Bone Crier's Moon

by Kathryn Purdie

  “Look, I know you’re trying to protect him, but you’re putting Marcel in more danger by not telling me where he is. You’re putting all of Dovré in danger.” I lean closer over the counter. “You ever hear a bone-chilling whisper when you’re walking home at night? Does it ever make you think you’re going mad?”

  Birdine shrinks back and bites her lower lip.

  “How about your customers or your friends in the tavern? Notice any of them growing sick with a strange weakness they can’t explain?”

  She folds her arms around herself. “Marcel says there are bad humors in the air.”

  “Marcel’s lying so you can sleep at night.”

  She suppresses a shiver.

  I sigh. I don’t want to scare Birdine. I just need her help. “Will you at least tell him something for me? Say people are going to die if he and Jules don’t bring back what they stole.” Ailesse might die, too, if she has to stay underground any longer. I can’t allow that to happen.

  “What did they steal?” she asks.

  “I’ll let Marcel explain that part. Tell him he and Jules can find me round about the place we ran to when we first got into this mess.” I don’t spell out the location, in case any of the dead are listening, but Marcel should know I mean our old chamber in the catacombs. If Ailesse is strong enough, I’ll take her there tonight.

  I step away from the counter and adjust the pack on my shoulder. “Will you do that for me?” I shrug off my needling doubts about Jules. I have to trust she won’t harm Ailesse when we’re all back together again. She shouldn’t as long as the soul-bond holds. Jules and Marcel clearly haven’t found a way to break it yet, or they would have come out of hiding already. “You’d be doing Marcel a favor. All of Dovré, too.”

  Birdine looks down and rubs the callus on her finger. She gives me a slow nod. “Will you do me a favor, too, whenever you do see Jules again?”

  “Name it.”

  She tucks a frizzy curl behind her ear. “Ask her to give me a chance with her brother.” Birdine’s brows lift shyly before she lowers them in a firm line. “I’m not another flighty Dovré girl from the brothel district. I love Marcel. I would do anything for him.”

  The earnestness in her voice makes me pause. Birdine’s only sixteen, but she knows her heart. More than that, she’s willing to fight for her chance at happiness.

  I can’t help thinking of Ailesse. I hate being away from her when I’m searching for my friends every day, and once I am back with her, it takes all my energy to resist touching her—and everything else I’d like to do when I find myself staring at her lips. I hold back because . . . I don’t know why. It seems selfish, I guess. Our fates are stacked against us. There’s also the part of me that wonders what my father would think.

  But maybe . . . just maybe my father would want me to be happy.

  At least for as long as I can be.

  “Marcel’s lucky to have a girl like you,” I tell Birdine. “I promise to say so to Jules.”

  Her face lights up. “Thank you, Bastien.”

  I give her a parting nod and stride outside. I set a quick pace for the castle district. I’m going to comb the cellars, sheds, and stables there one more time in search of my friends, in case Birdine doesn’t get a chance to talk to Marcel today. Then I’ll hurry back to Ailesse. Tonight is the full moon. Being stuck in the dark will be miserable for her—maybe even deadly.

  I’m going to find a way to help her, whether or not I get her bones back.

  37

  Sabine

  THE SILVER OWL STARES AT me from the stone parapet of Castelpont, but I refuse to set foot on the bridge. I understand now what I didn’t when the owl first asked me to dig up the golden jackal. And tonight it will be possible.

  The sun is setting, and the full moon above me grows sharper and brighter. I have my three grace bones ready. I even have Ailesse’s ritual knife and a new bone flute. I spent most of the last three days hollowing it out and carving the tone holes. I’ve left the instrument simple, no engraved embellishments like the original flute. It should be enough that the flute is made from a true golden jackal bone.

  Everything has fallen into place for my rite of passage.

  Everything except my courage.

  “I can’t,” I tell the silver owl. I can’t kill a human being, even though the Chained are on a rampage in Dovré. Even though the Leurress need all the Ferriers they can get, and the savage graces of the jackal are diminishing my reservations to shed blood.

