The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection

by Scott Hale

  “Sure seems to come on at the most opportune of times.”

  “It really doesn’t. I said I came to find Ichor to kill him, and that was true. You know why he hates me? Because he’s a telepath, too. Except, he’s better at receiving than sending. Every time he fucked up, every time I made fun of him, hated him, he knew. And I didn’t. Had no idea he could read my thoughts. Didn’t know until the day he tried to kill himself. Then he told me.”

  “But you still want to kill him? I’m sorry but that doesn’t make a lick of god damn sense.”

  “It’s… it’s m-mutual.”

  Hex was giving him everything, and in return, Atticus knew she was hoping to buy back no more than his favor.

  “We’ve been hunting each other since my wedding night.”

  “How come?”

  “Ichor is generally a receiver, not a sender, like I said, but during the wedding dinner, I caught his thoughts. What he thought about me, what he wanted to… do to me.” Hex swallowed hard. She mouthed the words, “Spread you open.” Her face darkened several shades of Death. “I leapt across the table and put every fork and knife I could get ahold of in his chest. He got away, though. Ichor always gets away.

  “He came back a few weeks later, in the night. Husband was gone. Fought then, too. He’d show up every month or so after that and we’d beat each other to a pulp. He’d get away, or I’d let him get away. I don’t even know anymore. The only connection we have to each other is how much we hate one another.”

  Atticus considered her and said, “Did you get involved with Geharra to find him? Or because you actually believe in them?”

  Hex shrugged. “Both. I can’t explain it, Gravedigger. It’s… sick. But I have to find him again.”

  “To kill him?”

  “To try.” Her eyes went bright blue. “But maybe this time will be different.”

  “All that about Ichor, what you said earlier. Him protecting you. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. I don’t tell the truth when it comes to Ichor.”

  Atticus loosened up. “Guess I wouldn’t either. You enjoy this, don’t you? This cat-and-mouse game.”

  “Yes,” Hex admitted. “The more complex, the better. I’m glad he wasn’t at Carpenter Plantation. But I do worry about him.”

  “Is there another person inside of you? I don’t know who you are right now.”

  Embarrassed, she looked at her feet. “We all have our flaws. You’re covered in them. You enjoy killing. Don’t you say you don’t, I know you do. And, yes, I enjoy every awful thing my brother and I have done to each other.”

  Atticus shrugged and then whispered, “Why?”

  “The thrill of it. What do you call it? A fetish? Some degrading thing no one would admit to? I don’t know, Gravedigger. I just want us to be on the same level. That’s why I’m telling you. We’re partners, you and I.”

  “You want to come over for dinner when this is done?” Atticus laughed. “I’m glad you told me. I feel like I can trust you better knowing how fucked up you are.”

  Hex did a curtsey in her seat.

  “Telepath, huh? How’d that happen?”

  “Born that way, I guess,” Hex said.

  “Can you read my mind?”

  “No, not unless you can send your thoughts, too. The way it works: I transmit my thoughts, and whoever can receive usually does. More of a burden than a gift.”

  “And the heir?”

  “Night Terrors came up with that,” Hex said, sounding guilty of something. “Never told me where they got it.”

  “Uh, huh.” Atticus scrutinized her. “You’re awfully chummy with them. Why’s that?”

  “Husband was in the mining business. Had to get on their good side a few times to work some areas. Seen Mara in passing here and there. She’s not the killing type. More diplomatic.” She came to her feet. “Any more questions?”

  “One,” Atticus said, doing the same. “Why’d Ichor try to kill himself?”

  Hex chewed on her lip. He could tell she despised him right now, because he knew that look better than anyone else; he saw it every time the Hangman came.

  Balling her fists, she said, “Because I wanted him to. I was fucking tired of his whining, the sick shit he used to pull. I was embarrassed by him, playing the victim all the time. I thought to myself, you should kill yourself, Ichor.’ And he heard that, and because I wanted it so bad, he thought he did, too. He thought it was a genuine, bona fide thought of his own.

