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ANTON
Anton studied the bone yard that lay before him and brought a hand to his skull. He couldn’t quite contemplate what had happened. Maryska had taken away everything about himself, except for his skeletal remains. The sensation of touch still swirled within him, though considerably dulled from its original strength. Anton’s hearing and sight were still intact, but his sense of smell remained missing. Although he could still draw in breath to lungs that were no longer there. This should have been impossible, but somehow it wasn’t. As he shifted his lower jaw back and forth, adjusting to the absence of his tongue, Anton was hit with the realization that there would no longer be the bliss of taste.
Lifting his chin, he focused on Maryska’s dark eyes and antlers. “What did you do?” The last two words came out shaky with the understanding that he could still speak, even without a tongue.
In response, she lunged forward and pushed him to the ground. She hovered above Anton, watching him as if he was worth nothing. “I stripped away all but your bones and added your other pieces to the Lake of Flesh.” Maryska stroked the crown cuff on her wrist. “You will remain here until you decide to be my king. For now, you will be King of the Bone Valley,” she taunted and lifted her hand up, flicking it in the direction of a tall mountain of remains.
A loud crack from the gray sky roared and opened to a sliver of luminous white. Anton squinted as several things poured down like rain, hitting the ground with a heavy clack. With venom burning inside of him, he started to rise. She slammed her foot on his sternum, preventing him from sitting.
“People die every day, Anton. Prepare to be welcomed by new guests at any time, any moment.” Maryska ran a hand over his forearm, and he recoiled from her.
“How long are you planning on keeping me here?”
He couldn’t comprehend what was going on inside this woman’s head. But she wasn’t really a woman... He didn’t know what she was. A demon?
“As long as it takes until you decide to become my king. I’ll come back whenever I feel like it’s been enough time ... to see if you’ve changed your mind. I do enjoy having a man to work for my affection, and you will have to work harder since you did not choose to be mine the first time,” she cooed, finally releasing her foot from his rib cage.
Anton would not work for this—his siblings were safe in Kedaf. There was no leverage to make him do a damn thing. “No,” he answered simply, bringing himself to stand.
“As King of the Bone Valley, the only company you will have is bones.” Maryska released a high-pitched laugh, her antlers bobbing. “I think you will be highly disappointed.”
Anton gritted his teeth and didn’t speak a word as she sauntered toward a large tree with gnarled branches that had possibly once been an oak. In the middle of the trunk rested a gray, oval door.
Maryska looked over her shoulder after opening it. “This is all but a challenge for me. Eventually, you will change your mind. You will see.” She faded away behind the closed exit, perhaps sitting back on her throne of bones.
Anton stormed up to the tree and attempted to yank open the door, only to find it locked. Propping his foot against the trunk, he tugged as hard as he could on the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing, he slapped his hand against the bone that should have been bark. The pain didn’t strike, instead an odd vibration played through his remains, oddly satisfying.
Worried. That was the only word to describe what he was currently feeling. Anton turned around to stare at the Bone Valley, his gaze settling on rows and rows of what had to be empty cottages. Each home was formed by bones that must have been merged together to create the style and texture.
“Hello?” he called out.
Silence.
In the distance, he made out the low clack of bones descending from the ever-changing opening in the gray sky. After the skeletal remains landed at their destination, the sliver of white closed. Jaw agape as he peered at the bone cottages to his left, Anton finally made a decision and started toward them. He followed a rocky path with broken bits of pebbles and dust rising beneath his feet. Farther ahead, a large lake caught his attention. He continued in that direction, passing bone after bone after bone. Some were alone, some cluttered together, and others half buried in the ground. Everything was dead. No grass, only jet-black dirt. Nothing in this pit of a place had any bright colors. It was as though the colors themselves had died, all melting into shades of black, gray, and white.
Madness. Anton would grow mad, and it would not be a temporary delirium. Shaking his head, he stopped in front of the gray lake and looked down into the water where he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He squinted, but it wasn’t with eyes. Glowing white flames inside his eye sockets narrowed instead. This whole time he thought he still had his eyes, but they were something else.
With the shock of seeing himself this way, the flames widened. He stretched them open and closed, just like he would have done his eyelids. From what he could tell, nothing was recognizable besides his square jaw, cheekbones, and his straight hair brushing his shoulders—no longer blond, but white.
As he stared deeper, past his reflection in the lake, he could make out something bony and pale within the cloudy liquid. Fish without skin, unmoving. They lay at the bottom of the lake, no thoughts swimming in their minds. But what did fish ever think about before?
“Stop it,” he said aloud, lowering himself to the dirt. “I’ve barely been here any time at all, and I’m already becoming delusional.”
Anton rested at the lake’s edge for a long while, glowering at his image and the surroundings, trying to shut out his thoughts until he couldn’t take it anymore. He decided to have a look inside the nearby cottages to see what he could unveil. With his arms stretched out to the sky, he lengthened his spine, twisting it side to side. Popping sounds echoed through the dead landscape around him. Whatever Maryska had used on him must have been some form of magic, allowing him to do these things as a skeleton. He was curious, and perhaps a little haunted by it.
The gray sky sat empty of clouds but in its depths, it held a white moon. Or perhaps it was a pale sun? Anton couldn’t be sure.
Most of his hesitance started to wear off as he marched toward the first cottage. The closer he got, the more the bones didn’t appear to be human, or at least the skulls. The remains were fused together, leaving no gaps. It was as if the outer shell of the home was somehow one whole, connected piece.
Anton was sure Yeva would be sickened by this cottage, but he knew Pav would be in awe. Both feelings washed over Anton.
Sprawled across the front of the cottage, underneath a window, were small white bone flowers sprinkled in the dirt. A crack from top to bottom lined one of the four glass panes. Nearby, ornate, bone picket fences closed in a few of the other homes.
Anton swung open the door with a bang, and several loose bones clinked together. Holding himself steady, he walked inside the darkened cottage and wished for light. About a hundred candles flickered on with white flames bobbing, and an orb, like the ones from Maryska’s throne room, appeared in the center of his palm. The orb shone of a glistening white hue, with a hollow, black flame burning in its belly.
He stood in astonishment as his gaze roamed over the room, discovering that within the cottage’s interior there were no bones, yet the color was still missing. In the middle of the room sat a drab velvet settee with wooden legs. Across from it rested a table and two white chairs to its left. Somehow, the flames atop the surrounding candles weren’t melting the wax, yet they continued to burn.
Anton didn’t have the energy to go into any of the other rooms, so he took a seat on the settee and closed the flames in his eye sockets for a moment before reopening them. In the corner of the cottage was a fireplace with firewood set aside.
Pushing himself up from the settee, he headed toward the stack. His fingers twitched as he picked up a narrow piece of wood, then carried it with him to a dining area. He sifted through the drawers until, to his relief, he stumbled upon two knives—one smaller, the other larger—that would be useful as tools.
Anton sawed down the firewood. It took all his strength, but in the end, he managed to cut the wood into four sections. Lifting one of the smaller pieces, he began to carve, for what very well might be his eternity.
