Page 95

CHANGING WINDS

WREN

“ B ring me the water, will you Wren?” Kaden calls from the fire, and I shift my weary body to help, when Tahrik settles a hand on my shoulder, pushing me gently back down.

“Rest. I’ll do it.” He’s frowning at Kaden, shaking his head in quiet disapproval.

“What?” Kaden asks, usually cheerful face tense, though he’s trying to hide it.

“You shouldn’t ask her to do such things,” Tahrik replies tightly.

“What things?”

“Carrying buckets, cleaning up after the horse, the washing…” Tahrik glances at me, then back at Kaden, who simultaneously looks puzzled and frustrated.

“She’s fully capable, Miller. We all do it as well.”

“She shouldn’t have to, Trader.”

The past two days have been like this as food has become more scarce and the weather has gotten colder.

All of the laughter from the wetlands and the low hills was left behind as we approached the denser forest and higher mountains — still nothing like those from our village, but less curved and more jagged than the soft, grassy mounds at our heels.

Kaden has been trying to hide his worry, but I’ve heard him speak with Rannoch in low tones by the fire late at night.

Apparently this area should have more game, more fruiting trees and nuts, more vegetation available.

It’s why the Traders don’t pack as much dry food when they travel; their lands provide for them, and they’ve become used to the luxury of abundant woods.

I think he feels personally responsible for our growling stomachs, though it’s not as bad as he’s making it seem.

We still have enough, even if it’s only just. It’s scant, but we go to bed at night without hunger gnawing in our bellies.

“I’m happy to help,” I offer quietly, trying to smooth their bristling backs, but it’s only wood on the flame.

“See?” Kaden snaps; Tahrik ignores him, turning to me, forcing a placating smile.

“I know you are, Wrenling. You just shouldn’t have to.”

“It’s not about having to or not having to, Rik. I’m part of this. So?—”

“You’re the Bone Keeper,” he bites out quietly, interrupting me, then glances over his shoulder at Kaden, who has fallen silent and is focusing on the pot of simmering stew in front of him. “You’re not supposed to be doing menial tasks.”

“Not here, Tahrik,” I reply, unable to keep a little frustration from my voice. “Here I am just a girl. Just Wren. And here I can use my hands for things other than Guiding. I want to use my hands for things other than Guiding.”

I can tell how unhappy he is with my answer, and get to my feet in a sudden, swift motion. I’m sick of this argument. As he’s gotten stronger, he has been more protective of me, more concerned. And I appreciate it — of course I appreciate it. But it doesn’t give me space to breathe sometimes.

“I’m going to take a minute,” I call, voice louder than I intend it, but all three men just nod and turn to their own tasks.

At this point they’re used to me stepping away into the heavy woods, as long as I stay within shouting distance.

Tahrik passes me a flask in silent apology, fingers lingering on my own as I take it; I squeeze his hand gently in quiet forgiveness.

We’re all tired edges fraying, each for our own reasons, and it does no good to hold onto these bursts of passing emotion.

Kaden is bent under the weight of responsibility, keeping us three wobbly foals safe.

He’s used to the long hikes, the nights spent sleeping on hard ground, the vastness of this trip, but Tahrik and myself aren’t, and spend most of our time stumbling after him, muscles used to the rigors of our village, not the demands of long travel.

Even Rannoch, who has ventured out with the Hunters, is sore and weary in the mornings.

It’s a relentless pattern — we wake, we walk, we sleep.

And between it all, he finds food and water, leads the way and the watch.

All while still smiling, even if it has become more and more strained.

Rannoch is physically drained, the time in the tunnels finally catching up with him.

He needs rest, real rest, but is stronger still than Tahrik, so ignores the growing demands of his body in order to help Kaden.

There’s also a sorrow that clings to him like spiderwebs.

I asked him about it, as gently as I was able one morning when the air was still heavy with chill from the night and mist was thick around the camp hiding even those closest to me from view.

I’d woken early and thought to stoke the fire, but he was already there, staring numbly into the embers.

He sighed, and shrugged, then replied softly, “The choices we make can be the right ones, Keeper, but still hard to bear the weight of.” He said nothing else, and I didn’t feel it was my place to press him.

Tahrik — well. Tahrik is trying. Desperately.

But the newness of the land, the travel, even the air here is hard for him.

He’s constantly shooting anxious glances at the sky as we walk, quick, darting looks laced with fear.

It’s eased slightly as we’ve gotten closer to the mountains, but during the time we were surrounded by nothing but the long, open stretches of wetland, seemingly endless from our feet to the horizon…

he’d struggled. Even now I can hear his rapid breathing at night as he desperately tries to fall asleep, quick, panicked pants he attempts to swallow the sounds of in the quiet of the camp.

The field of stars that covers us in a vast expanse of darkness that’s so fascinating and alluring to me is, to Tahrik, a su ffocating blanket pressing down on him.

He doesn’t complain, smiles sweetly at me, fills my days with song, makes me laugh with gentle teasing…

but his eyes are always wide, his breath always shallow. And I worry for him.

The woods are cool and heavy here — lovely, strange trees that hang down in sweeping curtains of leaves next to ones like our pines, but thicker, their needles carpeting the floor of the forest beneath my feet.

Deeper and deeper I walk, until the rustling din of the camp is lost behind me in the swishing, whispering branches.

It’s so curious, the way this place is empty and full of noise all at once; without the bones, there is room for so much sound.

I see, Lorcan murmurs wryly from my back, drawing a smile to my face immediately. Clearly I talk too much, deafening you with my chatter.

