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NAHLI
Nahli stood, unable to speak, mesmerized by the lit orb inside Anton’s palm. It was like pure magic, white with an obsidian flame in the center.
“How did you do that?” she murmured.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve managed to learn a few things here. I say the word ‘light,’ and it chooses to appear.”
What should feel like a nightmare in the Bone Valley was more of a strange dream. She should be panicking again because she was skinless, without muscles, and missing organs. But Nahli had somehow calmed herself.
Perhaps it is a dream. She poked at a bone of her arm because there was no skin to pinch—she didn’t wake.
As she scanned Anton over, she wasn’t sure if she even liked him. However, his presence was better than being alone—probably.
Holding out her palm, she commanded, “Light.” No magical orb appeared, only an empty skeletal hand stayed in sight. She wiggled her fingers and said the word again, but her palm remained bare.
Anton reached to touch her empty hand. On instinct, she pulled it back to her side.
“May I try something?” he asked in a soothing manner.
Nahli cocked her head, then slowly slid her hand in front of him. “Just please don’t take it.” She had tried to steal from him at the market, and it could be possible he wanted her appendage for that.
“What would I do with a hand if there are plenty of others around that I could build?” Annoyance was etched in his voice as he peered at the pile of bones behind her.
“Perhaps you like delicate ones.” She focused on his hand, seeming delicate as well.
“I find nothing about you delicate.” He inhaled. “Now, may I see your hand?”
Reluctantly, she placed it in his because if she had to admit, she was envious of the orb adhered to him. He flipped her palm over so it faced up once more. It reminded her of the market, when he’d stroked the lines of her hand to read her fortune.
With gentleness, he moved his other hand containing the bright orb and placed it on hers. For a brief moment, her fingers and palm tingled at the contact as she pressed each digit around the sphere, then gripped it tighter. Her reflection arose in the orb, and her body stilled when she discovered flames rested inside her sockets instead of two brown eyes. But the apprehension faded as she continued to stare.
Tearing her gaze from the orb, she lifted her head to look back at Anton. “It’s amazing.”
“I’m glad it entertains you,” he said. “It amused me for a little while, then I grew bored again.”
She went to hand the orb back to him, but it stayed attached to her. Panicked, she shook it above Anton’s open palm. It wouldn’t budge.
“Get it away!” she cried.
A huff of air released from his jaw area. It took her a minute to realize he’d sighed, as she had no idea how that was possible since he did not have lungs. Placing his hand on the orb, he said, “Off.”
Nahli should have felt embarrassed by her reaction, but she was more flustered. With her flames wide, she looked down at her hand in determination. “Light.” And the orb appeared. “Off.” The orb disappeared. “Light.”
“Off,” Anton muttered after he scooped it back into his hand. “We have established that we can turn a light on and off.” He turned and walked away in the direction of the cottages.
Is he really wandering off?
She hurried in his direction, the skirt of her dress swishing, and easily caught up with him. “Where are you going?”
“I thought you wanted to get weapons. Or ... we can stand around and play with orbs all day. We do have plenty of time for that.” His tone came out light. If he had his skin and a mouth, Nahli thought he would be smiling at her.
“Oh yes, sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
He led her down a path with tiny fragments of rocks until they stopped in front of a cottage. Or was it even one? Bones and animal skulls were fused together to create the outside barrier.
After he opened the door, she stepped inside to a candle-lit room. Everything was black, white, or gray. Her gaze swept across a stove, square dining table, settee, another table, bare walls, and a wooden floor.
“There’s no color here,” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling, then toward the lit candles.
“Black, white and gray are colors,” Anton pointed out. “And I haven’t seen any others. I don’t know why this place is like this, but Maryska must have drawn life away, even from the colors.”
Nahli shivered at his response and surveyed the rectangular table in front of the settee. A knife and carved wooden objects lay on top.
“Look,” she said, picking up the knife and pointing it at the dragon.
He took the blade from her and set it back down. “I was bored.”
“You made these?” The pitch in her voice rose an octave, impressed.
“You’ll find out there isn’t much to do here, so I hope you have a hobby.”
“But you also said you didn’t venture out, so how do you know that?”
He stood silent for a moment as he stared at her. “I don’t.”
“I suppose we’re about to find out, then.”
