Chapter Twenty
Chapter
Twenty
The
Cost of Silence, Part One
“Uncle!”
Ahead,
through an ocean of bone, there was an altar raised upon a pyramid. Pipes and
wires crawled along the masonry, mixed with the rising of granite columns. In
the center of the altar, there was a bank of metal devices, thrumming with the
power of souls.
“Uncle!”
A strip
of shattered concrete led directly to the pyramid. On both sides, there were
rows of skeletons, all of which had been crucified against the broken pieces of
the ships. The flag of the necromancers was draped around their bodies—with the
desert sun shining above, the ancient fabric still contained the hints of red,
white, and blue.
“Uncle!”
There
was movement at the altar. A cloud of bone flitted through the air. A trio of
thralls spread along the edge of the pyramid, their black robes cutting through
a fog of souls.
In the
center, Berith stood black and tall.
Isaac
kept his gaze on his uncle. He did not need to look to see the signs of the
colossus. The world was filled with its shadow. A cage of ribs slashed across
the ossein. A reptilian skull stamped a gruesome sigil on the cavern wall, the
jaw clicking and heaving. In every direction, he could see the contour of a
shoulder, the slope of a pelvis, the carnivore bristle of teeth, the spine of a
bony tail. Far in the distance, he could see the wreckage of a pirate skimmer,
the hull smashed so thoroughly into a bed of concrete that it resembled little
more than a swatted fly. He could not tell if the rest of the Crookspur navy
had fared the same way.
The
world was silent.
Like
always, they were alone.
“I told
you to leave,” Berith said.
Isaac
did not answer.
His
uncle walked to the side, trailing a hand along the metal instruments. “What
happened to you? Are you hurt?”
Isaac
clutched his arm, silent. A shower of dirt fell from the sky.
Berith
moved to the edge of the pyramid, his sun-eating robes trailing a black curtain
at his feet. “Let me guess. This was your pirate accomplice. She stabbed you in
the back, at the first sign of trouble, when her promise of treasure proved
untenable.” He made a noise in his throat. “You should have expected as much,
though it’s good you took care of her. This conflict should remain within the
family.”
Isaac
judged the distance between them, counting each of the steps that led to the
top of the pyramid. He kept a wary eye on the thralls. Out of the thirty souls
he had seen in the necromancer factory, only three remained.
His
uncle had sacrificed over two dozen people.
His
fellow mages.
His
mother.
Blood
leaked through his fist.
“Your
father is dead,” Berith said. “If he isn’t now, he will be soon. He can no
longer feast on the souls of the necromancer. Without a corporeal form, he will
wither and dissipate, like a morning fog.” He glanced at the souls leaking
through the masonry. “I only wish I could’ve done it sooner.”
A
gentle breeze blew through the crucified skeletons, fluttering the ancient
flags. Berith watched Isaac, staring down from the top of the pyramid.
“Do you
have an answer for me, boy?”
Isaac
said nothing.
“Now is
the time,” his uncle said, gesturing.
Isaac
did not respond.
“I’m
beginning to find your silence rather insolent.”
Isaac
tried to gather his strength. There was a sizable distance between him and the
pyramid. Once he was there, it was sixty-two steps to the top of the structure,
each of them tall and thin and crumbling. While he climbed, all three of the
remaining thralls would have a perfect vantage to loose their spells, and Berith could just as easily snipe
him with one of the dozens of bones hanging above his head.
His
legs were beginning to shake. If he did not rest soon, the loss of blood would
cause him to faint.
Isaac
gritted his teeth.
“I have
medical supplies,” Berith said, after a long pause. “Your injuries are serious.
If you would just . . . submit, for a moment, I could provide you. . . .”
Isaac
began to walk forward.
His
uncle tensed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Isaac
stepped over a cracked geyser of concrete, kicking through loose clods of dirt.
Around him, the shadow of the colossus spilled across the earth.
“Isaac—”
Berith gave a long, withered sigh. He closed his glowing eyes. “This was never
your mission. Let it go.”
Isaac
growled, stretching the burn on his chest.
“Isn’t
this what you wanted?” Berith asked, watching him from above. “A chance to be
free from your father? Was this not your wish?” He was silent for a moment,
chewing on his thoughts. “I always read through your journal. Whenever you were
studying, whenever you were busy with chores, I stole into your room and
searched through your writings. It was my duty. I had to gauge your
development. I had to make sure you were becoming like your father.” He looked
at him, ignoring the curtains of falling sand. “Oh, you were so full of
dreams.”
The
thralls tracked Isaac’s position, their palms bristling with ice and fire.
“So
full of resentment.”
