4

Ash

Brogal’s chambers shrink as we all file in. He waves us to the long table where extra chairs are placed, but I hesitate in front of his desk. I’ve been waiting to sit opposite him and relay all my discoveries found on Aku. He’ll want to hear what I learned about the second sun, especially now.

“I wish we had this confirmation sooner, Ash, before our meeting,” he says, reeling me back to the moment.

I stare at him, unmoving. “Before?”

He sighs. “Sit-sit.” He nudges me toward the table. “There isn’t much time.”

My fingers tingle as I pull out a chair and take my seat across from Marcus and Belair. Is he saying we already had our meeting? I reach for my pocket of notes and then realize I’m in my festival dress.

“Hello, lovely lass.” Kaylin takes the seat next to me. “May I say again how beautiful you are tonight?”

My heart pounds so hard I think it might burst from my chest and all I can manage is, “Hi.”

In answer, Kaylin flashes me his brilliant smile and winks, making me want to…I don’t know…punch him as hard as I can, or maybe leap out of my chair and wrestle him to the ground. Instead, I call out to him with my mental voice, but again, he doesn’t answer.

He holds my gaze, at first expectant and then, I think, confused. Is he calling to me, mind-to-mind as well?

“It’s the second sun,” I say in a rush, stating the obvious.

“Aye lass, it’s here.” But he still looks confused.

I catch Marcus staring at us, a hint of his old possessiveness showing through layers of other worries.

A fresh headache starts to build at the back of my skull. I thought I was through with these.

Making it worse, the Bone Thrower pulls out the chair on my other side. The hem of his black robe swirls over the floor when he sits, brushing the edge of my new boots. His presence suddenly makes the high ceiling feel too close, the walls close in. I swallow and try not to stare at his profile. Unsuccessfully. He pushes his cowl back and ropes of dark hair fall to his waist, many wrapped in colored cloth, braided with feathers, shells, and small bones. It’s the mark of a black-robe well advanced along the path. He smells dry, like desert sand.

I’m wedged between the black-robe on one side and Kaylin on the other. This would be the perfect time for my inner voice to pipe up, pointing out things I might otherwise miss, coaching me as to what to say. I haven’t been able to hear it of late, either. “Where are you?”

There’s no answer from within. Nor is there one from Kaylin when I bombard him with my thoughts. We used to be able to speak freely to each other, mind-to-mind. What’s happened now that we can’t? I sneak another glance at him, but he’s turned away, talking to Piper. She has no problem chatting to him. We’re all friends here. What’s wrong with me?

Panic rises and my heart pounds.

I take some deep breaths to settle myself.

When Master Brogal steps to the head of the table, a chill trickles down my back. It steals my breath. For a moment, the room tilts and I imagine him close in my face, shouting, forcing me to drink from a cup. He chants harsh words that make my skin crawl. I gasp more than once before I have my breathing under control. And then I notice Kaylin staring at me. Piper, too.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, though neither asked, at least, not that I heard.

Brogal’s my guardian. Has been for ten years. He’s reserved, sure, but still my mentor. He would never harm me. I don’t know what would make me feel otherwise.

At the head of the table, he unrolls a map. “First up.” He taps the coastline northwest of Baiseen. “Tann’s fleet is here, beached for repairs.” He looks at Kaylin. “Thank you for your assistance.” He bows slightly and goes on. “And, as you warned us Marcus, it seems Tann’s goal is to gather the original twelve whistle bones from their guardian sanctuaries, by force or persuasion, in hopes of reforming the crown. Fortunately, he did not get Baiseen’s.”

The room goes still.

It’s about time someone believes us. But I want to point out it was Tyche who revealed Tann’s intention when we first returned from Aku. I wish she were here. She belongs at this meeting. Especially now.

As if my thoughts conjured her from thin air, Tyche appears at the doorway. Her long black hair is in a single braid, her quilted orange robe freshly cleaned. She doesn’t smile, exactly, but her eyes do shine as she comes purposefully into the room and takes a seat beside Piper.

Brogal nods to her, and then continues. “Further, if any of you had doubts, the red ‘star’ pulsing overhead is neither comet nor meteor but nothing other than Amassia’s second sun.”

