Revenant

TWENTY-FIVE

The room was something more akin to a torture chamber than a hospital operating room, though there were aspects of both present. The bones arranged around the walls and scattered on the floor definitely tipped it over into horror-movie territory. A large book bound in bone and skin lay on a small lectern as if in a pulpit, the atmosphere around it black as murderous thoughts. I saw tables and instruments in the normal world; piles of bones, pools of blood, and seething, unformed ghost-stuff in the Grey, but nothing that looked like a way out short of a body bag. Cold panic swelled over me as wailing ghosts rushed to surround me, patting and snatching at me with incorporeal hands that left ice in their wake.

Rui smiled, more crooked teeth and a gleam of blood-tinged delight in his eye. “When I was a child,” he said, “I knew that the story was supposed to frighten me into behaving and never straying from doing as my parents and my grandmother told me to do. But to me, the girl was a hero. She learned even from those who did not wish to teach her and she turned their strength against them when she seemed powerless. I also learned more than my masters wished me to and used their tricks to gain power over them. One in particular left me to dwindle and stagnate, cursing me, hoping to weaken my power by refusing to teach me further. He alone eluded my revenge, and you, my beautiful creature, will help me have it. Please remove your clothes.”

“What?” I said, gaping at him as I backed toward the farthest reaches of the room and openly looked for any way, however Grey or obscure, to get out of there and away from Rui.

“Unless you wish to walk about in a tattered and bloodstained dress when I’m done, you’d be wise to remove it now.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“Not your body. I have a great deal more for you to do, once you’re perfected and your soul stored away for Purlis’s collection. I think he’ll be particularly pleased to add you to it—since you and your friends destroyed most of my work when you burned down my temple.” His voice rose and sharpened in anger and the red spikes in his aura reached upward like fountains of blood. “It amuses me that his ridiculous scheme will bring our Great Plan to fruition and has finally brought my last enemy within reach.”

“Carlos? All this is about . . . getting even with Carlos?”

“There is so much more than that, but that one small thing adds such savor. He was my master and he abandoned me. I had to teach myself, just like the girl in the story. But he never would have expected me to be stronger for it. He cursed me, tied me to the land of my birth so I could never travel to the great bone churches to sit at the feet of another master, never pursue him, and yet . . . he returned.” Rui chuckled. “Oh, how I will relish using you against him. It’s even worth losing my student and the little girl to do it.”

His laughter escalated into a cackle of sadistic glee. He yanked the lines of energy that spun from his hands to my bones, dragging me toward a table that reminded me more of the equipment in the mortuary than anything from a doctor’s office. “It’s time for you to do as you’re told, senhorina.”

I made enough of a fuss that he had to work to haul me in, but not so much that I exhausted myself. My hope of escape was ragged, but it wasn’t gone yet. As long as he had his bone hooks or an energetic tie to me, I couldn’t go anywhere without him pulling me back, or hunting me down. I had to break the strands that connected us or get him to do it.

Rui seemed to be enjoying himself, grinning as he forced me onto the table. The whole setup reminded me of The Pit and the Pendulum and made me regret all those Roger Corman films I’d watched with reprehensible boyfriends in college. Rui, having gotten me on the table, strapped me down at the wrists and ankles.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, letting panic color my voice. “Why are you doing that? You don’t have to do that—you already have control over me.”

“Ah, but the sounding is easier if I don’t have to maintain your restraints as well. The little burrowers change the tones and I want to know everything about your bones. A few straps won’t interfere once I’ve removed the hooks.” He stoked my shoulder and upper arm, smiling. “Lovely, lovely bones . . .”

I felt sickened. I kicked and struggled and thrashed, but it didn’t gain me one centimeter of slack. It did, however, grant me a view into a few obscure corners of the Grey and across the edges of the temporaclines that lay in the room. He dropped the white threads that connected us and seemed to draw fine white spirals from my body, like ivory worms. I gasped and writhed, but there was as much show as actual pain and disgust—I needed to distract him while I studied my options. If I could get into the Grey long enough while unencumbered with Rui’s hooks and threads, I might be able to escape through the correct temporacline and, though he might find me again, he wouldn’t be able to hold me. . . .

He didn’t bother with my clothes and I guessed that his request that I remove them had been more of a psychological tactic than a necessity. He did take off my shoes, though, and in a moment I knew why.

Whispering sharp, black words, he smoothed his hand very lightly over the top surface of my left foot. As his hand passed, it felt as if my bones strained toward his palm like iron filings rising toward a magnet. I yelped, as much in surprise as pain. I wasn’t sure, at first, that I heard a whistling, singing sound, but it grew louder as he moved his hand up toward the larger bones of my leg.

My left shin lurched upward, and I shouted in startled pain as the bone yanked toward his hand violently, sending out a loud, low tone like a clarinet.

“Ah, that is interesting. Nearly the same as the one Purlis gave,” he said, allowing my bones to fall back into their normal position. “Remarkable that this bone should sound the same as that of a man with legs so much shorter than yours.”

I was panting and tears blurred the edges of my vision. “I broke it . . . when I was a kid,” I said. I’d also screwed up the knee a few years earlier and done any number of other injuries to the joint over the years, but I didn’t think I had to tell him.

“So I see,” Rui replied, touching my leg again right over the place the bone had snapped when I took a dive off a stage. He moved his fingers up and down the line of the bone at that spot, wringing from me a wailing chord of the bone’s song mixed with my own shrieking.

Rui smiled at the sound as if it were heavenly music. “Ah, I must find the right one. . . .”

