64

Marcus

Kaylin was right. It took hours to find a Bone Thrower, and longer still to negotiate a reading. Do they not understand the word urgent in this realm? Meanwhile, I grill De’ral again and again, asking where Ash is, but he still doesn’t know.

She’s too far away.

“And Salila?” Now would be a good time for her to pop into my head.

Nothing.

What else can I do but seek out a Bone Thrower?

“State your question.” The black-robe sits cross-legged, her brown hair falling forward when she smooths down the hide. It is, as with all Bone Throwers, braided with charms, bones, and bells that chime when she moves. The candlelit chamber smells spicy, or is that wafting from the black-robe herself? With her sits a novice, identified by the close-cropped head. Unlike the Sanctuary savants, the level of accomplishment is not marked by robe color but by the length of their hair. This is a teaching session it seems. I don’t care; I just want answers.

“Question?” she repeats.

Of course, I can think of nothing but Ash—when I saw her last, what I said to her, my last look. It cuts my soul. I was short with her, anxious about the whistle bones, the quest, telling her she had to find answers. That’s her last memory of me?

“The more specific, the better,” the Bone Thrower prompts.

I rein my thoughts in and take a deep breath. “Where is Ash and is she harmed?” I try to elaborate but the Bone Thrower stops me with a raised hand.

“Silence.”

She turns to the novice—going by “young man” or “woman” I cannot say—and tells them to focus on the question, only the question, and allow their phantom to join.

Instinctively, I make to back away until I remember, black-robe phantoms do not take solid form. They are pure energy and light, rising and returning to the savant like a mist over a lake. In moments, the elder Bone Thrower’s phantom wafts about her, a deep purple shadow. Immediately, the room feels warmer, and the savant’s face begins to glow.

The novice’s phantom is harder to see. It’s like a shy elemental hiding within the folds of the savant’s robes. But the color is striking, like sparkling gold tipped in red. Together, the two black-robes begin a chant as the elder one reaches into the bone bag. She stirs through the content, her eyes closed.

The Bone Thrower retrieves the bones, shakes them in her hands once, and tosses them onto the dark hide. They come to a stop, all but one that skips to the far edge of the hide. Both phantoms disappear for a blink and then return. The black-robes shudder when they do. It’s many minutes before the elder stops staring at the whistle bones spread over the hide. “It is done,” she says and draws a long, slow inhale, her face now pale, shoulders slumped.

The novice’s eyes roll to the back of their head. They keel over as the elder pushes a thick cushion behind them, keeping their head from cracking on the floor. I know that throwing the bones extracts a price from both mind and body, but I didn’t know it could knock them out.

“Do you need it written?” the Bone Thrower asks as if it matters little to her either way.

I know how convoluted a bone reading can be, and I don’t trust myself or my memory. “Written, if you will, please.”

I will remember, De’ral says, but even if so, I want the exact wording.

The elder black-robe pulls a writing board into her lap, pops the cap on her ink bottle, dips the quill and begins to write, thankfully, in Palrion. It’s only four sentences but after she fans the scroll dry and rolls it up for me, she smiles. “You already know this, and it’s nothing to do with the question, but your bond with this girl Ash lives eternal, before and beyond the path.”

Warmth heats my chest. “You’re right. That is something I already know.” I pay her the coin owed, bow, and take my leave. That was time well spent.

But when I return to our apartments, I’ve changed my mind. “Curse the bones and throwers, are they not taught plain, simple language in their schools?” I scrub my scalp and read again the list from the reading. But no matter how many times I go through it, I find no real assurances there.

Where is Ash and is she harmed? That was the question, but maybe I should have worded it differently. Would that have brought more clarity?

Too late, De’ral says, matter of fact. He’s a coiled wire fit to spring, as am I.

But he is also right. As with all divination, the same question can never be asked twice, unless new information comes to light. In this instance, there has been no news. I read the answers again.

Ash is not alone.

That could mean Kaylin has found her, right? Or it could mean she is surrounded by her abductors.

From sunrise to sunset the distance lengthens.