“Herald of the next Great Dying,” Kaylin and I whisper at the same time. He catches my eye, and the stone in the hollow of my stomach turns into butterflies.

“True.” The black-robe speaks. “We have reached the end of another great cycle, as foretold.”

We stir, murmuring to each other before Brogal calls for silence. I close my mouth and listen.

Master Brogal talks about the urgency of the moment, choices to make, but it’s hard to follow as the black-robe’s phantom wafts toward me. Black-robes don’t raise phantoms from the earth to take solid form like other savants do. Theirs are more curtains of light, just under or over their skin. This one shimmers in smoky wisps of tangerine and yellow, forming a face that dissolves into a finger that points at…me.

I blink but can’t look away.

The Bone Thrower notices. He clicks his tongue and the ethereal phantom snaps back to his side. “We will consult the bones for the next step along the path,” he says to Master Brogal.

I’ve never been this close to a whistle bone reading, not that I remember. Of course the black-robes visit all children of Amassia soon after birth to throw the bones and deem if they have the potential to be savant. If not, they are classed as non-savant, like me, which is common enough. Then there are the rare few found marred—that is a terrible fate, for certain. Our realm only recently banned the child sacrifices. Other realms have not.

According to Brogal, the Bone Thrower saw potential in me, but turns out it wasn’t enough. Try as I did, I never raised a phantom. I don’t remember my early childhood, or my parents disappearing, or even Brogal adopting me. It’s all a blank page until I began my wordsmith apprenticeship at age ten. Trauma, I guess. What else would explain it? My shoulders tighten at the thought. I wonder what explains it now, my not always remembering things?

“This will be telling,” Kaylin says softly in my ear.

“Indeed,” I say, trying to stay poised. His proximity chac’n unravels me, but he’s right. The throw of the bones will help reveal what to prepare for next. Hopefully it will show the steps along the path each of us must take. But there is more I would like to know, things that came up in my studies over the last few days that I can’t find answers to. I need a meeting with Brogal. I also want to ask Kaylin a thing or two, but this is hardly the time. The reading is underway.

The black-robe lays out a worn hide and rubs his tattooed hands together. He opens his bag of bones and plunges his fingers in deep, chanting to himself. His voice is rumbling and makes the back of my neck itch. In moments, he has a handful of whistle bones in his grasp.

“That’s a lot of bones,” I whisper to Marcus. He needs to pay attention to this. “One for each of the original sanctuaries?”

Kaylin counts heads. “Aye, lass. And maybe one for each of us, too.”

Before I can respond, the High Savant stands and directs a question to the Bone Thrower. “What is the best course of action to take, now that the second sun is visible in the sky?” He nods and the black-robe releases the bones.

They bounce and skip over the hide until stopping in a jumbled pattern. The Bone Thrower stares at the spread for a long moment, then finally speaks. “It is seen.” He falters a moment, reaching out to steady himself. It’s the price of divination, life force taken for the ability to see. “The twelve original whistle bones must be gathered and kept in our hands if there is any hope of protecting the allied realms.” His eyes fall on Marcus.

“Gathered?” Marcus says. “You mean taken from Tann? The ones he has in that sealed and guarded chest?”

“Those, yes, and the remaining ones from the sanctuaries that still harbor them.” The Bone Thrower sinks back into his seat. One of his gnarled fingers traces an invisible line across the cloth. “And they must be gathered by you, Marcus.”

“Me? How in the green lands and blue skies does this fall on me?”

The Bone Thrower’s eyes are sharp as swords when they cut to Marcus. “You are the initiate who passed Mossman’s Shoals on your journey to Aku, are you not?”

“We were run off course by soldiers and forced into the river.” Marcus’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. “We barely survived the Falls. It was the only way.”

The Bone Thrower nods. “The how or why does not make the way less true.”

“Marcus?” I clear my throat, trying to get his attention. The Bone Thrower certainly isn’t explaining it very well. I nod to the whistle bone pointing off the edge of the hide, the one leading the others. I don’t know how I can read the meaning, but my heart skips a beat when I know in my soul that I do. “Marcus, it was always meant to be you.” I gasp as the full meaning dawns. “You are the initiate of the prophecy.”

Before any of us say another thing, the High Savant lifts both arms and cheers, “Hail Marcus Adicio, hereafter to be known as the Bone Gatherer!”