Court of Fives

Page 87

“Merry, light the oil lamp now,” I say. “Cook, give me the knife.”
What if the spark the priests stole for Ottonor’s funeral procession was that of a criminal, and the criminal’s shadow has wandered the night until it has reunited with its familiar spark? What if it means to claw its way out of the coffin to find living flesh in which to make a new home?
Coriander steps up beside me, lamp in one hand and knife in the other. “What is it, Doma?”
The coffin jerks so hard that it slides partway off the bier.
Coriander yelps.
Whom will I sacrifice to slow its blind rage?
I grab my dead brother off the oracle’s lap. His dead flesh must be my shield against a walking corpse whose shadow might want to leap into my body, as it is said shadows can do. Let it jump into his flesh instead! He can’t be harmed.
“Maraya, light the other lamp! Coriander, move to my right.”
A wick hisses as a second lamp takes flame behind me. Maraya steps into the archway with a burning lamp. “What is it? What did I hear?”
With a grind and a snap the entire top of the stone bier bursts up.
A breath of cold hard air swirls out and then the stone lid slams down, too heavy to stay up.
We all scream.
The coffin slides, topples, and crashes to the floor. The seals crack, and the lid jumps open. Lord Ottonor’s waxy corpse sprawls over the mess of bloody shrouds.
“Jes!” Maraya’s voice is a breath short of a shriek. “Get back from there. A shadow is trying to crawl out of him.”
Coriander mutters curses or prayers; I can’t tell the difference, only that her voice is frantic.
My breathing comes in staggered pants as I edge forward holding my brother in front of me. The lamplight throws shadows across the chamber, distorted by our figures. A long, grasping shadow oozes out of Ottonor’s flesh but that is surely only the angle of the light.
The corpse’s fingers twitch as the body splays farther forward. A dead hand grabs for my leg.
“Jes!” Maraya screams.
I sprawl onto my buttocks, shoving with my feet to get away. The coffin heels over sideways and the corpse rolls toward me. Fingers drag down my ankle. His skin is cold, and yet a warm pulse throbs against my leg. I screech, drop the dead infant on top of the corpse, and scramble backward. My breath is coming in such ragged bursts that my sight blurs.
With a crack the top of the bier heaves open to reveal a maw of darkness.
“Get everyone back!” I cry as I look wildly around for a weapon, but Coriander and the knife are out of reach. Maraya holds out the lamp. Fire is better than fear. I grab it as I jump to my feet.
A muscled arm hooks over the rim of the stone bier, and tries to heave itself out of its stone cage. The arm sports five parallel white scars below the elbow, like a savage’s. An unspeakable creature is alive in here, and we are trapped with it.
It speaks in a man’s voice, in the language of Efea’s Commoners.
“Curse it, Kori! Can you spare an arm to help me out of this cursed shaft before I fall and break my neck?”
“Ro!” Coriander shoves past me and grabs the arm.
Shaking with shock, I grab her from behind around the hips and use my weight to help lever him up. His head emerges, his chest, and he heaves himself over the rim. I let go of her.
She throws her arms around him, sobbing. “I was afraid I would die in here!”
He kisses her cheek but looks over her shoulder at me. It takes me a moment to recognize the young man from the marketplace because all his hair has been shaved off, but his broad shoulders and intense eyes are the same, as is his insulting tone.
“If it isn’t the sullen schemer, just as promised,” he says in Saroese. “However did you get a lordly princeling to do your bidding, mule?”
“Who is this, Jes?” Maraya asks.
“Coriander’s brother. I guess his name is Ro.”
“His name is Ro-emnu.” Coriander glares at me as she scrubs the tears off her cheeks. “You aren’t his kinswoman, to call him Ro.”
“I thought you were exaggerating when you said they call you Coriander,” he says to her, switching back to Efean. “As if you are a plant.”
I arch an eyebrow sarcastically, replying in the same language. “I believe Ro-emnu has forgotten he is here to help us escape. Instead he means to while away the time with contemptuous argument.”
His mouth quivers as if he can’t decide whether to laugh or sneer.
I stare back, unwilling to give way.
“Ro!” whines Coriander. “Please, I want to get out of here before something worse happens.”