Arrow on the String: Solomon Sorrows Book 1 by Dan Fish (no david read aloud TXT) 📕

words a hundred different times from a hundred different Fates. Or maybe the same Fate in a hundred different forms. Always with a weapon. Always to begin a hunt. He glanced at his bow. He’d never hunted two at once before. This was new. But he imagined little would change. Find a Seph, kill it, free the soul, claim it. He opened the box. It was empty.

He looked up. “I don’t understand.”

The box slipped in his grasp. His fingers were going numb. He couldn’t feel his toes. His body was shaking from the cold. The wrappings fell away from the Fate ahead and to his right. A shriveled body stood before him, long dead. Withered, brown skin clinging to bone. Coarse black hair hanging in braids. Lips curled back, revealing teeth stained with rot. Dark hollows where eyes had once been. A pattern of ivy and lilacs painted on its face. It took a step toward him, extending an arm.

“Lay her soul to rest,” it said, birdsong on winter gale.

Movement ahead and to his left. He turned. Another corpse stepping free of its rags. Holly leaves and white flowers. Lips painted red.

“Lay her soul to rest,” it said.

Scraping on the floor behind him. He spun, knowing what he would see. Two withered bodies, two masks. Holly and gray berry.

“Lay her soul to rest,” they said.

He felt a weight on his shoulder and turned.

Zvilna Gorsham stared at him, pale, not yet withered. Lips pressed together, eyes bright with tears. She stepped closer. His heart pounded. His breath billowed. She stepped closer. Fell forward onto him. The chair broke. He lay on his back, Zvilna pressed against him, her face a finger’s width from his. Her body leeched heat from his. He spasmed from the cold. His eyelids were thick with ice, his fingers and feet numb. He pushed Zvilna to the side, clumsy, slow. He scrambled onto his elbows, then onto his hands and knees. He grabbed his bow, grabbed the empty box. He found his feet, stood. Found the door, opened it, turned.

“Lay her soul to rest,” said five voices, whistling like wind through trees.

Zvilna and the four corpses stepped forward, arms outstretched, faces painted in their Stone Mother’s masks. None of their mouths moved with the words.

None of them had hands.

Chapter 28

HAMMERFELL TOWER WAS calm outside. Immovable, solid. An arm of granite reaching into the storm, the battlement its hand, merlons like thick fingers brushing the sky. It grew larger as Sorrows stumbled closer. It beckoned, promising warmth, shelter. Its doors opened at his approach. The calm crumbled as he stepped into the entrance hall. Inside, the tower was a maelstrom of black and gray. He staggered forward, was jostled; took another step, was pushed aside; fell to one knee; two hands cupped his face.

“You orchole,” Davrosh said. “Where in all hells have you been?”

Her hands were warm on his cheeks. His eyes felt heavy. She was strong. He tipped forward. She slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to make his eyes water. He shook his head, blinked away the melt and tried to stand. She caught his arm and helped him to his feet. He took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. Willed his head to stop spinning.

“What’s going on? Why’s everyone in a rush?” he asked.

Whenever Mig had bad news, she’d hide it behind layers of concern. A softening of the eyes, a pout of the lips, a squeeze of his arm. She loved him. She didn’t want to upset him. She meant it as kindness, though it hindered the message.

Davrosh didn’t give an orc’s split how he felt. She wore truth and accusation on her face, as plain as a Stone Mother’s mask. He’d have known what happened without the Fates interfering just by looking at her.

“Zvilna,” he said. Truth.

“You should have been there,” she said. Accusation. “Gods, you should have been there.”

Sorrows said nothing for a moment. He had told Zvilna he would show. Had all but promised to be there. Had seen the hope in her eyes. Now, he imagined her face as the Fates had shown, lips pressed together, eyes wide with fear, skin painted in holly leaves and primrose.

“Who found her?” he asked.

“Her splitting father. Walked in with his gods-shunned City Guard to find her lying in bed, arms out to either side, eyes staring down the arrow’s shaft.”

“Just like the others?” Sorrows asked.

“Identical.”

“No other clues?”

Davrosh shook her head. “None.”

“Guard outside the room?”

Davrosh nodded. “And two beneath her window, shivering their splits off all night. Didn’t see a thing.”

The cold was fading. Sorrows flexed his fingers. They’d gone from numb to burning. His feet felt the same.

“Where’s Oray?” he asked.

“Gone,” Davrosh said. “Took Ostev and left. Said they were going to search the city, ask around. How is it outside?”

Sorrows shook his head. “It’s a lot like we could use a Walker.”

“Is your lover friend still around? Would she take us?”

Sorrows relaxed. Davrosh knew Jace was a Walker. The thought was oddly comforting. It meant Jace was probably ordered by the Archmage to hide her abilities. It still didn’t explain Bex, but it was a subtle step in the right direction.

“I haven’t seen her since last night,” he said.

“You saw her last night?”

“We were both at Ellebrand Manor.”

His brow furrowed. Her brow furrowed. Her eyes widened. His eyes closed. Gods shun it. She was talking about Mig. And he’d assumed it was Jace. Which meant she didn’t know about Jace being a Walker.

“Shun you,” she said in a voice loud enough to turn heads, but with enough whisper to send spittle landing on his face. She leveled a finger at him. “I meant the goblin. Why would you think I meant Ivra? What were the two of you doing last night?”

“It’s not like that,” he said. It’s always like that, Sol.

“It’s always like that, orchole,” Davrosh said.

She walked past him, shoved him to the side. He stumbled. She was strong.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’ve got a job to do,”