Cursed Bones

chapter 41



First, he went to the site of the cave-in on Karth, carefully approaching the section of collapsed ceiling within the passage, manifesting only as a floating ball of light. What he saw caused him to snap back into his own body and sit bolt upright, breathing heavily.

Along the top corner of the cave-in, where debris filled the corridor the least, was a three-foot-by-three-foot tunnel dug through the dirt and rock, shorn up with pieces of stone pulled from the floor of the Goiri’s crypt and used to form a ceiling and walls for twenty feet.

“She’s alive,” he said when Jack looked up.

“Did you see her?” Jack asked.

“No. But they dug out from under the cave-in. They’re probably trying to escape the island. I need to find her.”

Jack just smiled as Alexander lay back down and cleared his mind. After several failed attempts to find Isabel by focusing on her, Alexander returned to the crypt passage just outside the cave-in and quickly moved his awareness up the passage to the black-and-white room. From there, he followed the passage leading to the ghidora, moving more quickly than any person could run but maintaining clear awareness of his surroundings. Finding the ghidora frozen in place and the remains of Horace where they’d left them, Alexander blinked back to the black-and-white room where he took the passage leading to the crystal chambers.

Floating down the hallway, he saw Isabel a few feet inside the threshold of the chamber beyond. She was saying something to Trajan, but Alexander couldn’t make it out. Once he got within ten feet of Isabel, he suddenly found himself back in his body on Tyr.

“She’s alive and she has the Goiri bone,” Alexander said, sitting up and smiling to himself. Of all the decisions he’d ever made, marrying Isabel was by far the best.

“Impressive,” Jack said. “What’s her plan?”

“I’m afraid she plans to stab Phane,” Alexander said, his smile fading into a frown. “Without magic, she thinks he’ll be vulnerable enough to kill.”

“She could be right,” Jack said.

“I’d rather she didn’t bet her life on it.”

“What would you do in her place?”

Alexander hesitated, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I’d kill Phane.”

“Of course you would, given the chance. Isabel has that chance. And she knows it. More to the point, she’s the one on the battlefield, in harm’s way. Doesn’t it have to be her call?”

“Of course it does, but I don’t have to like it,” Alexander said, lying back and closing his eyes.

It took some time to find the calm necessary to once again escape his body. After a brief conversation with Abigail, he appeared in Lucky’s workshop.

“Ah, there you are,” Lucky said, smiling amiably and getting up from the table and an early lunch. “I’ve prepared the material according to your specifications and I’ve begun to process a second batch.”

“Good. Once you learn the entire process, you’ll need to start production. That means you need a place with better security.”

“Kelvin suggested the same thing,” Lucky said. “We’ve begun construction of a suitable workshop with adjacent quarters in the subbasement of the new Wizard’s Guild Lodge.”

“Remember, only you and Kelvin know this is happening. Keep it that way.”

“Absolutely,” Lucky said. “We are both extraordinarily cautious when discussing this matter.”

“Good, so you have orange-red granules …” Alexander spent several minutes explaining the next few steps, detailing how each step should unfold, how the result should look, what failure looked like and how to recover. When Lucky could recite every step, Alexander said his goodbyes and vanished.

The process of making Wizard’s Dust was long and complex—it would require several more visits with detailed instructions before Lucky learned the entire formula, and even then, the most difficult and delicate parts were yet to come … Lucky would have to apply his magic in just the right way at just the right time. If he failed, the batch would be useless. There was still a long way to go, but they were making good progress.

Alexander lingered on the firmament, listening to the song of creation, but also listening for any hint of Siduri. Memories of his brief encounter with the strange little man intruded into his mind with maddening frequency. The ramifications of his story were terrifying and breathtaking all at once. Alexander couldn’t help but wonder if Siduri was the key to it all, so he searched for him and listened for him and called out to him every time he visited the firmament, but all he ever received in return was silence.

He opened his eyes to find Anja sitting in the chair beside his bed, watching him intently.

“You’re staring,” Alexander said.

“Is that wrong?”

“Not wrong, just impolite.”

“I wanted to make sure I remember what you look like.”

“You’ll remember,” Alexander said, reaching for her hand.

She looked down. “Will you teach me how to fight with a sword?”

“Huh?”

“I want to learn how to fight with a sword.”

“Anja, you’re a dragon, why would you need to fight with a sword?”

