The Crown of Bones (The Fae War Chronicles Book 2)

by Jocelyn Fox

  When Chael’s vision returned, I saw Luca, his muscular body stretched over a twisted rack constructed with only the dark purpose of torture. I watched as hooded creatures glided around him, their silence somehow more frightening than the gibbering goblins and slobbering toad-creatures. They brought the black twisted dagger and used it to sear the runes into his flesh, and then they bound it to his hand, piercing his flesh with their own long claws. I caught the glimmer of black fangs from within the shadows of their hoods.

  And then they brought out Rialla, her silver and black fur mottled with blood but her magnificent eyes still bright and seeking Chael. He tried to move but discovered he was bound, hand and foot, to a pole behind him, a brutal collar encircling his neck. Savage spikes gouged his flesh when he twisted to see his wolf, but kept her within his sight, blood running in rivulets down his chest. She was weaker than he’d ever seen her, even as a pup; and he felt a rage hot enough to burn through all the bones in his body as she stumbled and one of the goblins kicked her to make her walk on. She snapped at the goblin, almost catching its arm in her jaws, and walked on with all the predatory grace she could muster, and he felt tears of pride and love rising in his good eye. If they killed her, he decided, he would break free and kill them all, or die trying.

  Four creatures at once rushed her and she snapped one’s neck before one of them stabbed her with a pitchfork and she went down with a yelp of pain. An incoherent bellow of rage tore itself from Chael’s ruined throat. He heaved against the chains binding him to the pole and choked as the collar tightened. A hooded figure appeared, gliding toward Luca and Rialla. What would have been its head turned toward Chael and with a flick of its wrist the sorcerer tightened the spiked collar further. Chael’s vision grayed at the edges. He strained to breathe, fought to hold onto the blurred images in his one good eye to see what happened to his beloved wolf and his brother-in-arms, his fellow ulfdrengr, the sole survivors of their ruined tribe. He watched as they held down Rialla and the sorcerer placed the black collar on her, her beautiful body jerking as if in its death throes, foam lacing her muzzle. Even with his eyes glazed from the pain of the dagger-binding, Luca fought, all the muscles in his neck standing out like cords as with a great effort he broke the torture-rack in two, like Hercules breaking the pillars, his face a mask of wild rage and the undaunted courage that comes from accepting one’s own death. He swung one side of the rack, impaled two creatures, charged the sorcerer with the other half of the rack held like a spear.

  And the sorcerer raised his hand. Such a slight motion, almost effortless, but it stopped Luca in his tracks as if invisible ropes had suddenly snaked around his body. He strained against them. Chael whispered words in the North-tongue, trying to call the power of snow and ice and pine forests to him, but the darkness around them was suffocating. The sorcerer let Luca hang in mid-air for a moment, and then with a flick of the wrist slammed him to the ground. Chael heard Kianryk howl somewhere behind him. Luca shuddered and then lay still. The sorcerer passed his hand over Rialla, and then Luca, and a sickening tight feeling crept into Chael’s chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel Rialla, couldn’t hear her wolf-heart beating in his veins if he half-closed his eyes. He couldn’t use her eyes to see, or her magnificent nose to smell, or her amazing ears to hear.

  He was blind, and he was deaf, and he was alone.

  With a despair so absolute that he thought it might be death, Chael gave in to the darkness, and let it sweep him away.

  Chapter 26

  I rose from Chael’s memories like a drowning swimmer breaking through the surface of the ocean, suddenly aware of my own lungs gasping for breath. My hands still covered Chael’s eyes, and he was shuddering with silent sobs. I tasted salt and realized my own cheeks were wet with tears. I sent a silent plea to the Caedbranr:

  How do I help him? I will bear his burden if I can. I need to help him.

