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WHEN THE STRANGER stepped into the clearing, I took the chance to slip out of the Reckoning Grounds unnoticed. Besides, even if he could offer some hope of appeasing the kaligorven, nothing he could say would help me.
“Where have you been?”
My mother’s quavering tone falls heavy on my chest when I enter the house. Her solitary form still lurks at the window, though it is well into the night. I struggle to breathe and clumsily place the lantern on its pedestal. The hearth is empty of flame, yet the room teems with something beyond shadows. Mother’s shoulders angle forward, the weight of her anxieties chipping away at her strength.
Has she been standing there the whole time? It’s been a lifetime since I was home.
“The Hunt, Mother, remember? I was at the Hunt. And the ceremony.” My voice isn’t quite right. Too high, the words clipped short. I wipe my palms on the front of my trousers, trying to hide how they shake.
“Oh,” comes her muffled reply.
There isn’t much more to say.
Desperate for something to do, I crouch in front of the hearth and start to build a fire, even though it’s late, and the light will be wasted. I need the heat to thaw my chilled heart.
“Did you see them? The boys?”
I close my eyes to quell the guilt that stirs at any mention of my brothers.Why is it up to me to watch them, to keep them safe? If Mother knew what I’ve done ...My stomach tightens painfully. They all deserve so much more than me.
“Mhm,” I grunt, forcing myself to ignore the regret as I flake the magnesium with a knife. When I strike it again, a spark jumps into the kindling and catches. A small blaze blooms, returning a hint of warmth to my fingers. “They’ll follow Father home,” I say through clenched teeth.
Mother shifts at the mention of him. From behind, she resembles a child. Her hair falls in tangled clumps down her back. Once described as slender and attractive, her figure now appears angular and wan. I’ve been trying, but no amount of temptation can encourage her to eat. It doesn’t help that the rest of us are barely skilled enough to conjure anything more than meat seared over a fire.
She’s wasting away before my eyes, and it’s my fault.
Whatever presence inhabits this space swarms into a fury, an audible buzzing in my ears. The flint and steel fall from my hands. I can’t stay here, where unspoken words, failed intentions, and fateful decisions pummel me like hornets.
My feet deliver me out of Utsanek, this time, to the south. I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s as far from the forest as I can get.
I walk through several acres of farmland, my lantern hanging limp at my side. The ténesomni is less oppressive than it has been in weeks, but its presence within me has grown.
My feet kick through newly tilled earth. Black and barren, its bitter scent infuses the air. For some reason, plants do not thrive within the city limits or under the covering of the trees—unless the sola brossa shed their light upon them. Since the supply of bones has been dwindling for a dozen years, all the open land on the south side of the city has been designated for produce, where the open sky causes the plants to grow.
Shame fills me when I register that this plot of soil has already been sown. The time of sowing, Tiosh, is quickly coming to its end. When the diminutive plants decide to poke their heads through the decay, Father will declare it to be Zomré—the season of life. Usually my favorite of the six seasons. But I cannot possibly delight in the prospect of new growth on the day I took a sola’s life.
Before long, I emerge onto the shores of the formidable loch that pins our city to the roots of the mountains. The cool air blowing off the black waters condenses on my face. I listen for a while to the waves assailing the stony beach. They grab at the land relentlessly, always threatening to gain purchase.
For a moment, I envision myself plunging into the opaque waters, leaving all this behind me. What lies beyond our borders where valefolk are forbidden to tread? Maybe there is a place out there where darkness can’t reach.
But Loch Skythe is tempestuous at the best of times. And as my father is so faithful to point out, I’m a coward.
Despondent, I trudge along the shoreline until the beach area transforms into sharp juts of rock spiraling to the obsidian sky. I can go no further.
Pain shoots through my left temple and radiates around the back of my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut, but there is no relief.
This place is all I will ever know, just as the disappointing son of a cruel man is all I’ll ever be.
I cower under the crushing weight of this thought until all the warmth vacates my hands. My head feels like it will burst with the pressure. The damp air in my face, the jagged stones under my feet, and the lifeless black encircling me all conspire to steal my identity. The lantern sputters out.
When it is too much, when I am more stone than flesh, a beautiful sound rises up over the clamor of the waves.
Curiosity replacing the malaise, I clamber over boulders and squeeze through narrow gaps. The music grows louder as I approach.Singing. Sharp rocks bite into my shins, but I hardly feel the pain in my haste to discover who belongs to that voice.
I seeher, Amyrah Cantar, nestled into a cleft in the cliffside, cantering a melody I’ve never heard. She faces away from me, preoccupied with a task I can’t see. Waves of honey-brown hair act as her cloak. I watch her in stupid silence, awed by the foreign sensation of serenity her presence has the power to kindle within me.? The odds of running into someone, especiallyher, in the middle of the night are too providential to ignore. Even so, that isn’t the most remarkable thing about this scene. It’s the fact that I can see it at all.
Light surrounds her—no, that’s not right. It’s more like she is at the heart of a strange absence of darkness. I frown, looking around her secret dell again to be sure. No, there is no other light source in the vicinity. Odd.
I approach from behind, careful not to make a sound. It’s not that I wish to sneak up on her, but that what she’s doing seems too sacred to disturb. Her movements are fluid as she lays something delicately against a flat stone. Flowers and leafy ferns, woven together into a beautiful mosaic. She scoops up a handful of pink blooms and tucks them, one at a time, in between the verdant foliage. Ignoring the anomaly surrounding her, I creep forward until I can see over her shoulder.
