Page 103

FALLING APART AND COMING TOGETHER

WREN

T he next morning the sun is bright, and the melancholy from the night before is washed off in the cold water of the crystalline pool.

Tahrik, specifically, seems happier, as though he has shaken his homesickness through nothing but sheer willpower.

He is smiling as he helps me pack up my few things, shooting little, playful looks my way.

“You’re all thumbs this morning, Wrenling!

” he says teasingly, the openly cheerful cadence of his baritone oddly unfamiliar.

It strikes me, for a strange, cold moment how much of our life together before this was spent in silence and secrets, shadowed whispers and hidden glances.

He was possibility in a place where nothing was possible, and now we are somewhere new, surrounded by nothing but possibility; it’s no wonder he’s having trouble finding his footing.

It’s no wonder any of us are; I smile back at his sunshine, at the peace that has settled on his shoulders like a cloak, not a weight.

Holding his head despairingly, he frowns at me in joking exasperation.

“Slow as tree sap. There’s no hope for you!

We’ll be here ‘til acorns grow to oaks!”

This version of Tahrik is impish and light-hearted, and pulls at something deep in my heart where he has not been before.

“I’ll have you know,” I begin, with all the hauteur and grandeur I can muster while dripping wet from a morning wash gone wrong, “that I don’t have as much experience as you doing heavy labor.”

He grins at me and my heart skips in dancing movements.

Happiness is a cloth Tahrik wears well. “Thank Sun and Earth for that. We’ve few enough clothes to spare, and lose some piece every time you decide to wash them.

Eh, eh, eh—” Holding up his hands to cut off my protests, he motions to the fire, indicating a small blanket and plate of breakfast. “I laid your table, M’lady.

Take your soft hands to the warmth.” Shaking his head, still smiling, he lowers his voice.

“Seriously, Wren. You’re still damp from the wash, and the cool of the night is lingering this morning.

I can do this. Go eat. Please. And drink your fill.

Who knows when we’ll be near such wealth again. ”

I look at him doubtfully, and the amount of work we have left to break camp. “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping. I…I actually like helping.” Surprise is clear in my voice and makes him laugh.

“You can help tonight,” he replies, motioning to the food again. “Go. Before it gets cold.”

The smell of hot bread and eggs is too much for me to resist, so I drop my side of the sleeproll before scurrying away.

“Sh’anks, Rik!” I mumble moments later through a full mouth, and he laughs at the sight of my puffed out cheeks. I chew, swallow, and look at my still surprisingly full plate. “Did you go hunting? This is more than I’ve had in a week!”

Rannoch’s curious voice breaks into our conversation. “No. We didn’t.” Stalking over to where I sit, happily eating away, he frowns down at my food. “Did you give her your rations again?” he asks Tahrik, chasing away the happiness from moments before.

A flash of darkness, quick as Storm lightning, crashes across Tahrik’s face, before the smile returns, though slightly more strained than it was previously. “I gave her some…” he begins reluctantly, and immediately I hold my plate towards him.

“I can’t take your food!” I cry, dividing what is left in half. “Here. We’ll share.”

“We already shared, Wren,” he says, sitting on his heels in front of me, cutting Rannoch from our conversation. “I drank too much water too quickly this morning,” he offers by way of an explanation, and I nod understandingly.

“In that case, I happily, though reluctantly, accept.”

Rannoch nudges me with his foot, trying to get my attention.

“What do you mean?” he asks. Tahrik and I exchange knowing glances.

It’s sometimes easy to forget that Rannoch is of the village, but not of the village, both an insider and outsider.

His family was wealthy, in land and water, and though Tahrik’s family was well-off, they did not have the private well of the Council to draw from.

Rannoch’s family were growers and Councilmen, and everyone knew that the growers in our village would take a small amount off the top to help their families get through the winter Storms, before delivering the rest of the grain to the millers.

So Rannoch had the double blessings of tables with extra grain, and near unlimited water from the Council’s private well.

