The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [31]
He offered another spoonful, his exaggerated pout offset by the firelight that made his wide eyes all the more mischievous. She knew he was capable of anything but she would not give him that, would not give anyone that, not for anything. She had failed herself that first night in the cave, but he was not there then, he was waiting atop the mountain, and all those who had heard Awa then were now dead. The necromancer was right—if she were to let herself that would mean giving him a part of her soul, and she had given him all that she could bear. She—
She saw the small bones rising out of the spoon like a windfall branch in a puddle after the rains, a pair of little white pieces still connected by pale tissue. A toe. Nothing special in that; cannibalism had been the least of Awa’s troubles for quite some time. What made her pause was that her own left foot still itched terribly, and as she flexed to wake it up the bones in the spoon bent of their own accord, sending a ripple across their tiny pool. She dropped the spoon back in the bowl.
Later, after it was done, Awa wondered how such a simple trick could have broken her after all she had seen and experienced on the mountaintop, but break her it did. Following her gaze down toward her swathed legs, the necromancer stood up, his lips making a surprised O, and, handing her the bowl of soup, he yanked the blankets off. She clung to the bowl as if it were the myrrh crate all those years before when she had almost drowned with Omorose and Halim, and again she was almost drowning, only now the sea was inside her.
Her left foot was missing, her ankle bound in bloody linens. She felt it, it was still there only invisible, and she flexed it as hard as she could. She saw the toe bones bend again in her bowl, and something larger sloshed in the cauldron over the fire, stew splashing down to hiss on the coals, and for the first time since she had seen the dead walk Awa screamed.
The bowl clattered on the floor. Then the door burst open and the bonemen pranced inside, led by the necromancer’s concubine. Some of them carried swords and rocks to bang against each other and the rest scooped up the unused cooking implements by the fire, beating pots and pans together as they jumped and spun around the room. Awa scarcely noticed, staring at her stump and screaming and screaming, the necromancer jabbing his face in front of hers and screaming right back at the top of his lungs, matching her shriek for shriek, tears of happiness splashing down his cheeks as Awa wailed and the dead danced.
Awkward Adolescence
Awa grew a goat foot. The necromancer told her it was prideful and stupid and that ensured her decision; after she strained herself out of the stewpot and picked the pieces out of the pools of vomit surrounding the bear she buried what remained of her left foot with Omorose. She ground the hoof into a powder after promising the creature’s spirit that she would eat soft summer grass a few times a year, and as she suspected the new foot grew in quickly, although it did take some getting used to.
As soon as the weather began to turn she broke down the old shelter she had made with Halim and her mistress and moved it farther down the glacier, using Omorose’s cairn as one wall of the new hut. By the time the next winter arrived she had filled in all the chinks and even had a crude fireplace, but not a week into the snows she admitted defeat and trudged miserably back to winter in the necromancer’s hut—a fireplace was worse than worthless without wood, and her tutor was not sharing. He welcomed her with a grin and a hot cup of wormwood; ever since the scream he had been nothing but cordial to his pupil.
Years passed atop the world, and as Awa grew she passed through many hells. Self-loathing and self-pity jostled each other for dominion but she fought them both, and in the absence of other company she found herself talking quite a bit with the bandit chief. The necromancer would not allow idle chatter, and