The bones clicked together, magically bound in place by circles of blood. By the time they had tracked down the last of the tailbones, Harn was too woozy to complete the symbols. Reluctantly he took he let his uncle finish the construction, chewing on the sticky combination of honey and dried fruit as the older man locked the last bones in place.
When the skeleton was complete, it began to glow with a pale red light. The blood-drawn symbols grew outwards, twining around the bones in a morbid parody of veins and sinew. The low hum that had accompanied the assembly now rose in pitch and volume and the two men winced as it climbed through the octaves.
“They’ll hear that, even with the fire.” Kerith’s voice broke the pattern of the salamander’s deathsong, “We’d best finish.”
Harn gave a tired nod and stood on trembling legs. In his left hand he held the silver cage with the writhing blue spirit inside, in his right the ritual knife already glowing from the blood that dripped down his arm.