A Box of Bones

by Marina Cohen

  As Kallie stood there, triumphant in her truth, she saw the bright light that had always shone in Anna’s eyes flicker and go dim. Anna didn’t react. She didn’t respond. She stood staring at Kallie as if the world around her had gone dark.

  Kallie remembered the girl she had seen smiling and dancing in the rain. That girl was gone. The girl before her was smaller. Frailer.

  The locked box inside Kallie’s mind clicked open, and before she could stop it, a memory slipped out. It was of another time and another place. Of another girl dancing in the rain, laughing and stomping through puddles, getting wet and dirty. That girl had been holding her mother’s hand. It was all so long ago Kallie had forgotten what it had felt like.

  Guilt thumped in Kallie’s chest. She had been so large and looming a moment ago, but now she popped like a soap bubble. “Anna, I…”

  Anna stood. She did an about-face and ran into the crowd.

  Kallie was about to go after her when she heard a familiar sound. It was a violin, playing a hauntingly familiar tune. A man on a zigzag unicycle rolled passed her.

  31

  THE DAGGER

  A familiar laughter sprung from the shadows, sharp and clear.

  Unable to take in what she was seeing, Liah looked down at the skull in her hands. This was no trick. She had disobeyed the bone carver when she took the piece from the forest. She had disturbed its spirit, and by doing so had brought it along on her journey. And as a consequence of her actions, the bone carver had died. It had been her fault.

  As the knowledge sunk in, the laughter around her died and the shimmering figure vanished—swallowed back into the magical shadows that had spat it out.

  Liah gazed for a long time at the skull in her hand. She might return it to the forest. She might take it with her and perform the rituals, releasing its spirit. Then she heard the Lie-peddler’s own words return to her in haunting clarity.

  If my spirit were to be set free, my journey would end. And I have much more to accomplish in this world.

  With much more care than the first time, Liah wrapped the skull in silk and placed it in her satchel. She knew now exactly what must be done.

  Liah returned home to the village. There was a great cry of sorrow at the news of the bone carver’s death and a greater cry of anger at the cruelty and malice of the Empress.

  Liah prepared to give the bone carver a proper burial. She began by cleaning and polishing the bones. She arranged them on a bed and repeated the chants she had learned from him. For forty-nine days she made sacrifices to his ancestors, calling on them to come and take his spirit to its eternal resting place.

  On the last day, she found a spot in the ground beside his forefathers, buried his bones deep so that no animal might find them, and planted a shrub to grow and flourish above him. Though she and the bone carver shared no blood, Liah now felt she had an ancestor whose grave she might tend and whose spirit might watch over her.

  All the while, Liah had also been preparing her revenge. She spent many hours carving something truly special, truly unique. Something that would not only gain the admiration of the Empress but would also bring about her end. When at last all was ready, Liah prepared for her journey back to the palace.

  The villagers begged her not to go, for opposing forces had mustered their armies and were sweeping the lands, destroying all those loyal to the Empress.

  “I must go,” she said to them. “I have promises to keep.” And with that, she set out once again for the palace.

  Without stopping once, Liah reached the mountains by nightfall. She had plenty of work to do. She set about her business.

  By the time Liah entered the palace, it was empty and abandoned. She strode past the thick walls and around to the terrace, where she found the Empress sitting alone. No longer filled with the sound of drunken laughter, it seemed all the more cold. The only light came from the coals beneath the bronze cylinder. The Empress sat mesmerized by the flames, their reflection turning her black pupils red.

  Liah stepped forth from the shadows, and the Empress cast her an uninterested glance. “Have you come to fulfill your promise?” she said wryly. “Have you brought me a beautiful carving?”

  From her sack, Liah withdrew the box she had taken much time to prepare. She held it toward the Empress. “I have.”

  A flash of cruelty lit her eyes as she reached for it.

  “I know how you enjoy your boxes filled with bones,” said Liah. “So I have brought you such a box.”

  In the distance, Liah heard the thunder of hooves. The opposing army was approaching. Soon they would lay siege.

  She watched as the Empress turned the box over. The bones spilled out of the open circle across the stone floor. She placed them in a straight line:

  A faceless figure

  A large sun

  A three-sided shape

  A boat

  A tunic

  A cavern

  A serpent

  A thin instrument

  The Empress picked up the final bone and held it up for Liah to see. It had nothing on it. “Ah, but you made an error. This one has no image.”

  Liah took a dagger from her sack and set it down at arm’s length between them. It was smooth and lean and razor sharp.

  The Empress looked at Liah with hooded eyes. A tiny grin snaked across her lips as she understood. “Ah. I see. One of us shall die,” she said in a voice as dull and insipid as rain.

  Liah nodded. “Yes. One of us.”

  The Empress glared at the dagger, then at the final piece of empty bone. “The question, then, is: Which of us shall perish and which shall survive?”

  Liah picked up all nine bones. She placed them inside the box. The circles spun backward, playing a sweet melody as it sealed tight.