“Clearly,” I reply quietly, but out loud. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, when it is just the two of us, I can hear him as though he were across from me, can almost picture him sitting in front of me, just a featureless shadow and shape, but still a man instead of bone.

I feel fine today, Little Keeper. No need for anointing.

“It’s useless, Protector. You know it’s useless.”

We’ve had this back and forth so many times since we left the village that it’s a play, and we know our parts by heart. He protests, I don’t accept it, I anoint him, and we move on.

You’re incredibly frustrating, do you know that, Wren?

His response is an unexpected divergence from our script, startling a laugh from me, an embarrassing snort of amusement, and I clap a hand over my mouth to try and swallow the sound.

Don’t do that . His voice is oddly strained. Don’t. You…you have a nice laugh.

My cheeks warm; I can’t help but grin at the words.

“Careful, Lorcan. I’ll begin to think you like me.

You’re supposed to say something like, ‘you’re being incautious, Little Keeper.

A rabid wolf might attack if it hears you’.

..” I deepen my tone when mimicking him, and he laughs, sending a shiver down the skin of my back.

THAT’S what I sound like to you?

“Something close. Something like, oh, mumble mumble don’t anoint me, mumble mumble stop being foolish, mumble mumble make good choices .” I love Lorcan when he’s in this mood.

You’re ridiculous, he replies, tone affronted, and I laugh again. He pauses, then says reluctantly, You are being incautious though.

“Oh, Lorcan,” I groan, eyes still closed. “Really? Not today, please.” He doesn’t answer, and I sigh, mirth fading. “We’re not seriously having this discussion again.”

I’d do anything not to ruin this peace for you, Little Keeper. You get such a scarce amount these days. But we need to talk about this.

“We don’t. ” And now I’m firm, almost angry, opening my eyes, the little dream of him and me sitting together dissolving in the speckled light of the small clearing.

We do, Wren. We do. Or the time will come and go, and we’ll miss it altogether.

He’s right, I know he’s right, but we’re not there yet. Not yet.

Since the day we were swallowed by the Earth, things have been…

strange…with him. When I woke in the tunnels with Rannoch and Tahrik, Lorcan was coated in my blood, bright and crackling with chaotic energy.

He was a shout of sound, dragging me from my stupor, and I’d come to consciousness in a rush, cradled in Rannoch’s arms as he moved as quickly as he could through a pressing darkness.

One of Rannoch’s hands was wrapped over my own, keeping my crimson fingers clasped tightly, purposefully, over the tangle of Lorcan’s bones.

I can tell Lorcan is thinking of the same thing, and our overlapping memories briefly engulf me.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Tahrik is hidden somewhere in the swallowing night, tense and worried. But it’s the fear in Rannoch’s answer that clenches my lungs.

“Just forward, Miller. I don’t know what else to do!” He sounds helpless. “The walls are collapsing behind us. It does no good to stop!”

Stumbling through damp, black hallways made of stone, Rannoch does his best to keep me from scraping the walls, but they curve around us so closely they’re like a second skin.

Everything is nebulous; I drift in and out of consciousness, Lorcan pulling me one way, a numb stupor drawing me the other .

“I’ll take her,” Tahrik offers at some point from behind Rannoch, and I feel him tense before reluctantly turning to pass me over.

“Keep her hand on her necklace,” he cautions darkly, and though I can hear Tahrik mutter something in reply, when he holds me, he leaves my hand laying loosely on Lorcan’s bones.

“I mean it, Miller,” Rannoch snaps. “Or I’ll take her and abandon you to yourself in these Godforsaken tunnels.” Tahrik’s fingers flex around mine, and Rannoch turns away. “This way,” he says, and I fade away again.

When I finally woke, Lorcan was…needing.

Since the first of the Harvest, an anointing that used to last a month became barely enough for a week, and then five days.

Now…it has only been two since I last painted him, and even still I can feel him dimming.

Not enough to call for a full anointing, but too much for the little time that has passed.

This can’t go on forever, Wren. He’s reluctant, but more worrying, he’s trying to be comforting, to be gentle with me.

“Unfortunately for you, Protector, you have no say in the matter.” Grim determination darkens every word, and I know he hears it.

Little Keeper, He’s frustrated now, almost angry. I know he feels helpless. I know how it feels to have your will ignored, to be forced into a cage not of your own making, but I can’t lose him.

My voice is thick with tears when I answer, snapping at him, trying to command him, but there’s too much desperation in my words to take them for anything other than a plea.

“ No, Lorcan. I’ve told you before. And if you keep fighting me, I’ll slice a line down my spine and sew you into my skin against my own bones. ”

There is silence, and more silence.

Alright, Wren, he sighs finally, but I’m not foolish enough to think I’ve won anything. Alright. We’ll go a little while longer. But you cannot bleed for me daily. I don’t think either of us would survive it.

And it might be true, what he’s saying, but it’s not a thought for this moment. Not yet .

“Will you tell me a story?” I ask, feeling drained and hollow where only moments before I was full of laughter. His answer is hesitant, and carves out deeper holes in my chest.

I’m sorry, Little Keeper. I think…I think it best if I preserve my energy .

“Then I’ll tell you one,” I whisper. He smiles on my skin.

That would be a nice change, you demanding creature, he teases, almost tenderly, and I try to ignore the fear that is pulsing so strongly in my veins that it’s changing the rhythm of my heart.

“Once there was a girl who had a pet bear, and the bear was old, and grouchy, and overbearing…oh, did I mention old …”

Lorcan’s huff of laughter pulls a shadow of a smile from my trembling lips. Closing my eyes again, I settle back more deeply against the tree.

“The bear was nothing but trouble…”

Not yet. Not yet.