  Power still flowed through me into Chael, but it was a slow and gentle stream rather than a crashing wave. The Sword-as-wolf awoke, and stretched, and with a strange painful rippling feeling—as though the wolf was a part of me, birthing from me, stretching my skin and bones—the wolf made itself corporeal. Not shimmering emerald light, but a flesh and blood creature, heavily muscled and primal and filling the rest of the shelter with its wolf-scent. I felt the Sword retreat—which didn’t make sense to me, because the Wolf grew, emanating its own light, not glowing but radiating softly.

  “Luca,” I heard Vell say, but it was a summons, full of wonder and a bit of reverence.

  And as my vision cleared I saw the three ulfdrengr down on one knee in front of the Sword-as-wolf. Light coalesced around the wolf, making it difficult even to tell what color its fur was—one moment I thought it was white, tinged with gold, and then when I blinked it was black as midnight with stars spangled across its body. I realized with a thrill of something like fear that the Sword was channeling some other power, something connected to it but not wholly of it, just as I channeled power when the Sword opened itself to me. But even Chael’s eye shone with some unspeakably joy as he gazed into the primal savage eyes of the Wolf. I felt the Sword vibrating in its sheath, heating until I felt my hair begin to curl, but I couldn’t break the stream of power by moving the sheath. I was slightly afraid of this creature, this apparition that Chael and Luca and even Vell viewed with such awe. And then I heard, layered with the hum of the Sword, the bell-like clarion tone of the Crown of Bones emanating from my belt-pouch where I’d carefully wrapped it. I didn’t feel the call of the Crown deep within me, like the voice of the Caedbranr, but the sound of its singing power warmed the air around me, speaking at once of both fields under the bright noon sun and silver forests beneath the luminous moon. The two legendary objects sang together, layering their voices with the sharp cold power of the Wolf.

  The Wolf gazed at the three ulfdrengr. Chael was the first to move. He slid forward on his knee and offered the Wolf his throat, closing his eye as the great jaws closed about his neck. My own breath caught in my chest as the Wolf lifted its head, teeth stained with the barest hint of scarlet. I looked down at Chael. His neck wasn’t even bleeding anymore, but instead he had a Mark running up the side of his neck, a pattern of small circles all in a row. It was the imprint of the Wolf’s teeth, I realized, and it gleamed like pearl against Chael’s pale skin.

  Vell made a sound almost like a sob of joy as she lay down to let the Wolf put its Mark upon her skin. Luca closed his eyes and a great sigh escaped him. The three ulfdrengr still lay at the Wolf’s feet as though exhausted, gazing up at it with varying expressions of adoration and awe. The Wolf threw back its head and howled. A great wind tore apart the walls of the shelter, and I heard the other three wolves howling, a beautiful terrible chorus with the power of the Wolf singing through the air. My vision went white, and when I could see again, we were sitting in the shelter, the camp lantern flickering overhead, Chael and Rialla standing before me as though I’d just walked in. No primal Wolf with fur the color of midnight and stars spangled across its body. No great wind or tidal rush of power. For a moment I thought maybe it had all been a vision, just in my own head; but then Chael put a hand up to his neck and touched the pearly Mark there in wonder, and he reached over and grabbed me with a surprisingly strong grip, pulling me to him, and then there was Vell on the other side and Luca behind me and the three wolves all twining in a joyous pack as we sank down onto the ground.

  For a moment I couldn’t tell what limbs belonged to whom; it was all just warmth and fur enveloping me, surrounding me with the scent of the pack. After a few minutes, we all settled down, and I ended up with my head pillowed on Beryk’s dark side, Vell next to me and Kianryk lying snug against my other side, Chael on Vell’s other side and Rialla between Luca and Chael. Kianryk’s tail swept across my shins as his tongue lolled in satisfaction. I got the sense that this was what it felt like after a good hunt and long run over moonlit moors, hills white with snow, imprinted with the shadows
of pine trees. My eyes half-closed, I murmured to Vell, “What was that?”

  She brought one hand up and brushed the Mark on the side of her throat. “That was Odinryk. The Father of Wolves. The Wolf of Sun and Moon.”

