Page 6 of The Bone Doll
By sunset, a fierce northern wind swept through the trees. Gritting her teeth, Syra wished she was back in hermya, sheltered by reindeer hides and warmed by a fire. And the place Viktor found for a campsite was lackluster. Only a few thorny, leafless bushes served as cover, letting the wind buffet them mercilessly. Viktor cut branches and then struck his unmarred blade against his flint. But the fire was stubborn, the wind blowing it out repeatedly. Syra kept her advice to herself, setting out her bedroll. The Ruthenian finally got it.
“All I have is a small bag of dried bilberries,” Viktor said.
Syra would have complained, except he had given the rest of his food to her clan. It seemed wrong to belittle him for that kindness.
So, she begrudgingly accepted half of the berries, and shared the last of her salted fish. It wasn’t enough, but she knew better than to complain in lean times.
After their meager supper, she crawled into her sleeping roll with her back facing him, as she had every night since this ludicrous journey had started. She listened to him set out hisown bedding – across the fire from her – and tried to read the stars through the trees. Her exhaustion caught up to her eventually and she drifted to sleep.
Her sleep wasn’t easy. Syra tossed and turned, plagued by nightmares that she couldn’t remember. After one particularly frightening episode, she sat up in her bedroll, panting. The fire was nothing but embers now, and the air was frigid. Her teeth chattering, Syra rubbed her arms in an attempt to get warm.
That was when she noticed humming against her abdomen. She unbuttoned her coat. It was the Bone Doll. Syra slid it free from her pocket, and its carvings glowed beneath her fingers. She had never heard ithumbefore.
Something moved in the forest. Carefully extricating herself from her bedroll, she padded towards the movement.
There, amongst the trees and shrubs, a creature crouched. It had hair like gleaming copper and a heavy brow that shadowed its rowan berry-colored eyes. Slowly, it peeled back its bloated, red lips to reveal a set of teeth filed down to points. It made a clicking sound like a cicada and shuffled towards her on its feet and knuckles.
Syra staggered back. This was a spirit, but not one she knew. And she did not want to risk an encounter with an unknown creature. Her fingers tightened on the Bone Doll. She remembered how her grandfather, his clothes rattling with wolves’ teeth, bound a snow spirit to its storm, ending a seven-day blizzard. Syra was not strong enough for that magic, so she tried something else – her grandfather’s dispelling chant.
The world is ash, our hearts are stone.
Go! Return to your rightful home.
She hissed as the Bone Doll suddenly seared her hand, the pain racing up her forearm. What was happening? She concentrated and said the words again.
The red creature clicked. Then, the trees rustled and it was gone.
The pain in her hand eased, and the Bone Doll stopped glowing. She stared at it for a long moment. Had her magic … worked? Maybe Munku was right: the Bone Dollwouldaugment her powers?
Viktor propped himself up on his elbow. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she lied. “I just had to pee.”
Syra turned away from him and pulled the blanket over herself. The Bone Doll had hummed. And then that creature appeared. A shiver passed through her. Had it warned her?
She closed her eyes and tried to think of something else.
She didn’t manage to sleep the rest of the night, so she dragged even further behind Viktor the next day. And she had to stop every once in a while to scrub the exhaustion from her eyes. When she did, she glanced around, searching for any other strange spirits but finding none.
When she looked back to the road, Viktor was walking slowly, his gait slightly stilted like had a hidden limp. She had nearly caught up with him despite her own trudging pace. Syra tried to slow even further, but then Viktor stopped. Sighing loudly, she let him fall in alongside her.
“Do the Sarnok tell any stories?” Viktor asked.
Syra gave him a sideways glare. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you tell stories – about the gods or heroes – to pass the time?” he said.
“All people do that.”
“Tell me one.”
She shifted her pack on her shoulders. The man with the orangebush hair wanted to hear a story? Fine. “I’ll tell you a children’s story. Hopefully, you’ll be able to grasp it.”
“I do hope so.” The corner of his lips twitched.
“Dog lived by himself in the southern forest,” she began. “And he was lonely. So he left his house and went to look for a friend. He first met Eagle, who lived in the southern forest too. Dog asked to share a house with Eagle, and Eagle agreed. And so Dog climbed up into Eagle’s nest. But at night, Dog started barking and Eagle told him to stop: bad things roamed in the dark.
“Dog thought to himself that Eagle was proud but cowardly at night, and so Dog set off to find a braver friend. Also in the forest, he found Owl, who also lived high in the trees. Owl wasn’t scared of the dark. But when Dog barked in the daytime, Owl told him to stop: Fox might hear them.”
