Bone Crier's Dawn

by Kathryn Purdie

  “Yes,” Marcel adds. “There has to be an exchange.”

  “So why can’t Odiva be the exchange?” Jules rummages beneath her blanket and pulls out her handkerchief. Her thin shoulders rack as she coughs into it. “We push her in and pull Ailesse out.” The three boys stare at her, considering. “I’m not saying it would be easy,” she goes on. “Odiva is powerful, but—”

  “Sabine could help us once she’s feeling better.” Bastien’s face brightens. “It might work.”

  A measure of hope takes hold in me.

  “What about Godart?” Cas asks.

  “Odiva was the one who resurrected him,” Marcel replies. “If she’s taken back to the Underworld, maybe he’ll die again. The resurrection will be reversed.”

  Cas mulls that over. “Even if it isn’t, he wouldn’t be able to share Odiva’s graces anymore. It would be a fair fight when I confront him.”

  Bastien starts pacing. “This plan still doesn’t help us free the Unchained.”

  “Not necessarily,” Marcel says. “Freeing Ailesse might open the channel between the Gates again.”

  “And if Ailesse is free,” Jules adds, “she can help Sabine link the two Gates together, like they did before. The Unchained will have a chance to escape while the channel is open.”

  I lift my brows at Jules. Marcel isn’t the only one who’s brilliant in their family.

  “Wait.” Marcel’s expression falls. “The channel could do the opposite, too. It could pull the rest of the Unchained out of Paradise and into the Underworld. That could be what Tyrus needs to force Elara’s kingdom to join his.”

  Oh. I didn’t think of that.

  Bastien blows out a heavy breath. “I’m sure that’s exactly what Tyrus wants—and Odiva and Godart will try to help him. Whatever pact she’s made, she’ll want to finish it.”

  “Good,” Cas says, a dark tone of challenge in his voice. “That means they’ll come to the land bridge of their own accord. We won’t have to trick them into it.”

  A hoarse voice joins the conversation. “They’ll come for my golden jackal pendant, too.”

  I gasp. Sabine’s eyes are finally open. Cas jerks around and grips her hand. I rush over and kneel at her side. She lies limp, no strength left in her body, but there’s a spark of fight in her eyes. Her gaze locks with Cas’s. Something almost tangible passes between them. The strength of its Light is so pure it penetrates the Miroir to me. I haven’t sensed that kind of Light since Bastien kissed me for the first time, in the tunnel above the cavern bridge. This is no passing flirtation, whether Sabine and Cas realize it or not.

  “What special graces does a golden jackal have?” Marcel asks Sabine, imperceptive as usual to his bad timing.

  “Let’s not press her with questions just yet,” Cas says.

  “It’s all right,” she rasps, clearing her throat. “The jackal doesn’t give me any extraordinary graces,” she answers. “I’m not sure why my mother and father need it, except . . .” She takes a labored breath, and Cas rubs the back of her hand. “. . . except it’s Tyrus’s sacred animal.” Bastien brings her a cup of water. She takes a sip. “All I know is that Godart was after the pendant when he attacked me.”

  I can’t determine why the pendant is so crucial. If anyone else has a guess, they don’t share it.

  Bastien takes up pacing again, his fingers laced at the nape of his neck. “All right,” he says. “Let’s go back to our plan. Say we can force Odiva to switch places with Ailesse, and say the exchange reverses Godart’s resurrection. None of that gives us leverage to bargain with Tyrus. We still need to figure out how to stop him from demanding blood sacrifice, or else the cycle goes on. Ailesse and Cas die within ten months.” He swallows hard. “More fathers die. More brothers. More friends.”

  “More of the Leurress who won’t kill their amourés,” Sabine murmurs.

  Jules sighs. “Look, we don’t have to solve everything today. We still have time to plot a way to defeat Tyrus.”

  “Time?” Bastien gives a miserable laugh.

  “Yes,” she replies. “We can’t do any of this until ferrying night, remember? The new moon doesn’t come for . . .”

  “Twelve more days,” Marcel supplies.

  “Sabine needs that long to recover, anyway,” Cas says, still holding her hand.

