What if her soul is not ready? I’m not ready.
We reach the fire and everyone is standing. I don’t take my usual place next to Gull. I want to stand at the back so I can hide. But the circle opens out for each new person and we are not standing in groups as we normally do, but as individuals. The circle is so wide that I can’t see the other side clearly. Faces wobble in the heat and I feel laid bare. I feel like an intruder.
Tears come to my eyes and I let them fall.
Music blooms from behind us and I look over my shoulder. It’s the funeral procession. Ruth didn’t have any family left, but her neighbours come up the hill, carrying a mat between them. Ruth is wrapped in white linen, the same as Fenn wore as he went into the water. Gull told me that her body will be buried tomorrow beneath the tree that Ruth called her own. The procession hums a low melody, and as they come closer the circle opens to let them in and the community joins in the tune. The bass tones make my chest feel like a bird is inside trying to beat its way out. The circle closes again and we surround the pallbearers as they place Ruth’s body on the ground.
I see tears shining on their faces. The humming continues though, through their tears. No breaking voices – in fact, the tears seem to fuel the music. Our communal mourning resonating in our chests, in our throats and heads and hearts.
Tanya steps forward, and those who carried Ruth join the circle. Tanya’s nervousness is apparent and there is heavy-hearted sorrow in her small smile. She raises her hands and the humming softens – never stopping, but quieter now, allowing her to speak over the lull.
“My friends.” She pauses and gulps back tears. “Oh, my friends. We have all been blessed to have Ruth, our eldest, with us for every day of our lives. Tomorrow will be the first sunrise we see without sharing it with Ruth, and we will have to trust that the world can keep turning without her.”
She stops, overcome. The song rises to give her space, and her shoulders shake. A long moment passes and she looks up at us again, nodding thanks. “Ruth lived a long life and, we can all agree, a good life. Her story is one full of joy and blessing and laughter and above all, kindness. She brought many of us into this world.” I swallow, thinking of my mother and the night I was born. She must have felt so frightened, so alone. I listen to Tanya. “So many of us will testify to the way she would come alongside us when our babies were small, and she soothed them and soothed us, telling us it was always this way for new babies and new parents, and she would hold our infants and hold us when we needed her to. I remember the day she brought me chocolate.” Tanya’s eyes widen and she grins at the smiles that change the sound of the hums to something clearer. “I had never eaten it before and I’ve never had it since. But I can assure you that if I came into possession of chocolate again I wouldn’t choose to share it.” She shrugs and a small flutter of laughter ripples through the congregation. “But for Ruth, joy wasn’t complete if it wasn’t shared. In giving she lacked nothing, and she will remain always in my story. Always the best and the most wise and good. A princess in wrinkled skin.”
I fight back tears again. She fought for me to stay. She was the only one here who believed there was good in me. And now she is gone.
The hum rises again and hands are raised too. Hands with palms open to Ruth. Receiving, sending. Giving but not lacking.
“Kasia, please bring her pouch.” She crouches and takes something from on top of the body and passes it to Tanya, who weighs it in her hands before lifting it up for all of us to see. It is empty, of course – as all adults’ are – but I can’t imagine her ever needing to collect stones for sins, even as a youth.
“Ruth was good. Her story was so beautiful and pure, and we send her on into the light unburdened by any sin that may have bitten at her heels and clung to her in her last days.” She unties the strings on the pouch and tips it to show its emptiness. The bag is passed one to another, each person clutching it close, some pressing it to their lips.
“In our community it is custom to acknowledge new life, even when we face death. For this reason, and with the blessing of the elders…” She holds my gaze and walks towards me.
“This is for you, Leora. We know that Ruth counted you as her newest sister.” She puts Ruth’s pouch in my open hands. “We pass on to you Ruth’s hope and we assure you of the same love and friendship as we felt for her. She would have wanted this.”
