Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(59)

All I see with my far-reaching vision are lapping waves. All I feel from my sixth sense are buzzing vibrations of sea creatures.

Then a prickle of energy rises above them. It heightens to a thump, then a beat, then a distinct and forceful pound.

My heart stops as I hear a new noise, like a rushing waterfall. When I listen closer, I realize it’s a chorus of shouts and battle cries.

The Leurress have started ferrying. Somehow without the bone flute.

I dash to the edge of a high cliff where the sound thrashes loudest. I glance over the steep drop-off and suck in a sharp inhale.

The soul bridge.

A flurry of white dresses dances within a storm of chazoure. I’ve never seen the color before, but this must be it. The dead are wearing it. They’re made of it.

It’s more breathtaking than I thought possible.

Tears prick my eyes. I’m really here. For as long as I can remember, joining the Ferriers has been my dream—standing alongside the elite of my famille, wrestling the Chained and gently leading the Unchained.

But then I blink. And I see. My stomach hardens like a rock. None of what’s happening below is gentle. The souls are waging war on the Ferriers, and the Ferriers are ferociously fighting back.

My mother’s face comes into focus. The calm strength she always exudes is gone. She’s frantic and distraught, battling five Chained souls at the end of the bridge. I look just beyond her, and my eyes fly wide. The Gates haven’t appeared. That’s the reason for all this madness. Odiva can’t send any souls to the Beyond.

Perspiration flashes across my skin. I have to help her.

I sprint along the cliff in search of the elusive hidden stairs, but I don’t see any sign of them. I can’t jump from here. The beach must be at least a hundred feet below. I have to find another way to get down there. My mother needs to play the flute while on the land bridge. That much she taught me.

I clutch the pouch of grace bones around my neck, remembering my crescent pendant. The ibex grace can help me scale down the cliffs.

I hitch up my skirt and run toward the rougher cliffs on the other side. When I pass the inner bend of the inlet, my nerves tingle on the right side of my body. A mile across the plateau, in that direction, I see three people. My vision pulls to Bastien, and my heart trips faster. I grind my teeth and turn away. He’s no threat to me now that I have my graces.

I keep running, but then I glance out to the sea and my knees lock. I stumble to a stop. The land bridge has started to submerge. The Ferriers are now standing in an inch of water. The Chained tug at them, trying to drag them into the depths. I don’t have time to descend the cliffs. I need to act now.

I draw the bone flute from the sash at my waist. The unique siren song that opens the Gates is imprinted in my mind. My mother often played it on a wooden flute in a secluded meadow near Chateau Creux. I’d hide in the wild grass and watch her. She had the deepest look of longing in her eyes.

I blow in the mouth hole. The song comes clumsily at first, but then I steady my trembling fingers. Coming from the bone of a golden jackal, the siren song sounds so much richer and more harrowing.

Will anyone hear me? The chaos below is cacophonous.

Maurille looks up from the beach. She has a hand pressed to her bleeding head. Soon Giselle, Ma?a, Rosalinde, and Dolssa turn and lift their eyes. They’re on the shore, closer to me, and have the sharpest hearing. A moment later, another Leurress follows their gaze.

Sabine.

My chest swells with a rush of happiness, despite the horror below. Her face mirrors my shock and my joy. The fifteen days I’ve spent without her have felt like a thousand.

She’s holding a bone knife—my ritual knife—in a defensive stance. I don’t understand. Is Sabine a Ferrier? A lump forms in my throat. The two of us have never hunted for grace bones without each other.

Chazoure streaks off the sinking land bridge. The color floods the water and swarms onto the shore. The dead are coming closer to me.

The Leurress aren’t the only ones who heard my song.

I trip back a step. I can’t think about Sabine right now. I’ve failed to open the Gates. The dead are flocking to me now, like I’m a living Gate—a door that some want to embrace and others want to destroy.

I curse the names of the gods.

I desperately pray to them.

Tyrus, Elara, what do I do, what do I do?

Past the oncoming flood of chazoure, I meet my mother’s dark and determined eyes. She’s not looking at me directly. Her gaze is latched on the bone flute in my hand. She holds another flute, but its color isn’t aged. And it clearly didn’t open the Gates.

My mother’s nostrils flare. She strides toward me through the rising water above the bridge, another half inch deeper. She must think I lied about the flute. But I didn’t. I thought it was gone.

A Chained man retreats off the bridge. He’s slower than the others—and he’s in Odiva’s way. Her lips curl back, and she springs for him. She delivers a powerful kick on his back. He slaps the water face-first. She drags him up, spins for momentum, and hurls him into the sea. He crashes against a protruding rock. She turns back to me, her eyes narrowed.

I ball my hands into fists. Bastien and the others are a half mile behind me and getting closer. I can’t worry about them yet. Several Chained are scaling the cliffs. Any moment now they’ll reach me.

I inhale and set my jaw. Slide the flute into my sash. Focus on my graces.