Isaac
clenched his fist.
“You’ve
always hated this,” Berith said. “I should know. I hated it just as much.”
A gasp
escaped Isaac’s throat. Blood leaked down his arm.
“Isaac,
stop.”
He kept
walking.
“Stop!”
A salvo
of bone shot from above, exploding into the ground at his feet.
“What
do you think you’re doing?” Berith yelled, his bones quickening along his
robes. “Your arm is useless! You can’t cast! What is your plan, Isaac? Tell
me!”
Isaac
stopped. With his uninjured arm, he pulled Zaria’s dagger from a pocket at his
hip. He put the sheath in his mouth, drew the blade, and spat the leather
scabbard onto the floor. Steel glinted in the sun.
Berith
gave a humorless snort. “Did your pirate give that to you?”
He was
halfway to the stairs. The path before him was cracked and brittle, ripped
apart by the quakes of the colossus. Around him, crucified skeletons stared
eyeless to the sky.
“Do not
force my hand,” Berith said. “Put down the knife.”
Isaac
began to walk.
“Put
the knife down! That’s an order!”
His
knuckles were bone-white on the hilt. Around him, the sigils carved into the
students began to glow bright, like rings of molten steel.
“Isaac!”
Isaac
glared at his uncle.
One of
the students shot a lick of flame, like the bolt of a crossbow. It hit Isaac
square in the thigh, and he collapsed to the floor, slapping desperately at the
leg of his robes. The flesh crackled and split, hissing like meat.
He
loosed a scream.
“You
always were disobedient,” Berith said.
When
Isaac tried to stand, the pain became blinding. He crumbled back down to his
belly, breathing desperately.
“This
was all your father’s doing. You understand that, don’t you?” Berith paced
along the edge of the altar, his black robes like a shadow upon the columns.
“If he hadn’t come to this tomb, if he hadn’t blundered his way into a trap, if
he hadn’t. . . .” Berith snarled around his breath. “If he had just died,
when he should have. If he hadn’t been so desperate to save himself. If he and
the Diet hadn’t extorted me into raising you.”
With
the dagger still in hand, Isaac pressed his knuckles to the stone, pushing
himself up.
“If I hadn’t
been forced to kill your mother.”
Isaac
got back to his feet, slouching heavily. His walk was limping and slow.
“This
was all his fault!” Berith yelled. “Do you think you’re defending him? Do you
feel some need to save the man who tried to sacrifice you without a moment’s
hesitation?”
He had
reached the stairs. There were sixty-two, rising one after the other. Each one
of them felt as tall as a mountain.
Isaac
snarled through the pain.
“Answer
me, boy!”
He took
to the stairs, and every step sent agony up his leg, and soon he was crawling,
using his hands more than his legs, digging through rifts of fallen sand. His
palms left bloody prints upon the stone.
“Stop!”
It was
no different than the yard. There was shouting, and there was exhaustion, and
there was pain beyond what he thought he could endure, and all he had left to
him was the power of his mind, the will within his soul.
How
many times had he done this before?
“There
is no need for this!” Berith yelled. “We can go home together!”
Elemental
spells churned around him. Bones boiled in the air.
“Isaac!”
Isaac
reached the top of the pyramid. The students turned, their eyes blank, their
casting stance as rigid as the automatons of the necromancer empire. From here,
he saw the ice bristling from their palms, like the protruding break of a bone.
He fell
to the floor of the altar, gasping from the exertion. None of the thralls
restrained him.
“Isaac,”
Berith warned, stepping back.
As he
struggled up to his feet, the colossus began to stir. The earth trembled, and
shadows raced across the pyramid. A squall of wind ripped through the air. The
world around them seemed to tense for a strike.
It
never came. The beast was too massive. He was too close.
Would
his uncle really have done it, if he had the chance?
“Isaac.
. . .”
Berith
retreated backwards, pressing himself into the bank of metal devices. The bones
on his robes slithered into links and chains, racing to protect his vital
organs.
“Isaac.”
The
haft of the dagger was slick with sweat.
“Isaac!”
Bones
rained down around him. A humerus speared next to his chest, and, when he did
not stop, there came a grapeshot of fingers, a burst of tarsals and teeth.
Soon, there were skulls screaming past his face, a blizzard of vertebrae
shattering at his feet. The air became thick with motion and bodies. Isaac
limped through it all, never dropping his gaze. Nothing touched him but the
splinters.
It was
all a show. It was all an empty threat.
“Listen
to me,” Berith said.
A human
femur came down from above. It held itself straight, like an arrow caught in
flight, its blunt spherical head chiseled by age and time. Now, the bone