Page 44

A BOY AND A MAN

TAHRIK

I haven’t seen her in almost three days, not since our strange, lingering moment in the shadow of my family’s bones, not since the Councilman came and took her from my fingertips.

There have been uneasy murmurs around the village while she’s been gone — nothing open or outright, just vague insinuations which leave a bitter aftertaste once the whispers leave your mouth.

I think it would be worse, whatever worse is, if Raek were still here in the village, but he left the day after Wren was taken sick.

His brother still skulks around the village, but people tend not to listen to him as much without Raek beside him.

Wren has never been a friend to Nickolas, and it’s easy to see why — his eyes never leave her face — more often than not, though, he seems a piece for Raek to play on the board, all bluster and no bite.

Trying my best not to linger, I walk past Wren’s tiny cottage for the second time this morning, and am unprepared for the cracks in my heart when I see her, head bent low to hear the youngster next to her, holding her hand and leading her towards a bench near the wall.

Her face is so soft; I don’t think I’ve ever seen it look quite that way before, and have to swallow back the ache in my throat that rushes in with an image of her before a snug fire, holding a baby, gazing down at it with that same expression.

And me, watching from the door, back from a day at the mill, home to my wife and my child, my hearth and my heart.

Pieces fall apart within me and reform, like sand melting to glass, and everything I knew before in small grains join together into one, clear window. Wren.

There are moments before, and moments after, and I have stepped through the inbetween.

“BoneKeeper.” My heart is too clear in my voice; the boy beside her snaps his head around to look at me, sharp and considering.

“Keeper,” he says, voice pitched low. “It is the miller’s son.”

She smiles, smiles , down at him, and whispers, “He’s fine, Marrin. He’s my friend.”

I can see the news surprise him, and he looks at me through new eyes. He’s so careful of her, so cautious, that I can’t help respect the little one, and wait patiently for him to make a decision.

“Alright,” he calls, giving me permission to approach.

“She’s just resting with me. I’m tired.” I fight against the grin pushing at my lips; no one looking at the two would even begin to think that he was the sick one.

Wren’s illness is in every line of her face, the tightness around her eyes, the pallor of her skin.

But I admire him for trying to protect her, and nod seriously in reply.

“I understand. Marrin, is it? I’m Tahrik. Wren’s…friend.” I purposefully use enough of a pause that the word is heavy, and his eyes widen before he turns to look at Wren, who is unnaturally still.

“Wren?” His voice is hesitant, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Only to Tahrik,” she warns, then ruffles his hair. “And the Baker. And you, now, if you’d like. But nowhere other than empty spaces, you understand?”

He nods, then scuffs his feet. “I don’t know…is it wrong for a Protector to be so casual?” There’s a quiet desperation in his tone — he clearly wants the familiarity, but also takes his self-appointed position seriously.

She smiles gently at him, hand still on his head; I am not used to seeing her touch another so casually. “Oh. I have it on good authority the best Protectors call me Wren. It is only you and one other, and you are in excellent company.”

As always, my stomach lurches slightly when she speaks of her bone Protector in such a fond way.

I have grown up here, I know the ways of our people like the lines of my hands, but it is still occasionally strange to hear her voice warm so much when she speaks of cold bone.

It happens when we visit my sister, when she passes along stories from ancestors in the walls; she is clearly more comfortable with the dead than the living.

As it should be , I remind myself. She is more goddess than woman.

You are blessed by her attention, Tahrik.

You cannot love the moon and be surprised that it lives in the heavens.

“I’m glad to know she has such a stalwart companion, Marrin,” I offer, holding out my hand, which he takes and shakes earnestly.

I’m rewarded by the light in Wren’s gaze, her face sweet and wistful.

You are blessed, Tahrik , I repeat to myself, and feel it in my marrow.

For some reason this woman sees me. In a village of thousands, she looks for me.

And I feel the weight of her eyes on me every time she finds me, as tangible as fingers on my skin.

I wonder desperately if mine feels the same to her.

The area around us is silent and empty, and I take the chance to really study her, to run my hungry eyes along the lines and angles of her face.

She is pale today, beyond pale, a grey the color of early morning fog from the mountain, skin damp, the only color tiny rivulets of pink from her crown.

