I nodded. It was the rune I had raised Fox with, a feat I could not recreate no matter how many times I tried on my own. Once, without anyone’s knowledge save Fox’s, in the quiet stillness of the night, I crept out of the Valerian and tried to recreate the summon Lady Mykaela had performed on the taurvi on the carcass of a rotting beetle.
“You knew I’d fail,” I accused my brother when nothing happened. Even with only him to see, I could not hide my embarrassment. He had thought it a terrible idea but had done little to dissuade me.
“And so did you,” he returned. I couldn’t find a wittier response, had slunk back inside.
“And this is why you were given slices of runeberries for the better part of your training,” my sister explained. “The Dark takes more from you than you might think, and every casting can make you weaker, more vulnerable. The berries make up the difference and will keep your strength up. Follow exactly as I do, and direct it toward this grave.”
Lady Mykaela drew the rune again, and I copied her movements, the blood from my cut hand floating around me, settling into its shape. This time, I felt the tingling along the length of my arm when my fingers drew at the air, sparking at the tips. As she instructed, I guided the thriving energy down to one of the stones, at the bones I could feel lying underneath.
There was a shifting in the soil, and the ground before us caved in.
Something clawed its way out of the small hole that appeared. It had lain dormant for so long that any remaining bits of skin hung like rags around its bones, its skull shorn of all hair. I could see a string of pure energy that wound along my raised finger, attached to what was left of its waist. The corpse fixed an eyeless gaze on us and rattled. Its form was almost skeletal, but its voice was clear as spring in my mind.
I will never tell you! The words snapped at us, shrill and angry. He’s my child, and nothing else matters!
“Ask for her consent,” Lady Mykaela said.
I gritted my teeth. The corpse’s stench turned my stomach, but I persevered. Do you accept me? I directed that thought toward the rotting apparition.
I will never tell you his father’s name! The corpse rattled. I’ll carry his secret to my grave!
“It’s not working.” A peculiar buzzing began in my head, and it began hurting. Whether it was because of the dead woman’s ferocity or the strength it was taking to maintain contact with her, I wasn’t sure. “She’s not listening.”
“Try to command her.”
Never! You will never taint my family name with your vile lies!
“I can’t!” The noise grew worse. I clutched at my head.
“Let her go!” Mykaela ordered. “Cut through the string that binds you both!”
I forced my will through the rope of energy between us, severing our connection. Immediately the corpse sagged, bereft of life once more, and toppled back into the open grave.
“That was Lady Liset,” Lady Mykaela said, “a former Odalian duchess. King Telemaine’s many-times-great-aunt and King Randrall’s wife, buried here instead of at the royal tombs because of her fall from grace for reasons we now know since you raised the old king. The dead cannot lie, but they can withhold the truth. That is the first rule of the Dark: you cannot compel the dead if they are not willing. The duchess is a benign corpse and harmless enough for our purpose. Other dead will not be as gentle. If they do not consent, deprive them of their movements quickly. They will use your own strength to attack you for as long as your bond remains.”
She had me practice this rune for a month—on graves Lady Mykaela herself had raised in her youth, taught to her by other Dark asha that came before her, or on the bones of small animals. Unlike their human counterparts, the animals did not need consent, and I soon learned to distinguish between the corpses who were willing and those who were not almost as soon as they rose from their mounds. But Mykaela had me return the dead, human or animal, compliant or not, to their rest every time, because to maintain Fox, she said, was difficult enough for a young asha-in-training. “Besides,” she added, “I have something else in mind for you.”
? ? ?
The stallion was of a sturdy breed, born and raised in the Gorvekan steppes of Istera. The short, bandy-legged tribes that called that barren veldt their home bred this steed for war and territory but were ill at ease in Ankyo. They were an unusual sight to see, and people turned to stare at the two men, tall and covered in fur save for their bare legs sticking out underneath, armed with crude swords and pushing a makeshift wheelbarrow that contained two lifeless stallions through the streets of the Willows. The Gorvekai were an unsmiling tribe whose men and women shaved their heads and wore fur that draped loosely about their persons, yet also muffled the contours of their bodies at the same time. At least three hundred leagues lay between Istera and Kion, and I could not imagine how they had accomplished the journey the way they had and with two dead beasts in tow.
Lady Mykaela awaited them at the entrance to the Valerian. As the crowd watched, the two men lifted the corpses with unusual care, with a gentleness that belied their fierce, bearded faces. Once the horses were laid out on the ground, they took a step back. One of them addressed the asha in a harsh, nearly guttural language, and I was shocked to hear her respond in kind.
She approached the dead animals, cutting her hand as she did. Several drops of blood spilled onto one of the horses, and in no time at all, it stirred and stood up on all fours, whinnying and stamping its feet. A few people gasped, and most of our audience retreated when it turned and regarded them with bright eyes, like it meant to attack. Lady Mykaela extended a hand out. “Come here,” she said.
It tossed its head at the watchers one last time and approached her. It nuzzled at her fingers like a puppy might.
“There are two horses,” Lady Mykaela called out to me. “Would you care for the other?”
I very much did. I walked forward eagerly, saw Fox keeping in step beside me. More blood, and soon the second horse was up, trotting across the street with its head proudly raised.
The Gorvekai made no sound, only bowed to Mykaela three times, and left without another word, their empty wagon creaking behind them. “A favor for a favor,” Mykaela explained but said nothing more.
The horses themselves were magnificent, and their love of duty and honor showed in their bones. They held their heads high, were docile in their rest, and did not require feeding. Mykaela was delighted and named her mount Kismet. Mine was half a tail smaller in size, but I called him Chief. They took to us, and they also took to Fox, who found a nearby stable, paid its owner twice as much to keep them away from the curious public, and cared for them whenever we were busy. Dark called to Dark, he said, and the horses called to him as strongly as he called to them.
“How do you feel?” Lady Mykaela asked me a day later. I was riding astride Chief, exploring the streets of Ankyo for the first time on horseback, and she was on Kismet.