  “That decision is not in my hands,” said Liah. “Nor in yours. It is beyond both of us now. It lies in the hands of the storyteller.”

  32

  UNMASKED

  Kallie saw the belly dancer first. Her thick, embroidered belt jingled and jangled as she rocked and swayed. A little farther along, the fire juggler tossed his flaming sticks high into the air, and next to him the lady in the shimmering blue leotard stood on her hands, shooting arrows with her toes. It took Kallie by surprise, because she hadn’t noticed them there a moment before.

  These were the same performers she had seen at the Church Street Marketplace. She searched for Anna to tell her the good news when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a lean figure standing in the shadows in an alley between two buildings. She recognized him immediately.

  It was the faceless man.

  Slowly, Kallie moved toward him as though he were reeling her in with an invisible line. When she was only a few feet away, he touched the tip of his pink fedora and bowed his head slightly. Despite his lack of features, she was sure he was smiling.

  “I’ve come to return the box…” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  The figure stood perfectly still, his featureless face assessing her. Her courage leaked out like water through tissue paper. She gathered what was left of it and continued. “But, I’ve lost it, you see, and…”

  He didn’t move a muscle. Now more than ever, he reminded Kallie of a mannequin standing motionless in a shop’s window display.

  She was about to explain further when he shifted. He’d been so perfectly immobile, and the movement so sudden, it startled Kallie. He reached for his fedora, held the hat in one hand, and tapped it lightly with the other.

  Out tumbled the box.

  He held it in the palm of his hand, his arm outstretched just as he had done the first time.

  “But…” she whispered. “I saw it sink…”

  He turned the box over until the blank side faced her—the one with no moon and no stars. What Kallie had thought to be the new moon.

  The blank face on the box reminded Kallie of the final piece—the one with all blank faces. She had thought it had meant nothing. Emptiness. Th
e end. She had been wrong.

  “It’s my story,” she said, realizing for the first time the power and potential in those words. “And I must end it.”

  He tapped his hat again, and something else came out. It was long and lean and pointed on one end. It resembled the second-to-last picture—the one she had decided was a dagger. She had been wrong about that as well.

  He held the item toward her. She took it in her trembling hands. She could hear Ms. Beausoleil’s words echo in her mind. A tragedy ends in death …

  The man dropped the box inside his fedora and placed it back on his head. Then he turned to leave, but Kallie, gripped with curiosity, cried out, “Wait!”

  The man stopped.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  All sounds around Kallie ceased. The people at the festival seemed to fade into the background. Nothing existed but Kallie and the man as he slowly turned to face her. And like the slick black skin of a rotting banana, he peeled the flesh-colored material from his face and she saw clearly the ghastly sight that lay beneath.

  The face had no flesh. No eyes. Nothing but bone. The skull was covered in carved circles, which turned and spun like clockwork.

  Kallie gasped in horror. She glanced around to see if anyone else was witnessing what she was, but when she looked back toward the ghoulish face, the man was gone.

  Kallie found Anna sitting on a curb beside the sad-faced clown. She had brought along her ocarina and had joined in his performance. When she saw Kallie, she stopped playing.

  Despite the surrounding sounds, a heavy silence seemed to stretch out like a chasm between them.

  “Did you find him?” Anna asked at last.

  Kallie nodded.

  “Is it over?”

  Kallie clutched the leather satchel close to her chest. In it was the final item the man had given her. “Almost.”

  33

  TRUTH AND LIES

  Kallie’s father stood on the porch, his arms folded, his black Oxford shoe tapping a nervous rhythm. A crease deeper than the Grand Canyon divided his forehead.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been sick with worry. And what are you wearing?”

  Kallie’s heart squeezed up and, for a moment, she could neither move nor stand still. Her head swam with all the things she wanted to say.

  “There was something I needed to do…” she began, but he cut her off.

  “I see. Well, I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible. So unpredictable. So…”

  “I know the truth,” she said suddenly, her voice so tight the words nearly strangled her. In the distance, she heard a low rumble. Above, the raven-feather clouds were gathering again.

  Her father bristled. His eyes narrowed to slits. “What truth?”

  She trembled with anger and fear, but she held her ground. “The truth about what happened to my mother.”

  No sooner had the words escaped her lips, than her father turned a ghostly shade of pale. He wobbled slightly and then steadied himself against the doorframe. He looked as though he might be ill.

  “Who told you?” His voice was flat, emotionless.

  Her father had always been strong and sturdy, as unmovable and unbendable as an old oak tree. His sudden weakness was a shock, but Kallie continued. She raised her chin, firing words at him like pointy darts.

  “I heard you talking with Grandpa Jess. You said you did it for my sake. You said Grandpa should let sunken truths stay sunk. I met the woman at the Dollar Basket. I saw the insurance policy.”

  Her father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, they were dull. Resigned. As though something had drained from them.

  “I knew this day might come,” he said. “But I’d hoped it wouldn’t.”

  Kallie felt a fury violent and powerful zip through her body. “You killed her! You pushed my mother into the lake and she drowned! You got rid of her and just hoped I would never find out?”

