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Chapter 4 - 3

The juniper tree was gone come morning. The blankets were folded, the pail returned to its rightful place, the fire extinguished, the pot cleaned— for a few groggy seconds, Peter actually wondered if he'd dreamt the whole mess up to begin with.

But then Lena pushed the kitchen door in, a basket of eggs in the crook of her arm, and under her eyes there were circles of unrest. She'd been busying herself with the cleaning. "Ho," she greeted. "You look about as good as I feel."

"Good enough. Did you get any sleep?"

"Not as much as you. Can't believe you snored through the sawing."

She'd left the door open, allowing sunshine to spill across the floor. What remained of the star was sitting on the table, surrounded by tools, chiseled and refracting light like a hunk of cloudy glass. Peter touched it and asked, "How is it?"

She set the eggs beside it. "One down, one to go. It's a bit tougher than the last."

He unearthed the first shell from a wadded up bit of cloth. It was crude and unpolished, about the size of a woman's hand. A shell in truth, if Peter were honest. "It's nice," he teased. "What'd you do with the scallop?"

She smacked him in the shoulder. "Shut up, you."

"The others were like cockles."

"It's not on purpose."

"How do we know if it works?"

She gave a shrug. "I haven't finished the second one yet."

Peter's amusement dissolved when he caught her looking at him. Memories from the night before returned uninvited. "I'm sorry about yesterday," he said. "Are we okay?"

She smiled. "We're fine. Breakfast?"

"Sure. Is he still here?"

Lena knew who he meant. "Outside," she said. "He won't let me cut his hair."

Peter gave her a look. "You tried to cut his hair?"

"It's shaggy. He looks homeless."

"He is homeless. And don't mother him."

She took the shell back, avoiding his eyes. "He's been asking a lot of questions," she said. "I think he's trying to learn as much as he can before he takes off on us. He even let me teach him how to mend the fence, of all things."

"You let an injured guy do heavy lifting?"

"He insisted. He might be the best house guest we've ever had."

"Aye, just don't get attached."

She seemed awfully disheartened for someone who'd been so keen to be rid of him. But then she shook off some unspoken sentiment. "I'll holler when the eggs are ready."

Peter thanked her and pursued the dutiful thunk of an axe. The day was warmer than the one that had come before it, spotted by clouds but otherwise clear. There were damselflies darting in and out of the tall grasses hugging the slated path, glittering in all manners of colors. He knew that it wouldn't be long now before the mornings were coated in frost.

Ethos was by the chopping block just shy of the stable, back turned, too-large pants rolled up to his knees. With his bad arm slung, he brought down the axe on an upright log and cleanly sliced it in two. It was as he added it to the pile that Peter realized how long he'd been at it.

"Use the maul."

Ethos glanced over at him. "What?"

"That axe isn't meant for splitting," Peter said. "It's a feller. The maul's got a heavier head."

"Where is it?"

"Should be just inside the door there." Peter sat on the block while Ethos searched through the stable. A local wildcat, Nani, was lounged in the shadow of a water trough. "You should've waited," he added, knowing Ethos would probably hear. "I'd have helped you take it down."

"Lena helped plenty," Ethos replied, sounding muffled. "And I told you I'd fix it. I didn't see any point in troubling you more than I already have." He returned, hefting the maul. "Is this it?"

"Aye, that's it. See the shape of the wedge."

"It's heavy."

"Said it was, didn't I?"

Ethos stopped in front of him. "I'm almost done."

It was a not-so-subtle way of telling him to move. "Lena's making breakfast."

"I heard. So what?"

"So take a break."

"I don't need a break."

"I'd need a break after dicing a tree."

"You wouldn't if you'd just slept fifteen years."

Peter made a hard line of his mouth. "Just take a break, Ethos."

Rather than argue, Ethos looked westward. Nani was weaving around his bare ankles, tail curling behind his knees. "How far is Oldden?" he asked, eyes searching. "Can I walk there?"

"It's a hundred leagues or so, past the midlands. Farther, if you go around the Backbone." 

Ethos crouched to pet Nani. She nuzzled against his hand. "How long would it take?"

"Hard to say. Weather's a factor. Endurance. Terrain. That sort of thing."

"Makes sense. What's the Backbone?"

"A mountain range."

"What's Oldden like?"

Peter shrugged. "Never been."

That seemed to surprise Ethos. He glanced and asked, "Never?"

"Never ever," Peter answered. "Coastlanders tend to stick to their coast."

Ethos didn't so much sit as tiredly drop to the dirt. "The clans called you colonists."

