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Back The Ones We Burn Save as PDF
Chapters (93)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Part One: Skra: Sixty Days Remain
  5. PART ONE SKRA SIXTY DAYS REMAIN
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4 Two weeks later
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. Part Two: Monster: Twenty-Five Days Remain
  25. PART TWO MONSTER TWENTY-FIVE DAYS REMAIN
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. Part Three: Butcher: Six Days Remain
  40. PART THREE BUTCHER SIX DAYS REMAIN
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. Part Four: Bloodwinn: Coup Successful
  64. PART FOUR BLOODWINN COUP SUCCESSFUL
  65. 54
  66. 55
  67. 56
  68. 57
  69. 58
  70. 59
  71. 60
  72. 61
  73. 62
  74. 63
  75. 64
  76. 65
  77. 66
  78. 67
  79. 68
  80. 69
  81. 70
  82. 71
  83. 72
  84. 73
  85. 74
  86. 75
  87. 76
  88. 77
  89. 78
  90. 79
  91. 80 EPILOGUE Three months later
  92. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  93. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ranka remained where she was for a long time. Tentatively, the birds began to sing again. Still she didn’t move, her eyes frozen on the witch.

I ought to bury her.

It was what she would have asked of any other witch—to bury her deep, far enough a fangwolf wouldn’t dig her back up, where her flesh could melt into the earth and the roots of pines might tangle through her bones.

But Ranka couldn’t stomach touching her. She rose to leave—and paused.

Something gleamed in the witch’s fist.

The witch’s fingernails were ragged, the nail beds packed with dirt and rotting bits of flesh. Ranka used her axe to nudge the fingers apart. A small, golden object slipped free, twinkling in the sun. It was a pin, no bigger than a coin, framed in a spiral of human writing.

Why was she in a human city? Her clothes were the southern human style, but the wooden beads in her ears marked her as a Kerth witch. Could she be one of the missing? Why not just return home? Why flee farther north, into Skra lands?

The witch’s empty eyes stared up at the sky. Any answers had died with her.

Ranka watched the witch for a long time before she reached forward to close her eyes. She hesitated, then picked up the pin. A fist wreathed in flame gleamed from its face. The symbol meant nothing to her. Hopefully, it never would.

Ranka tucked the pin in her pocket and began the long trek home.

2

WITCHIK WAS CHANGING.

Ranka moved north, deeper into the mountainous, witch-ruled lands, the memory of the rotting witch lingering like a bad dream. A boom ripped through the air. Behind her, a flock of crows startled and took flight.

This land had once been brilliant for hunting elk—until two springs past, when the humans crossed the border to blast open illegal copper mines. The herds fled, leaving fields overgrown and the covens starving. The Bloodwinn treaty, born three generations before, was supposed to prevent this—divvy up the land, establish trade, protect the border. But humans crept farther north every year, craving metal for their weapons, and weapons for their wars.

If it was war the humans wanted, the north would be ready.

The sky burned with sunset by the time Ranka was north enough that the thunder of the mines couldn’t reach her. The land shifted to towering, old-growth forest. Berry-dyed banners snapped from the trees’ highest boughs. Above her, a lone cardinal sang.

Ranka whistled, and the world rustled to life.