“Amazing,” Fox said, lowering his blade.
“It is a taurvi,” Mykaela said. “Swift as the wind, and it sings a splendid lullaby. The bezoar in its stomach is worth more than what a popular atelier can make in many years. That is also how it entices its victims—it paralyzes them, keeping them immobile and docile before it swallows them whole. Return to your grave.”
The fight had gone out of the taurvi. It was almost meek as it slunk back into the mound it had sprung from. It yawled only once—a thin, almost beseeching cry, like a young girl’s.
“Die.” The asha’s voice was cold and grim.
The creature died. It collapsed into the hole it had climbed out of as soon as the word left Lady Mykaela’s lips.
The woman approached the beast, her knife at the ready. Four quick slashes at its midsection, and a bright-yellow bezoar lay in the palm of her hand. The creature turned to ash almost as soon as she retrieved the stone.
Lady Mykaela pulled her cloak closer around herself and sighed. “Take the shovel from the saddlebags, Fox. Return the mound to the same state it was in when we first arrived.”
“I’m sorry.” I was still shivering. The sudden disappearance of the spell around us had a strange effect on me; I wanted more of it to linger, more of it to sample. Fox placed an arm around me, and I leaned into him, grateful.
“You were not in too much danger.” Lady Mykaela lifted the taurvi’s bezoar up, admiring the way it sparkled against the light. “But it is a good lesson for you to learn. I trust that you will be more cautious next time.”
“Next time?” I echoed weakly.
“Why did you take that stone from its stomach?” Fox asked as he shifted earth into the empty hole in the ground.
“Daeva were created by the False Prince with death magic so complicated that not even asha today know how to recreate them. They were born dead, and even dormant, the Dark constantly replenish their bones. The Five Great Heroes discovered the means to kill the daeva—and slew six of the seven. Yet, every few years, they must be forcibly raised, divested of their bezoars, and sent back to their graves. For taurvi, harvesttime means visiting this mound once every ten years. There is an akvan a hundred leagues away in Daanoris’s Sea of Skulls that must be put down in four years’ time, and along the Kion borders, one must retrieve a green stone from the tail of a nanghait every seven years. Their bezoars slowly decay as the day of their resurrection draws near, and when they disappear, the creatures rise, and we repeat this cycle all over again. It is important that we raise them within a specific time frame—seven days before they revive, at the least. They are dormant before that and do not respond even to the Dark. Dig this grave a year from now, and it will carry no trace of bone. Dig it a week before today, and you will find a complete body.”
“And if you do not raise them,” Fox said slowly, “they will climb out of their tombs at the peak of their strength and kill again, as one killed me.”
Mykaela nodded. “A savul, I believe. Sakmeet was in charge of it; she is a Dark asha who lives in Istera. We have had no word of her, and I fear the worst. The only way to kill them again is to rip the bezoar from their bodies—a messy endeavor, even for an average asha. The False Prince’s final curse is a heavy burden.”
“You say the Great Heroes killed six of the daeva. What of the seventh?”
“The azi, the fiercest and most powerful of the daeva, eluded even them. No one knows where its mound lies. It is the most reclusive of the beasts and has not been seen for many millennia.”
“And you do all this?” Was this to be my responsibility as well? The thought terrified me.
“I have been doing this for close to fifteen years. Other asha, Deathseekers, and those skilled enough in the magical arts can slay these creatures, though with more difficulty. Only bone witches can control them long enough to deprive them of their bezoars. The people of Odalia may not like us, child, but a reason for their dislike is having to be beholden to us.” Mykaela tucked the topaz-hued stone into her waist pouch. “And in exchange, we acquire priceless ingredients. Mix the bezoar with elderbark juice and mushroom tart, and you also have an antidote for consumption.”
The effects of the spell Lady Mykaela had woven, combined with the strange paralysis I suffered, still lingered in me. While I had not liked my first brush with the creature, the magic the asha used to contain it had not been unpleasant. My fingers twitched, and I reached out without thinking, seeking for remnants of the magic that remained—
—and felt the full force of Mykaela’s will bearing down on my mind. The asha was forcing me to draw in more magic than I could handle, the pleasure so great it was almost painful—
“Let go.”
—only to find myself abruptly cut off and on the ground before I could move.
“It will always feel good,” Lady Mykaela said softly, “at least at first. But the more you draw in such a short time, the harder it will be to put up barriers in your mind, until all you will concern yourself with is drawing more power until you die from the darkrot. It is an addiction that many bone witches could not overcome, and that is why we are so few in number. I compelled you the way I compelled the creature to show you the consequences of taking in too much, of letting your guard down and allowing someone else an opening to take over. In time, I will teach you control. I will teach you restraint. I will decide the next time you can draw the rune again, and it will be different.”
“You put her in danger!” Fox accused, dropping to his knees beside me. I could sense the anger in his thoughts.
“I slew a fellow sister-witch once when I was younger. The daeva took her over, and there was no other choice. I am ruthless now because I have no intention of doing so ever again.” Harshness took the place of the asha’s melodious voice. “Do you understand me, Tea?”
“Yes,” I breathed, squeezing Fox’s hand in reassurance, my mind clearer. Lady Mykaela was telling me the reason bone witches were feared: not because we could control daeva but because daeva were not the only ones we could choose to compel.
“Did you like Kneave?” I asked.