Strange Grace by Tessa Gratton

Author:Tessa Gratton [Gratton, Tessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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ARTHUR RUNS HARD, LEAPING FALLEN logs and shoving through snapping branches, while the creatures dog his heels. He hunts for open ground to turn and fight, but there’s no time, no place. A skeletal rat-boy jumps onto his back, ripping at his hood, and shrieks with laughter as he uses Arthur’s hair like reins. Arthur flips one knife and slashes up at the tiny monster. His knife cuts, but the creature holds on. It slows Arthur, and other bone monsters claw at him.

Grunting, he spins and slams backward into a tree, crushing the monster on his back. He’s free for only a moment before another grabs his thigh. Arthur kicks, stabs downward with his long knife. The blade slides in too smoothly, and Arthur pops the rat-skull head off.

Laughter all around.

He runs again.

His pursuers are tiny and white, all knobby knees and elbows, some on two legs, others on four, with bloated stomachs, concave chests where the ribs press out like ladders. Their heads are the skulls of what they once were: rats and squirrels, owls, dogs, all with teeth and black hollow eyes. Some wear ragged capes of fur or feathers. They’re all half rotted.

The darkness hides leaves and slippery deadfall, and it’s all Arthur can do to stay on his feet and ahead of them. He’s no thought to direction, just getting away and leading them away from Mairwen.

His heel catches and he stumbles, drops a knife before impaling himself, and hits the ground hard. Rolling fast, he swipes with his remaining knife, bares his teeth, and growls. The bone creatures cackle like tiny ringing bells, clapping and dancing around him. One, fish-belly pale with a young deer skull, holds up the fallen knife, and then they swarm.

Arthur yells, tries to leap up, but they’ve got his legs, and two jump down from a tree onto his chest. It blows his breath away, and he struggles to suck more in again. He can’t roll. He can’t move. Then there’s a cold blade at his neck, and the black, empty eye sockets of a raven skull.

This cannot be the end. He will not die here, so shortly into his run. He will not die by these damned tiny monsters.

But his head rings and his chest burns. They’re tearing at his coat, tugging open ties to push it open and reveal his wool shirt. One whines something, like words.

Another answers, then another.

Arthur’s breath is evening, though his heart pounds and his head aches. He still holds one knife in his left hand as he watches the bone creatures. They surround him, at least twenty, hissing and whispering to themselves. He has to risk it, or they’ll bury him here.

In a single motion, he flings his knife up and slides to the side. Their knife at his throat cuts, but he barely feels it yet. His knife slashes the bone boy at his head and Arthur is free, grunting under the onslaught of grasping claws reaching for his arms and legs and chest.

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