Bone War (29 page)

“So this is how you want it to be?” Imeld said, and Aisa was surprised to hear speech. She did not know whether she was hearing orca speech and her mind was creating human words for it, or if Imeld was somehow speaking Kin words. It did not truly matter at this point.

“I do not,” Aisa replied in the same way. “Please, Imeld! I do not wish to—”

Imeld changed again. Her body lengthened even farther. Her snout grew longer and filled with sharp, backward-facing teeth. She grew flippers and a long, heavy tail that swept from side to side. Aisa had never seen this creature before, but it was large enough to bite any whale in half. Blood continued to run from Aisa's side. She started to gather more power, intending to change into something small and quick.

“Either allow me to devour you,” Imeld boomed in a thunderous voice, “or I will smash that tiny ship to flinders and devour everyone aboard.”

Aisa froze. “You cannot mean this,” she whispered.

“I will count to three, and then your friends will die,” Imeld growled. “One . . .”

In the water behind Imeld rose a great form, easily three times bigger than Imeld herself. It was an emerald wyrm with horns on its head and crest, each as big as an oak tree. His jaws could encompass a herd of horses, and his body was so long it disappeared into the depths. Imeld was reflected in his great golden eyes. Aisa made a small sound.

“What is this, yes?” said the wyrm.

Imeld barked in alarm and whirled in the water. When she saw the great wyrm, her skin turned a pale green and a smell of urine tanged the water. Her form wavered and crumpled back into her own mermaid shape. She looked tiny and insignificant in front of the huge wyrm. Aisa realized her blowhole was leaking, and she clamped it shut.

“Do I see two Kin fighting a duel of shapes?” asked the wyrm in a slow, measured voice. “In this time and place, yes?”

Imeld tried to speak but seemed unable to form words, or even move. Aisa, who had forgotten the pain in her side, now felt it again. Swallowing hard, she reached into herself and took back her mermaid form. The pain vanished as the wound healed. Then Aisa hesitantly sipped a little more power from Hamzu, who was no doubt worried to death, and made herself grow and grow until she was four times taller than a normal mermaid. She was nowhere near as tall as she had been when she fought the harbormaster's giant golem, but she was tall enough to get the wyrm's attention.

“Grandfather Wyrm,” Aisa said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I hope you remember me.”

Grandfather Wyrm moved his great golden gaze toward her, and even fourfold taller, Aisa felt small and vulnerable. She told herself she talked with Death and walked
with the Fates, but it was difficult to remember such things when this wyrm turned his attention on her.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course I remember, yes. Aisa and Danr and Talfi, who came to visit me and returned my wife's name to me and bargained the power of the shape from me, yes. Do you have more squid ink, Aisa?”

For a wild moment, Aisa considered trying to change into a giant squid and squirting some at him. “I do not, great one,” she said with real regret. “But it is . . . odd to see you outside the Nine Isles and the Key.”

“It is,” said Grandfather Wyrm. “I have not left the Key in many weeks, yes.”

“Your pardon, great and glorious one,” Aisa said, “but it has been more than a year since I visited you and more than a hundred years since you have been sighted outside the Key.”

“Truly?” A slightly puzzled look crossed Grandfather Wyrm's face. “I must have fallen asleep, yes. The elf queen's magic woke me.” His great coils swept back and forth, creating currents that pushed against Aisa and nearly swept the still-startled Imeld away. “Can you not feel it? The elves infect the water. The fairies degrade the earth. The sprites poison the air. The Kin are under siege, so I have emerged from the Key to lend my aid, and what do I find? You Kin are using the power I gave you to squabble amongst yourselves while the world burns, yes.”

Aisa found herself wanting to point at Imeld, the words
She started it
on her lips, but she stopped herself. “We are but foolish sparks next to the bonfire of your wisdom, O great and magnificent one, and beg your forgiveness.”

“Granted, yes,” said Grandfather Wyrm. “When the Tree tips, it is always we Kin who are crushed beneath it, and we must work together to stop it.”

Imeld spoke now, and although her voice was thin and hesitant, Aisa had to admire her courage. “You . . . are Kin?”

Grandfather Wyrm looked hard at Imeld. “Of course.
And you are merfolk Kin, yes, and queen of the ocean, and yet you are trying to kill your own family. A Kin killing your kin.”

“She brought the power of the shape that killed my daughter!” Imeld cried.

“That is a tragedy, yes,” Grandfather Wyrm said. “It is painful and harsh. A thousand years ago, I watched a man give up his own son to be murdered for magic. It sundered the continent and killed countless Kin, including my dear wife, yes. This is what happens when Kin kill Kin. Tell me, child, will sending Aisa through Death's door make the world a better place? Will it make you a better queen?”

