“Take him to Oriel.” Warden turned away from the group. “Terebell will deal with him. The rest of you, get back to your residences. The amaurotics will tend to your wounds.”
I looked at his hard-bitten features, searching for a hint of something warm. I found nothing. He didn’t care. I didn’t know why I kept looking.
The red-jackets lifted their friend and staggered toward an alleyway, leaving spots of blood in their wake. “He needs a hospital.” I made myself say it. “You’ve got no idea how to—”
“He will be dealt with.”
He was silent then, and his eyes grew hard. I guessed that meant I’d overstepped the line.
But I was starting to wonder where exactly the line had been drawn. Warden never beat me. He let me sleep. He used my real name when we were alone. He had even let me attack his mind, made himself vulnerable to my spirit—a spirit that could break his very sanity apart. I couldn’t understand why he would take the risk. Even Nick was wary of my gift. (“Call it a healthy respect, sötnos.”)
As we headed toward the residence, I let my hair down from its knot. I almost jumped out of my body again when someone else’s hands took over, pulling my damp curls around my shoulders.
“Ah, XX-40. A pleasure to see you again.” The voice was tinged with amusement. High-pitched for a man. “I must congratulate you, Warden. She looks even more ravishing in a tunic.”
I turned to face the man behind me. It took effort not to recoil.
It was the medium, the one that had chased me across the rooftops of I-5—but he wasn’t carrying a flux gun tonight. He wore a strange uniform in the colors of Scion. Even his face matched the color code: red mouth, black eyebrows, face dusted with zinc oxide. He was probably in his late thirties, and he carried a heavy leather whip. I was sure I could see blood on it. This must be the Overseer, the man who kept the harlies in check. Behind him was the oracle from the first night. He looked at me with disconcerting eyes: one dark and piercing, one a clear hazel. His tunic was the same color as mine.
Warden looked down at them. “What do you want, Overseer?”
“Pardon my intrusion. I merely wanted to see the dreamer again. I have watched her progress with great interest.”
“Well, you have seen her now. She is not a performer. Her progress is not for watching.”
“Indeed. But what a charming sight she is.” He flashed me a smile. “Allow me to welcome you personally to Sheol I. I am Beltrane, the Overseer. I hope my flux dart didn’t scar your back.”
I reacted. I couldn’t help it. “If you hurt my father—”
“I did not give you permission to speak, XX-40.”
Warden stared me down. The Overseer laughed, patted my cheek. I jerked away from him. “There, now. Your father is safe and well.” He made a sign on his chest. “Cross my heart.”
I should have been relieved, but all I could feel was anger at his nerve. Warden looked at the younger man. “Who is this?”
“This is XX-59-12.” The Overseer placed a hand on his shoulder. “He is a very loyal servant to Pleione. He has done exceptionally well in his studies over the last few weeks.”
“I see.” Warden’s eyes flicked over him, assessing his aura. “You are an oracle, boy?”
“Yes, Warden.” 12 bowed.
“The blood-sovereign must be pleased with your progress. We have had no oracles since Bone Season XVI.”
“I hope to be among those in her service soon, Warden.” There were traces of the north in his accent.
“As you will be, 12. You’ll do very well against your Emite, I think. 12 is about to take his second test,” the Overseer said. “We were just on our way back to Merton to join the rest of his battalion. Pleione and Alsafi will lead them.”
“Are the Sualocin aware of the injured red-jacket?” Warden said.
“Yes. They hunt the same Emite that bit him.”
Warden’s expression flickered.
“The best of luck to you in that endeavor, 12,” he said.
12 bowed again.
“But I do have another reason to interrupt, before we leave,” the Overseer added. “I am here to extend an invitation to the dreamwalker. If I may.”
Warden turned to face him. The Overseer took his silence as permission to continue.
“We are putting on a very special celebration in honor of this Bone Season, XX-40. The twentieth Bone Season.” He swept a hand toward the Rookery. “Our finest performers. A feast for the senses. A saturnalia of music and dancing to show off all our boys and girls.”
