The Bone Charmer

by Breeana Shields

“Saskia,” my mother says softly. “What did you see?” Her words ring with a note of sorrow, as if she’s bracing for the worst. As if she already knows it on some level.

  “There was a Bone Charmer with Declan,” I say.

  I don’t look at her face, but I can feel her tense beside me. “Do you know who it was?”

  As I describe the man, her breathing shallows.

  “And there’s another thing,” I say. “He’s a Master at Ivory Hall.” She sucks in a gulp of air as if someone kicked her in the stomach. “You know him?”

  “His name is Latham. We trained together at Ivory Hall.”

  “What was he like?” I ask, desperate to make sense of what I saw.

  “When I first met him, he was friendly. Likeable. He was bone-matched with a girl named Avalina. She and Latham were from neighboring towns, and from all appearances they were deeply in love. But halfway through the year, she abruptly left Ivory Hall, and no one ever saw her again. After that, Latham was different. He kept to himself and seemed to resent everyone around him.”

  “Do you know what happened to the girl? Why she left?”

  “Not for sure,” my mother says. “There were rumors of scandal. Some said that Avalina’s family had bribed the Bone Charmer into giving a false reading, and when the Grand Council found out, their match was nullified. Whatever happened, Latham was clearly heartbroken. And furious with the council, along with anyone who supported them.” She sighs. “Still, that doesn’t explain why he would be involved in stealing bones in Midwood.”

  A soft rain begins to fall. It speckles our cloaks. My mother’s cheeks shimmer in the gentle light. The rest of what I have to tell her weighs on me like a stone around my neck. “It was Rakel’s journeyman—Bette—who helped Declan evade the truth serum.” This is the easier part of what I have to say. The other part moves restlessly inside me. I don’t want to lie to her. But I don’t want to hurt her either.

  My mother’s hand goes to her throat. “Tell me the rest.”

  “I’m part of their plan. This man—”

  “Latham,” she says, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  “Latham. Part of Declan’s work for him is to court me, to make me fall in love. I think he intends …” I swallow. “I think Latham plans to kill me.”

  My mother is silent. It’s the kind of silence that’s more than just a lack of sound. It’s a hungry silence, one that consumes everything around it—the things said, the things unsaid, all the things that will be said in the future. A silence so full that it bulges at the edges.

  “No.” She says it softly, but with enough power that it shatters the stillness around us. The wind picks up and whips through our hair. The rain comes at us sideways, lashing, drenching.

  “What?”

  “No,” she says again. “He won’t kill you.” She turns to look at me and the fierce expression on her face makes me feel as if I’ve unleashed a beast. “I won’t let him.”

  The bone house is still guarded by Watchers. Several flocks of birds fly in formation overhead. Dogs circle the building. A prowler paces in front of the door. My mother signals to a woman in a green cloak who is standing at the tree line with a large bone flute pressed to her lips. The woman makes eye contact. Her fingers move swiftly across the instrument, and the prowler drops to its belly and closes its eyes like a cat napping in a patch of sunlight.

  The Watcher jogs over to us. “How can I help you?”

  “I need to speak to Oskar,” my mother says.

  The Watcher’s mouth thins. “May I ask why?”

  My mother straightens her spine. Her head cocks to one side. “I am the second-highest ranking member of Midwood’s town council and a Third Sight Bone Charmer. That should be reason enough, don’t you think?”

  The Watcher’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “Of course,” she says. “Forgive my impertinence.”

  We step carefully around the prowler, who has begun snoring; it’s a ferociously wet sound that makes the ground tremble.

  Ami looks up from her work when we enter the bone house, and her face melts into a smile. It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about her—the way her expression is always an instant away from radiance, as if she’s lit from within.

  “Hey,” she says, “you must be feeling better.”

  The lie slides between us like a wedge. But I couldn’t tell Ami the truth. If I wanted Declan to believe I was ill, the whole town needed to believe it as well.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “Much better. How have things been here?”