  “So…that was some sort of…deity?” My mind started to catch up, but it was like awakening after a long nap. It took a while to get the gears rolling again.

  “We do not view gods the same way that you do in Doendhtalam,” explained Vell. “Here they are real. They are…well. You just saw.”

  I didn’t quite know what to say to that, so I asked another question instead. “What does it mean, the Mark it gave you?”

  “In the Beginning,” came Chael’s voice, “there were the First Men of the North. The winters were hard. Many perished. But one tribe survived, because its leader, Koryn, saw the cunning and speed of the wolf, and emulated them. His tribe watched the wolves, learned from them. Koryn and his wife Tal taught their sons and daughters the ways of the wolf, and they not only survived, they became the best hunters of all the Northmen. They tamed the horse, and rode, but were also swift of foot and skilled with bow and sword.”

  I shifted a little, making myself more comfortable, enjoying the genesis tale of the ulfdrengr.

  “One day when Koryn was grown, and his son’s sons were grown, a great fire ravaged the forest where they lived. They had followed one pack of wolves—the fastest, and the best at hunting—for many seasons, and the wolves, while still wild, had grown accustomed to the scent of the Northmen. One of the females of the pack had given birth to nine pups not a full moon before, and one of the grandsons of Koryn had seen the den and marveled at the beauty of the wolves from a distance. When he saw the stain of smoke on the sky, he mounted his horse and rode into the forest just as the fire threatened the den. The pack was away hunting, and the mother wolf was trying to move her pups, but the fire was too fast and too hot. The grandson of Koryn carried the nine pups in his pack, the mother wolf running alongside his horse as they fled the fire.”

  “Why didn’t she tear the son of Koryn apart when he went to touch her pups?” I asked.

  Vell smacked my hand lightly. “Don’t interrupt. It’s rude. And she didn’t tear him apart because she understood that he was the only way her pups would live.”

  “When the pack scented the fire, they tried to reach the den, but the flames had already overrun it. They howled in mourning for their lost pups. Three days later, when the fire finally burned to ashes, they found the den empty. When the pack emerged from the forest and found their nine pups and packmate unharmed, tended by the grandson of Koryn, there was such rejoicing that Odinryk himself heard in the farthest reaches of the Northern Mountains. He saw how good it was when the children of Koryn and Tal helped the wolves, and how the children of Koryn and Tal had learned to survive from the wolves; and he set his Mark upon five grandsons of Koryn and four granddaughters of Tal, binding them to the young wolves saved from the fire. And the sons of Koryn and the daughters of Tal became the first ulfdrengr, growing into skilled warriors and huntresses. The nine tribes of ulfdrengr are descendants of the sons of Koryn and daughters of Tal. The grandson of Koryn who saved the pups from the fire—Talon was his name—became the first of the herravaldyr, and it is from his line that all herravaldyr are descended.”

  “So you’re a descendant of Talon,” I said to Vell when I was sure the story was over.

  “Yes,” she answered. And then a peculiar light came into her eyes. “And so is Chael.”

  “Oh,” I said in surprise. Then, again, “Oh,” as I realized what that meant. Two herravaldyr. One male wolf, one female wolf. They did not have to be the last of the ulfdrengr. “Was that…was that why Odinryk Marked you?”

  “He Marked us as he Marked the nine children of Tal and Koryn,” Vell replied.

  Chael said, “We will fight this war with you. We will help you defeat the darkness.”

  I thought about how precious their lives and the lives of their wolves were: the last survivors of a proud and noble race, willingly offering themselves to me in battle.

  “There will not be a Northland to return to if we do not defeat the darkness,” Vell said, answering my unspoken question.

  “Lady Bearer!” Forin’s call cut through the silence and the glow slipped through the entrance to the shelter. The glasidhe sketched a bow to Vell. “Forgive the intrusion, but we are ready to travel. The Vaelanbrigh bid me tell you.”

  “Thank you, Farin,” I said.

  The glow hovered. “My lady…may I ask a question?”

