The Bone Maker

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Why all this theater? Kreya thought. What does Eklor get out of this?

  Because he still hadn’t revealed any hidden army. He hadn’t even revealed himself.

  He couldn’t be planning to work the spell that Kreya had used on Jentt. It would require his giving up years of his own life, and he’d never do that. He was far too much of a narcissist.

  Unless there was something he wanted badly enough in exchange. But what? The only thing that had ever driven Eklor was his conviction that the world owed him for every wrong, every slight, every accidental twist of fate, and every tragedy that befell him.

  Kreya wished again that she’d succeeded in getting an audience with Eklor. Maybe she could have shaken out of him some clue as to his goal. If he wanted revenge against the Bone Workers Guild, this was the perfect opportunity: deny Lorn his child and then eliminate the masters, as well as the leadership of other guilds. Yet she wasn’t sure that was what was happening here, and that made her even warier.

  As the crowd around her gasped and whispered, Grand Master Lorn stepped aside for Eklor to approach the pyre. He still did not remove his hood. He bent over the boy’s body.

  Kreya couldn’t hear what he said, but she knew the words. She didn’t see a knife, but she saw him pour a vial over bones and then press each bone one by one into the body. The bones he was using were too shattered and small to identify as human, though she knew they had to be. She wondered where he’d gotten his. The plains, most likely. Jentt had reported burnt bones, but like with the constructs, there was no way to be certain Eklor had destroyed all of them.

  The whispers around her grew into shouts. The vast majority of the crowd didn’t know what was going on, but they knew this was a violation of one of their most sacred rites. Yet no one moved to stop them—a bone maker was clearly manipulating the body, but he was not stealing from it. He was giving to it. No one knew what it meant.

  Except Kreya.

  She knew exactly what he was doing. She just couldn’t believe it.

  Again, Zera asked, “Do we stop him?”

  Kreya shook her head. She felt as if frozen water had poured into her veins, displacing the blood. What she was seeing . . . It didn’t make sense. She’d expected a trap—a battle at best, a massacre at worst. She hadn’t expected this. A sacrifice by Eklor of his own future.

  Eklor stepped back, and Lorn’s son’s mouth opened. He sucked in air. His chest filled and rose. The crowd fell silent. And the dead boy sat up.

  Not a sound beyond the breathing of the crowd and the breathing of the boy.

  “Who will confirm my son lives?” Grand Master Lorn asked, his voice booming across the fifth tier.

  Hesitantly, the same men and women who had confirmed his death each stepped forward, one by one, and verified that the boy, impossibly, was alive.

  “Papa?” the boy said, his voice small. Lorn enveloped him in his coat, embracing him, and then helped him climb down from the pyre. The boy clung to his father.

  “You have witnessed a miracle,” Grand Master Lorn said, addressing the crowd. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “And I present to you a second miracle: the bone worker who has achieved this. He was on the verge of discovering the secret of resurrection when the guild interrupted his efforts. In the clash, we destroyed the bodies of his wife and child. This act plunged him into rage and despair, and he sought revenge.”

  There were murmurs around Kreya—they didn’t know who Lorn was talking about, but she did. She also knew that wasn’t the story she’d been told about Eklor’s past. He’d lost his family in a cable car accident. An accident, due to mechanical failure. He, in his grief and narcissism, had blamed the guild for what was merely the hand of fate.

  Softly, Jentt said, “We were lied to.”

  “That doesn’t excuse what he’s done,” Zera replied just as softly. “Nothing does. And besides, how do you know we aren’t being lied to now?”

  A valid point, Kreya thought.

  Raising his voice to be heard above the rumbling crowd, Grand Master Lorn continued. “He knows now, though, that revenge was not the path he should have taken. And so, contrite and seeking redemption, he has returned to offer us a gift: life beyond death, for ourselves and our loved ones. A second chance to all who deserve it.”

  He did it, she thought. He really did it. Eklor had given a portion of his own life to Lorn’s son. She’d never imagined he was capable of such an act. The Eklor she’d known wasn’t capable of that kind of self-sacrifice or empathy. She’d always believed he’d abandoned his research into resurrection magic because of the cost. Yet here he was, paying it.

