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The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection
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Contents
The Bones of the Earth
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
The Three Heretics
PART ONE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
PART TWO
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
PART THREE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
The Blood of Before
THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND HEARTS
THAT WHICH WALKS BEHIND THE GRAVES
THE EASIEST JOB IN THE WORLD
black occult macabre vol. 1 issue 7
NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN
THE BLACK HOURS
The Cults of the Worm
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XXX
The Agony of After
WHERE THE DEAD GO TO DIE
AUGURS
A CHILD IN EVERY HOME
TRAUMAS
The Eight Apostates
DEICIDES
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXXIX
CHAPTER XL
CHAPTER XLI
CHAPTER XLII
CHAPTER XLIII
CHAPTER XLIV
CHAPTER XLV
CHAPTER XLVI
CHAPTER XLVII
CHAPTER XLVIII
CHAPTER XLIX
CHAPTER L
CHAPTER LI
CHAPTER LII
CHAPTER LIII
CHAPTER LIV
Glossary
The Bones of the Earth
by
Scott Hale
Is it wrong to kill a human…
when you’re not human yourself?
It’s been two hundred years since the Trauma, a catastrophic event of a now forgotten origin, wreaked havoc upon the Earth, reducing the human population from billions to thousands, leaving the survivors as prey to humanoid hunters. Vrana of the Raven is one of these hunters. Her tribe has made killing humans, now known as the Corrupted, its purpose—to “keep the balance”—to ensure that the Corrupted do not rise to power and lay the Earth to ruin once more.
But, one night, in the great northern city-state of Geharra, over ten thousand Corrupted disappear.
And if so many can disappear so quickly, what’s to stop it from happening again elsewhere, or to Vrana’s own?
Geharra, however, is not the only place to suffer from strange happenings.
In Caldera, Vrana sleeps fitfully, dreaming of a Void and the Witch trapped within. When she is called upon to travel with Serra, Lucan, and Deimos to the abandoned city, she accepts, but only to get away from Caldera, because the Witch that haunts her nightmares has begun to haunt her days.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any relevance to any person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
THE BONES OF THE EARTH
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2015 Scott Hale
Cover art by Hannah Graff
Edited by Eve Marie
This book is protected under the copyright law of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
First Edition: June 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-7330966-2-1
BOOKS BY SCOTT HALE
T
he Bones of the Earth series
The Bones of the Earth (Book 1)
The Three Heretics (Book 2)
The Blood of Before (Book .1)
The Cults of the Worm (Book 3)
The Agony of After (Book .2)
The Eight Apostates (Book 4)
Novels
In Sheep’s Skin (Coming 2020)
Subscribe to mailing list for future updates!
Listen to Terrorcast, hosted by Scott and Kameron Hale.
CHAPTER I
The smell of blood was quickly becoming one of Vrana’s least favorite smells, and the inside of her mask reeked of it. She could feel the insects at her feet and on her legs, a congregation of pincers and carapaces called by the scent of decay. To swat them away would undo the hours she’d spent sitting stationary in the field, so she left them to their hungry wanderings, knowing that their disappointment would come soon enough when they realized the only part of her that was dead was the part she had stolen.
Vrana’s grip tightened on the ax across her lap as the sounds of movement passed through the forest in front of her. The trees here were much fuller, much healthier than those found in the Den of the Unkindness she’d attacked a few days ago. Even now, she could still hear the beating of the ravens’ wings and the caws and cackles that had risen around her as she buried the ax into their Cruel Mother’s neck. She wondered if the birds were better off because of the murder and if the same could be said for what was about to happen here.
Vrana’s body tensed as the sweat from the midday sun seeped into the wounds along her back. Carefully, she moved one hand behind her and felt for the bandages that covered the lacerations. She winced as her fingers grazed the tender flesh. The Cruel Mother’s talons had been sharper and dug deeper than Vrana anticipated. She’d meant to cut them free and bring them back to Caldera, to make of them a pair of daggers for when her ax would not suffice, but she feared the smaller ravens’ revenge.