"I can see why they would, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Considering we're not from here." Shadows of songbirds moved over the ground. "Karna was founded 466 years ago by Hans Redbeard and his Council Five," he said. "Sutter Bonesteel, Enwyn Greentide, Rohan Stonehand, and the Battlefrost twins, Daggeir and Syan. The six of them shared a fleet of ten thousand."

"Ten thousand. Where did they all come from?"

"Nobody knows much. The stories mostly focus on what happened after they landed."

"So what happened after they landed?"

"They were attacked." Peter retrieved the felling axe. He absently thumbed the edge. "The tono were Karnan natives, savages who resisted the change that the fleet represented. But Redbeard's men were starved and desperate, so he made the decision to force his way onto the western seaboard. The war went on for a good five or six years before he eradicated the last of them."

"How could Redbeard have founded Karna if there were already people living here?"

Peter looked at him. "They were just savages."

"People are people, Peter."

"What are you, a moral compass?"

"Moral enough to know what inhabited land is."

Sitting forward, Peter took a moment to consider him. "Imagine you're on a raft with a safety limit of two," he said. "A child, a peddler, and the love of your life are all treading water. If you leave them, they'll die. Who do you save?"

"It's a riddle?"

"Have you heard it?"

"It reminds me of the wolf and the elk."

"The wolf and the elk?"

"Sure." Ethos leaned over Nani and doodled something in the dirt with his finger. "There was once a great river in the path of a she-wolf," he said. "The wolf couldn't swim, so she asked the elk to carry her through the current. The elk first refused; he feared she'd tear out his throat before they could make it across, but the wolf persuaded him, saying she'd drown if she lost him halfway." 

Reluctantly rapt, Peter asked, "Aye, so what happened?"

"She tore out his throat halfway. They died."

"Are you joking?"

"Am I laughing?"

"That can't be how it ends."

"It is." But Ethos looked faintly puzzled at himself, head atilt, as if he were just now questioning the conclusion. "The current took them. When the elk asked the she-wolf why she'd damned them both to die, she just smiled and said, 'It's my nature.'"

Peter's thumb slid too close to the axe edge. He checked himself for blood, found none, and then scowled at Ethos. "That's not a riddle," he said. "That's a fable."

He shrugged, aloof. "It was all the talk about water."

"Where'd you hear such a depressing story?"

"I don't remember." Nani was rewarded with his startled laughter when she nuzzled one of his black-soled feet. "Hey," he said, curling toes. "Cut that out."

"You never answered my riddle."

He played with her ear, smiling fondly. "Yeah, I don't get it."

"What's there not to get?" he asked. "The raft only has a safety limit of two."

Another shrug. "But what's a safety limit?"

He wasn't asking for a definition, Peter realized. But it didn't seem like he was trying to be clever, either. He just didn't understand the rules. "You can't take them all," Peter said. "That's the point. The raft will sink if you take them all."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Maybe nothing. The raft will sink."

Ethos ignored him. He stood instead, off-balance with only the one arm. He looked down at Peter, axe on his shoulder, and asked, "Could you move?"

"Working yourself to death isn't going to make you feel better."

Ethos scanned the fields, squinting. "I think less when I'm moving around."

"Point taken." Peter thought he could hear Lena calling from the main house, so he went to his feet and indicated the slated path. "How do you like your eggs?"

Ethos frowned at him, comically. "What?"

Peter smiled. "Come inside."

"But Lena's in there."

"Aye, so?"

"So she keeps coming at me with shears."

Peter took the axe from him and propped it alongside the feller. "She just wants to cut your hair," he reasoned. "Did you think she was trying to snip off your ears?"

"I didn't know what to think," he muttered. "I decided to stop asking so many questions when she devoted an hour to balancing jars on the fence we fixed."

Peter snorted. "They're for the sun."

"The sun?"

"Walk with me."

Ethos followed along at his heels, suddenly curious. "What does the sun want with them?"

"We set them out in the morning if the weather's good," he explained, kicking at rocks. "They're usually pretty full by dusk."

"Full of what?"

"Sunlight," Peter said, sidelong. "Trapping's cheaper than burning oil or wood. They last through the night, longer in summer."

Peter was sure he'd never held such a captive audience. "Amazing," Ethos said, eyes wide, like he hadn't just made a tree out of nothing. "What else can you do?"

"Don't look at me like that. Anyone can do it."

They ducked inside. "Even me?"

"Aye, especially you."

Lena was setting out dishes. She glanced, having heard the last. "Especially him what?"

Peter eased into his chair, famished. "Work Karnan wile."

