A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 55 Mercy Whitaker

55 MERCY WHITAKER

They were past one hundred threads severed. Mercy wished she could see the impact this was having around the city of Kathor. She could not help imagining the Makers, waking up suddenly, aware that the voice they’d been guided by for months or years was now absent. She hoped they would spread the word. Share their stories. A reversal within the Makers might just be their only chance to survive the years to come. It also gave her hope that Arakyl would not have the power he needed for another attack. All they had to do was finish their work.

As many as they’d severed, roughly the same number remained. More perhaps. They were trying to work in quadrants. A systematic approach. But every now and again, she found herself squinting at a section she’d already cleared, unable to find new threads.

Mercy was sawing at another thread, her arm weak and cramped, when purple light flared in the room. Arakyl’s body was glowing again. Those backlit eyes swiveled to focus on them. Without the houndmaster to speak through, his words whispered into their minds instead.

Very well. You have earned my attention.

There was a scraping sound. Mercy’s eyes swung back to the entrance. Two creatures were worming their way through the narrow entry tunnel. As soon as they were through, their wings swept wide. “Oh, shit…”

That was all Mercy managed to say as two full-grown wyverns descended on them. Their riders were gone. Their harnesses had been cut. Arakyl had restored them to the wild creatures they’d once been. Before someone had come out to the Dires and tamed them. And gods were they massive. One landed on the ground beside Win. The group had left him at the back of the cavern. They’d thought he was safe there. Now he held up his hands and screamed. Blood spattered in a dreadful arc. The lionlike mouth clamped down and he was dead. Just like that.

Zell’s statues were the first to react. They didn’t possess the animal instinct that forces a smaller creature to pause when it sees a larger one. The gargoyle led the charge against the other wyvern. It leapt through the air and wrapped itself around the wyvern’s right leg. The effort was enough to drag the creature downward. The other statues took advantage. As a group, they pinned the creature’s wings. Dahvid was there first. Mercy had to blink, though, when a second Dahvid whispered out from the first. The wyvern let out a screech, lashing out with his claws, as both versions of the image-bearer jabbed at the creature with their matching swords. Margaret and the second wyvern entered the fight at the same time, crashing in from opposite sides.

It was all limbs and claws and wings. Mercy saw Margaret fumble her sword. The girl rolled to one side just as blasts came in from the right. Theo and Redding were advancing, their wands raised. They cast projectiles instead of focusing on wards. It worked. Driving back one wyvern as the other fell with a piercing scream. Mercy could have watched them battle for hours, but she’d come down here with purpose. No one else was cutting threads. She was reaching for the closest one when it pulsed brighter. Another surge of power ran across the length of those makeshift bonds. Moving in the direction of Arakyl.

“Theo!” Mercy shouted. “Wards back up!”

She expected arcane fire to come pouring out again. Last time, Arakyl had unleashed a massive spell. Instead, the voice returned. Rattling through every corner of her mind.

Enough of this.

Arakyl was rising. The threads around the room burned . No one alive had seen a living dragon. She wasn’t really sure that’s what they were seeing now, but it was close enough. The great skeletal frame pushed up to its feet. His neck writhed before straightening. The purple-bright eyes stared down at them with true hunger now. As if he had been waiting a century for this particular feast.

Theo was the first to rush forward.

It was brave—and foolish. He cast another shield and they all watched Arakyl punch straight through it. A strike that happened in less than a blink. The great claws closed in around Theo’s midsection. Puncturing his back. Arakyl shook him from side to side, and then slung his body to the right. Dead. He went for Dahvid next. Mercy saw the warrior’s eyes widen. He reached up and swiped the red flower painted on his chest. Easily his most visible tattoo. Mercy had no idea what it did but she felt power pulse outward and she briefly hoped—beyond all hope—that maybe it was powerful enough to actually stop a fully resurrected dragon.

Nothing seemed to happen, though. Instead of unleashing a great burst of magic or summoning a new weapon—Dahvid’s eyes swung in her direction.

“You have to run, Mercy. You’re our only hope. Run now! ”

Arakyl brought one claw smashing down on top of him. Crushed him into the stones the way a wagon might crush a mouse as it rumbled down the road. Zell and the rest of her creatures were next. She let out one final battle cry, and was forced to watch as Arakyl spewed that purple fire, melting the statues that didn’t scatter in time with a single continuous blast. Dahvid’s final words were still ringing in Mercy’s mind.

You’re our only hope.

Of course. Mercy didn’t know how he knew that, but of course . She turned and sprinted for the entrance. She ignored the sounds of crunching bones. The final scream of the wyvern as Margaret plunged her sword one final time into its chest. She knew that all of them would die. That was the only way forward now. They had to die. And she had to live.

