off shelves while I frantically asked myself if I could do anything, any one thing to help Morimound. If I slipped the Soultrapper the red diamond then it would begin dismembering the Bone Orbs over one month, and he would likely sense the spell in only seconds. I could enchant another jewel to give the Soultrapper a tumor in the frontal lobe of his brain; if he accepted it and wore it then he would have to bargain with me to cure him. Or his personality might change, and he could forget how to access his magic.

  He would still hold the greater power, with the lives of thousands in his hand. He could threaten those lives if I refused to reverse the enchantment. Or he might kill all the women out of insanity.

  I could think of no better option; therefore, I ripped a gem of jet from one of my gowns, crafting the enchantment even as my laboratory plummeted and I drifted upward out of the skylight.

  The eclipse glared red above me, while below, the stone island hit ground, the laboratory dome crumbling and spraying black dust and colored gems over thirty city blocks. The plume rose around me, blotting out the bloody moon and multicolored stars.

  Coughing, I left the dream to find the dark and round jet in my hand. I glanced out of the carriage and was shocked to see my manor.

  A wagon loaded with barrels and the dead Deepmand rattled up to the entrance beside the carriage. Twenty guardsmen escorted the wagon, and one knelt to let the Soultrapper use his back for a step down.

  The Soultrapper slapped his oiled belly, which jiggled, and he gazed up at my manor. “Sunchase Hall. A suitable gift to honor the birth of my first sons. I hope, Enchantress, your master bed is soft, my back pains me so.”

  The Soultrapper planned to sleep in my marriage bed, and I found myself unable to object with anything more intelligent than a wet, sniffling sound. My fingers clenched the jet, and I wanted to throw it at him.

  Guards seized my sleeves, leading me up to the doors. The Soultrapper walked ahead of me, two servants opening the doors for us. One of the servants was a pregnant woman, and the Soultrapper grunted in disgust at the sight of her.

  “Get that fat sow away from me! I never want to see another full-bellied woman again, even if she’s carrying my son.”

  Mister Obenji strode toward us, lifting a hand to his turban upon seeing all the guards. “Mistress Elder Enchantress, are these all guests?”

  Unable to answer him, I bowed my head to hide my face.

  One of the followers said, “The Divinity of Morimound has claimed this manor.”

  “And I will have a banquet!” The Soultrapper bellowed. “The first fruits of my long labor.”

  I heard Alyla’s voice. “Why is that man wearing your...your gold—”

  “Mister Obenji,” I said, “take Alyla and Sri off the premises. Immediately.”

  “No, no,” the Soultrapper said, “if the enchantress cares for sows, then they will stay. Guards, lock them up, so I don’t have to see them.”

  Two of the possessed men grabbed Alyla, and as they escorted her away I heard her sob.

  He spat on the marble floor. “Better that they walk about on all fours, their bellies and teats wagging like a goat stuffed with kids.”

  One of his followers nodded after Alyla. “Ain’t nothing more ugly.
”

  The jet dug into my palm; I knew I must be subtle in presenting it to the Soultrapper, although I had trouble formulating the words with which to do it.

  “Each one shrivels my cock,” the Soultrapper said, “and it’s shrunk far enough. At least there’s one woman left in Morimound. Senbhat, take the guards and bring me Priest Salkant’s daughter.”

  “Bet she’s a polished one,” a follower said.

  The other said, “Always knew you’d get her, Your Divinity, one way or another.”

  “Oh!” The Soultrapper lifted a pudgy finger, and the men paused, rapt and waiting. “And kill the priest. He must be punished for claiming his wine is better.”

  One follower left with guards, chuckling as he went. I stared after them and wondered if he could really murder a priest. Salkant of the Fate Weaver traveled with no fewer than five guards, yet the Soultrapper had twenty, almost one for each of his Bone Orbs. Once the full fifty thousand had been born, I had no doubt he would dominate the city. I could not permit that.