“You refer to the Bicentenary,” Warden said.
It was the first time I’d heard the word.
“Precisely.” The Overseer smiled. “The ceremony during which the Great Territorial Act will be signed.”
That didn’t sound good. Before I could hear any more, I was blinded by a vision.
As an oracle, Nick could send soundless images through the æther. He called them khrēsmoi, a Greek word. I could never pronounce it, so I just called them his “snapshots.” 12 had the same gift. I saw a clock, both hands pointing toward twelve, followed by four pillars and a flight of steps. A moment later, I blinked, and the images were gone. I opened my eyes to see him looking at me.
It had all happened in a second. “I am aware of the Act,” Warden was saying. “Get to the point, Overseer. 40 is exhausted.”
The Overseer didn’t balk at Warden’s tone. He must be used to being despised. Instead he offered me a smile, soft as oil.
“I would like to invite 40 to perform with us on the day of the Bicentenary. I was impressed with her strength and agility on the night I captured her. It gives me great pleasure to invite her to be my principal performer, along with XIX-49-1 and XIX-49-8.”
I was about to refuse, in such a way as to earn myself a severe punishment, when Warden spoke.
“As her keeper,” he said, “I forbid it.”
I looked up at him.
“She is not a performer, and unless she fails her tests before the Bicentenary, she remains in my keeping.” Warden stared directly at the Overseer. “40 is a dreamwalker. The dreamwalker you were assigned to bring to this colony. I will not allow her to be paraded in front of the Scion emissaries like a common seer. That is an assignment for your humans. Not mine.”
The Overseer wasn’t smiling now.
“Very good.” He bowed, not looking at me. “Come, 12. Your challenge awaits.”
12 slid me a look, one eyebrow raised in question. I nodded. He turned and followed the Overseer back to the Rookery, walking with an easy stride. He didn’t seem afraid of what he was about to face.
Warden’s eyes scorched on my face. “Do you know the oracle?”
“No.”
“He never took his eyes off you.”
“Forgive me, master,” I said, “but am I not permitted to speak with other humans?”
He didn’t take his eyes off me. I wondered whether the Rephs understood sarcasm.
“Yes,” he said. “You are permitted.”
He swept past me without another word.
11
Of Weeping
I didn’t sleep well. My head hurt too much, a pain that throbbed at my left temple. I lay between the sheets and watched the candle burn to nothing.
Warden had not sent me to my room at once. He’d offered me a little food and water, which I’d accepted out of sheer dehydration. Then he’d sat by the fire, gazing into the flames. It had taken me a good ten minutes to ask if I could retire for the day, a question he’d answered with a curt affirmative.
The upper floor was cold. The windows were like paper, and there was a leak. I wrapped myself in the thin sheets, shivering. After a while, I dozed off. Warden’s words trembled in my ears—that my eyes held death and ice. XX-12’s images flashed up every few minutes, still imprinted on my dreamscape. I’d seen a few oracular images before. Nick had once shown me a snapshot of me falling off a low roof and breaking my ankle, which had happened th
e next week. I never questioned his weather predictions again.
XX-12 had summoned me to meet him at midnight. I saw no reason not to go.
When I woke up, the clock was striking eleven. I washed and dressed before I went down to Warden’s chamber. It was silent. The curtains had been left open, admitting the light of the moon. For the first time in several days, I found one of his notes on the desk.
Find out what you can about the Emim.
A cold shiver ran under my skin. If I had to research the Buzzers, that must mean I was destined to face them. It also meant I was free to see 12. In a way, I’d be following orders. 12 had just faced his second test. I wondered what he’d seen during the night so far. Finally I’d have some solid facts about the Emim, provided 12 hadn’t been eaten, of course.
Just before midnight I made my way down the steps, closing the door behind me. Time to do my homework.
I passed the night porter. She didn’t greet me. When I requested more numa she handed them over, but she kept her nose turned up. Still sore over the siren incident.
