Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(58)

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.

My heart pounds against my rib cage. élodie told me the dead can’t resist being lured to the bridge, but the ones on it are trying to get off. They have no destination. They’re going mad. Even the Unchained are starting to fight back. What I’m seeing is a twisted version of every story I’ve been told about ferrying night. I pictured a system of order, the necessary attacks on the Chained quick and graceful. Only a rare soul would prove too lethal.

Like the one who killed my mother.

The only way to truly defeat the Chained is to send them through the Gates. Which is now impossible. Ferriers can fight the dead, but the dead can’t be killed again.

One of the Chained catches Maurille off guard and throws her off the bridge into shallow water. I backtrack another five steps in the sand. This is chaos. I have to leave. I’m not skilled enough to help anyone or to defend myself. I clutch Ailesse’s shoulder necklace. I only have two grace bones and . . .

My breath hitches. Maurille is bleeding from the head. She must have struck it on a rock. She rises to her feet in the water, coughing and flinging rows of braids off her face. She tries to walk, but she staggers.

The Chained man who attacked her jumps off the bridge and lunges for her in the water.

Maurille is a seasoned Ferrier, but her graces won’t help her if she can’t even stand up straight.

The Chained throws his fist. It connects with her jaw. “Maurille!” I cry as she careens down again.

I’m running. Faster than I’ve ever tested my grace. Maurille was my mother’s closest friend. I can’t let her die ferrying, too.

The Chained grabs Maurille’s neck and holds her head underwater.

“Stop!” I frantically pull my bow off my back and grab an arrow from my quiver. I shoot and strike the Chained man’s arm. He winces with a growl, but doesn’t bleed like Maurille. And he doesn’t let go of her.

Chazoure flares in the corner of my eye. More souls flock the beach. They’re attacking each other now, as well as the Ferriers.

A brawling pair crashes in front of me and blocks my path. I don’t stop running. I jump. I’ve seen other Leurress do better, but I’ve never cleared this much air. Another grace from my nighthawk.

I land without tumbling over and don’t pause. I sprint for Maurille.

She’s twenty feet back from the shoreline. Her legs thrash in the water. Bubbles spray above her head, then slow down. She’s expelling her last breath. The Chained man won’t release his vicious hold.

I kick through the water. I’m not moving fast enough. My adrenaline doesn’t give me the strength I need. I should have killed the boar, the horse, the wolf.

Ten feet from Maurille, I unsheathe Ailesse’s ritual knife from my belt. It won’t kill the Chained man. I pray it will at least ward him away.

I charge the remaining five feet.

With a sharp cry of exertion, I strike for his chest.





25

Ailesse

THE NARROW TUNNEL I SQUIRMED through when I entered the catacombs has been dug out—probably by the Leurress when they tried to rescue me. Now my path is wide and easy to climb.

My graces guided me back here, like being pulled by an invisible string.

A silvery beacon shines at the end of the tunnel. I shudder with a feral pang of longing.

The Night Heavens.

Elara’s Light.

I crouch and break into a run, lunging at it, charging for it. I’m a tiger shark, thrashing through the water. A peregrine falcon, diving through the sky. I’m desperate to breathe the open air and feel Elara’s energy.

The tunnel opens, and I burst outside. Elara’s stars shatter the darkness. I gasp as strength floods into my limbs and lifts me light on my toes like wings. I laugh, tipping my head back. How I’ve missed this vitality. It steels my bones and rushes like blood through my veins.

I sprint up the steep ravine with ease and race through the trees. I’m beaming, laughing harder, running faster and faster. The ground is soft at my feet. The air in my lungs is fresh and clean. I’ve risen from the graves of Dovré and the blinding dark of the catacombs. I’m alive. I’m me again.