The Bone Sword Read online

  Resolving to keep away from all public places in the future, no matter how dire his situation became, Malik disappeared into the darkness.

  But despite the resolution, deep down he knew, his life had just become a whole lot more complicated.

  Chapter 2

  Gift or Curse?

  Noah Scout sat next to the window of his family’s tiny hut and watched the rain pour eternally from the sky. He looked out over the hand-built fence that contained Bella the cow and Steed the horse. The two miserable animals huddled together in the darkening wet. It had rained for over a week, and although the ceaseless droplets made the air cold and damp, Noah was thankful for them. Somehow, it made it seem as if Mother Nature, herself, were paying her respects. It simply wouldn’t have been appropriate, in Noah’s opinion, for his father to die on a blue-sky, sunny day.

  Noah looked at the little cot that held his father. He sat next to a small fire that Noah had tended sparingly with the few pieces of dry wood left. The sight of his father pained him greatly. The once-tall, full-bodied man seemed a shadow of his former self. His arms had shrunken with the loss of alimentation, and even seemed shorter somehow, swallowed up by a bed that had never before been able to contain him.

  Tending Noah’s father, the village healer who still had raindrops on his jacket from the recent sprint to the Scout household. Noah had matching droplets on his shoulders and brow, having finally capitulated and ran to get the man despite his fear of the consequences or the price.

  It seemed like the healer only came around when there was someone to be buried. Death followed him, and the prospect of death never quite seemed as real as when he arrived.

  As if in answer to Noah’s thoughts, the healer looked up from his patient and momentarily met eyes with Noah’s. He shook his head slowly.

  Oddly, Noah felt nothing. He loved his father dearly, but in that moment there was only numbness. It confused him. He turned his eyes from the healer and sought out those of his twin sister, Jasmine. Sitting as she had since the first day their father had taken ill, at his side, stroking one of his emaciated hands. She sat in a small rocking chair Noah had made for her. The sight of it made him remember the hours it took him to carve and treat the wood. The memory’s vividness was strange.

  Along with the memory, Noah found himself pacified by his sister’s beauty. Her golden hair—always immaculate even though she never spent a moment tending it—spilled around her shoulders with natural elegance and perfection. There was just something calming about her. Even the darkness of the forest didn’t seem so engulfing in her presence.

  Or the darkness of death.

  “Children, I’m sorry,” the healer spoke, his voice echoed through the humbly furnished room and roused Noah from his thoughts. “There’s nothing I can do for him. I am going to summon a priest.”

  The healer stood awkwardly and glanced about as if he had forgotten something. Noah watched him in silence, but a single thought ran through his head. I know what you forgot old man: you forgot to help. That’s what you’re casting about for! But Noah said nothing.

  The healer hesitated another moment before shuffling out of the room. Noah was hardly aware of the departure. Jasmine didn’t show any sign of notice, either.

  The brother, the sister, and the stricken father sat together in the silent house and listened to the rain. They shared many moments like this, Noah reflected wistfully. Many moments in good times and in bad …

  Would this be the last?

  But even that unvoiced declaration didn’t penetrate him. He still felt nothing, and somehow that was more painful than the sorrow he knew would come. His father lied dying. Why couldn’t he grieve? Once again his eyes turned to Jasmine, and this time she met his gaze.

  A spark seemed to jump between them, and in that instant, the truth became all too tangible. Jasmine sat up sharply and filled her lungs with air, which she instantly spit out in a rushed exhalation.

  “No!” She declared defiantly.

  “Jasmine, he’s dying,” Noah replied, a flicker of fear coming over him.

  “He doesn’t have to, you know that as well as I do!”

  Fear broke through Noah’s facade and he found his heart racing at the thought of what Jasmine was proposing.

  “Jasmine, you can’t!”

  “And why can’t I?” she said, forcing her perfectly formed chin forward as a measure of hope entered her tone. “I’ve healed animals haven’t I? I’ve taken the fever away from mindless barnyard creatures, why not our own father?”

