Lux can craft replacements. Artificial fingers. The solution had been presented with such ease that Aravin hadn’t really processed that it would actually mean a finger needed to come off, that the wound would have to heal before a new one could be attached. That they would still have to enter a dangerous forest with bleeding stumps.

Aravin swallowed. With the thumb of his right hand, he traced over the fingers of his other hand. He often had to peel things when preparing tinctures—would it bother him if a pointer finger was missing? Not just that—he would have to look at it the whole time. A permanent reminder of this.

“A toe could work too, you said?” His voice wavered. At least he wouldn’t see that all day. Others wouldn’t see it either.

“Yes. Though we still have a long walk ahead.”

“I have a tincture that numbs the nerves locally.” Thank the Dragons. He doubted he could have gone through it otherwise. Knowing that Fantoom was willing to do this without anesthesia—just to help them—made his respect for the man grow.

“Ah, I knew it was smart to have you come along.” Fantoom gave him a wink.

Aravin opened his pouch and pulled out a small pink bottle with green specks floating inside. He had only ever used it once, after a deep cut in his upper arm. It was, however, a popular tincture, often used for workplace accidents. One of the few tinctures the lower class were allowed to use freely.

“And the bleeding?” he asked hesitantly. “I’m no medic.”

Fantoom twirled the knife between his fingers. “This is a cauterizing knife.” He ran his thumb quickly along the flat side of the blade several times, and it began to glow orange. “Anything you touch with this will react like butter. It also instantly seals the wound.”

He had really thought this through. The thought made him queasy.

“Well, I’ll go first.” Before he could back out. Aravin sat on the ground and took off his boot and sock. He hesitated, staring at his toes. He picked the one next to his left big toe. He pulled out a copera from his pouch—it was sometimes easier than unscrewing one from a spiral. It had a simple gold cap with a red stone. He unscrewed the top, poured in a splash of the tincture, and handed the bottle to Mart. He hadn’t used much; he didn’t want his whole foot to feel numb. “How much bone do we actually need to give? Just a joint?”

“The forest isn’t always satisfied with just that. I once heard of a woman who tried. After half an hour, the forest got restless and the branches tore her apart.”

Aravin’s stomach twisted. The whole toe then. He placed the copera on the joint to his toe and injected the tincture. It didn’t take long before his toe went numb.

“Do you want to do it?” he asked Fantoom. He didn’t think he could bring himself to do it. And he figured Mart would be willing to “accidentally” take the wrong toe off.

Fantoom knelt in front of him. He might look cowardly, but Aravin couldn’t bear to watch. He turned his head away and felt a wave of nausea rising. You’re doing this for Mart. You can handle a little discomfort.

Fantoom’s fingers slid over his foot. Aravin swallowed nervously. He was glad the man didn’t make a crude comment.

The grip on his foot tightened. Two of Fantoom’s fingers were metal, the rest flesh and blood. For now, at least. He felt intense heat on his big and middle toe and squeezed his eyes shut.

No pain. Not even a tug or unpleasant pressure.

He could smell it; the scent of scorched flesh hit his nose. He thought of the meat fingers he had eaten a few days ago without guilt. Hypocritical, really, to need anesthesia for this. Those poor souls hadn’t had that luxury. Shame only worsened the nausea. It was easy to forget the source of those fingers if you didn’t know people desperate enough to give up a limb.

Was Fantoom done yet? He cast a quick glance forward. The man spread something over the fire-red skin and then began wrapping the bandage. His movements were confident yet careful, and the unexpected gentleness sparked a warmth in him.

The warmth vanished the moment he saw his toe lying there. He pressed his arm to his mouth. The urge to vomit was unstoppable, and he retched onto the dirt beside him. A shiver ran through him; he was suddenly cold and hot at the same time.

“And now?” His voice wavered with uncertainty. “Do I feed my toe to a tree?”

“Yes.” Fantoom secured the bandage and looked up. One hand rested on Aravin’s calf. “You okay?”

Physically? He felt nothing from the wound.

Mentally? Better not to think about it. Convincing himself it was “just a toe” didn’t help.

“Let’s hope it’s enough for both there and back,” he muttered.

Fantoom gave a squeeze of reassurance and stood, moving toward Mart. He also picked a toe.

Aravin slipped his sock and boot back on. He deliberately didn’t look at how it went for his friend, though he imagined Mart endured it stoically. Hopefully, this sacrifice wasn’t entirely in vain and brought them a bit closer. Unlike the other two, Aravin’s presence wasn't really useful. He just wanted to be there for Mart, even if the other would rather he wasn’t. But maybe he could still help in some way, even if just as an extra pair of watchful eyes.

Aravin was relieved when Mart suggested taking Fantoom’s knife to make his own offering. At least Aravin wouldn’t have to do it himself. The thought of cutting off part of Fantoom’s body already made him lightheaded.