  Her father startled. His jaw slackened, and his eyes grew as wide as saucers. He looked at Kallie as though she were something grotesque and alien, as though she had just sprouted another head.

  The color flooded back into his cheeks, turning them a deep scarlet. He ran his hands through his perfectly combed hair, mussing it. A half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that what you think?”

  “I put all the facts together,” said Kallie, her words now like nails meant to catch him and hold him in place. “Everything I heard you and Grandpa Jess talking about. You did it for my sake. You killed her for my sake.”

  “Come on in,” he said softly, holding the door open. “It’s time I tell you the truth. The real truth.”

  Kallie eyed him suspiciously. What sort of trick was this? She’d finally said out loud what she had been thinking for some time, and yet now that the truth was out, it was hard to reconcile the image of her father—the man who had always been there for her, the man who, despite his rigidness, had never so much as hurt a fly—and that of a coldhearted killer.

  She clutched the leather satchel close to her chest and followed him inside.

  “Sit down,” he said, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs and seating himself in another. Tentatively, she slipped into the seat.

  “So,” he began, looking her straight in the eye. “You believe I killed your mother?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “You had an insurance policy. When I went into your closet to look for the box, I saw it. You were going to divorce, but instead of paying for it, you got rid of her and then got the insurance money.”

  “That box.” He sighed and shook his head. “I knew it was trouble the first time I saw it. I just knew it would fuel your imagination.”

  “It’s not my imagination. And my mother’s drowning has nothing to do with the box.”

  He tried to reach for her. She leaned away.

  “Grandpa Jess warned me, but I didn’t listen. He said I would pay for what I’d done. Well, now I suppose that time has finally come. Only it’s not what you think.”

  Kallie wore the damp satchel like a bulletproof vest protecting her from what she was about to hear. Though she had expected his confession to hurt, she was not prepared for what was to come.

  “I didn’t kill your mother,” he said softly. Kallie began to protest, but before she could say a word, he added, “Your mother’s not dead.”

  For one bewildering moment, Kallie struggled to make sense of what her father had said. His words were so calm, so gentle, and yet they were like a punch to her stomach. Kallie felt the wind knocked out of her. Her arms fell limp, and the satchel made a thud on the floor. She could barely breathe, let alone manage to get words out.

  “No.” She shook her head. “You’re lying … She can’t be … She’s dead…”

  “She’s not,” her father repeated. “She’s very much alive and living in Montreal.”

  “No,” said Kallie again, grappling to understand his words, but it was like trying to recall a faint melody heard only once. “She can’t be … She’s not … She’s alive?”

  Outside, there was another rumble, and rain came down so hard and so suddenly, it was as if the sky had broken open.

  Kallie’s father reached for her arm, but she yanked it away. Her thoughts spun like the needle of a compass pointing in one direction. No body had ever been found. Could it possibly be? All these years, had her mother been alive? Kallie looked at her father, and it all suddenly made sense, and it was her turn to feel sick.

  She sprang to her feet and raced for the door, bolting out into the pouring rain. She wanted to run. Run and run and never stop.

  Her father came after her. He grabbed hold of her arm, pulled her toward him, and held tight. She thrashed and struggled to free herself from his embrace, and when she had not an ounce of energy left to fight, she gave up, exhausted, and he let her go. They stood staring at each other.

  “You lied to me,” she gasped. “All this time, you’ve been lying to me.” The pouring rain did nothin
g to quell the fire raging within her.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not at first.”

  He took a step toward her, but she backed away.

  “At first,” he said, “I believed what she had wanted me to believe—that she had drowned. It was the worst day of my life, Kallie. And it didn’t end—it went on and on as they searched for her body and never found her. I thought she was gone forever. I really truly believed it when I told you.”

  The rain soaked through his suit. His hair flopped down in his face. For the first time, he didn’t look perfect. Or in control.

  “Maybe it would have been best if it just stayed that way, but it was that insurance policy. They rarely pay out if there is no firm evidence a person is, in fact, gone. They sent investigators, and after a year of searching, they found her. Living in Montreal. With a musician named Claude.”

  “But … how?”

  “She must have planned it,” he said. “I don’t know. One moment she was on the ferry. The next, she was gone…”

  Kallie couldn’t move as the new truth soaked into her bones along with the rain. She couldn’t decide what was worse. Her mother dead. Her father a killer. Or that she had been abandoned. Unloved.

  Her father reached for her and pulled her toward him. He held her in such a tight embrace she thought he’d squeeze the life out of her.

  “She left us, Kallie. Just like that. And you had already done so much grieving. You were so little and so resilient, and you had found a way to live and move on. I couldn’t hurt you all over again. I decided to just let you believe she was dead.”

  “But it’s your fault. You made her work at that store. You made her unhappy when all she wanted to do was write.”

  “Yes. She was unhappy working at the store. And yes, I asked her to do it. But you don’t know why.”

  She looked at him. His eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it seemed bottomless.