  “Because it is forbidden!” Noah exclaimed in a hushed whisper glancing around as if he were fearful someone might be listening, “There is no notice when such acts are performed with the lesser animals, but if you were to do it with a man it would draw attention! They’ll call it witchcraft! Father would not want this!”

  Noah’s voice hissed into silence and merged with the rain. With it went the last vestige of hope. Noah watched regretfully as his sister dropped her eyes and placed her hands on her father in an act of supplication. Seeking to comfort her, Noah slipped down from his perch by the window and crossed the room to lay his hands upon her lithe shoulders.

  “We have to let him go,” he said, attempting bravery that felt as false as the rain was cold. “Nobody would understand if he recovered now.”

  “I should have done it weeks ago,” Jasmine said as large tears rolled down her cheeks. “I should have never let him convince me not to.”

  Noah settled in beside his sister and embraced her. He placed his cheek against hers and was surprised to feel it moisten with tears, both hers and his. The revelation so astounded him that at first he didn’t recognize that his sister’s body temperature seemed to be rising. When the truth came to him, he pulled back, confused, and then opened his mouth in shock as he realized what was happening.

  “Jasmine! No!”

  But it was too late. A brilliant, white glow had already formed itself beneath Jasmine’s hands. Noah had seen the miracle a thousand times, but it never grew less fascinating or astonishing. For the thousand and first time, he was captivated by the sight and powerless to do anything about it or look away.

  The light emanating from Jasmine’s hands stretched out like a heavy liquid and quickly enveloped their father’s weak and shuddering form. Before their eyes, his tense muscles seemed to relax and expand. The strained expression on his delirious face cleared. In the next moment, he blinked his eyes and regarded the brother and sister lovingly.

  “My children. My dear children,” he said.

  “Father!” the two of them cried together and bent forward for a euphoric hug. For a moment, it was as if their world had been returned to them. It was a joyful moment that lasted for an eternal minute. The three of them sobbed and laughed and held each other tight. All their fears forgotten in an endless expression of pure, unbridled joy.

  But like all moments of true happiness, it was not to last.

  “What’s this?” screamed a voice from the door, and with the voice came darkness and a chill beyond any drizzling rain or cold, sunless night. The sensation of death and defeat that had been so soundly driven from the premises only a brief moment before was suddenly back with a terrible vengeance.

  Noah looked up to see the purple robes of the district priest, a cold, hardened man named Ivory, and Noah had not been the only village child to receive severe retribution from his punishing cane. Beside him stood the befuddled healer, wide-mouthed with a look of unabashed shock and surprise plastered across his stupid face.

  “My liege, only a minute ago this man was on the verge of death. I cannot think what might have occurred.” The words spilled out like a desperate torrent from the healer’s mouth, and at the moment of their utterance, Noah knew he and his sister were lost.

  From the depths of his sweat-soaked bed, Noah’s father threw a concerned look at Jasmine.

  “My daughter, you didn’t…” but the question died on his lips as Jasmine’s head fell in
shame. The ominous cloud gathering around them thickened.

  “I couldn’t sit by and do nothing as you died,” she whispered.

  “I tried to stop her, Father,” Noah said. “Really, I did.” He leaned forward to hug his father again, the tears bursting from him now. Deep down he knew he wanted Jasmine to proceed as much as she had. He never truly made an effort to stop her. He felt he had failed and he didn’t know who. Guilt welled inside him, as suffocating as the encroaching presence.

  But as in all moments of despair, their father’s voice was a guiding light.

  “It’s alright my children,” he said calmly, “you’ve done nothing wrong.” Somehow those words seemed to make Noah’s burden lighter. But again, it was only for a moment.

  “I’ll be the judge of right and wrong,” came the bitter voice of Father Ivory. He whirled toward the healer with a gaze so foul it made the little man flinch. “Did you not tell me that this man was dying, or did you lie to a servant of Lightbringer?”

  The little healer’s lip trembled in fear. “I swear to you,” he sputtered, “there was nothing that could be done, the poor farmer was about to pass to the next world. It must be a miracle!”