It looked like cowardice. She didn’t care. She made it up the first ramp and found herself squeezing through the entry tunnel. Ahead, she thought she saw one of the livestone creatures escaping but it was hard to tell in the dark. She wound back through the twisting caverns. Behind her, she heard screaming. Redding? Margaret? Zell? It didn’t matter. Dahvid had turned and told her to survive. She knew that was the only way to win. She found herself in darkness. Groping against the walls. She didn’t dare light a cantrip. Not now. Instead, she reached the antechamber they’d gathered in. Halfway up the boring tunnel, she’d seen an opening. Some kind of animal nest. She went to that side of the tunnel, set one hand to the dirt wall, and started walking. As fast as she could. Until her hand found empty air.

There was a burrow. Hardly big enough for her, but she crawled inside it. She had to scrape at the dirt until there was enough room for her entire body to curl inside that dark space. Unseen. She released her grip on the magic she’d been holding on to all this time. The visualization spell down in the chamber would vanish. She could still hear screams. The sounds of her brave group dying. They had lost.

Or they would if Arakyl found her. Mercy tried to keep her thoughts calm. She settled her breathing the way she would before an operation. It took time, but her heart rate slowed. Even now, knocking on death’s door, her hands didn’t shake. And then she heard the voice.

Come now, little one. What use is hiding? Do you think there is anywhere in this world that you could go—and that I would not find you? I am Arakyl. The first and last of my name. I… will… FIND… YOU.

There was a deep rumble. As if the earth itself were opening up. She didn’t think Arakyl could navigate the same tunnel she’d used, but he was also a dragon. He would have other ways to pursue her. She needed to remain steady. Perfectly quiet. Offer no sign of her existence to him.

If you come out now, I will let you live. I will allow you to witness my return. It is near enough. All this work. All the effort. Your friend opened the door and now I am nearly through it. As your magic fades—I revive. Do you see what I have done? Can you even comprehend the breadth of this plan? Come out here. Witness the first dragon to be born in centuries.

More rumbling. Mercy kept her eyes shut. Her mind closed. No matter how fascinating she found his words, she would not engage. Curiosity was like planting a seed. If she did that, he might take root. Make a home in her thoughts forever. She nestled deeper into the darkness and waited.

Fine. I will wait for you. I have waited for so long, after all. What is one more day? One more eon? I slept in the nothing for nearly three decades. Spoke only with the shadows, and they are such boring company. Sometimes, I would whisper to the wolves who ranged above me. Enter the thoughts of wyverns as they winged overhead. I would ask them questions about the world above. They would tell me of the sun, the mountains, of your kind…

Mercy felt a sudden wash of heat. As if the great dragon was breathing down on her neck.

It was so hard to fathom. Your species had survived ours? You have weak bodies. Even weaker minds. How was it possible? The only answer I found was magic. Stolen magic. I waited so patiently—and she woke me up. From across the continent, her anger was like the brightest flame breaking the longest night. Enough for me to find my way back to my body, and all I needed then was for someone else to find it. It took years, but some whelp and her father stumbled into this chamber. They reported the location of my grave site. And when your city’s precious leader arrived, I saw a path forward. A future that was to my liking. I bent him to my will. I began spreading this whisper of an echo of a curse. I planted just one seed in his mind—and look at how it bloomed! Now, as magic dies in your kind—it returns in me. I will be the first dragon to walk the earth in… I don’t know how long. Others will follow. Or not. Maybe I will rule the land alone. I can hunt you—one by one. I’m not sure. All I know is that I was in darkness, and a door was left open. I am finally prepared to pass through the realms. And you, Mercy Whitaker, are one of the only things left in my way.

The heat intensified. Her eyes were pinned shut, but she thought she could see the glow of that arcane fire. There was a burst of energy and she thought she was about to die. Instead, the magic struck some distant wall. She heard rocks stirring and tumbling and falling still. He repeated that same routine three times. Whispering threats. Firing spells. Missing her over and over again. Not once did she move or speak or think. She would not be broken. He’d have to get lucky and actually hit her with one of his blasts.

Coward! They’re dying, you know? As you save yourself? THEY ARE DYING.

Mercy experienced a forced glimpse of some distant field. All the wizards they’d left at Balmerick were there—crowded behind makeshift wards. There were bodies everywhere. Hundreds of soldiers surrounded the group. A killing field. In the distance, she saw Meredream. She shook herself away from that vision. He was lying to her. Showing her something to draw on her desperation. She offered him no emotion. No response or thought. Nothing at all.

When I find you, do you want me to eat your body first? Or your soul?

The shuffling sound grew more distant. The rumbles grew less pronounced. Everything went quiet. As if he were waiting for her to reveal herself. Crouched somewhere in shadow. After a minute, he began moving again. Returning to the lower chamber. The air boiled with his frustration. Mercy knew that if she waited long enough—he would return to that other battle. His attention would be elsewhere. Quietly, she began to count.