Heaven's Bones Read Online Free
Under the lip of the bank Tibor spotted a bunch of mussels all grown together and left exposed when the waters receded. He kneeled, grasped the shellfish, and gave them a determined tug.
The crust of sand and stone crumbled under him and he hung over empty air, the still-forceful torrent of the river on the rocks below, ready to sweep him out to sea. Still grabbing onto the cluster of mussels with one hand, he paddled desperately in the air with the other.
âTibor!â
Jaelle was by his side, moving faster than thought, and seized his forearm in a strong grip. He struggled back from the brink, collapsing into her.
âDonât let me go,â he said, although he was safe now.
âNever,â she said.
He realized he still held the shellfish, torn free from their rooting-spot under the banks, and he waved it at her triumphantly. An instant of astonishment, and they both burst out laughing.
There: Her face, Jaelleâs face just before it crumpled into laughter, thatâs what he saw when he dreamed.
Not the anger.
Not the betrayal.
Not the lift of her chin when she vowed to destroy him, even if it destroyed her in turn.
Not the look in her eyes when she realized he would pay every last measure he had, including her, for the power he sought.
He only saw the laughter.
Tibor didnât dream much. For the most part, he didnât even exist.
And then, little by little, he started to come together, coalescing out of the Mists that were his sea, his doom, his rocks, and his prison.
Sometimes it was as if he was suspended, spread out in particles like dust over strange lands and peoples. Awareness was dim, and not related to any particular sense; he was a deaf, blind, insensate witness to events he couldnât begin to comprehend.
Then, slowly, he realized he could see a little, the barest lightening or shadowing of the invariable gray. And soundâsometimes a whisper threaded through his consciousness before it vanished and was gone forever.
How long passed before he understood any of it, he never knew. It might have been centuries.
But thenâa tickle of sound in his ear. So long it had been since he heard words, even his own; at first he didnât recognize them for what they were.
Words.
A little twist and Iâd have it
.
Meaningless syllablesâgibberish.
Then, picking them apart, sound by sound. So unfamiliar, a language he didnât even speak. And yet, when he pulled the words apart and crawled inside them, a rat burrowing in straw, he began to understand.
A little twist â¦
⦠and Iâd have it
.
Something desirous there, something composed of want and fear. Hunger, as wellâthe insistent demands of the belly when thereâs no money for food, and your woman hungers, and your children hunger, and everyday they look at you with hope and disappointment.
More, a flicker of boldness, wanting only a little push.
A little twist â¦
Something bright and sharp in there, a bright shank, just right for a sudden thrust and youâre three streets away before anyone knows anythingâs wrong.
⦠and Iâd have it
.
Something heavy there, coins clanking together in a pouch, meaning so much more than that soft clinkâa warm bed, food in the belly.
From inside the thought Tibor made an effort and flexed. Such a little thing, and life so cheap, a coin thrust back and forth across a table. First
he
has it, and then
she
has it, why shouldnât
you
have your turn?
Twist the knife and take it
. Tibor couldnât speak out loud, not yet. He made his thoughts a vine and coiled around the mind that lay so exposed before him.
And someone did twist and take, and ran away with a coin-purse heavy and soft in the hand and scarlet blossoming behind, a life lost behind, and Tibor fell away again, fell into the rivers of Mist and oblivion.
But, still, a fleeting thought.
I did it, and Iâll do it again. I made one man kill another. I have
The crust of sand and stone crumbled under him and he hung over empty air, the still-forceful torrent of the river on the rocks below, ready to sweep him out to sea. Still grabbing onto the cluster of mussels with one hand, he paddled desperately in the air with the other.
âTibor!â
Jaelle was by his side, moving faster than thought, and seized his forearm in a strong grip. He struggled back from the brink, collapsing into her.
âDonât let me go,â he said, although he was safe now.
âNever,â she said.
He realized he still held the shellfish, torn free from their rooting-spot under the banks, and he waved it at her triumphantly. An instant of astonishment, and they both burst out laughing.
There: Her face, Jaelleâs face just before it crumpled into laughter, thatâs what he saw when he dreamed.
Not the anger.
Not the betrayal.
Not the lift of her chin when she vowed to destroy him, even if it destroyed her in turn.
Not the look in her eyes when she realized he would pay every last measure he had, including her, for the power he sought.
He only saw the laughter.
Tibor didnât dream much. For the most part, he didnât even exist.
And then, little by little, he started to come together, coalescing out of the Mists that were his sea, his doom, his rocks, and his prison.
Sometimes it was as if he was suspended, spread out in particles like dust over strange lands and peoples. Awareness was dim, and not related to any particular sense; he was a deaf, blind, insensate witness to events he couldnât begin to comprehend.
Then, slowly, he realized he could see a little, the barest lightening or shadowing of the invariable gray. And soundâsometimes a whisper threaded through his consciousness before it vanished and was gone forever.
How long passed before he understood any of it, he never knew. It might have been centuries.
But thenâa tickle of sound in his ear. So long it had been since he heard words, even his own; at first he didnât recognize them for what they were.
Words.
A little twist and Iâd have it
.
Meaningless syllablesâgibberish.
Then, picking them apart, sound by sound. So unfamiliar, a language he didnât even speak. And yet, when he pulled the words apart and crawled inside them, a rat burrowing in straw, he began to understand.
A little twist â¦
⦠and Iâd have it
.
Something desirous there, something composed of want and fear. Hunger, as wellâthe insistent demands of the belly when thereâs no money for food, and your woman hungers, and your children hunger, and everyday they look at you with hope and disappointment.
More, a flicker of boldness, wanting only a little push.
A little twist â¦
Something bright and sharp in there, a bright shank, just right for a sudden thrust and youâre three streets away before anyone knows anythingâs wrong.
⦠and Iâd have it
.
Something heavy there, coins clanking together in a pouch, meaning so much more than that soft clinkâa warm bed, food in the belly.
From inside the thought Tibor made an effort and flexed. Such a little thing, and life so cheap, a coin thrust back and forth across a table. First
he
has it, and then
she
has it, why shouldnât
you
have your turn?
Twist the knife and take it
. Tibor couldnât speak out loud, not yet. He made his thoughts a vine and coiled around the mind that lay so exposed before him.
And someone did twist and take, and ran away with a coin-purse heavy and soft in the hand and scarlet blossoming behind, a life lost behind, and Tibor fell away again, fell into the rivers of Mist and oblivion.
But, still, a fleeting thought.
I did it, and Iâll do it again. I made one man kill another. I have
Readers choose
Quincy J. Allen
Violette Dubrinsky
Kat Cantrell
Kristen Ashley
Annette Blair
Leah Scheier
Kennedy Kelly
Karen Swan
Rene Folsom
Connie Suttle