Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(57)

I brace myself against being lured to the bridge myself—each initiated Ferrier has labored for the strength to resist it—but the temptation only feels like a weak itch. The song, however, is enough to bring the dead.

I gasp as the first soul appears at the threshold of the cave I came out of. A little boy. His transparent body is the new color I’ve been told about, neither warm nor cool. The Leurress call it chazoure.

He walks onto the shore, wearing the nightclothes he must have been buried in. His eyes are round, like he’s been startled awake from a deep slumber. He trips forward toward the bridge, though he looks afraid.

Vivienne is the first to greet him. Her chestnut hair fans around her shoulders as she crouches eye level to him. “It’s all right.” She offers him a kind smile. “We will help you.”

The boy shyly takes her hand, and Vivienne guides him to Maurille, the next Ferrier in line.

I blow out an exhale. That wasn’t so bad. Hopefully most of the dead are like this boy, earnest and sweet.

I’ve had the thought too soon.

I flinch when I see the next soul, a grown man. He scales down a cliff headfirst like a spider. Chazoure glows from the forged links wrapped around his neck and torso. He’s Chained, marked for eternal punishment in Tyrus’s Underworld. He’s committed an unforgivable sin.

Vivienne’s smile vanishes. She touches her wildcat jawbone necklace and holds her staff with both hands in a defensive stance. The man approaches the bridge, but stops at its head. Vivienne’s frown mirrors my own. élodie told me that all souls would at least ascend the bridge.

The man paces back and forth, muttering under his breath and tugging at his chains. At the end of the bridge, the siren song warbles on an off-note. Vivienne glances back at Maurille, who shrugs, as baffled by the man as she is. Vivienne cautiously steps off the soul bridge and approaches the Chained. As she reaches for his arm, he shoves her back. I’ve been taught how souls grow tangible, but I’m still shocked to see someone transparent make physical contact with a living person.

Vivienne’s eyes flash, and she flexes her grip on her staff. She’s a Ferrier. She’s ready.

Almost faster than I can see, she feints with her staff and sweeps out her leg. The man is thrown on his backside. Before he can react, she hauls him up and swings her staff, driving him onto the bridge. His boots slide on the slippery rocks. He doesn’t have Vivienne’s graced balance. He finally escapes her hold, but Maurille is prepared. In one great leap spanning twenty feet, she lands in front of him and strikes her staff hard on his jaw. He staggers back, but she grabs his chains and drags him farther down the bridge. I don’t see what happens next. A streak of chazoure draws my eye out to the sea.

The soul of a young woman is in the water. She swims toward the middle of the bridge. I can’t see the rest of her body to know if she’s Chained.

“Excuse me, mademoiselle.”

I yelp and spin around. A chazoure man I haven’t seen yet is three feet away. Unchained, thank the gods.

He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest. “Can you tell me about that path running through the water? I wonder if I should cross it, but, well, I don’t know if it leads anywhere.” His chin twitches beneath his beard. “You see, there’s nothing at the end.”

What is he talking about? I look at the bridge and focus where Odiva is guarding the Gates of the Beyond. Except there are no Gates. The bridge ends with nothing but the sea.

My mouth falls slack. I don’t understand. I thought the Gates were supposed to appear when the siren song summoned them. I’m not surprised that I can’t see Elara’s Gate to Paradise—it’s said to be nearly invisible—but I should be able to see the Gate to Tyrus’s Underworld. According to the Ferriers, it’s made of water and hangs on nothing but air. Some describe it as a waterfall; others say it’s more like a flowing veil. But the man beside me is right—it’s not there. Which means Elara’s Gate is missing, too. The song of the stag-carved bone flute wasn’t powerful enough to raise the Gates.

My pulse quickens. “You should try to cross,” I say to the man, though my tone is far from reassuring.

The Ferriers will know what do, I tell myself, but I worry at my lip as I watch Odiva. Her frown deepens as she glances back and forth at the oncoming souls and the space where the Gates should be. She pulls out her bird skull and ruby necklace, clutches it fiercely, and mouths, Please, please, please. If our Gates don’t open tonight, no other ferrying Gates in the world will. The bone flute is supposed to unlock them all.

The man puts on his hat again and pastes on a chazoure-glowing smile. “Merci.” He tentatively walks toward the bridge.

Seven more souls pour out from the cave. Five descend from the surrounding cliffs. I gasp and backtrack in the sand. The dead are no longer trickling here; they’re flooding. How many people in South Galle have died this past month?

Warily, the souls gather toward the land bridge. I’m amazed by the number of Chained—more than half of the gathering souls. Many of them wear soldiers’ uniforms. I remember Odiva said a war had broken out north of Dovré.

The Ferriers’ staffs whirl, strike, and jab. All of them are fighting now. When the Chained don’t step on the bridge, some Ferriers run onto the shore and confront them. Dolssa battles two at once. Roxane dives into the water in pursuit of a man who swims farther out to sea.