  “Not if you keep calling me a lady,” I said, only half joking as I stood and brushed myself off. The three ulfdrengr followed my example, the wolves slipping out in silence as Vell began packing.

  “My…Tess,” Forin corrected himself with difficulty, “I was not sure, but there was a great wind, and the feel of something powerful…”

  “Was it one of your works of power?” Farin asked, zooming into the shelter to hover next to her twin. “There was something moving, and we heard the Sword, and something else.”

  “What do you mean, you heard something else?” I asked.

  “Another voice, another power,” Farin said, her aura brightening with interest.

  For a moment I thought that perhaps Luca didn’t remember the Crown of Bones—both he and Finnead had just been awoken from the sirens’ kiss, after all, and they’d been holding two of the wily serpentine women at bay. But I made the mistake of glancing at him and met with a crystal-clear blue gaze, glimmering knowingly. I took a deep breath and shook the tingling feeling from my arm, the vestiges of the alien Northern power prickling down my war-markings, sliding along the inked whorls like raindrops after a storm. “Is everyone ready to go? I’ll explain.”

  Luca showed no sign of surprise, and I didn’t know whether it was a good or bad thing that he already read me so well. Farin alighted on my shoulder, her weight no more than a hummingbird, and whispered mischieviously into my ear: “That looked like fun.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a little at that, but then I sobered as I considered what I needed to tell my small, loyal band of followers. Hello, so you all volunteered to escort me through varied perils to the Seelie Court, braving death and worse to ferry me across the Borderlands, and I decided to pick up this bauble in a siren’s lair that turned out to be even more powerful than my own legendary weapon…so you can count on probably not making it to the Seelie Court alive, thanks to my penchant for shiny things that hold unbelievable magic power. The Sword stirred in amusement at my caustic line of thought, but the Crown of Bones mercifully remained silent. It seemed as though the Crown had no interest in connecting with my power, which left me feeling vaguely relieved. I wished I could rest my forehead against Kelath’s smooth, warm muzzle, or stand next to Kavoryk’s huge, comforting presence. The ache of their loss pulsed just beneath my breastbone, coming to life at my yearning for them. I swallowed down the lump in my throat as I emerged into the sunshine, lifting my chin and drawing my shoulders back. They deserved a self-composed, regal leader, and I would try my damndest to give them one.

  Murtagh and Finnead stood near the center of the clearing, Finnead swathed in a pool of shadow, Murtagh’s russet hair gleaming in a sunbeam. I looked at Finnead but his face betrayed no emotion. He might as well have been a statue as he gazed coolly at me, his deep blue eyes traveling beyond me to linger on the ulfdrengr walking in my wake: Vell and Beryk, and then Chael, walking slowly with his hand fisted in Rialla’s fur, and then Luca, Kianryk padding beside him regally. Something flashed through Finnead’s eyes when his gaze reached Luca, but it was there and then gone, like a ripple through a deep pool, so fast I couldn’t identify it even with my improved skills at interpreting Fae expressions. Chael wavered, but neither Luca nor Vell paused to help him, and it was clear from the fire burning in his amethyst eye that he would have refused their help had they offered. It was a point of pride, I supposed, watching the slight sheen of sweat form
on his silver-scarred skin.

  “All right, all right, I told you I’m coming,” Merrick said, waving a leather canister at Farin, who harassed him delightedly, tracing neon trails around his head and tugging on his hair affectionately. Farin’s sweet high laughter rang through the air. “Take a bit too long with the maps and everyone is all in a rush…” Merrick cleared his throat when he saw the rest of the group and looked slightly sheepish before slinging the map carrier over his shoulder and brushing at his hair with one hand. “I’ve…ah…I’ve reviewed the route,” he said in a firm voice.

  “How long until we reach the Summervale?” I asked.

  “Well, there seems to be some variations in the scrying-lines that are preventing me from seeing with as much clarity as I am accustomed…”

  “What you’re saying is you don’t know,” Vell interrupted.