"Anyone can work Karnan wile."

"I said that. Does something smell different?"

"Oysters," she said. "Liam came by with them this morning."

Ethos sat next, sulking a little and glancing between them. "I don't think he liked me."

Lena joined them at the table and chuckled, distributing portions. "Liam's been sweet on me since forever and a day," she said. "I doubt he likes the idea of another man sleeping under my roof."

"You're cruel to him," Peter grumbled. "I'll bet you let him wonder."

"So what if I did? He makes himself an easy mark."

"You'll miss him swooning all over you."

She scowled. "Don't call it that."

"But that's what it is."

"That's not what it is."

"It is and you like it."

"It's not and I don't. You whelk."

"Aye, all giggling and tossing your hair like."

Ethos was beaming at them. It was a pleasant expression, authentic. Lena's face softened when she spotted it. "Good grief," she said, like she'd made a mistake. "If I'd known you could grin like that, I'd have put more effort into seeming dignified."

He subsided. "You two are a lot alike," he said. "It's cute."

"A twin thing, aye," she wisely agreed. "Our folks have never forgiven their genitals."

Peter dipped his head side to side, feigning deliberation. "You're more like Jonah."

Lena thrust her fork at him, one-eyed. "You take that back this instant, brother."

"Aye, fine, curse all and the rest." Peter poked at his eggs, smiling. "All children have a bit of both worlds, way I see it," he settled. "Who else would we blame our faults on?"

Ethos looked down at his food, and little by little, his dejection returned. He cleared his throat and rose from his chair. "Excuse me," he said, politely. "Sorry, I— "

He'd cut himself short, but that didn't stop him from promptly leaving. Lena stared after him until his shadow had curled out of sight. To Peter, she gestured at the untouched plate as if to protest the fact that a perfectly good breakfast was going to waste.

Peter shrugged and slid it his way. "Whatever," he said, chewing. "More for us."

She sulked. "He wouldn't talk to me at all this morning."

"He talked plenty. You said he was asking all sorts of questions."

"Aye, about boring stuff. He doesn't talk to me like he talks to you. It's not fair."

"I'm just the more likeable sibling, is all. No need to beat yourself up about it."

She kicked him under the table, but smiled. "Whelk."

"Swamp donkey." Peter smiled with her. He corralled the eggs with his spoon, nestling a cheek in the heel of his hand. His smile faded. "He'll go to Oldden."

"Aye," she grunted. "I sensed that, too."

"He's profitable. They won't kill him if they know what he can do."

"Oh, aye, sign me up for a highborn barter," she scoffed. "The council will have a field day. And that's just assuming he doesn't get robbed and butchered somewhere on the way." 

"He's learning how it works. He's not stupid."

"He's a one-armed woodling."

"And how long has that one-armed woodling been at the block this morning?" he asked. "He's got the stamina of an ox. And he's clever. He'll be fine."

"You're just making it sound pretty because you feel bad."

He sent her a look. "This from the girl who'd have left him for dead."

"Mom knew what she was doing when she took up here," she pressed. "We should let her decide what to do with him. It's too soon."

Peter flung a hand at the door in disgust. "How many warning signs do you need?" he asked. "The crow, the storm, the bugs, the bones— aye, he's nice and all, but so what?" His voice was rising, so he stopped and raked at his hair to becalm, minding priorities. "Oldden's involvement is reason enough for us to stay out of it."

"But— "

"That's all there is of it, Lena."

"It's wrong to wash our hands of him on account of mom being a deserter."

A noise too soft to be that of an axe made his half-formed retort slide back down his throat. Peter straightened. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Voices."

Chairs scraped across the floor.

The daylight was blinding, and while it stalled Peter's initial search of the acreage, he soon saw that the roadway was clear, as was the yard and the wayside hitches, the river bank and the fences about, the fields, the smokehouse, the slated walkway. Lena was first to start off down the last, dragging him by a hand, and he surprised himself by following her lead, by staying silent when he'd really rather have taken it slow. The damselflies vanished. The air went still.

In his mind, he heard an echo of himself say, "The crow, the storm, the bugs, the bones— "

Ethos was sitting beside Nani, a stone's throw from the wounded chopping block. He was speaking softly to her, pointing at something, and Peter had to get a little closer to see that they were intent upon a pair of tussling field mice. The cat passively surveyed the game, as if she were more interested in his words than in her natural prey.

Ethos broke off midsentence at the sound of approaching feet, catching a shock of sunshine in the shift of his eyes. He was quick to spot their concern. "Is something wrong?"

Lena sighed, "We thought we heard voices."

