Page 125 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

I understand it now. I wish I had then.

I don’t move, just sit dumbly, waiting for him to speak. When he does, it surprises me.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he offers formally. “I can’t be sorry for my actions; I would not suffer a man who harms a woman to live. But your tears tell a story that was more than that moment, and you have my sympathy, for whoever he was. And for whatever drove him to become the man I saw.” He hesitates, then continues as though searching for the words, speaking more softly than I would have thought possible. “I offer no offense, but he had you bound to a horse. Gagged. He…your wrists are bruised and bloody. He had you against a tree. Had I known he would stop, my actions would have been different perhaps. But he…he did not stop before the strike of my sword.”

I nod dully. When the first tile is knocked down, it does not matter if the last wishes to fall. Once the movement is set in motion, they all tumble, whether they want to or not. Though I want to hate the creature in front of me, to lash out at him and drive a knife through his heart, as he did through mine, I know in my bones that it was not his actions which led to Tahrik’s death. Only I am responsible for the loss of his soul — no other. I swallow back tears, inhaling and exhaling on shaky, measured breaths. His death is on my skin, and my lips — I can smell the blood in the air, can taste the metallic red on my tongue.

The creature’s black eyes glitter in the last light of day, and he sighs, as though making a decision. “I’ll start a fire, and we’ll see what to do with you. I’m not in the habit of rescuing fairies, no matter how needy. They bargain in ways that cost more than you know you’re giving.” Shaking his horns, he tips his head back again, but this time to whistle, sharp stutters of sound, then a low chirr, and once more is answered, from much,muchcloser. “Don’t worry. They won’t approach. Not yet, anyhow.”

Turning, he carelessly gives me his back; some forgotten sense of self preservation rises in me, nothing but a small cat, but with claws and teeth none-the-less. I don’t know how his bones will answer me, but I call to them gently as I sip from the skin, just a soft greeting, and jerk back, spilling the water down my front as they burst into song at my touch.

Bone in bodyneversings.Never.I canhearit, a low pulse of sound under the skin, not full notes but still vibrant, even though muffled. It will answer my call if I command it, but until it has been pulled from its flesh with blood-red force, it will notsingto me. My throat closes in panic, and I choke on the water. The sound catches his attention, and he turns from the bright bonfire he has managed to create in a short time. The light casts shadows on his skull face, makes the patterns on his skin dance in the night, twisting and turning like living things along his muscled arms.

“Are you alright, Huldra?” he asks, voice gentle, though the words are sung out oddly — almost, but not quite, musical.

Am I alright?Is there any answer to that question, really? It is no,has always been no, and, with Tahrik cold beside me, will be no forever more I think.Tahrik, Tahrik, his name like a bird.

My eyes are drawn against my will to his empty body, still lying near me, and the creature nods in understanding. “I will cover him tonight, and he will be untouched until the morning, when we can decide what to do with him. If we are able, we will honor him in the ways of your people. If we are not, we will honor him in the ways of ours, as much as we can.”

There is a chirping sound from the edge of the black woods, a curious whistling, and the creature in front of me replies in a similar whistle-chirp. There are answering calls from all around us, by the trees, across the river, and somewhere in the distance, trills and warbles that arealmostcreature,almosthuman.

“Do you have a place to rest?” he asks me. I shake my head mutely. “I have a sleep roll of sorts I can spare.”

Shaking my head again, I clear my throat, and am finally able to reply. “There is a bower for my bed.”A bower your bed and the night sky your home…“It will suffice.”

“I—” he begins, but I hold up my trembling hand.

“It will suffice,” and he nods in reply.

“Not too far from the fire,” he cautions. I shrug in tired response. What is there to fear in the night now? I have had the whole of me stripped away. What do I care for wolves on the wind?

The creature looks at me, bone face cold, but raises a hand as if to comfort me, before changing his mind, and dropping it back to his side. Without further word, he begins quick work of setting up his bedding. I struggle to my feet and stumble towards the river, clumsy in my grief, tripping over stones and roots, but the pressing need to wash off the blood from my hands doesn’t leave any room for caution. The bank is slippery; I lose my footing, sliding down the muddy slope until I’m almost submerged, waist deep in shocking cold water, fighting against the desire to walk forward until I disappear beneath the surface altogether. I stay in the icy water much, much longer than I should, scrubbing my skin with the sand and gravel until it is red and raw, silent sobs suffocating me. I don’t know how long I’m there;my face and hands are numb at least, all feeling washed from them in the endless water before me. Idoknow that I’ve made no noise — I am too practiced in stifling my emotions for that — but eventually there is a clicking sound from across the black river, and almost immediately I sense the creature approaching me from behind, bones humming in the darkness.

“It is enough, I think.” He is trying to be kind, but I cannot have it. His kindness is misplaced.I should have just forced him to bone,I think, regret curling through me.

“I still smell blood,” is my only answer, and he sighs.

“The blood is gone. Come to the fire. You should eat something.”

There is nothing left in me to protest, so I let him lead me to the warmth, which sends painful needles through my waking skin. Fighting the urge to cry out, I stare down at the ground as he moves around, setting a small plate in front of me, wrapping my hands around the edges. It is fully covered in some strange fruits, cheese, and a soft bread, and I trail a finger over the curious rinds and crust.

“It’s not much,” he offers, almost apologetically, but the look on my face stops him.

“It is a feast,” I answer, dividing it in half. I may be dull with grief, but I can’t take the creature’s rations. “Here.”

“Your cheeks are hollow with hunger, Huldra. Take the food and be done with it.”

His words startle a bitter sort of laugh from me, and he tilts his head, a silent question in the movement.

“Hollow with hunger?” I ask, a strange sort of hysteria in my voice. I am coming undone. At home I would sleep for a full day cycle following a Guiding; it makes me too tired for caution. “I am rounder than I have ever been before, I assure you. I cannot take your rations.”

“I have my own,” he replies thoughtfully, showing me his plate. “Eat.”

And I do, though it tastes like dirt in my mouth, until a bite of something sharp and sweet floods my mouth and I choke on the taste and the memory of Rannoch. Quickly I push the food away, gulpingreflexively, then wash my mouth with the rest of the water from the bag.

“I…I am full. Thank you.” There is nothing more I can say, and he asks no more from me, so I walk to the soft, downy cushion of grass and curl up like a child by a fireplace in the Storm months. I wonder for a moment if I’ll ever sleep, but the day has been too much to bear, so when darkness comes, I drift away on it like woodsmoke.

FOREVER AND MORE

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