“It will be justice!” Imeld said.

“Justice does not always make the world better, yes,” said Grandfather Wyrm. “It is a lesson leaders need to learn.”

“Imeld!” A group of merfolk were swimming up to them, speedily but cautiously. At the forefront was an older merman Aisa recognized with gladness. His aging face and graying hair wavered in the water. It was Aisa's grandfather Bellog, and also Imeld's father. “Imeld! What does this mean?”

“Grandfather!” Aisa swam toward him and only barely remembering how big she was. She shrank to her normal size, and Grandfather Wyrm loomed behind her like a floating mountain. “I am happy you have come!”

“Aisa! Are you well?” Bellog embraced her with one arm. The other brandished a two-pronged spear. “We heard your call. And saw . . . the great one.”

Another group of merfolk, the ones from the ship, swam down from the surface and also stopped in hesitation when they saw Grandfather Wyrm.

“Be careful what you say, Bellog,” Imeld said dangerously. “Rebellion is rebellion.”

“Imeld!” said Bellog, both hurt and mystified. “I lost my dear wife to the power of the shape! Ynara's death pains us all, but anger does not win us a thing.”

Imeld's dark expression said she disagreed, but she shot Grandfather Wyrm an uneasy look and touched the tattoo on her face.

“Very well,” she said. “The merfolk will not stop you, Aisa. But neither will we help. And should you enter the ocean again, you had best keep your wyrm with you.”

Imeld and her entourage dove into the depths and vanished.

“My granddaughter.” Bellog opened his arms for an embrace. “I am so sorry that—”

“There is no time for petty Kin with petty problems,” Grandfather Wyrm interrupted. “Already there have been more earthquakes on the land, and there will be quakes under the ocean soon. And much has become worse. When the elf queen's magic woke me, I saw what she was doing, yes. She has devastated the orcs of Xaron, stolen a weapon of great power, and created an army out of living blood that is unharmed by iron. Without the orcs of Xaron and the iron of Balsia to keep her at bay, the only thing that keeps her in check is the fact that her son and heir lives in Balsia. But he is already fleeing to Alfhame, yes.”

“Ranadar?” Aisa gasped. “Why is he going to Alfhame?”

“I do not know,” said Grandfather Wyrm. “But we must hurry, yes. The elf queen will move on Balsia very soon, and when she unleashes the full power of her new army, the Tree will tip and all will die. Can you not smell the rot in the water and in the air? The stronger it becomes, the more the Tree is tipping, yes. Aisa, return to your ship, and whatever merfolk wish may follow. Quickly now.”

Mystified, Aisa swam back to the ship with her grandfather and the other dozen merfolk in tow. She gathered momentum and leaped up high in the air as Imeld had done, trailing long hair behind her. Halfway up, she changed into an eagle and swooped over the deck. Hamzu, Captain Greenstone, and the sailors looked up with incredulous looks on their faces. With a high-pitched screech, Aisa dove
back down to the deck and took her own form just as Bellog and the other merfolk vaulted out of the ocean to land on the gunwale. The sailors tensed. Hamzu dropped a cloak over Aisa's nakedness and pulled her into an embrace.

“You're all right!” he breathed in her ear. “I mean, I felt you take power, so I knew you must be alive, but then it stopped, and I didn't know for sure.”

“I am well,” Aisa said. “These merfolk are friends.”

Greenstone said, “Is Imeld . . . ?”

“She lives,” Aisa said. “But there is more.”

With a great wash of water, Grandfather Wyrm rose from the ocean beside the ship. Seawater poured down his sides and foamed off his massive jaws. Now the sailors panicked. They rushed about the deck, grabbing at any weapon they could find but not sure how to use them.

“Calm!” Aisa called. “Calm now! He is also a friend.”

“Grandfather Wyrm?” Hamzu strode to the edge and grabbed the rail. “What brings you here?”

“You
know
this . . . person?” Greenstone gasped. “Halza's tits! I'll never make fun of you again.”

“There is little time to explain, yes,” said Grandfather Wyrm. “Bring the sails down, Captain.”

Greenstone looked flustered for the first time since Aisa had met her. “The sails? Why should be bring down the—”

“Now!”
boomed Grandfather Wyrm.

“Harebones!” Greenstone bellowed. “Get those sails down!”

The sailors scurried about like ants beneath Grandfather Wyrm's stern gaze while the merfolk watched with interest. Aisa quickly explained to Hamzu and Greenstone what had happened beneath the water, and then it occurred to her that Danr had never met Bellog, so she dragged him over to the rail for introductions.