  “I’m not a good person, Gravedigger, so it’s a good thing Ichor and I hate each other. Who knows what damage I could do if I didn’t have him to hurt?”

  ISLAOS

  It took them three weeks before Atticus and his followers crossed into the Blasted Woodland, a blown-out mess of trees, valleys, and crags that sat on the edge of the much larger, much drier Dires. At the middle of the Woodland, a steep, Y-shaped valley stretched for miles across the emerald expanse. In it, Islaos waited at the bottom, the sounds of axes and pickaxes constantly coming up from the valley’s floor.

  Geharra had been good to them thus far, that much was true. They’d come to Cathedra in hand-me-downs, and left the town looking smart. They were given, by unnamed confederates, full sets of armor, weapons, new horses, supplies, and enough money to bribe their way out of any situation from here to Nyxis.

  Atticus had been given a special blade, a sword with a skull at its hilt. But it looked hokey, and he’d grown partial to his machete. He kept the special sword stowed, until someone with lower standards than himself came along to wield it.

  “We need a name,” Hex said, trotting on her horse beside Elizabeth’s and Miranda’s. “The rebellion doesn’t have one yet.”

  Gary raised his hand.

  Hex cut him off: “And anyone who suggests calling it the Resistance is going to have my boot in their ass.”

  Gary lowered his hand.

  “The Cabal isn’t a household name, but some know it,” Warren said, gripping the reins tightly. His horse hadn’t taken kindly to the big man’s weight; ever since they’d left, it’d been trying to shake him off.

  “We’re different now, though, yeah?” Elizabeth added.

  Miranda massaged her shoulder. She hadn’t given up trying to bring life back to the dead nerves there. “Gravedigger is leading now. Let’s let him decide.”

  Atticus looked at James, who rode beside him. “What you think?”

  James shrugged and laughed. “I’m not the Gravedigger. That’s up to you.”

  Atticus grunted. He looked at the trees, the ground; marveled at the way everything seemed to be frozen in the moment right after an explosion. The Blasted Woodland. Name made sense now. But how it happened, he couldn’t figure.

  “I like the Cabal,” James said. He winced, his right hand, or what was left of it, giving him some issues. It was a good thing he was ambidextrous, or so he claimed. “But I agree with Miranda.”

  “Thank you,” Miranda chirped from the back.

  “It’s got to be something people can get behind. Something that’ll inspire them.” James ballooned out his cheeks and then exhaled. “How about the Marrow Cabal?”

  “Why?” Atticus liked it, but he wanted James to defend it, the way he used to make him defend things back on the farm, to build confidence.

  “Well, I mean, we have the Spine running through the Heartland, so there’s that. But Eldrus is making the land sick. We’re going to heal it, bring some strength back to everything.”

  “I like it,” Warren bellowed. His horse neighed as he gave it an excited slap.

  “All right.” Atticus smiled and nodded at James. “What do you think, Gary?”

  “Hmm?” The ghoul swallowed something—an eyeball by what Atticus could see through the holes in his throat. He gave the thumbs up. “Sounds perfect.”

  “I like it, too,” a human-shaped Mr. Haemo buzzed, flanking them from the side. He and his horse were so covered in blood, it was hard to tell where
one stopped and the other began. “Found a lumber mill.”

  “We said scout ahead, not slaughter ahead,” Hex growled.

  “They might have seen us.”

  Mr. Haemo balled his fist. In an instant, he absorbed the blood off himself and the horse.

  “Besides, we’re going to need a lot of the sticky stuff to get Clementine and Will back.”

  Ahead, the land began to pull apart, the background separating from the foreground. By this, Atticus knew they’d found the valley.

  “What’s the plan, Hex?” he asked, as they brought their horses to the edge. The valley was large enough that it was almost a stretch to consider it part of the Blasted Woodland. With its rivers and lakes, fields and forests, it was a place all its own. It had a paradise quality to it, all sun and shine, which made him second guess for a moment the extent of Eldrus’ rumored atrocities here.

  “We can’t even be sure how many vermillion corpses have been buried in Islaos,” she said. “This is where Eldrus started doing it first.”