It was cool outside, the air misted with rain. I walked to the Rookery and picked up breakfast—skilly in a paper cup. In exchange, I parted with a few needles and rings. Once I’d forced myself to take a sip or two, I headed for the building the harlies called the Hawksmoor: the building that guarded the library and its courtyard.
12 was waiting behind one of the pillars, wearing a clean red tunic. There was a cut across his cheek. When he spotted my cup, he lifted an eyebrow.
“You eat that?”
I sipped from it. “Why, what do you eat?”
“What my keeper gives me.”
“We’re not all bone-grubbers. Congratulations, by the way.”
He held out a hand, and I shook it. “David.”
“Paige.”
“Paige.” His dark eye itself fixed on my face. The other seemed less focused. “If you haven’t got anything better to do with your time, I thought I’d take you for a little walk.”
“Like a dog?”
He laughed without moving his lips.
“This way,” he said. “If anyone asks, I’m bringing you in for questioning about an incident.”
We walked together down a narrow street, toward the Residence of the Suzerain. David was about two inches taller than me, long in the arms and thick in the torso. He wasn’t starving, like the harlies.
“Bit risky, isn’t it?” I said.
“What?”
“Talking to me. You’re a red-jacket now.”
He smiled. “I didn’t think you’d be easy meat. You’re already falling into their trap, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Segregation, 40. You see I’m a red-jacket and think I shouldn’t talk to you. Did your keeper tell you that?”
“No. That’s just how it is.”
“There you have it. That’s the whole point of this place: to brainwash us. To make us feel inferior. Why do you think they leave people in the Tower for years on end?” When I didn’t reply, he shook his head. “Come on, 40. Waterboarding, isolation, days without food. After that, even somewhere like this seems like a slice of heaven.” He had a point. “You should hear the Overseer. He thinks the Rephs should lead us, that they should be our new monarchy.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Because he’s indoctrinated.”
“How long has he been here?”
“Only since Bone Season XIX, from what I can gather, but he’s loyal as a dog. He’s been trying to root out good voyants from the syndicate.”
“So he’s a procurer.”
“He’s not very good. Nashira wants a new one. Someone who can sense the æther on a higher level.”
I was about to ask more when I stopped. Through the thin gray haze, I could see a circular building with a vast dome. It squatted in a deserted square, massive and cumbersome, opposite the Residence of Suzerain. Dim amber light filtered through its windows.
“What is that?” I looked up at it.
“The harlies call it the Room. Been trying to find out what it’s for, but nobody seems to like talking about it. No humans allowed.”
He walked ahead without even glancing at it. I jogged to catch up with him. “You said he’s been trying to get voyants from the syndicate,” I prompted. “Why?”
“Don’t ask too many questions, 40.”
“I thought that was the point of this rendezvous.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just liked the look of you. Here’s our stop.”
Our destination was an ancient church. It must once have been magnificent, but now it was falling apart. The windows had no glass, and the steeple was skeletal and wooden slats blocked the south porch. I raised an eyebrow.
“Is this a good idea?”
“I’ve done it before. Besides”—he ducked under a slat—“from what the Overseer tells me, you’re accustomed to unsafe structures.” He looked over my shoulder. “Quick. Gray Keeper.”
I slid between the boards. Just in time: Graffias passed by the entrance, leading three undernourished amaurotics. I followed David through the church. A large protion of the ceiling had fallen into the chapel. Wooden beams and concrete had flattened the pews, and glass lay in fragments across the floor. I picked my way through the rubble. “What happened here?”
David didn’t answer the question. “One hundred and twenty-four stairs to the top,” he said. “Up for it?”
He was gone before I could answer. I followed him to the staircase.
I was used to climbing. I’d climbed hundreds of the buildings in I Cohort. Most of the steps were still intact; it seemed like no time before we reached the top. A high wind caught my hair, whipping it back from my face. The scent of fire was strong and thick. David rested his arms on a stone balustrade.
“I like this place.” He pulled a roll of white paper from his sleeve and used a match to light it. “Higher ground.”