She shrugged, shaking her head, still looking down. “I just want to learn.”

“Ask your mother. I’ll teach you if she agrees.”

She smiled excitedly and raced out of the Wizard’s Den, looking for her mother. It wasn’t long before Alexander felt the approach of Bragador just moments before she appeared in the doorway of the Wizard’s Den, Anja trailing behind her.

“May I?”

“Of course, please come in,” Alexander said.

Bragador took the chair next to the bed. Anja stood at her side, struggling not to smile.

“Anja tells me you would teach her to fight with a sword. Is this wise?”

“I don’t see how it’s unwise, even if it is pretty unnecessary.”

“Please, Mother,” Anja said. “I really want to learn.”

“Very well,” Bragador said, “but do not aggravate his injury, Anja.”

“She won’t,” Alexander said. “Jack will play the part of her opponent while I talk them through the steps.”

Jack looked up from his papers, his eyes slightly wider than usual, but he recovered quickly, standing and then bowing with a flourish to Anja. “My Lady, it will be my honor to serve as your practice mannequin.”

Anja giggled. Bragador frowned, but made no move to leave. “Perhaps you should close the door,” she said.

Alexander nodded, willing the door to the Wizard’s Den to close.

“I have word from Tasia. The Regency ship is a week from the northern coast of Karth.”

“I’ve looked at that ship. The shade is aboard and he still has Aedan,” Alexander said, holding Bragador’s gaze. “We don’t have a move right now.”

“Very well, I will instruct Tasia to remain with your Captain Wyatt and provide him what assistance she can for the time being.”

“Good. Wyatt’s going to have his work cut out for him,” Alexander said. “On another matter, my leg has healed well enough for me to walk without a cane, not far, mind you, but well enough that I think it’s time to begin making preparations for my departure. I’d like to call a ship to come pick me up, but I wanted your permission first.”

“Of course, but just a single vessel and tell them to fly the Reishi flag when they enter the Spires.”

“I’ll make sure they follow your instructions,” Alexander said.

Bragador said her goodbyes and Anja came to Alexander’s bed.

“Can we start?”

“All right, but we’ll start with a knife, you’re probably not strong enough to wield a sword.”

Anja frowned, shaking her head. “Alexander, I’m a dragon. I’m plenty strong enough to handle a sword. In fact, I want to learn to use a really big sword.”

Alexander chuckled. “Fair enough, but let’s start with a knife. Many of the principles are the same, but a knife can be easily concealed where a really big sword can’t.”

“All right, if you say so,” Anja said.

After a brief hunt for adequate pieces of driftwood and some minor modifications, Anja had produced two wooden knives. In the session that followed, both Jack and Alexander learned that she was not only stronger than a full-grown man, but faster and far more aggressive in a fight than most soldiers. There was a visceral quality to her total immersion in the moment, all of her attention, focus, and intention narrowed down to the present. She moved like an animal, instinctually searching for an opening, an opportunity to strike, lashing out with blinding quickness and spontaneity when an opening presented itself.

After a bit of instruction and practice, Anja was an equal for Jack one-on-one. Her speed and strength matched his skill and experience. With time and practice, she would be formidable with a blade.

“That’s enough for today,” Alexander said.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Jack said, collapsing onto the ground, lying completely splayed out on the cold stone floor.

Anja giggled.

“You did well,” Alexander said. “Think about the things you learned today and we’ll practice more tomorrow.”

Anja bent down and kissed him on the cheek before skipping out of the Wizard’s Den, humming a tune to herself.

“Just think, Jack, you’ll be able to tell the story about the time you got into a knife fight with a dragon and lived to tell about it.”

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “It would be unbecoming of a bard to tell such a tale about himself, so I rather suspect you will be the hero of this story.”

“I’m still laid up in bed,” Alexander said.

“Which makes your role in the story all the more heroic,” Jack said, smiling with mirth and mischief.

Several days passed. Alexander checked in with Abigail every day, but they hadn’t yet obtained the dragon draught they needed to enter Whitehall. Isabel was still cloaked by the Goiri bone, so Alexander couldn’t find her, a fact that was both a source of worry and solace—worry because he wanted to see her, talk to her, know that she was all right, and solace because he knew she was still alive and Phane wouldn’t be able to find her either.