  Her gaze slides out the window, to the dogs patrolling the grounds. “Quiet,” she says, “and a bit lonely.”

  Oskar pokes his head in from the back room. When he sees us, his expression darkens. “Della. What are you doing here?” His tone is decidedly less welcoming than Ami’s. He and my mother haven’t spoken since she discovered my father’s missing bones and the council questioned all of us. Oskar is clearly still harboring some resentment.

  “You need to move Rakel’s bones,” my mother tells him. “Today.”

  Oskar’s face purples. “Excuse me?”

  “Rakel’s bones need to be moved to another location.” She enunciates more deliberately this time, which makes me realize she’s holding on to some resentment, too. Her sardonic tone seems to enrage Oskar further. His hands twitch at his sides, and I wonder what revenge fantasy is playing out in his mind.

  “Where did you get this information?”

  I try to keep my expression calm. But I can feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. I’m sure Oskar would delight in reporting my mother for breaking the law by teaching me bone charming.

  Her gaze grows pointed. She arches an eyebrow. “From a vision, Oskar. With bones you prepared.”

  He gives a derisive laugh. “It would take an entire regiment of the Ivory Guard to make it past the Watchers. Did your vision show how anyone could possibly slip by them?”

  She shrugs. “And yet I managed just fine.” Now she’s just provoking him for the fun of it.

  “There’s not a safer place in the entire town,” Oskar says. “I find it a little suspicious that you’d ask.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Blaming your failings on me is getting a little tiresome, don’t you think? Move the bones. Don’t move the bones. It’s up to you. But if anything happens, I’ll make sure the council knows we had this conversation.” She turns to me. “Let’s go, Saskia.”

  Ami and I share an uncomfortable glance. We barely got to say hello before things got awkward. Sorry, I mouth. She gives me a comical smile, eyes wide, and lifts one hand in a wave as my mother ushers me out the door.

  The rain has slowed to a drizzle, but the ground is still soggy. I can barely keep up with my mother as she stomps across the grounds. Our boots squelch in the mud. She mutters under her breath as she walks, but I can hear only snatches of her tirade—individual words that float behind her on the wind. Arrogant. Condescending. Fool.

  “Della! Wait!” Oskar runs in our direction, struggling to gain purchase on the slick grass. By the time he reaches us, he’s mud-spattered and gasping. “I checked on Rakel’s bones,” he says, “and they’re already gone.”

  Numb shock needles over me. “But that’s impossible.”

  My mother cuts a sharp, silencing glance in my direction.

  Oskar turns to me. “Why, Saskia? Why is it impossible? Isn’t this precisely what you came to warn me about?”

  I press my lips together, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

  “What I came to warn you about,” my mother says. “Saskia wanted to see Ami.”

  But Oskar’s expression says he’s not convinced. “What’s going on?” His gaze bounces between the two of us.

  “I don’t know, Oskar,” my mother says. “But it’s something you should figure out before the council comes calling.”

  “You know more than you’re saying.”

  “You’re wrong. I tried to help, but I was too late. You, on the ot
her hand, have been at the bone house the whole time.”

  He throws his hands up in the air. “I had nothing to do with this!”

  “Then maybe you should spend your energy on finding out who did.” A flurry of activity erupts around the bone house as the Watchers pull their animals inside the perimeter and consult with one another in heated tones. “It looks like you’re needed,” my mother says.

  Oskar rakes his fingers through his hair. “This isn’t over.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

  A chill seeps into me as we walk through the Forest of the Dead, a slow kind of horror that turns my blood to ice. I’m supposed to have Second Sight. But Rakel’s bones are already missing. With a sinking certainty, I realize I didn’t do a reading of the present.

  I did a reading of the past.

  Saskia

  The Bone Charmer

  The forest is on fire.

