25

Ash

I slow my pace as we are led into the Sanctuary, the heavy wooden side gate clapping shut behind us. Something’s not right.

“There is more than one lie in the air.”

I forgot how little sense my inner voice makes at times. Care to elaborate?

“Two or maybe three deceptions are flowing over one another. Tied up in knots.”

I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good. Without warning, a chill snakes through me, and my heart beats wildly out of rhythm. I can’t breathe.

“You have to breathe,” my inner voice coaches.

I take a gulp of air. This is Nonnova, I remind myself. Our allies since the realms were formed. We are safe here, for viz’n’s sake. I try to laugh it off.

“Breathe, Ash. Let it pass.”

Now you’re an expert on my panics?

“You forget. They are mine, too.” My inner voice gives a mental sigh. “Notice the little things.”

I try, but my eyes dart everywhere at first, seeking the source of my growing anxiety. Where are these knots of lies? I can’t tell, which makes everything worse. The gardens are well kept, not a shade or shadow in sight. Though the twisting trunks of the wisteria look like they are hungry for something to choke.

“What else do you see?”

I focus on the landscape of freshly pruned hibiscus, orange angel trumpets, and small leafy azaleas that are already covered with pink and white buds. It’s beautiful, I admit.

“What do you hear?”

I take another breath and listen. Tiny hummingbirds beat their transparent wings, dipping into the trumpet flowers. They move more like buzzing bees than birds. As I expected, spring in Nonnova is not far off, though there are only two seasons here, hot and dry and hot and wet. I take another deep breath and let it out.

Kaylin steps nearer to walk beside me. His fingers release the hilt of his sword and brush the back of my hand. “I’m here,” he whispers in my mind.

I focus on the sound of his voice, the lightness of his touch, and expand my lungs. They fill with the sweet, scented air. When I let out my breath, my shoulders relax. I’m back in the present moment, but I keep up the observations, allowing my awareness to take in everything around me. It helps.

The pathways are meticulously swept and blue- and green-robe students—healers mostly, I assume—are at work with rakes and brooms. From the higher branches of surrounding umbrella trees squeaks, whistles, and chatter waft down from the pandemonium of lorikeets roosting there. Then I see it, a group of orange-robes training on the far side of the garden pools.

“Kaylin, do you see what I see?”

“Aye. Callers.”

Tyche notices, too. Her eyes narrow, and she looks at me with confusion. Piper takes her hand.

I catch up with Marcus and tug on his sleeve for the tenth time since disembarking. It may be starting to annoy him, but this is important.

He bends his head to me. “What now?”

“Callers,” I whisper.

He studies the orange-robes as we walk by. The phantoms are various creatures, bird-like and four-footed beasts, all of them vocalizing. I can’t see what they are practicing with until weapons fly through the air, the savants catching them in outstretched hands.

Marcus furrows his brow and I know he understands.

“This is unusual, right?” Kaylin asks, his lips brushing my ear.

His proximity makes my breath catch. “Nonnova isn’t known for their callers and those…” I shut my mouth. “They don’t look like Nonnova savants.”

“Nonnovan savants have a look?”

“Yes and no. They vary in color and conformation like we all do. But did you notice the girls on the beach this morning?”

“Aye!”

Does he have to be so enthused? “Well then, did you notice the way they…”

“Smile? And move like they walk on clouds? And laugh like—”

“I can see you studied them in depth. The point is, accomplished as those orange-robes are, they don’t have the same way about them.”

“I see your point.”

We make a hard left and enter the main building, but again from a side door. “And what of this indirect route?” Our boots sound on the tile floors as I orient myself. We must be in the left wing, behind the reception hall. Interesting, because that is the hall where their first whistle bone usually hangs. I’ve seen it enough times on my visits here. The Tree of Eternity, symbol of physical life, a whistle carved from a neck bone and decorated with images of root to trunk to stem to bud to flower to seed and back to root. I feel very certain it is no longer hanging there. But how can I know that?

“Talus said to trust your gut.”

I’m trying to!

They lead us down the corridor and into a small waiting room. No refreshments are offered, and the guards are left behind, effectively blocking any way out. Their phantoms are up and armed, looking nothing like healers in this light. I jump when the door on the opposite side of the room opens.

“Calm yourself. In moments, you will be translating for the High Savant.”

I take another measured breath and lift my chin as I exhale. I’m ready.

