The Mortal Bone (30 page)

“Can’t see who’s coming,” I muttered, as everyone followed me to the porch.

“I can,” Grant said in a tight voice. “Looks like they plan on overwhelming us with sheer numbers.”

“How bad?”

“Earlier, in the desert, was a drop in the bucket.”

“They want to kill us,” Jack murmured. “They know we’re a threat to them. The only threat on this world, perhaps . . . and all of us are here, gathered in one spot like a prize.”

“Draean and K’ra’an cannot resist,” Blood Mama said. “If they kill Zee, an Aetar, a Lightbringer . . . and the precious Vessel . . .”

“I get it,” I snapped. “Why haven’t they done away with the boys?”

“Will want you to watch,” Zee muttered. “Our Queen.”

I glanced down at the demon. “Are the others in that mess?”

“Yes,” he rasped, and I grabbed his shoulder, looking back at the Messenger. “If it becomes too much, take them out of here.” I looked at Grant. “Sever those bonds if you can. Make them yours. I’ll be back with help.”

“Maxine,” he said, but I was already gone.

I seemed to drift far longer than usual within the void, but this time the emptiness did not seem so vast—or empty. I did not feel alone.

You will need us,
whispered the darkness, rising through me, stretching my skin with power, igniting my bond with Grant.
You will need us for this hunt.

I did not answer. But I didn’t fight it, either.

I fell into the field below the hill where my mother was buried. I could see the farmhouse, glittering like a jewel in the night, but from here to there—the ground rippled and shook with the endless forced march of thousands and thousands of small bodies—the Shurik, wiggling and undulating across the ground. Amongst them, taller demons, elegant and graceful, carrying swords across their backs and giant spears.

Marching, marching, toward my mother’s home.

It looked so small and vulnerable, a tiny light under the clear night sky, heavy with stars. One moment, one heartbeat, one tiny me—lost, lost in what was going to be another battle, another sacrifice—of blood and life, all of which seemed to be never-ending. If I lived through this, another fight would come. If I lived through that, there would be another battle.

Right then, more than anything—that little house represented peace. Peace and safety.

And it hurt to see. It hurt, because it made me afraid I would never have peace. That my daughter would never know that life, or even the promise of it. That I would be fighting until she was born, fighting afterward, teaching her that the only way to live was one hard kill after another.

I glanced at my mother’s grave and saw the silhouette of the oak tree against the night sky. I saw the gentle waving of its branches and leaves, and at its base, clumps of bushes heavy with gooseberries, which my mother loved to eat because they were sour. In my heart, I felt such regret, for everything.

A cry went up. I turned in a slow circle, keeping that farmhouse beacon alive at the corner of my eye. Everything I loved was down there. Everything I was going to love—inside me, now.

I’m tired of this,
I told the darkness.
It’s always the same. I don’t want to fight or kill.

You must hunt,
it whispered.
You must hunt to live.

Peace comes after death, and death is a long song you are not ready to sing. But when you are ready,
it added,
you will not sing it alone.

I felt a snap inside my soul, and power poured through me. More power than my mind could comprehend. I felt as though I were hemorrhaging a nuclear bomb, or the core of a star, shooting off sparks into my blood.

And it all poured into my bond with the boys.

Zee shuddered, crying out. Somewhere close I heard other cries, familiar in their rage, echoing the rage inside my heart. I started running, Zee loping in front of me, growing sleeker and bigger, slashing his claws over the Shurik who tried to leap at us. I could barely think past the tsunami raging through me, and if that power had not been channeled through the bond into the boys, I was certain I would have split apart into a million little pieces.

My vision blurred. My running feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. I moved with more grace than the wind, and each scent, each sound was electric and wild. Thunder raged through my chest, thunder and fury, and I began to lose myself to those emotions, swinging the sword as though it were an extension of my arm—biting into flesh, bone, releasing blood and death. I did not see who I killed. I tried not to care.

I kept that farmhouse beacon at the corner of my eye.

“Zee!” I shouted. “The others!”

Even as I spoke his name, I saw the boys inside my mind, in my heart: wrapped in massive chains and borne down by iron hooks that pierced their bodies to anchor them to stone. Raw’s chest had been impaled, while a thick iron spear, serrated with barbs, penetrated Aaz’s entire jaw. Hundreds of needle-thin spikes pierced Dek’s and Mal’s long bodies.

But they were awake. Fighting. Hearts pounding inside mine.

We are together,
I called to them, through our bond.
Boys.

Resolve washed down the link—five points of light burning within the darkness. Five stars, smoldering around the star blazing inside my own heart, our light merging into shadow, into power, into fury.

My vision flickered. Darts around me, streaks of flesh and screams. Air moved against my body. I glimpsed Shurik throwing themselves at me—turning to ash before they could touch my body. Chaos, everywhere. No organization. Just lives thrown away.

Raw fell from the shadows, snarling. Aaz was close behind him. Covered in blood. Immediately set upon by a group of Yorana bearing whips that they rained down with screams. Raw and Aaz charged into demons. Dek and Mal writhed into sight as they skipped through shadows, so quickly it was as though they were flying—in and out—and each time they emerged, it was to rip open another throat.

I didn’t care about the blood, or death. My boys . . . my boys were alive, and here.