“So I am to be a great-grandfather now,” Bellog said. “We Kin are mingling more and more blood these days, it seems.”

“The Nine People are coming together,” Hamzu said.
“Aisa thinks we used to be one people, but the power of the shape changed us until we forgot who we were.”

“An interesting idea,” mused Bellog. “Perhaps Imeld should listen to it.”

“Hang on to something, yes,” Grandfather Wyrm bellowed.

They all clutched a rope or a rail. Grandfather Wyrm swam around behind the
Slippery Fish
and disappeared beneath the gentle waves. A moment later, there was a bump, followed by a soft crunch, and the
Fish
jolted forward. Aisa would have fallen overboard if not for the rope she was clutching. The ship rushed forward, picking up speed and plowing up an impressive white trough behind. It went faster, faster, and faster still, outracing seabirds, the wind, even the sky itself. The sailors whooped at the wonder of it.

“He's pushing us!” Hamzu shouted. “The Nine! He's pushing us!”

“What was that crunching noise?” Greenstone asked, looking worriedly over the side and nearly losing her hat.

Aisa turned her face to the salt breeze as the ship sped toward the horizon.

T
he second bronze-headed arrow caught the rabbit's heart, and it was dead before it hit the ground. Talfi lowered his bow and gave Ranadar a look.

“Fing!” he said. “You still owe me a favor from the first time, you know.”

Ranadar sighed from inside his hood. His own arrow was stuck in the ground half a pace away from the dead rabbit. “This was not a contest.”

“It was to the rabbit.” Talfi trotted over to retrieve the rabbit and both arrows. Already the sun was close to setting, and the mosquitoes were coming out. The forest of Alfhame lay close and heavy about them—tall, wide trees covered in moss at the base and scraggly undergrowth between. Direct sunlight was sporadic, and it occurred to Talfi that this place would suit Danr nicely. Thinking about that was better than thinking about the fact that he was heading straight into the arms of the elf queen. He couldn't die—so far—but his final days were linked to Ranadar's, and what would happen if Ranadar was killed? Would Talfi die, too, or would he live half of the days Ranadar was originally supposed to live? He didn't like thinking about that, either. Maybe he should have offered to clean the rabbit—it would have taken his mind off everything.

Back at the place they had designated as tonight's camp, Other Talfi was piling deadwood for a fire. No one in Alfhame chopped from a living tree, even—or perhaps especially—a prince of the Fae.

“Supper,” Talfi said without preamble.

“Fire,” said Other Talfi, setting to work with a scrap of flint and steel.

The earth rumbled beneath their feet. Fear jerked Talfi's heart into his throat. The chimney was cracking and dropping tons of rock on him again. He felt his bones shatter as birds took to the air in great clouds. Ranadar tackled Talfi and brought him to the ground, jerking him out of the past. Other Talfi dropped beside them. All around them the trees waved as if in a storm. The ground moved like a living thing. A few paces away, a tree crashed to the ground. Talfi heard a scream and realized it was his own. The fire went out.

The rumbling stopped. Silence fell like a heavy cloak. Talfi's breathing came hard and fast in his own ears. Slowly, he became aware of Ranadar's arm around his shoulders. He pushed himself upright, as did the others.

“What was that?” he asked unnecessarily.

“I am sure they will worsen,” Ranadar replied. “At least none of us was hurt.”

“Not yet,” Other Talfi agreed. “Uh . . . I'll see to the fire.”

“You
are
all right,
Talashka
?” Ranadar asked.

“He doesn't ask me,” Other Talfi muttered in a barely audible voice from the fire pit.

“I'm fine. Just shaken.” Talfi gave a little bark of laughter. “Ha! Shaken!”

“You are as bright and funny as ever,” Ranadar said gravely. “And now I will clean the rabbit.”

When the rabbit was spitted and sending the fine smell of roasting meat in all directions, Talfi drew a target on one of the trees and got out his bow. His hands were still shaking a little, and he used the practiced moves of archery to calm himself. He wasn't crushed beneath a pile of rubble. He was alive, here, with Ranadar.

On his way to see a queen who would happily see him dead.

Stop it,
he admonished himself.
Breathe.

The first arrow went wide. The second, however, hit the outer edge of the target. The third hit the exact center. Much better. He retrieved and sheathed the arrows.

“How long to the Lone Mountain from here?” Talfi shaded his eyes and peered into the forest as if he could tell by looking hard.

Other Talfi turned the meat. “That's the ninth time you've asked that today, and the answer is still three more days.”

