The Bone Valley, page 4
Pav attempted to shuffle past Anton, but he tugged his younger brother back by the tunic. “You better not be doing more than kissing, Pavla,” he whispered close to his ear.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Pav smirked, flicking Anton’s hand from his shirt.
“I’m serious,” Anton said through gritted teeth. Pav was too young to have a child of his own running around. He already took care of Tasha a lot of the time.
“So am I.” His brother plucked a piece of string from his tunic and avoided eye contact.
“Pav?” Anton asked in a serious tone.
“It’s only kissing, I swear.”
A huge weight lifted off Anton’s shoulders. “All right. Keep it that way as long as you can.”
Pav pursed his lips and nodded, then went inside to sit next to Tasha on one of the wide chairs. She had quietly made her way into the sitting room, toting a book which had been read so many times that sheets of paper were practically falling out.
Closing the door, Anton approached Ionna, who was already seated at the cramped dining table. His father had crafted it himself, and he’d made almost everything inside of their house. Dabbling in woodwork was no easy task for Anton, though. When he’d tried, the outcome was always off. He was better at carving and sculpting areas than aligning to make sure parts were sturdy and even. His focus and detail were more suited for smaller objects, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t do the same with larger furniture.
Anton turned to Ionna. “So, I hear you’re going to help take care of my sister.”
“She can handle herself.” Her eyes brightened when she glanced at Yeva, who was putting the last of the meal together. “But we’ll watch over each other.”
Perhaps his sister wasn’t too young to get married, as he’d previously thought. After all he and his family had been through, Yeva already took care of everything well enough. Besides, he did like Ionna.
Yeva was near, but he could tell she wasn’t even listening, too consumed with pouring hot tea into petite cups.
“I hear you decided to help gather herbs. After our gardener passed away, I’ve been needing someone.” Ionna smiled. “Yeva just knew you would be thrilled about the work.”
He wouldn’t have used the word thrilled, but it would do well enough. “Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
“Anton made you a gift in thanks,” Pav said as he reached for something in his pocket.
What is he doing now? Anton furrowed his brow in confusion, knowing he hadn’t made anything for Ionna.
Pav took out a tiny barn owl and displayed it in his palm. Anton’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. His brother had swiped the owl from their shared room. It made a soft clack as he pressed it to the table in front of Ionna.
“You made this?” Ionna’s lips parted as her fingertips roamed over the feathered wings, tracing each delicate curve.
“It’s nothing,” Anton rushed the words out. “I only do it to try and improve my woodwork.” It wasn’t really nothing, but he didn’t want to say how much it relaxed him and made him feel like he was doing something worthy. Even if it only pleased himself.
“It’s beautiful,” Ionna gasped. “Have you thought about selling these at the market? You could even add paints to bring out the texture.”
Yeva seemed to be listening now as she plopped down beside Ionna. “I’ve told him he should, but he insisted on doing other things for money.”
Ionna set the owl on the table, keeping one hand folded around the carving. “But you could make more money with these.”
“You think so?”
Anton hadn’t put much thought into trying to sell the small figures. He had mainly used them for practice to perfect his skill on larger furniture. Now, something blossomed in his chest, akin to hope and possibilities. Those emotions were hard for him to let take shape because they were easy to split and break apart.
“I do. You could still start by collecting herbs while selling these at the market and see what happens.” Ionna grinned wider, straightening in her seat.
It was an idea. An idea that was starting to make him feel like maybe he could become something, better than who he was. Not for himself, but for his family.
While they ate dinner, Ionna, Yeva, and Pav did almost all of the talking. But mostly it was Pav asking about Ionna’s farm.
Apparently Yeva and Ionna had run into each other at the market one autumn afternoon, and connected on the subject of herbs, quickly agreeing to a partnership. Something bloomed after that, and every day Yeva had come home, Anton would notice her smile growing brighter and brighter from each interaction with Ionna.
Anton watched out the window as the day darkened to night, and he knew he didn’t have to go and visit Maryska. Yet he was still frustrated and too proud about not getting his full payment from her earlier, and needed to finish what he’d started.
“I’m sorry to leave like this, but I have to go to work,” Anton said, not looking directly at his sister or Ionna.
Yeva closed her eyes and sighed. “You really don’t have to go, Anton.”
He stood from the table and brushed a kiss against her soft cheek. “Last night. I promise.”
“I know it’s none of my business”—Ionna rubbed a finger against her lower lip—“but I can give you whatever payment you would have received tonight.”
His chest swelled at the possibility of taking her money, then deflated knowing the shame that would follow if he actually carried through with it. “I’m as stubborn as my sister about things like that, but thank you.”
Tasha had gone back in the sitting room, eyes closed with a book in her left hand. Anton gave her a kiss goodbye on her plump, delicate cheek. Her lids fluttered open for a brief moment. “Bye, Ton-Ton.”
“Goodnight, baby bean.”
She half-smiled and drifted back to sleep.
“Where’s my kiss and nickname?” Pav asked from the floor, where he was playing a game with a deck of cards.
Anton leaned down and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, my darling.”
Pav grimaced and wiped his cheek. “It was only a joke, Anton.”
