David Wells - Cursed Bones

Abigail smiled and sat back, picking up her glass of juice. “There are some things we’d rather you didn’t know,” she said.

He almost smiled, although without any mirth. “Naturally,” he said. “No matter. Once we arrive at Whitehall, I will have you interrogated properly. You will tell me everything I wish to know, and I assure you it won’t be pleasant.”

“You can torture me if you like,” Abigail said, “but it won’t do you any good.” She tried to remain calm even as she quailed inside. The prospect of torture was terrifying.

“You just lied to me again,” Zuhl said.

“Did you really expect me to answer all of your questions?” she said.

“Of course not,” he said. “As for torture, that’s such a crude means of persuasion, and not entirely reliable. No, I have a far more effective method in mind. You see, in the northern wastes of the Isle of Zuhl lives a most remarkable creature. Those who live in the area call it an ice slug. Harmless creature, but the slime it exudes has a most powerful effect when imbibed. It seems to release all inhibitions, eliminate all guile, and induce a state of mind that is utterly incapable of lying. So you see, there is really no point in attempting to deceive me, as I will have the answers I seek.”

“Maybe … but not today,” Abigail said.

“Very well, perhaps another line of questioning is in order,” Zuhl said. “What did Alexander find in the Stone’s Wizard’s Den?”

“I have no idea,” Abigail said. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Truth is, I didn’t even know he’d gotten into the Wizard’s Den yet.”

“Fair enough,” Zuhl said. “I have reason to believe there is a book of great interest to me, either in the Stone’s Wizard’s Den or the sovereigns’ library within the Reishi Keep. I intend to make a trade with your brother … you for that book. Provided he delivers it to me before the winter solstice.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abigail said, “but if this book you’re looking for is where you think it is, I doubt Alexander will ever give it to you.”

“Fortunately, I have a contingency,” Zuhl said. “I’m a firm believer in backup plans and redundancies. If I don’t receive the book by the solstice, then I will consume your life force in my yearly rejuvenation sacrifice. Either way, I get something I need.”

Abigail swallowed hard, trying to calculate how many days remained before the shortest day of the year.

“You have just over three weeks,” Zuhl said. “That should be more than enough time. Not to worry, I’ve already sent word to your forces. I trust they will relay the message with haste.”

A thousand questions and concerns vied for attention within her mind but one rose to the top of the list. “What’s so important about this book?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” Zuhl said. “I must say, Lady Abigail, I’m enjoying our conversation immensely. There’s no one on the entire Isle of Zuhl who would dare to address me so casually, so simply. I find it refreshing … novel even.

“I am very old, seven hundred and twenty-eight years old, to be precise. Over the centuries, I have collected a great number of very rare works, many unique. I’m especially interested in the journals of wizards. You would be surprised the things you can learn about magic from the musings of long-dead wizards.

“One in particular has haunted me for centuries. A wizard named Jacinth. He was the lead assistant to Malachi Reishi in his research laboratory. He spoke of a spell that Malachi was developing in his last days, a spell that Jacinth had helped him create, a spell that I simply must have. Jacinth wrote that he watched Malachi pen the spellbook himself and saw him store it away inside his Wizard’s Den. He called it the ‘Lich Book,’ a spell of such potency that Malachi killed all of the researchers who helped him develop it once it was complete, even Jacinth. The last entry tells how Malachi permitted Jacinth to take a poison that would kill him painlessly in honor of his years of loyal service.

“This book contains a spell that is the key to true immortality, and I must have it.”

“And you think Alexander is just going to give it to you?”

“He will if he values your life,” Zuhl said. “If not, then I’ll find a way to take it from him.”

“I doubt it,” Abigail said. “Just for the sake of argument, how is this immortality spell supposed to work?”

“Therein lies the genius,” Zuhl said, sitting back comfortably. “The spell transfers one’s life essence into a phylactery, a specially prepared item designed to store a soul, while animating the now dead body with the person’s awareness, will, and power. Through death, eternal life is found. It’s perfect. Since your body is already dead, it can never be killed. Not only would this spell grant immortality, but near invulnerability as well. It is the god-maker spell that I have been searching for all my life.”

“If Alexander actually has this book, and he has any idea what it does, I guarantee he won’t trade,” Abigail said.

“Perhaps not,” Zuhl said, standing and placing a vial of slightly blue liquid on the table. “This is dragon draught; it will ward you against the cold.”

“What cold?” Abigail asked, suddenly wary.

“We’re leaving Irondale for Whitehall,” Zuhl said. “You’ll ride with me on Izzulft. I assure you, the journey will kill you without the dragon draught.”

Abigail hesitated, looking at the vial, then at Zuhl.

“I can have that rather large man who brought you here make you drink it if you prefer.”

She scowled at him but quaffed the potion with a sigh of resignation. A chill flowed into her, filling her with a coldness that seemed to encompass her entire body, yet without discomfort.

He led her to a battlement where Izzulft was waiting and shackled her to his saddle before mounting up behind her and launching into the cold grey sky.

“Jack, come quickly,” Chloe said, “he’s starting to wake. I can hear his thoughts again.”

“Go easy, Alexander,” Jack said. “You’ve been through a lot. There’s no rush.”

Their voices sounded far away, muffled. He couldn’t open his eyes but he was starting to see things anyway. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing made any sense. Confusion swirled inside his cottony mind. Consciousness slowly started to take hold, thoughts began to form, pushing aside the gauzy feeling in his head.

He mumbled something unintelligible, then realized his tongue was swollen and dry. Someone drizzled cool water into his mouth. He struggled to swallow, working the muscles of his throat to overcome the scratchy dryness. More water allowed him to swallow, but he choked, coughing weakly until someone helped him sit up.

Images of his surroundings were becoming clearer. He was in a room. It looked familiar. Jack and Chloe were there with him. A small dragon sat at the foot of his bed, resting her chin on the footboard and looking at him with big, golden eyes.

Someone put a cup to his lips. He grabbed it and tried to tip it back, but the hand holding it resisted.

“Slowly,” Jack said. “Drink a little at a time.”

The voice sounded familiar. A small swallow sent him into a coughing fit. As soon as he regained his composure, he reached for the cup again. His vision was sharper now, even though his eyes were still closed.

“All right, Alexander, lie back and try to get some rest,” Jack said. “Now that your fever has broken, you need to sleep.”

He wanted to protest, tried to resist, but the hand gently pushing him back into the bed was too strong for him, and he couldn’t seem to form words. Moments later, he was asleep.