Bullets and bones, p.7
Bullets and Bones, page 7
part #2 of Desa Kincaid Series
The two men were thrown backward, hurled to the ground. They grunted on impact, one dropping his gun and the other curling up on his side.
Azra triggered the Gravity-Source on her third finger.
Both pistols were pulled toward her, one flying right out of its owner’s hand. The two deputies were dragged along the ground, but she killed the Source a second later. Azra caught one of the guns, allowing the other to land at her feet.
She shut her eyes and held the pistol up in front of her face, its barrel pointed skyward. She cocked the hammer. “Now, I don’t suppose the sheriff will be along any time soon.”
One of the deputies sat up.
“A pity.”
Azra pointed the gun at him.
“Now, now, don’t be hasty,” a soft, feminine voice said behind her. Azra turned around to find a woman standing by the saloon’s front window. No…Not a woman. This stranger was more like an apparition in a white dress that should have slid off her body the instant she moved. And yet the garment clung lovingly to her form.
She was a fair-skinned beauty with delicate features and soft, blue eyes. And her hair was like spun gold. “Death is so final, don’t you think?” she mused. “Once they’re gone, we can’t have any more fun.”
“Who are you?” Azra demanded.
Planting fists on her hips, the woman smiled and shook her head. “Most people call me the Weaver,” she declared. “I’ve come with a…business proposal.”
“What sort of proposal?”
The strange woman shrugged and then stepped down off the porch. Her laughter was like the tinkling of bells. “Nothing too onerous, I assure you,” she said. “I want you to kill someone.”
One of the deputies took this opportunity to stand up and rush Azra from behind. Azra spun around to face him, but she gasped when he seemed to run into an invisible wall, bouncing off of it and falling on his ass.
“Boys will be boys,” the Weaver said.
Azra licked her lips. Perhaps the most shocking thing about this display of power was that she had felt nothing, no stirring in the Ether that would indicate the use of Field Binding.
Twisting around, Azra looked over her shoulder. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You seem more than capable.”
The Weaver flowed toward her on feet that barely touched the ground. Her haughty smile sent shivers down Azra’s spine. Whatever this creature was, she wasn’t human. “Oh, I’m a very busy woman,” the Weaver replied. “There are certain matters that require my attention. Besides, I think you’ll find the rewards of my friendship most satisfying.”
Without warning, the Weaver snapped her fingers.
And the world changed.
They were now standing in an alley between two red-bricked buildings that must have each been at least four stories high. The sky above was still a deep blue, but wispy clouds drifted lazily past. And the sun was lower than it had been just a few moments earlier. It was just shy of noon in Dry Gulch, but here, it was late afternoon.
Azra strode to the mouth of the alley and froze when she stepped out onto the street. The road was unlike any that she had ever seen before. Not dirt or cobblestones but some black material that sparkled in the sunlight.
There were more buildings across the way, and they all stood as tall as the ones on either side of her. Just as she was getting her bearings, a strange noise distracted her.
A bizarre metal contraption – a horseless buggy of some kind – came rolling toward her, and when it passed, it spat a cloud of dark smoke from a pipe. By the Almighty’s left nut, what was this place?
Azra felt her jaw drop, the blood draining out of her face. She shook her head slowly. “Where have you taken me?” She tried to sound threatening, but she could not raise her voice above a whisper.
With a giggle, the Weaver stepped up beside her and stood on the edge of the stone walkway that bordered the road. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Aladar,” she said. “I thought you might like to see it with your own eyes.”
“The Aladri can Field Bind,” Azra mumbled.
“Yes. I thought you might like a chance to learn their secrets.”
Taking control of herself, Azra grimaced. She disarmed the pistol that she had stolen from the deputy and shoved it into her leather bag. Her holster was taken by the six-shooter she normally carried. “Who do you want me to kill?”
The Weaver chuckled. “Have you ever heard the name Desa Kincaid?”
A merciless sun beat down from a clear, blue sky, the sandy beach baking under its fury. Waves lapped at the shore, but even the water could do little to ease the heat. Eliza gazed out on the Strait of Avalas, on the island that called to her from ten miles away. She could just make out the metal ships that the Aladri kept in their harbour. Everyone said those boats should sink, but the Aladri kept them afloat with magic.
At night, their city glowed.
Sometimes, after her mother and father had gone to sleep, Eliza would sneak out of the village and come down to the beach just to see the distant lights of Aladar. They were beautiful. And bewitching.
At fifteen years old, Eliza was a twig of a girl in a gray dress and a white bonnet. She sat on a large rock with her legs curled up, hugging her knees. “I could swim it,” she muttered to herself. She repeated that declaration often.
What would it be like to see Aladar? A city made of magic?
She noticed something strange. A fog rolling in off the water, hovering just a few inches above the waves and slowly seeping onto dry land. It was a hot summer afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky. That should have been impossible.
Aladri magic?
She gasped when the fog began to rise and coalesce into the shape of a woman. Seconds later, a creature that she could only describe as an angel stood there: a woman in a white dress with beautiful golden hair. “Hello, my dear,” she said.
Eliza covered her eyes with both hands. “Not real, not real, not real,” she panted.