“I forgot you already had your share of kisses today.”
“That, I did.” Pav smirked.
Chuckling, Anton headed out of the house. His laughter subsided and his chest clenched as he walked in the direction of Maryska’s cottage.
When he stood in front of her home, a blast of cool air struck him, making him shiver. A wind chime clacked above him. He looked up at the new object, and it appeared as if it were made from bones. Holding his breath, he touched the shell of what had to be some sort of animal piece. A warmth from the wind chime seemed to caress his fingers, and he dropped his hand.
The night felt off as he studied several candles burning through the window, thoughts swirling in his head about how Maryska had cheated him. One more night. Only one to touch her, to taste her, to be inside her. Only one.
Raising his clenched fist to the door, he knocked rapidly, harder than he should have. Maryska took her sweet time answering, and he knew she would be furious he hadn’t arrived on time.
“You’re late.” She sneered as she yanked open the door. A sheer nightgown clung to her body, showing every inch of Maryska’s skin—her rosy pink nipples, the dark curls between her thighs.
He had to be polite for now. “I know, I’m sorry. My sister made dinner and wanted to have a family meal tonight since her fiancée was coming over.”
“Yeva, Yeva, Yeva. It’s always about your sister. Are you sure you’re not in love with her, Anton?” she spat.
The fact that Maryska’s thoughts were that deranged disturbed him, but he said nothing. After tonight, he would never have to see or speak to her again, or worry about the rumors she would spread.
Anton steeled himself for what the night would bring, avoiding her gaze and keeping his on one of the chairs. A wave of something hit his senses, and he inhaled deeply. It wasn’t just the usual scent of oranges but something else, something heavier, something he’d never quite breathed in before. “Do you smell that?”
Maryska didn’t respond to what he’d asked as she slipped the gown from her body, only reached between his legs, cupping his manhood. “Now strip,” she demanded like he was her personal slave.
And for the night, he supposed he was.
FOUR
NAHLI
Cluck, cluck, cluck. Nahli’s eyes flicked open at the unfamiliar sound. For a moment, she didn’t understand why there was a hen in her home—the old bridge she considered to be her shelter for the time being, anyway. Then she remembered the day before: Daryna, the chicken, and the tunic she was still wearing.
Tugging the thin fabric of the shirt over her head, she set it aside and stared at her new acquaintance. “I can’t give you a name since I’m going to find a home for you today.”
The chicken stared back at her, as though it were listening intently before preening its feathers.
“I know. I know. You wish you could live here, but this is no place for a chicken.” She laughed then wrinkled her nose. This was her life—talking to a bird.
Standing from its sitting position, the hen scuffed its feet and moved away to reveal a wonderful surprise.
A lovely tan egg.
Nahli’s chest fluttered at the sight. While she couldn’t bring herself to eat a chicken, she had no qualms about having an egg. “You left me a gift?”
As expected, no response came from the guest, so she snatched the branches she stored under the bridge to start a fire. It had taken her a while to learn this technique. Teaching herself to start a fire was a tiresome thing she didn’t want to revisit, and the memories of the blisters that had coated her palms were proof of that.
After rubbing her hands together down the twig multiple times, a hint of gray smoke curled upward, and the woodsy scent invaded her nose. She quickened the pace while smoke continued to drift skyward until a flickering orange flame caught its fiery paws onto the other branches. On top of her stash, of what most villagers would consider garbage, was a meager pan she’d taken from a bakery.
While the egg cooked, Nahli collected a cracked ceramic bowl that was buried beneath a broken candle holder. Running the tip of her tongue along her chipped bottom tooth—a gift from her mother when they’d been practicing with swords—she watched most of the egg slide from the cast iron pan into the bowl with a soft plop. The rest she had to scrape out.
Nahli brought her lips to the ceramic and blew several soft breaths over the top. “Egg?” she asked the hen who quietly studied her. As she thought about it, she cringed. “Sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have asked you that.” She didn’t believe a hen would be too eager to eat something that could have potentially been its baby chick. With dirty fingertips, she stuffed bits of egg into her mouth and tried to figure out the plan for the day.
A gurgling rumbled from her stomach, and she was already aching for more food. Back home, Nahli hadn’t ever had to starve. But here, in this foreign place, she was always hungry.
The plan she decided on would be to drop the hen off somewhere, bathe, then steal something to eat while figuring out another way to get coin. Without Daryna purchasing from Nahli anymore, she’d have to find another way to make money from thieving. It would be easier if she could stick to only stealing coins directly from villagers, but most of the time she found out they didn’t carry around as much as she’d thought.
Despite feeling like the world was against her, Nahli went down on her knees and clasped her hands in prayer, then bowed her head like her mother always did when she prayed to the gods. Nahli didn’t have the candles with her or the silver rings, but she tried anyway.
“I know I haven’t spoken to you in a while, but please, please help me get through this day, this life, because I have no one.”
She didn’t even know if she had the gods. Her home wasn’t a secure place to go to. Once she finally scraped up enough coin to return to Huadu, she would be beaten and married off to someone, even when she paid her parents back. It wasn’t like in Kedaf where the villagers could choose what they wanted to do. In Huadu, whether male or female, it was the parents who chose. Perhaps she should just cross the sea to somewhere else.