We stood on a balcony, right below the crumbling steeple. Part of the balustrade was missing, and another sign warned of the unstable structure. I looked up at the stars. “You passed your second test,” I said. “If you want to talk, tell me about the Emim.”
Eyes closed, he exhaled the smoke. His fingers were stained. “What exactly do you want to know?”
“What they are.”
“No idea.”
“You must have seen one.”
“Not much. The woods are dark. I know it looked like a human—had a head and arms and legs, in any case—but it moved like an animal. It also stank like a cesspit. And sounded like one.”
“How can you sound like a cesspit?”
“Like flies, 40. Bzzzz.”
Buzzer.
“What about its aura?” I pressed. “Did it have one?”
“Not that I could see. It made the æther seem like it was collapsing,” he said. “Like there was a black hole around its dreamscape.”
This didn’t sound like the sort of thing I wanted to face. I looked down at the city. “Did you kill it?”
“I tried.” When he saw my face, he tapped his roll of blue. “They put a bunch of us in there, all pink-jackets. Two groups. Two reds came with us, 30 and 25. They gave us all a knife each and told us to track the Buzzer with whatever we could find. 30 said straight out that the knives were just there to make us feel better. The best way to track the thing was to use the æther.
“One of the pinks was a rhabdomancer, so we made some lots from twigs. 30 gave us a bottle of blood from some guy that got his hand bitten off—that way we could use him as a querent. We smeared the blood on the twigs and the rhabdomancer cast them. They pointed west. We kept casting lots and changing direction. Of course, the Buzzer was moving as well, so we didn’t get anywhere. 21 suggested that we bring it to us. We made a fire and did a séance, calling the spirits from the woods.”
“Are there many?”
“Yep. All the idiots that tried to escape through the minefield, accordin
g to the reds.”
I suppressed a shiver.
“We sat there for a few minutes. The spirits vanished. We heard noises. Flies started coming out of the woods, crawling over my arms. Then this thing came out of nowhere—this giant, bloated thing. Two seconds later it’s got 19’s hair in its mouth. Nearly takes her skin with it, too,” he added. “She’s screaming, the thing gets confused. It rips out some of her hair and goes after 1.”
“Carl?”
“Don’t know their names. Anyway, he squeals like a piglet and tries to stab it. Nothing happens.” He examined the burning end of his roll. “The fire was going out, but I could still see it. I tried using an image on it. I thought of white light and tried to stick it in the Buzzer’s dreamscape to blind it. Next thing I know, my head feels like it’s being run over and it’s like there’s been an oil spill in the æther. Everything’s dark and dead. All the spirits in the area are trying to get away from the mess. 20 and 14 both run for it. 30 shouts after them that they’re yellow-jackets, but they’re too scared to come back. 10 throws a knife and hits 5. He falls. The Buzzer’s on him in two seconds flat. The fire goes out. It’s pitch-black. 5 starts screaming for help.
“Everyone’s blind now. I use the æther to work out where the thing is. 5’s getting eaten. He’s already dead. I grab the thing’s neck and pull it off him. All this wet dead skin’s coming away in my hands. It turns on me. I can see these white eyes in the dark, just staring at me. Next thing I know I’m flying through the air, bleeding like a stuck pig.”
He pulled down the neck of his tunic and peeled back a bandage. Below it were four deep gouges. The skin surrounding them was a milky, bloodshot gray. “They look like poltergeist wounds,” I said.
“Wouldn’t know.” He secured the bandage over the wounds. “I can’t move. The thing’s coming toward me, dripping blood on me. 10’s been trying to help 5, but now he gets up. He’s got a guardian angel, the only spirit that hasn’t flown the coop. He throws it at the Buzzer. I send another image into its dreamscape at the same time. It screams. Really screams. Starts crawling away, making this awful noise, dragging a chunk of 5 with it. By this point 21 has set fire to a branch. He throws it after the Buzzer. I smell burning flesh. After that I passed out. Woke up in Oriel, covered in bandages.”
The Bone Season Page 15