Page 73

ALL MUST PAY THEIR DUE

WREN

W hen I am finally called to the square that evening for the Council’s decision, I notice the small circle of Owen’s bone has been pried loose, and is ground to dust in front of the well.

It is a sacrilege, and a clear warning. The old ways are gone; and in their place, a monster with a cavernous maw is rising from the bowels of our mountain.

I touch his sleeping soul gently, safe in my knife, to reassure myself.

I am a step ahead, but the wolves are biting at my heels.

“We have decided to honor the Sun God’s call,” Raek says as soon as I am before the Twelve, no room for greetings or niceties in his words.

Taking careful note of those before me, I narrow my eyes.

Four are nervous, restless, but defiant, like rebellious children who have erred but refuse to be penitent.

Two — Raek and Nickolas — are excited, open hostility gleaming like teeth in the night.

Two are hesitant, refusing to meet my eyes, hands shaking.

And three look desolate, as though the Storms have come early and wiped our people from the land.

Of all the faces before me, these three are the only ones which scare me.

If they have given up — if they recognize the precarious position our village is now in, and cannot find a fight within them to go against what is clearly so wrong — there is no hope left.

Only Rannoch and the Father have the promise of war in the way their bodies are quivering with rage.

Nickolas steps forward beside Raek, and I note the change in the order of the Twelve. As one of the more newly elected members, he should be further back. Instead, Rexus is in the far corner, sitting in shadow. Ignoring the rest of the group, I glide to him on silent feet, and kneel before him.

“Are you well, Councilman?”

Nickolas is not angry that I am ignoring him. He is smirking, almost laughing, and I have to steady myself. There is worse, and worse still to come if my quiet defiance is amusing to him. Rexus dares to reach out and lay a hand on my head in blessing and benediction.

“The path ahead is lined with sharp stones, and will cut your feet to ribbons, Keeper. I am sorry I was unable to be of more service to you. The blessings of my family over you, of protection and peace, of blood and bone, of flesh and form. The blessings of water and wind, of Sun God and Earth. May I protect you with bone after, as I am unable to guard you with flesh before.”

“All will be well, Rexus,” I whisper, but he shakes his head, and drops his hand. Taking a moment to steel myself, I breathe deeply, then stand and return to my place before the Council, face grave and set. “As you will, Councilmen.”

Nickolas sneers, and replies, speaking over Raek, who shoots him a warning look, which Nickolas ignores. “We have decided that, given the unusual nature of the situation, given the silence of the bones, perhaps the Sun God is testing us.”

Testing us, testing us…. the words ring in my mind, a dreadful cloud of suspicion beginning to form.

“Perhaps we have not been as penitent in our Offerings as we should. We have spoken over this matter, thought long and hard.” He is playing with me, as a barn cat plays with a mouse.

No matter what is said after this point, I cannot react.

This build up is for a purpose. He continues, a mockery of sadness lacing his tone.

“We believe a greater Offering must be made to show our willingness to pay the Vengeance. Upon reviewing the records, there have been some families who have not shared equally in the glory of Offerings these past ten years. There has not been the adherence to the First Lesson of previous BoneKeepers. I is for Infant .”

Oh Gods save me. Gods save me from this madness about to occur. But the Gods are silent, as they always are, unless demanding their fill of flesh, blood, and bone. A prayer to the Gods is as a secret whispered in the wind — it will never be heard, or answered.

“The Well Guard’s family — we were able to trace his name, thanks to you, BoneKeeper — has not been called as far as we could see.

There is a Baker’s family — eight children, and only one Reaping in the past six years.

None since she and her son were called. And of course, no children…

none at all, almost since you first became Keeper. ”

Tilting my head, heart racing but face placid, I study him.

“Councilman…” I fight to keep my voice calm, infuse it with the chill of the bones around me.

“This would go against the ways of our people. The Baker’s family has paid twice in the past ten years, similar to many other families, and she and her son have acted as my eyes in continued service, rather than claim the rest all are promised.

And the Well Guard’s family…He has watched your well these many years, serving in death as he did in life.

