Moria would scowl at the younger children and lob insults at the older ones. They still adored her, still followed her through the village like stray dogs, knowing a scrap would eventually come. They'd get a story or they'd get a trick or they'd get a lesson, and they'd get smiles, too, and kind words, if they earned them.
"Better run home," Moria called as they continued down the lane. "You know what happens if you get too close to the sanctuary and see the rituals."
"Our eyes will pop!" a boy shouted.
"Yes. They'll explode like dried corn in a fire, and you'll be left with holes in your head for your brains to leak out."
"Eww!" one of the girls said. "And then what?"
"Then you'll be walking around with only half your wits, drooling and gaping." She pointed at the oldest boy. "In other words, you'll end up just like Niles over there."
The children giggled.
Moria continued, "If you behave yourselves and stay away from the sanctuary, I might tell some stories tonight. But you must stay away. Ashyn needs complete silence outside or she'll forget the words to all the chants." She lowered her voice to a mock whisper. "I think she might have gotten too close to a ritual when she was little."
Ashyn made a face at her. Moria tossed back a grin. Despite the insult, Ashyn knew Moria was doing her a favor--a quiet sanctuary would indeed help today. It was the first time she'd conduct the Seeking rituals alone.
"Now, what kind of creature do you want for tonight's story?" Moria asked. "Thunder hawks? Sand dragons? Water horses?"
As the children called out suggestions, a small voice whispered beside Ashyn. "Are you scared?"
She looked down at the girl, walking so close Tova had to give her room. There were always a couple frightened by Moria's stories and scowls. This one was Wenda, just past her ninth summer. Ashyn stroked the girl's black curls.
"I've assisted with the rituals many times," Ashyn said. "It's not frightening."
"I mean the Seeking. Finding the"--Wenda shuddered--"bodies. And the spirits. Momma says when the damned die, they become the forsaken and can hurt us." She looked up, dark eyes glistening. "They can hurt you."
"But they won't. I'm there to calm them and make sure they are buried properly. That takes away their anger. They'll go to the second world and be happy."
Moria glanced over, her rough voice softening. "Ashyn's been training for this since she was smaller than you. She's ready."
Ashyn wished she shared her sister's confidence. It was true they'd been training most of their lives. The Seeker and Keeper from the imperial court had come every season to train them and conduct the rituals. Ashyn was not fond of the harsh old Seeker, but she wished Ellyn could be here now to guide her, even if she could not enter the forest with her tomorrow--only one Seeker was permitted in at a time.
Ashyn couldn't even appeal to the ancestral spirits for guidance. While she often heard their wordless whispers, their actual communications were little more than a few words. From that, she had to interpret what they wanted--and it was all about what they wanted. She was their servant. They did not assist her.
"Who wants Ashyn's fortune today?" Moria asked.
The children clamored to be chosen. Then Wenda whispered, "I think Ashyn should take it. For luck."
Ashyn shook her head. Anyone who left an offering was welcome to a fortune, but she never took hers because there was a chance it could be a curse. It seemed an unnecessary tempting of fate. So Moria let the village children take it, which was fine, because a curse didn't count if you weren't the one leaving the offering.
The children ran to the offering tree. It was set just under the eaves of the sanctuary, sheltered from the rare rains. Made of metal, the tree had fortune scrolls in place of leaves and a slotted hole for the offering. The shrine caretaker replaced the scrolls with shipments from the court priests.
Ashyn knelt beside the metal tree and dropped in a copper coin, hearing it clink at the bottom. Then she closed her eyes, selected a scroll, and handed it to the little boy Moria had chosen. He shoved it into his pocket to be opened later, so he wouldn't miss the next part.
Moria waved the children away from the tree and stepped back five paces, coin in hand. She measured the distance. Then she pitched the coin. It sailed squarely through the slot and rang off the metal like a bell.
The children cheered, but the show wasn't over. They went quiet as Moria pulled a dart from her cloak. She turned around and threw the dart over her shoulder. It flew straight through a scroll and pinned it to the wooden sanctuary wall.