  Whatever the healer’s intention, the words did not sit well with Father Ivory. A hardness came over his sharp features, and when he next spoke, it was with condemnation.

  “I am the master of miracles in this district!” Ivory sneered, and the healer winced. “If this man was not cured by my hand, then it must have been by the Demon!” He whirled upon the two children in a fury. “What have you done?”

  Noah looked at Jasmine, who again dropped her head.

  “My liege,” their father interrupted, “the fever simply broke, there is no explanation for it.”

  “Silence!” screamed Ivory, then, pointing at Noah, he uttered one final word that sounded as much like an order as an accusation. “You!”

  “Me, sir?” Noah replied.

  “Speak, and remember that you are talking to a member of the clergy. Tell no lies!”

  Noah hesitated a long, terrified moment. He risked one nervous look at his father. His father gazed back at him and nodded almost imperceptibly. Suddenly a strange calm came over Noah.

  “Very well, sir,” Noah said. “My sister healed him.”

  Father Ivory tilted his head sideways but he said nothing. Somehow, Noah knew he was meant to continue.

  “She has been able to heal for years, although she has never used this talent with people before, just with animals. It’s a gift. We’ve always thought of it as a gift from Lightbringer, sir.”

  Silence descended on the room. Slowly, methodically, Father Ivory lifted one of his gloved fingers to his lips. The gloves had been handmade in the distant Isles of Miriam from the silk of a rare beetle that lived there. Just one finger on one of those gloves was worth more than the entire Scout family’s belongings.

  After a reflective moment, Father Ivory nodded. He then lifted his hand and struck Noah with a vengeful slap that sent boy reeling to the floor.

  “I am Lightbringer’s servant, it is my right to determine His acts!” he screamed, spittle frothing at his mouth.

  Noah lifted the back of his hand to his lip and found a trickle of blood there. The room spun. The darkness that had collected took to foot and danced, cackling gleefully in a horrible celebration all around him.

  But Father Ivory hadn’t finished.

  “Guard!” he screamed, collecting the huddling siblings. “Take these two to my carriage. There is devilry here that needs further examining.”

  An armored man entered and grasped Noah firmly by the arm. The boy attempted to struggle but it was futile. The man’s grasp was like a vice and Noah received an incapacitating box to the ear as a result.

  Noah’s father tried to rise from his bed, but he was still weak. Jasmine’s power was miraculous, but the man still needed time to rest if he were ever to regain his full strength. Noticing his attempts, Ivory struck him viciously as well. Noah cried out in anguish as his father fell backwards onto his bed.

  “As for you,” Father Ivory sneered, “the only explanation I can conceive of is that you have sold your soul to the Demon. You must be purified … with fire!”

  “No!” Jasmine and Noah yelled, but there was nothing they could do. Father Ivory’s wish was his command and soon the room bustled with armored men. The next moments went by so fast that neither Noah nor Jasmine could adequately process them. They saw only rushing armored men, the specter of Father Ivory, and the all-consuming darkness. Several soldiers tied the children’s father to the small hut’s central post, while the others piled loose brush around his feet. In just a few agonizing moments, the pyre was prepared.

  “My children,” Noah’s father yelled, and the desperation in his voice gave Noah a surge of strength. He wrenched hard against the clamping hands that had burrowed into his arms, and in his frenzy, he felt their grip loosen. Encouraged, he kicked back violently, his head flailing madly with the effort.

  “Father!” he cried, reaching forward with a hand that had come free.

  His other arm was jerked nearly out of its socket by the black and ominous force that stood behind him. Noah felt the pinch of the grip around his still-captive hand flare up in a punishing fury. He looked back just in time to see a descending, gauntleted fist catch him in the temple.

  The blow caused him to bite his tongue; his head and his senses reeled in hysterical confusion.

  Somewhere through the cloud that descended upon him, he could still hear his father’s voice.

  “My children … I love you … my children…”

  In a blur, Noah felt himself dragged from the room, through the long grass outside the hut, and thrown unceremoniously upon a wooden, straw-covered surface. As the surface began to rock beneath him, he deduced he must be on some sort of cart.