Nahli slid on her boots, caked with mud from the previous day. She then scooped up the chicken and brushed dirt off her pants with her free hand.
The sun hadn’t found its place fully in the sky yet. As it drifted upward, rising above the verdant hills, it seemed to follow and watch her in judgment as she headed in the direction of the village. She passed rows and rows of beautiful homes with sturdy shutters, straight roofs, and maintained gardens. While staring at the wealth that these villagers must have, she came to the realization that this wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had.
As she ventured farther away from the well-groomed and pristine homes toward the poorer ones, she hoped someone who seemed in need would want the hen. She stepped over a fallen tree—its roots sticking out and twisting in all directions—then followed the curved path downward.
A twin set of cottages poked out from the flowering trees when she reached the bottom. One appeared to be more wilted and possibly tilting. The closer she got, the harsher it looked. A frail girl with messy dark curls sat on the uneven porch steps with a book in hand. When she studied the girl, she knew she’d done the right thing and had found the perfect person. Perhaps it was a good idea, after all.
The little girl must have felt Nahli watching her because she closed her book and glanced up at her.
Nahli smiled and held out the hen in front of her. “Do you need a chicken?”
“What?” The girl blinked rapidly while staring, as though she couldn’t believe the offer. “We can’t afford to buy a hen.”
Doing a good deed wasn’t something Nahli had done in a long time, and her fingers twitched in nervousness. She took a few hesitant steps closer to the girl. “I’m giving it away.”
The girl frowned. “Well, why are you giving it away?”
“Because I live on my own and can’t take care of it.”
There was a brief pause before the girl shut her gaping mouth and set the book on the steps. She practically radiated as she ran closer to Nahli and the hen. Not the least bit afraid, the small girl reached upward and stroked the black and white feathers. “I’ll have to ask my brother if I can keep it.”
“Tasha!” The girl twisted her head around to the male’s voice. Nahli looked up to see a boy around fifteen or sixteen with blond curly hair, but not as disheveled as the little girl’s, marching down the steps. “You aren’t supposed to speak to random strangers.”
Nahli understood that—she could have been anyone, and the little girl had run right up to her with no way to defend herself. Perhaps she was someone Tasha should be avoiding since she was a thief.
She scanned the boy and the freckles sprinkled across his cheeks while he frowned at his sister. Nahli steeled her spine. “I was seeing if she wanted this chicken ... I ... uh ... found it.”
The boy shifted his attention away from Tasha and focused his green eyes on Nahli. “Oh, you’re a girl.”
Tasha tugged on the boy’s shirt sleeve. “Pav, do you want this chicken? Or should we ask—”
“Of course, we want this chicken.” Pav lifted the hen out of Nahli’s arms. “And you are?” he asked, giving her a soft smile and holding out his palm.
She stared at his hand, unsure what to do. “No one, really.”
“No one has to have a name.” He brought his empty hand back and pointed at his chest. “My name’s Pav.”
“So I heard.”
“And your name is?” He held out his palm again, letting it dangle in the air.
“Nahli.” She brought her hand forward to shake his since it was still shoved toward her.
“Lovely name for a lovely girl.” He brought her fingers to his lips and gave it a gentle peck. “Or should I say a woman?” His eyes roamed her up and down.
Pav continued to lightly hold her hand, so she pulled it out of his grasp. “Let’s not think about that.”
“I’ll be sixteen soon,” he said with a warm smile.
“Right.” Her eyes squinted of their own accord as she studied him. He looked ... familiar, strong jaw, perfect nose—
“Are you sure Anton and Yeva want this chicken?” Tasha asked Pav.
Nahli choked and her shoulders tensed at the name. “Anton?”
That was why Pav looked so familiar. He was broader, had freckles and green eyes, but his facial structure was incredibly similar.
“Our brother,” Pav answered, flicking his wrist as though he was the one in charge of the decision making.
“Shoulder-length, straight blond hair?” She wanted to confirm it, even though she knew what Pav’s answer would be.
“Why yes, that describes him perfectly,” he said, brushing away his locks of blond curls from his face.
She was wrong. Her decision wasn’t a good one. “I think I’ll find someone else to give the chicken to.” She reached forward to take back the hen, since Anton did have her favorite satchel.
Pav pushed her hand away with his index finger. “Tasha, go inside and ask Yeva if she wants this gift before we drop you next door and head to the market.”
Tasha nodded fiercely and ran inside the rickety cottage.
Cocking his head, Pav put on a smug grin and winked. “Are you one of Anton’s ladies?”
“What?” she asked, incredulous, stumbling back.
“When I mentioned Anton, you made a face and then wanted to take back the chicken.”
“No, I’m not one of his ladies and would never be anything of his,” she shot back.
He pursed his lips, holding back a laugh. “Mm-hmm.”
A door squeaked from the porch, and a tall willowy girl, with a long blond braid down her back, strolled down the steps toward them. She wore a plain dirt-brown dress similar to Tasha’s tattered one. Tasha was right on the girl’s heels but then sat down on the porch and picked up the forgotten book from earlier.
