Page 28 of The Bone Doll
When theleshyshook his head, it sounded like a tree creaking in the wind. “It is a spirit of the sky, to bone long ago tied.”
In her hand, the Bone Doll twitched and glowed brightly along its carvings as though agreeing to the forest spirit’s assessment. Syra scowled. She had been carrying around aliving spiritthis entire time?
“It tries to force your hand,” he said. “It attacks those that do not have the power to fight it.”
The curse. The nightmares, the whispers, the dead reindeers and the almost-missing children. The Bone Doll wasthreateningthem. And Lord Igor wanted to do to thisleshywhat her grandfather had done to the sky spirit. What would theleshydo if imprisoned by a human?
“The lord” – she gestured to the manor behind her – “wants to control you. He wants me to bind you to something, like the Bone Doll.”
“You cannot do it,” theleshysaid.
“No.” But maybe dispelling it was enough. “But my clan needs the silver. And you have ruined the house here.”
Theleshy’s eyes burned and crackled green. And then there was nothing there – just empty eye sockets, a vine crawling out of one and trailing down his cheek like a tear. “Be careful what you try, human. I am as ancient as the forest. I have been here since the first seed fell to the dirt, and I will be here until this forest is nothing but ash. I will not be forced.”
She held the Bone Doll close. Spirits weren’t meant to be leashed by humans. And this one – the one helping her – had been trapped for years. She stared back at theleshy’s increasingly tree-like face and opened her mouth to chant.
Then, a vine curled around her throat, lifting her off the ground. She choked, her eyes bulging. She tried to tell theleshyshewasn’tgoing to ensnare it, but she couldn’t speak. Black clouds burst in her vision.
“You are flesh, and you are bone,” he intoned. “You will die. But I am the trees and the vines. I am the forest, and it is eternal.”
As her vision flickered and darkened, she saw the night sky again – and the tundra below. Her brother and sister hauled something wrapped in reindeer hide out of theirmyaand set it on a sled that Syra did not recognize. They put bone beads and a fine bone comb atop the reindeer hide before bowing their heads and stepping back. An old man with webbing tattoos across his hands stepped forward, chanting and lighting a torch. Asambana. A death shaman. Syra began to cry. It was her mother in the reindeer hide. Dead.
Her consciousness blurred in and out, her throat bruising. She wanted to go home. She didn’t want to be hundreds of miles south and west into Ruthenia’s forests. She didn’t want to be a fool, lured here by a pretty mouth and soft lips. She should have fought Munku’s order. She wanted to be able to trust Viktor. Her fingers loosened. The Bone Doll fell. As the darkness gripped her, she heard it land softly amongst the dead leaves.
And then, a bright blue light exploded.
Chapter 19
Baba Les
Viktor stumbled outside. What had he done? Overhead, murky clouds threatened rain, and the trees stirred with a light breeze. He turned in a circle but found no direction to go. He couldn’t stay here. Syra was here, and she never wanted to see him again. She had asked him, on the road, whether he wanted to see Khirzan. Maybe now was the time. At least it was a long walkawayfrom her, so he could make her happy and at least do one useful thing with his life. And maybe he would grow so tired while walking that he eventually forgot about her.
Right now, he doubted it was possible. It felt like he would always want her.
Viktor punched the nearest tree. His knuckles split open. He truly ruineverythinghe touched. Just like the Bone Doll said.
Hissing through the pain, he shook out his hand. He wasn’t thinking straight. He staggered through the trees and brush, trying to put some distance between himself and the manor. The forest pressed in around him. A pair of birds screeched at each other, but otherwise he was alone. He winced at the sight of his broken knuckles. Just another thing he ruined. He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve.
As he leaned against a tree, his breathing ragged, he heard a wooden creaking noise. Not trees, but like a makeshiftdoor rattling in the wind. He frowned. He had thought theleshyhad destroyed the servants’ quarters years ago.
Against his better judgment, he walked towards the sound.
Amidst the trees, a ramshackle hut perched on stilts and was surrounded by a fence made of branches. Chickens pecked in the yard, oblivious to Viktor’s arrival; and a thin curl of smoke came from the chimney, smelling of pine and horseradish. Viktor hesitated. He didn’t remember this place at all.
The door opened and an elderly woman stuck her head out as though she was expecting a visitor. She wore a patterned scarf on her head, wisps of iron gray hair poking from beneath it, and had two shining green eyes. She gestured to him. “Come, traveler, I have beetshchion the fire.”
Though his mind told him to be wary of strangers in the forest, his legs had other thoughts. Viktor stepped beyond the gate.
Her house was one room, with the fire on the northern side and a cot with a patchwork quilt on the southern side. And it was filled to the brim with all manner of things: vegetables like beets, cabbage, onion, sorrel; clay jars of every shape and size, some labeled and others not; a stack of blankets and a pile of rags; a spindle and a row of sewing needles strung on a thread; a collection of broken and unbroken stools; an array of spoons, ladles, and knives; the bones of squirrels and birds; and much more that Viktor couldn’t catalog.
For the strangeness of her house, the old woman gave him a very ordinary bowl ofshchi– beet soup flavored with horseradish and dill.
“I don’t remember your house being here,” Viktor said slowly.
She picked up a needle and began stitching two rags together. “Does the lord’s son know every person on his father’s land?”
Viktor licked his lips. “You’re only two dozen feet from the manor house.”