  Could it have been some kind of trick? Maybe the child hadn’t been dead. Except the other masters had confirmed it . . . What if Eklor had somehow fooled them too? Or maybe there was some other explanation she hadn’t thought of yet. A conspiracy? Some kind of mind manipulation? Smoke and mirrors?

  So many possibilities, and yet the proof was here, now.

  At Lorn’s command, Eklor stepped up to the pyre again and pushed back his hood. Immortalized as the greatest evil ever embodied by a man, Eklor was instantly recognizable. His face had been carved into statues, vilified on murals, and transformed into theater masks.

  “I seek forgiveness,” Eklor said. “And I bring, to all of Vos, the gift of second life.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the stunned silence, Grand Master Lorn shepherded his son and Eklor back into his palace, with the promise that more information would follow. As soon as the brass doors shut, the crowd outside exploded into chatter—awe, confusion, shock. It all swirled around her as Jentt tugged Kreya’s hand.

  He murmured in her ear, “We should leave.”

  Nodding, she let herself be led away from the pyre. But they only made it a few feet before the crowd closed around them. One older woman in a master’s coat patted Jentt’s arm. “You were dead, weren’t you? But now you’re alive again, too!”

  “Just seriously injured,” Jentt said. He flashed her a smile, and Kreya had to resist the urge to step in front of him, knives drawn. She felt prickles over her skin as the crowd pressed closer.

  “How are you alive?” a man shouted.

  “Coma,” he supplied. “Totally unresponsive for years until one day, a miracle, I woke. It was amazing luck and great nursing care. Nothing to do with anything that happened here today.”

  Another bone worker pushed closer. “Who revived you? Was it Eklor?”

  “You were dead,” another said. “My uncle fought in that battle. He saw you fall.”

  “All of Vos mourned you!” another, a man in heavy finery, cried. “Did Eklor bring you back to life? Can he bring my wife back?”

  Kreya and her friends clumped around Jentt and pushed through the crowd. Marso was shaking hard, and Kreya thought it had been a mistake to bring him. It had been a mistake for any of them to come at all.

  “He was dead.” The words spread through the crowd. “How is he alive? Did you bring him back? Do you know what Eklor knows? Is that why you returned now? Are you working with him?” And over and over: “Did Eklor bring him back?” until Kreya wanted to shout at them all to quit asking and leave them alone.

  Before she could break, though, Zera did:

  “Yes!” Zera shouted. “It was Eklor! Ask him!” She pointed to Lorn’s palace, and the crowd, as if pushed by a giant hand, rotated and shoved toward the doors.

  Kreya grabbed Zera. In a low voice, she demanded, “Why did you say that?”

  “Because soon they’ll learn how he did it,” Zera said, also in a whisper. “They’ll learn about the key ingredient. I’d far rather he were burned alive than you.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. Still, she felt a tug of unease, giving credit to their enemy. They still didn’t know what he truly wanted. Fame? He had that. Forgiveness? Eklor deserved to be arrested, tried, and convicted. You didn’t kill hundreds, then turn around and say, “Oops!” But then again, with an ego the size of E
klor’s, he could see forgiveness as possible.

  Maybe this was his plan for changing his fate. Maybe he wanted to be granted a chance to return to civilization. Live a normal life. Or maybe he wants to quit all bone work and become a traveling acrobat, she thought. She had no way of knowing what his thinking was. The last time she’d encountered him was twenty-five years ago, and she hadn’t understood him then. If only she could talk to him, maybe she could get some insight into what they were dealing with.

  “Any ideas for getting in there?” Kreya asked, with a nod at the brass doors.

  “Later. Right now, we need to get Jentt away from the crowd,” Stran said. “Also Marso.”

  She weighed her odds of forcing her way into the palace and glanced again at the archers. They’d lowered their bows and were no longer focused on the Five. We didn’t do whatever they were afraid we’d do, she thought. Did that mean they’d failed once more?

