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You knew it would come back to you, Simna declared accusingly.
I knew it would try. I hoped it would succeed. I have always had confidence in all of me, my friend. A
boneless hand fluttered in the swordsman s direction. Keep sail up. It will be back among us soon.
Not soon enough. Rising to his full height and lifting Ehomba effortlessly as he did so, Hunkapa Aub
nodded in the direction of the densest part of the forest. Bones come also.
Instantly, Simna was on his feet and staring along the line of Hunkapa s sight. Sure enough, from among
the trees there now poured an entire battalion of the Brotherhood. They came streaming toward the
windwagon, some on foot, others riding an even greater assortment of skeletal grotesqueries than the
travelers had seen previously, yelling and screaming in their hoarse, ossified whispers while waving all
manner of weapons above their bleached skulls.
Gipebwhen, Simna murmured nervously. There must be hundreds of em! He looked sharply at his
soft friend. What do we do?
Cross the river, Ehomba told him. Cross it quickly, I should say. Sail, Simna. Fill the sail.
Hoy, right, sure! Settling himself back on the seat, the swordsman hastily brought lines and tiller into
play. As the single canvas filled with the steady breeze, the high-wheeled wagon once more began to
move toward the water.
Just one thing, bruther. As he spoke, Simna deftly controlled the lines that kept the vehicle s sail
properly trimmed. What do we do when we reach the river? Swim for it? This conveyance is no boat.
No indeed, the pliant figure of his friend replied, but save for a few braces and nails it is all wood,
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light and strong. I am hoping it will float.
The windwagon continued to pick up speed. And if it doesn t? an anxious swordsman inquired further.
Then I will float better than any of you. The eyes that gazed back at the swordsman did not smile.
Howling and moaning, the Brotherhood of the Bone angrily pursued the turncoat skeleton and its fleshy
friends. Repeatedly looking back over his shoulder, Simna ibn Sind tried to cajole more speed out of the
solid but clunky windwagon. It had been built for durability, not speed. The breeze held behind them, but
he found himself wishing for one of the gales they had encountered at sea. Occasionally he inhaled deeply
and blew into the sail, more as a gesture of encouragement to the wind than out of any expectation of
increasing their velocity, however minutely.
Come on, hurry! Holding Ehomba easily in one arm, Hunkapa Aub was using the other to beckon
repeatedly at the herdsman s fleeing skeleton. Spears began to fall around the fugitive. One struck its
mount, but passed harmlessly through the rib cage without becoming entangled in the bleached white legs.
Then it was racing alongside, barely keeping pace with the steadily accelerating windwagon. With its
bony mount exhausted and beginning to fail, Ehomba s insides had no choice but to risk the jump from
vertebrae to vehicle. Letting go of the ossified stallion s neck bones, it leaped, arms outstretched and
fell short.
Only to be caught at the wrist by a massive, hairy hand. Thick fingers wrapped around the delicate
bones and strained, pulling the skeletal structure bodily into the wagon.
Set me down, Ehomba directed his massive friend. Obediently, Hunkapa complied.
Having no breath to catch, the skeleton did not hesitate. On hands and knees it crawled over to the limp
form of its outer self. With an effort, Ehomba opened his mouth. It was the mouth of an eromakasi,
trained to expand sufficiently to swallow darkness of any size. Inserting first a hand, then an entire arm,
the wayward skeleton wriggled and wiggled itself back into its fleshy sheath.
Slowly, Ehomba s shape and silhouette filled out, returning to normal. When the last of the animate white
bone had disappeared down his gullet, he contracted his greatly distended mouth and sat up. Working his
jaws up and down and from side to side to realign his skin with his skull, he twisted and turned as he sat
in the bottom of the jouncing, rocking wagon. Finally satisfied, he stood up for the first time in days, and
stretched. Simna had not heard so much creaking and groaning and cracking since he had been forced to
spend a stomach-churning night alone in their cabin aboard theGrömsketter.
Looking over at him, the herdsman smiled contently. That is better. Much better. Life is easier without a
skeleton because there is less strain on the body, but being unable to stand up soon grows tiresome. His
smile vanished as he grabbed quickly for the mast and shouted. Watch out!
Hoy? Simna sat up straight and gripped the tiller and control lines tightly in his fingers. So entranced
had he been by his friend s structural renascence that his attention had wandered from their heading. In
the interim, they had run out of road.
The windwagon hit the water hard, sending up a fan-shaped shower of water that sprayed higher than
the mast. Instantly, the boxy vehicle slowed. Caught by the sluggish current but still powered by the wind
out of the east, it began to drift with agonizing slowness across the broad, flat expanse of the unnamed
river.
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Lying in the rear of the vehicle, the black litah lifted its ebony head and yawned, trying to work up an
interest in the proceedings. They re still coming. Better get a move on.
We re making as much speed as we can! This is no pinnace. Glancing down, Simna saw water
beginning to filter up between the slats, threatening to submerge his sandaled feet. The wagon was
caulked against the weather, but it was never the intention of its builders to make it watertight. How long
the seals would hold against the pressure of the river its hopeful passengers could only guess.
The army of the Brotherhood reached the bank where the wagon had driven into the languid flow. Many
halted there, pulling up and reining in their mounts. Dozens of the more determined dead, driven by anger
and fury at the deceitful betrayal of the living and his promised contribution to their ranks, did not. Urging
their ashen mounts onward, they plunged headfirst into the current.
They re still coming! Frantically, Simna tugged on lines and tiller, trying everything he could think of to
augment their sluggish pace.
Himself fully restored, Ehomba quietly contemplated the skeletal spectacle aft. Easy for the dead to be
brave.
Complimenting them is not likely to save us, the swordsman snapped.
His tall companion smiled over at him. Keep your hand on the tiller and your mind on the sail, friend
Simna. Bravery and intelligence do not always go hand in hand. He turned his attention back to the
onrushing skeletal horde. Oura says that after they have been dead for a while, people tend to lose their
mental edge. They may remember well the little things, but the greater picture starts to escape them.
Simna frowned, and despite the herdsman s admonition turned to look at the waters behind them. What
he saw raised his spirits far more than any gust or gale.
Charging forward without pause, those members of the Brotherhood of the Bone intent on punishing the
retreating living who had dared to take back one of their own struggled out into the current of the wide,
deep river. Struggled out and began to sink. For while the living carry within their bodies the means
with which to accomplish natural, unforced flotation, the long dead do not. Bone sinks. Confronted by
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