The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection
Page 59
Hex laughed and leaned in. “I bet you have the voice of an angel. Bite down, big guy.”
She brought the scalpel in sideways, catching it on a hunk of dry, dead flesh. It passed through painlessly, slicing off the foul gristle and exposing more beneath it. He didn’t feel much at first, only the dull tug every time she tore a piece off him. But as she went deeper, the scabby chunks held on tighter, as though they’d grafted themselves to the tender flesh they hoped one day to spoil.
Hex stopped and chewed on her lip. “This is strange.”
Atticus spat out the rag. “What?”
“Your body.” She squinted, and got closer to the putrid patch. “It’s… it’s trying to absorb the dead parts.”
“What?”
“Here, scoot closer to the fire.”
Atticus did as he was told. Leaning forward, his untrained eyes only saw a glistening gash that hurt like a son of a bitch.
“Here, and here.” She pointed the scalpel at the last bits of dead tissue. Fresh flesh had begun to grow over it. “Humans can’t break down necrosis like this. It’s too much. That’s what this is for.” She wiggled the scalpel. “Your body is attacking it, absorbing it.”
Atticus remembered what Gary had told him his first night in Bedlam, after the snake attack. “I’d go through the motions,” the ghoul said. “You might be dying and not even know it.”
“If you leave it, necrosis can spread. Poison you. Kill you.”
Atticus reached for the rag. “Keep going then.”
Hex looked almost disappointed. “You sure? In your case, I think you’ll be fine.”
“I can’t be relying on this. I may recover, but every time I die I’m putting myself at risk.” He scanned the dark for signs of the shepherd. “I have to go through the motions. It’s going to heal me, but if I’m spiriting off to the Membrane every five minutes until it does because of infections or bleeding… then that’s when they’ll have me.”
“You’re a brave man,” Hex said, nodding. “You’ll get them back. We’ll make you a hero yet.”
Atticus laughed and told her to get on with it.
She slid the scalpel back into his leg. “What’s it like? Death and the Membrane?” She continued to saw slowly. Fresh blood bubbled out and dripped over his thigh.
Fuck you, god damn bitch, Atticus screamed in his head, as she peeled back the last of the dead tissue.
“One down, eleven to go,” she said, giddily.
“They’re lonely.” He threw the rag into the fire. She poured a foamy concoction over his leg. “Both of them. God damn, woman!”
“Hush child, you’re going to wake the neighborhood.” She tilted her head at a stirring Adelaide. Its roots curled and uncurled, like fingers flexing before a kill. “What’s it look like?”
“Funnily enough, you’re the first to ask.”
“Not surprised.” She reached into the case and pulled out a thick roll of bandages. “James doesn’t have the stomach for it. And for Gary, this is his afterlife. Don’t think he’s ready for another.”
“But you want to know?”
“I want to know everything about everything.” She lifted his leg, brushed off the mosquitoes that had landed on it. “I come from a curious family.”
Do I want to tell you? His was a secret only the dead truly know. Perhaps it was privilege that gave him pause, but how could she appreciate what he told her? Hell, how many more are out there that are like me? Realizing that secrecy was, in part, what had resulted in his family’s demise, he described what he’d seen.
While he walked her through Pulsa diNura, Hex finished tightening the bandage on his leg. She smiled as he spoke, her tongue slightly out, like a child enraptured by a fairy tale. At times, her eyes would flash blue, like jewels catching wintry light, but Atticus was too invested in his story to stop and ask what that was all about.
“Did you happen to see god while you were there?” She put the roll of bandages down and picked up the scalpel again.
He followed her hand as she deliberated back and forth between her next necrotic victim. “No.”
Choosing his knee, she dug the scalpel in and said, “That’s a shame. If we could haul its corpse up out of there, people might get the point.”
“Penance, you mean?”
James mumbled something in his sleep. The only time he did that was when he was dreaming about his father.
“Nah. They stopped worshiping god years ago. It’s all the Holy Child and the Hydra, sorry, ‘Mother Abbess Justine’ now. The people of Penance just haven’t realized it yet.”