“Maybe not,” Ranadar said.

Talfi whirled and Other Talfi looked up. A half circle of Talfis surrounded them, all staring with identical blue eyes, all wearing bloodred tunics. Talfi's stomach crawled with unexpected nausea. He thought he was getting used to seeing other versions of himself, but so many all at once put a cold, tight fist in his gut. Accompanying them was an elf in bronze armor with a sprite hovering behind her. The elf's armor was battered and pocked and worn, with sagging leather hinges and cracked buckles. The elf carried her helmet instead of wearing it. The chin strap was broken. Clearly, this wasn't someone who spent a great deal of time close the royal court, and the angry expression on her face made Talfi guess that the duty she was performing—patrolling the forests between Alfhame and Balsia—was far from choice. Wonderful. Their first meeting with an Alfhamer Fae, and she was likely to be in a bad mood. Her hair was so blond it was more silver than gold, her brown eyes were as hard as oak bark, and her broad build bespoke a hard life in the field instead of a leisurely one in Palana. Talfi had no idea how old she was—no Kin could judge the age of an elf.

“Er . . . hello.” Talfi put the bow over his shoulder with a half wave. “We—”

“What are you doing out here?” demanded the elf. “No
other patrols have been commanded for this area. Vik! I should drag you back to Alfhame by your ankle tendons.”

“Enjoyable as that sounds, perhaps you could just bring us to the queen, Sharyl. Before another earthquake hits.” Ranadar took down his hood.

All the flesh golems gave identical gasps. Talfi kept his face carefully stoic. The sprite bobbed in midair, and the elf snapped to attention and bowed. Her armor creaked.

“My lord prince,” said Sharyl. “I did not realize you had returned. Your lady mother has instructed any elf who finds you to escort you to her. Very kindly.”

There was no mistaking the heavy tone in the word
kindly.

“Excellent,” said Ranadar, a little too brightly. “How far is it?”

“As the golem here said, it's three days. Less if we run,” said Sharyl. “Assuming your time playing among the Kin has not made you soft. Your Highness.”

“No softer than licking sheep testicles has made you, Lieutenant,” Ranadar growled.

Sharyl's jaw tensed and her fingers flicked toward her sword. Ranadar stared coldly at her. Talfi tensed, and he could see Other Talfi looked nervous as well. Then Sharyl burst out laughing.

“Ranadar! You sap-sucker!” Sharyl caught Ranadar in a rough embrace and kissed him on both cheeks.

Ranadar laughed and pounded Sharyl's armored back. “Still poking pine needles up your ass, I see.”

“I would say the same about you, except it is definitely not a needle,” Sharyl said. “Halza's hellish head, what are you
doing
? You are the crown prince, but you dash about like a pouting
mal rishal
child. The queen is put out with you.”

“Then take us to her,” Ranadar said.

Sharyl spread her hands. “If I were you, I would keep running. But I have my orders.” She gestured at Talfi and Other Talfi. “Are you bringing these toys along? They're supposed to be in Balsia.”

Talfi wanted to feel relieved, but the insult was too great, made worse by the fact that Sharyl didn't even seem to realize it was an insult. He took a step toward her, but Other Talfi put a hand on his arm.

“You know what it's like in Alfhame,” he murmured.

Talfi glanced at Sharyl and the sprite, and tightened his jaw. Right. At least he didn't have to worry about the elves addicting him by touch. But judging from the looks of adoration the flesh golems were giving Ranadar, they felt—or remembered feeling—the same way about the elf that Talfi did. Talfi felt a little cold inside at that. An entire army of men who thought they were in love with Ranadar. What were they supposed to do with that?

Did it matter how the golems felt? Were they really alive? Not long ago, Talfi would have instantly said they weren't. But the more time Talfi spent with Other Talfi, the more Talfi himself thought about the question, and the less sure Talfi became. Ranadar could touch their minds, but he couldn't touch the minds of clay golems—because they had no minds. Flesh golems seemed to think. Or they
thought
they could think. Was there a difference? The idea made Talfi's head hurt.

And then there was the question about how they all felt about Ranadar. How could you know if you were in love or not? Was there a difference between being in love and just thinking you were in love?

Talfi wasn't worried about one of them stealing Ranadar away. Not anymore. But the rancor he had felt earlier for Other Talfi was shifting more toward pity. It wasn't Other Talfi's fault he felt the way he did.

Except, and this was a big
except
, the flesh golems hadn't
earned
their love. They hadn't met Ranadar for the first time and felt that quickening thrill at how handsome he was. Their breath hadn't caught at the way his scarlet hair caught the light, and their hearts hadn't skipped at the sound of his voice. They hadn't felt the delicious mixture of fear and anticipation of sneaking through the palace to
see him or shaken with excitement when Ranadar hesitantly leaned in to kiss him for the first time. They only remembered it.

