Read Online Cursed Bones: Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Five by David A. Wells - Free Book Online
Authors: David A. Wells
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that anything could hurt so much. She gasped for breath, pain threatening to overpower her consciousness, but her resolve held firm.
“Open it!” Rankosi demanded in a harsh whisper.
“No!” she shouted through tears and torment.
He grabbed her broken hand and squeezed.
She gasped again, agony flooding into her as broken bones scraped together. Darkness closed in around her and she drifted off into peaceful oblivion.
***
Pain returned before consciousness did. She was floating in that halfway place between sleep and wakefulness, pain surrounding her and engulfing her until she came fully awake with a start, gasping and whimpering at the sudden onslaught of torment from her broken hand.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Rankosi said, “seems I might have hit your friend here a bit too hard. He’s still out cold. So where were we? Ah yes. Open the box!”
“I can’t,” Lacy whimpered. “I don’t know how.”
“Try.”
“No.”
“You’re stronger than I would have thought,” Rankosi said. “Perhaps I’m going about this all wrong.”
He drew a knife and carefully, slowly placed it at Drogan’s throat. “He’s nothing to me but a body. Open it or I’ll kill him.”
Lacy swallowed and shook her head.
Rankosi smiled wickedly and his arm started to tense.
“Stop!” Lacy said.
“Yes?”
“He didn’t do anything to you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“He doesn’t deserve to die.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“This is between you and me, leave him out of this. He can’t hurt you, he’s totally defenseless.”
“Yes, he is. Now open the box or he dies.”
Lacy struggled to regain her feet, wincing when she started to use her broken hand for leverage. She staggered to the bench and faced the little black box. Her father had entrusted her with this task, she couldn’t let him down, yet a man’s life hung in the balance. What would her father do? What would he expect of her?
He’d always taught her to value life above all else. She closed her eyes tightly, tears slipping down both cheeks as her resolve faltered.
Tentatively, cautiously, she reached for the box with her left hand. It felt cool to the touch. She tried to lift the top of the box as if it had a lid with hinges, but nothing happened. She picked it up and carefully looked it over for any sign or seam, but found nothing. She slammed it against the table—still nothing.
“I don’t know how to open it,” she said, hanging her head.
Rankosi stared at the box for several seconds.
“Place your hand on it and think of it opening,” he said. “See it open in your mind.”
Lacy did as he instructed.
Nothing happened.
Then it started to glow. She snatched her hand back, staring in wonder at the symbol that had become visible on all sides of the box.
Rankosi smiled in triumph.
“Place your hand on the box and say the word: Ruminoct.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means: Open. Now, do as you’re told.”
She reached for the box again, her hand shaking visibly, and spoke the ancient word.
For a fraction of a second she felt like it might open, but then it recoiled as if it sensed her duress. The little box went suddenly dark and lifeless.
Rankosi snarled in anger, raising his club to brain her in sudden fury, but then mastered himself just as quickly.
“What does he know that I don’t know?” he muttered to himself, staring off into the distance. “He could have simply killed the girl and had the box delivered to him, yet he chose …”
Drogan rolled over, drawing a dagger in a single smooth motion, and plunged it into the heart of the sailor, killing him in an instant. A faint black shadow drifted out of the dying man, floating up through the ceiling.
Drogan staggered to his feet and nearly fell again as he found the bench.
“How badly are you hurt?” he asked, burying his face in his hands.
“My hand is broken,” Lacy said. “He hit you
“Open it!” Rankosi demanded in a harsh whisper.
“No!” she shouted through tears and torment.
He grabbed her broken hand and squeezed.
She gasped again, agony flooding into her as broken bones scraped together. Darkness closed in around her and she drifted off into peaceful oblivion.
***
Pain returned before consciousness did. She was floating in that halfway place between sleep and wakefulness, pain surrounding her and engulfing her until she came fully awake with a start, gasping and whimpering at the sudden onslaught of torment from her broken hand.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Rankosi said, “seems I might have hit your friend here a bit too hard. He’s still out cold. So where were we? Ah yes. Open the box!”
“I can’t,” Lacy whimpered. “I don’t know how.”
“Try.”
“No.”
“You’re stronger than I would have thought,” Rankosi said. “Perhaps I’m going about this all wrong.”
He drew a knife and carefully, slowly placed it at Drogan’s throat. “He’s nothing to me but a body. Open it or I’ll kill him.”
Lacy swallowed and shook her head.
Rankosi smiled wickedly and his arm started to tense.
“Stop!” Lacy said.
“Yes?”
“He didn’t do anything to you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“He doesn’t deserve to die.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“This is between you and me, leave him out of this. He can’t hurt you, he’s totally defenseless.”
“Yes, he is. Now open the box or he dies.”
Lacy struggled to regain her feet, wincing when she started to use her broken hand for leverage. She staggered to the bench and faced the little black box. Her father had entrusted her with this task, she couldn’t let him down, yet a man’s life hung in the balance. What would her father do? What would he expect of her?
He’d always taught her to value life above all else. She closed her eyes tightly, tears slipping down both cheeks as her resolve faltered.
Tentatively, cautiously, she reached for the box with her left hand. It felt cool to the touch. She tried to lift the top of the box as if it had a lid with hinges, but nothing happened. She picked it up and carefully looked it over for any sign or seam, but found nothing. She slammed it against the table—still nothing.
“I don’t know how to open it,” she said, hanging her head.
Rankosi stared at the box for several seconds.
“Place your hand on it and think of it opening,” he said. “See it open in your mind.”
Lacy did as he instructed.
Nothing happened.
Then it started to glow. She snatched her hand back, staring in wonder at the symbol that had become visible on all sides of the box.
Rankosi smiled in triumph.
“Place your hand on the box and say the word: Ruminoct.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means: Open. Now, do as you’re told.”
She reached for the box again, her hand shaking visibly, and spoke the ancient word.
For a fraction of a second she felt like it might open, but then it recoiled as if it sensed her duress. The little box went suddenly dark and lifeless.
Rankosi snarled in anger, raising his club to brain her in sudden fury, but then mastered himself just as quickly.
“What does he know that I don’t know?” he muttered to himself, staring off into the distance. “He could have simply killed the girl and had the box delivered to him, yet he chose …”
Drogan rolled over, drawing a dagger in a single smooth motion, and plunged it into the heart of the sailor, killing him in an instant. A faint black shadow drifted out of the dying man, floating up through the ceiling.
Drogan staggered to his feet and nearly fell again as he found the bench.
“How badly are you hurt?” he asked, burying his face in his hands.
“My hand is broken,” Lacy said. “He hit you
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