The Bone Maker

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Not yet.”

  Kreya eyed the crowd outside of Zera’s palace.

  Word had spread: the Five had returned.

  Of course, the only people allowed on the fifth tier were the very rich and famous and their servants, but just because they were wealthy, it didn’t mean they weren’t voyeurs. In fact, the two things went nicely hand in hand, as they had plenty of time to loiter. Kreya and her friends had used their real names to access the fifth tier, and they’d paraded through the streets to Lorn’s palace looking every inch the parts they’d played. “I should have expected this,” Kreya said.

  All the work they’d been doing with artists and theater groups had resulted in renewed interest in the Heroes of Vos, as well as hatred of Eklor. She hadn’t thought about this side effect.

  Sitting on one of the sofas, Amurra said, “I think it’s nice. You still have the support of the people. You could go out and meet them.”

  “I’d rather swallow glass.”

  Amurra laughed. “Stran feels the same way about a fuss being made over him. He always said I rescued him. It’s part of why he loves the farm so much. The sheep are unimpressed with his fame.”

  A cheer went up outside, loud enough to penetrate the walls of the palace. Marso strolled in to join them in the grand salon. “Jentt and Stran are back,” he said conversationally.

  “At last!” Zera jumped to her feet.

  Startled, Kreya twisted to look at Marso. She’d thought he wasn’t going to read the future anymore. “You saw it in the bones?”

  “I saw it out the window. Didn’t you hear the cheering?”

  Squeezing through the crowd were Jentt and Stran. They shook hands and were pulled into hugs. Quite a few touched Jentt as if he were a kind of lucky charm. Amurra laughed. “He’s a miracle. They probably think it’ll rub off on them.”

  They watched for a few minutes more. The crowd pressed closer to the two heroes, cutting them off from the palace. Kreya waited for them to use talismans to push through, but they didn’t. Possibly they were trying to be polite.

  Ugh, they were both entirely too nice. She wanted them here now. While they’d been gone, Eklor had had another week to push forward with whatever his agenda was. Another week of access to Grand Master Lorn. Another week to worm himself into the heart of Cerre, to plan his traps and tricks, to spin his web. Plus, of course, the week he’d been here before they were even aware. He could have caused so much damage already, and every minute of glad-handing was a minute not plotting how to stop him.

  “Someone might want to rescue them before people start carving off chunks of our boys as souvenirs to take home,” Zera suggested.

  “I’ll do it,” Kreya said with a sigh.

  She stalked to the door and threw it open. With a gasp, the crowd turned to look at her. A few began shouting her name. Others rushed forward.

  “Stop!” she commanded, hand out.

  Not everyone could hear her over the roaring crowd, but those in front saw her motion and saw the look in her eyes. They skidded to a halt, and the crowd was forced to stop behind them. They quieted, watching her expectantly.

  “Let them through!”

  A little shuffling, and then the crowd parted. Jentt and Stran walked through. Kreya held the door open for them as the crowd watched her, rapt.

  If she knew what to say, it would have been the perfect moment for a speech. She had the attention of the upper crust of the city. She could sway them however she wished. Tell them of Eklor’s presence, of Grand Master Lorn’s betrayal in allowing such a viper into the heart of Vos. With all the plays, songs, and revivals, the citizens were primed to listen to her.

  I don’t know enough yet to act, she thought.

  And so she said nothing, and when Jentt and Stran entered the palace, she shut the great doors behind them. If the crowd reacted, she didn’t hear it. “Give me good news,” she said. “You found his army? Please tell me we have proof.”

  She knew the answer before he said it.

  “We found burnt constructs within a collapsed tunnel,” Jentt said. “No way to tell if it’s all of them or not, but also no way to tell that it isn’t.”

  “Searched the area thoroughly, too,” Stran added. “No evidence that any soldiers escaped the plains. The wall guards will undoubtedly report our findings to the guild, bolstering Eklor’s claims.”

