The Bone Charmer

by Breeana Shields

  I study him surreptitiously. His profile reveals wide cheekbones and a strong jaw with the barest hint of scruff. A battle rages inside me. Do I ask him if he’s in the wrong place? I don’t know if it will make things between us better or worse, if he’ll see it as a challenge or a peace offering.

  “Bram,” I say carefully. “I think the Ivory Guard apprentices were supposed to go the other way.”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. It’s the only sign he heard because he doesn’t look at me.

  Then, finally: “I can follow instructions, Saskia.”

  “But … wait, are you training in bone magic?”

  “It looks that way,” he says mildly.

  “Which specialty?”

  “Bone breaking.”

  A ping of alarm goes through me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “Why did you let me believe you were assigned as a regular part of the Ivory Guard?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “Should I have to?”

  “I don’t know. Should the great Saskia Holte have to ask for anything?”

  I feel the words like a knife sliding between my ribs. It’s a sentiment I’ve heard before—how lucky I am to lead a bone-charmed life, a life with nothing left to chance. As if not having ownership over my decisions isn’t just another kind of prison.

  “That’s not fair,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. “Life is only fair for some of us.”

  I curl my hands into fists, my fingernails digging crescent-shaped impressions into the soft flesh of my palms.

  My mother wasted her coin on having bones prepared for a matchmaking reading. Because it doesn’t matter what she thinks my future holds—there’s no way I’ll ever fall in love with Bram Wilberg.

  Norah leads us through Ivory Hall’s enormous arched entrance. The moment I step inside, it’s as if the pressure in the air changes. My stomach plunges and a buzz grows in my ears. The room seems to spin. I hold out a hand to steady myself, but the moment I touch the wall, the chatter of the other apprentices vanishes and I’m engulfed in a silence so complete, it feels like sound.

  And then a hum, a noise soft enough that I doubt I hear it at all, though I feel it there surrounding me. As if I’ve walked into a whisper.

  Firm hands pull me away from the wall and the hum disappears. Norah guides me forward and helps me sink into a chair. “You must be a Bone Charmer,” she says.

  I can’t manage more than a nod.

  “Sit here a moment. It will pass.”

  I open my mouth to ask what’s happening, but then another wave of dizziness washes over me and I can’t get the question out. Norah pats my hand. “Ivory Hall is made entirely of bone, so you’re going to be uncomfortable for a little while. It’s always hardest on the Charmers, but you’ll adjust. Until then, I suggest you touch as little as possible.”

  A tremble goes through me. I can’t even fathom the number of bones it would take to build something this vast. And what happened when I touched the walls? Was that bone reading? Are these human bones? The hair on my arms stands on end.

  When I was small, I used to have nightmares and wake up so frightened, I could scarcely breathe. My father would show up at my bedside, take my face in his hands, and gently press his forehead against mine. “Deep breath, bluebird,” he would say, inhaling right along with me. “Now blow it out. In again. And out.” We would sit like that, forehead to forehead, breathing in harmony until peace found me again, until it wrapped around me like sunlight.

  His voice is in my mind now as I pull air into my lungs and force it out again. Slowly, the dizziness subsides, and I can finally take in the grand foyer—the two staircases on opposite sides of the room that curve elegantly toward the upper floors, the chandeliers dripping with crystal, the gleaming white floors that look like marble but must be bone.

  I turn my focus to Norah, who has launched into a speech about the rules we need to follow while living at Ivory Hall. I try to focus—something about two apprentices to a room, and meals in the dining hall, and a schedule of lessons, some of which will be one-on-one with our Masters and others taught together as a group—but I’m still not feeling like myself, and most of it escapes me.

  Mercifully, she doesn’t talk long before she announces that the staff will show us to our rooms. I make the mistake of touching one of the banisters on the way up the stairs and nearly lose my balance, but a hand reaches for my elbow to steady me.

  Bram.