  The owl drags her claws across the stones, and screeches.

  “Why me?” I ask, even though some of the answer is obvious. As the heir to the matrone—as blood of her blood—I can open the Gates to the Underworld and Paradise. But to open the Gates, I need to be on the land bridge. And to be on the land bridge and survive the dead and the lure of the Beyond, I have to be a committed Ferrier. I have to complete my rite of passage.

  The owl doesn’t move while the thoughts chase through me. It’s like she can read my mind and is waiting for her turn to speak. She stands taller on the parapet and spreads her wings open. A translucent and silver-tinged image shimmers before me. My pulse quickens.

  Ailesse.

  She’s lying on her side on quarried limestone, which means she’s underground. That’s all I can make out of her surroundings. She’s clean and wearing a new green dress, but her drawn expression says she’s suffering greatly.

  My heart rises up my throat. “Ailesse.”

  She doesn’t look up or even bat an eye. I don’t understand. Last time I had a vision of her, she saw me, but now her gaze is fixated on the ground. Maybe she’s too starved of Light to sense me. I’ve never seen her so terribly weak before.

  She holds a piece of chalk in her shaking hand and sketches a shaded-in circle. “New moon . . .” she murmurs on a hoarse breath. “Bone flute . . . bridge over water . . . land bridge . . . ferrying night.” She draws another circle, but doesn’t shade it in. “Full moon . . . bridge over earth . . . Castelpont . . . rite of passage . . .”

  My mouth slowly falls slack. Ailesse can’t know I’d consider my own rite of passage tonight. Unless the owl has somehow been communicating with her, too.

  “Ferrying night?” she whispers, and traces the second circle again. She drops the chalk and painstakingly rolls from her side to her back. Pinched lines form between her brows as she stares up at a ceiling I can’t see.

  Then her image starts to ripple and fade.

  My breath hitches. “No, wait!” I haven’t had a fair chance to catch her attention. I haven’t even assured her I’m doing everything I can to save her. “Ailesse!”

  She flickers out. The silver owl closes her wings.

  I stumble backward and steeple my fingers over my nose and mouth.

  The owl rasps at me, but I shake my head. Ailesse knows I’m not ready to do what it takes to become a Ferrier. She wouldn’t ask me to complete my rite of passage. She’d know I’d never go through with it unless I had no other choice.

  My body quakes with guttural rage. I turn on the owl. “I know what you’re trying to tell me, but I won’t hear it. Ailesse isn’t going to die!” I may be Odiva’s daughter, but I can’t really be her heir unless my sister is dead. Furious tears sting my eyes and smear my vision. All these weeks can’t have been leading up to Ailesse’s death and my ascension. I never agreed to be a part of that.

  The owl hops off the parapet and screeches at me.

  “No!” I cry. I’m not playing this game any longer. I’m not completing my rite of passage or ferrying souls or even opening the Gates of the Beyond. I’m going to focus on saving Ailesse before it’s too late. There has to be another way to save Dovré from the Chained.

  And suddenly I know what it is.

  I’ll give Odiva the bone flute—the one I spent the last three days carving.

  I race away from Castelpont. I run full speed for Château Creux.

  I don’t care what the silver owl or even Ailesse
wants me to do.

  I’m not giving up on my sister.

  38

  Bastien

  I QUIETLY STEP FROM THE scaffolding and enter the room off the quarry, careful not to wake Ailesse. She needs her sleep. Every day she needs more.

  She rests on her side with her back to me. I set down my pack and drift closer to her. My body shivers with heat. Ailesse’s auburn hair lies in swirls like dark flames and shining water. That’s how my father would have described it. He’d study her from every angle before trying to capture her with his chisel and hammer. He’d save his money so he could afford to sculpt her from marble instead of limestone.

  “Your father carved this one for you, didn’t he?” Ailesse asks on a weak breath.