He put his free hand on my other leg and that bone also jerked toward him, wrenching the joints at knee and ankle and sending another jolt of pain through me as my bones sang a discordant chord, out of tune with my howls of agony. He “played” up and down my tibias for a few moments, replaying every bit of damage I’d taken in the joints and connecting bones over the years, but he was unable to find a more pleasing resonance. He slid his hands around, first displacing my fibulas, then moving upward over my distressed knees—which he rejected and moved past immediately. I almost sighed in relief, except that there was none: His hands slid up my thighs and elicited more reedy tones from my femurs as I screamed.

It was hard to concentrate on finding a sign of a useful temporacline when every movement of Rui’s hands on my body racked me with new colors of anguish. He passed his hands over my hips and up the sides of my ribs, then ran his fingers over them in an excruciating glissando. He toyed with the loud bones of my chest until my voice was cracking. Then he slid one palm flat between my breasts, stroking the length of my sternum. Unable to scream now, I whimpered, and tears ran from the outer corners of my eyes in hot streams.

“Smaller, smaller . . .” he murmured. “A pity about the scar . . .” I thought I could feel the memory of a ghostly knife that had once scored my breastbone. Then he pulled his hands away and stared down at me, his eyes darting from point to point, seeking something.

“What?” I whispered.

“The key. The one bone that aligns to one of mine. How else will I tune you? How else will I bind these songs together? I must have that one for Coca.”

I knew I’d heard the word. . . . What was it . . . ? Not the soft drink . . . “Coca,” I repeated.

“The dragon,” he answered, offhandedly. “Inferno Dragão. The legends align. But there will be no Sleeping King to save them. Only the fiery Coca, before which all others will fail. You see what a clever plan it is? Take their own myth and turn it against them? The dragon has already eaten the knight! He cannot save them!”

“Eaten the knight . . . Oh. The tomb at the monastery,” I whispered, thinking out loud. “But . . . the bones weren’t really King Sebastian. . . .”

“Of course not. A common soldier, but buried as a king. The dust of a great deception will make it seem to burn like flesh.”

He turned away from me in frustration and snatched a bone off another table. As he raised it, I could see it was carved into a flute with rows of strange, blood-red characters running down the length.

He held it up, his eyes shining. “Do you see? This is my own song. I drew this bone from my own body, carved it to my own song. And its twin will lie in our dragon.”

I gaped at him, but I couldn’t see that he was in any way crippled or missing a significant bone—even though the flute was small, it wasn’t as small as a finger bone or one from the ear, and I couldn’t spot where it had come from.

His expression bloomed into delight as he saw me looking, as if my understanding was a thing of joy for him. “You’re clever. I found others to take their places. I have sacrificed for the work, but I couldn’t finish if I left my own body broken. Purlis believes he can control the drache by giving one bone, but I have given three—keys to the song. I hear the melodic complement in you—small, like a grace note—and I will take that for our dragon, too. Not a key, but it will be beautiful. No, no . . . It will be exultant. I will exult you. You will be perfected.”

He was enthralled with his idea and didn’t hear my muttered, “I’d rather remain flawed.”

He brought the macabre instrument to his mouth and blew, working his way through the tones, each seeming to flay me and touch my skeleton like live wires.

Dark shapes and ivory vapor oozed out of the pipe as he played a disturbing tune that made my spine ache. As the coil of magic wafted closer, the pang intensified and spread. It felt as if my skeleton were vibrating, every bone separately at high speed. The tormenting song rattled and hummed into my body, making me arch and writhe in pain as my joints seemed to be tearing themselves apart. One clear, piercing tone seemed to cut into the ring finger of my left hand like a physical blade, the bone shivering and ringing with the same note until the very fingertip was as cold as ice, singing back to the flute. It felt as if the farthest bone of that finger no longer belonged to me, although it was still attached.

The spell of Rui’s music wove through and wrapped me, crawling through my bones until it reached my stinging left hand, which shook and jerked without any impetus from me. Constrained so close to my side, the twitching hand fought to rise, falling back to pound the table and then fly upward again as the rest of my body drew tighter and tighter in a bow of anguish.

Rui pounced on my thrashing hand, dropping the flute to the floor. He yanked the restraints away and dragged me off the table, toward another part of his chamber. Released from the torment of the song, I went limp on the floor, falling into a heap. Without a glance at me, Rui dragged me forward by the wrist, far stronger than I’d anticipated of such a small man.

The bone flute rolled ahead of us toward a butcher block and Rui pulled me in its path. He heaved me up, yanking my hand onto the surface. I fell back down, too enervated to manage any resistance and too stubborn to contribute to whatever he had in mind.

“Stand up!” he snapped at me.

I shook my head and lay on the floor. “Too tired . . .”

He let out a growl of frustration and threw my hand down as he turned aside again, saying, “Selfish, useless creature.” He grabbed for something and I didn’t bother to look to see what it was. I snatched up the bone flute in my right hand, shoving it into the pocket of my dress, and dropped toward the Grey now that I was free—or nearly—of his hooks and strands of control.

“No!” he shouted, and I felt the bone-web prison try to close on me again as it had at the zoo, but he could not force me to the ground. I could feel the peculiar cold in the tip of my left ring finger, and before he could crush me or catch me by that resonance, I pushed back up to the normal, rising to my feet. I mustered all the strength I had left to stand and pick up the knife that lay on the block. Rui was too far away for me to use it on him, so I slammed the blade down on the farthest joint of my left ring finger. The tip of my finger fell off the edge of the butcher block in a spurt of blood and the drawing, tingling cold of Rui’s last connection vanished.

I threw myself into the Grey and rolled into the temporacline I’d been watching, dropping away from Rui’s chamber of horrors, free for the cost of my fingertip.