The Bone Maker

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Grand Master Lorn rose. His face was a thundercloud. “You hid human bones in my son’s bed? You made my son a target, after you swore—”

  “Your son is unharmed,” Eklor said. “And there is no proof the bones were mine, or even that they were human bones. Kreya has come to withdraw her accusations, not make new ones. Note that she carries no evidence of such a find with her. Only the word of a boy, untrained in the bone arts.”

  “My son does not lie!”

  “But he can be mistaken.”

  She saw Eklor’s hand slip into a pocket. Withdrawing it, he twirled a talisman between his fingers. Glancing at Lorn, she saw the second his eyes glazed. Eklor’s other hand rested casually on the hilt of a dagger at his waist, as if daring Kreya to challenge him.

  She weighed the odds and schooled herself to be patient. Amurra first.

  “All I want is Amurra’s body,” Kreya said placidly. “If you are reformed, as you say, you will respect her family’s wishes.”

  “Burning on a pyre in the guild headquarters is an honor—” Eklor began.

  Yarri tugged on his father’s arm. “Papa, he put bones in my bed! Why aren’t you arresting him?”

  For a moment, Lorn’s eyes cleared as his son’s truth broke through Eklor’s lies. A moment is all I need to save Amurra, she thought.

  “Grand Master Lorn, you know my request is not unreasonable,” Kreya said. “Tradition is on my side. Her body should be handled by those closest to her.”

  Grand Master Lorn asked, “What happened to the bones in my son’s bed?”

  “Your guards burned them, as was appropriate,” Kreya said.

  Eklor flinched. But he recovered quickly. “How convenient. But your accusations are beside the point—Grand Master Lorn has witnessed the spell up close and knows it breaks no taboos.”

  He must have been using the talisman during the boy’s resurrection, Kreya thought. She wondered how often he’d used it and when it would run out of power. He could have created dozens of them, for all she knew.

  “You saw with your own eyes,” Eklor said to Lorn.

  He swayed slightly. “I . . . did.”

  “Grand Master Lorn, I am not here to cause trouble,” Kreya said. “Your son is safe, and the illegal bones have been destroyed. All I ask is for what tradition owes me: my friend’s body so we may mourn her properly.”

  Despite the effects of the talisman, Grand Master Lorn was not an idiot. She was counting on that. With Yarri here to deliver the news, he couldn’t have missed hearing the unsaid truth: Eklor had murdered Stran’s wife, and Kreya was withdrawing her accusation under duress. Whether Lorn believed that also meant that Eklor intended to harm the Bone Workers Guild or not, she couldn’t say, and she wouldn’t count on it. As Eklor had pointed out, she came with no proof. As preposterous as it might have seemed, under the influence of the talisman, Lorn could probably be persuaded human bones just happened to show up in Yarri’s bed. She just had to hope it was enough—hope that hearing it out of the mouth of his own son was enough—to break through Eklor’s hold on his mind and tip the scales in her favor just this once, for Amurra’s sake.

  “It’s a reasonable request,” Grand Master Lorn said.

  Eklor frowned. “Grand Master!”

  “You saved my son’s life, Eklor,” Lorn said. “Don’t undo the good you have done through petty stubbornness. You will let Master Kreya take the body.”

  He looked as if he wanted to object more, but instead he inclined his head. “Very well, Grand Master Lorn. If Master Kreya will address the assembly of bone workers, then I will prepare the woman’s body.”

  “Body first,” Kreya said.

  Grand Master Lorn held up his hands to stave off further argument. “I will have her brought to you. Let us have no more distrust, and let us use today to demonstrate to the entire guild that we have put the past behind us.”

  In her youth, Kreya never could have done it: stand in front of the entirety of the Bone Workers Guild and claim that her sworn enemy, the man who was responsible for her husband’s death, was noble and good. Her pride, her stubbornness, her innate sense of justice never would have allowed her to let the words fall from her lips. She would have punched her fist into the sky and declared she’d never defile the truth.

