The Bone Charmer

by Breeana Shields

  “No,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll just—”

  “I’m fine,” I say more firmly. “Please go.”

  If I didn’t feel like lying down before, I do now.

  The group leaves, though Tessa throws one more worried glance over her shoulder before she goes. The soft click of the closing door produces a waterfall of relief. But it only lasts a moment before it’s replaced with a sharp sense of loss. I’d rather be sightseeing with a gaggle of new friends than stuck in a stuffy room. Instead my inability to control my magic has stolen yet another bit of joy.

  I’m suddenly homesick for Ami’s laugh. For my mother’s beef stew. For the owl that nests outside my bedroom window. I let myself indulge in a stretch of self-pity until I’m hollowed out. Then I shove all of my feelings behind a locked door in my mind.

  And I reopen the spell book.

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  Gran’s broken bone has started to heal.

  A soft callous has formed around the edges of the break—a thick network of newly woven bone that my mother claims is a good sign that the solution is working.

  “How long do we have?” I ask. We stand in front of the shelf, studying the glass container that houses the bone. Looking but not touching—it needs to stay as still as possible.

  “In a living body, a bone will mend itself in only a month or two. But I expect this to take longer….” She sighs and massages her temples. “Though I don’t know for sure.” The hollows under her eyes are more pronounced today. I can tell she isn’t sleeping well, and I wish there were something I could do, something I could say. But I don’t know how to scale the wall that has sprung up between us.

  “What happens when the bone is completely healed?” I ask. “One of my realities just disappears? In an instant?”

  It’s a conversation we’ve had before, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. The fear in my heart is like a sleeping beast. Sometimes I forget it’s even there—whole days go by where I don’t think about the fact that I’m living in a fractured reality. Then something happens to make the fear stir, wake, stretch, and I remember just how big it is, how at any moment it could swallow me whole.

  My mother’s mouth turns up at the edges. A sad smile. She reaches for me and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “It won’t hurt, love. You won’t even know it’s happened.”

  Somehow that isn’t comforting.

  “What other paths did you see for me?” I ask. “I need you to tell me.” She doesn’t answer immediately, and so I rush on. “If this isn’t the reality that survives, I’ll never know we discussed it. And if it is, then the other paths don’t matter, right? Fate will have spoken.”

  “Saskia—”

  A sharp whistle pierces the air, followed by the screech of a bird. Watchers.

  The town council petitioned Ivory Hall to send reinforcements after Oskar discovered three other sets of remains missing from the bone house. Several days ago—almost a month after they were requested—a cadre of Bone Singers arrived, and now birds circle overhead, dogs patrol the streets of Midwood, and a large prowler—a creature that looks like it’s half-wolf, half-lion—guards the entrance to the bone house. Even though I know the animal won’t attack without a specific order from the Watcher who controls him, it still makes my mouth go dry whenever I visit Ami. Our little town, which has always felt so safe, now feels like it’s holding its breath, bracing for a blow that might land at any moment.

  A week ago I’d never even seen a bone flute, and now I can distinguish the melody of a canine stay command from an avian return call. But the whistle we just heard is completely unfamiliar.

  My mother and I both hurry to the window. Dozens of ravens fly in formation at the north end of town. The Watcher dogs are barking wildly off in the distance, though they’re too far away to see.

  “Do you think they found Papa’s bones?”

  Her expression trembles on the edge between hope and fear, and I’m not sure which way it will fall. Her gaze is fixed on the sky. For a moment I think she might not answer, that she’s gone somewhere in her mind where I can’t follow, but then, abruptly, she looks at me. Her face is smooth and unreadable.

  “Let’s go find out,” she says.

  It seems as if all of Midwood had the same idea.

  We pass people standing on their porches with their faces tipped upward, children who scramble up trees for a better view, and still more of the townsfolk who spill into the streets and follow the birds like a beacon.

  The ravens keep shifting positions, as if trying to get a better view of whatever is happening below. Each time I think I’ve pinpointed where they are, they shift, and my perspective along with them.

  As we pass through the town square, Willem Ingersson races past me, and Audra trails behind, shouting at him to slow down. I’ve been to the Ingerssons’ house at least two dozen times to tutor Willem, with mixed results. Sometimes Audra is calm, collected, and lets me instruct her son without interruption. Other times, she’s agitated, claiming the bones need to be consulted before I can say a word. Those are the bad days. It’s fortunate that Willem is bright and picks up concepts quickly, because it takes ten times longer to teach him than it should.

  Audra notices us and stops. “What is happening, Della?”

  My mother shrugs. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Saskia and I are trying to figure it out along with everyone else.”

  Audra narrows her eyes. “You’re lying,” she says. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t know anything more than you do.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Audra’s eyes are wide and she seems to have forgotten that Willem was running from her. I crane my neck and scan the crowd, relaxing a little when I finally spot him talking to a few of the other children near the Marrow.

  “You may believe what you wish,” my mother says. “It’s of no concern to me.” She tries to move away, but Audra grabs her arm.