The children whooped and cheered. Ashyn shot her sister a grin. Moria smiled and went to retrieve her prize.
"Leaving an offering is a sacred act, Keeper," said a deep voice behind them. "It isn't a child's game."
Two
Ashyn winced as Gavril Kitsune stepped from behind the children, but Moria only said, "Yes, it is a sacred act, and so I honor the spirits by demonstrating the skills I have developed for the protection of my village."
Ashyn swore she heard the whispery chuckle of the ancestors.
One of the older boys turned to Gavril. "The Keeper protects us from the spirits of the damned. Like your father--"
Moria laid her hand on the boy's shoulder, silencing him. Gavril's mouth tightened. One could think he was reacting to the insult, but Ashyn suspected Moria's defense bothered him more.
When Gavril first came to Edgewood, the village had recognized the uncomfortable irony of sending a young man to guard the forest where his father had been exiled to his death. They'd tried to welcome him. But Gavril was as hard as the lava rock of the Wastes. He did his job and asked for nothing, expected nothing, gave nothing. Still, he wasn't rude to the villagers . . . with one exception--the person who'd been the most outraged by his predicament and had tried most to befriend him.
Gavril goaded Moria, challenged her, and caught her when she was up to trouble. Moria forbid Ashyn to complain. "It's practice," she'd say. "He pokes at me and insults me and watches me, and I learn to be tougher, quicker, and stealthier."
Now Gavril walked close enough to Moria to make Daigo growl. He towered above her by a head, his dark braids brushing her head as he leaned over to whisper to her. His muscled arms glistened with sweat, as if he'd just left his morning drill. The perspiration made the green eyes on his nine-tailed fox tattoos glitter.
"Remember what I said," he murmured. "If you try tomorrow, I'll do it. I swear I will."
Moria's hand tightened on the dart. "I don't need to be told twice."
"I just want to be sure we understand each other, Keeper."
"What's going on?" Ashyn said.
Gavril didn't even look at her. "This is between your sister and me."
Unrolling her fortune, Moria walked toward Ashyn. She glanced down at the paper, then stopped midstep. It was only a moment's pause before she wrapped her hand around the tiny paper, her expression neutral. But Ashyn noticed.
"It's a curse, isn't it?" Gavril said, striding to catch up with her.
Ashyn braced for his next words. He'd say she deserved it after disrespecting the spirits with her performance. Instead, he swung into Moria's path and said, "Go put it on the statue behind the sanctuary."
Moria's brows shot up. "Is that an order?"
"Now is not the time to take a curse--" Gavril began.
"I'm not going on the Seeking. That has been made very clear." She gave him a look. "If I accept my good fortunes, then I must also accept my curses."
"Ashyn, tell her to put the curse on the statue."
Ashyn jumped at the sound of her name. It was quite possibly the first time he'd ever said it. And definitely the first time he'd looked straight at her. She decided she much preferred being ignored. His eyes were discomfiting enough. Green. A rare color in the empire. Kitsune eyes, her father said, the mark of Gavril's illustrious family. A sign of sorcery, others said, whispering old stories about how the Kitsunes first gained their power.
&
nbsp; "You know I won't, so don't ask." Moria took Ashyn's arm. "Everyone's waiting inside. Father keeps peeking out. We're late."
As they walked to the door, Moria glanced over her shoulder. Ashyn did the same and saw that the children were still there, quiet now, their faces tight with concern. They'd overheard enough to know Moria had picked a curse.
"What are you waiting for?" she called to the children. "You know what happens if you see the rituals."
Silence answered her.
Moria reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of coppers. "Huh. Seems I have extra. What should I do with these?"
That got a few smiles and whispers, but most of the faces stayed solemn. Moria opened her hand under the fountain water. Then she clenched her fist around the wet coins.
"Grant me a boon, o spirits," she said. "Twice-bless these coins for the children. May they have nothing but good fortune until the Seeking is done."
