Bone War (4 page)

“Yes,” said Nu.

“True,” said Tan.

Aisa said, “Pendra said that because I lived first as a
slave and then as a woman of power, that because I had lived among the Fae and the Kin and was a friend to the Stane, that because I could wield the sickle and cut life without flinching, I was best suited to take her place. But then the two of you came to my and Hamzu's bedroom the morning after the golem's attack and you said Pendra had disappeared. And that was the last we saw of you. If you are not asking me to take Pendra's place, why are you coming to us now?”

“We were hoping to find her ourselves,” said Nu.

“Keep up the Garden ourselves,” said Tan. “But we could not. And so we need your help for the moment. Look about you. What do you see?”

Although the remark hadn't been addressed to him, Danr looked. The Garden stretched in all directions, until it curled downward and away to Danr's left. Behind him, the Garden crawled up a massive wall that vanished into the distance above, and the plants didn't seem to notice or care that they defied gravity. Danr felt he could have walked straight up that wall himself, and it was probably true. It wasn't actually a wall, but the trunk of Ashkame itself. The branch the three of them were standing on was so huge that it looked like a mountain covered with a riot of trees and plant life.

The branch Danr stood on was tilted a bit. Quite a lot, actually. It was like standing on a gentle but persistent slope, and he had to lean in order to stay upright. Even after everything he had been through, it was more than a little difficult to understand that someone who had grown up a half-blood thrall in northern Balsia was standing in such a powerful place.

The air was cool and crisp as a new daffodil, and a light spring breeze blew—Danr's favorite weather and favorite season. The sunlight was indirect, as if filtered through leaves high above, and it didn't hurt even his light-sensitive, trollish eyes. Really, despite the chaos and the splendor, it was the perfect garden for a half-blood onetime farmer, and
he felt at once at home and relaxed in this fine and beautiful place, indeed, he did.

But that itch, that shadow, was still there, maddeningly at the edge of awareness. And then, cursing himself for an idiot, he closed his right eye and looked only with his left.

Nearly three years ago, Danr had encountered a trio of giants who had granted him—or saddled him with—the power of truth. The power prevented him from telling even the smallest lie and forced him to answer fully any question put to him, no matter how painful the truth might be. It also granted him the power to see the truth through his left eye. When he looked at the Garden with his right eye shut, it . . . changed. The shift was small and subtle, but now it was clear, and he couldn't understand how he had missed it before.

The Garden was dying. Leaves were curling up or turning yellow. Some were blackened and slimy. Danr's left eye spotted insects and disease—end rot that blackened tomatoes, downy mildew that yellowed lettuce, aphids that devoured roses, and rust that reddened grass. The breeze blew wafts of a thick musty smell now and again, and Danr wrinkled his nose in disapproval.

Nu and Tan noticed his expression, and they turned to him. “What do you see?” they asked together.

Danr couldn't help answering. “This place is falling into ruin,” he said in his low, husky voice. “What's the cause?”

“It started in Twixthame,” said Nu.

“It began in the middle,” added Tan.

Then both women paused, as if waiting for something. Then Aisa stepped forward.

“It . . . commenced in the center,” she finished in her lilting accent.

Nu and Tan looked visibly relieved.

“Our gratitude,” said Nu.

“Our gratefulness,” said Tan.

“Er . . . thank you,” said Aisa.

“The sickness is the fault of someone in Twixthame using magic most foul and dread.” Nu twisted the top of her seed bag. “We cannot see the source. Not without Pendra. But we need help.”

“With what?”

Nu clutched at her seed bag. “The two of us cannot keep up with the weeds and tangles in the Garden. The two of us cannot root out disease and unease. With only two, the power is incomplete.”

“We are Three,” said Tan. “We are two who revolve around one in the center, a compass needle balanced on a fulcrum, a single-spoked wheel turning around a hub. Without the center, we cannot move.”

“What is that to do with me?” Aisa asked.

“You are not Pendra,” said Nu. “But you are close. You can help. When you are here, we work better.”