“Oh, I assure you, I am quite real.”
When she opened her eyes, the woman was still standing there and smiling in a way that set Eliza’s mind at ease. “I have come to help your village,” she said. “Perhaps you could take me to your elders?”
“Who are you?” Eliza stammered.
“They call me the Weaver.”
Shivering, Eliza hugged herself and rubbed her arms for warmth. Summer or no summer, she was suddenly overcome with chills. “I…I’m not sure. If you’re one of the Aladri, then I suppose I should take you to Mayor Hellman.”
The woman glided through the sand, laughing softly. Her long, blonde hair was streaming in the wind. “I am not one of the Aladri,” she insisted. “I am the one who can save you from them.”
“Save us?” Eliza spluttered. “The-The Aladri have never harmed us. They trade some of their devices for fruits and vegetables.”
The strange woman knelt before Eliza, unconcerned with any damage the sand might inflict upon her dress. Her face was grim, her eyes sympathetic. “They are liars, my dear,” she said. “They deceive you with their tricks.”
“I-”
“Please,” the Weaver said, laying a hand on Eliza’s cheek. “Trust me.”
In the end, she did bring the Weaver to meet the mayor. Hollin was a small village about two miles from the shore. The houses were built out of lumber from a nearby forest, each with black tiles on its gabled roof.
Dozens of people strolled through the dirt streets: women in dresses that covered them from ankles to wrists, men in pale shirts and dark pants that they held up with suspenders. Most people wore either a bonnet or a straw hat.
The Weaver was smiling as she took in the sight. “What a beautiful village!” she exclaimed. “You must love it here!”
For some reason, Eliza was grinning as well. “I can’t complain,” she said with a shrug. “Mayor Hellman is right over there.”
She pointed to a portly man in a pale-blue shirt who stood with his back turned, inspecting a sheep pen. He bent to scratch the head of a tiny lamb who came up to stick its nose out between two of the wooden slats.
“Thank you, my dear,” Weaver said. “I can take it from here.”
Eliza should have been unhappy – to bring a magnificent stranger like this into town only to be dismissed should have bothered her – but the only thing she felt was a calm serenity. Somehow, she knew that the Weaver would make everything all right.
“I don’t see what you want me to do about it,” Clarence Hellman protested. “The Aladri were living on that island long before we ever came to these lands. Sometimes, we see their ships sailing up the coast.”
Clarence sat behind his desk in a small house with wooden walls, smoke rising from the bowl of his pipe. “They’ve never done us any harm,” he added. “Their devices have made life easier for us on many occasions.”
The woman who only called herself Weaver stood on the small, blue rug in front of his fireplace. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply as if to regather her patience, and then nodded. “I understand why you would feel that way, sir,” she said. “But the Aladri dabble in sorcery. Surely you’ve seen the way their city lights up every night.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“That city tempts your children,” the Weaver said. “I found Eliza on the beach with a look of longing on her face.”
Trapping the pipe between two fingers, Clarence pulled it out of his mouth. “The young are always tempted by the unknown,” he countered with a dismissive wave of his hand. “There isn’t a soul in this village who hasn’t gazed out on Aladar and wondered what it might be like to walk its streets. We grow out of it.”
The Weaver frowned at him, and somehow, being the target of her disapproval left Clarence with a queasy feeling in his belly. “Sir,” she began. “I know the Aladri. Given time, they will tempt your people to sin and vice.”
“I don’t-”
Clarence winced as a fit of coughing came over him. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he hunched over his desk and nearly hacked up a lung. His head ached. These fits had been growing worse and worse over the last few months.
It took a few moments for the coughing to subside.
When he looked up, he saw the Weaver through tear-blurred vision. She was standing over him with a look of concern. “Good sir,” she said in a soothing voice. “The sickness troubles you, doesn’t it?”
Wiping a tear away with the back of his hand, Clarence sniffed and shook his head. “The sickness comes for us all sooner or later,” he barked. “My time just happens to be a little sooner than I would like.”
“And if I took the sickness away?”
Clarence looked up at her. His mouth was tight with anxiety, and he felt a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “Even the Aladri couldn’t manage that,” he grated. “I begin to wonder if you might be a madwoman.”
“Far from it,” she assured him. “I am your saviour.”
Despite himself, Clarence started laughing. Who did this fool think she was, strutting into his town with her bold proclamations? Whatever it was she was selling, good, honest folk like the people of Hollin would not be taken by-
His laughter cut off when she strode around the desk and crouched down next to him. Her smooth hand settled onto his chest. Even through his shirt, he could feel the warmth of her skin. “What are-”
“Shh…”
At first, Clarence thought that he might have imagined it, but within a few seconds, he knew that what he felt was real. The tightness in his chest began to fade. He could breathe easily.
Staring at her with his mouth agape, Clarence felt the blood draining out of his face. “What are you?” he whispered. “What?”
“I am the woman who is going to save your people,” she said. “The one who will lead you into a new golden age.”
“How…”
“We must begin by purging sin from this world,” she said. “How far to the nearest major city?”