  “Kreya, we need to go,” Zera insisted. “Regroup. Replan. The show’s over—”

  The brass doors swung open. Caught by surprise, the crowd fell backward. A servant appeared. “Grand Master Lorn requests to speak with the leader of the Five Heroes of Vos, Master Bone Maker Kreya Odi Altriana.”

  Her friends flanked her. “Not alone!” Jentt said.

  The servant frowned. “Only Master Kreya Odi Altriana.”

  “He harbors our enemy,” Stran said. “We all come, or none.”

  The servant didn’t move. “He is your guild master. He requests the presence of the bone maker Kreya Odi Altriana. You are sworn to obey your guild master. Failure to comply could result in fines, or the withdrawal of your bone worker license.”

  Kreya put her hand on Jentt’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” she said softly. “Look at all the witnesses. If I go in and don’t come out, Grand Master Lorn will answer for it.”

  “That’s a ‘what to do after you’re dead’ plan,” Zera said. “Not an ‘avoid dying’ plan.”

  “He wants to talk,” Kreya said. “I want to hear him explain. We’ve been wanting this—more information, some clue as to what Eklor plans.” She looked at each of them. “In the meantime, keep searching for his army. I’ll be back soon.”

  Zera flew forward and hugged her, and Kreya felt her slip two new talismans into her pant pockets as she whispered, “Speed and flight. Break a window and fly out of there, if you need to.”

  Kreya nodded.

  The crowd parted for her to walk up to the brass doors. She glanced back to make sure her friends were safely away. They were still standing there, watching her, when the servant closed the brass doors with a soft clang.

  “Follow me, please.” The servant bowed and led the way down the hall. “Grand Master Lorn requests you leave your coat. He doesn’t wish for there to be any misunderstandings. He knows emotions are fraught.” He gestured toward a rack.

  She briefly considered protesting, but she didn’t. If this was her chance to gain information, she wasn’t going to waste it. She also wasn’t going to show fear. Reassuring herself that Zera’s two talismans were safely hidden in her pants pockets, Kreya hung her coat on the rack.

  Lorn might have been the grand master. He might have been housing her greatest enemy. But his agenda surely didn’t include being accused of her murder and being separated from his newly resurrected son. She could count on his self-interest to protect her. He wants to talk, she told herself. She had no reason to think he meant her harm.

  His guest, though—that was another matter.

  She followed the servant past Lorn’s office door to a polished silver door. He opened it and bowed. Kreya took a step inside and tried to ignore how hard and fast her heart was beating. This isn’t a battlefield, she told herself. Her thumping pulse did not believe her.

  She scanned the room first, checking for exits. One other door. One wide window, drapes open, with a view of mountains beyond. In the center of the room was a table with a teapot, steam curling out of it, and two teacups. Two upholstered chairs sat on either side of the table. One was occupied, though the person’s back was to her.

  “Grand Master Lorn?” She stepped into the tea room, and the servant closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with the grand master. “Congratulations on the return of your son. I know that must be a great relief and joy to you.”

  The man in the chair stood, and it wasn’t the grand master.

  Eklor faced her.

  She didn’t let a hint of surprise show on her face. In fact, she wasn’t certain she was surprised. She noted he wore his bone worker coat, while she’d been required to disrobe, and he was playing with a talisman in his right hand, spinning it between his fingers. Crossing the room, she positioned herself near the window. Every muscle was tense, every breath sharp.

  “Join me for tea?” Eklor requested.

  “Is it poisoned?”

  “If I kill you, it will undermine everything I’ve achieved here.” Eklor resumed his seat and poured tea in his cup and hers. He placed his talisman down to do so. “Everyone saw you enter. Everyone heard you summoned.”

  “Grand Master Lorn summoned me. Perhaps you seek to frame him for my murder?” She eyed the talisman, trying to decipher the carvings—not strength, not speed, not any one she was familiar with. If she knew what he intended, she could counter it.