“And you can work as well.”

Here, Aisa looked taken aback. “I can? How?”

“Tend the Garden.” Tan swept a hand at the distance. “Touch it. Feel it. Smell it. Become one with it. You will know what to do.”

“But even if you do not, sister,” said Nu, “your presence allows us to tend the plants better.”

Danr swallowed hard. “So you're saying Aisa has to stay here now. Forever. Or until you find Pendra.”

“No,” said Aisa.

“Never,” said Tan.

“Not yet,” said Nu. “Mortals cannot survive in the Garden for very long. You cannot eat here. Or drink. Or sleep. Eventually, you will go mad and die. So no, you may only stay for a few hours at a time. But even that will help. As will any work you do, sister.”

“And now we must work,” said Nu.

“Labor,” said Tan.

Another pause, and Aisa said, “Drudge.”

The two Gardeners gave a pair of wan smiles and slid away. The Garden swallowed their cloaked forms up, and they were gone.

Danr watched them go, then sank to the ground with his forearms on his knees. He felt weak and washed out, and he was still naked.

“Well,” he said at last, “what do we do now?”

She sat beside him. “I feel a great deal of power in this place,” she said absently. “It did not take much energy for me to become human.”

“Then why did you take mine?” he asked with a grin. He knew the answer.

“Because I like it, my Hamzu. It is like drinking fine wine, and it feels almost as good as when we share . . . other things.” Her hand ran down his leg, and his body responded. He grinned again.

“I can't think of anything better to do in this garden,” he said.

“Then we think the same way,” Aisa said. “And I do love a man who knows my mind.”

“Before you get too far, sweeties,” said a new voice, “I thought we might have a chat as well.”

They both twisted around. Standing behind them was a short, plump woman in a scarlet dress and a white lacy shawl. Her gray braids were coiled in a mass about her head and held in place with a pair of bone knitting needles. Even though the Garden light was steady, the woman's face was somehow thrown into shadow, not quite visible. She held one hand out before her, palm up, and over it hovered a glowing figure the size of a human head. The figure twisted and shifted, its shape never settling for long.

“Death,” said Aisa.

“With a sprite,” said Danr breathlessly. The day was proving more and more extraordinary, even for him.

“What are you doing in the Garden?” Aisa asked.

“Who is guarding your door?” Danr said at the same time.

“I haven't left my door, dear,” said Death. “No need to stand. I've seen you naked already and don't need to see it again.”

“Er . . . right,” said Danr, wondering what would happen to some poor soul on Twixthame if he snatched a branch off a nearby bush and used it for modesty. “Sorry. We got caught in the middle of the ocean, and—”

“She does not care, Hamzu,” Aisa interrupted. “My lady, you have a reason to interrupt us, I am sure.”

Danr blinked at her, then made his face into an impassive mask. He and Aisa had met Death several times and had completed several tasks at her request, including killing a giant squid that had nearly killed both of them. Despite the number of times he had spoken directly with her, Danr had never lost his awe of Death, but Aisa seemed to find her more and more exasperating as time went on, a trait Danr found endlessly unnerving.

“Have you seen your sisters?” Death countered.

“You mean Nu and Tan?” Aisa said. “They are not my sisters quite yet. They were here a moment ago, but I do not know where they—”

“I found the reason the Garden is sick,” Death interrupted, brandishing the sprite. “And I'm holding it in my hand.”

T
he man with the melted face stared at Talfi for a long moment. Talfi stared back, unable to move. It was like looking in a twisted mirror. Talfi's first thought—

I have a brother?

—flickered and died like a firefly. Glass glittered in broken-diamond shards on the cobblestones, and the crowd behind him seemed to fade into nothing. All Talfi could see were the candle-wax features of the man who had half his face.

At that moment, a pair of guards in red and gold livery pushed through the crowd. “What's this, then?” one demanded.

Talfi was still staring at the melted features of the other man. “You—” he managed. “Who—?”