  Closing her eyes, Kreya tasted disappointment, bitter on her tongue. She’d been counting on this. With hard evidence, maybe they could have convinced the grand master to set aside his concerns for his son and see reason. But without evidence . . .

  “I’m sorry, Kreya,” Jentt said, “but all we found is proof that Eklor is telling the truth. We failed.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Five days later, they still had no proof that an army was marching on Cerre or even that Eklor’s army had ever existed. And Kreya was getting very, very tired of failure. So far, Grand Master Lorn had rebuffed her every attempt to speak to Eklor, and Amurra and Zera hadn’t unearthed any new useful information about the connection between Eklor, Lorn, and Lorn’s son, Yarri. The only one who’d had any luck was Marso, who’d sparked a revival of artistic interest in the Bone War.

  Of course they weren’t giving up, but Kreya couldn’t help feeling they were running out of time. And when the invitation from Grand Master Lorn arrived, she knew the clock had run out.

  The invitation was delivered by a vaguely birdlike construct with gauzy wings and written in gold ink on elegant stationery that felt soft and thick. Kreya read it and handed it to Zera, who read it, snorted, and said, “It’s a trap.”

  “Obviously, but is it a trap for us or for the people of Vos?” Taking the paper back, Kreya scowled at it. The invitation had come for all five of them to join the masters of the Bone Workers Guild and other luminaries in front of Grand Master Lorn’s palace on the fifth tier for a “presentation of great import” that would be of “benefit to all of Vos.”

  Concerned, Amurra joined them and read the invite. “I’ll get Stran and Jentt—they were planning to search east of the city today, but I don’t think they’ve left yet.” She scurried out of the room, past the fountain.

  “At least there’s no more waiting,” Zera said.

  Shooting her a glare, Kreya sat at the workbench with her half-finished constructs. She hadn’t expected to run out of time so quickly. Jentt and Stran had been spending hours searching the mountains around Cerre for Eklor’s missing army, while Kreya and Zera had been feverishly creating new constructs and talismans. Marso and Amurra had paired with Guine to spread word of Zera’s donations to the various theater and dance troops around the city. Everything was in motion, but it clearly wasn’t enough.

  Jentt and Stran burst into the grand salon, with Amurra and Marso behind them. “What’s happened?” Stran demanded.

  “We’re out of time,” Kreya said.

  Zera showed them the invite, while Kreya performed triage on her creations: those too far from completion were pushed aside while she focused on the few that were close to done. She’d have to cut corners, make them slightly less agile and slightly less aware, but so be it.

  There had been no sign of Eklor’s army hidden in the forests around Cerre. So Kreya was designing these constructs to search through the vast network of caves beneath and near the city. If Eklor was setting his plan into motion, they needed to find his army as quickly as possible—they’d sent a report of their concerns to Grand Master Lorn, highlighting the fact that there was no way to be certain that Eklor had burned and buried all of his constructs, and he had replied that perhaps the “army” had been exaggerated in their minds, due to the stress of the situation. He asked them to consider the possibility that Eklor was truly repentant and that their own past experience was coloring their view of the present.

  Murderers who try to destroy the world should not get the benefit of the doubt, Kreya thought.

  She worked as quickly as she could, adjusting legs and i
nserting bones. She’d modeled these after the spiderlike crawler, but they were much smaller. They had to be fast, agile, and capable of escaping detection if they did find any trace of the inhuman soldiers.

  And then get back to her with that information.

  Behind her, the others were tossing ideas back and forth—what Eklor wanted, what they could do about it, and who was in the most danger. Zera loaded up on talismans, filling all her pockets.

  “I want you to stay here,” Stran said to Amurra.

  “You know I’m coming with you,” she told him. “I didn’t leave our children for me to hide behind fancy walls, and I didn’t like being left behind when you talked to Grand Master Lorn before. We face this together.”

  “Amurra, we don’t know what we face. I can’t let—”

  “Let? There’s no ‘let’ in marriage. You ask. We discuss. I convince.”

  “If I were to lose you—”

  “You can’t wrap me up in blankets and preserve me like a glass vase. That’s not how love works. I know there are risks. I want to take those risks with you.”