  Bastien takes another turn around the quarry room. Everyone’s eyes are on him, waiting for him to give the final word—even Cas, who has come to respect Bastien’s authority in the small kingdom of his quarry.

  “This plan is your best shot,” Jules says.

  “She’s right.” I stand and walk toward him. Maybe it’s just reckless hope building inside me or obstinate faith in my friends, but I feel an almost tangible certainty that our efforts are going to succeed. Whatever I have to do to escape the Miroir and help them defeat Tyrus—and my mother—I’m going to make that happen.

  Bastien finally looks at everyone and crosses his arms. I also turn to face them, at his side. “So are we all on board?” Each of them nods. He exhales a pent-up breath. “All right, then. Prepare yourselves. We leave nothing to chance.”

  “Nothing,” I echo. “There’s no room for failure.”

  “We have twelve days to come up with a strategy to cast Odiva into the Underworld.”

  “We’ve accomplished harder tasks in less time,” I chime in.

  “I’ll start by digging deeper in these books.” Marcel opens one of the volumes from Beau Palais. “There’s bound to be something useful in them.”

  “Good,” Bastien and I say together. “I want to make sure Sabine and Ailesse can really connect the Gates again,” he adds. “See what you can find out about linking them.”

  Marcel salutes him and eases into a comfortable position.

  “I’ll take up knife practice and strength training again,” Bastien continues. “My mind works better when I keep my body in motion.”

  “I’ll do the same,” Cas replies. “I have my throne to win back, and I can’t do that without challenging Godart.”

  “Maybe I can learn how to share my graces with all of you,” Sabine suggests. “If my mother can, then it’s possible. We’ll have a much better chance to succeed.”

  “I believe in you.” I smile at her.

  “Excellent.” Bastien claps his hands together. “Everyone get to work.”

  “Hold on.” Jules rises and sets her fisted hands on her hips. “Don’t you want to know what I’m going to do?”

  “Oh.” Bastien eyes the way her legs wobble with weakness. “Well, I figured you’d help Marcel. Those are some big books he’s got.”

  She pins him with an icy look. “Have you forgotten that I’m your best sparring partner, and I have a father I’d like to avenge, too?”

  He rocks back on his heels. “Definitely haven’t forgotten.”

  “Good, then . . .” A sudden coughing attack seizes her. Her handkerchief flies to her mouth, and she bends over, hacking for a long moment.

  “Are you all right?” He moves closer.

  She turns away and coughs a few times before she wipes her mouth clean. “Course I’m all right.” She stares down at her handkerchief. “Get your knife. We’ll practice in the church.”

  “You sure you don’t want to—?”

  She whirls on him. “Get. Your. Knife.”

  He holds up his hands and spins around to do as she says. After an awkward pause, everyone else returns to what they were doing. Everyone but me.

  I drift over to her and peer around Jules’s back at the handkerchief she’s hiding in her tensed grip.

  It’s soaked in the middle with a bright ring of blood.

  34

  Bastien

  I SIT ON A PEW in the nave of Chapelle du Pauvre, sharpening my father’s knife on a whetstone. Thunder rumbles outside, and rain drips through the cracks in the vaulted ceiling. The twilight seeping through the boarded-up windows is quickly turning to black. I don’t light a lantern. Lanterns can be
snuffed out. I need my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  The new moon is here. It’s ferrying night. Twelve days have passed since my friends and I concocted our plan, and it’s just as reckless and half-formed as it was then. We’ve had no breakthroughs on how to defeat Tyrus. Our only hope is that if we take back the souls stolen from Paradise, he’ll feel threatened and be willing to bargain with us.

  I slip my hand in my pocket and feel the scrap of Ailesse’s chemise. “Be there tonight,” I whisper, hoping she’ll be ready at the Gate when Sabine and I shove Odiva through it. Maybe, with all the graces of the Ferriers, they won’t need my help, but I’ll be damned if I’m not there to bring Ailesse out.

  The hatch door behind the altar creaks open. Sabine climbs out from the cellar with a lantern. I sigh. So much for adjusting my eyes to the dark.

  Cas, who has been practicing parrying moves in the chapel, sheathes his sword and wanders over to her like she’s just played him a siren song.

