First Oaths (The Bone Men #1)

1. Kit

Kit

I was a hard man to find. It took me years to become that way, and it annoyed me every time a stranger appeared on my doorstep.

It didn’t matter why they were there; they could be giving away a fortune or asking for directions down the road.

It was equally irritating either way. I had carved out a quiet, solitary life for myself, and I was loath to share it for even a moment.

The townspeople knew better than to bother me at home.

I was fair game when I was down in the forge—not that many people approached me there, either, but for work—but my house was off-limits.

Every once in a while, someone went against their better judgment and made the trek past the outskirts of Forstford and up the hill to my door.

Usually, it was a wayward traveler seeking directions to town or a passing salesman.

No one got more than a point down the road, or a curse and the door slammed in their face.

That day, everything started out normal.

I fixed myself a breakfast of coffee and eggs and enjoyed it while sitting on my back porch watching the sun rise between the pines.

When the chill of the late autumn morning had sufficiently numbed my hands and nose, I retreated inside and curled up with a book in the den.

Not quite an hour passed before a knock at the door made my jaw clench. Setting my book on the side table, I stalked to the front hall. I undid the locks and yanked the door open, primed to dismiss the interloper and return to my coveted quiet as quickly as possible.

The man on my doorstep looked like an overgrown rat. Large, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his pointed nose, and crooked teeth poked out beneath his top lip. Hair the color of dirty dishwater hung around his face in thick, ropy strands.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

He smiled, showing his teeth to not only be jagged and crowded but horribly yellow. “Mister Mosel, I’m glad you’re home. I was hoping to speak with you about the peace of Paneus and the joy that he can bring?—”

“No.” I didn’t have the energy to listen to his spiel.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you people only ever come to my door, never anyone else in town.

As if everyone else in the province is more devout than me.

You should keep to the real purpose of the mission and do something to help the families who lost crops in the flooding last month. We’ve sent help. Have you?”

The man sputtered but didn’t manage a response.

“Didn’t think so.” I leaned in and dropped my voice so the threat in my tone was unmistakable.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the last man who came out here to bother me: I’m not interested in anything to do with either of the gods.

They’ve never done anything for me, so what use do I have for them?

Next time, perhaps I should carve my response into your forehead so you won’t forget it again. ”

I slammed the door and engaged the locks, then turned with a haggard breath. “Gods, I need a guard dog.”

I dragged my hands through my hair to settle myself before heading to the kitchen to prepare another cup of coffee.

When I returned to my chair a few minutes later, I had no sooner reclaimed my book and opened to the marked page than another knock echoed at the door.

The muscles in my shoulders tensed, and I ground my teeth.

Throwing my book down, I detoured to the kitchen to retrieve a long, serrated blade from the knife block, then stormed to the front hall. I threw the locks and jerked the door open, knife raised threateningly.

“I warned you that the next time I would—” I blinked at the figure on the stoop— not the rat man of?several minutes before. This was a much younger man, younger than me, with his green eyes wide and his hands held up in a pitiful defense.

“Oh,” I said, lowering the knife. “I thought you were someone else.”

My unwanted visitor kept his hands raised as he stared at the blade. The late morning sun made his sandy hair shine golden and highlighted the spiderwebbing burn scars that covered both palms and forearms, disappearing beneath the cuffs of his rolled shirt sleeves.

I knew all the faces in town, and he wasn’t from around here.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said quickly, lifting his gaze to meet mine. “Are you Kit Mosel?”

I sighed and slumped against the door frame. “Unfortunately. What do you want?”

A grin spread across his face. “I’m Penny Oliver.” He thrust out a hand to shake.

I stared at it long enough that he shifted in discomfort before I gestured with the knife. “And? ”

He pulled back his hand and stuffed it meekly in his pocket. After coughing to clear his throat, he forged on. “I was hoping to ask you some questions about the Bone Men.”

The words rolled off his tongue with the same casual tone one would use to comment on the day’s weather.

Like he hadn’t just brought up a topic that could get me questioned by the militia or run out of town.