Something is clearly wrong, and my heart clenches my throat as I narrow my eyes, taking in the small tremors running through her that she’s trying to quiet, noting the indents in her flesh where her vertebracelets normally lie.

Even her neck is bare of her ever present Protector.

“Wren? Where are your bones?” Worry is obvious in my question, but she shakes her head in a single, sharp move, and darts her empty eyes towards Marrin’s bent head.

“Though of course you can’t wear bones every second of the day!

” I continue, false cheer in my words, and I turn to draw the boy’s attention from her.

“Tell me about yourself? Do I know your family?” I ask him, settling back on the ground against the wall, and begin strumming mindlessly on my small guitar.

I should be at the mill. I have things to do.

The Storms are coming. But the Ender himself couldn’t pull me from the shadow of Wren’s feet.

Three days without her has been an eternity.

He glances at her, squeezes her hand in a mute question, and she nods subtly. He has so much faith in her simple movement that, with her approval, he answers me freely. “I’m from outside the Third Ring, originally. My parents both…I live with my aunt now. Inside the Third Ring.”

“ But …” Wren prompts gently, and he grins, face lit up.

“But I go to school in the Second Ring. After the storm season, I’ll be in the First Ring school. It’s certain.”

“Marrin!” Surprise and delight are clear in her tone. “You didn’t tell me! Where will you stay? It’s too far for a daily walk from the Third Ring. Perhaps…” She trails off thoughtfully as he responds.

“I found out a few days ago, but you’ve been sick.” A cloud drifts across his face. “Keeper...some of the people…things are being whispered…”

She nods and shrugs. “Things are always whispered about me.”

“This feels different, Wren,” I agree with him hesitantly, and her eyes narrow.

“How?” The word is short, clipped, all the joy from a moment before gone in an instant.

“I don’t know. It just does.”

She makes a low, indeterminate sound. “Does it matter?” she says, voice studiously empty, and in an unexpected moment of symmetry, Marrin and I exchange worried looks.

“It matters…I think , Keeper. But I’m not used to listening for grownup conversations. They tend to be boring.” He pauses, stumbles over his words. “I’m getting better, of course, Keeper. I’m paying more attention now.”

She runs her hand over his head again, as though she can’t keep from comforting him.

“I know,” she replies seriously, then her eyes blank slightly, and I can’t help but flex my jaw.

I know that look, the small change of her, and it is obvious that, even if I cannot see him around her neck, he is somewhere on her body still.

He is nothing but bone memory, Tahrik I have to remind myself when she nods at words I can’t hear. Nothing but bone. The words feel almost sacrilege, even in my private thoughts, and I change focus abruptly, interrupting her silent conversation.

“Do you want to walk, Wren? The day is nice, and you’ll have two of us to help.”

Sighing, she shakes her head. “I think I’ll need what little energy I have left. The Council approaches. The bones are warning me. Tahrik?” She inclines her head silently toward Marrin, and I take him by the hand immediately, startling him.

“Would you like to earn an extra loaf today, young Protector? I’m off to the mill and desperately need a spare set of hands. Yours seem strong and capable.”

His eyes flare in surprise. The offer, both of extra bread and of mill work, are an unheard of opportunity for a Third Ring child, but he pauses anyway, glancing at Wren first, earning my endless respect.

“You…you don’t want me here when the Council comes?

” His young voice trails off, first into hurt, then into a very adult realization.

“Oh! You don’t want me here when the Council comes.

” Tightening his fingers on my hand, he nods, and then grabs her hand gently before we walk away.

“I’ll come check on you, Keeper. I’ll come back later to make sure you’re alright. ”

She smiles weakly at him, a half-expression, but it is enough for him to turn from her. Risking a moment, I reach out my own hand and trace it whisper light down the line of her cheek. “I’ll check back too, Wren.”

“Hurry now,” is her only response, so we duck around the corner, leaving her faded and fragile behind us.

“I don’t like leaving her alone like that.” Marrin’s voice is a breath, barely a noise at all, and my fingers flex reflexively on his.

“Neither do I, Marrin. Neither do I. But we have no choice.”

Pausing, he looks up at me, his serious expression too old for his years .

“There is always a choice. I don’t think we’re making the right one.”

“Well, we’ll do as she asks, young Protector, and check on her later, hmm?” Pulling him along, I try to ignore the cold blade of his words in my heart. There is always a choice. And I’m not making the right one.