I don’t know what to say. I see that it’s a blessing – an honour. In this act of inclusion and remembrance, I know that I have been accepted: even more fully than two nights ago. I am not only allowed to stay in their midst, I can share in their beliefs and practices. I, a marked soul – an enemy – am being allowed redemption.
Even so, it seems like the pouch is full already: full of expectation that I will assent to their beliefs and submit to their rituals and rules. They have handed me captivity with this gift and, until I fill this pouch with stones to pay my ransom, I will be enslaved.
I hold it in my hand as though it is a living thing.
Tanya takes her place and calls out.
“Ruth, our mother, our sister, our friend. We send you on to the next world. We release you with our blessing and with our certainty that your next dwelling place will be where the grass is green, the water is clear and the sun shines on your face.” As Tanya speaks everyone in the circle has raised their palms to the sky, and with each word we lift them a little higher until we stand together in silence, our arms outstretched and our hearts broken.
It is just then, at the moment that life and death mingle into one, that peace is shattered.
The riders are back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It feels like a miracle; as though Ruth has brought us some parting gift.
Food.
We sit down right there and eat. There are tears in my eyes and I don’t know if they are still from sorrow or simply the utter relief at the knowledge that my hunger will end. Someone calls out, “Here’s to Ruth!” and we sit around in our family groups and eat. Some sit close to Ruth, kneeling near her body, cups raised as wine is poured into them.
I have bread in my hands. And cheese. Cheese. I raise the bread to my lips and bite the sharp crust, letting the fragrant wafts enter my lungs as I breathe in. The bread below the crust is soft and sweet and salty and sprung with bubbles of air. I see Sana, the leader of the riders, shaking her hair loose from a hat. Tanya is talking to her quietly, telling her what has happened, I suppose. I try to remember that old anger I felt at the thought of them robbing our town, and I wonder vaguely, as if in a dream, whether they attacked the hospital – but none of that matters to me at this moment. All I feel is intense gratitude that they have risked their lives for me to eat.
Sana’s eye catches mine for a moment in the firelight, and she nods. My mother’s best friend, I think. Like me and Verity, only she never betrayed Miranda.
It is only when everyone is eating, chattering and laughing that the full party advance to the fire. The horses have been tied up and wares unpacked. One man comes forward with another bottle of wine, holding it out, pouring it into cups. All the faces gaze upwards, smiling. I see their mouths move: “Thank you.”
My sleep is patchy as always, a quilt of fractured dreams and images.
The jar in my hands is cold, and although I shake and shake the oil and ink will not mix.
I shake again and the jar slips from my hands. Among the shards of glass the oil and ink dash apart, tiny globules chasing one another away. I try to clear up the glass but it slices my finger. Blood drips on to the floor and I watch the ink and oil and blood swirl into one another as though they were made to be together.
Gull shakes me awake the next morning, her words eventually making sense as I come to.
“Dad says you have to go to the elderhouse; you’ve been sent for. There’ll be breakfast when you get back.”
Breakfast. The word is so good it’s indecent. I dress hurriedly and head to the town, wiping sleep from my eyes
and wondering why exactly the elders want me, and why it had to be so early. The door of the elderhouse is ajar, and I knock quietly before letting myself in.
The hot, tangy smell of freshly made coffee almost hurts my eyes – flavour and fragrance and all those sensory pleasures disappear when food is gone and you’re just surviving. I could almost get drunk off the scent of the roasted beans and, in my weary state, I feel light-headed.
When I walk into the meeting room, my eyes focus not on the people waiting expectantly, but on the plate of cookies and pastries on the circular table. They are squashed and greasy – beyond their best. But I would recognize them anywhere – these are from the bakery where Seb, Verity’s brother, works. And suddenly I’m right back in Verity’s kitchen with Seb smiling at me and helping me with my shawl, telling me to take a cookie with me when I go home. The smell is my walk to the studio, passing the bakery and peering in to see whether I can spot Seb. This feels sacred. I don’t want them to have this – this is my memory and it doesn’t feel like it fits here in Featherstone.