  He lets go as soon as I regain my footing, and walks silently beside me. For a moment I think I can hear the sound of his blood sluicing through his veins. But then I realize it’s only the whisper of the walls.

  When we reach the point where the corridors split—the men’s dormitory to the left, and the women’s to the right—he walks away without looking back.

  I wake the next morning to someone perched on the edge of my bed. A girl my own age with large brown eyes and curly hair that reaches nearly to her waist. She’s dressed in a white nightgown and she’s studying me intently, as if she’s been there for hours, watching me sleep.

  I let out a startled yelp.

  “Oh,” she says, “sorry to scare you.”

  What did she think was going to happen when she sat on my bed? I scrub at my eyes with a fist. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Tessa,” she says.

  I blink up at her.

  She frowns. “Your roommate?”

  “I’m sorry … I …”

  “Are you feeling better? Because you were in really bad shape last night.”

  I search my memory for the events of the previous evening, but it’s like trying to gather broken glass. Things come back only in bits and pieces. I vaguely remember walking toward the dormitories, a voice chattering in my ear, the sensation that the floor was disappearing beneath me, and then collapsing onto the bed. I look down. I’m still in the same clothes I wore yesterday.

  And Tessa is still talking. “If we’d started our lessons already, I might have been able to do more to help you, but since we haven’t even been bound to our magics yet, what could I do? I thought about finding a real Healer”—she laughs—“one with some actual training, but you didn’t seem to want me to do that, so I hope you don’t mind that I just left you alone.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say.

  She lets out a relieved sigh. “Oh, good. I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot.” A collection of white star-shaped tattoos curve around the back of her ear, and her right arm is covered in indigo whorls.

  “I’m Saskia,” I tell her, scooting into a sitting position. The room spins gently and my stomach rolls over.

  “Yes,” she says, “you told me last night. Right before you pushed me out of the way and fell face-first onto your bed.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t quite myself.” I loosen my braids and run my fingers through my hair. My scalp is so tender, it makes me wince, and I wish I’d at least had the presence of mind to take out the pins before falling asleep.

  Tessa gives me a sympathetic frown. “Is it the walls? I read they make Charmers feel especially unwell.”

  I attempt a nod that makes my head swim. “I didn’t realize Ivory Hall was made from bone until I got here. It doesn’t affect you?”

  “It does,” Tessa says. “Just nothing serious enough to make me ill.”

  “What do you feel?”

  She tilts her head and stares at the ceiling as if trying to find the right words. “I feel … unsettled. I can sense the injuries in the bones—the ailments that killed their owners.”

  “So they are human?”

  “Definitely,” she says. “I think a lot of them were soldiers. Probably Kastelians who died in the Transdroimian Wars. Their bones are particularly potent. But other people must have died of natural causes and chosen this as their final resting place, because their bones feel … quieter to me.”

  I swallow. “You discerned all of that and you don’t even have a headache
?”

  The tips of her ears turn pink. “What’s it like for you? Other than being ill, I mean.”

  What’s it like for me? For a moment I’m tempted to tell her the truth—that I’m terrified of bone magic. Since the kenning I’ve felt like I’m standing at the summit of a steep mountain, about to be pushed from behind. I’m in danger of careening downward, out of control. Destroying everything in my path. I hoped once I arrived at Ivory Hall, I might feel more empowered, more connected to the magic. Instead I was rendered incapacitated the moment I set foot inside the building.

  But my secrets burn shamefully inside me, so I find a different way to explain: “It feels like the walls are whispering.”

  Tessa’s eyes widen. “What are they saying?

  The question takes me off guard. Should I know what they’re saying? If I had more control over my magic, would I be able to hear something more than murmuring? A tight fist of fear closes around my heart. “I can’t tell.”

  Tessa’s expression melts into something like pity. “Oh, well, I’m sure it’s just the nausea. Once you adjust, you’ll probably have fascinating tales to share.”

  She sounds a lot more confident than I feel.