The man stared back from under ragged brown hair. His withered right hand clutched the cloak at his throat. “You—” he echoed.

Just behind him, Ranadar and Kalessa gave identical gasps. Ranadar said, “What in the name of the Nine Gods?”

“Vik!” barked Kalessa. “Who is that?”

The moment broke. The candle-wax man looked sharply around him and seemed to notice for the first time the gaping bottler and the gawking crowd. He pushed past Talfi,
who was still too startled to react, and tried to lose himself in the mass of people. One of the guards grabbed his arm.

“Just a moment,” he said. “Where did you—?”

The candle-wax man stiff-armed the guard in the chest. The guard flew backward and bowled into the people behind him. He went down in a red and gold tangle of arms, legs, and swearwords. Kalessa's knife leaped into her hand and flickered into a full-length sword while the second guard drew his own sword and lunged for the candle-wax man. The candle-wax man, moving with a cat's own speed, stepped aside and snatched the guard's sword out of his hand. With a screech of metal, he bent the sword in half.

Kalessa didn't pause. She leaped forward and thrust her blade straight into the candle-wax man's shoulder. There was a dreadful sound of metal sliding through flesh, and Kalessa came face-to-face with the candle-wax man's distorted features over her hilt. The candle-wax man blinked at her.

“You will not die today,” she growled. “But you will come with us.”

The candle-wax man grabbed the front of her tunic and lifted her free of the ground. Kalessa was so startled she let go of her sword. The candle-wax man flung Kalessa aside like a terrier tossing away a rat. She crashed into another booth. With another awful noise, the candle-wax man pulled her sword out of his own body. There was no blood. Talfi was too shocked to do anything but stare.

Now Ranadar lunged for the man, and his hand touched the candle-wax man's bare forearm. Talfi recognized what Ranadar was doing. A long, lingering touch would addict the candle-wax man to Ranadar, and the man would be unable to resist any command Ranadar gave until the day one of them died.

“Ran!” Talfi cried. “Don't!”

It was too late. A faint glow engulfed Ranadar's fingers as the glamour took hold. Kalessa's sword clattered to the
cobblestones. Talfi took a step toward them, hoping to break them apart.

A mask of fear crossed Ranadar's face. He howled and snatched his hand away. The candle-wax man shoved Ranadar backward, and he fell against Talfi. Like Kalessa and the guardsmen, they both went down. A piece of broken bottle sliced Talfi's knee with red-hot pain.

“The Nine!” Talfi snarled. “Get off me!”

Ranadar rolled away, his cloak protecting him from more broken glass. Talfi got carefully to his feet, hot blood streaming down his leg. Nearby, Kalessa had also emerged from the booth. The candle-wax man was gone. The crowd slowly went back about its business in the twilight market.

“Are you all right,
Talashka
?” Ranadar asked.

Talfi put weight on his leg and winced. He'd been hoping to run after the man, but his knee hurt too much. “I'll be fine, but I won't be winning any races for a while.”

Kalessa strode over, her face stormy. “Who the Vik was that?”

“I don't know,” said Talfi. “Scared the shit out of me, whoever he was.”

“My
Talashka
,” Ranadar repeated, touching his face. “You can't—”

Talfi caught his hand. “Why did you try to addict him, Ran?”

“I—” Ranadar's face went pale under his hood. “I was not trying. I was only—”

“Who's going to pay for my broken bottles?” interrupted the bottler. “Half my stock is destroyed. Weeks of work!”

“I am sorry, friend,” Kalessa said. “It was not our doing.”

The balding man's face grew as stormy as Kalessa's, and orc and human looked surprisingly alike. “Someone has to pay! I have children to feed! A landlord who wants rent!”

Ranadar raised his hood to show his ears. The man flinched and raised his hands defensively. “Filthy Fae!” he
said. “Just like all your muck-sucking kind. Did you enjoy destroying an honest man's living? Piece of shit like you isn't worth the—”

Ranadar, face impassive, flipped the man a coin. It was a gold hand, more than the bottler made in six months. Startled, the man snatched it out of midair.

