11

THE BONE FLUTE

Liah and the bone carver had emerged from the woods just as the sun began to set. A hazy twilight ignited the air, setting the bronze fields of wild sorghum on either side of them aglow. In the distance, the road split in two, and at the fork, a small fire blazed. Behind it sat a cloaked figure.

The bone carver cast Liah a swift sideways glance. She understood the warning immediately. The Empress has many spies, he had warned her. Strangers were not to be trusted.

The figure made no move as the two drew near. A thin hand stretched a wooden stick over the crackling flames. On it, pieces of meat sizzled, and a rich, gamy aroma filled the air.

Liah’s stomach moaned. She had eaten nothing since the dry millet cake she had devoured before they set out. She carried only four more such cakes, two for the evening and two for morning. If the ancestors saw fit, the bone carver would sell many carvings, and they would have plenty of copper—perhaps even silver—with which to purchase provisions for the journey home. If not, they would return hungry.

The bone carver set down his sack. He cupped his hands, stretched forward, and then raised them slightly, making the traditional salute to the stranger’s ancestors.

“Sit,” said a deep, hollow voice. “Share the fire.” The stranger motioned to other sticks and pieces of fresh meat flayed from a badger or squirrel lying atop a cloth beside him. “And the food.”

If this was a trick to gain their trust, thought Liah, it was a good trick. She dropped her sack and took a step toward the sticks, but the bone carver barred her path.

“May your ancestors protect you during the day and keep watch over you by night,” he said.

The figure reached up with a free hand and pulled back the hood, revealing a gaunt face, with sculpted cheeks and a ruddy mouth. It was an odd face, thought Liah. It seemed to have an ageless quality—tired, wise eyes set deep into smooth, youthful skin that seemed to glisten in the pale moonlight.

“What sets you on this path?” asked the mysterious man.

“We head for the palace to peddle our wares,” said the bone carver, seating himself next to the man, taking the stick, threading a piece of meat onto it, and holding it over the open fire. He nodded toward Liah, who quickly joined them, happy for the warm meal and the chance to rest her aching feet.

“Such coincidence,” said the man. “I, too, intend to barter a trade.”

Liah searched around for an indication of what the man may be selling. She could see no sack filled with items or grains. “And what might you bring to sell?”

A thin grin snaked across his lips. “Lies.”

Liah bristled. She had never heard such a silly idea. It sounded neither practical nor profitable. She took a large portion of meat, threaded it onto a stick, and held it over the fire. “Who would purchase such a thing? There is no value in it.”

The bone carver looked at her sharply. She closed her mouth and bit her tongue. Insulting a gracious host was equal to insulting the ancestors.

“Ah,” said the man thoughtfully. “Lies can have great value. In fact, to some they might even be a means of survival.”

Liah frowned. How could a lie help a person survive? You could not wear it or eat it or wield it. She thought about this for some time, and as her meat began to sizzle, she asked, “Tell me, how does one go about selling a lie?”

The stranger’s smile grew thinner still. He removed his stick from the fire, his piece of meat crusted and golden. “Why, my young friend, the best way to sell a lie is to cloak it in truth.”

“That smacks of deceit,” said Liah, not even attempting to hide her disdain. She removed her stick from the fire to let the crisp meat cool.

“Are we not all deceitful at one time or other?” he said. “Be it born of necessity or desire?” He held her gaze, and she imagined he could see deep inside her. As though he knew her recent deeds.

Her cheeks grew hot and radish-red. She was unsure if it was the warmth of the fire or something else. She cleared her throat. “Is that all you sell?”

“Oh no. Of course not.” He chuckled. “I have a great selection of falsehoods, fibs, and fancies. Not to mention some rather clever rumors, insinuation, and innuendo. And sometimes…” He leaned in close, and Liah thought he smelled of clover and codfish. “For special customers only … I sell stories.”

Lies? Rumors? Stories? What nonsense this stranger spouted. Liah opened her mouth, preparing to tell him so, when the bone carver interjected.

“Forgive the young one. She is still learning proper manners.” He ate his small piece of meat and drew a hand across his mouth, slick with grease. Then he picked up Liah’s sack. She flinched, worried he might find the skull she had taken from the forest and know her deception. She relaxed her tense muscles and popped the cooled meat into her mouth when he withdrew one of her carvings.

It was an odd-shaped object, hollow on the inside, with holes carved into various points. He presented it to the stranger, bowing in the sign of thanks. “Payment for your kindness.”

Liah nearly choked on her piece of meat. The bone flute was her first carving. She was proud of the instrument, for though it was not all too pleasant to the eye, it made a rich sound. It was hers to sell, not the bone carver’s to squander on this storyteller. This lie peddler.

The stranger bowed in the proper response and accepted the gift. “A fine piece,” he said, studying it from all sides. He smiled at Liah, and then he narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, have you performed the proper rituals? Has the spirit been set free, or shall I be haunted by the cow or deer to which this bone belongs?”

How dare this man question her carving! She wished to snatch it back, but the bone carver stayed her arm.

“The rituals were obeyed,” he assured the stranger. “I performed them myself. No spirit lingers in this marrow. Your dreams shall not be plagued.”

Liah clenched her jaw. Her words came out tight and brittle. “May your bones one day be laid to rest and your ancestors perform the rituals to set your spirit free.” It was a proper blessing to bestow upon someone, yet the bone carver cast Liah an angry look, knowing well her tone had meant otherwise.

“I do not have ancestors,” said the man flatly. “And I have little interest in having my spirit set free.”

Liah and the bone carver both bristled at such foolish and disrespectful words.

“Now, now. You must not fret.” He waved a hand. “If my spirit were to be set free, my journey would end. And I have much more to accomplish in this world.” He examined the carving in his hand again. “Truly excellent craftsmanship. Yes. Perhaps you shall be the one to help me with my journey onward.”

Liah and the bone carver exchanged curious glances.

“Now,” he said with a smile, “perhaps I might have something new to trade. A tune, perhaps?” He placed his fingers on the holes and began to play a hollow melody.

The night grew ripe with shadows as the purple sky faded to black. Liah sat sulking at the loss of her carving. She ate her fill, all the while listening to the low, whispery notes of the bone flute.

She did not trust this stranger who claimed to sell stories and lies, but the journey had been long, and her head grew weary. She rested it against her satchel, and though she tried to keep one eye open, she drifted off with the mournful music of the bone flute rising and falling in her dreams.

Liah awoke in darkness. The fire had turned to ash, and the bone flute lay beside her. The stranger was gone.