He kept his eyes on the foreboding forest. Beyond the bare branches and knotted trunks, there was nothing. Yet it felt as if the shadows occasionally shifted, watching, waiting until they entered that creepy boneland.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. A bandaged hand. The pinky was gone. “Ready?”

Aravin nodded stubbornly. He felt far from ready, but Fantoom didn’t need to know. He got up and, with great reluctance, picked up the severed toe. He glanced over his shoulder at the ship where the others still stood, thankfully too far away to really see anything.

He waved at Alyss, then turned back forward.

The three of them walked toward the bone wood. As they passed the first trees, dry twigs and bones cracked under their boots. The trees were alive; the branches reached out, brushing their shoulders and backs.

“Is there a kind of master tree we need to offer… to?”

“Everything is connected, as if it’s one gigantic organism,” Fantoom replied.

Aravin stopped. He held the toe in his hand, fingers spread so it rested in his palm. Incredible that the most innocent rabbit was extinct, yet this monstrous bone forest still lived. If all the Soultakers were capable of such horrors, he understood why—

Embarrassed, he cut the thought short. Mart was a Soultaker. He was willing to risk his life to save all of Faux. He dismissed every cruel word ever said about his kind.

Aravin turned toward a branch. “Well, take it then,” he muttered. If they didn’t like his toe, who knew—maybe they’d tear off his whole leg.

The branch moved closer, slowly, like fingers stretching toward him. The bones slid together, forming almost a skeletal hand. The fingers wrapped around his own and grasped the toe, curling into a fist.

Aravin pulled back immediately. The fist ground together. A flesh-colored paste fell to the ground; only a piece of bone remained, merging with the hand.

Then the arm retracted and reshaped into what looked like an innocent branch.

Aravin exhaled; he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. He looked around. Aravin and Mart were a few steps away, performing their own exchange. A small sense of relief left him. Their offering had been accepted.

Aravin walked toward the others. “How far is the walk?” He spoke softly, unable to shake the feeling that the bone trees would claim all their other bones if they were disturbed.

“A few hours?” Fantoom looked away, peering deeper into the skeletal forest.

There was something in his posture that made Aravin hesitate. “How do you even know the way here?” If this whole forest was made of bones, and they could move… He hadn’t mentioned a map.

“Call it intuition.” His intense gaze demanded trust, though he wasn’t stupid enough to say it aloud—otherwise, he’d have gotten a fist in the face.

We’re nowhere near that far yet.

Aravin tried to read Mart’s expression. His friend just shrugged. “Go ahead then.”

“Should we prepare for the monsters? Or won’t they come close to the edge?” Aravin didn’t know why he asked, doubting he could trust the answer. Fantoom had walked through this forest once, but that didn’t make him an expert. He still wanted someone to tell him the best course of action. The weapon he’d chosen wasn’t light, and he didn’t want a useless arm if he had to use it.

Fantoom glanced back. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them. Only heard of them.” He hesitated. “But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, no.”

Aravin decided to take his trusted seven-barrel. It could fire seven bullets in quick succession, enough to hold a creature at bay until heavier fire could be brought in.

Silently, they moved deeper into the Bone Forest. There was no way to move quietly; the constant cracking announced their arrival. On alert, Aravin scanned for any movement.

But there was nothing. Not even a whisper of wind. The bones remained still, as if they were no longer hostile after offering a part of themselves.

Further and further they went, pausing only for a sip of water. Aravin felt so tense his shirt was soaked in sweat, and the rest of his clothing seemed heavier.

A throbbing pain began in his foot. The tincture had worn off. They all took another dose, and while waiting for the others, Aravin pulled out his pocket watch from his chest pocket and clicked it open. They had been walking for four hours already. He had never imagined such a monotonous landscape. How on earth did Fantoom navigate this place?

He was about to ask again when he heard cracking. He spun around sharply. Suddenly, a wave of snapping noises rushed toward them, as if all the bones were breaking apart at once. Awkwardly, Aravin freed his heavy firearm and set it to fireball mode—it had the longest range. His heart pounded as he looked around. There were so many trees that everything seemed like a white haze, into which the monsters would effortlessly blend.

Fantoom and Mart braced themselves with weapons raised.

At the first movement he saw, Aravin pulled the lever immediately. The recoil sent him staggering back. He didn’t wait to see if he hit, firing again and again. With a thud, a four-legged beast fell, its torso shattered in two places by the impact. Yet it got back up. Before it could fully regain footing, another monster leapt onto its back. This one was faster, the bones so closely packed they almost looked like scales.

With a scream, Aravin jumped back, pressing against one of his companions. The four-legged beast was massive, chest-high, with a double skull and razor-sharp teeth. Its shoulders moved up and down with each step.

The creature leapt.