  I stiffen. Because she’s awake. And she’s thinking of my father, too. Her hand is on my most prized possession. I see it on the ground over the curved line of her waist. My dolphin sculpture. I’m not sure how I feel about her touching it. It’s the only sculpture my father never tried to sell. It was his gift to me. He often took me to the coast to see dolphins, my favorite animals. We’d watch them jump from the water in pairs. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because it’s the best one.” Her slim fingers glide along its tail. “That’s proof of how much he loved you.”

  I shift my weight from leg to leg. I don’t know how to reply. I’ve learned to live with the pain of losing my father, but I never shared the sorrow. Jules and I shared the anger instead.

  Jules. I sigh. She and Marcel weren’t anywhere in the castle district. Hopefully, Birdine has better luck finding them tonight.

  I set down my lantern and pack. It’s filled with more food and supplies. Ailesse never asks if I steal what I bring her. Does she even understand the concept of money—what it’s like to need it and never have it?

  It doesn’t matter. If I had a thousand francs, I’d give them away for anything that might make her smile. “How are you feeling?” I move closer, wishing I could see her face.

  Except for her fingers tracing the dolphin’s back, she holds perfectly still. “Did you know I once hunted a tiger shark? I killed her with a knife, and I didn’t even have graced strength—not until she gave it to me.”

  “I have no trouble believing you took down a shark.”

  She rolls over and finally meets my gaze. My pulse races. Her skin is pale and her umber eyes are weary, but she’s still breathtaking. She doesn’t know it, but every day when I’m gone, all I think about is her.

  “I know you’re strong, Ailesse.”

  “Not enough.” Her chest falls. She glances at the lanterns and candles around the room. They’re fine candles, ones that don’t smoke or sputter. I never rationed them like I said I would. I keep bringing her more. “It’s not enough light,” she confesses.

  I can’t stand seeing her in pain any longer. I have to get her out of here. “Are you well enough to walk?” I offer my hand. I know somewhere that might be safe. I haven’t risked taking her there yet, but now I’m desperate. “I want to show you something.”

  After a tense, stretched, and nerve-racking moment, she reaches up and sets her hand in mine. The warmth of her skin instantly settles me. I pull her to her feet, and her earthy, flowery smell fills my lungs, better than any perfume.

  I help her down the scaffolding and onto the floor of the quarry, then lead her into a tunnel she’s never been through before. My lantern faintly lights the path ahead—a mining tunnel, free from any skulls and bones. I don’t want anything to upset her.

  We step over rubble and duck under places where wooden beams hold up the fissuring limestone ceiling. We slide through narrow spaces and crawl over piles of bricks. Every time our hands come apart, my fingers ache to touch her again. As soon as possible, I take her hand once more, and she weaves her fingers tightly through mine.

  “There used to be a great house in Dovré,” I say as we come near our destination. “The baron who lived there turned the courtyard into an aviary, and he covered it with a dome of leaded glass. The house is abandoned now; half of it collapsed into a quarry. The dome fell, too, but the glass didn’t shatter. It was so strong that most of the panes stayed intact.”

  We step out of the tunnel, and Ailesse gasps. I set down my lantern. We don’t need it anymore. I let go of her hand to give her a moment alone. She walks under the wide beam of moonlight and tips her head back. Vines hang from broken sections of the dome above us, and ivy creeps all around it. Despite that, light finds its way through. A silver glow shines down in a dust-flecked shaft.

  Ailesse’s eyes close. She inhales a deep breath. I smile, watching her smile. She looks like herself again. “The moon is full,” she whispers. “I wish you could feel it.”

  “Describe it for me.”

  She keeps her eyes closed and basks in the light. “Imagine it’s the hottest day and you’re parched for thirst. You finally find a spring of water and take a long drink. You know that feeling when the coolness trickles down through your chest? This is like that.”

  I wander closer. She lures me without any flute or song.

  If my father knew Ailesse, would he like her?

  “Or imagine a night that’s bitter cold,” she continues, “and your bones have turned to ice. At last, you find shelter and tuck close to a crackling fire. This is the moment when you feel that first burn of heat.”