  I lifted the jet to him. “This will regenerate your missing arm. I will give it to you, if you free Alyla and the others.”

  “Only a fool would accept gifts from a crocodile in a dress.” The Soultrapper nodded to his follower. “Hit her.”

  “Er, you think I can?” The follower frowned at my gowns. “Won’t she enchant me?”

  “I’d like to see her try,” the Soultrapper said.

  The follower drew his scimitar, and with the flat of the blade, he slapped the jet from my hand then slammed my face. I fell over into my gowns from the weight of the blade.

  The Soultrapper stood above me, his ample gut shadowing my head. “For breaking one measly diamond, you said I deserved to lose more than my arm. The gods thought different, and now it’s my fate to protect Morimound from its enemies.”

  I said, “You are the city’s enemy.”

  “What would you know of it? You’ve done nothing better than force me to kill women and let an elephant of a priest break down the Flood Wall with his trumpeting farts.”

  I touched my throbbing face. “I built the Flood Wall!”

  “Yes, and you will rebuild it. I want a plan drawn up within a week. Can’t have my city washed away.”

  I clicked my mouth shut, sick with horror and confusion—not knowing how I could refuse this request or how I could live with myself after doing anything for the Soultrapper. My face pulsed with heat and pain, and my mind refused to work.

  Uncertain if I was choosing correctly, I said, “I will design a plan to reconstruct the wall, if you release my guests. And undo the Bone Orbs inside them and in a hundred other women.”

  The Soultrapper nodded to his follower. “Hit her again.”

  The follower smacked me with the blunt side of his scimitar. I heard the crack of my cheekbone breaking, and a searing pain washed over my face.

  I found myself underneath an eclipsed moon, amid the rubble of my laboratory. I had fainted; my face hurt distantly even in my dream. A replica of me appeared and began to shiver as she lay on the basalt rocks.

  The replica asked, “What can we do now?”

  Not knowing how to answer, I knelt beside her and examined the damage done to her face. Glowing baubles floated up from the rubble as I needed them for spells, and I set the bone, creating an enchantment to accelerate the healing process.

  Returning to the world of the waking, I found the follower leering over me.

  “See! She ain’t dead, Your Divinity.”

  The Soultrapper had a bottle of wine between his legs and was uncorking it one-handed. “Enchantress, you’ll do whatever I want. Or my lads and a hundred other men will have each of your guests, if you take my meaning.”

  Hurt and disbelief knotted through me. I clutched my temples and groaned.

  Wine tinkled as it poured into a glass, and I heard the Soultrapper sniff it. “Ah! The last bottle of Liquid Diamond with any of me in it.”

  A clatter of armored boots announced the guards’ return; the priest’s daughter was slung over one man’s shoulder. Her pale legs dangled from her silk shift, and when the guard set her down, her puffy eyes gaped at everything around her. I suspected she must never have seen other men before today.

  The redness of her face told of recent tears, although I saw none now. When her eyes wandered to me, she lifted her chin and said, “Flawless, these men have killed my father.”

  “And he was a mongrel, too.” The follower handed Priest Salkant’s paragon diamond to the Soultrapper. “Shat all over the place.”

  “This is her?” The Soultrapper grimaced at the daughter. “A diseased rat would have more meat on its bones. She won’t do at all. And the enchantress is too old and too dangerous, and no muddy from Stilt Town will soil my new bed.”

  “Flawless,” the daughter said, “these men have defied the gods by harming a priest, and I insist you arrest them.”

  I could not believe her courage in front of the men who had murdered her father. I was as proud of her as I was ashamed of myself.

  “The enchantress isn’t the Flawless. She has more flaws than a muddy whore. Now, what to do?” The Soultrapper lifted the paragon diamond to his lips as if to take a bite from a sparkling fruit. It threw prismatic sparks over his face while he grinned at the daughter. “You, what was your name?”

  “Kishala,” she said.