  Sabine has changed into a new white dress, one I stole for her. I didn’t tell her it’s the bridal dress of a soon-to-be duchess. That might be upsetting, and I need her to be focused. The crux of our plan depends on her tonight. She’s the one who has to open the Gates and channel them together. Maybe that means forcing Odiva to help her. Or maybe it means switching out Odiva and Ailesse first, so Ailesse can help Sabine connect the two realms of the Beyond.

  Merde, I hate that we don’t know what we’re doing.

  Jules steps out from the hatch next, with her own lantern. I stand as she saunters over to me and take in her tightly braided hair and washed blouse, and the two slim knives on the belt around her hips. This is how she dressed every full moon when we scouted bridges for Bone Criers. “You’re not coming tonight.” I cross my arms.

  She shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have one last knife fight with my best friend.” She sets a foot on the pew and tightens the laces on her tall boots. Her leather leggings, tucked inside, have grown a little loose over the past few days. Her cheeks are more sunken, too. While Sabine has been reviving, Jules keeps withering. It scares the hell out of me. “Your technique was sloppy last time,” she adds. “I’m not going to send you off to face the queen of the Bone Criers if you can’t even beat me in a practice round.”

  “Hey, now, I won most of those matches.”

  “Not the last three.”

  “Those don’t count.” I laugh. “You woke me up in the middle of the night.”

  “I had to catch you off guard somehow. Do you think Odiva will go easy on you?”

  I force another chuckle. The truth is I’ve gone easy on Jules. I could have knocked her knife away with no effort each time she took me by surprise, but I keep humoring her. Her pride is her greatest strength, and I won’t take that away.

  She draws one of her knives and lunges at me. I delay half a beat before I sidestep her. She swipes for my head, and I duck that as well.

  “Come on, Bastien.” She coughs into her handkerchief. “You can do more than dodge me. Pick up your knife.”

  I grab it from the pew and move into the aisle. How should I strike? What will look like I’m trying?

  I’m about to swing for her left thigh when Marcel bursts into the chapel through the hatch. He’s holding one of the fat books from Beau Palais. “Listen, everyone!” He trips on a moth-eaten rug. “You’ll never guess what I’ve discovered!”

  “How to connect the Gates?” I sheathe my blade. Thank the gods I have an excuse not to fight Jules anymore.

  “Or the secret to sharing graces?” Sabine moves closer. She’s had no luck finding a way to do so. Each of us has nicked our hands and arms several times, testing our blood on her bones.

  “You’re both wrong,” Marcel answers cheerfully. He hops up to sit on the dusty altar and opens the book. “Though it does have to do with your graces, Sabine—specifically those from your golden jackal. I’ve figured out why Odiva and Godart want that grace bone so badly.”

  She exchanges a tense glance with Cas. “Go on.”

  Marcel waves everyone over, and we gather around him. Jules hangs back a step, annoyed that her brother is interrupting our practice.

  “Listen to this.” He flips the pages until he reaches the one he’s looking for. “‘Gaëlle grew a majestic pear tree, the first in her orchard and the first to break soil from her virgin earth. All the beasts wanted to taste its fruit, but it was the golden jackal that crept into the orchard while Gaëlle was sleeping and bit into its flesh. Tyrus praised him for his cunning and claimed the jackal for his own.’”

  Marcel leans back and crosses his ankles over each other. “Guess what a pear represents.”

  No one answers.

  “The renewal of life. Immortality.”

  Sabine’s eyes grow large. Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. I glance behind me at Jules, whose mouth hangs open. I’m the only one not following. “How is that important?”

  Cas hangs his head. “Godart wants the jackal pendant so he can rule forever.”

  “And Odiva, too, if they can share the grace,” Jules adds soberly.

  “But . . . Sabine doesn’t have immortality.” I glance around at everyone. They seem to be forgetting that.

  “Maybe she does.” Marcel closes his book. “Birdine said the poison she drank should have killed her long before we gave her the antidote.”

  “So let me get this straight.” I hold up a hand. My brain is spinning. “You’re saying Sabine can’t die?”

  Marcel’s smile splits wide. “Yep.”

  Overwhelmed, Sabine sits on the edge of the platform surrounding the altar. Jules gives a low whistle. Cas stands frozen. I stumble back a step and rub my brow. “Merde.”