She left him standing there and headed into the first entrance she found. It must have been a bedroom because inside sat a large bed with a floral blanket thrown across. A rocking chair rested in the corner, and next to it was a wooden desk with sewing supplies strewn atop, where a pair of unfinished trousers dangled halfway off the table.
Kneeling, she lifted the gray cloth blanket and peered underneath the bed, stumbling upon a sheathed sword and a collection of daggers. Finally, something to be jubilant about.
“Take your pick,” she called to Anton, spreading the weapons out on the bed.
“Are you good with a sword?” he asked, examining one of the daggers.
“I am.”
“Then you take it. My younger brother is the one great with a sword. I’m better with small knives and throwing them.”
“Really?” She grabbed the sword, remembering his brother’s muscular build, as well as Anton’s. “You look like you would be great with a sword.”
He glanced down at his frail skeleton body.
“At least, you did before, with your toned body and height,” she rambled. “You know what I mean.”
“If we’re basing it on height, then wouldn’t that mean you’d be horrendous?” He chuckled.
“Do you dare find out?” She dropped her jaw into a smile and watched him slide the daggers between his belt and trousers. “Is there a shirt and pair of pants in here that I can wear instead of this bulky dress?”
Anton strode to an open closet and thumbed through clothing items until he stepped back with dark trousers and a light tunic.
Nahli stretched her arm forward and quickly hugged them at her chest. “Thank you.” He continued to stand there. “Can you go into the other room?”
His head tilted to the side. “When you were only bones on the ground, I touched every single one as I put you together.”
That answer sounded more intimate than it should have, but the words affected her somehow. Her heart was gone, yet she swore there was a ghost of a beat. “That was before I was moving around, though.”
“I suppose that’s true. If you need me, I’ll be in the other room.” Anton closed the door behind him and left her standing alone.
Pearl buttons ran up along the back of the dress that she could have asked Anton to loosen for her. Instead, she grabbed one of the extra daggers he’d left on the bed and slit it open from neck to waist, effectively shimmying her way out of the overbearing garment. Before pulling on the tunic, she tugged out the bone flowers that were entwined with her hair.
The tunic was like a dress itself as it swayed at her knees. The pants were a little long, so she took scissors from the sewing table and cut them until they brushed her ankles.
Once finished, she found Anton in the sitting room, lounging at the settee and etching into an unfinished carving of a cat.
“Ready?” he asked without looking up, thin wood shavings floating to the floor from his fingertips.
“I am.”
Nahli headed out the front door with the sword sheathed at her side. If she thought too much about how she arrived in the Bone Valley and what the place was exactly, she would frighten herself again. But she was tired of being scared, finished with trying to figure out how to get somewhere without anything, and done with trusting people who were supposed to have cared about her. She didn’t trust Anton, but he was in the same ship she was and right now, he was all she had.
The first place she stopped was the wooden door at the tree trunk. She wanted to try and pry it open herself, only to find it was locked, just as Anton had said.
She wondered if it would really be so terrible to venture through if it was unlocked. What could Maryska do that was worse than this? A chill raced up her spine as monstrous images drifted through her mind. One with creatures baring long teeth, tearing her bones to shreds, blood pooling from the remains. She shook off the dreaded thought.
“Let’s try going that way, right in between the hills,” Anton said, gesturing farther to their left.
Turning in the direction of the uneven hills, they moved through a light fog, past mounds piled with skeletal remains. A bang came from the sky, and a thud reverberated at the top of a hill as a bone struck the tip like lightning before rolling down it. From the sky, the narrow opening rained down more skeletons, the sound of bones hitting the rocky ground was like a hammer to stone as they fell apart on impact. The piles of remains grew even as she watched.
“People die every day,” Anton whispered.
Nahli shuddered at the thought that she too, had fallen from the sky. “And this is their new life? Do you think it’s always been this way?”
“Maryska didn’t tell me much, only what I’ve told you.”
She noticed the daggers were now in his hands. “Do you want to keep walking in this direction?” It didn’t matter which way they went, did it? On every side of her were crooked bushes, contorted trees, and the vast array of hills and mountains.
“Sure, why not.” He glanced around one last time before quickening his pace.