“This way,” the approaching savant says and disappears into the darkness. He leads us down a torch-lit corridor made of uneven stone steps.

“Where are we going?” Tyche asks in a loud whisper.

I squint at the windowless walls and looming ceiling. “Somewhere secure.”

Piper takes Tyche’s hand again and keeps ahold of it.

I lose count of the steps before we reach the bottom where the corridor opens into a large, vaulted room with a hundred blazing candles. It’s the most beautiful meditation hall I’ve ever seen. The warm glow, colorful cushions, the low central table all make it familiar and inviting. “I had no idea this was here,” I can’t help myself from saying.

“Sit,” the savant says. “The High Savant will be with you shortly.”

There is water on the low table, and we all sit cross-legged around it. I barely have time to fill my glass and bring it to my lips when Servine enters the room. I make to rise along with the rest of our party.

“Stay seated.” She waves us back down. She’s young for a red-robe, in her late thirties. Her skin is dark brown, her face round and open, her lips full. But her eyes don’t miss a thing. “I will join you,” she says in Nonnovan. Her voice feels like a warm breeze on a hot summer night, the accent sultry. I ready myself to translate. Whenever I’ve conversed directly with Servine in the past, on errands for Master Brogal, we speak Nonnovan.

I square my shoulders and keep my hands in my lap while Servine settles on a crimson cushion at the head of the table. The High Savant pours herself a drink, holding her sleeve back with an elegantly manicured hand with brightly painted nails. “Welcome to Nonnova Sanctuary.” She smiles. “You’ll have to forgive the lack of fanfare. It’s been an eventful day, and it’s not even half over.” Servine slips out of the Palrion common tongue and into her own. “Quite the eventful week, actually, with the appearance of the second sun.”

“Indeed. With your permission, High Savant, I will translate?” I offer.

Servine dips her head once. “Please do, Ash.”

My face warms. I didn’t expect her to remember my name. I take Brogal’s official scroll out of my satchel and pass it to her, but Servine’s eyes are not on me. She reads through the document and then turns quickly to Marcus, who, to his credit, remains completely composed. One of the many benefits of being groomed for the throne, he knows how to handle himself in a formal setting.

“I had word of your arrival, Marcus Adicio, or should I say Bone Gatherer?” The High Savant addresses him as if he can understand her. “Your presence surprises me. Last I was told, you perished on your way to Aku. But now I see you are alive and well and have advanced to yellow-robe. This is good news. I thought, at one point, the day would never come. Congratulations.”

I turn to Marcus. “She’s relieved to see you alive. Good job on gaining your yellow robes.”

He clears his throat. “Tell her thank you, and that my death was a false rumor, one that was carried on phantom wings, or so it seems.”

“Phantom wings?” I say out the side of my mouth.

“Just translate it.” Marcus keeps his eyes on Servine who nods when I pass along his words.

“No doubt there are those who would benefit from such a loss,” Servine says. Of course, she knows about Petén’s ascension to the throne. “Your father’s health is failing? Tell me that is a rumor as well.”

“She knows your brother took the throne and asks after Jacas,” I say.

Marcus shakes his head. “My father is dead.”

I turn to Servine. “Sadly, the Magistrate has passed. We had news of it only this morning.” I pause before adding, “Peace be his path.”

Her eyes go to my medallion chain. Was that a slip? For me to admit we received news mid-seas? Am I meant to keep my communication abilities to myself? Brogal hadn’t instructed me on that matter, but he did say to trust no one.

“My sympathies to you, Marcus Adicio. Peace and serenity on his next path.” Servine switches to Palrio for a quick second. “We could have used his wisdom, on this verge of the next Great Dying.”

“Thank you.” Marcus presses his hands together, touches his forehead and gives a bow. “Then do your Bone Throwers confirm the validity of the second sun and what it heralds?”

I translate and she nods. “They do.”

“We saw no signs of concern. The people seemed unmoved either way.”

Servine holds out her hand. “We adhere to strong divisions in Nonnova, keep separate the matters of the Sanctuary and those of ordinary non-savants. The lore of the second sun is Sanctuary business and stays within our walls.”

It’s true to some degree in Palrio as well, with hundreds of years of Magistrates all being savant, up until Petén that is. But back home, there has always been more flow of knowledge. In any case, I don’t see how Nonnova will be able to keep that up. It’s a seaport and news travels. People talk, especially us non-savants, but I translate her words faithfully.

