A familiar laughter sprung from the shadows, sharp and clear.
Unable to take in what she was seeing, Liah looked down at the skull in her hands. This was no trick. She had disobeyed the bone carver when she took the piece from the forest. She had disturbed its spirit, and by doing so had brought it along on her journey. And as a consequence of her actions, the bone carver had died. It had been her fault.
As the knowledge sunk in, the laughter around her died and the shimmering figure vanished—swallowed back into the magical shadows that had spat it out.
Liah gazed for a long time at the skull in her hand. She might return it to the forest. She might take it with her and perform the rituals, releasing its spirit. Then she heard the Lie-peddler’s own words return to her in haunting clarity.
If my spirit were to be set free, my journey would end. And I have much more to accomplish in this world.
With much more care than the first time, Liah wrapped the skull in silk and placed it in her satchel. She knew now exactly what must be done.
Liah returned home to the village. There was a great cry of sorrow at the news of the bone carver’s death and a greater cry of anger at the cruelty and malice of the Empress.
Liah prepared to give the bone carver a proper burial. She began by cleaning and polishing the bones. She arranged them on a bed and repeated the chants she had learned from him. For forty-nine days she made sacrifices to his ancestors, calling on them to come and take his spirit to its eternal resting place.
On the last day, she found a spot in the ground beside his forefathers, buried his bones deep so that no animal might find them, and planted a shrub to grow and flourish above him. Though she and the bone carver shared no blood, Liah now felt she had an ancestor whose grave she might tend and whose spirit might watch over her.
All the while, Liah had also been preparing her revenge. She spent many hours carving something truly special, truly unique. Something that would not only gain the admiration of the Empress but would also bring about her end. When at last all was ready, Liah prepared for her journey back to the palace.
The villagers begged her not to go, for opposing forces had mustered their armies and were sweeping the lands, destroying all those loyal to the Empress.
“I must go,” she said to them. “I have promises to keep.” And with that, she set out once again for the palace.
Without stopping once, Liah reached the mountains by nightfall. She had plenty of work to do. She set about her business.
By the time Liah entered the palace, it was empty and abandoned. She strode past the thick walls and around to the terrace, where she found the Empress sitting alone. No longer filled with the sound of drunken laughter, it seemed all the more cold. The only light came from the coals beneath the bronze cylinder. The Empress sat mesmerized by the flames, their reflection turning her black pupils red.
Liah stepped forth from the shadows, and the Empress cast her an uninterested glance. “Have you come to fulfill your promise?” she said wryly. “Have you brought me a beautiful carving?”
From her sack, Liah withdrew the box she had taken much time to prepare. She held it toward the Empress. “I have.”
A flash of cruelty lit her eyes as she reached for it.
“I know how you enjoy your boxes filled with bones,” said Liah. “So I have brought you such a box.”
In the distance, Liah heard the thunder of hooves. The opposing army was approaching. Soon they would lay siege.
She watched as the Empress turned the box over. The bones spilled out of the open circle across the stone floor. She placed them in a straight line:
A faceless figure
A large sun
A three-sided shape
A boat
A tunic
A cavern
A serpent
A thin instrument
The Empress picked up the final bone and held it up for Liah to see. It had nothing on it. “Ah, but you made an error. This one has no image.”
Liah took a dagger from her sack and set it down at arm’s length between them. It was smooth and lean and razor sharp.
The Empress looked at Liah with hooded eyes. A tiny grin snaked across her lips as she understood. “Ah. I see. One of us shall die,” she said in a voice as dull and insipid as rain.
Liah nodded. “Yes. One of us.”
The Empress glared at the dagger, then at the final piece of empty bone. “The question, then, is: Which of us shall perish and which shall survive?”
Liah picked up all nine bones. She placed them inside the box. The circles spun backward, playing a sweet melody as it sealed tight.
“That decision is not in my hands,” said Liah. “Nor in yours. It is beyond both of us now. It lies in the hands of the storyteller.”