  “After I went through all the trouble of granting his dearest wish? Kreya, I know you believe me evil. At least do me the courtesy of also believing me logical.” He added sugar to his tea and stirred, then picked his talisman back up.

  Kreya sat carefully on the chair. She picked up the teacup, added sugar, and stirred. She didn’t sip it, though. She wasn’t stupid. Instead she set it back down on the saucer and studied Eklor. He looked well, especially for a man who should have been dead. “You expect me to believe you’ve reformed? I saw your army.”

  He sat back, spinning his talisman again. “There was no army.”

  She snorted.

  “Only remnants left over from an old, nearly forgotten war. As your pet warriors saw, I destroyed them, as my first act of good faith.”

  “Is it good faith to threaten me with whatever that is?” She waved her hand at the talisman.

  He quit fiddling with it. “Ahh, a nervous habit.” Neither his voice nor his face betrayed any hint of nervousness. “My deepest apologies for making you uncomfortable.”

  “You still existing makes me uncomfortable,” Kreya said. “You with a talisman makes me feel like slitting your throat and being done with it.” Especially a talisman she didn’t recognize. She wished Zera had come with her—she could have identified it.

  With a smile, Eklor tucked it into one of his pockets. “Better?”

  “Not entirely. You’re here. How are you even alive?”

  He wiggled his fingers. “Magic.”

  “Fuck you. How did you do it?”

  “What did your lover tell the crowd? It was a miraculous recovery.”

  Kreya stood. “I’m not playing your games. If you won’t answer my questions, we’re done here.”

  He held up a hand. “No more games. Ask me another question. A different one. Those moments when I lay near death . . . they’re painful for me to remember.”

  Fine. She had plenty of other questions. They could come back to that rather important one. Sitting again, she asked, “Is it true about your wife and child? Were you trying to bring them back?” She had long wondered why he had ventured down this line of forbidden research. And why he’d abandoned it. “We had been told you sought revenge because of a cable car accident.”

  He flinched, but his voice was still smooth and steady. “There was indeed an accident, but I reclaimed the bodies and was seeking to restore my loved ones. I was on the verge of success when my experimentation was discovered by the guild. I had been . . . less careful about concealing the source of my supplies than I thought I had been.”

  “Your murders were discovered.” It was a guess, but knowing what she knew
about him, she felt confident it was correct. He hadn’t obtained bones the way she had, from the naturally dead. He’d sped the process along himself. “You’re responsible for many deaths, Eklor. Grand Master Lorn might be grateful to you for his son’s life, but that won’t erase the crimes you’ve committed.”

  “I don’t seek to avoid punishment,” Eklor said. “But I do seek to redeem my soul before I face the great silence. I have done grievous harm, and if I can pay back even a fraction of what I owe to the people of Vos, then I have to try.”

  “How noble.” She lifted the teacup to her lips, pretended to sip, and lowered it. If he was going to pretend they were having an earnest, honest conversation, she’d play along. “And what brought about this change of heart?”

  “Time,” he said simply. “My wife and daughter died in an accident, and I did the unthinkable in a bid to bring them back. When their bodies were destroyed by the guild before I could revive them, all I had left was hate and anger.”

  “Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you?”

  “No. But I am expecting you to understand me.”

  The trouble was she did. He had done the unthinkable. But so did I, Kreya thought. After Jentt had been killed, she’d abandoned her friends in order to avenge him. And then later, she may not have murdered anyone to save Jentt, but she had broken the law again and again.

  “You killed innocent people,” Kreya said.

  “Yes. But you crossed a line as well,” Eklor said. “And you’ve been flouting the proof of that, bringing Jentt here to the city with you, allowing him to be seen in public. You don’t believe you did anything wrong, and you don’t regret what you did.”

  “You crossed a much more serious line. Mine was a taboo; yours was a war crime.”

  “Yes, I know.” A hint of irritation colored his voice. He took a deep breath. Calmer, he said, “Let me spell this out for you. I committed horrible acts. I will die for them. But before I die, I want to do as much good as I can. It won’t erase what I’ve done. I know that. But I feel I owe it to the world to try.”