Page 27 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

They’re dancing in excitement, rocking back and forth on small, dirt stained feet, the noise of their happiness like birds and waterfalls. From the back of the crowd, a familiar man’s laughing voice calls over the cacophony, “Can’t we play as well?” My heart skips and stutters in my chest, almost violently grateful for his support. The other adults in the crowd take up his plea, clapping their hands and shouting out lighthearted encouragement. And what harm could there be in sowing joy instead of harvesting it? Smiling, I raise my voice so everyone can hear me. “Of course! First the children, and then the adults. Two separate hunts, hmmm?”

“What do we win?” A different voice, more hesitant, but still dancing.

“The same?” I ask, and surprised murmurs flash like lightning from person to person. I haven’treallythought it through — two measures of my water in the same week will leave me very low on rations, but…I swallow my panic. I’ve made it longer on less, and what I am doing is more important than my comfort.

Still, when Councilman Rannoch steps beside me and says, “Not exactly the same. We cannot ask the Keeper to give up two full measures of water. I will give one of mine in her place, if it please her,” it…is an unexpected kindness, and I turn to him, face softening, without thinking.

“Thank you, Councilor,” I say, true gratitude in my voice, and his jaw clenches at my words. He doesn’t look at all happy, more pained, at both my appreciation and my smile, which fades from my face under the weight of his glare.I forgot, I forgot. The Council is no friend of mine. It is a pantomime.He is confusing me with his recent actions, and it is discomforting, making me stupid and incautious. I’m unsure what to do with this version of a Councilman, one who asks what the bones would like to say, rather than demands, one who offers his water in place of mine. I don’t feel…I don’t feelsafesuddenly, as though I’m being pulled by my skin into flesh emotion, away from bone.

Lorcan?I ask desperately, the overwhelming need to center myself almost suffocating in its intensity. His answering whisper against my skin is a balm, calming me.

So the force of surprise when the Father steps forward to stand beside Rannoch and myself almost knocks me from my feet. “It has been too long since we have had a day of games,” he calls, voice warm and deep, a sound that would lure you from your bed into the cold of the night. “Even during the Dancing Month this year we did not take enough time for happiness. If it is games the bones want, then games they shall have. Work is done for the day. The harvest can wait.” Motioning to several people, he directs, “Call the musicians. Tonight we’ll have dancing and music in the square. All water will come from the Council Well….” A dark and angry muttering snakes from the pained, smiling faces of the Eleven standing behind Rannoch and the Father. “We don’t have enough for a full feast, but a barley soup, and bread, if there is enough?” The few bakers in the crowd nod, and the Father turns to me. “When you are ready, Keeper? It is your game to direct.”

And it is. More than he knows. His words strengthen me, sloughing off any uncertainty. This is my village, these are my people, these are my bones. And the storm of the Council can roar with fury all it wants. I am carved from the mountain, and born from the Everfire. And if death is dancing in Nickolas’s eyes, he is wrong to think it scares me. Death is my only constant, more a lover than a weapon. Nickolas would do well to remember that.

Turning back to the children, I raise my voice. “Three, two, one…Now!”

They race away, laughter brightening the dull streets, echoing off the shops lining the main road, their little hands tracing the bones on the walls, which warm under their fingers, little paths leading them to the prizes. It will take an hour, maybe more, for them to find all ten, and then again for the adults to do the same. Smiling at the antics of the young — they’re pushing each other in play to touch every bone they can find - I’m distracted enough that I startle almost comically at the gentle touch of rough fingers on my hand.

Jerking around, I meet Councilman Rannoch’s pale blue eyes. He is always a surprise to me — those eyes are the eyes of a Trader, not of a villager, and I am reminded that he was born from a Trade a few years before they ceased. The rest of him is village through and through. I take a moment to study him, my face carefully blank, as I wait for him to speak. In so many ways he could be made from the rock of this place, though his harvest gold skin is pale compared to most villagers. His Upper Kingdom ancestry lies in the hollowness of his cheeks, his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. Though his thick, dark hair is longer than most — not tight and shorn as others on the Council — falling over his forehead in disarray, it is the color of our people’s, a rich, loamy brown. His lips are too full to be one of us completely though — they are soft enough to be incongruous with the rest ofhim, a promise of softness that is not echoed anywhere else on his tightly muscled body. And he is tall, taller than any other but the Father, though lean — in our village there is no spare flesh on anyone’s body. Rannoch is all sharp edges and sword blades.

Until his lips turn, just slightly, into a smile.

And I am undone.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but I am close enough to him to see him responding to my response. Though I schooled my face, something slipped through the cracks when his lips tilted up at the corners, and his entire body shifts towards me. We are caught in a strange moment, an unexpected symmetry, and I can’t help but be thankful when the Father’s deep voice thunders from the stage, calling the Council to heel. Rannoch’s smile fades from his face as the weight of responsibility settles heavy on his shoulders. He looks like himself again, the tiny flicker of secret self locked back inside. It is a stark contrast to the villagers who are wandering the square, watching the children racing around, screams of laughter filling the air, and the sound draws his attention.

“Joy should not be parceled out as carefully as water here.” I can’t help but feel sympathy for him, the frustration in his voice masking something deeper, more tender, from a time where we did not have to be hard to survive.

“Councilman?” I’m not sure what else to say. He is…he is strange today. Different from the others who hover in their stone black robes, faces tight, looking over the excited crowd in obvious distaste.

“Do you…can I come find you when I am free? It is not a demand,” he rushes to say before I can speak. “It is a request. That you do not have to meet.”

I’m unsure of how to answer. The Council doesn’t usually makerequests.

“Not as a Councilor,” he says softly, carefully. “I have something I would like to discuss with you. As…as Rannoch. Not–” He waves his hand vaguely at the stage to indicate the men behind him.

“I am always at the Council’s bidding,” I reply cautiously, and he sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face tiredly.

“I want to become something better than I am, Keeper.” He is quiet, determined. “At least, I’d like to try. If you’ll let me.” He glances down at me and shakes his head, then sighs when the Father calls again. “To duty, BoneKeeper. For both of us I think. I hope yours fares better than mine.” The rueful note of a shared secret spices his tone, and it surprises me as much as his earlier smile. He turns from me, then pauses and looks back. “Thank you for your time.”

“BoneKeeper!” A child’s animated voice calls to me, and the Councilman inclines his head before turning away. I watch him walk to the stage, feeling uneasy in my skin.

BoneKeeper?Lorcan is concerned, and I shake my head.

I am well, Protector.

It is a hollow assurance, but he is kind enough to let me believe it.

A GODDESS AND A MAN

TAHRIK

Children rush by me, faces bright with residual joy from the hunt, and they push me against the bones as their tiny hands try to touch every exposed surface. Once the main scavenger hunts were complete, the adults in the village decided to prolong the merriment, and hid little treasures throughout the First Ring walls. Even now, hours later, the smallest are still looking for any leftover bounty. I laugh with them, ruffling hair and calling out to the group as they race on, “Carefully! Carefully!” but none turn around. And why would they? A hunt in the village is an almost unheard of treat these days.

“Why did you not join in our hunt?” Davvy, one of my friends from the Third Ring, approaches, holding up his hands as though he wants to box. “Didn’t want to take me on, Miller?”

I grin back, shaking my head. “Not today, Blacksmith. Our family gets enough that I didn’t think it fair for me to try. Others need it more than I do.”

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