  Kreya activated her constructs, and they chittered as their legs began to vibrate then move. Jentt opened the nearest window, and together they watched the fist-size spiders climb out and flow down the side of the palace. “There are a lot of caves,” Jentt said. “This could take a while.”

  “We have to try,” Kreya said. She turned to face the others and noted that Stran and Amurra were still arguing. “Amurra, you’re the only one not mentioned on the invite. You do not have to come.”

  A smile blossomed on Stran’s face. “Listen to Kreya.”

  Amurra frowned. “With all due respect to Kreya, she’s not my commander—”

  Kreya wasn’t finished. “But I am Stran’s. And, Stran, I am ordering you to let your wife, a grown woman, make her own choices about what she’s willing to risk or not.”

  “Then I’m coming,” Amurra said firmly.

  Kreya nodded approvingly. All of us could choose to stay behind, she thought. We could all decide to go somewhere “safe” and pretend none of this is our responsibility. After all, they’d warned Grand Master Lorn, so that should absolve them of their duty. But that didn’t remove the danger to Vos, and if their country was in danger, there was no way to truly flee this. “Nothing we do is safe. You make the choices you think you can live with and hope you do get to live with them. This is my choice. Each of you gets to make your own.” She stalked to the door. “Come on, everyone who’s coming. We have a disaster to witness.”

  She walked outside.

  Glancing back, she saw all of them had followed her.

  The crowd cheered as soon as they saw the heroes, but they parted when Kreya and the others stalked forward. Kreya didn’t know what kind of expression was on her face, but she didn’t question it. Nor did she stop the crowd from trailing after them.

  “Is an audience wise?” Marso asked nervously.

  “The more people who see us go, the more who will know if we don’t return,” Jentt said, low enough that the crowd couldn’t hear.

  Amurra was close enough to hear. “Is that truly a fear?”

  “You can still stay behind,” Stran said. “It’s not too late.”

  Kreya didn’t hear Amurra’s response, but she noticed that Amurra was still with them when they stepped onto the white stones and rode up toward the guild master’s palace, and was proud of the diminutive woman, who may have been even braver than her massive husband. She then focused back on what was ahead of her. Kreya hated not knowing what to expect. At least when they’d gone to battle, they’d known who the enemy was and what he wanted. Here, they still knew who the enemy was. But after that . . . it was up in the air.

  When they reached the guild master’s residence, a crowd had already assembled: bone masters in embroidered coats that marked them as members of the guild’s ruling council, additional non-council bone workers in masters’ coats who must have gotten special permission to access the fifth tier, several members of the city’s parliament, and the grand masters of a few other prominent guilds—she recognized the mantle of the grand master of trade, the grand master of agriculture, and the grand master of artisans.

  She shivered as she surveyed the assembly. This was a gathering of a lot of important people. If Eklor somehow managed to get his army within Cerre, the devastation it would cause just from the perspective of leadership would be incalculable—a power vacuum that could only mean chaos. She wished she’d been able to finish her little scouts faster. They could have been searching all this time and been able to give them advance warning.

  “Be ready to supply us,” she whispered to Zera.

  “I’m always ready,” Zera whispered back.

  “You think this is it?” Stran asked.

  “It could be. The conditions seem right if I were setting up an ambush.”

  To Amurra, he said, “You should have stayed where you’d be safe.”

  “Kreya already said there’s no place truly safe,” she said. “And I’d rather be with you.”

  “There’s safer.”

  Kreya shot them a glare. “Stop arguing, and be alert.”

  The luminaries whispered to one another as the five heroes arrived. Even among such exalted company, the five were impressive. The men and women parted for them, and Kreya led her group toward the vast brass doors.

  “I hate this,” Jentt muttered.

  Kreya reached out and took his hand, as much to assure him as to bolster herself.

  Zera stepped up beside them. “So, do we knock?”

