by Lena Coakley
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He had no time to think about Aata and Aayse, and the history of ancient witches wasn’t any of his business anyway. Aata’s Right Hand entered the tunnel, and Ryder let the shard drop from his fingers.
“What exactly are we doing here?” he asked her sharply. “I should speak to Sodan. Does he have people searching for Falpian? Does he know it might be a witch who made the creatures?”
“Sodan is a good leader,” the white witch said, “but old age makes him too careful. He won’t allow us to do what must be done.” She spoke in a harsh whisper, and Ryder realized she must have lost her voice from all the talking she had done—arguing for his life, and Falpian’s. She reached into a pouch at her waist and held something out to him. “Please, take this.”
He frowned when he saw what it was. “My mother’s bone? Aata’s sake, what good is that? I can’t throw.”
“Yes, but someone can. I told you that another witch made my prophecies, one who wasn’t allowed to throw the bones. You can ask her to make another casting and tell us who made the creatures.”
Ryder held out little hope that this would work. “Well, where is she then? Is she meeting us here?”
Skyla and Aata’s Right Hand shared a glance.
“There is only one witch who would be forbidden to throw,” Skyla said. “The Left Hand of Aata. The black witch. We have to go down into the catacombs and find her.”
He thought about this for a moment. “No. Absolutely not. What we should be doing is looking for Falpian—he and I are the only weapon against the creatures. Besides, I’m not leaving Pima up here when for all we know there could be another attack.”
“You can’t help Pima if Sodan just has you tied up again!”
He shook his head. “Think, Skyla. Whoever Aata’s Left Hand is, she’s no better at boneshaking than Aata’s Right. Neither one predicted the attacks, did they? And if this black witch is the one who said that Mabis made the creatures, then I have nothing to say to her.”
“But she didn’t!” Aata’s Right Hand interrupted, her voice cracking. “That was my fault.” She sighed and put her hand to her throat. Ryder glared coldly and waited for her to go on, but she hesitated, seeming not to want to, and Ryder saw that it was more than the pain of speaking that made her falter.
She lowered her eyes. “When the monsters made the first attack on the village, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake,” she said. “I had your mother’s bone by then and I tried to make a casting—but I couldn’t see anything. I could never see anything! I came here to this chamber, where I’d met the black witch before—but she said the bone was mine now and that she couldn’t throw again. I went to the elders with the intention of confessing everything—all my lies. But then . . . they asked me to cast for them, and I decided I would try it one more time.”
She looked up at him now, and her eyelashes glistened with caught tears. “I was right here in this chamber. I threw the bones, and I looked at the pattern on the floor as I’ve done a thousand times. . . . They say that if a witch can hold the pattern of bones in her mind and truly understand them, then the bones will disappear before her eyes and a vision will come. A vision of the future. I looked. And then, suddenly . . .”
Her gaze slipped away from Ryder’s face, and he could see that she was looking somewhere behind him, looking to the slanted floor of the cave, as if the bone casting was right there in front of her. Ryder felt a chill go through him, reminded of Mabis and how she’d stare at nothing.
“I saw a place. A waterfall. A green lake thick with maiden’s woe. I thought it was somewhere near, but I didn’t recognize it.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if to squeeze out the memory. “It wasn’t a vision, I know that now. I must have made it up—but I swear I didn’t realize it at the time. I wanted to see one so badly. And it seemed so real.”
Ryder glanced at the portrait of Aata and Aayse. He knew the place. He’d heard someone singing there the day the monsters came. Perhaps the vision was a true one. “You . . . you saw my mother there?”
Aata’s Right Hand shook her head. “I wrote out . . . the things I saw for the elders, and they discussed it for a long time. Then they told me that the maiden’s woe was a reference to your mother, and that there was a lake like this very near your cottage.”
“That’s it? That’s all the evidence you needed to decide she was guilty?”
“I trusted them!” she said. “I wanted to believe that what I saw was real. And it seemed to make sense!”
Ryder let out a hiss. “Come on, Skyla. I’d rather try my luck with the elders. I don’t see why we should believe anything she has to say.”
