Page 44 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

“She’s too close to the mountain’s heart, perhaps? It’s almost dawn. Do we risk moving her now?”

At his words, the ground vibrates, and I sense, more than hear, a sound I’ve never heard before. It’s almost a child crying for help, and I take a step immediately toward the open door.

Help me, please, help me…It’s words and not words, some wail of pain pressing against my skull.

“Rannoch!” He’s sharp enough that I stop, and he shakes his head. “We’ll move her now. Right now. It’s close enough to light that the blood moths should be returning, but even if they’re not, we’ll have to chance it. The tunnels shouldn’t be singing. We’re risking too much.”

Shaking my head roughly, the sound fades, and I frown. “Did you hear that?” I ask, and he nods grimly.

“Yes. And it is heralding nothing good. Something is happening, Rann. And if we don’t figure it out…” His voice drifts off as he bends over the Keeper and picks her up. “Let’s go.”

Extinguishing the lights in the small room, I lead the way, acting ashis eyes and ears as he walks silently after me. From far down the tunnel, beyond the second wall Silas and I made when we discovered this opening, a little voice sings and cries, calling and pleading, alluring and promising,

It is surprisingly hard to walk away.

A LITTLE PROTECTOR

WREN

Wren. Wake. Please, Wren. Please.

His voice is exhausted, barely a whisper of sound, as though he has been calling my name for hours, or days, and I wake groggily to reassure him.

“Protector. I am well.” My response is scratchy and raw.

Little Keeper.The rush of relief I feel from the bones down my back is almost tangible.

“What’s wrong, Lorcan?” I can’t make my brain work, little embers sparking and fading, and I rub my eyes tiredly. “I’m exhausted. I forgot what it felt like to be this sick. It’s been ages.” Clearing my throat, I try to stand, but wobble precariously and fall back onto my bed. “Hunter? No smart comments today? Have I finally elicited some sympathy from you, old man?”

Silence.

Silence that presses in on my lungs like stone, and the sorrow from Lorcan is so profound and deep it is almost a color.

Ah, Wren.His sympathy is my undoing, and memory rushes in on a painful inhale. I know, I already know, but I can’t help fumbling in my hair to feel for the bones there, braided so intricately that they would have to be cutout if I needed them removed.

Hunter. Hunter.I chant his name, or the name I called him, over and over, but it is too late by half. He has been gone since the moment I walked through the northern bone arch, pulled to silence by the Silent.

“How?” I moan, but there is no answer, because…because thereisno answer. I didn’t even see his soul loosed, didn’t hear his heartsong. He was gone between breaths. We are traveling unwalked roads, our feet on paths that have not been tread, and there are no signposts to guide us in these strange new times. A little locked chest deep in my heart opens, and the memory of the Hunter slips into it to join all those I keep there — my mother, my father, my family — then the chest closes again, trapping the sadness inside with their faces.

“Lorcan?” I can barely say the word; he feels as though he is slipping from bone like water into hard earth, but he replies, though quietly.

Here. Still here. But…I am tired, Little Keeper. As tired as though we missed a month of anointing.

He’s not asking, but he would never have to ask in any case, and I grab my Guiding Knife from where it is tucked against me. My hand flames into sharp pain, and I cry out unintentionally. Looking at it more carefully through waking eyes, I unwrap the careful linen binding that someone put around it, and study the pink skin of my palm, glaringly colorful against the white of my unharmed flesh. No stitching, no balm — it is healing far too quickly, and I swallow back worry. There is not enough space in this moment for future moments; I have enough room for this breath and this action and no more.

“Right. First things first.” Forcing life into my voice, if not cheer, I pull off my shift, and glance down at the lines on my leg. The last carving is still sensitive, and I waver. Everything hurts right now. Everything.

I am well enough. Rest first.

Rolling my eyes, I ignore him, still playing with the blade in my hand, trying to get up the courage to cut, and startle like a bird when it whispers to me.

At the heart.

“What?” I know I sound scared, but a voice? From theGuiding Knife? It petrifies me.

In the crown and at the heartit replies, then falls silent.

Keeper?Lorcan is concerned, but drifting, and I frown.

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