  “Della, please. I consulted the bones only this morning. Why wouldn’t they reveal this?”

  Instead of answering, my mother looks pointedly at Audra’s hand. It takes several seconds, but Audra finally lets go. My mother levels her with a steely gaze. “Maybe they didn’t reveal anything because whatever is happening has nothing to do with you. The bones don’t serve you and you alone just because you’re wealthy, Audra. Have you ever thought of the hundreds of children who could have avoided being leftovers if you had done something less foolish with your excess?”

  Audra’s startled expression matches my own. I rarely see my mother’s temper run short, let alone see her lose her grip on it enough for a rant.

  “Leftovers aren’t my responsibility,” Audra says between clenched teeth. “And if you cared about them so much, you should have continued to do readings for me. You would have made plenty of coin to save a few.” With that she spins on her heel and storms away. In the opposite direction of Willem.

  I watch her long enough to make sure that she turns back to find her son. It takes her a disturbingly long time, but finally she does.

  “That was … interesting,” I say.

  My mother’s face and neck are flushed and blotchy—her skin reacts to situations of high emotion exactly as mine does.

  “That woman …” She glances at me and startles a little, as if she’s forgotten I’m here. “I’m sorry, Saskia. I shouldn’t have spoken to Audra that way.”

  She takes several deep breaths and her complexion returns to normal. I’ve always envied her ability to slip on an aura of calm as easily as putting on a robe, but this time it makes something inside me deflate. It’s such a rare occurrence to know exactly how my mother is feeling, and I hoped it wouldn’t be so fleeting. She guards her thoughts as closely as her spell book, and now that she’s caught me gawking, she’s slammed herself closed again.

  “Why not? If that’s what you really think, why wouldn’t you be honest?”

  �
�We ought not give ourselves the luxury of saying something unkind just because it’s true. Unless we actually think our opinion might make a difference for the better.”

  “And you don’t?”

  She shakes her head. “Audra Ingersson knows how I feel about her use of bone reading. She has for a long time.”

  “This might make my next tutoring session awkward,” I say.

  My mother waves a hand in front of her face as if swatting away a fly. “Audra will forget all about it by then. That’s part of her problem—she only lives in the moment and never considers the long-term consequences. She wants to see her path far enough to know what’s around the next bend, but she doesn’t much care where the path is actually headed. Or how her choices affect her future.”

  Where is my path headed? Will this path survive? They’re the questions I’m longing to shout at her. Questions that make me want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until the answers spill from her lips like water over stones. But I know she won’t discuss it. Especially not here, as the town square grows more and more crowded.

  The ravens have shifted again, circling in a more typical pattern. They’re even farther north than I first thought. We cross the town square and walk down a wide lane, finally ending up in a neighborhood with large homes and small yards—my father used to call this street busy but barren. The people who live here have plenty of coin but no time to care for flowers or trees.

  A flurry of activity at the end of the street hurries our steps forward. At least a dozen Watchers are gathered around one of the houses, along with dogs, horses, and a crowd of townsfolk. Master Anders stands on the porch, talking to one of the Watchers—his arms wave wildly in the air, and it’s clear he’s yelling, though we’re still too far away to hear anything more than the drone of a hundred people talking at once.

  My mother’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the noise.

  “What is it?”

  She’s gone pale and she presses her palm to her chest.

  “Mother, what? Who lives here?”

  Her voice is filled with dread. “Rakel,” she says softly.

  Rakel. The Mixer who serves on the town council. A buzz grows in my ears.

  “Do you think she stole the bones?”

  “Of course not,” my mother says. “She would never do that.” But the apprehension in her voice tells a different story. She and Rakel have been close for years, and I can’t imagine what that kind of betrayal would do to her. But what else would cause such a stir?

  I spot Declan at the edge of the crowd and call out his name. He waves and jogs over.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Do you know?”

  His brown hair flops across his forehead and he pushes it out of his eyes before lacing his fingers through mine. His wrist is circled in pale pink, a shade darker than the last time I saw him. My wrist is still bare, even though I check every morning to see if the love tattoo has begun to surface. “Something to do with Master Rakel,” Declan says, “but that’s all I’ve heard.”

  “Follow me,” my mother says. She pushes through the crowd, nudging people out of the way. “Excuse me. Coming through. Step out of the way, please.” Her voice is loud and authoritative, and everyone moves aside without argument. Declan and I trail behind her.

  “I don’t understand how this happened,” Anders is saying. “Midwood is crawling with Watchers. Isn’t that what you’re here for? To prevent tragedies like this?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

  The Watcher’s expression is tight—like he’s a cord stretched too far, about to break. “You asked us to focus our attention on the bone house, so that’s what we did,” he says. “Going forward, we need to surveil the entire town. Obviously.”

  My mother climbs the porch steps. “Anders”—she touches his elbow—“what’s going on?”

  The Healer turns to her. “Oh, Della.” He says her name like a parent whose child has stumbled in the room during a vicious argument—startled and then full of regret that he can’t turn back time. That he can’t make it unhappen. Grief is written all over his face.

