Judging by the arrangement of the bones, she guessed her father had been lying stretched out on his right side. But something was missing-she couldn’t find the skull.
Crouching low, Yorda moved around the remains to the other side of the cage. From this vantage point she could clearly see the skull, tucked in beside the ribs, beneath the protruding ridges of one of his arms-as though he had been holding his own head under one arm.
Yorda had seen her father’s body lying in the coffin in the castle. And not just Yorda-a ceremony was held for the entire kingdom. Ministers and noblemen great and small had gathered to pay their respects. After the ceremony, a great procession carried the coffin throughout the kingdom for two weeks, so that the commoners could say their farewells before his remains were laid to rest in the royal graveyard in the mountains. The line of mourners behind his carriage had snaked for miles.
But his bones were lying right here, back at the castle. Was the coffin they took out on the procession empty? Mother must have removed the remains in secret before they left the castle, and then…
Yorda’s tears had dried. She sat down in shock, staring at her beloved father’s bones, when she noticed something curious. The bones were discolored in places. Here and there light purple splotches, like bruises left after a fight, marred the dry parchment color of the bone. Yorda could not bring herself to disturb the bones by lifting them up or moving them, so she poked and prodded, shifting them only slightly, making sure the discoloration was not a trick of the light.
Convinced the bones were discolored, Yorda wracked her brain trying to come up with some explanation. Perhaps, she thought, this was a mark left by the disease that took him. But she knew her father had appeared healthy when he died. It made no sense that a disease could do such damage internally without showing some outward signs. Poison, however…
Yorda did not think her mother would have been capable of both poisoning and disposing of the body all by herself. She must have ordered someone to help her-someone helpless to resist her. And then, when the grisly work was done, her mother had made her helpers disappear-either by killing them or turning them to stone along with the other statues in her underground gallery. It was unthinkable. “I will get you out of here, Father, I promise,” Yorda said, her voice quiet but firm. She reached out for the skull.
The skull was facing away from her, down into the ribs, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary until it was in her hands. Then she saw that something had been placed between the skull’s teeth. She lifted the skull gingerly, as one raises a crown, and gasped with surprise. It was a book. The long teeth, exposed without lips to cover them, were clenched on a single book.
The Book of Light!
Her theory had proven correct. The queen had used the Tower of Winds to imprison the book, much as it had been used ages before to imprison the Wind God from which it took its name. But in order to be sure the book would never be uncovered, simply locking it in the tower wasn’t enough. So her mother had chosen to sacrifice her father, murdering him and binding him to this world with a curse, changing him into one of the shadows-that-walk-alone, and placing him here as the book’s final guardian. Then she killed her father’s advisors and a host of others to serve him in the tower, before sealing its doors with the idols.
As her anger flared, Yorda grabbed the edge of the book and pulled. In her hands, the skull began to move. She had the curious sensation that its empty sockets were looking, no, glaring at her, their sightless gaze boring a hole into her.
Before she could react, the skull leapt from her hands like a living thing, dancing up into the air. She heard a low moan, filled with rage and resentment.
“Father!” she called out, screaming. The skull sped toward her.
Yorda scrambled to dodge out of the way. She caught the skull with the back of one hand, dashing it against the bars of the cage. It bounced, falling onto the floor before shooting back up into the air. In midair it turned, facing Yorda to come at her again, howling like a wounded animal.
She watched as the jaws opened, spitting the book out onto the floor like a carnivore spits out tattered skin and cartilage from a kill. The discarded book fell with a whoosh of dust onto the tattered robe.
“Father, stop! It’s me! Your daughter!”
The skull flew at her. Yorda dodged to the side, but not quickly enough-teeth bit into her right shoulder, gnawing at her skin like a starving animal. She knocked it away again and again, but it kept attacking, lunging erratically like a rabid dog. Yorda ran in circles around the inside of the cage, sobbing with fear and sadness, horror and pity.
Then she remembered the book. If it truly was as powerful as Ozuma had said, perhaps it could break her mother’s enchantment.
But first she had to reach it, and the skull wouldn’t give her the chance. The moment she took her eyes off the skull, it would come for her, dancing, teeth chattering. After several attempts, she realized what the skull was aiming for. It wanted her neck-to chew through her veins and bathe in her blood.
She lunged for the book, and the skull swooped down and bit her hand. Blinded by the pain, Yorda flung the skull against the bars. This is my father no longer-it’s nothing but a monster! She wondered if she had made it this far only to die with this twisted abomination gnawing at her neck.
“Somebody, help!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the empty tower. She ran, and the skull continued its dogged pursuit.
The next time it came at her, she blocked it inches from her neck and it bit down into the flesh of her palm. Reflexively, she swung her hand, and the skull ricocheted off the bars of the cage, spinning in the air and howling with its teeth bared like a hungry animal. The cry pierced to her bones.
At that moment, the silver chain around her neck broke with an audible snap, as though it had a will of its own. Her father’s signet ring fell down her chest, past her waist, and down her leg, before rolling out onto the ground where it glimmered in the dust.
Yorda bent down quickly, scooping up the ring. Blood gushed from the wound in her wrist, splattering her white dress.
The skull was coming directly at her. Reflexively, she thrust out the hand holding the ring, trying to knock it away. A clear light shone from the ring, disorienting the skull, and it brushed past her head and fell behind her. She turned to see its empty sockets glaring at her, and its long, sharp teeth chattering.
The jaws opened, making a sound like howling laughter as it flew toward her. Yorda focused her mind, forcing all her attention on the skull, her eyes spear points. Time seemed to slow. Aiming for the gap between the teeth, she flung the ring with all her strength. The ring flew through the air, directly into the mouth of the skull as it sped toward her throat.
Time stopped. Her father’s skull screamed.
The light of the ring blazed from the skull’s eye sockets, from its nose, and from its mouth, growing more brilliant, until it seemed to shine through the bone itself. The skull howled a final, bitter howl of rage and pain. Yorda clapped her hands over her ears, knowing that if she listened to it, her heart would break.
The skull exploded. Fragments ricocheted around the cage, trailing particles of golden light, before becoming a rain of sparks that trickled down to the floor, glimmering as they fell.
Quiet returned to the tower. Yorda felt her body sway, and she clutched the bars of the cage. The strength left her legs. At her feet, her father’s remains lay wrapped in his tunic, still once more. Atop the tunic lay the Book of Light. Yorda moved in slow half steps toward the book. She leaned over, bent her knees, and finally reached out her hand.