  “You will be the next Flawless.”

  She swept one arm downward in anger. “That is for the gods and their priests to decide!”

  “That is for me to decide!” Veins pulsed down his brow like thick purple worms. “I, Morimound’s king and protector.” He set down the diamond to lift the wineglass. “Now you must celebrate. I’ve saved this for you.”

  “Don’t drink it!” I propped myself up with my cane and reached for her.

  “You should stay silent, Enchantress, unless you’re agreeing to rebuild the Flood Wall. If you do, Kishala here won’t have to drink my wine.”

  “I—I will build it,” I said. “First I must survey the wall, to determine priorities.”

  “Acolytes will inform you of the damages. You’ll not be let loose in the city, and I have a place in mind to keep you.” The Soultrapper gazed from the wine to Kishala. “This is hardly satisfying. You’ll drink this, and the enchantress will build the wall anyway.”

  I screamed in denial, and Kishala shoved the wineglass away, spilling it on the Soultrapper. He cursed, and three guards pinned her down; her bare feet kicked in the air as the Soultrapper upended the wine bottle into her mouth. She spluttered and choked, and I worried they would drown her.

  By the time the last drops fell from the bottle, Kishala’s shift was soaked and clung to her. The Soultrapper spat on the girl as she retched, and then he turned to me.

  “How refreshing to no longer have to take orders. Now, Enchantress, do you remember the boys you invited to the ball? You dressed them as women, and the one I saw turned me as a stiff as a bottle’s neck. They’ll have to do.”

  I protested that I did not remember how to find them, yet the Soultrapper threatened to bring out Alyla. Not wishing to see her tormented, I told him that Mister Obenji would know where the boys lived.

  “Good, good! One last thing, Enchantress. I want your earrings—you won’t be needing them where you’re going.”

  I touched the blue diamonds at my ears. “They would not shine for you.”

  “Either way, you don’t deserve them.”

  Two unspeaking guards gripped my face and tugged at my earrings. Their clasps would not loosen; even I did not have control over their potent enchantment, something I regretted when it grew obvious that the guards would rip off my ears to get them.

  The Soultrapper peered at me. Perhaps he wanted to see me defend myself with magic; he might think I had powers in this world against which he must guard. I only wished he were right.

  They ended up slicing my ears with their scimitars, and I began to feel this was happeni
ng to someone else. This woman could not be me on the floor, unable to do anything as she was being attacked.

  The bloodied earrings fell into the Soultrapper’s hands, and he dropped them. “God’s fart, they weigh as much as barrels! Senbhat, lock the enchantress away where you found this rat.” He kicked Kishala.

  I wept and bled as they shoved me into the carriage. On the ride across the Island District, I slept and repaired my ears, even Attracting some of the blood back into the wound.

  We arrived at the manor that had belonged to Salkant of the Fate Weaver. The follower forced me into Kishala’s windowless room. Darkness filled the chamber now, and they threw an unlit candle after me then slammed the door shut. I winced at the “snick” of the lock.

  The follower might have assumed I could light the candle with my magic; as I could not, I would have to wait in darkness. Sightless, I felt as if I hung suspended in a night without stars, and the thought of such darkness reminded me of the Lord of the Feast.

  I had found the Soultrapper for him, given him the key to slaying all the city’s women in one moment. I feared he would do so tonight, and I would hear the shrieking laughter of his children slaughtering in the streets.

  “Great Weaver,” I whispered to the darkness, “please tell me this is not our fate. Please!”

  Night Forty-One, Third Trimester

  I wondered if I would know when the death began. My general education course on magic had claimed that proximity to Feasting produced a sense of foreboding, yet I felt so distressed and disconsolate now that I was unsure I would be able to distinguish a difference.

  Enclosed on all sides by blackness, I began to wonder if the downpour continued outside; the savanna rivers might overflow; a flood might even now sweep up the streets. Half the city could be submerged, and I would never know it.