The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [51]
The necromancer turned to put the chest back in his ursine hidey hole and Awa surreptitiously made her way over to the cooking area. A quick perusal confirmed that all the iron tools were gone, including his cauldron.
“What are you doing?” He was right behind her.
“I was going to make some tea,” she said, careful not to look him in the eye. “Where are—”
“Stowed, in preparation of my departure,” said the necromancer. “Now piss off until tonight, I’ve got to prepare a few things.”
“Alright,” said Awa, gathering her new possessions. “Thank you, sir.”
“No,” he said, “thank you, little Awa.”
More convinced than ever that he meant her imminent mischief, Awa forced herself to wait quite a while before strolling down the glacier to where she had secreted one of the swords. It was gone. Worrying her lip, she tracked down the bandit chief and asked if he would spar with her.
“I would, but he had the mindless ones gather all the swords last night and cast them from the high cliff. Might we use the old sticks?”
“No.” Awa worried her lip more. “Have you seen Gisela? His whore?”
“Not today,” said the bandit chief. “And the mindless ones are off somewhere as well. Something must be brewing. I would be very careful, Awa.”
She nodded. “Getting rid of the iron might mean he’s vulnerable, or is going to be. He said he needed me for one last ritual tonight and then he would set me free.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“I know it.”
“Be careful not to play into his hands. He is very clever.”
“I don’t have much choice.” Awa sighed. “We’ve all lived in his palm for a very long time, and I can’t refuse to help.”
“No.”
“What if he is, though?” It came out quickly, Awa giddy at the thought. “What if he really is leaving? What if he’s not so wicked but just mad? Mad and lonely? I know I—”
“He is not just mad, nor is he lonely. He is dangerous and cruel, a monster. You know this, and you know I cannot lie so you should feel assured by my assessment.”
“Yes, but if we believe the things we say they are not lies even if they are untrue, yes? He gave me things,” said Awa. “Look at my foot, he made it—”
“Do you not remember what he did to that foot, Awa?” he said, and at the memory her sprouting hope withered. “Be wary of him, today more than you ever have before. Did you not tell me he was in a kind mood as he fed you your own flesh?”
“I’ll be careful,” said Awa, doubting she could be careful enough if he intended her harm.
She spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the birds she had brought back to life, the littlest of them a skeletal swallow that sported mouse bones she had gathered from raptor pellets instead of feathers. It jumped from rock to rock and landed on her finger, its delicate skull cocked at her as she walked it to the end of the cliff. One by one she had the vultures and other bird carcasses hop over the edge so they could have one last flight. Awa sadly watched them plummet down, wings vainly flapping, until they smashed apart far below. She thought she saw the cauldron shining at the base of the cliff but it might have simply been a bright piece of rock reflecting the setting sun. Finally she had her littlest bird leap over the side, but the mouse bones actually worked and it glided out, buoying itself in the stern winds, and to Awa’s delight it returned and landed on her shoulder.
Pleased by the good omen, she walked back toward his hut cooing to the little bird. When she reached the door she looked at her tiny friend and saw what she was looking for, and with a quick peck on its skull she restored the creature’s soul to its bones. It jabbed her palm twice with its beak, leaving little rubies in the furrows of her hand, and then it flew up into the darkening night. A good omen.
Awa felt queasy as she