  Can my father see Ailesse now? Is there a window looking down onto me from where he is?

  Would he forgive me for wanting to see her happy?

  “Ailesse?” I whisper.

  She opens her eyes. Would my father forgive me for feeling peace and not hatred when I’m with her?

  “Do you remember how you danced with me at Castelpont?”

  She gives a small nod. Her hair gleams in the moonlight and falls past her shoulders to the middle of her back. Would my father forgive me for wanting to hold her?

  “Will you dance with me like you did then?”

  She takes in a breath, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe that dance is sacred to the Leurress, and I shouldn’t have asked her to—

  I swallow; she’s moving closer. The light ripples across her face. When she’s almost touching me, she rises on her toes, extends her leg, and pivots in a slow circle. Her arms float above her head, wind and water and earth and fire, as she glides around me. Her hand lifts to her face, and she runs the back of her fingers in a line down her cheek and throat and chest and waist and hip. I’m barely breathing. The look on her face is giving, not vain. She shows me her hair next, a shimmer of auburn that slips through her palm.

  Her hands take mine, and she pulls them to rest on her waist. My thumbs graze her lower rib cage. Drawing close, she touches my face . . . the bone of my jaw, the slope of my nose. There’s a rhythm to her movements, like each motion is timed to music only she hears.

  Her fingers tremble as they move over my lips and trace the length of my neck. They lower even farther, to my chest. Her breath shudders as her fingers spread over my heart. I feel it pound faster. This part of the dance I don’t remember.

  Her eyes close. She leans her forehead against me and turns her cheek so it lies across my shoulder. I hold her tighter, wanting to keep her like this, but the dance isn’t finished.

  She takes my hand and twirls away from me, slowly and gracefully, then spins back again until her back is pressed to my chest. She lifts her arms and folds them around the nape of my neck. I raise my hands and slide them around the circle of her waist. This is peace. This is right. I was meant to be here with her.

  She stays in my arms much longer than she did at Castelpont. When she slowly unfolds herself and turns around, she gazes up at me, searching my eyes. “That’s all I can do,” she whispers. “We’re coming close to the moment where . . .” She meant to kill me. I meant to kill her.

  “Then this can be the new end.” My fingers weave through her hair.

  She draws a breath and releases it. “What if you and I didn’t meet o
n a bridge? What if I was a normal girl who didn’t wear bones or see the dead? Would you feel anything for me if I never lured you with a song?”

  My mouth curves. “Would you feel anything for me if I wasn’t your soulmate?”

  She shakes her head, which worries me for a moment, but then she answers, “I can’t imagine anyone else for me but you.”

  I sweep a lock of her hair off her face and brush my thumb across her cheek. “You never needed to play a song for me, Ailesse.”

  Our heads drift together, mine lowering, hers rising.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I can almost taste her lips. I’ve been wanting to kiss her for days, and those days have stretched on for ages.

  She gasps and jerks back. Her eyes dart wildly around the room.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, a little off balance.

  “A Chained is here.”

  “Chained?”

  “A dead person—a bad one.”

  “You can see him without your grace bones? I thought—”

  She shakes her head, breathing fast. “I feel him. Once he snuck inside, the energy from the moon dimmed.”

  My muscles tense. I curse myself, realizing my terrible mistake. I shouldn’t have risked bringing her here, where the dead can find her. “We have to run.”

  The Chained’s bodiless voice snarls, “Do you think you can hide from us?” The hair on my arm stands on end. He barely sounds human.

  And he’s right beside us.

  In a flash, Ailesse pulls my father’s knife from my belt.

  “Wait!” I reach for her.

  She springs away and strikes the air, swiping the knife with a cry of exertion. The Chained man hisses. Ailesse’s head whips to the side. She’s thrown back several feet, and her body crashes against a wall of the quarry. She crumples to the ground.

  I shout her name, rushing toward her. I fall to my knees and draw her into my arms. She sucks in great gasps of air. Her breath has been knocked out of her lungs. “He’s too powerful,” she pants. “He stole Light before he came here.”