Nahli matched his stride, even though his legs were a lot longer than hers. As they drifted farther away from where they’d started, the ground still remained bare of grass with an endless amount of dirt, rocks, and pebbles. The hills became taller and wider, forming broader mountains of skeletal pieces. Her skull reclined as far back as allowed, while she strained to try and see the tops.
The surrounding trees reminded her of the winters in Huadu, with branches covered in snowy white, except these were all bone. Some of the gnarled limbs resembled withering hands, large enough to pluck them up as they went by.
Anton and Nahli pushed past the trees and skirted around the mountains, walking mostly in silence. Below her feet, she could feel every pebble, but oddly, it didn’t hurt.
Trees became less sparse until they didn’t see any more signs of human bones, except in the distance behind them. Everything blurred, and Nahli squinted her flames to try and see more clearly. It only became worse.
“Can you see past the trees?” she asked, gripping the handle of her sword. It was as though they were in a tomb of foliage.
Anton stopped in his tracks and craned his neck. “No, but listen,” he said quietly, finger pulled up to his teeth.
She tilted her head. “I don’t hear ...” Then, she heard it—the sound of soft, padding feet. A snapping and a crunch, as if the feet were breaking brittle bones. She unsheathed her sword, stepping forward again. Her mother had been an excellent swordswoman and had taught Nahli the tricks from an early age. If only my parents had decided to send me off to be a soldier instead of attempting to betroth me to a stranger for more coin.
Anton inched closer to her, daggers closed in his fists.
A low growl erupted behind a thick trunk covered in tiny holes at its base. Nahli was prepared to decapitate whatever animal it was.
And then, from behind a leaning tree, a darkened head peeked forward. Nahli’s flames widened. It wasn’t quite an animal, yet it was a creature of some sort with the body of a tiger and the head of an enormous snake.
She held her ground and didn’t back away—neither did Anton. Lifting his weapon, he threw it with perfect precision, and it struck the center of the beast’s head. The beast didn’t back down as it let out a deafening growl and lunged for them.
Nahli leapt forward, swinging the sword at an angle to connect with the scaly neck. The creature’s head shot off, then landed with a sickening plop as it hit and rolled across the ground. The thing was eyeless, only a large mouth with rows and rows of sharpened triangular teeth. Thick, black blood oozed from the opening.
“I’m not sure that worked, Nahli.” Anton’s voice cracked on her name.
“Hmm?” She was breathing hard, her gaze falling to the beast’s large body.
Eyes blinked at her from all over the entire thing, where they shouldn’t have been. Hundreds and hundreds of eyes were openly watching them now. With hunger? With rage? It could have been both as a new head pushed through the bloody wound.
Anton thrust the other dagger, meeting its mark in one of the glowing eyes at the beast’s front leg. Screeching a shrill and horrible growl, the creature faltered, then dove for Anton’s leg, teeth piercing and latching onto it. Anton howled while bellowing out the word, “Light.”
The shimmering orb appeared in his hand, and the beast released his leg, seeming entranced by the illumination. Nahli didn’t hesitate—she brought down the sword, splitting the beast into two once again. Dark blood sprayed her as she watched the creature’s body and head strike the ground.
“Flame,” Anton panted, the orb morphing into a luminous fire with pitch-dark at its center.
“You didn’t show me that,” she said, noticing how the flame sizzled without burning his palm.
“I told you I knew a few things.” He paused. “Only these two, though.”
Both portions of the beast twitched, trembled, then full-on shook as another body and head grew back, turning them into two. She searched for the head she’d decapitated earlier. Only now, it had become three beasts.
Anton hurled the flame at the creature on the right, and smoke rose from the beast’s head as if his magic had been doused in water. The blow had done nothing, the creature unaffected.
“That was useless,” Anton muttered, staring at his hand.
“Time to run.” Nahli barreled forward as quickly as she could, Anton directly behind her.
They stomped through the woods of skeletal trees, thorn-covered bushes, and shriveled vines. Ahead, the blur became clearer as white hills in the distance took shape. The pound of paws striking earth sounded behind them, drawing nearer. If Nahli had a heart, it would have fallen from her rib cage from fright. But they were already almost out of the woods, closer and closer.
She jumped over a protruding tree root and onto a dirt path that led them right back toward the center of the Bone Valley.