  Now, knowing what it was like to lose Jentt and knowing what it felt like to have him back again . . . If lying would give Stran back his wife, she’d lie until her tongue turned blue. She owed it to him, to all of them.

  Standing between Lorn and Eklor, Kreya plastered a false smile on her face. She met the eyes of her colleagues, the masters, the novices, and the students. They were bathed in the thin light from the thick stained glass windows that muffled the sounds of the outside world. Not unlike the way their minds are muffled.

  “I was blinded by my own pain,” she said. “Stuck in the past. Unwilling to let go of my old anger and hatred. It poisoned me, and it nearly enabled me to poison you against Master Eklor, who stands before you a reformed man.”

  Without moving his mouth, Eklor murmured, “Don’t overdo it.”

  “I still hate him. I will always hate him.”

  “Better,” he murmured.

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “To tell the complete truth, I want him dead. I will not be free until his heart stills, his breath stops, and his eyes stare sightless at eternity.”

  “You are terrible at this,” he murmured.

  “But it was wrong of me to let that hatred and anger cloud my judgment,” Kreya said. “He owes an insurmountable debt to the Bone Workers Guild and to Vos itself, and I have no right to prevent him from whatever small amount he can do to repay that debt.”

  That didn’t elicit a comment from Eklor. She guessed she’d met with his approval, at last. Kreya continued: “I have no proof that an army exists. He claims he destroyed it on the plain. I have no proof that he uses human bones. There are no bones in his possession. I do not know that his spell of resurrection causes harm to anyone. That was mere conjecture. And so I officially, formally, all other ways, withdraw my baseless accusations, on behalf of the Five Heroes of Vos.”

  She heard Eklor exhale beside her. He didn’t think I’d really do it, she realized.

  She wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t, if she’d plunged forward convinced her own righteousness would carry the day. But she knew the answer to that. She’d have failed. He’d wormed his way too deeply into the guild.

  “You must now use your own judgment as to whether to trust this man,” Kreya said. “Do not trust to mine. And please forgive me, an old warrior, for still aching with the wounds of battle and allowing the past to color my perception of the present.” She bowed to the assembly and then retreated while Lorn addressed the council.

  Behind the dais, she discovered she was shaking. She clasped her hands together so no one would notice and turned to face Eklor, who had followed her. “Now it’s your turn to keep our bargain,” she told him.

  “Very well.” He gestured for her to precede him.

  Side by side, they walked through a quiet corridor. “One question, Eklor.”

  “Ask,” he said, with a significant look at the guards who trailed behind them. His message was clear: if he didn’t like her question, she wouldn’t be walking out of here, despite her performance.

  “Why not use it on me?” She didn’t say the words “persuasion talisman.”

  He knew what she meant anyway. “I tried, multiple times that day in Lorn’s palace. But you . . . You don’t want to believe me.” He swept his arm out to encompass the guild. “Others do.”

  “It won’t last forever,” she told him. She meant the talisman, his hold over the guild master, and Eklor’s own life.

  “It will last long enough.”

  “So you’re aware this isn’t over.”

  “Oh, it will be over sooner than you think.”

  Under Eklor’s watchful eyes, she claimed Amurra’s body by the mouth of th
e headquarters. Unwrapping the linen over her face, she checked to be sure it was her.

  It was. Silent, dead. It hurt to look at her. She remembered Amurra’s smiling when she opened the farmhouse door to welcome Kreya in, shouting at Stran to not be a hero anymore, insisting on coming with them to the city. She didn’t deserve to be treated like this, as a bargaining chip.

  “I hope you will consider joining us tomorrow,” Eklor said, “to receive my gift.”

  Kreya very, very briefly contemplated gutting him here and now. She’d be arrested instantly, though, and lose any chance of saving Amurra. “I hope you will consider going out back and fucking yourself,” she said pleasantly.

