The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection

by Scott Hale

  “I’ve heard of the Membrane,” Lotus said. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. “And things coming out of it. Creatures. Shadows. Could be the Dread Clock is part of it?”

  “That’s why I need it. How do I get to it?”

  “But, Atticus, the rebellion. Why… why are you here, then?”

  “Artifacts from the Old World,” he said. “There were supposed to be some here I could use to open the way into the Membrane. King Edgar said he had them destroyed.”

  “Oh shit, oh shit.” Lotus covered her mouth. “Yeah, I guess that was it.”

  “What?”

  “When they brought me in, I wasn’t a prisoner. They were civil. We went up top, passed the Archivist’s tower. Have you seen the thing? It’s covered in vermillion veins, and no one says anything!”

  The Skeleton shook his head.

  “Anyways, they took me past it. There were all these things laid out in the courtyard. Shrines, urns, goblets, jewelry, gems. And they were melting it down. The metal, Atticus, it begged when they burned it. Like it was alive.”

  “Even if I get out and what I need’s left, I can’t get up there, get it, and get home. So, the clock. Tell me about it.”

  Why you always have to make things complicated? he heard Clementine whisper in his skull. What the hell are you doing? Do you even want to save us? Or do you just want to prolong this?

  “I know you can’t die, but you know what the Black Hour is, right? If you’re going toe-to-toe with the source of it, the source of the Nameless Forest’s madness, you’re not going to come out the way you were before.”

  “I’m resilient,” the Skeleton said, undeterred. “I don’t care. I am tired. I want this to be over. I want them back.”

  Lotus nodded and, with a pathetic look on her face, began: “The Nameless Forest is easy to get into. There’s nothing to it. The Forest wants visitors. It thrives on them. It will do and show you anything. But you must stay to the path. There is a road, the Binding Road, that runs, much like the Spine, through it.”

  “Where does it begin?” the Skeleton asked.

  “Wherever you do. It doesn’t matter where you enter. It’ll be there. But you have to stay on it. If you do, it’ll lead past my village, Threadbare, to a church, Anathema. There, the road splits in five different directions. Each one goes further into the Forest, to different villages. The one you want is furthest from Anathema, where the trees are darker.

  “After a while, you won’t think you’re in the Nameless Forest anymore. The trees will disappear. The land will become swamp. And the fog will be so thick, you’ll lose track of the road. But if you don’t, you’ll find the Orphanage.”

  “The Orphanage?” The Skeleton twitched. Something thumped outside the dungeon.

  “Yeah. I’ve only been there once. Wouldn’t be bummed out if I never went back. It’s run by children, and the massive bat they worship. They guard the lake the Dread Clock sits in. If you want the clock, you’ll have to get right with them.”

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Lotus turned her head. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” the Skeleton said quickly.

  “That’s all I know, Atticus. I swear.”

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Lotus went to the front of her cell. “What the hell…?”

  Oh no, the Skeleton thought. Oh god damn it. He tried to close his eyes, but he had no lids to hide them behind. “Lotus, what’s going to happen if I tamper with the clock?”

  “I don’t know. I figured King Edgar wanted it to control the people of the Forest and force them out. But if he’s not there when you do it, the people can maybe decide for themselves if they really want to follow him.”

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “Okay what the hell is that?”

  The Skeleton threw the hood over his head. He tightened his glove and said, “Start screaming, Lotus.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Something’s coming. Might be our way out. Need to get the jailer in here.”

  “Atticus?” she whimpered.

  The Skeleton felt his non-existent heart stop. “What?”

  “What the hell are those things standing behind you?”

  The Skeleton turned around and, there, at his back, two shepherds stood. The creatures weren’t trying to hide their faces anymore. Their sewn-up eyes and sewn-up mouths were swollen lumps of ashy flesh. Their foreheads were glossy gulfs of gore and trinkets, like the nest of some mad magpie. In appearance, the shepherds were identical, from the cracks in their hats to the buckles on their boots. The only difference was the nail polish. One wore green, the other, yellow.

