Chapter Forty-Five · A Comb of Serpent Bone

Lyra barely slept that night.

By morning, her eyes burned with exhaustion as she knelt beside Sion.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she said. “The water is right beside you. If you feel it coming on, pour it over your head. Cold water. Right away.”

Sion sat on the old blanket, her face still pale.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be back before sunset.”

Sion did not look reassured, but she knew Lyra well enough not to try to stop her. In the end, she only nodded.

Lyra stepped out with her sword at her hip.

Haris had been up before dawn. His horse stood beneath the awning, saddled and ready.

They were about to leave when the woman hurried out after them.

“Where are you going?”

She looked at Sion, then back at Lyra.

“Are you coming back? If you leave her here, what am I supposed to do with her?”

Lyra had not yet answered when Haris drew out three more gold coins and held them up.

“If we return tonight, give two of these back.”

The woman stared at the coins, confused.

Haris’s voice remained calm.

“If we don’t, keep them. It’s enough to get your husband out of here before nightfall.”

The woman went still.

Haris tipped his chin toward Sion.

“And if she has another fit and no one can hold her down, save your own household first.”

Sion lowered her eyes, as if she had heard exactly how much of a burden she had become.

The woman seemed to shrink back into herself. Her face changed, as if Haris had dragged her worst thought into the open.

“I… I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Lyra said softly.

She turned to Sion.

“I’ll come back.”

Sion looked up.

Lyra said it again, steadier this time.

“I promise.”

Sion gave a small nod.

Lyra climbed onto the horse behind Haris. She did not know what the great serpent looked like. She did not know whether she could take one of its fangs.

At least Haris was with her.

He was strong.

But after everything Sarrakha had shown her, Lyra no longer trusted the word safe.

Still, she could not abandon Sion.

Somewhere along the way, Sion had become more than a companion.

She had become family.

They left town just after sunrise and rode deeper into the desert.

The sand stretched pale and cold beneath the morning light. No market noise now. No voices. Only wind dragging through dry brush.

After a while, a patch of green appeared in the distance. A few low trees leaned around a glittering lake.

Haris drew the horse to a stop.

“An oasis?”

Lyra stared at it.

A lake this far out in the sand felt wrong.

She dismounted, picked up a small stone, and threw it toward the water.

The stone passed through the shining surface and disappeared into the glare.

No ripple.

No splash.

Lyra looked back at Haris.

“An illusion.”

Haris dismounted too.

“Then we found the right place.”

Lyra turned back to the water that was not there.

“Water where there shouldn’t be any.”

In the distance, the sand began to rise.

Not in one place.

Long ridges moved beneath the surface, sliding slowly toward them.

Lyra stepped back.

Haris drew the horse back with her.

Ahead, the illusory lake flickered in and out. Silver light shivered over its surface, then warped.

A crack split the sand.

Something dark gold pushed through.

Scales first.

Then a thick neck marked with twisting black patterns.

Lyra tightened her hand around the hilt of her sword.

The sand exploded.

A massive serpent reared up before them. Most of its body remained buried, so long its tail was nowhere in sight.

It coiled around the place where the false lake shimmered, then stopped.

Its mouth opened.

Two curved fangs slid into view.

No hiss.

Only its shadow falling over the sand.

Just beneath its jaw, where the scales thinned into the pale skin of its throat, a bare patch showed through, as if a strip of skin had been peeled away long ago and the wound had never fully healed.

Lyra stared at it.

Something about it felt familiar.

But the serpent struck before she could think.

Its body tore through the sand, so fast its shadow fell over Lyra before she even heard the ground move.

Its mouth opened wide.

Two fangs came down toward her head.

Lyra stepped back, gathering momentum.

Sand kicked up beneath her feet. She rushed forward, leapt, and turned in the air.

Her sword came down in a clean arc, aimed straight for the serpent’s neck.

The blade drew close.

The air rippled.

Wrong.

The strike slid off course by a fraction. The blade skimmed over the scales without leaving a mark.

Lyra landed behind its head.

In the same breath, the serpent twisted. Its body stretched, then changed direction. Its tail swept across the place where Lyra had just touched down.

She stepped back half a pace, sand sliding under her boots.

Before she could turn, the serpent was behind her.

Its head swung back.

Its jaws opened.

No sound.

The air behind her compressed.

Haris shot upward, one hand raised.

Moisture pulled from the air and froze into a spear of ice. He hurled it at the serpent’s descending neck.

The spear jerked aside just before impact.

Again.

The serpent’s head bent away. Its jaws opened wider, two curved fangs driving down.

“Left!”

Lyra rolled aside. The jaws slammed shut where she had stood.

Haris dropped back down and swept his other hand across.

Moisture burst outward, shattering into dozens of sharp ice shards that tore toward the serpent’s head. Every shard veered away, driving into the sand and stone around it.

The serpent turned.

This time, it fixed on Haris.

It struck.

Lyra lunged after it.

The serpent’s tail dragged under the sand, leaving a long moving ridge behind.