  Activating a bit of a strength talisman, Kreya lifted Amurra’s body over her shoulder. Without another word to anyone, she carried her new friend out of the headquarters, adding a bit of speed to her movement. They all had a lot to do before tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Zera ordered her followers to stand guard by every window and posted several by the doors. Plenty of onlookers, eager for a glimpse of the Five, still lurked beyond the statue garden outside—they’d serve as an early-warning system as well. “Let me know if you hear any screaming,” Zera told her followers. “Unless it’s by Marso.” She flashed him a smile. “You be you, old friend.”

  His chicken bones were clutched against his chest. He gave her a tight nod.

  While she waited for Kreya’s return, she weeded through her collection of bones, separating them by source and strength. Stran paced back and forth in front of the waterfall, as if motion would speed time along. Jentt sat still. As still as death, Zera thought. He refused to watch for Kreya’s return, yet Zera could tell that every nerve in his body was attuned to the door, ready for it to open.

  “Knock it off,” Zera told him.

  He startled. “What?”

  “Blaming her.”

  “She shouldn’t have sacrificed her future for me.”

  Zera rolled her eyes. “You know how they call us the Five Heroes of Vos? Literally our job to do that kind of shit. Get over it.”

  “I want her to live a long and happy life.”

  “Yeah, well, she chose happy. So get over yourself and stop making her miserable. It was her choice to make, and she made it.”

  “It was my choice as well—”

  “You were dead.”

  “Not always,” he pointed out. “She could have told me the cost any of the times she woke me. She knew how I’d feel about it, she knew it was wrong, and that’s why she hid it from me. We’re supposed to be a team, facing the world united—that’s the point of marriage! And here she is, unilaterally making decisions that affect both of us and deciding for me what facts I can and cannot handle. How do I know she’s not lying about anything else?”

  “She probably is, given your attitude. I know I would.”

  “But—”

  Zera held up one hand. “No. You took an arrow for me. You died for me. Did you consult Kreya first?”

  “There wasn’t time—”

  “So? Same decision. You gave me a gift. You gave me a life, a future, hopes and dreams, and all that.” Waving her arms, she indicated her palace, the waterfall, the skeleton pillars, all of it. “I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to say thank you. So I’m saying it now: thank you. And now I’m giving you a gift: don’t be a dick.”

  Jentt looked startled again, and then he laughed.

  Zera took that to be a good sign. It had been one of the foundations of her life that while he’d lived, Kreya and Jentt were together, always united, ludicrously healthy in their relationship. It would be a shame to lose that in Jentt’s second life.

  Guine called from the door. “Master Kreya approaches!”

  “Let her in, obviously,” Zera ordered.

  Crossing the foyer in three large strides, Stran flung open the door and charged outside, shoving Guine out of the way. Shooing her followers back, Zera cleared a path. Everyone was bubbling: “Be careful!” “Let them through!” “By the bones, she’s dead!” “Give them space.” “What did you do? How did you get her?” “I can’t bear to look at her.” And from Stran: “Can you make her live again?”

  Kreya’s lips were pressed tight together. She carried Amurra’s linen-wrapped body in her arms, and she didn’t look at Stran. She did, though, meet Zera’s eyes.

  Zera nodded. “This way. Everyone else, clear out.” She asked Kreya, “Anyone following you?” She had no idea who Kreya had made an enemy of this time: Eklor, Lorn, the entire guild, an undead army, all of Cerre. Really, with Kreya, the possibilities were endless.

  “Not that I know of. Might as well assume the worst, though.”

  “Guard the doors and windows,” Zera ordered.

  She shepherded her friends into the closest bedroom, a confection draped in silks and strands of crystals that Marso had been using as his room. Kreya laid Amurra on Marso’s bed. Stran hovered over her shoulder as Kreya unwrapped her body.

  Amurra’s face was gray tinged and still. Her eyelids were, thankfully, closed, but she had that terrible empty, motionless look of someone who had turned from a person to a thing. Zera knew without needing to touch her that her skin would feel wrong—cold, stiff, and yet still with a hint of softness.

