Page 8

The small spit of land in front of the Ancestors’ wall cannot fit the entire Council safely, so Nickolas and Raek push through the rest. Some who give way easily, some stay their ground and cast narrow-eyed looks at the brothers.

I make note of the discord, every ripple in the pond a chance, however small, to breathe more freely.

Once Raek and Nickolas reach the front, everyone stills, and they wait in expectant silence, all eyes on the splintered bone, pockmarked white on dusty grey ground.

Nickolas is first to move, turning his head to me fearfully.

“Keeper?” he asks, the full question clear in the word.

I sink to the dirt and stroke the bone with gentle fingers.

She is fading, fading, fading, and her final words are as soft as a fledgeling’s cry.

“Your mother.” I reply, sighing, then shake my head sadly.

“Her Marrow is dry. Her bones empty now. May her memory be a comfort in the quiet hours.” Touching two fingers against my lips, I breathe on them, then push the warmth against the bone.

“May pure water and tender heart wait for you in the Dreaming.” I whisper, finishing the benediction, then turn to Nickolas, expecting him to offer his blessing as well.

The Councilman moans under his breath. “Surely you are mistaken, BoneKeeper!” He presses the fragments of bone together, as though he could mend them.

“I am not.” I try to keep my voice flat, but a hint of steel enters it despite my best efforts.

Standing, more to move away from him than anything else, I brush the clinging dust from my cloak, and look down at him through my colorless eyes.

“She is gone.” He hisses in response, but I continue.

“She did not wish to see a future where the Council disrespects the Bones.” But there is more, though I don’t fully understand the message I have to convey.

“The ancestors warn they will all leave if their words are not heard.”

“What does that mean, Keeper?” The question is surprisingly respectful, though I cannot see who asks it through the crowd of men. “For them to leave?”

“I…I do not know,” I whisper in reply, and the hint of fear in my voice is enough to quiet the muttering from the group.

“I have never heard of Living Bone silencing themselves. It…it is not something I am familiar with.” Pausing, I touch the wall in front of me, which has fallen mute, despite my entreaties.

“And they are not willing to tell me. In all their memories, no BoneKeeper has ever been able to force bones to speak, Councilmen, as you know. Keepers have asked, or begged, or pleaded, but have not been able to demand of the bones. If they chose not to answer, as they do now, there was nothing any BoneKeeper could do.” It is a truth, if not the truth.

There are many shades to a color. It is the truth to say that the rising night sky is blue, but also that the brackish pools of water scattered around the outskirts of our village are blue.

One truth does not negate the other. I am always careful with my honesty.

“The only thing they will say to me is that if the Bones are not respected, they will not remain.”

The words are a caution the Council refuses to heed.

They exchange looks with each other, and, while worry is heavy on a few faces, some, surprisingly, look exasperated, as though they are being threatened by petulant children.

Raek, of all people, waves his hand in an almost careless dismissal of the warning, pushing aside the sorrow that tightened his brow only a moment before.

A muscle flickers briefly in his jaw, but he steadies himself, then studiously relaxes his face and stance.

He lies with voice and body so fluidly that, if you were to miss a moment in a blink, you would never know that he was anything other than what you see before you.

“What will they do,” he murmurs, almost lightly, to the men nearest him, “jump into the Void? Do we even know for sure that our…” his voice cracks slightly, betraying a suffocated emotion, and he clears his throat before continuing.

“Do we even know our mother did this of her own volition? Or did someone cause this? Maybe she fell when the mountain shook? Or perhaps she was not bound correctly?”

At his words, Nickolas’s head jerks up, seeking me out.

His eyes are venomous, snake-slit thing as he stares up at me, his body still curved over the needle-thin shards, tiny drops of saliva caught in the corners of his pressed lips.

“Do you think—” he begins, his hands trembling, flexing open, closed, open, closed.

“The Keeper…” His nostrils flare wide, like a predator scenting prey, and in a sickening moment of clarity I realize the depth and breadth of his hatred towards me; he would kill me if he were able.

He would hollow me of my marrow and burn it, would violate my corpse until there was no Peace for me.

But he cannot — at least, not here. His brother is already moving to stand beside him, laying a restraining hand on Nickolas’s bent shoulder.

Raek’s face is pale and considering as he stares down at the shuddering form of Nickolas beneath him, rocking back and forth on the ground, and his hand tightens around Nickolas’s shoulder, silencing him.

“Oh no, brother. No . I would never cast aspersions or doubt upon our BoneKeeper, Gods forbid.” But his gaze rests on me for a beat too long, and his lips twist into a ghost smile.

“To do so would be against the Earth and Sun. I am simply saying we do not know . Do we.” It is not a question.

It is a map. A compass for the others to follow, should they choose.

And from the shifting of bodies behind him, I know that some in the Council will take the easy path, the way that has been cleared for them so they do not need to strain to move through tangled weeds and sharp rocks.

Sighing internally, I want to shake them, wrap my bone white hands around their arms and scream sense into their empty heads. They are too used to keeping all of their memories in skeletal pieces. “Mmmm,” I hum noncommittally. “I cannot speak on such a thing. As, of course, I did not Wake her.”