Clarence sighed. There was a part of him that couldn’t believe he was going along with any of this. It was all so surreal. “Vondranar is five days’ ride from here…Why?”
“Because,” the Weaver replied. “We are going to need men. Lots of men with guns.”
7
Light spilled in from arch-shaped windows, falling on large, wooden tables. There were bookshelves to the left and the right, each one nearly filled to bursting with texts, some old, some new. Some bound in leather, others in wood.
Tommy strode through the library with a smile on his face. Just being here made him happy. Surrounded by so much knowledge. He could spend the rest of his natural life digging through these books, and he still wouldn’t be able to read them all.
“What is it you wanted me to see?” Desa asked, walking behind him with her arms folded. Her sharp tone made Tommy anxious.
“Something that might help us,” he promised. “I’ve spent three long days learning everything I could about your people’s theology.”
Desa stopped dead in the middle of the room, staring at him as if he had just started speaking gibberish. She arched an eyebrow. “How exactly is that going to help us bring down Adele?”
“Just trust me.”
He found Dalen sitting at one of the big tables. The other man was bent over a tome of Aladri folklore, completely engrossed in what he was reading. He didn’t even seem to notice when Tommy and Desa arrived.
Finally, Dalen looked up and blinked at them. “You got to come back with you!” he exclaimed. “Excellent! Excellent! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Desa Nin Leean!”
Desa only nodded.
“Right then,” Dalen began. “Well, I should start by giving credit where credit is due. We owe this discovery to Thomas. You know, he has the mind of a scholar. I think he would do very well at the University if we can persuade them to take a non-citizen. I must commend you on bringing him back with you, Desa Nin Leean. Perhaps you could speak to the Synod about…Time enough for that later, I suppose”
Dalen flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for and then tapped the book with such force it made the table rattle. “It’s right here!” He practically shouted the words and then clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes flaring when he realized that he was much too loud for a library.
All the while, Tommy stood off to the side, hoping that Desa didn’t notice him blushing. Ten minutes after meeting Dalen, Tommy knew that he was in the presence of a genius. Praise from him was no small matter.
“This could revolutionize the way we think about our history,” Dalen said.
Desa stood over the table with her hands on her hips. One look at her, and Tommy could tell that she was running out of patience. That frown could have curdled milk. “I’m sure it’s a wonderful discovery,” she said. “Perhaps you could explain it to me before we discuss the larger implications.”
“Yes! Yes!” Dalen all but shouted. “Thomas, why don’t you take her through it?”
Dalen slid the book across the table, and Tommy found himself looking at a page of text written in the Aladri alphabet. He couldn’t read a word of it, but Dalen had been willing to translate. They had several journals of notes spread out before them.
Tommy shut his eyes and then nodded once. “This,” he said, gesturing to the page, “is the story of how your people came to this island. From what it says here, they made the journey over two thousand years ago.”
“I am aware of this,” Desa said.
Licking the tip of his finger, Tommy turned several pages until he found an illustration depicting a line of people walking through a forest. There were two women in front: one pale with long, red curls, the other dark with a round face and large eyes.
The redhead wore what he can only describe as armour and carried with her a large spear. The dark woman, on the other hand, wore a blue dress and a hooded cloak. “From what Dalen tells me, these are your goddesses.”
“Mercy and Vengeance,” Desa said.
“According to the text, they led your people here.”
Desa eased herself into a wooden chair, crossing one leg over the other and staring up at him like a disapproving schoolhouse teacher. “The stories were never meant to be taken literally, Tommy,” she said with forced patience. “This is mythology, not history.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re heavily embellished in many places,” he said. “But I believe that there really was a Mercy and Vengeance.”
“And what, in your three days of scholarship, brought you to that conclusion?”
Tommy didn’t answer her with words. Instead, he pawed through the books that they had left scattered on the table until he found the one that he was looking for. It was small, bound with leather, and if not for Dalen, it would still be collecting dust on a shelf that hadn’t seen a human hand in years.
He turned pages with wild abandon until he found the illustration that he had seen last night. “Look!” he said, practically shoving the book in Desa’s face. “Look!”
She went pale.
“I knew it!” Tommy jumped for joy, thrusting his fist into the air. “It matches the description you gave us perfectly.”
Desa turned the book around to expose a drawing of a pyramid…A pyramid with a huge crystal on top. Every line was crisp and clear, the shading detailed and elaborate. The artist had taken great pains to faithfully reproduce what he had seen. “This,” Desa whispered. “This is what I saw in the desert.”
“It’s the Temple of Mercy,” Tommy said. “This book is a direct transcription of the Vadir Scrolls, the earliest writings that eventually became your Tharan Vadria. If what Dalen tells me is true, this book is a letter for letter reproduction of exactly what you will find in those scrolls.”
“Oh, there can be no doubt,” Dalen said from the other side of the table. His eyes lit up when he looked at Tommy. “Carn Von Tomlin was obsessed with the Vadir Scrolls. He studied them for years. His books were meant to give laypeople direct access to the scrolls. Normally, the Synod keeps them under lock and key. Carn believed that much of what we see in the Tharan Vadria is a bastardization of the stories found in the original scrolls. Naturally, this was considered heresy, but-”
