Page 18 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

Her eyes widen in surprise, and I hide a grin. She is, when not completely and totally frightening with her power, almost…adorable. She is pocket sized in her own way, and I have a sudden image of scooping her up and putting her next to my heart, where I can protect her from the surrounding world. Most of our people are small — years of hard living have not lent us spare energy to grow — men here barely reach 5’10, and only a few seeming giants, myself amongst them, top 6’. The women are smaller still, usually between 5’3 and 5’8, for the tallest. I would say the BoneKeeper is somewhere in the middle of that, though it is difficult to tell. She folds in upon herself so much, unless she is speaking for the bone, she seems wraithlike. There is never enough to eat here, and these past few years even less than normal. For a village with little reserve, we are perilously close to empty, and you can see it in the lines of her wrists, thin beneath the bone cuffs she never removes. Her collarbone stands out in sharp relief beneath her skin and bone collar, and the hollows in her cheeks are shadows even in the shadows.

I frown, looking her over more carefully now. There are bruises on her bare upper arms, dark, purpley prints that look like… “Did someonegrabyou here?” The words burst out of me, Everfire singeing them, and I reach out in a sudden, sharp movement to touch her arm. She jerks back into the bone wall, and locks eyes with me, unblinking, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow pants.

Visibly forcing herself to calm, she shakes down the edge of her tunic to cover her arm, and backs away from me slowly. “It is nothing, Councilor.”

She doesn't trust me. Why should she? I wouldn’t if I were her; I don’t trustmyselfmost days. “Who is this one?” I ask randomly, trying to change the tone of what is happening here. Nothing is going as planned.

“Which?”

“This one.” I point to a seemingly innocuous bone in a jumble of other bones, and she nods, reaching out as commanded to touch the dull white surface. The curve of her lips in reply could make an empire crumble.

“This one? Are you sure?” she asks me, amusement bubbling in her words, and I have never wanted anything as badly in my life as I doright now, in this moment, just to keep the happiness dancing on her face.

“Yes, yes. This one.” Even to me, the words sound short and domineering, as though she is a peasant to be commanded, but I think, perhaps, she is learning my ways. Or at least giving me some grace, because she shoots me a mischievous smile as I have never seen on her face, as though we are about to share a secret of sorts.

“This one is Hattie.”

I shrug. The name means nothing to me. “And?”Rannoch, Rannoch. You are trying to form a friendship here, not make her hate you.

“HellfireHattie, she says. I am sorry.” It is always a curious thing, speaking to her when she speaks for the bones. It is like hearing two voices at once, echoing each other, but with different words. And it is difficult sometimes, because she will speak for the bones and to the bones all at once, creating a tangled web of conversation where only she can hear all sides. “Would you like me to interpret, or do you want to hear her speak?” The question is loaded…it is a test of some sort, and I don’t know how to pass it. Taking a moment, I think. There are two ways our BoneKeeper can speak for the bones. The first is when she simply passes along their words and messages as a third party; at times it can be too distressing for the families left behind to hear their family member’s tones and inflections from another’s mouth. It can feel like a pantomime, I suppose, or a mockery, though none is ever intended. In most situations, this is how the Keeper does Visitations, just sharing their missives and memories. This is the way, until Ceridwen, every Keeper in history spoke for the bones.

The second way I have not seen but once; I do not know if it is more difficult for her, or harder on her. She is the first Keeper I have heard of who can, for lack of a better term, let the bones stepthroughher. And she is the first Keeper who has such scheduled time, who is more commanded by the Council than the bones. They — well, we — twist her time in ways no other Keeper has been forced to adhere to. Prior to her, even her father was allowed quiet time, a community, a family, a home. He lost it, but before…I don’t know what, if anything, living with the bones and no one else day after day does to her. Narrowing my eyes in thought, I make a mental note to do some research. In any case, when doing the second type of reading, her tone will change, a stillness settling on her face, and her words will be directly from the bones. It is not a possession, not exactly — it is just as though she makes room in herself for the bones to speak. They cannot force her to do anything, cannot compel her to let them speak through her. But, if she lets them, they can push through a small part of her, and speak through her for themselves.

“Which…which would she prefer?”

I am rewarded by a blinding smile. She taps the bone lightly, and shakes her head in rueful amusement. “Of course you want to. Alright, Hattie. Alright. Prepare yourself,” she directs to me with a gleeful sort of warning. I could drink her in for eons, this secret, unseen version of her. Taking a deep breath, she quiets, her face going blank, and, “Ooooo…” Her voice is still low, but teasing now, scratchy, and with a low villager accent. “You’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you….My goodness. They don’t make ‘em like you anymore, do they? Yum yum.”