  Lotus started screaming.

  “The wolf has lost its fur,” the shepherds spoke in unison. “It can hide among the sheep no longer.”

  The green-nailed shepherd swung its crook and cracked the Skeleton’s skull. He went sideways, crashing into the bars.

  “Guards! Guards!” Lotus screamed.

  The Skeleton didn’t feel the impact or the pain that should’ve come with it. He reared up and launched himself at the shepherds.

  “Stop it, Atticus,” the shepherds said. They beat him back, their crooks breaking his bones. “Because we won’t.”

  The Skeleton ignored them. Hairline cracks ran along his bones, but they healed almost as quickly as they formed. He threw himself into the green-nailed shepherd, knocking it to the ground.

  “Guards, get in here! Someone is trying to break him out,” Lotus belted.

  The yellow-nailed shepherd slammed its crook into the back of the Skeleton’s head. He took the blows like he took a breeze. Remembering Mr. Haemo’s words, he grabbed the green-nailed shepherd by the fissure in its head and dug his fingers in deep.

  The dungeon doors unlocked and flung back.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” he heard the jailer shout.

  The Skeleton head-butted the green-nailed shepherd. “I’m not going anywhere.” He bit down onto its face and held on tight. Screaming, he strengthened his grip on the shepherd’s forehead. Like tearing bark from a tree, he split it open with ease. Hundreds of tiny objects—toys, corks, fingernails, eyelashes—poured out and turned to dust.

  The yellow-nailed shepherd’s crook caught the side of his skull and sent him flying across the cell.

  “Get in there,” Lotus yelled.

  The Skeleton looked up and saw the jailer and several guards standing outside his cell. They didn’t know what to do.

  But the Skeleton did. He let the shepherd pull him into its arms.

  “Stop it,” he said, to the guards. “Stop it. It’s trying to take me out of here.”

  The shepherd shot the humans a damning glance, and like the damned, they wilted within it.

  “The king wants him,” Lotus said. She was rattling the bars, looking far more panicked than the Skeleton would’ve expected. “You have to do something!”

  The jailer was the first to snap out of it. He unlocked the cell. With the sound of its unlocking, the guards remembered their responsibilities and headed in.

  “Get away,” the shepherd said, dragging the Skeleton towards the back of the cell. “He’s mine.”

  The guards drew their swords and pressed forward. Five of them in all, it seemed they hoped to overwhelm the creature with their number. But the shepherd wasn’t impressed. It dropped one hand from the crook, reached into its coat, and threw a bundle of pink bandages onto the floor.

  “Get back,” the Skeleton warned, knowing damn well they would do the opposite.

  The closest guard did just that: He raised his sword and slashed at the shepherd’s head. As the blade touched the brim of its hat, the pink bandages exploded. Pale, ephemeral tentacles shot out of the fabric and punctured the guard’s throat. Like ghostly tapeworms, the tentacles fed on the man, slowly sucking the soul out of his body.

  “Anointed One, Anointed One,” the guards murmured, instead of saying “Holy Child.”

  The Skeleton elbow
ed the shepherd in the stomach and slid under the crook. He stumbled forward, past the bandage, dodging the tentacles that whipped out of it.

  “Stop,” the guards cried.

  The Skeleton took up the soulless man’s sword and ran it through the nearest guard. The others swung at him, but their swings were cut short. The shepherd bore down on them, breaking, in one swipe, their heads and necks with its crook.

  “What is going on?” Lotus cried out.

  The Skeleton grabbed the jailer before he could flee. He stabbed him through the heart, took his keys, and lobbed them into Lotus’ cell.

  The Skeleton bolted across the dungeon, the shepherd in pursuit. He tore through the doors, up the winding staircase beyond, and stumbled into the long hallway it led to.

  “Oh my god, what is that?”