“Wait!” The white witch ran to block his exit, holding out her hands. “Don’t you understand?” she pleaded. “I believed you. I defended you. You said a witch must have made the creatures, and I agree. I’m sorry about your friend, but he must be dead by now. This is our only hope.”
“He’s not dead,” Ryder insisted. “I’d—I think I’d feel it if he were.”
“He’s in the tunnels,” said Skyla firmly.
Ryder turned. His sister was bent over something at the other end of the narrow chamber. From the stone floor she picked up a small, shiny object. Ryder stepped toward her. It was a button. A silver button from Falpian’s fine coat.
“They must have come this way,” Skyla said.
“That settles it, then,” said the white witch. She grabbed Ryder’s hand and pressed the black bone into his palm. “If your friend is in the tunnels, perhaps the Left Hand of Aata has seen him. Ask her. And ask her to make a casting one more time. She will be in the preparation chambers. I have never been there, but it shouldn’t be far. If anyone can get her to throw the bones again, it’s the two of you.”
“Us?” said Ryder. “Why us?” He looked to Skyla.
“Because she’s our mother’s sister,” Skyla said. “She’s our aunt—the great boneshaker, Lilla Red Bird.”
CHAPTER 21
A CASTING OF BONES
“Hurry up!” he said, though Skyla was already close at his heels. They were descending a narrow passageway leading down, down into the mountain. Ryder held a clay lamp on a chain that he’d taken off a wall in the chamber of Aata and Aayse. It was a large, unwieldy thing, and every time its hot fat spilled over the lip and onto the stone floor, he cursed.
“This witch is dead; no, she’s not dead. That witch can throw the bones; no, she can’t throw the bones—there are too many lies and secrets in this place.”
“I agree,” muttered Skyla.
He stopped short and turned around. The lamp swung on its chain, making eerie shadows on the tunnel walls. “You don’t have to come, you know. These catacombs are forbidden. Aren’t you breaking your own witch rules to be down here?”
“Ryder, shush!” She pointed. “There’s something ahead.” More softly she added, “Do you think I’d let you come down here alone?”
Ryder turned again in the narrow tunnel. Farther on, the path diverged, and from the left-hand passage a faint yellow glow was coming toward them.
“Who’s there?” a voice called. Ryder felt Skyla squeeze his arm as a figure in black emerged from the passage.
“By the twins!” said Ryder. The woman in front of them had his mother’s face. In fact, she could have been an older version of Mabis, except that she was smaller and thinner, and her cropped hair was almost white. And the eyes—they were different too. They were sharper, and without the wry humor that always glinted in his mother’s. The woman cocked her head to one side as she looked at them, a strange birdlike pose. Was that how she got her name? Ryder wondered. Was it really Lilla Red Bird?
All at once Mabis’s words came back to him from the day the monsters came. When I made the firecall, I was sure that Lilla would come. She had known, then, that Lilla was alive, living deep in the mountain’s heart. How she must have missed her sister all those years. A sudden longing to see his mother again su
rged through him.
Skyla poked him in the ribs and whispered in his ear. “Give the greeting.”
Quickly he thrust the lamp into his sister’s hands and bowed low. “We are looking for the Left Hand of Aata,” he said to the floor.
“These are forbidden places,” the witch snapped.
Ryder rose from his bow. “You are Lilla Red Bird, aren’t you?” he asked hesitantly, knowing already that it must be true.
“Do not call me that! Lilla Red Bird is dead. Her name must never be spoken.”
That rule certainly hadn’t been followed, Ryder thought. The name Lilla Red Bird was spoken everywhere. She was the great hero of the war. He wondered if this woman even knew how famous she was—how many stories were told about her in Dassen’s tavern or by parents trying to get their children off to sleep.
“We . . . ,” he began. “We are Mabis’s children.”
If he’d been expecting a happy family reunion, he didn’t get it. The black witch looked him up and down, and her face seemed to grow darker, though her words were kind enough.
“Ryder. Named for my father. You have joined the coven, then.” He realized that she assumed from his reds that he was a witch, but before he could correct her, she went on. “I threw the bones that predicted your birth. My little sister thought she was sick from eating blister-berries.”