A mug of coffee is handed to me and I sit. The plate is passed round the group and I swallow back tears, watching as people take their first bites of the sugary, buttery perfection; hearing them groaning their delight. This is just silly, I tell myself. But it’s not – it’s sorrow. Suddenly I miss home.
The coffee makes my insides ache – it’s all a bit much after having so little for so long, and so I place the mug down on the table and look around at the people gathered. Most of the elders are here; Tanya smiles at me and Solomon nods. Sana and two of the other riders are here as well. Justus introduces them as Rory and Helina; out of all the elders, he seems to know the riders the best. I stoke the fire in my heart – one day, I will make him sorry that he ever hurt my mother. When he goes to introduce Sana, she interrupts him with the flick of a hand.
“We’ve met.” Her smile makes her eyes crinkle and she takes my hand. She is slight, I realize, and yet she gives the impression of height; I feel small next to her. She shakes her head to get the deep brown curls out of her eyes and in doing so her chin rises, giving her a queenly authority – in a place where all are supposed to be equal, it feels electric to have someone’s charisma so obviously outdo everyone else in the room. She gives an impish flash of her eyebrows and speaks.
“Leora Flint.” She gazes at me, that small smile still on her face, her hand still clasping mine. “I’ve been looking forward to coming home and getting to know you.” Her teeth shine with her smile, making me think more of a woodland creature than a woman.
I free my hand from hers, feeling embarrassed and on show. All I care about right now is news from Saintstone – I wonder if Verity was in time to stop their attack on the hospital.
Sana takes charge of the meeting. She stands and speaks to the elders who sit at her feet like children at story time in my school.
“I’m uneasy,” she begins. “Our eyes and ears in Saintstone are worried; they seem to think we need to be ever more careful. And I have ample reason to agree – time and again on this mission our plans were thwarted.”
No one speaks, but the carefree atmosphere has changed. The mood is sombre now. “For the few in Saintstone who support us, the crows, things are riskier than ever. Those who used to turn a blind eye to bits and pieces going missing are becoming paranoid. Everyone is frightened. The rumours have stepped up – that we are not just stealing, but burning their crops. Killing their livestock.” That sounds like the Longsight I know. “And there are rumours of Longsight imprisoning crows; anyone he believes is a rebel is unsafe. Anyone.” As she gazes around the room our eyes meet.
Who, I think, panic rising in my chest. Who is unsafe? I am protecting my friends by coming here; Longsight promised.
“But you managed nonetheless. You have brought supplies – and such bounty!” Kasia says kindly, and we all nod and murmur in agreement at the memory of last night’s meal.
“Look closer, Kasia.” Sana’s voice is gentle but firm, steel running through it. “We have never been this hungry before, not for many years. We may not have much but this is the first time we have gone without meal to make bread. Our usual paths to Saintstone were filled with traps and we lost one of our horses when she broke a leg. Other mayors have hated us and kept their distance and made sure we did not have much. But Longsight is different. He came to power preaching against us. We thought that was just talk; a means to an end. But he has people preaching against us, people like Jack Minnow. He listens to them. And now his purpose is clear: he is starving us – you – out.”
There is a pause, and then Kasia says, “It is a punishment. The natural order of things—”
“No,” Sana’s voice is so crisp it makes me jump. “We are not being punished. Nature has not turned against us. We have done nothing wrong except try to live. We have food now, but soon we will feel the hunger, and even more keenly. You know the rest: every problem the marked have, they blame on us. They paint a picture of us as the greatest threat to their way of life so that they can convince the people to fight – to wipe us out. We may not have a wall any more, like in the stories; but a war, I can imagine.”
What she says rings true. Missing livestock, a poor harvest; it all gave fuel to Longsight’s fire, especially recently – everything was the fault of the blanks, it seemed. But I see now that in Saintstone we were safe – we never lacked. We never really went without. I think of Longsight’s message – of a fearsome community of blanks ready to rise up and destroy our way of life – and look around at the ragged group of people in the room, their faces gaunt with hunger, and I want to laugh. The very idea of this community of people rising up to fight. They can hardly lift their own children on some days. I am frightened, suddenly, for these people. This is my home now, and it is being attacked.