He checked in on Lucky every day as well, watching his progress without disturbing him. Once he’d done his daily clairvoyant reconnaissance, Alexander spent the rest of the day with Anja, teaching her to fight. After a few days of training with the knife, she carved a small log into a giant broadsword and asked to start using it instead.

Alexander agreed, more than anything because he wanted to see this little waif of a girl wielding a sword that most full-grown men wouldn’t be able to handle … and he wasn’t disappointed.

Anja brought every bit of the strength and speed to wielding the broadsword that she had to the knife, but she was even more aggressive and forceful in her attacks. Jack was no longer her sparring partner—he’d sustained too many bruises and cuts to continue—so Anja practiced by herself against imaginary targets.

Alexander walked her through each engagement, presenting the imaginary enemies she faced, their locations, armament and actions, then had her explain how she would defend against each attack. Once she outlined her battle plan, Alexander walked her through it, examining how well each step would work, then she would drill her plan.

She worked tirelessly and relentlessly. She demonstrated a kind of single-minded determination rarely matched by human beings.

That evening, Alexander went to bed tired but unable to sleep, so he projected into the firmament instead. He went to Lucky first and found him sitting in front of the fire.

“Ah, Alexander, it’s so good to see you,” Lucky said, standing up. “I’m ready to proceed. I’ve processed the compound through the bright green liquid state you told me of and boiled the mixture down to black, brittle pellets.”

“Good, this next step will require your magic,” Alexander said. “You must dissolve the black pellets into one pint of muriatic acid and boil the mixture, adding more acid every time the mixture falls below half a pint. This process will take ten hours, during that time you must focus your magic on the mixture each time you add acid. As the solution comes to a boil, visualize the gold particles floating in the solution and see them spinning.”

“Spinning?” Lucky asked.

“Yes, spinning very quickly,” Alexander said. “I don’t understand it either, but the sovereigns tell me it’s a necessary step for the process to work.”

“Very well. And once the ten hours have elapsed?”

“Boil it down till just dry—it should be white as new-fallen snow. I’ll come back for the next step. If the product isn’t white, you’ll have to start over at step one.”

“Then I shall focus intently on seeing the gold spinning,” Lucky said. “On another matter, Kelvin would like to speak with you.”

“I’ll go see him now,” Alexander said, fading away and reappearing in Kelvin’s workshop, which was still under construction.

“Alexander, it’s good to see you,” Kelvin said, turning away from his supervisory role. “I have things to show you. Come.”

He followed Kelvin into a well-locked and magically protected vault. It contained all manner of items, from weapons to clothes to jewelry, and everything was enchanted to one degree or another. Kelvin selected a staff from a rack of other staves and held it up for Alexander. It was about six feet long, shod in silver on either end, and carved with runes over every part of its surface. It was well-made and potently enchanted, but its bright, pure white colors told a greater story—this staff was made from the vitalwood tree, a conduit to the realm of light itself.

“I call her Luminescence,” Kelvin said proudly. “Isabel gave me the idea in her fight with the scourgling. The staff will produce ordinary light in varying intensity from a dim glow to sunlight bright, but that’s not where its real power lies. Every few hours, you can call forth the Maker’s light. Near as I can tell, it’s just as powerful as Isabel’s light—it makes people want to stop fighting, disrupts spell casting for both wizards and witches, and it banishes most demons outright.”

“Sounds like a potent weapon,” Alexander said. “I’m impressed.”

“The truth is, the wood itself wanted to be what she became,” Kelvin said. “I had a number of other ideas, but every time I picked up the branch, none of those ideas felt right and this one always did.”

“Then it’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.”

“I hope so,” Kelvin said, replacing the staff and picking up a finely crafted, though slightly undersized dagger. “I call this Demonrend. It will banish any demon it draws blood from. Commander P’Tal tells me it’s balanced perfectly for throwing, but still long enough to wield effectively by hand. I made her from a fallen star I found decades ago. I’ve been waiting for just the right project for that hunk of metal and this seemed perfect.”

“Thank you, Kelvin. I was going to head straight to Karth from Tyr, but I think I’ll come to you first.”

“I hoped you would, as does Commander P’Tal. His wound is all but healed and he’s anxious to resume his duties.”

“I’ll bet,” Alexander said. “Is Lita still following him around?”

“All the way here to Glen Morillian,” Kelvin said with a chuckle.

“He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to miss her when he’s mended.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Kelvin said.

“I hope to see you soon,” Alexander said, fading into the firmament.