Bile rose in my throat, and I stepped back, grabbing the door to swing it closed.

Before I could, Penny braced his foot against the bottom of it.

“Please.” His smile faltered. “There are things I need to know, and I think you’re the only person who can help me.”

My eyes narrowed. “Look, kid, I have worked damn hard to get away from that. I want nothing to do with the Bone Men, and I have no interest in someone digging in my past for their own fascination.”

“They took my father’s body.” He squirmed as he spoke. “We buried him in the woods behind our cottage. It’s a sunny little clearing where my sister and I used to play. He loved it there. Has the best view of the sunset…” His upturned nose scrunched, and lines creased the corners of his eyes.

It wasn’t an uncommon sob story, but not a problem I was inclined to assist in solving.

“You should have burned him,” I grumbled, trying and failing to roll the tension out of my shoulders. “That’s your fault.”

The scorn in my voice cut through the air like a bite. I expected protest, but Penny only nodded. “I know it is.” His gaze dropped, and I followed it to his waist, where his scarred fingers curled into fists. “My family and I…” He swallowed audibly. “We’re not particularly fond of fire. ”

My eyes lingered there briefly before returning to his face. “That isn’t my problem.”

I thought he would give up and leave. Instead, he stepped forward, leaning his weight against the door to ensure it stayed open. One part of me admired his persistence; the other part wanted to hit him.

“If you could just tell me where to go…” His voice gained strength as if he’d dug inside himself and found his resolve. “I need to get him back.”

I snorted. “There’s no getting those bones back. Unless you somehow found your way inside their compound, your father’s gone and bound to Eeus. All that’s left to do is pray for his soul.”

A lot of good that would do. I’d given up praying for my own soul a decade ago. Some things were simply too far gone.

Penny’s face crinkled in thought. After a moment, he took a deep breath and drew himself to his full height, half a head shorter than me. “Then tell me how to get in there.”

It felt like someone flushed ice into my veins, and I gripped the doorframe so tightly my knuckles went white.

“There’s no just ‘getting in,’” I said, my voice low and sharp, “just like there’s no just ‘getting out.’ You will never find where they’re building the Vessel unless you’re one of them.”

Penny sniffed, trying to hide the fear that crept across his face, but it was obvious; he was out of his depth and out of his mind.

“Then I’ll become one of them,” he said at length.

I reeled back, a breath away from laughing in his face.

“You don’t show up somewhere and declare yourself a Bone Man,” I said.

“There are rites. Rituals. Each one darker than the last. You don’t have that in you.

” I looked him over again. He was young, all right.

No more than twenty-five with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks and a glint in his eyes.

In another time or place, it might have been mirth. Now, it looked like madness.

Penny leaned harder against the door, his expression desperate. “I have to do this. This is my fault, and I have to make it right. I know you were one of them once, and I’m not going anywhere until you agree to help me.”

I leaned in as well and gritted my teeth. “Go. Away.” My fingers flexed around the handle of the knife held down at my side. “I will not be turned into some kind of monster because you made a mistake and don’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

Penny’s brows pinched together, and he slumped. “Please,” he said, “teach me how to become one of them. I just need a bit of guidance.”

“No,” I said, finally seeming to repel him with the sharpness of my tone.

He sighed and straightened, taking his weight off the door. “I meant what I said. I won’t leave until you help me.”

Without another word, I kicked his foot away from the jamb and slammed the door, then threw the locks for good measure. I stood for several minutes, rooted to the spot, and waited to hear him descend the steps.

With a growl, I jammed the knife into the door frame, burning out the last flare of my anger and leaving the blade buried an inch in the wood. I turned toward the den and rubbed my hands over my face.

“Gods, I need a guard dog,” I murmured again to the silence of the old house. “I need one yesterday.”

It seemed that, despite my best efforts, my reputation had caught up to me.

I’d been hiding since I was old enough to estrange myself from my father, hoping to escape the stigma of being a Bone Man’s son, but no distance was great enough.

The stories followed me. Sooner or later, someone spread the word that there was a heathen in their midst, and they drove me out.