Page 3 of The Bone Doll
Viktor watched the two of them, his expression almost oblivious. Syra knew he could understand Sarnok. But did he know what they were talking about?
“I buried the thing,” said Syra.
Munku sighed and then spoke slowly as though to a petulant child. “Then, dig it up and help him. That is not so hard. He knows we have it, and he has offered to pay us.”
Syra’s throat constricted. The clan could use the money after the winter they had endured. But she couldn’t fathom usingit. “I dig up that thing and risk everyone within a hundred feet of me. You remember last winter before I buried it. How it gave us nightmares and lured Yeyka out into the wilderness and sent half of our herd running to their deaths.”
“Exactly,” Munku said. “We have half the herd we used to. Viktor has offered us 1,000 silver coins in exchange for the Bone Doll. With that money, we can purchase reindeer from the other clans and rebuild.”
Syra turned to Viktor for the first time. “It whispers and drives you mad. You can’t carry it.”
“Youcan,” the Pathfinder said. “It has never affected you. Your grandfather thought it was because you shared his magic.”
That lump of ice in Syra’s stomach grew even larger, and she pressed her hand against her abdomen. Syra’s grandfather had been one of the most powerful shamans in Sarnok history, capable of unfathomable feats. Before Syra had been born, before her father had been born, her grandfather had traversed the sky to where the stars lived. There, he had found the bones of a sky spirit and, from it, he fashioned a little doll. The doll looked like nothing more than a carved sculpture of a genderless Sarnok in their reindeer-skin clothes, but this little doll held untold magic. Her grandfather could do almost anything by using its power.
Now, it was scourge, a curse.
Except to Syra.
“You will carry the Bone Doll for him,” Munku said. “The Ruthenians will never touch it.”
Syra felt exposed. Munku was supposed to be her ally, but she was willing to feed Syra to a wolf with orange fur for enough silver.
“The Bone Doll will remain safely in your possession,” agreed Viktor. “I have no desire to take it from you. I’m only here to facilitate a mutually beneficial exchange between the Lame Wolf clan and the Lord of Zoldrovya.”
Syra clenched her fists until they ached. “What about me? I do not want to go.”
“You are the only one who can,” the Pathfinder said.
“I do not care about the Ruthenians and their woodland spirit.”
“I can offer an advance,” Viktor said. “250grivna. In good faith.”
“Your offer is generous, Viktor Igorevich,” Munku said before turning back to Syra. “Your clan needs this. If you will not do it for us, then do it for yourself. Your grandfather used the Bone Doll to augment his powers. Perhaps learning to use it will make you stronger.”
Syra took a deep breath, doubting the Pathfinder’s logic.
“I’ve decided,” Munku declared, setting her jaw in a way that brooked no argument. “You’re taking the Bone Doll to this Lord of Zoldrovya. Bind the spirit back to the forest, and bring back the silver we need to rebuild our herd.” She turned to Viktor. “We will gladly accept your advance.”
Syra opened her mouth to object but no sound emerged. All she could do was stiffly crawl out of Munku’smyabefore she found her voice and said something she would regret.
Chapter 3
A Long Three Weeks
If Viktor thought Ruthenia was cold in early springtime, it was nothing compared to the eastern tundra. Here, the cold threatened to gnaw off your skin and freeze your bones. Repressing a shiver, he set his pack on the ground. He pulled out sacks of preserved food, opening them to show to the Sarnoks. Dried apple slices, cranberries, a round of hard cheese, and walnuts. It wasn’t much – only as much as he could carry – but after a cold winter, the Lame Wolf clan eagerly accepted the gift. Viktor needed one of their religious artifacts, their Bone Doll, and so he wanted to garner good will.
Alas, the person he needed the most good will from was unimpressed.
“You know, I’m actually quite a pleasant travel companion,” he assured the Sarnok woman, Syra, who was packing her bag. Viktor didn’t actually know that. He usually traveled alone. But he couldn’t imagine he was nearly as aggravating as she was making him out to be. “I am well-versed in a multitude of conversation topics. And as you can tell, I speak Sarnok proficiently.”
She didn’t even look at him as she secured her bedroll to the bottom of her pack.
Viktor repressed a sigh. She clearly didn’t want to accompany him. It was evident in the way she silently but aggressively slung her pack over her shoulders.
He donned his pack, which was considerably lighter now that he had given away most of the food he had brought, and started out of the Lame Wolf clan’s camp.
Snow patches melted and then refroze beneath the harsh tundra sun; and a fine fuzz of brown grass tried to claw its way out of the snow and ice. A murder of crows cawed as they flew overhead, forming a broken V in the pale gray sky. The Sarnok woman followed after him, trudging with the speed of a reanimated corpse. She just didn’t look at him, nor did she speak. They traveled like that for hours while Viktor told himself it didn’t matter how quiet she was, so long as she carried the Bone Doll for him.