  Maybe Tessa comes from a longer line of bone magic than I do. Maybe that’s why she has more control of her magic already. Not because there’s something wrong with me, but because she’s exceptional.

  My fingers worry at one of the hairpins I’ve been holding. “Are you the first Healer in your family?”

  “No,” she says, and I breathe a little easier—until she continues. “My tenth great-grandmother was a Healer, so I guess it runs in the family but just skipped nine generations.” Her laugh is easy. Carefree.

  The hairpin in my hand snaps in two. I suddenly want to end this conversation. “Speaking of last night, I didn’t really hear the instructions. Do you know where I’m supposed to be?”

  Tessa gives me a bright smile. “That’s why I was trying to wake you. We need to leave now if we’re going to make it on time. Today is the binding ceremony.”

  My hurried steps echo in time with my heartbeat as Tessa and I rush down the long corridor toward the great hall, where the binding ceremony will be held. The kenning is only an invitation to study bone magic; it’s the binding that seals the apprentice to their ability. Once the ceremony is over, there’s no going back.

  The great hall is a rectangular-shaped room three times as long as it is wide, with massive bone columns that support soaring ceilings. Sunlight pours through the windows that line the left side of the hall, bathing the room in a brilliant white glow. Rows of narrow wooden tables, each holding six stone basins, fill the entire center of the room. Next to the basins are neatly folded cloaks in a variety of colors.

  Tessa’s astonished sigh perfectly expresses my awe.

  Norah stands on a dais at the far side of the hall. “Welcome, apprentices,” she says. “Before we get started, please have a look around. Notice the ten windows—they represent the members of Kastelia’s Grand Council. Five men and five women—one member from each of the bone magics and four members who have no magic at all. Perhaps some of you might sit on the council one day. Many of our current council members had their binding ceremonies in this very room.”

  She goes on to discuss how the trees carved into the walls mimic the many branches of the Shard River, how the circular window behind the dais should remind us of fate, while the stained glass inside symbolizes the three essential tattoos.

  My knees feel weak, and I don’t know if it’s the bone walls getting to me again or if it’s a side effect of being mesmerized.

  “It’s time,” Norah says finally, pressing her palms together in front of her. “Please find your name and stand beside your basin.”

  Tessa turns to me. “Good luck.” Her voice is just above a whisper, as if she doesn’t want to spoil the moment with noise.

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “And to you, too.”

  I find my name on a table near the front of the room. My heart beats out a staccato rhythm. There was a time—when I was very young—that I dreamed of this day. Of becoming a Bone Charmer like my mother and Gran. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my memory, I can feel that little girl standing on her tiptoes, eager and excited along with all the other apprentices. But then more recent images rise in my mind—fire and flame, and the terrifying sensation of being trapped—and that ancient spark of anticipation vanishes. This isn’t the future I would have chosen for myself.

  Not anymore.

  “You are all interconnected,” Norah says solemnly. “Masons craft the bone flutes that Watchers use to control animals and the weapons that Breakers use to protect our country. Mixers blend bone potions that Healers use to treat patients. And, of course, Charmers perform readings on us all. You will get to know each other in your seminar classes as you learn the things that are crucial for all who practice bone magic—anatomy, history, ethics. I encourage you to help and support each other.”

  She lets her gaze sweep across the room and fall on each of us. “But your most important relationship at Ivory Hall will be formed as you receive individualized instruction.”

  A door opens near the front of the hall and dozens of men and women in colorful cloaks pour into the room.

  Norah sweeps her hands in front of her, palms to the ceiling. “Masters,” she says, “meet your apprentices.” One by one the teachers find their pupils. My gaze sweeps across the room. A young man, no older than thirty, stands in front of Bram. An older woman, plump and friendly-looking, stands in front of Tessa.

