by Rin Chupeco
The wind crackled around me, and I felt the small clearing charge with unseen energy, enough to make my hair stand on end. I understood how the asha could have sensed me when I had raised Fox; this must be what it felt like to be struck by lightning but without the pain. I felt the magic gather around the rune before dipping into the mound, and I felt it burrow deep into the hill’s center.
But this was different. When I raised Fox, it had felt right. Here, hovering on the edges of Lady Mykaela’s magic, my mind brushed against something foul and putrid to my senses—a stench of thought rather than of smell.
The bezoar blazed up and crumbled abruptly into dust, until no trace of it remained.
The creature burst through the mound, roaring in rage. It was a hideous beast, a hodgepodge of animal parts sewn together to form one body. It was the size of a large bull, fat and corpulent, and its head a cross between a badger and a lion, with the latter’s mane. Its legs were as long and as limber as a stag’s, and its hooves were cloven. It turned toward us, froth dripping from jaws that widened to fold its face nearly against its ears. It bore no gums, only teeth that took up the width of its mouth, sharp and ridged. Any allure it might have possessed was in its eyes, which resembled silver gemstones striped with red.
It howled, and the sound was terrifyingly human.
I remembered the asha’s warning too late. Perhaps it had sensed that I was the weakest of its prey, for it came stumbling out of its grave with its eyes already trained on me, and I froze.
It crooned. There was something hideously seductive about its ruby-like gaze on mine, and as much as I wanted to run away, I remained rooted to the spot, unable to move.
The beast bounded toward me, but Fox stepped forward, placing himself between us. His sword was leveled at its body. Unfazed, the beast snarled and leaped forward until it was almost on top of him.
“That is enough!” I felt Lady Mykaela release the energy she had been holding at bay around the rune, directing it toward the creature. The spell wove itself around the daeva, stretching tight like a rope to bind the daeva where it stood. The thing stumbled, its ugly snout inches away from Fox’s face. Its roar was cut short, and for several moments, it wavered. Fox did not back away and stared stonily back.
Its jaws closed. The creature took a hesitant step backward.
“Kneel,” Lady Mykaela commanded, her voice soft.
The monster dropped to its haunches. It bowed its head.
“Let her go.”
I sank down to the ground, shuddering, able to move again.
“Amazing,” Fox said, lowering his blade.
“It is a taurvi,” Mykaela said. “Swift as the wind, and it sings a splendid lullaby. The bezoar in its stomach is worth more than what a popular atelier can make in many years. That is also how it entices its victims—it paralyzes them, keeping them immobile and docile before it swallows them whole. Return to your grave.”
The fight had gone out of the taurvi. It was almost meek as it slunk back into the mound it had sprung from. It yawled only once—a thin, almost beseeching cry, like a young girl’s.
“Die.” The asha’s voice was cold and grim.
The creature died. It collapsed into the hole it had climbed out of as soon as the word left Lady Mykaela’s lips.
The woman approached the beast, her knife at the ready. Four quick slashes at its midsection, and a bright-yellow bezoar lay in the palm of her hand. The creature turned to ash almost as soon as she retrieved the stone.
Lady Mykaela pulled her cloak closer around herself and sighed. “Take the shovel from the saddlebags, Fox. Return the mound to the same state it was in when we first arrived.”
“I’m sorry.” I was still shivering. The sudden disappearance of the spell around us had a strange effect on me; I wanted more of it to linger, more of it to sample. Fox placed an arm around me, and I leaned into him, grateful.
“You were not in too much danger.” Lady Mykaela lifted the taurvi’s bezoar up, admiring the way it sparkled against the light. “But it is a good lesson for you to learn. I trust that you will be more cautious next time.”
“Next time?” I echoed weakly.
“Why did you take that stone from its stomach?” Fox asked as he shifted earth into the empty hole in the ground.
“Daeva were created by the False Prince with death magic so complicated that not even asha today know how to recreate them. They were born dead, and even dormant, the Dark constantly replenish their bones. The Five Great Heroes discovered the means to kill the daeva—and slew six of the seven. Yet, every few years, they must be forcibly raised, divested of their bezoars, and sent back to their graves. For taurvi, harvesttime means visiting this mound once every ten years. There is an akvan a hundred leagues away in Daanoris’s Sea of Skulls that must be put down in four years’ time, and along the Kion borders, one must retrieve a green stone from the tail of a nanghait every seven years. Their bezoars slowly decay as the day of their resurrection draws near, and when they disappear, the creatures rise, and we repeat this cycle all over again. It is important that we raise them within a specific time frame—seven days before they revive, at the least. They are dormant before that and do not respond even to the Dark. Dig this grave a year from now, and it will carry no trace of bone. Dig it a week before today, and you will find a complete body.”
“And if you do not raise them,” Fox said slowly, “they will climb out of their tombs at the peak of their strength and kill again, as one killed me.”
Mykaela nodded. “A savul, I believe. Sakmeet was in charge of it; she is a Dark asha who lives in Istera. We have had no word of her, and I fear the worst. The only way to kill them again is to rip the bezoar from their bodies—a messy endeavor, even for an average asha. The False Prince’s final curse is a heavy burden.”