So they sail, or ride at great speed? Again, good thing I did not detain Kaylin, not that I could have. All this really means is she’s not held captive somewhere in Pandom City. I guess that is good to know.

The sea watches her from within.

What the dank waters is that supposed to mean? It makes no sense at all. Is it a metaphor? The irony is, I need Ash’s help to unravel it.

None living can stop her.

This is ridiculous. Ash is many things, but unstoppable is not one of them. Unless it means her spirit. Is that saying, peace be her path, she has died? That she walks another way? It takes all my strength not to screw the scroll up into a ball and throw it onto the fire.

The worst part is, even if I knew what any of it meant, it doesn’t reveal where she is, and how would I contact Kaylin anyway?

Salila, De’ral says without hesitation. But we are beyond her call.

“I wish she wasn’t!” My mind goes back to our most recent encounter and heat floods my face.

Tyche pulls on my sleeve, and I tuck the note back into my pocket. Unlike the Bone Thrower, she has presented me with a great deal of valuable information, all that they gathered in the library before Ash disappeared.

I open my mouth to speak but Piper quickly touches the back of my hand and shakes her head, the slightest of motions. Then she taps her ear.

I take her meaning.

On the other side of the room, Samsen, Belair, and Larseen are playing cards. They shout over the music that wafts in from the nearby hall, keeping Larseen distracted as I asked them to. It’s past dinnertime and the courtiers of Pandom City dance, again. Do they have music every night in Tangeen? No matter, it should be enough racket to block prying ears, but Piper is cautious. She touches her throat where a small white pearl hangs, striking against her brown skin, and where her two-headed serpent twines as well. Piper raised it to give Belair another healing before his next assignment.

Master Havest is sending him to the Gollnar border to test his warrior’s skills with a group of yellow-robes and track Tann, if he’s gone that way. I never thought I’d say it when we first met, but I’ll miss the Tangeen and his brilliant red sun leopard. We all will. But with the realms in upheaval, the assignment’s not unexpected. While my mind wanders again, Piper taps me harder. What’s she trying to say?

Tyche makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger and holds it against her chest. Then she tips her head toward the poker table. Up go both females’ brows, willing me to understand. It reminds me of my youth when my brother and I would communicate in our own sign language at the high table during formal dinner parties. Father, of course, did not share many matters of state with us then, so we made it a point to spy, until sidetracked by the hunting horns or the right moon for fishing. Or a lass. What’s wrong with me? I can’t concentrate on anything right now.

I sneak a furtive look at Larseen and spot a medallion around his neck and it clicks. He wears a talisman, like the one Brogal gave to Ash. A distance communication device. How long has he had that? I frown and mouth the word “Brogal”?

Piper nods and raises her brow again.

Do I understand her right? I count the facts off on my fingers one at a time. Number one, Ash is missing. Number two, Kaylin is off to single-handedly rescue her in a small but hopefully fleet vessel. Number three, we have no idea who is responsible for the abduction. Tann? The red-robe Atikis? Pandom City’s Magistrate? Does Belair know something but can’t say? He wouldn’t hold anything back, not with how close he and Ash have become. Would he?

The way Kaylin accused Lars still sticks in my throat. Is it possible my childhood friend is lying to me? But why would he, or Brogal for that matter, want Ash out of the way when she is so highly skilled? I scribble the question on the back of the Bone Thrower’s parchment and Piper shrugs.

Tyche writes the word knowledge.

She knows too much? I write back. Too much about what?

About the second sun? The Mar? Piper jots ideas down quickly, then scratches them out.

What do Mar have to do with it? I scribble out next and for a moment my mind goes to Salila, and I can’t think of anything else.

When I come back to myself, I see Piper doesn’t answer that one. Instead, she touches her nose. “Brogal?” she mouths slowly.

“What about him?” I put down the quill and ask the question aloud. It’s hard to imagine he would order her capture, but at this point, I will rule nothing out.

Piper writes again. Remember Rowten? He tried to kill Ash, no one else.

“That we know of,” I say aloud again. “I should be searching for her this very moment. Why didn’t I go?” I cross my arms over my chest, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

Because you’re the Bone Gatherer, Piper writes in her elegant script. You have no choice but to stay the path.