Everyone else in the village, and I mean everyone , was rationed in careful measure, but each member of the Council could drink a family’s pour every day and still have water left over.

Tahrik’s family, as millers, worked in the grain mills, but did not grow the grain, and as such, had no extra rations they could sneak from the harvests.

They had to weigh the grains before and after grinding, and had no space for mistakes, lest the Council hear.

So while they earned more than many, and had some comforts others could not afford, they were the luxuries of softer beds, or larger homes, or heavier blankets.

But food and water were the same for any member of the village.

Any member other than the Council, the Renders, the Reapers, the Father, and the Justice that is.

As the BoneKeeper, though I rated more food and water than most, I did not have access to the private water the Council and their families had.

I was fortunate enough to have extra rations, both of food and water, but even I had experienced the discomfort of drinking too much water too fast on an empty stomach — of drinking half a day’s ration in a wild, uncaring guzzle, chasing away a seemingly never-ending thirst.

Rannoch sees us rolling our eyes at each other, and bristles in annoyance. “What do you mean?” he asks again, frustrated, and uncomfortable at being left out of the joke.

“She means,” Tahrik replies, an edge to his voice and smile, “that you have never known the feeling of a stomach full to bursting from drinking water too quickly.”

Rannoch frowns, and goes to open his mouth, but Tahrik stops him. “Peace,” he says, holding up his hands. “Wren can have my rations this morning. I’ll eat tonight.”

“You do her no favors by acting as a servant,” Rannoch snaps back. “It handicaps her in an unforgiving world.”

Tahrik barks out a short, unamused laugh. “Do you even know what a friend is , Councilman?” he asks sarcastically. “Perhaps you’ve never had one so don’t recognize the symptoms?”

The hit was unexpectedly direct, and Rannoch almost flinches. I don’t think Tahrik meant to hurt him, not so deeply, but Rannoch doesn’t reply — just turns away to see to his own kit.

Tahrik sighs, staring after him for a long moment, then ruffles my hair as though I were a child. “Eat, Wren. I’ll fix it.”

Heavily now, as though a weight is on his shoulders, he scuffs away, towards the quiet side of camp where Rannoch and Kaden work in focused intensity.

It takes a moment or two of quiet conversation, some hand waving and shrugs laden with meaning, the way men do, and then there is light laughter, the passing of a broken piece of bread, and peace.

Tahrik works beside them, gathering scattered supplies, and they joke back and forth in deep tones, the words lost in the space between us, but the feeling clear, all tension forgotten in the common goal of our travel.

The casual camaraderie is nice to see, and I watch them for longer than I normally would, full belly and warm fire making me lazy.

The men make quick work of the camp, and are almost done when Kaden calls out, relief and excitement brightening his shout, “One more day to the border, I think! If we move quickly at least. And then it will be comfort, and feasting, and real beds for the whole of winter. Think of the luxury!” Rannoch rolls his eyes at Kaden, who cuffs him on the head playfully in return.

For a second Rannoch debates a response, and then, surprising me and Kaden, launches himself at the unwary Trader and takes him down to the ground, wrestling like children.

They scuffle and snap at each other, barks of amusement, ear burning taunts scorching the air and earth around them.

I can’t help but laugh watching them; there have been so many days of tightness and worry that this effortless joy is catching.

Kaden’s relief spreads through us like ripples on a still pond.

I don’t think I realized how much he was carrying until he shed it, and it eases the anxiety that has been growing inside me.

Still smiling, I turn to try and catch Tahrik’s eye to share this moment.

His face is strange, very still, gaze fixed on the two men near him; it is impossible to tell what he is feeling, but something close to fear clenches my stomach.

And then the look is gone as if it never existed, a blink of a moment and he’s laughing with them, is pulled into the fray, shouting and tussling, three brothers fighting over who is biggest, who is loudest, who is fastest.

But the fear doesn’t leave, curling like a sleeping snake waiting for its chance to strike.

And I wonder what shadows I’m missing while blinded by the sun.