Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) by Aaron Schneider (namjoon book recommendations txt) 📗

“Of course not.” Imrah snorted, then seeing the expression curdling his features, broke into a frown. “What’s wrong? Are you embarrassed that you forgot something so basic, or is it something else?”

Milo stretched the mouth of the pouch wider and scowled at the collection of tiny bones, his skin crawling even as anger rose in his belly. His fingers sifted a few of the bones before settling on a tiny femur, which he raised in front of his face.

“These are bones, Imrah,” he murmured, not sure if he wanted to fight or vomit. “The bones of a child, an infant!”

An expression of raw confusion slid across the ghul’s human guise, then her expression hardened.

“Yes, so?” she asked, her eyes flat.

“So,” Milo snarled, thrusting the bag toward her, “this was someone’s son or daughter! It’s bad enough that we’re going to be handling god-forsaken bodies, but the bones of children are just fuel?”

Imrah’s fingers curled and her teeth clacked, but she closed her eyes as she drew in a calming breath. When she opened them, her gaze was steady but softer, and her voice was low and calm.

“I understand that physical remains mean something to humans,” she said, each word pronounced with measured slowness. “But if you are going to be a necromist, you will have to accept that they are simply raw materials. Yes, that was someone’s daughter, but not anymore, just like this skin.”

Milo ground his teeth as she spoke. Though he knew it was all in his head, the pouch felt heavier in his palm.

“That girl died years ago, over a decade if I remember correctly. Her mother and father, if they still live, will have moved on with their lives and probably had more children. Nothing we do to those bones will hurt her, but they can help us greatly.”

Milo looked at the delicate bones. He tried to tell himself her words made sense in a cool, rational way, but every second he held the pouch, it felt heavier, and his hands felt more soiled.

He imagined a small grave dug into a hillside.

Raw materials!

Milo railed at himself, knowing he was wasting precious time, but he couldn’t shake the image of a man and woman leading their other children to that hillside.

Just raw materials!

Despite his internal conflict, the vision progressed as he saw the mother and father kneel beside that small grave, clearing away nature’s weedy grip. They taught their other children their sister’s name and inched closer to healing a family that had been broken.

Then he thought of their faces when the next time they came and found the little grave plundered.

Milo closed his eyes, and cold, righteous anger stirred in his chest.

“How did she die?” he asked, the question coming out before he could stop himself.

The ghul looked as though she didn’t understand the question. After a moment, she seemed to realize he was waiting for the answer, and she made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat.

“Will that really help?” Imrah asked, eyeing him like he was a wounded animal. “Will that make any of this easier?”

Milo swallowed and tightened his fingers around the pouch, wincing at the soft clicks within.

“It might.” His voice whistled around the lump in his throat. “It might make all the difference in the world.”

The last words came out sharper than he’d expected, but as his misting eyes narrowed at Imrah, he knew certain as stone he meant it. Imrah raked her fingers through her stolen hair as though ready to tear the disguise apart in a fit of temper. Her jaw worked for a moment, eyes blazing.

“It—ugh, fine—she died of some illness or another,” the ghul said at last. “That’s all I know because that was all the merchant told me. The bones of a beloved child pick up a powerful resonance that catches more essence than such a small life would collect.”

Milo looked at the bones and couldn’t keep himself from wondering what mother would want to know her daughter’s bones had been collected by creeping monsters for dark magic.

“How do you know the merchant didn’t kill her himself?” Milo asked. “Snatch her up and then kill her to give you the bones?”

Imrah looked at Milo with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know, Milo. How would I be able to tell?” she asked irritably. “Think!”

Milo wanted to snarl that now wasn’t the time for a review, but the words died in his mouth. He swallowed the rebuke and nodded his understanding.

“You could sense a difference,” Milo said with a defeated sigh. “Such a violent end would affect the essence. Awakening Moro, section four.”

Imrah raised her hands in front of her and began to clap slowly. If his hands hadn’t been full, Milo would have snatched up something to throw at her and might have started with the eel jar.

“So you do read occasionally,” the ghul said, her face twisting into a smug sneer. “Now, just to check that I’m telling the truth, why don’t you feel those bones out and tell me what you find?”

Milo stared at her, and in silence, he felt the tremble of magical awareness centered around the pouch in his hand. He feared to reach out, not sure if he could bear what was waiting for him. Imrah just stared back, unflinching.

Milo’s hand trembled, the bones rattling, and he felt the essence pulsing within the pouch. Throb by throb it was closer, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he would get to hear the sobs of the child’s mother echoing in his mind.

“Why can’t we use a soul well?” he asked. “Draw on shades to power the process?”

“Because shades have too much will of their own,” Imrah explained, rolling her eyes. “These aren’t skin-coats going on you or me, who can control them. If we put a skin-coat on a corpse, even with instructions to stay put and in the form we give it, it’s liable to start changing shape or even