“Wonder what that must feel like? To be worshiped?”
Hex took off a large chunk of skin. He punched the ground and growled.
“Probably a little bit like what you’re going through right now. Being taken apart and put back together until all the flaws are the ones you can’t see.” She poured liquid on his leg and broke out the bandages. “Better watch yourself, Atticus. The Gravedigger’s graves might just become gateways to heaven.”
“Nobody’s deifying me,” he said, helping her tie off the cloth.
“Nobody’s going to ask if you want to be. Two down, ten to go.”
CHAPTER XIV
Cathedra crowned the hill ahead. With the help of the rising sun, the town blinded Atticus and the others who looked at it. Cathedra’s stark white walls and towers were modeled after Penance’s own, because many years ago, according to Hex, this was supposed to have been the new home of the city-state. At the time, the Holy Order of Penance had fallen ill, sickened by the beliefs and practices of the old priests and exemplars who refused to give up their positions. Their decisions led to the destruction of the city’s economy, as well as most of its food supply. The relentless blizzards that barraged the city-state thereafter for months at a time only added insult to injury.
“God is in the hearts of all who follow him, but not in the heart of the land itself,” Hex said, quoting something as they stood staring at the distant town. “That’s where the name came from, you know? Heartland.”
When it became clear to the rest of the world that Penance, for the first time in a long time, was actually going to go through with something they said, Hex told them the Night Terrors responded. They left Cathedra alone, but struck at any organizer for the mainland movement. The Divide became hotly contested, resulting in the demolition of several bridges that spanned the river, as well as the deaths of hundreds of Corrupted and Terrors alike. Old World fears resurfaced concerning the creatures. Afraid they would become targets themselves, Hex explained that many supporters turned on Penance. Desperation led to a restructuring of the Holy Order. Like all religious blowhards, they took no responsibility for their actions by decreeing that what had transpired had been, in the end, the will of god.
“The Heartland would be a very different place if it had all worked out,” James said.
They continued down the Deceit.
Gary nodded, scratching his horse behind the ear. “Wouldn’t be much room for people like us, Atticus.”
“Not sure there is now.” Looking at the town, Atticus wondered how something so beautiful could remain beautiful so many years later. “Where’s Carpenter Plantation?”
“Annaliese’s Deceit winds around back of Cathedra,” Hex said. “The plantation sits about two miles outside of town. It’ll get dense again and then marshy. That’s where my team is. From there, we go half a mile south and we’re at their front door.”
“This team made up of people you know?”
Atticus had one last look at Cathedra and the tiny figures on the road, before the Deceit closed around him, swallowing the view.
“Some. They’re led by a man named Warren. Real big fella. Met him near Hrothas a few years back. Team’s mostly his. Warren’s a good guy. He’ll do just about anything for a bit of coin.”
“How much did this search and rescue run you?” Gary asked, ducking before his head collided with a low-hanging bough.
Atticus searched the trail for signs of the Adelaides, but the last one he’d seen had been a few hours ago.
“If Cathedra catches wind of what we’re doing, they going to stop us?”
“They’re protesting, remember? Nah, they’ll join. Banking on it, actually.” Hex paused, said something under her breath about Ichor. “For Cathedra, it’s not about what Eldrus is doing at the plantation. They don’t give a damn about that. They’re still preparing for the day Penance comes. So anything that gets in the way of that is a problem. Real shallow folks that only care about appearance. I kind of think it’s them that’s given Penance a bad name, and not Penance itself. I mean, how often do you really run into someone from that place?”
“Faith’s a hell of a thing,” Gary said.
Hex hummed and, clicking her tongue, hurried her horse. “Ought to find a way to bottle it. I’ve yet to find a better anesthetic.”
“Aren’t you a little heretic?” Atticus said, teasing her.
Even now, he found himself surprised by the woman’s openness. He expected she was the kind of person that, when she spoke her mind, everyone listened; not because they agreed, but because it would be better than the beating they’d get if they didn’t. It was the kind of confidence that attracted people and alienated friends.