In appreciation, his descendants are exempt from Offerings. ”

Nickolas and Raek exchange a quick glance, and it is Raek who speaks. “But some unhappy accident has happened, and the Well Guard’s bones are no longer there. Which makes his contract forfeit.”

I nod, and shrug. “More is the shame, for his presence kept poison from the Council’s water.”

“Are you threatening us?” Nickolas hisses suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, and the four rebellious men behind him lean forward, vultures spotting carrion.

“It is not a threat, Councilman. Merely a fact. Someone must have a deep hatred for you, to have done such a thing. Your water will never be safe again, and for what? I would have told you his purpose had you asked me.”

Nickolas and Raek exchange a look again, this time Raek looks incandescent with rage, and Nickolas belligerent. Ah. So this is the way the web is woven. I cannot think of it longer, as Silas steps forward and shakes his head disapprovingly at Raek and Nickolas, before turning to me.

“A decision has been made.” Furious regret is in every letter, every syllable of his words, and I swallow a ball of fear that is choking me now.

“The Council has voted, and by a margin that I cannot balance out as the leader of this village.” He is trying to let me know he did not approve, that he fought against what is to come, but it is a cold comfort as the weight of his next statement hits me.

“They have decided. Three of the remaining children of the Baker. The two oldest descendants of the Well Guard. The wife of one of our blacksmiths. A seamstress from the Second Ring.” He pauses, as if seven, SEVEN people at once are not an abomination, a gorging of flesh unseen since the days of The Sword.

But there is more. His voice is so soft, like the hide of a new calf, like the fur from a wolf.

“An infant from each Ring of the village. To fulfill the First Lesson, to regain favor with the Gods.”

And there, the axe has fallen.

I have kept the armies at the gates for years, since I offered my first personal sacrifice to the Gods when the Bones called for a child, and they accepted.

Deep, patterned lace carved into my flesh, a map for the Gods from the sky above and ground below, a book I have written on pages only they can read.

Once, years ago, when a newly born infant was called by the Bones, so young her eyes hadn’t settled into their color yet, I swallowed her name and locked it in my throat.

For days I was ripped apart in unending pain, the Gods pulling at the veins in my body, twisting my muscles, breaking and reforming my bones, but I refused to speak.

I knew just a whisper would end the agony, but there are things worse in life than physical anguish.

And so I endured a grim, unceasing crucible, where moments melted together like fat in the fire.

The infant was called just after I Guided Tahrik’s sister, and the scars of Cara’s passage were still red and violent on my heart.

To have another child, a baby, called only a month later — the pain gave me stupid courage, the echo of her Offering a gift disguised as a curse maybe.

The bones of the village pressed in on me for days, blocking out all other sound, coming close to rupturing my ear drums with deafening pressure.

Once they have called for an Offering, there is no peace until it’s answered, no quiet until blood.

I waited long enough that the Earth began to churn, that the pillar’s fire was hot enough it dripped embers like rain to the ground beneath it.

And still I would not bend. The bones began shrieking her name, day and night, ripping sleep from me like flesh flayed from muscle.

It was incessant. Finally, sick from exhaustion, sicker still from what was being demanded of me, I decided to throw myself into the Offering pit, taking the Guiding Knife with me, and placed it at my heart.

My courage was a broken bird in a storm the moment the Knife cut my flesh, and I had to take a breath before trying again.

But in the inbetween, several drops of my blood fell to the ground.

The instant they hit the Earth and were swallowed up, the bones suddenly, and mercifully, fell silent.

As I readied the Knife a second time, they started whispering, confusion clear in their voices.

It…it is accepted, Keeper. Your blood is accepted in her place.

More, more, but your Offering is accepted.

And so I carved my first line into my thigh, too deep, too straight, not caring yet that I was writing a story on my flesh that would remain forever.

I didn’t know. I just wanted the screaming to stop, the baby safe, the Offering satisfied.

I thought, foolishly, that that would be it, that another child would never be named, that I had broken a curse.

I had not.