  The Skeleton’s eyes darted back and forth between the royalty gathered in Ghostgrave’s hall. Their dresses glinted in the evening light, their lips blood red from the wine in their hands.

  “Guards! Guards!”

  Where am I? What do I do? There were doors and more hallways everywhere around him.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  The shepherd was following after, making its way up the stairs.

  “Guards!”

  The Skeleton spotted more of Eldrus’ men moving through the crowds of people. I can’t go back down there. I can’t. He took off, following the wall and going wide around the room.

  “Stop him!”

  He pushed through the people that stood in his way, throwing them to the ground. Their jewelry broke under his skeletal feet. I can’t die, he told himself, bloodshot eyes fixed on the massive, low-sitting, stained-glass window ahead. I won’t die.

  Guards flanked him from the right, pinning him against the wall beside the window. Without thinking, because if he had, he may have done otherwise, the Skeleton threw himself through the window and over the edge of Ghostgrave.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  The Skeleton fell fifty feet through the air and broke into a million pieces on the boulders below. His brain blew out of his skull and left a sickening smear across the earth. In a matter of minutes, though, his body began to reform. The scattered remnants took on a life of their own, gravitating towards one another to form a pile of bones and bone fragments. One after the other, the pieces of the Skeleton were put into place, until his completed frame stood where the pile had been.

  Alive again, the Skeleton found his cloak and glove and got dressed. Even this far down from Ghostgrave, he could hear from the keep the ruckus his escape had caused. They’d be here soon, to investigate what surely seemed like a suicide. So he turned on his heels and, with Eldrus and his mind behind him, headed eastward, to begin his long journey to the Nameless Forest.

  With no need to eat or sleep, the Skeleton was relentless. He traveled day and night, pausing for neither pain nor threat of death. He stole horses when he could, and went by foot when he couldn’t. There was purity in bone, he realized. A raw power that could be expressed without fear of damage to the flesh. In the light, he looked human, but truth be told, he was anything but. The thing that had been Atticus was no more. His skin hadn’t regrown, and his organs hadn’t returned. All that he was and all that he’d done, these bones didn’t hold. To know him would be to know those he knew, but he doubted even they would recognize him.

  The Skeleton was immune to most things, except his emotions. After several weeks of solitude, he began to hold conversations with Clementine and Will. And because they weren’t there, he had to speak for them on their behalf.

  “Why don’t you think of me much?” Will asked as the Skeleton skirted some rocky foothills.

  “I do.”

  “Not like you do Mom.”

  “I love your mother.” And then: “I love you, too, Will. Where’s this coming from?”

  “You always think of her. Talk about her. You don’t remember me like you remember her.”

  The Skeleton stopped. He thought he’d heard something in the wilderness, but chances were he scared it off with his ramblings.

  “Clementine this, Clementine that,” Will went on.

  “Stop it,” the Skeleton shouted. He threw his hood over his head and said, “I’ll have no more of this.”

  “You say you love me but you never show—”

  “Stop!” He scratched at his skull. “What do you want me to say?”

  Clementine joined the conversation, so the Skeleton’s voice rose a few octaves. “Tell him the truth, Atticus. Tell him why you act funny around him. Tell him about Vale.”

  “He knows about our daughter, god damn it,” he growled.

  “Do you know that’s why your father tries not to get attached to you?” Clementine asked Will.

  “Is he afraid I’ll die like she did?”

  “He is.”

  “Please, I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” the Skeleton said.

  “When he comes back here, will he take me with you?” Will asked.

  “God damn it, Will, of course,” the Skeleton said to his son, to himself.

  “You going to give the boy the love he deserves?” Clementine sighed. “You have to love him like you love me.”

  The Skeleton sighed and whispered, “We’ve been through so much, me and you. It’s different.”

  “No,” Clementine said. “It’s not.”

  When the Skeleton wasn’t talking to himself or talking to himself about talking to himself, he was checking the heir for new transmissions from Hex. About the time he reached the Divide, the massive river which separated a portion of the Heartland from Penance’s peninsula, the snail shell began to glow again.