He found Lacy sleeping fitfully aboard the Regency warship. Her quarters were comfortable, but there was a guard at the door.

Alexander slipped into her dreams, but not as himself. Instead, he conjured an image of Lacy’s father in the distance, beckoning to her.

“You must go to Ithilian,” he said, in a forlorn, desperate way. “You’re going the wrong way.” With that, he withdrew from her dreams, while she continued to toss and turn. It would be so much easier just to talk to her in person, but Alexander didn’t want to risk her safety by putting her in a position to tell lies she wasn’t able to sell.

“Dissolve the material in a quart of distilled water, then add a dilute solution of caustic soda in small amounts, stirring constantly until balance between acid and base is achieved—do you know what that means?”

“I do,” Lucky said, chuckling. “Any alchemist worth his salt would.”

“All right, boil the mixture down until it’s just dry, then add another quart of distilled water. Boil it down again until you have black granules.”

“And then?”

“Then you’ll need an oven that isn’t made out of metal, capable of producing high heat over long periods of time.”

“I’ll consult Kelvin on the matter,” Lucky said.

Alexander faded away and returned to Tyr. He’d started sparring with Anja himself, though at slower speeds than she was capable of due to his injury. His leg was mending well, but it was still sore, especially when he put his full weight on it, so he took it easy while working with Anja to improve her technique.

During these sessions, he discovered that his new precognition was related to threats. If something dangerous was coming his way, he just knew. It first manifested with Anja when she got carried away and forgot they were sparring at half speed. She whirled with her wooden broadsword, bringing the blade around in an arc that would have probably brained Alexander, but he saw it coming a moment before it reached him and was able to duck. Had he been relying on just his all around sight, he might not have been quick enough, given Anja’s extraordinary speed.

She’d proven to be a quick study, rapidly learning basic knife and sword techniques. She still lacked the nuance and deep understanding that came from experience but she was quite proficient at a variety of attacks, blocks, parries, and feints, having practiced them diligently.

Alexander started to feel a pang of loss every time he thought about leaving her, but he knew it was the right thing to do, no matter how bad it felt. He sparred with her daily and his leg grew stronger. Captain Kalderson’s ship was coming to get him and he knew there would be no waiting once it arrived. He needed to be in fighting form by then.

He visited Lacy nightly, sowing the seeds of resistance within her mind, reinforcing her father’s dying command in her dreams: Take the box to Ithilian. Never open it.

He checked with both Abigail and Lucky every day to see if they were ready to proceed and he worried constantly about Isabel. She was beyond his reach, immune to magic, unfindable.

After being cooped up in his bed for so long, he started to venture out to the island, walking and exploring with Anja in tow, asking a thousand questions. If felt good to walk again. Even if he wasn’t fully healed, he could still cover some distance before needing to rest.

Finally, Lucky reported that an oven fashioned of crystal was complete and ready to use.

“Place the black crystals in an annealing boat and bake them at high heat for two hours. While they bake, visualize all of the impurities burning away, leaving only spinning particles of gold. After two hours, you should have a fine white powder with almost no weight at all … Wizard’s Dust. One ounce of gold will produce enough for one mana fast.”

Lucky swallowed hard, looking at the tray of black pellets, realization of what he was about to do sinking in. “We’re about to change the world,” he whispered.

“Let’s hope for the better,” Alexander said. “You have the whole formula now. Produce enough to meet the needs of the Ruathan and Ithilian Wizards Guilds and the Reishi Coven, but no more. Don’t stockpile any. Make only what you need for each mana fast and only once a candidate is selected. Spread the rumor that another cache of Wizard’s Dust was found in the Reishi Keep.”

“I understand,” Lucky said. “I’ll protect this sacred charge with my life.”

Alexander smiled at his old mentor. Lucky wasn’t one for such talk unless he was deadly serious … or afraid. Alexander imagined it was a bit of both. Lucky had just become the most important man alive, the only man in the world who could actually make Wizard’s Dust, the one man with both the necessary power and the requisite knowledge … and that made him the biggest target in all of the Seven Isles. Phane or Zuhl would gleefully kill him to prevent him from producing Wizard’s Dust, or just as happily capture him and torture him for the formula. Either way, his best defense was secrecy.

“I know you will. I’ll see you soon,” Alexander said, fading out of sight and returning to Tyr and Anja who was waiting not so patiently in the chair beside his bed.