  Sabine’s fingers shake as she touches the jackal grace bone hanging from her neck.

  “This is good news, right?” Marcel hops down from the altar and claps a hand on her shoulder. “It should give you an advantage when you confront your mother.”

  “Not if she steals the jackal pendant.” Sabine tucks her necklace deep inside the front of her dress.

  I take up pacing. One part of Marcel’s theory still doesn’t add up. “How can immortality be a grace? Golden jackals don’t live forever. If they did, Sabine wouldn’t have been able to kill one.”

  “But Tyrus lives forever,” Marcel says. “And the golden jackal represents him. Sabine’s blood on the jackal bone is what first invoked its graces in her—Tyrus’s graces—including immortality.”

  Cas sighs bitterly. “Now I understand what Godart meant when he compared himself to a god. He said he’d no longer bleed when Paradise is empty. He won’t require Sabine’s salamander skull if Tyrus can make him indestructible.” He sits beside her, placing a gentle hand on her back.

  I think about what happened on the last full moon. “I’m not so sure about that. On the cavern bridge, Odiva smeared Sabine’s blood onto the salamander skull and asked Tyrus to give her ‘daughter’s father back his flesh, bone, and blood.’”

  Sabine nods numbly. “The skull sealed his resurrection.”

  “And if he and Odiva get the jackal pendant,” I add, “then Godart stays alive forever, along with her.” Cas’s jaw muscle tics. “They need both grace bones.”

  Jules steps forward. “Well, we’re not going to let them live forever, are we?”

  I frown at her. “We?”

  She sets her hand on her hip. “You better give me some credit for helping to save the world, even if I can’t be with you tonight.”

  Before I can reply, the heavy door to the church opens and Birdine slips inside. Her cloak is damp with rain. I can’t remember a summer that’s been so wet. The storms keep rolling through, one after another.

  “Bad news.” Birdine’s airy voice drifts across the chapel to us. Sabine and Cas stand. I curse under my breath. What now?

  Marcel hurries over to her, meeting her halfway down the aisle. If this were any other time, I might crack a joke about how they look like they�
�re about to get hitched. They might just do that, young as they are, if Jules gives them her blessing. Marcel’s ready to make a living at his scribe work, and Birdine wants to help him. They have their lives figured out, which is more than the rest of us can say.

  Marcel rubs her arms. “Is it your uncle?”

  “He’s all right.” The lantern light glints on her red and puffy eyes. She’s been anticipating his death for days, and she tears up easily. “It’s the tides that are the trouble.” She turns to the rest of us. “I overheard a few fishermen in the city. They were complaining about the high level of the sea. South Galle has had too many storms. The beaches are flooded.” She swallows. “What if the land bridge doesn’t surface by midnight?”

  I scratch the back of my neck and turn my heavy stare on Sabine. “Can the Gates open if they’re underwater?”

  She tugs her lip between her teeth. “I think so. The bridge rarely floods, but I’ve heard of it happening once or twice, and it didn’t stop the ferrying. It will be much more difficult, though. Some of the Leurress have graces to help them swim or hold their breath, but you . . . ?” She shakes her head.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Cas folds his arms. “I can help Bastien haul a rowboat to the inlet.”

  “Good. Then the plan stays the same.” We can’t wait another month until the next new moon. Odiva and Godart will be at the land bridge tonight, flooded or not, to make their final attempt to drain Paradise of its souls. “We have to get moving,” I tell Cas and Sabine. “Dragging a rowboat over seven miles is going to slow us down—not to mention exhaust us.”

  Sabine lifts a brow. “Not if I drag it.”

  Cas chuckles, and I shrug. “Fair enough.”

  Birdine starts crying. She gives the three of us farewell hugs, like we’re being sent to our deaths. She and Marcel are going to stay back with Jules. They’re not fighters like the rest of us, and Jules couldn’t even make the journey to the inlet without collapsing into a coughing fit. I don’t want them anywhere near Odiva and Godart and the hordes of the Chained.

  While Sabine comforts Birdine, Jules gives Marcel a long and affectionate embrace. His smiles, brow wrinkled. “What’s this for?”