I shift. This is…unexpected. “Ms….Ms. Hattie?” I ask solicitously. I have never had the bones speak directly to me before.

“You can call me Hellfire. OOooo,” she coos again, lust thick in her voice. “I’dmakeyou call me Hellfire if I were still around. I guarantee that. I’d doyoua favor or two for free. Don’t you just want to lick him?” she asks, and I see the BoneKeeper flash into herself for a moment.

“Stop it,” the Keeper chides, mirth lacing her words. “You’re incorrigible. I won’t let you through if you keep it up.” And then, like a candle blown out, she disappears again, only to be replaced by the wanton, wanting look of who I assume is Hattie.

“Would you like to hear a story? I don’t charge for the stories. Only what comes after…” Her words are almost a purr, and it creates a churning chaos in my stomach. I suddenly and desperatelywantto make Ceridwen purr, have her curled up against me, to hear her like this in my arms, in my bed, but…this is not my Keeper. It is her face, and her voice, and for a moment it goes straight through me, an arrow to my core, and then it all just…stops. I stop. Because I can tell the difference. And if it isn’t Ceridwen, I don’t want her.Oh Forgotten Goddess. If it isn’t her, I don’t want anyone.The thought is too much — I cannot look at it right now.

“WhenIlived in the village, things were different.” A saucy sort of grin flashes like lightning across the Keeper’s face. “Men would call my name as I walked by, would watch my swaying skirt with hungry eyes. I can see the hunger in yours right now, but I know the difference. We still had time for leisure then…the fields still grew enough to round out bellies, even if we weren’t fat, we were full. And full bellies lead men to fillotherthings..” She cackles and winks at me. “I had a line out my door unless I closed it, and Ineverclosed my door to a wanting stranger. I wouldn’t close my door on you, and we’re practically friends now, aren’t we? But I can tell you aren’t the sort who would cross my threshold, even if I could make you cry with pleasure. You have too many tears in you already for poor old Hattie to take from you.” Shifting uncomfortably, I look away from Ceridwen’s face for a moment, and Hattie cackles again, a smoke filled sound, rough and coughing. “We still had nighttime, and there were a few of usladieswho ruled it. But I was the ruler of rulers. The first amongst equals.” I freeze. They still had nighttime? How old is this bone? How old is this story? She continues. “Oh, you think it was a long time ago, I can tell. ‘Hattie, are you ancient? These bones could still make you dance if I were alive.” The Keeper rolls her eyes, the expression so clearlyherand not Hattie that I grin. “How long do you think the night’s been a danger, boy?”

“Three generations? Maybe longer?”

Hattie hoots with laughter. “Maybe longer?Maybelonger? Know your history. Gods above and below, you’ve barely grown into your first beard. What are they even teaching you in school these days?” She hoots again, an odd, almost honking sound, and an embarrassed flush reddens Ceridwen’s face.

“They’re teachingmenothing,” I reply, laughter edging my voice despite my best efforts. “I’m a Council Member. Out of my milk teeth, despite what you seem to think.”

For some reason, all amusement falls from Hattie’s voice, likestone from the mountain, the practiced teasing disappearing. “You’rea Council Member? Surely not.” I can almost see the silent communication between the Keeper and Hattie, and then, “We’re done here. Learn your history, Councilman.” Hattie’s voice is cold now, and then, with a shiver, the Keeper comes back to herself.

She frowns, touching the bone, then shakes her head and whispers, “Yes, of course. When I’m able.” Turning back to me, frown still light on her face, she shrugs. “That didn’t go quite as expected.”

“How did you expect it to go?” I ask, confused by the rapid change in her.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Not like that. I’ve never heard Hattie be so serious.”

“I’venever heard someone be so…ah…lascivious.” I clear my throat, and look anywhere but at her face. Still, her answering laugh draws my gaze, despite my best judgment.

“Come now, Councilor. We both know that’s not true. I’ve heard from the bones of the way women cut their eyes at you when you walk through the village.”

She’s grinning, relaxed like I’ve never seen her, and I say without thinking, “This is a version of the BoneKeeper that I am unfamiliar with…”

I don’t mean anything by the words, but she hears some sort of warning in them, folding in upon herself, schooling her face to an emptiness that leaves no trace of her in its curves and lines. “My apologies, Councilman. Sometimes when I let someone speak through me, their nature remains for a heartbeat or two. I am returned to myself.”

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