Page 39 of The Iron Vow

The Bone Collector pouted. “Oh, well.” It sighed. “That’s unfortunate, though it is what I expected. No one wants to give up their bones, it seems. A pity. They are so beautiful, to be hidden away behind flesh and blood.” It sniffed, then took a lurching step back, tipping an imaginary hat with its long, pointed claws. “Well, if you will excuse me, then. Not to be rude, but I think I will be going back to sleep now. Have a good trip to the Wailing One’s keep. You will start to hear her from the edges of the forest. On bad days, that shrill voice penetrates my dreams.”

“You could come with us,” I offered, making Puck blink at me. I ignored him. The Bone Collector might have been grotesque and terrifying, but I sensed he was strong. And despite his appearance and disturbing appetite for bones, he seemed like a faery that was trustworthy...once he had decided not to kill you. “Help us fight and kill the Elder Nightmare. We would share a portion of the magic with you.”

But the Bone Collector shook his head. “I am tired,” it said. “And killing Nightmares has no appeal for me anymore. I was hoping to wake up and find the world as it had been. But except for you strangers, nothing has changed in Evenfall. Only now, I hear rumors that the king is starting to stir. If this is true, if he does wake up and the Nightmares cease, I would rather drift quietly into oblivion without knowing it.

“Maybe you can save us,” it continued, giving me a strange, sad smile that was both chilling and heartbreaking. “Maybe you will find the way to bring us back to the Nevernever and the rest of Faery. Until then, I will dream of the day where Evenfall is whole once more. So, goodbye, and good luck. Perhaps one day we will meet again, and you will not be quite as attached to your bones as you are right now.”

And with that, the huge Bone Collector turned and lumbered away into the trees. I watched as it shambled back to the hole it had left in the earth, stepped into the shallow crater, and sank to the ground, folding in on itself like a marionette being put back in a box. As it did, the spongy, glistening earth around the hole began to shift and rise, seeming to flow upwards, until it had covered the hulking Bone Collector once more. Only its spine poked out of the ground, bony protrusions jutting into the air, as they had when we first saw it. Within a few seconds, the ancient faery had disappeared, sinking back into the earth to return to sleep, and we were alone again.

“Well,” said Grimalkin’s voice. “How unexpected. I thought that at least one of you would end up bartering away a finger to leave this place without a fight. It seems even the Bone Collector is weary of existing in Evenfall. Or should I say, even the Dream is growing weary.”

“You could’ve stuck around this time, Furball,” Puck said, frowning at the cait sith. “I thought this kind of bargaining crap was your favorite thing. Or was the big scary Bone Collector too much even for you?”

Grimalkin sniffed. “Mybones were in no danger, Goodfellow. Perhaps next time you could accept the offer and donate your bottom jaw? That would be quite good for everyone.”

Varyn laughed, making Puck scowl even more. “Oh, hilarious, Furball. You onlythinkyour bones are in no danger.”

Gilleas shook his head. “Come,” he rasped, taking a step back from the looming mound that was the Bone Collector. “It is quite the distance to the edge of the wood, and we still have a long journey after that.”

“How long?” Keirran asked, looking faintly confused. “The Bone Collector told us it could hear the Wailing One’s voice in its dreams.”

“Yes,” Gilleas said gravely. “I am not surprised it could.” At Keirran’s continued puzzled look, he raised one shoulder in a shrug. “You will see what I mean when we get there.”

We began hearing the voice not long after.

The Rattling Wood was never completely silent. Even a faint breeze could set the branches and dangling skulls chattering like grotesque wind chimes. In a stronger wind, the noise was almost deafening, hundreds of skulls clacking their jaws in a parody of laughter. As was often the case in Faery, there were several instances where I thought I heard my name being called through the clamorous racket.

But then, as the trees began to thin and the ground under my feet grew slowly firmer, I did start to hear a voice. Faint at first, barely a whisper through the sound of rattling bones. Sometimes it grew louder, sometimes it faded away altogether. But the farther we traveled, the clearer it became. There were no words. No names being called. No threats or vows of revenge. Just a constant, breathless sobbing, punctuated by high-pitched wails or moans.