“Go home and tell your children that not all Fae are cruel,” Ranadar said, “and even a few are kind.”

“I—yes, my lord.” The bottler bowed and scuttled back to his booth.

“Ran,” Talfi growled. “Why did you—?”

“Not here,” Ranadar replied shortly. “We may as well end the day with one more explosion. Come along.”

Heedless of the stares from nearby merchants and customers, Ranadar drew figures in the air with his fingers. They glowed for a moment, and disappeared quickly. When he was done, the elf was panting a little, and a faint shimmer marked the air in front of them.

“Really?” Talfi said.

“I would rather walk than Twist,” Kalessa grumbled.

“Do not waste it,” Ranadar said. “Go. Before I lose concentration.”

Talfi sighed and forced himself to step through.

The
wrench
wasn't too bad. Then he exploded into a thousand, million, billion pieces that scattered all across the universe. He was a trillion seeds floating in a hurricane. After several frightening seconds, he was able to clutch at a twig and follow it to a branch, and then to a trunk. His body came together, and he burst back into existence.

For a bad moment, memory took over and he was lying on a grassy plain, screaming in agony with his right leg lopped off at midthigh. Smoke rose from the cauterized wound, and the stench of cooked flesh filled his nose. His breath came fast and his heart howled in his ears.

And then he was back in the right place, in the room he shared with Ranadar at Mrs. Farley's boardinghouse. Nausea swam through his stomach from the Twist, but it wasn't
as bad as he had feared—the boardinghouse wasn't far from the market. A more distant Twist would have had him heaving up three days' worth of meals. He clutched at his leg and stared about the room with wild eyes.

Kalessa burst into the room a fraction of a second later, looking a bit greener than usual, and Ranadar appeared right after. The Twist snapped shut behind them. Ranadar pushed back his hood.

“That was not easy, with all the iron in the—Vik!” He caught sight of Talfi's face. “
Talashka!
What is it?”

“I . . . I almost forgot. And I remembered.” Talfi was having a difficult time with words just now. “The Twist took my leg. I wasn't—I didn't—”

“Vik!” Ranadar swore again. He put an arm around Talfi and guided him to the bed. “What happened? Kalessa, bring some spirits. Mrs. Farley usually has some brandywine in the kitchen.”

Kalessa dashed out the door while Talfi leaned against Ranadar and tried to sort himself out. Ranadar touched his face and examined his hands, and it took Talfi a moment to understand that Ranadar was checking him for injuries.

“What happened?” Ranadar asked. “Was it a stray memory? Something from a hundred years ago?”

Talfi shook his head. “Not even five. Vik! I'd almost forgotten. I
did
forget it. And then I remembered it. And then I remembered it again, but I forgot that I did.” His hands shook. He knew he wasn't making sense, but he couldn't seem to pull himself together.

“It will be all right,” Ranadar said, and he pulled Talfi close again. “It was just a memory. It was not happening again.”

Talfi sighed and tried to make himself relax against Ranadar's body, but he couldn't seem to make his muscles unclench and his fingers were cold. After a moment, Kalessa returned with a clay mug, which Ranadar pressed to his lips. Talfi drank, and the brandywine burned all the way down.
Then, remembering something Aisa always did, he poured some over the bloody cut on his knee. That burned, too, and he sucked at his teeth. Ranadar gave him a handkerchief to press to the wound.

“How is it?” the elf asked.

“It's fine. Just painful.”

“Mrs. Farley was a little startled to see me,” Kalessa reported. “I believe she and the butcher are carrying on in some way, judging by what I saw when I entered the kitchen. I do not wish to see such a thing again.”

“Good for her,” Ranadar said. “Do you know where Aisa is? I would feel better if she examined Talfi.”

“She and Danr went down to the beach with that rowboat,” Kalessa said. “They are probably halfway to the Flor Isles by now.”

“Nothing for that, then. But I do know Talfi will need food to ground him after a nasty shock like this. Could you—?”

