Bone Song (34 page)

...a
nd woke, while the medic
mages were still working on him. He was lying on the stone floor of the capitol chamber, and some of the councillors were staring in horror at the scene taking place below them.

Donal tried to work his mouth.

“Don't talk,” murmured one of the mages. “It'll be all right.”

No, it won't.

He raised his chin and stared down at his open chest cavity. Two mages were working inside him, their hands and forearms slick with black fluid. And inside his chest . . .

Oh, Thanatos.

. . . was a beating, slick black heart . . .

Oh, Death.

. . . taken from the one who would need it no more.

NO NO NO NO NO!

Three days later, against all medical advice, Donal stood at the graveside on a dark heath in the Dispersed Vale, at the edge of Black Iron Forest. The diggers shoved wet soil into the grave, and quicksilver rain fell and fell, unceasing.

The priestess and the task-force team stood watching. Behind them—against his political advisers' advice—was Commissioner Vilnar. Whatever Laura had been in her original life, this was a zombie being buried now—and Blanz might be discredited, but his movement was not.

Her heart beat steadily.

Laura.

Steadily, inside Donal's chest.

I love you.

But at least Laura was spared the reactor piles. As Donal would be, when his turn came.

Oh, Thanatos . . .

For undead bones are strong, and their song is wild.

Too wild to tame.

To Eileen Jenkins, my big-hearted mother-in-law, whose home is a refuge and a place of healing, with all my love. Thanks, Eileen.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks for early feedback from Chris Hill, Paul Storer-Martin, and Bridget McKenna, who also gave me the title. A million thanks to my brother Colm, for combat-shooting lore in general, and for that unforgettable day (a decade ago!) at the gun range in Richmond, Virginia. And if we're going back into history, I guess reading Dr. Strange when I was six had some kind of impact. . . .

For this marvelous U.S. edition, undying (maybe undead?) gratitude to Juliet Ulman, editrix extraordinaire, plus Kathy Lord, Josh Pasternak, and all at Bantam.

And respect to the city of New York, without which Tristopolis would not exist.

By John Meaney

BONE SONG

BLACK BLOOD