“You say the Great Heroes killed six of the daeva. What of the seventh?”
“The azi, the fiercest and most powerful of the daeva, eluded even them. No one knows where its mound lies. It is the most reclusive of the beasts and has not been seen for many millennia.”
“And you do all this?” Was this to be my responsibility as well? The thought terrified me.
“I have been doing this for close to fifteen years. Other asha, Deathseekers, and those skilled enough in the magical arts can slay these creatures, though with more difficulty. Only bone witches can control them long enough to deprive them of their bezoars. The people of Odalia may not like us, child, but a reason for their dislike is having to be beholden to us.” Mykaela tucked the topaz-hued stone into her waist pouch. “And in exchange, we acquire priceless ingredients. Mix the bezoar with elderbark juice and mushroom tart, and you also have an antidote for consumption.”
The effects of the spell Lady Mykaela had woven, combined with the strange paralysis I suffered, still lingered in me. While I had not liked my first brush with the creature, the magic the asha used to contain it had not been unpleasant. My fingers twitched, and I reached out without thinking, seeking for remnants of the magic that remained—
—and felt the full force of Mykaela’s will bearing down on my mind. The asha was forcing me to draw in more magic than I could handle, the pleasure so great it was almost painful—
“Let go.”
—only to find myself abruptly cut off and on the ground before I could move.
“It will always feel good,” Lady Mykaela said softly, “at least at first. But the more you draw in such a short time, the harder it will be to put up barriers in your mind, until all you will concern yourself with is drawing more power until you die from the darkrot. It is an addiction that many bone witches could not overcome, and that is why we are so few in number. I compelled you the way I compelled the creature to show you the consequences of taking in too much, of letting your guard down and allowing someone else an opening to take over. In time, I will teach you control. I
will teach you restraint. I will decide the next time you can draw the rune again, and it will be different.”
“You put her in danger!” Fox accused, dropping to his knees beside me. I could sense the anger in his thoughts.
“I slew a fellow sister-witch once when I was younger. The daeva took her over, and there was no other choice. I am ruthless now because I have no intention of doing so ever again.” Harshness took the place of the asha’s melodious voice. “Do you understand me, Tea?”
“Yes,” I breathed, squeezing Fox’s hand in reassurance, my mind clearer. Lady Mykaela was telling me the reason bone witches were feared: not because we could control daeva but because daeva were not the only ones we could choose to compel.
“Did you like Kneave?” I asked.
The girl sat and stared at the ocean from underneath the bones of a monster long dead, for there is a reason they call this place the Sea of Skulls. Water swirled around her ankles and stained the bottom of her dress the color of rusted blood. The skeletal monster loomed above her, its remains an arc against the hot sun that scorched the black earth around them. I remembered the elephant-like daeva she had slain mere feet from where I stood, staring out at the world through unseeing eyes with loops of viscera halfway out its stomach. I held my breath, but no foul odors wafted from the spot. No flies buzzed from where its carcass used to lie. Despite the blazing heat, I could see no maggots combing the earth for flesh. Only the bones from other monsters remained—dead monuments, offerings to the sea.
“No. I found the people strange. I found them suspicious of all those who don’t look and act like them. Doubtless they held the same opinions of me but for the opposite reason. You came from Drycht; you understand full well the tyranny of the old guard, the inflexibility of the ruling class. The bourgeois of Kneave entertain more liberties; a Drychta might kill an asha and believe it only follows the will of gods. A Kneavan will claim the higher ground and preach clemency but kill when no one else sees. The runeberry trade influenced Murkwick’s beliefs, but the rest of Odalia takes its cues from its capital city. Even Knightscross.
“But the world will always look different when you open your eyes to what you previously refused to see. It was the same for you, wasn’t it? When King Aadil outlawed the songs that made you famous everywhere else and they took you from your mother’s house to languish in his dungeons for three months.”
“How did you know that?” From above us, the skeletal beast watched, knowing.
She gestured at my heartsglass, at the colors that ebbed in and out of view. She smiled. “You are easy enough to read. I did not like Kneave, but entering that city for the first time remains one of the strangest and most exhilarating experiences of my life. Perhaps because everything felt so new. Perhaps because I was realizing how much wider the world was than the Knightscross-shaped one I had occupied.
“I never got over my dislike of crowds, though I have performed before them hundreds of times. I never liked being the center of attention, which is unusual for an asha. But despite the people’s aversion to us, I had fond memories of my first night in Kneave.”
“Why is that?”
“In my life, I have only ever been attracted to two men. And what is even more unusual was that I met both that very same night in Kneave, though not in the best circumstances.”
5
Kneave was the capital of Odalia, and a celebration was in progress when Lady Mykaela guided us through the winding streets, she riding on her palomino and Fox riding behind me on the gray dapple she’d purchased in Murkwick. I had never seen so many people packed together in so small a space before.