“Oh well,” Vrana mumbled, her voice hoarse. She hadn’t used it in over a day. She centered her mask, the Cruel Mother’s severed head, and tightened the strap that kept it over her own. “As long as I don’t forget the heart.”
A cloud of dust exploded beside her as an arrow burrowed itself into the ground. Vrana sprang to her feet and tore through the field. A second arrow soared overhead to the place where she’d been sitting. She could see the archer at the tree line—a shirtless, sinewy man with a bow in hand and a quiver slung over his shoulder. He raised his weapon, nocked another arrow with his crimson-colored arm, and fired.
Vrana ducked, the missile whizzing past the beak of her mask, and chased her victim into the forest. Branches whipped at the girl with the raven’s head as she went, eyes trained on the fleeing fool. The man looked back, his age-worn face stricken with fear. He loaded another arrow and let it loose carelessly; it grazed her leg. Vrana cringed and pressed on harder, blood leaping from the wound onto the dew-laden grass. She readied her ax as the man stumbled over rocks and upturned roots. He whipped around and fired his last arrow, inadvertently sending it into the canopy. Scrambling on all fours, he made for the nearest tree and hoisted himself onto the lowest bough, determined to find safety in the mottled sky.
But the man was too slow and the bark too slick. A dry groan escaped his lips as Vrana swung her ax and caught him in the spine.
She pulled him from his perch, and his body hit the ground with a satisfying smack. She worked the blade of the ax from the man’s back and turned him over, to see him unobscured by distance for the first time. He had been at least sixty years old and in no condition to attack her. Several faint tattoos ran the length of his chest, the markings too worn to be read. His complexion suggested he was not of the South, but seeing as no more words would pass through his lips, she didn’t think much further on the matter.
Vrana lifted the man’s right arm, confirmed the crimson pigmentation that was characteristic of all Corrupted, and set it back down. It was by this genetic defect inherent to all humans that her people’s killings were justified. She fell back on her heels, adjusted her mask, removed the knife from her belt, and cut away the flesh on the man’s chest, until she saw with wide eyes the white of his bones.
A few minutes later, Vrana dropped the man’s heart into one of the preservative-lined pouches at her waist. She took one last look at the Corrupted, the first human she had ever killed, waited for remorse to settle in, and then she turned away when she realized it would not. The elders had insisted she return to Caldera as soon as the second trial was completed, but disappointment saw that she listened to the wind instead, which hinted of water farther on and game yet to be hunted.
A family of deer was drinking from the stream when she came upon it. Startled at first, they eventually calmed as Vrana kept her distance. She dipped her hands into the water and washed off the man’s blood, recalling a member of her tribe as she picked at the gore beneath her fingernails. He, too, was of the deer, a Stag, and it never failed to amaze Vrana how much he was like the animal, in both behavior and temperament. Her mother and the elders promised the same would be said of her in regards to the raven, but Vrana found that she bore little resemblance to the bird, and liked the notion of abandoning herself to fulfill an ideal even less.
“But you’re not,” her mother had said, the memory of the encounter overtaking her. “You have always been the raven, and it you. Accept who you are so that you may live a fuller life…”
Vrana’s head snapped up at the sound of a weeping child. Across the stream and through the trees sat the outline of a small, stone house. There would be no reason short of barbarism for Vrana to investigate, but she could not help but feel sickened by the thought of a child incapable of fending for itself being left to its own devices. Vrana quickly cleaned off the head of the ax and trudged through the crystalline waters, disappearing into the overgrowth on the other side.
The boy was waiting for her in the doorway of the house, tears running all the way down to his clenched fists. His clothes fit too well and his teeth were too clean to suggest he actually hailed from the South. Vrana went to him because she saw no sense in delaying what was to come, for it was obvious he’d figured it all out. The boy’s angry heat preceded him, and when he was close enough to hit her, he did, fists feebly pounding her stomach and chest.