  Aware of the sensation of heat, he seen the flare of intense light through the half-conscious fog of his vision. The acrid smell of the smoke infiltrated his lungs, forcing him to cough uncontrollably.

  “Father!” he said, speaking the word with as much force as he could manage. But the only sound he made was weak and barely coherent.

  “Father!” he said again.

  This time his plea was answered by a voice that, at first, was recognizable as his father’s, but which quickly escalated in tone and terror until it began to sound distinctly non-human.

  The last thing Noah heard was Father Ivory’s smug comment.

  “You see, he did have the devil inside. No mere mortal could make such a sound.”

  As Father Ivory’s dark laughter swelled around him like a vortex, Noah, mercifully, surrendered to the night.

  Chapter 3

  Snapping Fangs

  Malik heard dogs baying in the distance. He grabbed a low-hanging tree branch and swung himself over a muddy ravine. He moved quicker now, as quick as his fever and exhaustion would allow.

  The dogs were after him.

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath as he slipped on a muddy patch and fell to one knee. For a moment, nausea and weakness assaulted him, and he had a difficult time forcing himself back to his feet.

  The rain had mercifully stopped earlier in the day, but Malik almost wished it back. It wasn’t easy for a dog to track in the rain. Even the humid air that boiled up from the droplet-covered woodland should have proved an almost insurmountable challenge for all but the very best animals. Still, without question, the dogs after him had been getting closer over the last few hours. That led Malik to conclude for the Earl of Miscony to have such animals—presuming his involvement—he must be a nobleman of no small clout. The fact that those animals were currently employed in Malik’s pursuit indicated the earl’s relationship with Bertrand, the oaf, had been significantly more than idle boast.

  “Damn,” he said again. It was another piece of information in a long list of items entitled “things I wish I’d known before I killed somebody.”

 
Bertrand the Oaf.

  Bertrand the Blow-hard.

  Bertrand the Dead.

  “Damn,” Malik said again, “Bertrand’s death will be mine as well.”

  Despite his delirium, Malik made good progress through the woods. The trees weren’t the same as those of Camden where he received his training, but the principals were inherently similar. Look for water, look for mud, hide your scent, and leave false tracks. Malik had done all these things; still, the dogs pursued.

  In his hand, he carried a small throwing dagger. It was one of three that remained in a sheath designed to carry ten. That was the problem with throwing daggers, he thought ruefully, sometimes you couldn’t stick around to retrieve them.

  As he knifed through the forest, he whittled on a piece of hard oak. The task distracted him slightly from his progress but it wasn’t an idle pastime. He worked at carving a thin spike about two inches long, and arming it with long barbs on either end.

  The spike was just about finished when he noticed rustling movement in the leaves. Barely looking up, Malik sent the dagger spinning into the foliage. The target produced a tremendous squeal and thrashing that Malik pounced upon like a tiger. Pushing away a branch, Malik found himself gazing at the contorting body of a squirrel. The throwing dagger was lodged deep in its tiny body. In one deft motion, Malik picked up the creature and quickly killed it. Then he was running again with the squirrel, the dagger, and the spike all in hand.

  The noise of the squirrel set the dogs off baying again and that, in turn, got Malik’s heart pumping. He wasn’t one to panic, for he had a long experience of taking great risks and having them turn out in his favor, but he wasn’t above admitting that he was concerned.

  Dogs tended to concern anybody.

  Especially dogs as good as these appeared to be.

  With a few quick, practiced motions, Malik skinned his prey and squeezed the blood onto the ground. He didn’t care how well the hounds were trained, the smell of blood would excite them beyond control.

  He carried the squirrel for a few hundred meters, leaving a wide blood trail until he was sure the air was sufficiently full of the smell of death to drive the hounds crazy. He then sheathed his dagger and proceeded to insert the wooden spike sideways into the squirrel’s flesh. The sharpened points on either end of the spike stuck out of the carcass in an obvious fashion, but that couldn’t be helped. It wouldn’t matter anyway, no dog was going to withhold its death clamp when the smell of blood was in the air.