So she really had thrown a casting about him once. Had she also really predicted that he would grow up to be a boneshaker, as Kef had claimed?
“The anchor bone,” Skyla hissed, poking Ryder in the ribs again. He took it from the pouch at his waist and held it out to the black witch.
“The coven is in trouble,” he said. “The whole village. Will you help us? Will you make a casting?”
“My bone.” She stared at the little knob of charred black vertebra, and for a moment the look on her face was almost greedy. Then her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you use it? Why don’t you make a prophecy?”
Ryder had the feeling he was being tested somehow. “I can’t,” he stammered.
“Can’t?”
“I know—I mean—I was told that you made a prophecy that I would be a boneshaker.” Beside him, he heard Skyla stifle a little gasp. “But I’m not,” he added quickly, glancing at his sister. “She was wrong.”
Lilla drew herself up haughtily, as if Ryder’s suggestion that she had made a false prophecy had wounded her pride. “I did not say that you would be a boneshaker. I said that you would have the gift. A boneshaker must pray to the Goddess. She must learn the words of the prophets. She must memorize the relationships between the bones and study the ancient castings. Did you do these things, Ryder?”
He shook his head. “No. Mabis . . . She didn’t teach me anything about the bones. I don’t even know their names.”
The Left Hand of Aata let out a long breath. “As I thought, then. A wasted gift.” The words were hard, but she seemed almost relieved. Perhaps she liked being the only boneshaker.
Ryder thrust the bone into Lilla’s hands before she could object. “Please. Make a casting. You are the only one who can help us.”
“No,” she said. “I mustn’t.” She tried to hand him back the bone. “I gave it up to become the Left Hand of Aata.”
He shook his head, refusing to take it. “But we know you threw before, for Aata’s Right Hand.”
“Child, we witches believe that the keeper of the dead must give up everything. She must become dead herself. When I agreed to become the black witch, I agreed to give up my name, my family, my old life . . . and my old life had everything to do with this bone! You must not ask me.”
“Please, Aunt,” said Skyla. “The coven is in just as much danger now as it was during the war. One more casting might save lives!”
“I told you I cannot!” Her voice was sharp, angry. She thrust the bone roughly into Ryder’s hands, and for a moment he saw a steely determination in Lilla Red Bird that frightened him. It was a glimpse of the warrior she must have been once. Ryder was glad she’d been on their side during the war.
“Perhaps you could help in another way,” he said nervously. He was beginning to wonder if mentioning Falpian was a good idea. His aunt didn’t want anyone in the caves; what would she do when she found there was a Baen disturbing her sanctuary? “There is . . . a person in the catacombs. A young man.”
“He is not to be harmed,” she said icily.
Ryder and Skyla shared a glance. “You’ve seen him, then,” said Ryder. “I must bring him to the other witches.”
“I told you, he is not to be harmed!”
“I don’t want to harm him; I want to help him.”
Lilla’s eyes narrowed. “What is Falpian to you?”
“He’s . . . my friend,” Ryder said, amazed that they were talking about the same person. “What is he to you?”
Lilla studied him as if he were a particularly complex casting she was trying to read. She didn’t answer Ryder’s question, but he reasoned she must have seen something in the prophecies she made for the white witch, something that made her believe Falpian was important. What was it about that Baen? In her confused way, Mabis had also believed there was something special about him—if not, why would she tell Ryder to cross the border to stop his assassin?
It made him uneasy to think that their future might be in Falpian’s hands. Ryder had a connection to the blackhair—he couldn’t deny that—but after sharing his mind, he knew Falpian wasn’t on the side of the Witchlanders. How could he be?
“He said he had a friend in the coven,” Lilla murmured. “But I didn’t see how it could be true.”
“Seems there’s a lot that your castings didn’t tell you,” Skyla said archly. Ryder shot her a glare and shook his head—Lilla wasn’t the kind of person he wanted to antagonize—but his sister went on. “You said it yourself, Ryder. She couldn’t even predict the attack on the village.”
