The Skeleth by Matthew Jobin

was the man’s eyes that transfixed him in shock and understanding. They were set and shaped in ideal proportion, spaced exactly wide enough and perfectly even, but a thick, milky film covered the whole of their surface.
    The prisoner raised a hand while seeming to gaze into the empty space above Tom’s shoulder. “I am Tristan.”

Chapter 9

    E llí held a finger to her mouth. “Quiet. Stand right there, Edmund. Don’t move. Watch my eyes.”
    Edmund could find himself looking nowhere else. Ellí’s blue eye dilated, until the iris was a tiny strip of clouded sky encircling night. Her brown eye contracted to a pinpoint, a shaded forest where he might wander and lose himself forever.
    Ellí reached into the sack slung at her belt. She drew forth dust—it glittered as she threw it high into the air. “A LL FLOWS, NOTHING STAYS. I PU T MY HAND INTO THE S TREAM .”
    Edmund looked up. The dust arced and began to fall.
    â€œ B Y MY WILL I TURN THE CURRENT.” Ellí’s voice took on a vibration that Edmund felt in his belly. “ B Y MY WILL THE FERMENT CURLS. A LL FLOWS, NOTHING STAYS. I PUT M Y HAND INTO THE STRE AM.”
    Edmund shuddered. He gaped. The bits of dust hung in the air. At first they seemed utterly still—but they descended, everso slowly, their turning edges glinting, reflecting a light whose source he could not see.
    â€œWe can speak freely now,” said Ellí. “No one can hear us here.” The glittering dust turned and turned, stars winking on and off around her head.
    Edmund felt as though a whisper and a shout would sound just the same. “Where are we?”
    Ellí’s voice seemed to come from behind him, even though she stood in front of him. “We are under the Sign of Obscurity.”
    Shadows—voices, presences—moved through the edges of Edmund’s world. He felt a thrum beneath his feet. “I don’t understand.”
    â€œEdmund, listen to me.” Ellí’s hair slipped free from the net that bound it. It cascaded around her face as though it had a will to move and flow, every strand of it a different shade, blown by a wind that Edmund could not feel. “Lord Wolland means to start a war. Indeed, he has already started it.”
    Edmund hissed. “A war? Then what is he doing in Elverain?”
    â€œEvery war needs allies.”
    The hairs on Edmund’s arms stood up and stayed raised.
    â€œLord Wolland means to make war and he means to win.” Ellí held a hand to her forehead, the palm over her blue eye, her face contorted as though in pain. “He has made a bargain to secure the aid of creatures that once came near to exterminating every man, woman and child in the north. He is in the service of the Nethergrim, and he does not even know it.”
    A trembling dread filled Edmund at the mention of the Nethergrim’s name. He tensed and came to understand that he was waiting for the Voice to intrude upon his thoughts, eventhere under the Sign of Obscurity. “Why are you telling me all this?” he said. “What do you need me for, and how did you even know my name when we first met?”
    â€œI’m telling you because I hope that you will help me.” Ellí drew in a long breath through pursed lips and took her hand away from her face. “I need you because you thwarted the Nethergrim once already, and no wizard in centuries has been able to do that, no matter how well trained. I know your name because the wizard who taught me everything I know whispered it when she thought I was not listening.” The blue in her eye had dilated to nothing, leaving a glassy void.
    Edmund turned his head. He was nearly sure that he had heard the sound of his own voice in the distance, shouting or maybe screaming. He shuddered but tried not to let his fear show.
    â€œThe creatures whose power Wolland seeks are called the Skeleth, in the language that is