“What do you think, Leora?” Solomon asks, and I’m surprised to hear my name. “What is your view of this?”
I clear my throat and remain seated.
“You’re not far wrong,” I admit, weighing my words. “Mayor Longsight does speak about Featherstone as though it were a threat – as though you’re waiting to wage war.” I look down at the table, nervous about meeting anyone’s eye.
“But surely he can’t believe that’s true?” Tanya asks, and I shrug.
“I think he wants people to believe you are a threat to our … their way of life,” I say.
“Which is a polite way of saying that Longsight would like nothing better than seeing all blanks destroyed,” Sana says. “The time for peaceful coexistence is over. Who did it serve anyway? We stayed meek and what did it get us?” Her voice is rising. “For them, the resettlement” – she says it as though it’s a joke – “the resettlement isn’t enough. It’s not enough that they’re out. They want us gone.” Her eyes are bright as she stares around at us all. “Do you think we will survive another winter like this?”
“What about the hospital?” Justus raises his voice above the hubbub. “Did you manage your mission?”
The hospital bombing. I swallow. The room is silent at that – did they all know? Was this the plan of all of their hearts?
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Sana’s light dims and my hope is fanned into flame. “It was – it was as though they knew we were coming. We barely escaped with our lives.”
“How could they possibly know?” Tanya asks, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Justus stiffen. He’s looking at me now, I can feel it. I stare straight ahead.
“There must be a traitor in the crows,” Solomon breathes.
“No … no, I don’t think so…” Sana is thoughtful. “The crows didn’t know about this particular mission. And even if they had…” Her voice trails off. “How could they have begrudged us that?” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry we failed you. If we had managed it, and made it back sooner, we could have saved Ruth…”
I stare at her, bewildered. Nothing is making any sense.
“No, Sana – don’t
think like that.” Kasia rushes to reassure her.
“We brought you nothing,” Sana whispers. “No medicine, no antibiotics or bandages or instruments.” She sighs. “We couldn’t even get you painkillers. There were guards at every point.”
It’s as though I’m at the end of a long night and dawn comes. There was no attack planned on the hospital, no bomb; they were just going to get medical supplies. Relief courses through me, swiftly followed by guilt.
Tanya stands and goes to Sana and takes her hands.
“It’s not your fault. You tried. Longsight is making it impossible.” She rubs her temples, tiredly. “Maybe you’re right, Sana. Longsight’s mercy is at an end.”
“That’s not all.” Sana pulls her hands away, face still grim. “Tell them what we saw, Helina.” Sana gestures to the tall black woman, who is still dressed in her rider’s gear. She stands, looking uneasy, as though she would much prefer to be back on a horse than here in the small room.
“We were followed on the way back.” The outcry is immediate. She holds up her hand for silence. “We lost them, but not before they crossed the river. They are getting close – closer. They’ve never tried to find our exact location before. It won’t be long before they find Featherstone. And when they do – we have nothing to defend ourselves with.”
How could they, I wonder; how could anyone penetrate the forest, know the intricate set of signs and clues that unlock the secret path to Featherstone. And then, with a plunging horror, I remember the stones, laid out for me that night I went to meet with Verity. I didn’t think to collect them as I returned to the village. My vision dims; did I lead them right to Featherstone? But there is another traitor in our midst, I remember; a true blank who is doing Longsight’s bidding. Whoever put that note in my boot is surely even guiltier than I am? Who could it be?
There is a long silence, and then Solomon speaks. “You’re correct, Sana; this … changes things. The one assurance we had at the eradication was that the marked would leave us to our own devices. The river has always been our border. This – it is an act of aggression.” The elders murmur their agreement, and Solomon turns to Sana.
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