  “Hex, how long has this been going on for?” Gary asked.

  “Maybe two or three months after Edgar got back from the Nameless Forest. Two years, then?”

  “Holy Child,” James whispered.

  “Rebellions take time to build,” Warren reminded them, before the accusations started.

  “So no grave digging for infected bodies?” Mr. Haemo sounded sad. “What a shame.”

  “Seven hundred people live in Islaos,” Hex said. “More above the valley. We have about one hundred to one hundred and fifty committed to our cause, which doesn’t mean a whole lot, other than they showed up for refreshments.”

  Miranda cleared her throat. “How many soldiers?”

  Hex shrugged and said, “Hard to say. It’s a wide area to police. We don’t know exactly what’s going on in these woods, either. Islaos is a frontier town, though. We won’t have a lot of pushback. People move out here because they value privacy.”

  “No more killing, mosquito,” Atticus said. He noticed a trail not far from where they stood that led into the valley. “You got that?”

  “I have to kill to keep this appearance, boss,” Mr. Haemo said, riding up beside him. “Taking out that shepherd for you—you’re welcome, by the way—took a lot out of me.”

  Atticus cringed at Mr. Haemo’s ashy, patchy, sagging face. “I know. Thank you. You only helped to save yourself. I know that.”

  Mr. Haemo tried to smile, but his cheeks wouldn’t cooperate. “Save? No. I just don’t like being weak. I can do this on my own, but it’ll go faster with you.” He paused and then said, “There’s another shepherd coming, I’m sure. Grab them by the cracks in their head, like I did. It’s the only way.”

  Hex coughed, drawing attention to herself. A wave of leaves blew past, sticking a few twigs in her hair. “King Edgar has one of his famous suffer centers in Islaos. We’ll meet our contact there.”

  Atticus could feel all eyes on him. He glanced back and saw Warren nodding in his direction. Son of a bitch, he thought. This was supposed to be your gig.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said finally, kicking his horse toward the trail. “Before someone sees us.”

  The trail was one of many that had been carved into the valley’s steep slopes. Each went to different locations above Islaos, with the trail to the distant Spine being the busiest. Where the valley was highest, elevators had been installed. In constant use, they transported workers and gathered resources back and forth between the town and the various encampments around the Blasted Woodland.

  Elizabeth rode to the front of the party. “You should get some ink, Gravedigger.”

  Atticus raised an eyebrow. The new armor had more or less covered most of her tattoos, but even now there were a few thick lines creeping up her neck.

  “Afraid it might hurt?”

  Atticus unbuckled his bracer and showed the Deadly Beauty where he’d killed himself. “Not particularly.”

  She curled her nose. “You smell awful.”

  “Consequence of dying all the time.”

  “You’re too skinny, too.”

  Atticus tugged his horse as they went around the last bend to Islaos. “You come up here to give me a hard time?”

  “Just saying you look a little rough.”

  Elizabeth waved at a group of women in robes coming toward them. They waved, went another way, and started whispering amongst themselves.

  “Might want something to cover up all that damage you’ve done to yourself, yeah?”

  “Don’t see the point. Whatever tattoo I got, it would probably just be torn off.” The hot sun was starting to get in his eyes. He lowered his head until it stopped pissing him off. “Besides, I wouldn’t know what tattoo to get.”

  “Something meaningful is a good start.” She grumbled as she tried to lift the armor on her side. “See it?”

  He did notice the scarred slits on each of her hands, but she was getting at something else. On her lower back, there was a tattoo of a nun with the face of a demon. In her right hand, she held Penance’s holy text, Helminth’s Way, and in her left, a rosary made out of teeth and eyeballs. At her feet, four stones—red, white, pink, and purple—were placed.

  “The Bad Woman from the Our Ladies of Sorrow academy.” She covered herself, deflected the glare Miranda was giving her from the back of the line. “I’m the red stone, Miranda’s the purple. Jessie… was the pink.”

  “Who was the white?”

  “Emily… our friend who didn’t make it out of that place. This, and what we—” she pointed to Miranda, “—remember is all that’s left of her.”