Maybe Ichor’s all she’s got, he thought, watching her braids sway with every gallop. Or maybe he’s all she deserves.
Hex giggled and put her hands together as though to say a prayer. “Aren’t we all heretics in our own ways?”
“I’m not,” James said proudly, though his nervous tone suggested otherwise. “I still have faith.”
“Good, James,” Atticus said, smiling at the boy. I hope you’re never given cause to lose it.
Annaliese’s Deceit didn’t know what color it wanted to be, so it tried them all on at once. As the trail went wide outside of Cathedra, the leaves alternated between dark oranges and vibrant greens, subdued yellows and yearning reds. The soil, too, ran the spectrums of brown and gray, creating a path that it almost seemed a shame to trample.
When things had quieted down, Atticus asked Hex who Annaliese was and what her deceit had been, but she only shook her head and said, “At this point, that story is as good as gone. Sure left some nice things behind to look at, though, didn’t she?”
Fifteen minutes from their rendezvous, Atticus got to thinking about Clementine and Will. He’d been avoiding it and most things associated with their memory. Talking seemed to help some. He’d said more words in the last few weeks than he had in the last few months. But at best, disclosure was a dam built to hold back an ocean. Yet he couldn’t always think of Blythe, either. He could only mutilate the soldier so many times in his mind before he started to repeat himself. So fifteen minutes from their rendezvous, Atticus got to thinking about Clementine and Will, and wished he hadn’t.
He’d never even seen Will down there. As far as he knew, Clementine could’ve taken the plunge into the Abyss moments after he abandoned her. There was no telling they even wanted to come back. All he had was what he knew, and how much of that remained true in a place like the Membrane? The longer they stayed, the longer Death would erode them, break them down, until, one day, they became something he would be better off leaving behind.
Death had made him doubtful, pitiful. He abhorred it.
“No, no,” he said under his breath. I just need to find them. Once I see their bodies, I’ll know.
There was a rustling somewhere off the path. Atticus straightened up. Slowing his horse, he searched the area. He sought out the sounds, his gaze moving between the skinny trees and the razor thin grass that grew wildly amongst them. Probing the gaps in the Deceit, he caught glimpses of the landscape beyond, sun-shocked and shimmering. It was a sight for his sore eyes that he hadn’t seen since Will’s birth, when he put behind him Poe’s bounties and shakedowns.
A branch snapped, and ripped him from his reverie. He shifted his attention to the source—a few trees bound at their canopies by black ivy. He’d touched the stuff once. It took two months and a whole lot of prayers and promises before the itching stopped. No, there wasn’t anything there. A soldier, he thought, spying, maybe, or an animal stalking, more likely, but no, there wasn’t anything.
But it was when he’d made up his mind and went to turn away that it was there. The shepherd stood between the trees, covered in fungus from the brim of its hat to the heel of its boot. It was the same he’d seen last night, but it seemed like it had been here for years. It was watching him, following him with eyes it didn’t have.
The horse kept going until he couldn’t see the shepherd anymore. He glanced back the way they’d come, but it wasn’t giving chase, and he knew that was the point. Every second he spent looking over his shoulder was a second lost to seeing the thing that was in front of him all along.
A few miles and many memories later, the land grew soft and the air turned damp. Before them, a stream babbled in protest at the branches and rocks that sat in its way. A turtle roamed the banks, its parasitic shell greedily gobbling up what had been washed onto the shore.
“There,” Hex said, at the head of the line, wheeling around. “Past here.” She pointed at the tops of two tents hidden amongst the foliage. “They’ve probably seen us already, but even so, don’t do anything stupid. I’ll take the lead.”
They steered their horses northward, until they found a place where the stream was shallow and not coated in leeches. Atticus followed behind Hex, reins in one hand, machete in the other. He could hear Gary and James whispering amongst themselves, one telling the other—he wasn’t sure which—everything was going to be okay.