  And then, finally, someone stands in front of me. “Hello, Saskia,” she says. “I’m Master Kyra.” She’s neither young nor old. Her skin is a warm brown, and her hair is pulled back from her face and gathered in an intricate twist at the nape of her neck. She wears a red cloak.

  I open my mouth to reply, but Kyra gives a quick shake of her head. I press my lips together.

  “Masters and apprentices,” Norah says, “welcome to the binding. You may begin.”

  A low hum fills the room as the Masters begin talking all at once.

  “Saskia Holte,” Kyra says, “you have been chosen as a Bone Charmer with the Second Sight, and today you will bind yourself to this magic as it has bound itself to you.”

  She reaches for my hand and pricks my index finger with a needle. “In front of you lie the bones of Charmers who have come before. Do you witness with your blood that you will honor their legacy?”

  “Yes,” I say, tipping my finger until a single drop falls into the basin.

  “Do you vow to use your gifts for the benefit of others and not for personal gain?”

  “Yes.” Another drop of blood.

  “Do you vow to help your fellow citizens find happiness, while matching their talents to the needs of the country?”

  “Yes.” A third drop spills to the bones below.

  “Do you promise to follow every tenet of your training, to uphold the values that you learn within these walls, and to use your magic for good?”

  “Yes.” I have to squeeze my finger to force another drop to fall.

  Master Kyra picks up a stone and a bit of flint and sets the bones on fire. She pulls a pouch from her pocket and sprinkles it over the basin. The flames shoot higher and turn a bright, cool blue.

  “Saskia Holte,” Kyra says, “you have been bound to this magic and may now don your training cloak.”

  She nods toward the folded bundle at the side of the basin, the same red shade that she wears. As I unfurl it, I notice that it’s thicker than the silken robes the Masters wear. I glance around the room—each of the magics has its own color—black for Breakers, blue for Healers, green, purple, orange—but the apprentice cloaks are all a few inches shorter than the ones the Masters wear. And they’re all made of wool.

  I think of my mother placing her cloak around my shoulders before I boarded the ship, and a lump forms in my throat. It was identical to this one. I thought
her favorite cloak was just a cold-weather version of the silk ones she usually wore, but now I see the gesture for what it was—she gave me her old training cloak. She was sending me on a journey with a little piece of herself.

  And I barely spoke to her before I left.

  I pull the cloak around my shoulders and finger the thick fabric. There’s no going back now. I didn’t want to be bound to magic, but like most things in my life, fate didn’t care about my plans. And if I want to keep the people around me safe, I have to learn to control my abilities. No matter how impossible it might seem.

  It’s the only path I have left.

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  Declan is waiting on my front steps, a bouquet of purple blossoms clutched in one fist, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. For the entire year before the kenning, he’d done nothing but shamelessly flirt with me, but now that we’re matched, he looks like a nervous schoolboy every time we’re together.

  I can’t help but smile.

  As I walk across the grass toward the house, I shift my basket under one arm to conceal the contents. I’ve just made my weekly trip to the bone house to get more crushed fragments for the nutrient solution, and even though there’s nothing about the pouch that would incriminate me, I’d like to avoid questions.

  “Hello there,” I say.

  Declan grins and thrusts the lilies toward me.

  “They’re beautiful.” I take them and hold them under my nose. They give off a delicate fragrance reminiscent of honey. “Thank you.”

  “I was afraid I’d missed you,” he says. “Where have you been hiding?” His tone is playful, but it still needles me. Maybe I wouldn’t be so sensitive if I didn’t have something to hide.

  “Boring errands,” I say lightly. And then, to change the subject: “How is the training going?” The topic is like sand poured into a jar of shells. It flows through every conversation in the weeks after the kenning, filling the gaps and squeezing into the pauses.

  “As well as can be expected,” he says. “Though I’d underestimated how much wealthy people will pay for rare items they don’t need.” Declan is apprenticed as a trader, and he’s training with a man who deals in rare artifacts. He’s been traveling from village to village, procuring items for collectors. “Present company aside, of course.”