  “It’s Rakel,” he says finally. “She’s been murdered.”

  Saskia

  The Bone Charmer

  “Bones are the source of all magic,” Norah says, pacing along the stage in the amphitheater. “They are the most permanent part of us, enduring long after the flesh has rotted away. But even while our bones are still within our bodies, they are powerful. If broken, they can heal themselves. And the marrow within them fights off evil, wards off disease, and keeps you well. But eventually we all succumb to the grip of death; the magic in our bones is all that remains.”

  She turns to us and smiles. “And you are the lucky ones who are entrusted to wield that power. Use it wisely. Make us proud. You’re dismissed.”

  I stand up and stretch. We have only a short break before we start bone races on the other side of the workshop.

  Ingrid puts a hand over her mouth and stifles a yawn. “That was a good lecture,” she says. “But a little redundant, since all the same information is on the first pages of our spell books.”

  A pang goes through me, but I try to make my voice light as I answer, “I guess a little review isn’t the worst thing.” I don’t tell her that I’ve only just been issued my spell book this morning and have yet to crack it open to discover what is on the first pages. I don’t say that I’ve been studying a stolen spell book that is full of mysteries but has no such lofty notions on any of its pages.

  Ingrid gives me a warm smile. “You’re right. Master Yaffa is always saying that repetition is the fastest way to learn.” She gathers her things and touches my shoulder lightly. “I’m going to head down there before all the Breakers take the best tables. I’ve never seen people move so fast.”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  My days at Ivory Hall have fallen into a rhythm. Lessons with Master Kyra in the mornings, sessions in the workshop in the afternoons, meals in the dining hall with Tessa, Talon, Bram, and Linnea.

  And every moment I have to myself, I study the stolen spell book. It’s become an obsession, a yawning need inside me—to master bone charming, to control my magic instead of letting it control me.

  I sling my bag over one shoulder and weave my way between the benches, down the steps, and across the length of the room to the opposite side of the workshop. Rows of small tables fill the center of the space, and apprentices are gathering around them, three or four to a table.

  I search for Tessa in the crowd, but I can’t find her. The tables are filling up fast, and I debate whether to grab a spot now or keep searching for a friend to pair up with. A hand on my elbow makes me spin around. I’m expecting to find Tessa or Talon, but it’s Latham.

  My heart stutters. I haven’t seen him since the second day at Ivory Hall, when he showed me the training bones.

  “Saskia,” he says, his voice full of warmth. “I’ve been meaning to check on you. How are things?”

  “Fine,” I say, “I’m doing great.” Inwardly, I cringe at the false brightness in my voice.

  Latham’s eyebrows pull together and he leans in a little closer. “How are you really?” The question reminds me forcibly of my mother, who could always hear the lies my voice told, even if my words were true. I suddenly feel as transparent as a pane of glass.

  “I … well, I guess I wish I were making faster progress.”

  “Is Kyra still moving at the pace of a glacier?”

  My eyes widen and I weigh an honest answer over speaking ill of Master Kyra to one of her colleagues.

  He laughs as if he can see my thoughts. “No need to answer that. I’m rather surprised you haven’t sought me out, though. I told you that I’m happy to help.”

  But I feel strange about training with him when I already have a tutor. It seems disloyal to Master Kyra somehow. “Thanks anyway,” I say, “but I’ll get it eventually. I probably
just need more practice.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come by my office,” he says. “I’m usually around after the evening meal. We’ll have you performing readings like a master in no time.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he pats me on the shoulder and walks away, which makes it feel decided. Like fate has already determined my path.

  My conversation with Latham slowed me down enough that now nearly all of the tables are occupied. I wander up and down the aisles, looking for an empty seat. I pass Tessa—sitting with Talon at a full table—and she gives me an apologetic smile. Finally I spot a table with only two other people. They face away from me, but I see a black cloak and a purple one. I circle the table. The Mixer is a boy I’ve seen around but don’t know well.

  And the Breaker is Bram.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  Bram puts his foot on the seat across from him and slides it out for me. “You don’t need my permission.”

  “I know.” I sink into the chair and drop my bag onto the floor. “I was just being polite.”

  “Oh, my mistake. I didn’t realize you did polite.”

  I glare at him, but the corners of his mouth turn up just a little. Is he teasing me? The possibility breaks apart my impression of him, and I struggle to rearrange the pieces into something familiar.

  It doesn’t work.

  “Where is Linnea?” As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I regret it. It makes it sound as if I’m jealous of their friendship, and I don’t want him to think I care. I don’t care. I simply need a way to put him back in context. To find the person I know from Midwood—quiet, dangerous. Not this stranger I can’t quite read.

  His eyes flick to mine. “I haven’t seen her today. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”

  “Did the two of you have an argument?”

  His expression goes dark—finally something I recognize. “No,” he says tersely. “Why would you ask?”

  “Just that you Breakers all seem inseparable.” I try to keep my tone light.