Marcus bows again, avoiding the topic of segregation. I don’t blame him. We are here for the bone, not political debate.

Servine takes the next few moments to run her eyes over each of us. She rests them uncomfortably long on Kaylin. Well, uncomfortable to me, at least. There’s no sign of him being bothered, but I can understand her scrutiny. He stands out. Poised and attractive, emanating confidence but not in savant robes. She must wonder what his role is in our group.

“Tutapa?” she asks him directly.

Or maybe she already knows.

“Aye, High Savant. That is where I was born.”

The meaning of their short conversation is obvious, so I don’t translate for the others. Kaylin speaks beautiful Nonnovan. Is there a language he hasn’t studied?

“Could be said of you, too,” my inner voice reminds me.

“And where is Captain Rowten? I was told he journeyed with you. Back on the ship?”

“Not on the ship,” I say, looking her straight in the eye. “He stayed back.” I wave out to sea, which also happens to be the direction of Baiseen. I’m not going to lie to a red-robe, but I am not going to disobey one, either.

“Ah, I see.” Whatever she’s thinking is hidden behind her tranquil face. She turns back to Marcus. “So you are the Bone Gatherer, as spoken of in the ancient scripts?”

“She knows you’re the Bone Gatherer,” I say.

Marcus tilts his head slightly to confirm it.

“Unhappily,” Servine says, gently stroking long dark hair back from her face. “My news for you will not be well received.”

I hold my breath and tell the others, “Bad news.”

“I’m afraid I cannot pass Nonnova’s first whistle bone into your care.”

I tell Marcus and he keeps his face neutral. “Why not?”

She doesn’t need a translation for that, either. “It was called last night, snatched from its place of honor.” She lets out a sigh and turns bewitching eyes onto us all. “To be true, we thought it might have been you, hence the cautious greeting. There were casualties. Can you confirm the new Magistrate of Palrio is not declaring war on Nonnova?”

“What’s she saying?” Marcus whispers.

“Bone’s gone, called, it seems. People murdered. She thought it might have been our doing. Petén declaring war.”

“Set her straight!”

I hold my hand out to hush him, not the most diplomatic gesture, but I need to keep my attention on the High Savant. “There were casualties, you say?”

“They called the hearts from my guards’ chests before we saw them coming.” She hoods her eyes. “An Adicio trait.”

I remember the stains on the garden wall and my stomach drops. “It is not the intention of Palrio to threaten the Nonnova Isles in any way, but the red-robe Sierrak, Tann, who has taken callers captive, also pursues the original whistle bones,” I say and turn to Marcus. “Tann got here first, and none too gently.”

“Yes, Tann.” Servine echoes the name. “My advisors suggest he is the most likely culprit, but our whistle bone was called, not ousted. We all heard it, and Palrio is the realm of caller phantoms, so you understand our concern.”

“We’ve been your staunch allies for over five hundred years,” I point out. “And Tann has been abducting—”

“Callers. I know that now. Our Bone Throwers collaborate your claims, but still, it’s a bad coincidence. Could I not have been informed of Tann’s attack sooner?”

“Our apologies, High Savant.” Why hadn’t Brogal told her? All the allied realms should know.

“In any case, the Nonnova whistle bone is gone and cannot be passed to you.”

I translate, and everyone starts talking among themselves.

“I can offer you a midday meal,” Servine interrupts, “and some supplies for your journey, but it looks like in this race, Tann is well in the lead, which bodes badly for the allied realms.”

Marcus grimaces when he understands. “Please tell the High Savant that we will help here in any way we can.”

She appreciates the offer but declines. While she and the others exchange information about Aku and Baiseen, keeping me busy with the translating, our meal arrives.

“I’m starving,” Tyche says, her voice small.

Kaylin smiles at her. “Me too.”

Unfortunately, everyone keeps talking while they eat, and I feel obliged to make sure Servine isn’t shut out of the conversations. When the talk is more on the meal than our strategy, Kaylin takes over so I can eat. “Thanks!” Seems I have an appetite, too.

Servine brightens as Kaylin translates. Her eyes never leave his, even though they are talking about things as inconsequential as the delicious pineapples cut in half and filled with bananas, papaya, and passion fruit, or the roast bird the size of a turkey, which I suspect is a peacock, or the fresh coconut water drunk straight from the shells. The various dishes are served on woven mats covered in squares of green banana leaves. I’m glad for the break and the chance to enjoy the meal, but predictably, it doesn’t last.