  “What’d you do with the Bad Woman?”

  The trail evened out into the grassy floor of the valley.

  “Put her in my skin. She’s still alive. A spellweaver wove her in, body and soul. The Bad Woman always kept a close eye on us at the academy. Always kept in range of the cane.” Elizabeth smiled victoriously. “Now she doesn’t have to worry, because we’re always together.” She took out a knife and stuck it to her side. “We don’t have a cane, yeah? But this works well, too. I make sure she gets her daily stabbing.”

  “Take it you can’t feel it?”

  “Couldn’t even if I could.”

  Atticus was their leader, but Hex was in charge, so when she vetoed subtlety and told them to ride through the front gates of Islaos, they did just that.

  “There’s no point in hiding anymore,” she told them as they navigated the throngs of people on the main thoroughfare. “We want them to know we’re here. It’ll give them a chance to change their tune.”

  Islaos had a rustic charm to it that Atticus found endearing. Laid out like a star, the town was all dark wood and black knots, with each radial street filled to the brim with houses, businesses, and stalls. Eldrus’ presence was undeniable, because a few seconds couldn’t pass without Atticus seeing some armed soldier moving through the crowd or going into a shop. Nobody looked uncomfortable with them being there, but even the sick sometimes forget the disease that’s killing them.

  The suffer center stood out like a sore thumb. As the first part of what people now realized to be Eldrus’ encroachment, the city-state had constructed these pantries and shelters years ago to serve the poor and misfortunate. Eldrus kept the places well-stocked and well-manned by community members, but under one condition: They did not alter in any way, shape, or form the look of the suffer center. They were not meant to fit into the surrounding environment. They were meant to stand out, black and angular, like the city-state itself, as a constant reminder of Eldrus’ charity. Most of the Heartland found King Edgar’s demands reasonable and worth the eye-sore.

  Except Gallows, of course. They tore the suffer center down the first day it went it up, claiming they were suffering just fine without it.

  Their contact’s name was Benjamin. By the looks of it, he was the poor bastard in the front of the suffer center swamped by the lunchtime regulars. When Atticus turned to
ask Hex if there was a back entrance, the crowd of thirty went quiet and took notice of them. Whispers, murmurs. People parted, pointed. Some tried to look at Atticus, but when he caught their gaze, they quickly looked away, shaken and scared. He didn’t like this, having a reputation. He used to, back when it kept him out of fights he couldn’t win. But not anymore, especially when he didn’t even know what it was for.

  “Let them through,” Benjamin shouted. He handed off some food to a few workers nearby and let them take over. Staring at Atticus, grizzled and grinning, he said, “Come down. We’ll take care of the horses.”

  “It’s okay,” Hex said to everyone.

  “Doesn’t look like it.” Gary made a circle with his finger. All around them, small pockets of Eldrus’ soldiers had formed. They were too far away to attack, but they were close enough to see and hear everything.

  “We’ve got tens of human shields between us and them,” Mr. Haemo buzzed, several of his children humming around his head. “Let them try.”

  Atticus grunted and dismounted from his horse. He took out his machete and started through the crowd. He eyed the people like grass that needed to be cut back. And like grass they shivered, and like grass they parted.

  What role do they expect me to play? He heard the others drop from their horses. Undead maniac? Reborn savior?

  “They’re here.”

  “—Gravedigger?”

  An old woman whipped around to the younger woman behind her. “Look at his neck.”

  Some men, too muscular to be begging, said loudly, “About time. I’m ready to do this.”

  Atticus tried to read the faces of the people outside the suffer center, but he couldn’t make sense of them. Had they never expected him to arrive? Had they even believed that he existed at all? Maybe he’d died too much to understand those unspoken subtleties anymore. Or maybe their faces reflected his own; that is, the sudden, pants-shitting realization that now they had to make good on their not so good word.

  “Please,” Benjamin said, waving them on. “Please, people, let them pass.”

  “Is that the Gravedigger?”

  “Is that him?”

  Benjamin heard the questions and nodded to no one in particular.