Somewhere in his soul, Atticus heard a whispering, felt a hungering. He reached into his pocket, pulled out Bon’s glove, and slipped it on. If he tried hard enough, he could still conjure up the smell of the soldier’s burning flesh.
Past the stream and berry-choked bushes, they found several men, surrounded by sagging tents, sitting in a circle, warming their hands by a pile of heat rocks. Some had been cracked open to get at the last of the warmth inside. Each man was armed and armored; a few even had shields. They didn’t so much as budge when Atticus and company came bumbling in.
“Good afternoon to you,” Hex said to the men. She hopped off her horse and let it graze about the camp. “They’re with me.”
The men nodded, and grunted. They made room for her to sit, but she thanked them and stood instead. Three more, archers, emerged from the woods, one carrying a fawn, while the others each held a dead Eldrus soldier over their shoulders. Long lines of blood ran down those archers’ backs, from their victims’ mangled mouths.
Atticus got down with Gary and James, and kept close to Hex. The archers dropped the bodies near one of the tents and stripped them. They piled the soldiers’ clothes and weapons separately and kept any valuables for themselves. Afterwards, they spat in their lifeless faces, dragged them back into the woods, and rolled them into a large pit.
“How do you like our grave, Gravedigger?”
Atticus turned to a tent and found there was now a massive mountain of a man standing outside it. The shit-eating grin on his face told Atticus this was their leader, Warren. His arms probably weighed more than James and Gary combined. Hundreds of scars ran across his bulging muscles, as though he’d been put together from the parts of others. His hair was long, pulled back tight into a greasy bun, and his beard hung like moss off his chin. He looked like what most men of Gallows had hoped one day to be, before the drink had drowned their dreams.
“Kind of you,” he finally responded. “Seems a bit cramped.”
“Oh yes, there are a few down there already. Stragglers. These soldiers are due back this evening, so it’s best you arrived when you did. We have to get moving.” Warren grinned. Half his teeth had been busted. “I’ve got to see it, Gravedigger. Won’t you show
me?”
Atticus, looking at Hex, said, “What’s that?”
Warren rubbed his hands together, almost did a jig he was so excited. “You know, the whole not dying business.”
Atticus’ face turned red, as though he’d swallowed some horrible swill. He was about to make a big deal out of what was, admittedly, a big deal, but instead pointed to his neck. “This?”
“Oh my, that looks troublesome.”
Warren laughed as Atticus pulled up his pant leg.
“We’re getting a peep show here, boys.”
Warren cringed when he saw the skin underneath.
“How are you still standing, my man? You don’t look like the toughest cat in town.”
“Hold on,” Atticus said. “How the hell do you know who I am?”
“Look,” Hex said, interrupting, “we’re here for Ichor, not to measure our dicks.”
Warren, staring at his crotch, mumbled, “Thank god for that. I’ve had enough embarrassment this week.”
“Show us the plans,” Hex commanded.
“Who are these others with you first?” Warren made a motion for his men to stand, and they stood. “Why are they with you to begin with?”
“James,” she said, pointing to James, “and Gary.” She nodded at the ghoul. “Gravedigger was coming this way, anyways. Blythe stole something of his. He means to get it back. A man who can’t die is a man I want at my side.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Warren bit his lip, picked at a callus on his meaty hands. “You got a ghoul with you?”
“You getting squeamish, Warren?”
“I just like to know what I’m getting into. You a ghoul?”
Gary nodded, sending a part of his spine through his flesh. “You going to do something about it?”
Warren shrugged and shook his head. “Not unless I have to. This is a merry band of murderers and monsters we have here. Follow.” He pointed to the tent he’d come out of. “Step into my humble abode.”
There was a woman in the tent, Warren’s second in command, Francis. She sat at a small table, pouring over the blueprints of Carpenter Plantation. She, plus the men outside and the three women he saw coming in from the field, put the team at twenty. Hex had told them to expect at least fifty soldiers at the plantation. The odds didn’t sit right with Atticus.