Knightscross constructed its houses according to the natural paths of the land, and so I was used to broad roads. I’ve lived in Kion for many years, but I’ve never grown used to the narrow, constrained lanes of busy cities like Odalia. Adding to the feeling of close confinement are the groups of people who have gathered to watch noisy bands of musicians cavorting through the streets, dressed in confusing swirls of clothing and color. Some carried tambourines, while others chose drums or trumpets. All were not shy about making as much noise as was possible.
People built small fires around the city square and took turns leaping over them while others watched and applauded, laughing. The sight of those flames, coupled with the smallness of the spaces and the largeness of the crowds, alarmed me. I clung to my brother, fearful that the fires might spread, that parts of the city might burn before long. Despite the heat and the smoke surrounding us, his skin was cold to the touch.
“They celebrate the spring equinox,” Fox said as boys and girls alike leapfrogged over the pyres, daring each other to jump higher at every turn. “Fire is a cleansing tool, and to leap over it is to clean themselves of all sickness and evil in anticipation of the coming year.”
“But we don’t do this in Knightscross.” The closest thing we have to a large fire was my father’s forge, and I could only imagine his reaction should the villagers elect to jump over it.
“Farmland is not an appropriate venue for fire building, Tea.”
“I’m not sure cities are made the same way.”
The festivities quieted somewhat when we passed. People stopped to stare—at Lady Mykaela’s empty heartsglass and then at the silver tints of mine. They tried to melt back into the crowd, to give us room, though the paths were small and gave them difficulty. Fox received a few of those stares for his lack of heartsglass and for the plain silver sword at his hip, as none of the revelers wore weapons that I could see. Not for his absence of shadow, I tried to convince myself, and certainly not because they knew he was dead.
Kneave was nothing like Knightscross. It may seem ridiculous to imagine I could compare the two. But Knightscross was all I’d ever known, and not even my books prepared me for the shock of the city. My village was simple and muted against a backdrop of forests and stone, where the forge and the gossip were the noisiest sounds.
But the city of Kneave wore its people for emphasis, like giant exclamation marks that walked in every street and loitered at every corner. Its citizens attired themselves in bright and stunning dresses that called to the eyes. None of the women back home wore veils; it would be an awkward garment to wear when working in the fields. Some of the Kneavan women wore these loosely about their persons, and others wore them coiled so tightly about their heads that I could not tell the color of their hair or even if they had any. A few took this a step further; they had on masks and long, flowing robes that hid everything but their eyes.
Many of the people’s faces were smooth and polished, at times prettier and handsomer than they first appeared. It felt to me that there was something strange about their features—they were a little too refined and a little too contrived, like a whetstone had given them precision but also left them too sharp for nature to allow for. To my eyes, it was like each person wore two faces that shared the exact same space, one pressing down on top of the other—one too pretty and affected to be natural, and the other too flawed and regular to be artificial.
“Glamour,” Lady Mykaela said over her shoulder without looking up from her book. I would later learn that it was her habit to read as she walked and read as she rode. She had given me a book from her collection so I could do the same, but I was unused to riding horses, and sore buttocks soon distracted me from turning the pages. “The smallest of magics. Harmless for the most part. It allows the people their vanities, but we asha can see them all the same.”
We rode past colorful banners and vibrant pinions. The marketplace was awash with sights and smells—from the fresh, minty scent of potted plants to the tantalizing aroma of fried foods and baking bread that reminded my stomach I’d had nothing but a strip of beef jerky in the last few hours. Signs calling for prosperity and luck graced every door. Carts wheeled by, and children raced past older folk, who bore armfuls of clothes and baskets. Occasionally a carriage would pass, t
oo rich and ornate for its inhabitants to give us more than a second glance.
I expected Lady Mykaela to make for the harbor. She had told me that the fastest way to Kion was to take a ship from the port of Odalia in Kneave, as opposed to the monthlong journey it would take on land. When she rode past the street leading down to the rows of ships anchored at the dock and onto the road leading to the Odalian castle, I was surprised.
“We shall stay at the palace for the night, at King Telemaine’s request,” the asha said. “It is the spring equinox, and I draw Heartsrunes for the children in Kneave every year. We’ll leave at first light tomorrow and catch the earliest ship to Kion. Speak up, Fox. I can see the question on your face.”
“I do not mean to cause offense, Mistress. But many Odalians consider it bad luck to offer bone witches a place to stay, even for a night. For the ruler of Odalia to do so would be disastrous in their eyes. How did you manage to convince the king?”
“It was his idea. The royal chancellor and the palace steward have been taken into his confidence, albeit reluctantly, and no one else is aware of our housing arrangements.” She smiled faintly. “And in case you wondered—no, I did not compel him to do it. Drawing Heartsrune for so many at once is a tedious task, but I do it in gratitude to His Majesty.”
I wasn’t sure what to think of the king I deemed responsible for Fox’s death, but my brother only shrugged and said that it was a soldier’s life, and if they blamed the king for every cut and kill and death that they take, there would be no army left in all the kingdoms.
“But wouldn’t that be better?” I asked as we dismounted. Stablehands from the royal stable hurried forward to take the horses’ reins. “No armies would mean no war.”
Fox laughed suddenly, though his chest did not rise and fall. “Silly girl. You are not yet an asha, and you already understand the games kings and queens play? I certainly don’t.”