“I was just down there,” Kalessa protested. “Who knows what Mrs. Farley and the butcher are doing with that piece of meat he brought?”

“Just go, please.”

Kalessa stumped away, muttering about orcish princesses being treated like servants. Meanwhile, the brandywine had warmed Talfi a little, and he was able to relax. Ranadar touched his hair. “Tell me what it was.”

Talfi breathed out hard. “It was my leg.”

“Your leg,” Ranadar repeated.

“I told you about it. When Danr's grandmother Twisted him and Aisa and me from Glumenhame to Xaron, she made a mistake.”

“Because the Twist was so distant,” Ranadar said, remembering now.

Talfi nodded. “Danr and Aisa were all right, but the Twist cut my leg off. Aisa stopped me from bleeding to death, but then the orcs came and . . .”

“They sliced off your head.” Ranadar hugged him again. “Barbarians. My
Talashka.
I am so sorry.”

“I don't remember much about my head,” Talfi said. “Kalessa's father pulled his sword out and the next thing I knew, I was sitting up next to a funeral pyre. My funeral pyre. And my leg was back. That doesn't bother me—I die and come back all the time.”

“The boy who forgot how to die,” Ranadar said with a small smile.

“The traitor elf,” Talfi replied with a small smile of his own. “I just . . . when you Twisted us back here, the memory of my leg slapped me so hard, it was like I was there again, bleeding on the plains of Xaron.”

“I've Twisted you since then,” Ranadar said. “Death has, too. You didn't react this way then.”

“I think it was the shock of seeing that guy with the melted face,” Talfi said. “It just . . . unsettled me, and then I was pissed at you, and then we Twisted, and it was just a little much.”

“Oh,” Ranadar said. “Yes. Er . . . you . . .”

At that moment, Kalessa banged back into the room with a tray of food—bread and cheese and jam and fruit and even a pot of tea. “Will this do, Your Majesty?”

“Thanks,” said Talfi, accepting the tray on his lap. Kalessa shut the door. “Ranadar and I are about to have an argument. Do you want to join in?”

Kalessa flipped a chair around and faced them over the back of it. “Always.”

“An argument?” Ranadar edged away from Talfi on the bed. Talfi took advantage of the moment to spread a slice of bread with blackberry jam.

“We were going to have it in the market, but you pulled up a Twist so we could avoid it,” he said, his voice flatter than he intended.

“Oh yes—you tried to addict the melted man.” Kalessa's face was a hard mask. “And why was that?”

“Should we not talk about his strength? Or the way he failed to bleed when you stabbed him?”

“In time,” said Kalessa. “Why did you do what you did?”

Ranadar snatched Talfi's brandywine mug from the tray and took a slug. “I was not thinking. It was . . . reflex. He would not run away if he wanted me.”

“You would have addicted him to you for the rest of his life—or yours,” Talfi said. “Just like Aisa used to be.”

“Listen, I know what I did. Almost did,” Ranadar said. “We need not—”

“I think we do need,” Kalessa said from her chair. “A warrior controls his reflexes. I did—I attempted to wound, not kill. Clearly, you have not tried to control yourself. And why is that, I wonder?”

“It was an accident,” Ranadar said shortly. “He frightened Talfi, and then he tried to flee without explaining who he was. We know so little about your past,
Talashka
, and anything we can learn is for the greater good, considering.”

“And what would you have done with him once he was addicted to you?” Kalessa persisted. “Let him become your servant? Your slave?”

“Slavery is now illegal in Balsia,” Ranadar snapped.

“The melted man would not care,” Kalessa shot back. “He would love you. Like Talfi does.”

“Not like I do,” Talfi said.

“Actually—” Ranadar began.

“You know what I mean,” Kalessa interrupted.

“I do not answer to you.” Ranadar's face was set hard. “I am a prince of the Fae.”

“And I am a princess of the Kin,” Kalessa shot back.

“And I'm nothing?” Talfi said quietly.

Ranadar turned leaf green eyes on him. “What?”