Soon, the table animates and both Kaylin and I are translating. Samsen and Marcus have much to say about stopping Tann in his tracks, and Belair is openly sharing his skepticism about the true meaning of the second sun and the next Great Dying. It seems that within the walls of the Sanctuary, anything can be discussed.

In it all, Servine ends up encouraging us to go on to Kutoon in Gollnar in the hopes of arriving ahead of Tann, if indeed that is his next destination. It’s still not easy to translate with food in my mouth, so by the time everyone else is scraping their plates, Kaylin and I still have a fair way to go. I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen up whatever has me increasingly on edge again.

“An attempt on one’s life can unsettle the nerves,” Kaylin says to me privately.

I shiver, still not used to the return of his voice in my head. “As would executing said assassin,” I say back. “But here you are, calm as ever.”

When my plate is finally empty, I say, “Tann’s probably happy to let us gather what we can, for now, biding his time until he calls them from us. It’s what we plan to do to him. But if there’s a way to prevent that from happening, we need to uncover it.”

That gets me murmurs of agreement from everyone. I quiz Servine on the matter, finding sympathy for our plight, but no new information on retaining the whistle bones.

“Perhaps Zakia, High Savant of Kutoon, can advise.” Servine looks deep into her mug before draining it. “Be careful there. She could have ties to Atikis, rogue as he is, and it seems from what you’ve said, that he seeks the bones as well.” She leans toward me. “There’s a faster route to Kutoon, you know? Not many captains do.”

Kaylin perks up at this.

“You’ll have to skirt the north isles and hug the coast. There the current runs like a torrent to the north. Then, on the way back, take the southerly stream, five miles off the coast,” she says as the woven mat plates are cleared, and we rise to leave.

“Skirt the north isles?” I frown at that, the Bone Thrower’s mural coming to the forefront of my mind, bringing with them a nagging headache.

“Yes, the chain of—”

“Bakton!” I say, interrupting. Everyone turns my way. “Bakton is in the north island chain.” I try to sound calm but it’s probably too late for that. All while we talk, I feel an increasing restlessness in the pit of my guts as my head pounds harder. It’s like a thought, or proclamation, is trying to erupt.

“Ash, are you all right?” Marcus asks.

I nod, keeping my eyes glued on Servine. “That’s the isle destroyed by a volcanic eruption?”

“Centuries ago, yes.” Servine gives me a curious look.

“The isle that was once the Sanctuary of Nonnova?”

“Indeed.”

“Ash, thank her and let’s be on our way.” Marcus grips my shoulder, trying to turn me toward the stairs.

“Wait.” I brush his hand off. “Servine, what’s left on Bakton? What survived?”

The High Savant shakes her head. “There are only ruins. A few pillars and totems slowly being engulfed by the sea. The rest is a volcanic wasteland, save for the gull nests to the north.”

“What of their original whistle bone?” I whisper. “Did they have one?” I know the twelve originals are accounted for, at least, Brogal’s text says they are. And I have seen the Tree of Eternity hanging in its place of honor in their meeting hall, but what if it was first given to Bakton?

“Indeed.” The High Savant lifts her chin. “They first held our original whistle bone. It was brought here to safety, only to have Tann steal it last night.”

“Are you sure it was brought here?”

“As sure as the ancient scripts. Besides, how could Tann’s callers take it if it were not indeed the original?”

“But is there any chance it wasn’t?”

Her brow furrows, and I know she has doubts. “A replica so good that it fooled all the High Savants of Nonnova, ever since the island blew? Fooled Tann? I guess it could be possible.”

“Thank you.” I give her a ceremonial bow, hands steepled and pressed to my forehead. When we’re back to the harbor, walking up the gangplank, I whisper to Marcus, “We have to go to Bakton.”

“What in the world for?”

“We have to check that their original whistle bone isn’t still there.”

He pulls me to the side, out of the way of longshoremen loading crates. “Are you saying there’s a chance Nonnova’s first whistle bone wasn’t taken by Tann? That it’s buried on some island under a ton of lava?”

My body prickles as Talus’s message finally makes sense. The answer you’re looking for isn’t where you think it is. Use your instincts, girl. You had it right when studying the mural. Do you remember the name of the island?

“Not just some island, Marcus,” I say. “It’s called Bakton, and we have to go there.”