Page 43

A LITTLE PROTECTOR

WREN

W ren. Wake. Please, Wren. Please.

His voice is exhausted, barely a whisper of sound, as though he has been calling my name for hours, or days, and I wake groggily to reassure him.

“Protector. I am well.” My response is scratchy and raw.

Little Keeper. The rush of relief I feel from the bones down my back is almost tangible.

“What’s wrong, Lorcan?” I can’t make my brain work, little embers sparking and fading, and I rub my eyes tiredly.

“I’m exhausted. I forgot what it felt like to be this sick.

It’s been ages.” Clearing my throat, I try to stand, but wobble precariously and fall back onto my bed.

“Hunter? No smart comments today? Have I finally elicited some sympathy from you, old man?”

Silence.

Silence that presses in on my lungs like stone, and the sorrow from Lorcan is so profound and deep it is almost a color.

Ah, Wren. His sympathy is my undoing, and memory rushes in on a painful inhale. I know, I already know, but I can’t help fumbling in my hair to feel for the bones there, braided so intricately that they would have to be cut out if I needed them removed.

Hunter. Hunter. I chant his name, or the name I called him, over and over, but it is too late by half. He has been gone since the moment I walked through the northern bone arch, pulled to silence by the Silent.

“How?” I moan, but there is no answer, because…

because there is no answer. I didn’t even see his soul loosed, didn’t hear his heartsong.

He was gone between breaths. We are traveling unwalked roads, our feet on paths that have not been tread, and there are no signposts to guide us in these strange new times.

A little locked chest deep in my heart opens, and the memory of the Hunter slips into it to join all those I keep there — my mother, my father, my family — then the chest closes again, trapping the sadness inside with their faces.

“Lorcan?” I can barely say the word; he feels as though he is slipping from bone like water into hard earth, but he replies, though quietly.

Here. Still here. But…I am tired, Little Keeper. As tired as though we missed a month of anointing.

He’s not asking, but he would never have to ask in any case, and I grab my Guiding Knife from where it is tucked against me.

My hand flames into sharp pain, and I cry out unintentionally.

Looking at it more carefully through waking eyes, I unwrap the careful linen binding that someone put around it, and study the pink skin of my palm, glaringly colorful against the white of my unharmed flesh.

No stitching, no balm — it is healing far too quickly, and I swallow back worry.

There is not enough space in this moment for future moments; I have enough room for this breath and this action and no more.

“Right. First things first.” Forcing life into my voice, if not cheer, I pull off my shift, and glance down at the lines on my leg. The last carving is still sensitive, and I waver. Everything hurts right now. Everything.

I am well enough. Rest first.

Rolling my eyes, I ignore him, still playing with the blade in my hand, trying to get up the courage to cut, and startle like a bird when it whispers to me.

At the heart .

“What?” I know I sound scared, but a voice? From the Guiding Knife ? It petrifies me.

In the crown and at the heart it replies, then falls silent.

Keeper? Lorcan is concerned, but drifting, and I frown.

Fine. Fine! All else is unknown, why not this as well?

Stabbing trees and the fainting sickness, leeching bones and blood soaked ground.

Nothing is as it should be. And a command from the Guiding Knife with no explanation?

In the crown and at the heart? Fine. Getting to my feet, I stumble to the corner where my crown is kept and jam it mutinously onto my head, ignoring the way it feels like fingers grasping at my skin, then pull off my shirt and quickly, without dwelling too long on the action, cut a waning and waxing crescent shape over my heart, one on either side of my breast. Pulling Lorcan off from my neck, I wrap his bones around me, winding them through the moon curving on my skin.

It is incredibly and surprisingly awkward, though I try to ignore the feeling, binding him in place with a length of cloth wrapped around my ribs like a high belt.

The knife is…satisfied? I’m not sure entirely, but whatever awareness is there fades away as Lorcan strengthens.

What? Little Keeper, what?...

His incredulity pulls a rusty sort of laugh from me, though no one else would think to call it such. “Don’t get comfortable there, Protector.” The silence is so awkward that my lips twitch up against my will. “If you’re feeling better, will you…what happened ?”

It takes him a long, long time to respond, and when he does, his voice is bright and alive, but choked. Poison in the water, perhaps. I was too tired to…Rannoch and Silas rescued…I’m sorry, Keeper. This is impossible. Put me down your back again, and we will discuss it all.

“No. Not until you are soaked through. Don’t test me on this, Protector.”

I can tell he wants to argue back, but a cautious knock at the door interrupts us.

“Yes?” I snap the word out sharply, fumbling with my shirt and dress. An uncertain murmur answers, so soft I can’t make it out, so I stomp over to yank the door open .

Marrin is there, looking hesitant and scared, but determined, and I settle my face into a placid expression immediately.

“Marrin! Is all well?”

He nods and shrugs in the way of children, all one seamless motion. “I heard you were unwell, BoneKeeper, so I asked my aunt to make you some soup.”

A small clay pot hangs at his side; he peers around me into my room cautiously. “I can put it on your table for you if you’d like, Keeper.”

“That was kind of you, to think of me.”

“Maybe not so nice. She’s not the best cook, BoneKeeper…” He grimaces, then looks guilty. “But she tries.”

“And how are my friends?” Running a gentle hand over his head, I greet the Baker and her son fondly. The Baker is surprisingly lively.

It’s good to see you, Keeper.

“How is life with Marrin?” I ask curiously.

He’s a wonderful boy, Keeper. A true joy. It is good to have a little one again to watch over.

Marrin tries to wait patiently for me to finish, but shifts back and forth on his feet before finally bursting out, “What does she say?”

I grin at him. “She says you’re nothing but trouble. A terrible child.”

He startles, then grins back. “You’re teasing me!” Astonishment fills his young voice, and I mimic his earlier shrug and nod.

“Perhaps,” I reply, and he laughs. The bones in my room echo the sound like wind chimes; they delight in his happiness, an unusual emotion within my home.

“Would you like to take a walk, BoneKeeper?” he asks courteously. “The sun is almost warm today, and I know you’ve been unwell.” Straightening, he puffs out his chest, an unconscious mimicry of older men. “If you’ll trust me, I can make sure you’re alright.”

“I…” Lorcan is still draped at my breast, and I should move him first, but my room suddenly seems dark and oppressive, and a breeze from outside smells like fresh hay and late autumn.

Whirling around, I grab a high collar cloak which hides my bone necklace, and slip on my lo w boots.

“You’ll have to guide me, Protector. I have no bones on today. ”

Clearing his throat, he glances at my head where my crown is still fixed in place, then back down at his shoes.

“Oh. Well. I suppose I have some.” I’m oddly reluctant to remove my crown, and grab my Guiding Knife as well.

I hesitate, then fasten it inside my waistband, against my skin.

“Not far though, Marrin. I’m…rather tired. ”

He looks determined at the words, an oddly serious expression on his young features, and he extends his arm courteously. “Don’t worry, BoneKeeper. I’ll keep you safe.”

As always, he makes me want to cry with his ways, a painful lump of emotion knotting my throat. “Thank you,” I murmur, and he nods before leading me from the room out onto the rough, worn walk.

Keeper, this is untenable. Move me before you go.

His voice is tight and thin, but certain.

You are still too weak.

Lorcan feels like he is going to protest, but is interrupted by Marrin, and quiets.

“Where would you like to go, Keeper?”

Away from here, Marrin. Far, far away. But that is a thought I keep to myself.