  Bram and I run until our lungs burn, tripping over tree roots and stones. Clinging to each other to keep ourselves upright. And then a huge rock formation rises in front of us, jutting from the ground like a sleeping beast, and illuminated only by the flickering light of far-off flame.

  “The Giant’s Foot,” Bram says, his tone full of both recognition and surprise. “Come on. I know where we can hide.”

  He tugs me forward and starts climbing. Does he mean to have us scale the stone column and take refuge under the plateau’s overhang? “We’ll be too easy to spot up there.”

  “No,” he says, “that’s not where we’re going. Just trust me.”

  And so we climb.

  I follow him, scrabbling over sharp, uneven rock, trying my best to match his pace, until, finally, he stops at the base of the formation. A small cave is tucked behind a cluster of plants and small trees. A sigh of relief sags out of me.

  “After you,” he says, holding aside the branches so I can crawl inside. He follows me and we’re plunged into utter darkness.

  I’m covered in scrapes and cuts. I can’t see them, but I can feel their raised contours, and the blood that trickles down my elbows and palms.

  Carefully, I lower myself to the ground and Bram sits beside me.

  “Are you sure he won’t be able to find us?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Bram says. His breath is so close that I feel it gently lift the strands of hair that have escaped from my braid. “I used to play here when I was small. You’d never know there was a cave unless you were looking.”

  “But Latham will be looking.”

  “He’d have to climb over the same rocks and branches we did. We’d hear him coming long before he got to us.”

  I don’t point out that even if we do hear him coming, we’ll have nowhere to go.

  We don’t speak for several minutes, each of us shifting to find a comfortable position, but bumping into each other instead. The cave has barely enough room for both of us.

  The silence grows heavy.

  “I’m sorry,” I say finally.

  “For what?”

  “Esmee. This never would have happened if you hadn’t brought me into her home. I don’t …” I swallow. “I hope she’s safe.”

  “Yes,” he says softly, “me too.”

  I desperately wish there was enough light to see his expression. To see if I would find resentment there, or understanding.

  “We can stay here until morning,” Bram says, “and then we’ll figure out what comes next.”

  “We.” The word settles against my heart, warm and comforting. I tuck my bag under my head and try to sleep.

  When I open my eyes the next morning, Bram is gone.

  Disappointment slices into me, swift and sharp and cold. He must have decided not to stay after all. I had a foolish image of the two of us figuring this out together. Of Bram helping me find the loose stitches that have made my life come apart. Of him helping me piece it back together.

  I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I’ve never felt more alone. I can’t go back to Ivory Hall. I can’t go back to Midwood. I don’t have a friend in the world who can be a safe harbor right now. I allow myself a moment of despair—just one moment to feel the sadness that wells inside me, thick and consuming—before turning away and ignoring it completely like a misbehaving child. I don’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for myself. Not now.

  If there is no we anymore, then I need to make a plan.

  Soft, speckled light trickles into the cave. It should be enough to read by. I move closer to the entrance and pull one of Esmee’s books from my bag, balancing it on my knees. If I’m going to escape from Latham, I need to know what exactly he wants.

  I flip to the page I was studying last night. My eyes glaze over as I search through more dark-magic spells—all of them full of sacrifice and suffering. They make me feel filthy as I read them. I hate the way Latham has forced me to confront dark magic. To immerse myself in its horrors for hours at a time. And then I come across a phrase that makes my heart stop: Three generations of Bone Charmers.

  My blood turns to ice as I read.

  Complete control of fate is the most powerful of all dark magic and nearly impossible to obtain. The spell requires the bones of three generations of Bone Charmers—one with First Sight, one with Second Sight, and one with Third Sight. All three must be killed violently so that their bones are, in effect, intensifiers. The power of the bones is directly related to how long the three have lived, longer lives producing more powerful magic. At a minimum, the youngest Charmer should have all three essential tattoos before being murdered. The lucky mage who achieves this difficult spell will have the ability to see past, present, and future with perfect clarity. A gift that grants extraordinary power.