So says Brogal.

“So says this.” Tyche points at the scroll Kaylin took from the library. It wasn’t just Brogal’s word about the duty of the Bone Gatherer. It was a truth carried by all the High Savants, her grandmother, Yuki, included. The document attests to that.

I take a moment before agreeing. “That leaves us on our mission to secure the bones and hold them,” I say in a soft voice.

“And call those we can’t collect,” Piper adds.

Tyche flinches and I put my hand on her shoulder. “I will not let your blood be spilled.”

“But Tann will.” She looks down at her hands. “Like he did my grandmother’s.”

Piper’s brow knits as if she is pondering an idea, but doesn’t elaborate.

There are whoops and hollers from the table and Belair slaps Samsen on the back. I’m angry at how much fun they’re having when Ash could be anywhere, harmed or even gone from this path. “Enough,” I boom, a little too abruptly. I motion for Piper to roll up the scrolls.

“Problems, Marcus?” Larseen asks.

“We sail for Whitewing at sunrise. I think it’s best to turn in.”

“Of course. It is late.” Larseen rises and shakes hands with Belair and Samsen. He saunters over to me and grips my shoulder. “Safe journey, Bone Gatherer. I hope our paths cross again soon.” He smiles to Piper and Tyche, then hesitates. “Your company is getting smaller, is it not? Do you want me to ask Brogal to send replacements?”

“No need.” I give him a casual smile. “Ash and Kaylin will rejoin us in Whitewing, though Belair will be sorely missed.”

Larseen doesn’t look convinced. “Three savants and a child are hardly enough to guard the whistle bones, especially when you’re down a warrior phantom and a master swordsman.” Apparently, word of Kaylin’s skills has made the rounds. Larseen’s eyes go to the pouch that hangs on my belt. “I insist on discussing this with Master Brogal.”

I control my expression, replaying Kaylin’s accusations in my mind. Ash would certainly follow Larseen if asked, under any pretext, but it’s all conjecture. I can’t prove his involvement either way. “Kaylin and Ash will be with us in Whitewing,” I say tightly. “We’re sailing at dawn. At any rate, the choice of companions is mine.”

“So it is,” Lars replies. When I was Heir, he never would have sounded so dismissive.

To your face, De’ral says, which rankles me further.

Lars bows slightly and leaves.

“I must go, too.” Belair is up and walking toward us. “I’ll miss you, Marcus.” He pumps my hand in a strong clasp and then hugs me tight.

Everyone gathers around him, saying goodbye and offering advice for the road. He will travel with a group of yellow- and orange-robes, savants with a mix of callers, alters, and one other warrior phantom. Hahmen, who raises a healer, will go, too, easing the hardship of separation, at least for Belair. He’s in good company, and hopefully will find out if any threats are lurking around the borders.

“Farewell,” I say, my throat tightening. “Stay the path.”

“And you.” Belair’s eyes well. “I’ll pray to the old gods for our recorder’s quick return.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in them.”

“For Ash, I find I do.”

When he is gone, and the others to bed, I sit in my room, opening the leather pouch Magistrate Riveren had couriered to me this morning. It’s the first chance I’ve had the time, or the mindset, to open it. The gift my father gave the Magistrate glints in the candlelight. A dagger?

No, it’s a rondel, four-edged, which is rare. These kinds of blades are not for general purpose, not cutting, but skewering. A battle weapon only. The hilt is embedded with small jade stones, a vivid contrast to the black blade. Did he have this specially smithed?

I pull out the note.

Marcus, I hope these words from your father may give comfort, if not now, then in the future.

To the Magistrate of Tangeen,

All congratulations, Riveren, and best wishes for your reign.

From your true friend, Jacas Adicio.

Long be your path and power.

It’s Father’s seal, but I’ve never known him to be genuinely outgoing, or friendly. I look at the date. It was gifted five years before my birth.

Before his firstborn was deemed marred and—

“Sacrificed to the sea.”

I stow the gift in the bottom of my pack.

Ash is the only one I want to talk to about this, and I don’t even know for certain if she is alive.