It was a strange situation—the lack of memory caused Talfi pain, while the load of memories hurt the flesh golems. Perhaps there was a way to change all this, free the golems of the memories that chained them to Ranadar. And to Talfi.

“The . . . toys are coming with me, yes,” Ranadar said. “And we must hurry.”

“Perhaps we should Twist, then,” Sharyl said. “I do not relish a days-long run any more than you do.”

Before Ranadar could comment, Sharyl put out her hand, and the sprite landed on it. She whispered to the sprite, who changed color from sunshine gold to sky blue to sunset red and back to sunshine gold.

“Can you Twist that far?” Ranadar said doubtfully. “I do not remember you being able to—”

“Ved-Kal-Who-Skims-the-Emerald-Grasses-Beneath-Autumn-Leaves is alerting Her Highness to your presence, O my great prince,” interrupted Sharyl. “She will open a Twist for us.”

“Ran,” whispered one of the flesh golems in a voice that sent tight tension down Talfi's back. “Ran, it's me.”

“I know,” said Ranadar quietly. “We cannot discuss this right now.”

The look on the flesh golem's face was painful to watch. “But—”

“We will talk later,” Ranadar said.

A soft shimmer grew in the air. Ved-Kal-Who-Skims-the-Emerald-Grasses-Beneath-Autumn-Leaves skimmed around the edge of it, drawing a circle of golden light to mark the boundary. “Time to go, we know,” he said.

“First,” Sharyl said, putting out her gauntleted hand, “I am afraid you will have to give up the weapons. Arrows and knives. You understand, I am sure.”

“Do you think I have come to assassinate my own mother?” Ranadar asked archly.

“You know how it is,” Sharyl said blandly. “Can we be civilized about it, or must I . . . insist?”

Silently, Talfi handed over his quiver and knife while Ranadar did the same. Sharyl was letting them keep the bows, Talfi assumed, because they were useless without the arrows. Sharyl handed Talfi's equipment to one of the guards. The Twist continued to shimmer.

“Quickly, now,” said Sharyl. Her words were friendly, but her tone was hard. “It will not go well to keep the queen waiting any further.”

Ranadar stepped through the Twist. Talfi's heart sped up a little. Twists still made him a little nervous, and this one had been spun by the queen of elves, who didn't like him. He forced himself to leap through. As the Twist took hold, he saw movement behind him. For an awful moment, he was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and then he snapped back together. He was standing on green grass. Nausea swept him, and he went retching to his knees. Beside him, Ranadar was standing straight and tall, unaffected—or managing not to show it. The shimmer shifted, and Other Talfi popped out of it in his ragged red cloak. He didn't seem affected by nausea, either, the bastard. Sharyl emerged last with a creak of armor. The Twist vanished.

Talfi pushed himself upright, the vomit still a sour taste in his mouth. Already his heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty. The Twist was the easy part. He managed a glance around.

The scene took some time to absorb. They were standing ankle-deep in dead leaves on the bank of a gleaming silvery river that flowed in from the north. The river smashed into the base of a great, sharp-edged mountain that rose like a razor to the sky. Lone Mountain. A thousand years ago, the Sundering had pushed up a single mountain here, split the river, and dried up the original bed. Talfi blinked up at the slope, a little unnerved at the idea that he was nearly twenty years older than this mountain.

The river torrent was doing its best to drill through the
slope, but the rock was too much for it, and the river grudgingly poured off to the east and west, forming the Silver and Otra rivers. From somewhere in Talfi's head rose the memory that the southern side of Lone Mountain still sported a dry riverbed that went all the way down to the South Sea and was called the Sand River.

Also on the bank of the river stood an enormous ash tree. Actually,
enormous
didn't begin to describe the size. It was easily five times taller than any tree Talfi had ever seen, but also stooped and bent. It hung over the river like a grim ancient giantess trailing a cloak of rotten leaves. Heavy, arthritic branches twisted around one another. In fact, the more Talfi looked at the tree, the more it looked like a massive, ancient woman. A wrinkled, aging face seemed frozen in the bark. Her bark-covered arms reached outward in pain or supplication. Her bent and broken legs sprawled among the roots beneath her, stretching toward the river.

A rank smell of dying wood and decaying leaves hung heavy on the air. The tree's shade loomed over everything, blotting out nearly all the sunlight and creating a dark space beneath, and she rumpled the earth in all directions.