“Man, someone is seriously unhappy,” Puck muttered. “Did anyone think to bring any earplugs?” He raised both hands and pointed his fingers at the sides of his head. “If not, it’s okay. I’ll just shove a dagger through my ear canals.”

“I take it that’s the Wailing One.” Keirran shivered, his eyes haunted. “It sounds like she’s in agony. How can her voice carry this far? I can barely hear it, and it still feels like someone is raking their nails across the inside of my skull.”

“That is the nature of the Wailing One,” Gilleas told him. He raised his head, listening as the faint cries carried through the swaying branches. “She is not subtle. You can hear her misery for miles. Sadly, it will only get worse the closer we get to Howling Keep.”

“Tell us about this Nightmare,” Ash said. “I would have studied it myself, had I known what to look for. What are its strengths? Does it have any weaknesses? The more we know about our enemy, the better chance we’ll have.”

Gilleas seemed pleased with his statement, for he gave Ash a respectful nod. “Ah, yes. Someone who appreciates the fine art of research. I wish more had your insight, and the patience to study a subject before confronting it.”

“We would,” Other Nyx said in a flat voice, “but someone keeps shooing us out of the library and asking why we’re not out protecting the city.”

“Yes, well.” Gilleas sniffed and chose not to answer that. “The Wailing One,” he went on, turning to Ash again. “The Wailing One is a very old Nightmare. Some say she is one of the first Elder Nightmares to walk Evenfall. Just like us, the Nightmares grow more powerful when they are named, when they are remembered, and when stories are told about them. In the long ages that Evenfall has been sealed away, her stories have grown. One of the more common legends is that the Wailing One is the Nightmare King’s great grief, his terrible sorrow at what Evenfall had become, and his regret that he was unable to save his people. The legend goes on to say that, as long as we can hear her, the king still grieves for us and Evenfall.

“Howling Keep is the Wailing One’s territory,” Gilleas continued. “It lies at the top of the Soulshard Cliffs, and it will be a dangerous journey to even reach the castle at the top. The area is swarming with smaller Nightmares, and even a few Elders. But the most dangerous of all is the Wailing One, who waits at the top of the keep. Whose cries of rage and sorrow can be heard for miles in every direction.”

“Sounds like a blast,” Puck muttered. “Really wishing I had earplugs now.”

The Rattling Woods eventually came to an end, and what lay beyond the forest of bones and chattering skulls took me by surprise. Rolling plains spread out before us, with honest-to-God grass sweeping across the surface. No bones, no bodies, no silhouettes of roaming Nightmares against the horizon. The strangest things were the dozens, maybe hundreds, of broken stone statues scattered everywhere in the grass. Not small figures, either; these monuments were enormous. A hand that was twice as big as I was jutted out from a slope, fingers pointing toward the sky. A titan face lay half-buried in the grass, its expression twisted into a mask of either grief or rage. Overhead, the sky was a strange silvery blue, a crescent moon shining through wisps of ragged clouds that curled across the sky like wraiths.

“Oh, well, this is positively peaceful,” Puck commented, gazing down the grassy slope. “Until those statues come to life and try to squish us, anyway.”

“Do not concern yourself with those, Goodfellow.” With a flash of gray fur, Grimalkin leaped onto a rock, the moonlight shining off his plumed tail as it waved back and forth. “The statues are not the things you need to worry about.”

A shivering howl echoed over the plains, making me shiver. I hadn’t forgotten about the Wailing One, but the agonized sobbing would ebb and flow with the night, fading away for several minutes before it returned, stronger and louder than before. The eerie cry drifted on the wind, seeming to come from the distant jagged peaks on the horizon.

“The Soulshard Mountains,” Gilleas said as he strode forward, his hollow gaze on the distant peaks. “That is our next destination. We will need to use caution while crossing the plains, however. This used to be Pale Rider territory. I am not certain any of them are still around, but these are their hunting grounds, so let us be careful.”

“What are these Pale Riders?” Keirran asked as we made our way down the slope onto the plains. A cold breeze hissed through the grass, blowing away the smell of rot that clung to my hair from the Rattling Wood. I inhaled the icy sharpness, feeling it burn my throat and lungs, strangely cleansing in a way.

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