Wind rustled through the fortune scrolls, making them whisper, as if the spirits themselves were replying. Moria kept one of the coins and threw the rest to the children. As they scrambled after them, shrieking, she tossed the remaining copper to Gavril.
He made no move to catch it, letting it fall, clinking. Then he turned on his heel and marched away.
Ashyn's knees ached. Which was exactly the wrong thing to be thinking about in the middle of a spiritual ritual, and it only made her feel all the more ill prepared to lead the Seeking tomorrow. This was not the first ritual she'd ever done--she'd been assisting Ellyn since she was old enough to recite the words. It was not even the first one she'd conducted alone--lately, Ellyn had left the minor seasonal rituals to Ashyn, only coming back in the spring for the Seeking. And yet Ashyn was not prepared. She simply wasn't.
The Seeking rituals took the longest by far, and by this point her knees always ached from the cold stone floor. In the past, any guilt at fussing over discomfort had been mitigated by the knowledge that her participation didn't matter. She'd do better when Ellyn was gone.
How? she wondered now. Had she expected that her knees would miraculously toughen as she passed her sixteenth summer? That the endless chants would suddenly flow without stammers and stutters?
When something brushed her hand, she jumped, eyes flying open.
"Shhh." Moria laid a hand on her shoulder.
Her sister held out a cloth, and Ashyn thought she'd read her mind. She was about to refuse--she wasn't allowed a kneeling pad--but then she saw the bowl of steaming water.
"It's time for your purification." Moria kept her voice low. The others--the governor, their father, and the shrine caretaker--had retreated outside long ago, but might still be close enough to overhear.
Ashyn shook her head. "I need to finish the Song for the Fallen first."
"You did," Moria whispered. "You started it over again."
Ashyn's cheeks warmed and tears prickled. I can't do this. I truly can't.
"I'm sure no one noticed," Moria whispered. "I only did because I woke up when you got to the interesting part." Ashyn knew Moria hadn't truly fallen asleep, but the thought made her smile.
As Moria helped with the ritual bath, Ashyn tried to cleanse her mind as well. She opened her mind to the spirits--all the spirits. While the ancestral ones of the village were her primary concern, there were many, many others. Spirits were everywhere, inhabiting everything--spirits of hearth and fire, of wind and rain, of plant and beast. She did not hear those. They were not the sort that spoke. There were other human spirits, though, ones she might hear, if they passed her way. The hungry dead. The lost and the angry.
Like the spirits in the forest. The forsaken. The vengeful--
She inhaled so sharply that Tova lifted his head and whined.
Moria rubbed the steaming cloth over Ashyn's aching knees. "Did I tell you that Levi wrote me a poem? I can recite it if you like."
"You memorized it?"
"Of course. It was truly memorable. I've never heard anything so terrible."
Ashyn sputtered a laugh.
"Do you want to hear it?" Moria asked.
"Please." Ashyn leaned back, closing her eyes and relaxing as Moria finished the purification ritual and recited Levi's poem.
As for whether the rituals went well or not, Ashyn couldn't say. That evening, as promised, Moria entertained the children with stories, but Ashyn knew they were truly for her. Distracting tales of legendary beasts and wild adventures.
There were some creatures that didn't find their way into Moria's tales that night. Monsters of the spirit world, like fiend dogs and shadow stalkers. Those would not calm Ashyn's fears as she headed into the Forest of the Dead.
"You'll do fine," Moria said later as they slid onto their sleeping mats.
"What if I don't?"
Moria sighed. "Nothing ever goes wrong, Ash. If it did, we'd hear the stories. The only thing people love more than a good story is a bad one. Tales of tragedy and woe and bloody entrails, strung like ribbons, decorating the battlefields."
"I could do without that last bit."
Moria grinned. "That's the best part. You know what I mean, though. There are no bards' tales about Seekings because they are boringly predictable. You find the bodies. You purify the bodies. You bury the bodies. No one's ever done it wrong before."
"What if I'm the first?"
A coin thumped off Ashyn's forehead.
"Oww."