She swung.

Once.

Twice.

Each time, her blade slid away from the scales, as if something had pushed it aside.

Sand sprayed up.

The serpent showed no wound.

Lyra stopped for half a breath, breathing hard.

Haris kept retreating through the air, forced back by the serpent’s relentless strikes.

It snapped at him again and again.

He slipped aside and fired back. Ice flew in bursts, but none struck true.

Lyra watched.

She was not missing.

Something was making every strike turn aside.

The serpent twisted.

For one brief moment, the skin beneath its jaw showed more clearly.

The missing patch.

That shape. That curve.

Lyra narrowed her eyes.

She remembered.

The old woman’s snakeskin mask.

The same size. The same curve.

Lyra tightened her grip on her sword.

The old woman had touched it once.

Then there was a way.

Her eyes flicked to the serpent’s mouth.

A few of Haris’s ice shards had made it inside before being forced off course.

Not the scales.

The mouth.

That was where its defenses were weakest.

Across the sand, Haris was still being driven back. If this went on much longer, they would lose.

And Sion could not wait.

Then she would have to risk it.

Lyra drew a deep breath.

She circled to one side, gathering speed. Both hands tightened around the hilt of her sword.

“Over here!”

The serpent snapped its head toward her.

Its jaws opened as it lunged.

Haris froze.

Lyra did not move back.

The serpent was almost on her.

At the last second, she leapt into its open mouth, between the two fangs.

Her shoes hit the lower jaw.

She drove her sword down.

The blade sank straight into the serpent’s tongue.

Blood sprayed.

The serpent jerked hard, its jaws stretching wider in pain.

Lyra clung to the hilt, fighting to keep her balance as the massive head thrashed beneath her feet.

“Here!” she shouted. “Now!”

Haris’s hand stopped midair.

If he fired, she would be hit too.

“NOW!”

Lyra’s voice broke.

Haris snapped both hands up.

Dozens of ice spears formed and fired in the same breath, streaking past Lyra, through the serpent’s open mouth, and deep into its throat.

Cold spread downward.

Its throat stiffened, piece by piece.

The serpent faltered, staggered, and collapsed into the sand.

It still twitched beneath the ice.

Blood poured from its tongue, freezing into a dark red crust.

Haris rushed forward.

Lyra lay collapsed inside the serpent’s mouth, both hands still locked around the hilt of her sword.

He pulled her out.

Several small ice shards had cut across her shoulder and ribs. Blood seeped through her shirt, but she was conscious.

Lyra trembled.

“The fang…”

Haris gave a slight nod.

He took off his cloak and covered her with it.

Then he drew his sword.

One clean strike.

The fang dropped into the sand.

Haris picked it up and slipped it into his pouch. Then he pulled Lyra’s sword from the serpent’s tongue and lifted her into his arms.

“Stay with me,” he said. “We did it.”

His grip tightened around her.

“I was wrong about you,” he said. “Having no aura doesn’t make someone weak.”

Haris whistled for the horse.

He lifted Lyra onto the saddle and settled behind her, holding her securely against his chest. Then they rode back toward town.

By the time the low roofs came into view, the sun had already begun to sink. Lyra could barely stay upright in the saddle.

Haris’s cloak was wrapped around her, but blood had soaked through at her shoulder and ribs. Each step of the horse sent pain through her side.

He held her against his chest, one hand on the reins, the other braced around her waist.

“Just a little farther,” he said.

Lyra did not answer.

Only one thought remained.

Sion.

The horse stopped before the small house.

The woman hurried out, then froze at the sight of the blood.

“What happened?”

Haris swung down first and helped Lyra after him.

“She’s hurt,” he said. “I need bandages.”

Sion staggered out at the noise.

“Lyra?”

Lyra lifted her head.

“I came back.”

Sion’s eyes filled at the sight of Haris’s blood-soaked cloak.

Haris carried Lyra inside and lowered her onto the old blanket. The woman rushed for clean cloths, and Haris pressed them to Lyra’s wounds.

Sion reached for a cup of warm water near the stove, meaning to bring it to Lyra.

Then she stopped.

Her throat tightened.

A strange thirst opened inside her.

Before she could think, she drank the whole cup.

No one saw.

A few moments later, when Lyra’s breathing steadied, Haris took the fang from his pouch.

It was nearly as long as his forearm, cloudy white, with dried blood still dark at the root.

The woman took one look and stepped back.

“You killed it.”

“We need it made into a comb,” Lyra said, her voice weak. “Do you know anyone who can do it?”

The woman was silent.

Then she glanced toward the fading light outside.

“There’s a grinder at the end of the market. Knives, bone combs, small carvings.” She swallowed. “But if he knows what that is, he may not touch it.”

Lyra pushed herself up.

Haris caught her shoulder at once.

“You can’t.”

“We’re out of time.” Lyra looked toward Sion. “If the comb isn’t ready before dark, she’ll have another fit.”

Sion had already slung her basket over one shoulder. Her face was pale again.