Silence, and I want to roll my eyes in response.

Do they honestly not even know which Keeper guided their mother after her Offering?

Nickolas and Raek have always been selfish, brutish little men, but I would have thought they’d at least remember when their mother left flesh for bone.

Seeing the muscles flex in Raek’s jaw at my demurral, I reconsider.

Perhaps he does know, but did not expect me to speak up in my own defense.

For the bones, yes. But for myself? It is rare.

I am usually quiet, head half in the grave when I am with the Council.

The cost of voicing my opinion is one I am not usually willing to pay.

But I should have been more mindful, and I wonder what else I have missed when I have been away with the dead, rather than here with the living.

My answer is enough, at least, to quell the shifting sands behind Raek.

Most were alive when Raek and Nickolas’s mother passed, and will remember that I was only a twinkle in my father’s eye at the time.

Those who had stepped over to hover at the edge of his shadow now drift quietly back to center, uneasy with the purposeful weight behind the near accusation.

The rest do not change position; three stay steady at his side, three more to the other.

It is only the last two who waver, indecisive, unsure of which way the wind blows.

Raek pauses, reconsidering his next move, the chessboard clearly not set to his liking.

I don’t know the count of his pieces, or the plan of his game, but he is not confident enough to sacrifice his queen.

To speak against the Keeper openly is an unexplored danger, and he is not sure he has the power to do so.

Yet . Glancing behind him at the increasingly anxious Council Members, then down at his brother, still in the dirt, he pivots, softening his voice, gentling his stance, schooling his face into a studied sorrow.

“My sincerest apologies, BoneKeeper. I hope you know I did not mean to imply…you are, as always, above reproach. We have known you since you were a child.” He injects a tender note, a hint of a nostalgic smile.

“Raised you as our own, in a way.” My chest tightens at the memory of their…

upbringing. “If y ou say that our mother silenced herself, then it is as pure water. You have only ever provided us comfort and compassion, an unexpected benefit of having the bones choose a woman….” Rubbing a hand theatrically across his face, his words waver.

“It is just an impossible thing to believe. To have happen . When the Father returns with the hunters, we can bring this before him and ask his council. I am sure he will have some answers.”

At his final words, they are back in his thrall.

All eight behind him nod in unison, discord forgotten.

It is the one thing they can agree on — when in doubt, wait for the guidance of the Father.

I can see their worry draining away; of course Raek would never imply…

he was simply lost to grief, a moment of insanity.

Of all of them, Raek would never speak against the Gods.

His brother, another matter. But Raek? He would dig an ocean before blaspheming the gift of bone.

As soon as he feels them settle, he turns back to me, running with the rockslide.

“BoneKeeper,” he begins, voice low, and astoundingly reaches forward to take my hand in his own.

It makes my stomach churn, and I have to swallow back bile.

Surely this is not how touch is meant to feel.

It has been so long since another has purposefully reached out to me, perhaps I don’t remember it correctly.

Nausea twists like pit vipers in my throat, and I have to take short, almost panting breaths to avoid being sick.

Raek’s thin lips flick upward in arrogant satisfaction at my response; he obviously thinks there is something softer than blood moths being born inside me.

Something more in keeping with the way any other rational woman in the village would bend to his attention, like summer wheat to the sun.

Even those who are claimed would wander for a night or longer to Raek’s bed.

But I’m not of flesh and blood, not anymore.

There is nothing in me to warm to his careful fingers, drawing circles in lazy patterns on my hand.

Because he has somehow forgotten the first lesson that the Council itself taught me when I was a child.

I am not of this world . And my visceral reaction to him simply holding my hand reinforces that notion.

When I see the men and women of the village with each other, their faces are mirrors of the joy born in the Harvest Month, not the choking smoke of flesh Rendering.

They brush skin against skin, exchanging playful glances, link arms…

and none looks like they are about to step into the Storms. I do not respond as a woman should respond to a man. As any woman would respond to this man.

My face must remain moon smooth, though, and I take a moment to thank the Gods for years of practice.

I could not hide my erratic breath, but at least my face isn’t a mirror of my revulsion.

He croons softly at whatever he thinks he sees, a lover’s tone, and continues.

“Ceridwen.” And now I do shudder back, yanking my hand from his.

There is a bark of protest from someone behind him, but he continues, blocking them with his back, pressing me forward until I am against the bone wall, with nowhere else to go.

Nickolas watches us through burning eyes, some unholy fire lit within that is fueled by unnatural interest. His thick, lizard tongue darts out in sickening movements, licking his dry lips over and over at the sight of me cowering into the bone, and it gives me enough strength to stand, stone spined, and stall my retreat.

“That name is not for your mouth, Councilman.”

He smiles. “Perhaps not. Not anymore in any case. But we were friends once, weren’t we, Keeper? Once, when you were still a child. And the Council was your family. Do you not remember? Ceridwen ?”

I do remember.

And I understand the threat poisoning my name.