"Don't complain. That's one of the twice-blessed coins. I kept it for you. Put it in your pocket tomorrow, and you'll be protected from evil spirits and snakebites and Faiban." Moria paused. "Unless you don't want to be protected from Faiban. I hear he volunteered for the Seeking."
Ashyn's cheeks heated. She lay in the darkness, feeling the copper warming in her hand.
"What kind of curse was it?" she whispered finally. "A minor one?"
Moria groaned. "What does it matter? It was one of many I've taken. It only means I'll suffer some small misfortune. Daigo will probably get gas tomorrow night. You'll be thankful you missed it."
The wildcat growled softly beside her sister.
"So it was only a minor curse?"
"Good night, Ashyn."
Moria flipped onto her other side, ending the conversation.
Ashyn waited until her sister began to snore. Then she slipped from her sleeping mat and tiptoed to Moria's cloak, left thrown over the chair. As she reached into the pocket, Daigo watched her but did nothing. She pulled out the curse scroll. Then she tugged on her own cloak and headed for the door with Tova padding along behind her.
Three
During the day, it was clear that spring had arrived--the sun bright, the air warm. But the nights still seemed determined to cling to winter. An icy wind blew off the north, freezing Ashyn's nose and cheeks. As she pulled her hands under her cloak, the scroll rustled against the fur lining. She clutched it tighter.
The village was particularly dark tonight. There were always lanterns left blazing, holding off the endless black of the Wastes. Tonight they were a necessity, with the moon hidden behind clouds. When Ashyn peered up, the sky looked faintly red.
The color of blood.
She shivered, cursing her sister's stories.
As she walked, the scent of burning wood wafted around her. She could see the lazy trails of smoke over the houses and inhaled deeply, letting the familiar smell calm her.
The sounds were familiar, too, like the lonely yips of Blackie, the carpenter's dog, never let into the house, even on the coldest nights. Ashyn rested her hand on Tova's head as he stiffened in sympathy with the poor beast. She could pick up the distant squawk of chickens, the low of cows, and the grunt of pigs. No horses--they produced nothing edible, so the village couldn't afford to waste feed on them when there was so little soil for growing and so few wagon trains bringing supplies.
As she drew close to the sanctuary, she thought she heard the scuff of a boot against the lava rock. Tova confirmed it by glancing in that direction. He ga
ve no sign of alarm, though. Other girls might need to worry about a guard who'd had too much honey wine and been too long from court. But the penalty for touching the Seeker or the Keeper without her permission was . . . well, it would ensure he never had any urge to touch a woman again. No amount of honey wine would addle a man's brains enough to risk that.
Ashyn reached the sanctuary and ducked around back, where the statue waited. It was a small wooden figure, so battered by the elements that she could only make out faint grooves to show it once had a face. Instead of clothing, it wore a cloak of scrolls pinned over its entire body, some yellowed, others nearly disintegrated with time.
Ashyn bent and took out Moria's scroll. She looked down at it, still tightly rolled.
What type of curse was it?
She didn't want to know. She just wanted to pin it to the figure and run. But that was cowardly. After all, she was getting rid of it, so it didn't matter what sort it was.
She unfurled it, a half roll, and then . . .
She stopped. At her side, Tova whined.
Even in the darkness the lines on the white scroll were easy to read. The symbol seemed blacker than most, and she swore she could feel it under her finger, as if the writer had pushed the quill into the paper, hoping the ink would soak through enough to warn anyone who thought of choosing it from the tree.
Not a major curse, but a great one. The worst there was. Something terrible was about to befall her sister.
Fingers trembling, Ashyn rerolled the scroll and pinned it to the statue, in the rear, as if that could hide it from whatever powers governed fate.
As Ashyn hurried from behind the sanctuary, she could feel someone watching her. She glanced at Tova. He noticed, but was simply watching.
When Ashyn turned the corner, a boot squeaked. She glanced back. A figure stood in front of the sanctuary, his back to her. A guard's heavy coat cloaked his figure. Then he bent, braids falling forward, and she knew who it was.