  Before Kreya could decide on an answer, the doors swung open. She tensed, ready for soldiers to spill out, but instead Grand Master Lorn emerged from the shadows with a hooded man beside him. Kreya knew instantly it was Eklor, though his face was hidden, but what she hadn’t expected was that Lorn carried a small body, wrapped in linens.

  Wordlessly, his face stiff, Lorn carried the body past the five heroes. The crowd shifted, also silent, and Kreya saw that up a small set of stairs was a pyre built on a marble pedestal.

  She felt Zera’s hand grip her wrist. Jentt already squeezed her other hand.

  All of them had guessed who the small body was: Lorn’s son.

  Lorn laid the body gently on the pyre, as if laying him down to sleep in his own bed. Tenderly, he unwrapped the linens. Amurra gave a soft gasp-sob. Others behind them whispered. From the bits she gleaned, a few had guessed they’d been summoned to a funeral.

  The tension leached out of the crowd, replaced by sympathy. Everyone respected Grand Master Lorn. Even if they didn’t agree with all his policies, even if they didn’t know him personally, they all respected the office, and all Vosians mourned the loss of a child.

  But Kreya did not relax. Nor, from the grips of Zera and Jentt, did her friends. She watched Eklor. His head was bowed, hidden within the shadows of his hood, and his hands were clasped piously in front of him. The crowd hadn’t yet guessed who he was. He stood a respectful distance behind Lorn as the grand master bent over his son’s body and kissed his forehead. Any second now, she thought, he could signal his army. This funeral could turn into a massacre without any warning at all. It was a brilliant plan: promising to save Lorn’s son would get him a front-row seat to a funeral guaranteed to be witnessed by dozens of Eklor’s prime targets. Given the solemnity of the event, none of the attendees would be prepared to defend themselves. He could slaughter the leadership of the city, as well as decimate the ranks of the Bone Workers Guild, before anyone properly understood what was happening.

  “Who will confirm my son’s death?” Grand Master Lorn’s voice was soft, but still it carried, sweeping across the crowd that had gathered.

  The grand master of the trade guild, one of the most influential guilds in Vos, climbed the steps to the pyre. “I will confirm.” She bent over the body; touched his forehead, neck, and wrist; and then stepped back.

  Second, the grand master of agriculture presente
d himself. “I will confirm.” He completed the ritual and then returned to the crowd.

  One by one, ten of the highest masters of the Bone Workers Guild—all council members—also confirmed they’d serve as witnesses.

  Kreya noticed a line of novice bone workers stretched from the doorway to the pyre. From within the shadows of the palace, a flame emerged. A novice carried it, passed to the next, and then he passed it to the next, and she to the next—hand to hand, until it reached Grand Master Lorn.

  “Long have we believed this was the only way,” Grand Master Lorn said.

  In Kreya’s ear, Zera whispered, “Do we stop him now?”

  “Archers,” Jentt whispered from her other side.

  Kreya glanced up to see that city guards in black leather armor were mounted at the top of Grand Master Lorn’s palace. All of them held bows, their arrows trained not on the crowd or searching out an unidentified threat. The arrows were aimed at the Five.

  With speed talismans, they might be able to evade them. But she didn’t doubt Lorn had anticipated that. He knew the only ones who might stop him were Kreya and her friends.

  Lorn was prepared for them. As if they were the enemy. Not Eklor.

  She looked back at the pyre and was certain that Eklor was looking directly at her, even though she couldn’t see his face beyond his hood. She began to calculate the odds of reaching him before Lorn’s security measures took her down.

  He hadn’t made a move, though. What if the army isn’t coming? Kreya thought. What if we’re wrong? What if he was telling the truth? But . . . Eklor couldn’t have changed so drastically. You couldn’t be a mass murderer one day and then the next day say “Sorry, my mistake.” Except that it had been twenty-five years. She’d changed in that time.

  “We have believed and we have burned and we have mourned, but I have learned that there is another way.” Grand Master Lorn pivoted and threw the flaming torch behind him, over the expanse of nothingness between the mountains. It sailed into the sky, higher than it should have been able to for an ordinary torch thrown by an ordinary man.