  All the air leaves my lungs. Latham wants me dead. And not just me, but my mother, too. Realization prickles over my skin as I think of Gran’s final days. Of her paranoia. But she wasn’t delusional; she was afraid. Latham killed her. He must have. Bile rises in the back of my throat. Did he purposely frighten her in the weeks before her death so that her murder would be more violent?

  I think of the kenning day, of my mother seeing each of my paths. Did she see me laughing with Latham, accepting his advice when I never listened to hers? Did she know he wanted to kill her? That he killed Gran? Did my relationship with Latham feel like a knife sliding between her shoulder blades?

  I push the thoughts away. Her letter said she didn’t know who was watching me. If she knew about Latham, she never would have let me leave Midwood.

  A rustle outside the cave brings me to my feet. My pulse goes wild. When the branches part, I’m ready. I lift Esmee’s heavy book over my head and smack the assailant hard in the face. He screams. Loses his footing. Hits the ground with a thud. But it’s not Latham.

  It’s Bram.

  My chest constricts. I kneel down and take his head in my hands.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, my fingers traveling along the contours of his face, trying to assess the damage. Nothing seems to be broken, but his nose is bleeding and one eye is already starting to swell shut. His cheek is turning an alarming shade of purple.

  He groans. “Remind me never to sneak up on you again.”

  I grab my cloak and press the hem to his nose to stem the bleeding. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Another guy snuck into the cave last night?” he says. “I knew it was too much to hope that it was you cuddling me.”

  I give something halfway between a laugh and a cry. “I feel terrible.”

  “Well, you should. I have very strong feelings about curling up with strangers.”

  “I thought you left me.”

  “No,” he says, all the playfulness gone from his voice.

  He lifts himself to sitting position. His expression is different now. Like some armor has been stripped away and now he’s unprotected. “I went to check on Esmee’s cottage. I thought it would be safer without you—just in case Latham was still there.”r />
  “And?”

  His face drops into his hands, and I wonder if he wants to hide his expression from me. If he’s afraid of showing his pain.

  I touch his knee and his hands fall. “Esmee is dead,” he says flatly. “Latham is gone.”

  A deep well of sympathy opens inside me. I think of my vision of Bram standing outside the charred home of his parents. To have Esmee die the same way is a cruel twist of fate. Or maybe Latham knew Bram’s story. Maybe he did it on purpose.

  “Bram … I’m so sorry….” But I don’t have the words to comfort him, and trying to find them makes me feel as if I’m diminishing his sorrow, trying to make it smaller so that it fits into a container I can understand.

  So I take his hand in mine instead, lean my head on his shoulder. “Latham won’t get away with this,” I say. “We won’t let him.”

  “We’re not even sure what he’s after yet.”

  “Actually,” I say, “I think we are.”

  Bram’s face changes as he reads Esmee’s book. A slow dimming. From dusk to darkness. From curiosity to horror.

  “Oh, Saskia.” He says my name in one anguished breath. Like a funeral cry. Like I’m already dead.

  “It explains why Latham wanted to tutor me. Why he was so anxious for me to learn Bone Charming. He hoped I’d get a mastery tattoo so my bones would be more powerful when he killed me. Thank the stars I didn’t.”

  Bram flinches. His eyes widen.

  “What?”

  “Saskia, I don’t …”

  I follow his gaze to my upper arm and a tremor goes through me. A tattoo has blossomed on my skin—a network of interlacing almond shapes with a circle threaded through the center. The result is an intricate knot design with three corners.

  “How is this possible? There was nothing there yesterday.”

  “You said Esmee did a complicated reading with you,” Bram says. “Maybe it was enough to achieve mastery?”

  I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. Master Kyra did say I was close. But could one reading—even an advanced one—make the difference? And did mastery tattoos just show up like this? Overnight and full of color?