  Stran dropped to his knees and made a noise that didn’t sound like it could have come from his throat, a broken moan that hit Zera hard in her sternum. She laid a hand on his shoulder but knew he didn’t feel it. Marso was close on his other side. Jentt lingered back by the door, and Zera tried to imagine what he was thinking.

  For the first time, he was seeing a loved one the way Kreya had seen him for so long. He was witnessing how it affected Stran. Good, Zera thought fiercely. He needs to see this so he can stop being an idiot.

  “Take my life,” Stran said, his voice thick with a sob. “She must live. The children . . . They need her. The world needs her. Take all of my life.”

  “She won’t thank you for that,” Jentt said quietly.

  Kreya raised her head, and Zera saw the pain in her eyes—pain that Jentt had put there, or maybe memories. Let’s blame Eklor, Zera thought. He was easiest to blame for all of this, since it was, unarguably, his fault. “What would you have me do?”

  “Half his life, if he wants to give it,” Jentt said.

  The pain in Kreya’s eyes cleared. A little.

  Zera spoke without even considering it. “Or some of mine.”

  “And mine,” Marso said. “Take some from me as well.” He attempted a smile. It looked awkward on his face, as if his cheeks were stiff from lack of practice. “I’m not doing anything better with it.”

  Stran looked up and clapped his hands over Marso’s and Zera’s hands on his shoulders. His eyes were red, and tears were pouring openly down his cheeks. He nodded his thanks, unable to speak.

  “If I’d known the cost with Jentt . . . ,” Zera began.

  Kreya interrupted. “You’re all very noble, but I don’t know how to pull life from more than one source. There might be a way, but it’s a significant enough change to the spell to pull from someone other than myself. If I had enough time to experiment and research, I might be able to figure it out, but if I delay and Eklor attacks . . . Stran, this has to be your choice.”

  “Do it now, and take half of whatever years remain of my life,” Stran said without hesitation. “I don’t want her dead a minute longer.”

  Zera wanted to counsel them to take the time, do the research, and find a way to share the burden. But she was also acutely aware of how precarious everything was. Kreya was right: this could be their only chance to bring Amurra back.

  “The spell takes from your natural life span, from now until the moment of your natural death,” Kreya told Stran. “It does not account for either of you being stabbed, falling off a cliff, or dying from anything other than your body simply failing. So don’t think this will make either of you invincible. It won’t guarantee you a happily ever a
fter. You could sacrifice half your future, and she could still die from a random accident or another violent attack next week.”

  “I’d rather have the chance of living with her than the certainty of living without,” Stran said. He held out his arm. “Take my blood.”

  “It may require a lot,” Kreya said.

  “I’m a big man. I have a lot. Take as much as you need.”

  “I mean you should lie down, because you’ll probably faint. As you said, you’re a big man—it would be a pain to try to move you.” She shooed him onto the bed, next to Amurra. “I’ll need the bones we took from Eklor’s stash. All of them.”

  Without a word, Jentt darted out. He returned in a moment, carrying a bundle. He laid it on a table inlaid with onyx and gold, and he unwrapped it.

  “Will it be enough?” Marso asked anxiously.

  Kreya drew out a knife and tested its sharpness. “Water and bandages.”

  “I’ll fetch them,” Zera offered. She knew best where her supplies were. Letting herself out of the room, she strode down the hallway. She tried to keep from worrying about what Eklor was doing now. He wouldn’t be waiting idly for them to finish their task and come back to deal with him; he’d be using this time, enacting whatever his plan was, putting pieces into place to counter whatever they’d do once they were ready. Even knowing that, for now, their only priority had to be Amurra.

  She reached the linen closet and pulled out a pile of gauze and bandages, as well as a kit with medical thread and a sterile needle in case whatever wound Kreya inflicted needed to be sewn up. Closing the closet door, Zera jumped—Guine was standing a few inches away.

  “You’re supposed to be watching for danger,” Zera scolded.

  “Is the danger already within?” Guine asked.