When he finished, Vrana pushed the boy away, taking note of the strange marking on his shoulder—a circle inside which strange symbols were held. As he dried his eyes, Vrana scrutinized the boy’s right arm, which was pink in coloration, not red, due to his age. She gripped the top of the satchel, which held what was most certainly his father’s heart, and let herself into their home.
The house was sparsely decorated, but what little they had looked comfortable and satisfying. A large pile of old pillows, worn blankets, and tattered clothes sat in the corner, as though it had been a makeshift bed for the boy and his father. Food didn’t seem to have been an issue for the family, as the woven baskets and cracked jars across the floor were overflowing with Nature’s bounty. Even their defenses seemed to have been in order, with two swords and a shield in fairly good condition resting against the uneven wall.
The land has clearly been kind to them, Vrana thought, so why did the man reveal himself? When he stopped and decided I needed to die, what did he see? Did he see me as I am or as I am to be? Did he see a monster, an abomination? Did he see as we see?
Vrana turned her head to the little boy as he stepped across the threshold. Perhaps she had hoped that by coming here she would’ve found a community of Corrupted to care for the orphaned boy. She gritted her teeth, ran her fingers through the oily feathers of her mask, and commanded with an outstretched hand for the boy to begin gathering necessities.
In its descent, the tired sun cast the sky ablaze with streaks of red and bands of orange. Soon, night would come, and so, too, would the creatures whose livelihood depended upon it. Vrana quickened her pace to make the boy, who could hardly see ove
r the pile of clothes he held, do the same. The forest was dense and vast, but as long as they continued eastward, they would be clear of the Den of the Unkindness and nearer to the closest Corrupted settlement.
After an hour, they came upon a lake within a clearing and took a seat upon its shore. They set their provisions down and sat in silence, watching as bugs skidded across the lake’s glassy surface, like tiny messiahs of unseen kingdoms. With the boy in her shadow, Vrana’s pouch felt heavier, and while she didn’t regret what she had done, for it needed to be done, it did cause her to question the effectiveness of the act as a whole.
Vrana watched the boy as he took a stick from the dirt and drew shapes in the sand. She knew he would be handsome if he survived into adulthood, but there was a kindness in his face that worried her. How easy it would be, she thought, to take him to death so that he may not suffer life alone. The ax would hit him quicker than the sting of betrayal, and would he not be better for it? Vrana shook her head and left to relieve herself in the bushes.
When Vrana returned, the boy was gone. The clothes, blankets, and food they had been carrying were in disarray along the water’s edge, with tracks of struggle dug into the earth beside them. Here stood a chance to turn back, to do away with the burden she was never to bear, and return to Caldera, her character unsullied by sympathy.
“I’m not comfortable with killing children just yet,” she said to herself as though the elders were listening.
Vrana unfastened the satchel from her waist, placed the ax on the ground. Wielding the knife she’d used to cut the father’s heart out, she made for the panicked ripples spreading outwards from the center of the lake. She took one last gulp of air, and then she disappeared into the inky unknown.
Violent shivers coursed through Vrana’s body as the cold waters engulfed her. Schools of fish and solitary frogs scattered at her approach, darting in and out of the shafts of twilight that cut through the dark. Her feet fumbled for purchase on the softening slope, until it tapered off and she was left with no choice but to swim. Lungs itching for oxygen, Vrana swam quickly to the heart of the lake where a small shape floated, one tiny hand clutching a clump of weeds. With muscles burning, and despite her common sense, Vrana pushed toward the boy, or the trap waiting to be sprung.
Hundreds of bubbles burst from Vrana’s mouth as a great weight slammed into her from behind. She tumbled to the lakebed, her long, black hair wrapping around her mask and obscuring her vision. She swung the knife back and forth as she bounced off the trash that had collected at the bottom of the lake. Aluminum cans, plastic bottles, and cellular phones spun past her as she searched its depths for her vanished attacker.
The Bones of the Earth- The Complete Collection