  The Divide was busy this day, as it probably was most days. Ships small and large sailed its turbulent waters, as others unloaded their goods at the wharfs than ran up and down both sides of the shore. Most of the ships flew the sails of Penance, as trade on the Divide was their frozen wasteland’s lifeblood.

  It was hard to tell how many people were in the area. The dockyard workers moved in swarms, and the roads saw light, but constant traffic. But all it would take was one blabbermouth to flap his jaws about a living skeleton to put this Skeleton’s months of careful travel to waste. So he hit the ground hard, hid in some grass, and reconsidered his options.

  “Any news?” he asked the shell, as he let his fingers work its grooves.

  The Dread Clock? Atticus, no, don’t be an idiot. Did you escape? Hex’s voice was clearer than before. He swore he could hear James in the background. Mr. Haemo is here. He says the clock could work. He says he’s seen it. Mara, too. You seem to trust this bug more than I’m willing to. Mara wouldn’t lie, not to me. Think she… wants to see if… you can pull it off. Just hope you know how to get to the damn thing. Don’t bother going… Nachtla, then. It’s better… split up. Are you…? You sound different. We’re okay. We… spreading word… Gravedigger. Never know when… need allies.

  The Skeleton was about fifty feet from the nearest wharf. As far he could tell, no one had seen or heard him. He lay back down, put the heir on top of his tongue, and willed this: I got out. I’m at the Divide. I’ll catch a ship and keep going. I know where the Clock is. Mr. Haemo wants to use me to return to his former glory. So, yeah, I trust him. What is Lacuna? What’s there? Hex, if you’re using me, too, then tell me. Is Lacuna your actual home? You trying to prove something?

  He covered himself up the best that he could and made for a small dock beside the wharf. There, a few boats were grounded, and a few men were dicking around. The Skeleton came in quiet. But when he’d been spotted, he threw back his hood and revealed himself.

  “Holy Child, Holy Child,” the men shouted, tripping over their feet.

  “I am Death,” the Skeleton said. He walked towards the men, cornering them like mice. “I have come to judge you all.”

  “No, please, I swear I’ve given up that life,” one man cried.

  “One more chance, I beg of you,” another pleaded.
<
br />   “I have a family. I haven’t…. it was one time! They need me,” a third blubbered.

  “Let us strike a deal, then,” the Skeleton boomed.

  “Anything.”

  “A boat for your lives.”

  The men glanced at one another, dumbfounded, and said, “Uh, yeah, sure!” and high-tailed it into the river.

  After crossing the Divide, the Skeleton began to lose track of things. Suddenly, his mind, or what little of it hadn’t been dashed on the rocks outside Ghostgrave, didn’t seem so sharp. He found himself wandering the Heartland, haunting the small settlements along the way for days at a time. He would tell people he was the Gravedigger, what he’d done, and where he was going. They would listen, as most would to a talking skeleton, and give him gifts to save their own skin, just in case he a the hankering to wear it.

  “What are you doing?” he asked himself one night in Clementine’s voice. He was standing in the fields outside some family’s farm house. He’d knocked down the scarecrow there and taken its place.

  “What?”

  “Get your shit together, Atticus.”

  The Skeleton pulled himself off the scarecrow’s post. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “You’re dragging your feet. Why?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. We need you. Every day gets harder down here and you’re up here screwing around with the locals.”

  “Maybe I should’ve made sure all the artifacts were destroyed. Should I go back to Ghostgrave?”

  The Skeleton’s skull went sideways as he pretended that Clementine had slapped it.

  “You afraid you’ll get to the Nameless Forest and find something that’ll really put you to the test?”

  “No,” he said.

  A little girl passed in front of one of the farm house’s windows. She waved at him. He waved back.

  “You don’t want this to end, do you? Been at it so long it’s become routine.”

  He started marching through the fields, back towards the road. “No, that’s not it.”