Their hearts were frenzied, hammering with wild hunger and abandon. They killed, and each kill excited them even more, working them into a heaving, deadly mob of muscle and darkness, and death. I felt them. I was there, with them, as they killed, swept up in the same bloodthirsty excitement. I stopped fighting. Stopped moving. Eyes closed, my entire being lost in the brutal lust for the kill.

It was euphoric. It was terrible. I was possessed, and I didn’t know if I cared because the emotions and power pouring through me were bigger than I, an avalanche sweeping my soul into a little hole where a small part of me wailed in horror, while the rest was overcome by five hearts not my own.

My vision split. I saw in my mind a sea of bodies, pushing and pulling. Each demon aching to retreat, but unable to because of those bonds—those bonds to Draean and K’ra’an, who threw their people at the boys . . . and farther away, the farmhouse.

The farmhouse. My beacon. I had to protect it.

I focused on the demon lords and fell into the void.

Moments later, I stood on a distant hill, behind two tall figures. I was not myself—but maybe I was, maybe—and I swung my sword without warning or hesitation, cutting into K’ra’an’s side.

I could have sliced him completely in half, but something stayed my hand. Me. Part of me still with mercy.

He cried out in shock, twisting to face me, clutching at the sword in his side. He made another sound of pain—smoke rising from his palms where he touched the gleaming metal. The fury and disbelief in his eyes faded into horror as he looked deep into my face.

“Already dead,” I whispered. “Or not. Depends on you.”

“You will kill all my people,” he said in a trembling voice, as purple sweat oozed down the red skin of his face. “For what? There are many humans to spare.”

The darkness inside me heaved with laughter.

“Not the point,” I whispered.

K’ra’an bared his sharp teeth. “Then, what?”

“I am your Queen,”
I hissed, those words rising from deep within. I didn’t know if they were my words. I was too lost. I was spinning inside, and my actions, my voice—I could not say who spoke: the darkness, or me, or the boys.

Zee, Raw, and Aaz fell from the shadows, landing with solid thumps that made the ground shake. Mal slid onto my shoulders, hissing, while Dek coiled around my feet.

“And they,”
I added,
“are your Kings.”

“No.” K’ra’an spat blood at my feet. “Even if you are the Vessel, I will be
free
. We gave too much. We
sacrificed
everything, for
them
. No more.”

“No more,” I echoed, and chopped off his head.

Deep inside, part of me screamed when I did that.

And somewhere else in my soul, the part mixed with the boys and the darkness, there was only satisfaction, and pleasure.

A job done.

Survival ensured.

Screams rose around us, cries of horror from the demon army that twisted and rattled the air, rising into shrieks—

—that were suddenly silenced. Complete, dead, silence.

I turned to look at Draean. He was staring at K’ra’an’s corpse, blood streaming from his eyes and nose, a rattling choking sound in his throat.

“It could be different,” I whispered. “You
were
different, once. Peaceful.”

“No,” he said, tearing his gaze from K’ra’an to look at me, with resolve and resignation, and hate. “If you let me live, I will hunt you. I will catch you. I will enter your womb and consume your child.”

I swung the blade, right into Draean’s neck.

He did not cry out or flinch, though his gaze remained on me even as I struck the blow. His head rolled down the hill. The rest of him collapsed beside the other demon lord.

Zee crouched, digging his fist into the dead man’s torso. I heard a sucking sound, and then he pulled out his arm—revealing a large, wriggling Shurik slug in his fist.

The darkness moved through us all, strong and powerful. Zee stared into Draean’s eyes in perfect silence—then ripped him apart in one sharp yank. He tossed the pieces aside. I heard more screams rising, voices high in pitch, spiraling higher with despair. I tried not to listen. I tried not to imagine an entire race dying from the loss of a single bond.

The boys and I stared at the dead demon lords. We stared at each other. I looked past them at the farmhouse—up at the stars—and started to sway.

Those stars were moving toward me.

And then they were in me.

I opened my eyes and found myself resting on a bed of stars and silver roses. Zee was curled against my side, while Raw and Aaz huddled along my back. Dek and Mal shivered beneath my head.

The darkness was quiet. My soul was quiet, though it felt wounded, too, with a particular lightness that made me feel as though an important part of me might just float away.

I saw a man sitting amongst the stars. He was turned from me, staring at something in his hand. I tried to sit up but couldn’t move.

When I looked again, though, the man was beside me. I still could not see his face, but his body was encased in silver, skin etched with runes and designs that seemed to tell a story—one so tangled, I couldn’t make out the details.

“Who are you, really?” I asked softly, wishing I could see his face and trying instead to see what was in his hand.

As if he could read my thoughts, he turned his palm and showed me a jagged lump of crystal.

“I am a dreamer,”
he replied.
“There are songs in your world about that sort of thing.”

“My grandfather calls you the Tinker.”
I want to call you father,
I did not add.

“Old Wolf. A man of many secrets.”
His hands covered the crystal.
“Make a wish.”

I raised my brow. I didn’t have anything to wish for . . . though as soon as I had that thought, Grant filled my mind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You helped her?”

I frowned, disturbed by the notion. “Tell me again who you are. Tell me
what
.”

He rubbed his hands over the crystal lump, silver skin flashing in the starlight while those intricate etchings flowed like water up his arms, down his ribs.
“I was a man. I am still a man, in some ways. But something found me, long ago, and I was . . . transformed.”

“What found you?”

“I do not know. Just that it was power, and light. A presence born at the beginning.”
I sensed a smile in his voice.
“It is the opposite of what is in you.”