“We need to go,” she said. “I can feel it starting.”

Haris helped Lyra back onto the horse.

He and Sion walked beside her as they hurried toward the market.

In their rush, none of them remembered the two gold coins.

The grinder’s shop stood at the end of a narrow street.

The door was low and wooden. Inside, curved knives, small saws, and bone combs hung from the walls. The grinder was putting out the coals when Haris pushed the door open.

“We need a comb.”

The man looked up.

“Come back tomorrow.”

Lyra set the fang on the table.

“No. Now.”

The grinder looked at it.

The blood drained from his face. He stumbled back into the shelf behind him, and several small knives rattled.

“No. Take that thing out of my shop.”

“It’s only a fang,” Lyra said.

“A great serpent’s fang.” He waved them back. “If I grind it down, it will come for my house.”

“It’s dead,” Haris said.

The grinder looked at him as if he were a fool.

“Get out of my shop.”

Outside, the sky was fading toward gray.

Lyra braced one hand on the table to keep herself upright.

“My friend will lose her mind without that comb.”

“Then take her somewhere else.”

Haris drew his sword.

The blade came down on the table, close to the grinder’s hand.

“Enough talking.”

“Haris.”

He did not look at Lyra.

“This is someone’s life,” Haris said. “Make it.”

The room went silent.

At last, the grinder took the fang with shaking hands.

He slammed the door shut.

The grinding began.

Lyra sank into a chair near the wall and tried to breathe through the pain. Sion sat curled nearby, her face bloodless. Haris stood by the door, sword in hand.

The grinder worked fast. He cut away the root, thinned the body of the fang, then used a fine saw to split the teeth of the comb. White dust covered his hands like ash.

Outside, the light kept dying.

Sion’s hands suddenly clenched together.

Lyra stood too quickly.

Sion looked at her.

Her eyes still knew Lyra.

But they were emptying.

“It’s coming again,” Sion said, and began to sway.

The grinder spun around.

“Get her out!”

“Keep working,” Haris said.

“I can’t—”

Haris lowered the tip of his sword near the man’s hand.

“Faster.”

The grinding started again, sharper now. More urgent. The last teeth of the comb were beginning to take shape.

Lyra stepped toward Sion.

“Look at me.”

Sion clutched her head.

“I don’t want to bite anyone again.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she lifted her head.

The awareness in her eyes went out.

She lunged for the grinder.

Haris threw up a shield of ice.

Sion slammed into it and fell.

At the same moment, the grinder held up the comb.

“Done!”

Lyra snatched it from his hand.

She caught Sion from behind, pinned her arms, and pulled Sion’s head back against her shoulder.

The teeth of the comb touched her hair.

Sion went still.

Lyra drew it slowly through.

Once. Then again. A third time.

Sion’s hand loosened from Lyra’s shirt.

Her eyes blinked once.

“Lyra…”

“I’m here.”

Lyra kept combing until the tremors left Sion’s body.

At last, Sion sagged against her, breathing hard.

Silence filled the shop.

The grinder stood frozen behind the table.

Haris lowered his hand. The ice shield melted into water at his feet.

Lyra looked down at the comb.

It worked.

But it was not a cure.

Only a way to hold Sion here for one more night.

Haris reached her before her knees gave out.

“We have to leave,” he said.

Lyra nodded.

The grinder refused payment.

He only stood there, his face gray, as if he had just finished making something that would bring disaster to his door.

Haris hired a small cart at the end of the market. The driver asked no questions once he saw the gold in Haris’s hand. He only glanced at the comb in Lyra’s grip, then looked away.

Lyra and Sion sat in the cart. Sion had fallen asleep with her head against Lyra’s shoulder, her body still trembling faintly from the fit.

Haris rode beside them.

By the time the wheels began to roll out of town, night had fully fallen.

Behind them, one market door after another shut tight.

Lyra held the comb so hard its teeth pressed into her palm.

Haris slowed his horse until he was level with the cart window.

“Lyra,” he said, “where do you want to go?”

Lyra did not answer at once.

Haris looked toward the dark road ahead.

“I need to go to Hemaliel. My father wanted me to meet the High Lord there. Rebuild an old alliance, if I can.”

Lyra looked at Sion sleeping against her shoulder.

Then she looked out into the darkness ahead.

Hemaliel.

Maybe there would be a clue there about the last piece of the map.

Maybe not.

But right now, she had no better road.

She gave a small nod.

“We’ll go to Hemaliel.”

The cart rolled on through the sand.

Behind them, the town shrank until the darkness swallowed it.

The last fragment was still out there.

Lyra knew that.

But she could not stop looking at Sion.

She had trusted her hearing, her instincts, the blade at her side, all the things she had learned to survive.

Danger had not reached for her this time. It had reached for someone beside her.

She might be able to protect herself.

But if the road she walked could poison the people who followed her, then strength alone would never be enough.

By morning, the grinder’s shop was closed.

He had packed everything and left before dawn.