Lilla’s small eyes flashed with anger. “The future is a vast land, Niece. When a witch throws, the little grain of it that comes to her is not always the one she asks for.”
Skyla shrugged. “It’s obvious your skills have been exaggerated.”
Lilla’s face turned to stone, but Skyla didn’t back down. Their glances crossed like blades.
“Don’t,” Ryder whispered softly. What was she doing?
“I am the last great boneshaker of the covens,” Lilla hissed.
“That is what they say,” Skyla agreed. “And I can see that the best way to keep your reputation would be to never throw.”
“Are you trying to bait me, girl?”
It was just what Skyla was doing, Ryder realized. She was betting that if Lilla shared her sister’s looks, she might also share her flaws, and Mabis had always had a little vanity mixed in with that iron will of hers.
Ryder held up the bone, remembering the greedy look he had seen in Lilla’s eyes. His mother had worn that look too, and now he understood that it hadn’t been just the maiden’s woe she coveted.
“Mabis once described to me what it was like to see the future,” he said. “She told me that every once in a while her mind would turn a corner and then she could see forever. She loved that feeling. Even when she was seeing terrible things, she loved it.” He held the bone out a little closer to her. “It must be so difficult for you. There is so much more of the future to know.”
Lilla grabbed the bone from his hand. “Insufferable. The both of you. Just like your mother.” But a smile flashed across her face, revealing yellowed teeth. It was the first sign that their aunt might actually be happy to see them. She turned on her heel without another word and started down the right-hand path.
“Where are you going?” Ryder called. “Are you going to cast for us?”
“A witch needs more than one bone to make a prophecy, Nephew,” she answered without looking back.
He and Skyla followed the bobbing light of her glim down dark passageways and branching tunnels that Lilla navigated without hesitation. The
air was close and heavy, with an unpleasant smell of decay. Ryder kept glancing behind him, wondering if trailing after this gruff, unyielding witch was the right thing to do. He was worried about Falpian, and he was worried that he shouldn’t have abandoned Pima up above with the other witches when there was a chance of another attack.
They turned a curve, and Skyla caught her breath. A body—the first they had seen—lay in a hollow cut out of the rock. It was wrapped in bandages. They didn’t stop, but Ryder caught a glimpse of a mask on which a realistic face was painted—a young man’s face with eyes closed.
As they continued, there were many bodies, each nestled in a small, carved-out hollow. Ryder peered at them as he passed, keeping his hand in front of his nose. Once he saw a mouse sitting on the pointed slipper of a well-dressed corpse. It was bigger than a cottage mouse, with huge eyes and a long, forked tail. It scurried away quickly, but after that Ryder thought he could hear rustling up ahead every time Lilla turned a corner.
Finally the black witch stopped in front of one of the smaller hollows. The man inside looked no different from many of the other corpses they had passed. Around him were things he must have used in life: a string of blue beads, some rotting fabric that may have once been a cloak, a knife with a horn handle. The wrappings on his face were thin and translucent, molded to the bones underneath. Painted blue eyes peered out of sunken sockets, and Ryder could see teeth underneath the painted lips.
“Hello,” Lilla said softly.
She kneeled down, setting her glim on the uneven stone floor. Without any hesitation or disgust, she ran her fingers gently down the body’s bandage-wrapped arm. A caress, Ryder thought, finding it hard to watch. Then, to his shock and horror, she grasped the man’s wrist in both hands and twisted. There was no snap, just a dry, tearing sound. Skyla gave a little scream.
“What in the name of the Goddess are you doing?” Ryder shouted.
“I’m doing what you asked,” Lilla said calmly. She turned on her knees and held out the lump of bandages. Skyla shrank away, but Lilla didn’t seem to notice. She put the bundle on the tunnel floor and pulled apart the decaying wrappings to reveal a withered gray hand. One of the fingers had broken off, and she quickly pulled off two more and began rubbing them between her palms. The burial preparation and the dryness of the caves had completely desiccated the body. Soon Lilla had made a little pile on the floor: eight yellowed bones. To these she added the black one.