Ethos smiled for her. "Just Nani and me." The wildcat in question finally decided to lunge for the mice, clawing up earth as she chased them to pasture. Tall grasses swayed, charting the hunt, and Ethos was standing by the time they glanced back at him. "I can't really convey enough gratitude," he said, shrugging. "But thanks for everything."

Peter could hear the apology in his voice. "You're leaving."

"I'm imposing, even if you don't see it that way, and I'd hate for my actions to force your family out of hiding." When Lena began to stammer an excuse, he put up a hand to stop her. "It's okay, really," he cut in. "There's no need to act like you've done me wrong somehow."

She furiously pointed at the ground at his feet. "Don't move an inch," she instructed. "Stay where you are while I gather some stuff for the journey."

"You don't have to do that."

"Just stay put!"

Ethos watched her sprint to the house, faintly bewildered by her angry generosity. But his smile returned as he made an approach of the roadway despite her well-intentioned bullying. "She's kind," he remarked. "Please apologize for me."

Peter followed. "You and your arm will make it through."

"You think?" he played along, chuckling. "Me and my arm would love that."

"Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"

Still smiling, Ethos adjusted the sling. "Not exactly," he said. "If you have any kernels of worldly wisdom, now would be a good time to share them. My sources for guidance are kind of limited right now, what with everyone I know being dead and all."

"Avoid settlements, first off." 

"Okay."

"And avoid eye contact." Peter dipped sideways to catch his gaze. "Don't forget," he said. "The color's not normal. People will stare."

"Okay."

"And follow rivers when you can."

"Okay."

"Are you going to kill whoever's responsible?"

Ethos didn't need any clarification. "Do you think I should?"

Something clattered from the house— Lena, presumably. "I get into fights every now and again over stupid shit, but I'm no murderer," Peter said. "Are you?"

"I thought you'd say something like that."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"I guess I was just kind of hoping you wouldn't." He stopped and put out his hand. Again, it was a not-so-subtle suggestion. "Thanks again for helping like you did," he said. "For all we know, the two of you finding me made the difference between fifteen years and five hundred years."

"You're just going to walk westward?"

The hand fell. "That's the plan."

"What about boots?"

"I've always been barefoot."

"Aye, but we have some spares in the— "

"I don't want your boots, Peter." The curtness in his voice must have been unintentional, because Ethos forced a pointless smile to make up for it. "I left a little present to keep you both busy," he said. "I hope it makes up for any trouble I caused."

"A present?"

Ethos indicated the north end of the farmstead. "Since you showed interest."

Beyond the fences and open pasture, their closest plot of fallow land had been dyed by countless rows of oupir. It was a sea of color. Peter was vaguely aware that he'd frozen in stunned surprise, but the response was a strictly external one. Gears were turning in his head, running numbers.

He wasn't entirely sure how long it took for him to notice that he was alone. He wondered if Ethos had said something more, if he'd said good riddance or smiled or frowned, but the gap that had grown between them made it clear that he'd gone some time ago. He was diligently following the creek, set on his cheerless, unglorified goal.

Peter jumped when Lena barked his name. She was stomping irritably through the grass, hugging an armload of supplies. "You turkey," she seethed. "Where'd you let him off to?"

"Look, he filled the fallows with oupir," he murmured, treading through fogs of disbelief. "Said it was a present for the trouble."

"Did he leave?"

"Aye, he left."

"He didn't say goodbye."

"I don't think he's very good at sendoffs."

"He should've at least taken some provisions."

"So go after him," he said. "You can still catch up."

"Sakes alive, I forgot the boots."

"He doesn't want boots."

"You asked?"

"Sort of."

Lena shoved the supplies at him. "Run these out."

Peter fumbled and used his chin to balance the topmost bag. "I'm not running anywhere," he said, wincing under the awkward bulk. "This is way too much stuff anyhow. Why'd you grab two of these?"

"They're bedrolls."

"I know, I see that, but why're there two?"

"You said yourself he'd get butchered all on his own."

"I didn't say that. You said that."

"Poor's the man for you as a friend."

"Oi, I'm a great friend. Just ask around like."

"High north doesn't have friends. Remember?" She pushed him, steered him westward. "Go on," she insisted. "You're like a lost dog. Go on and get. Shoo."

"I can't just up and leave, Lena."

"You surely can."

"There's too much work to do."

"It's not like you're leaving the farm to molder."

"Do you seriously think you can handle the workload on your own?"

She threw up a proud chin. "I can take on the chores until Jonah gets back," she said, and then she pointed into the distance. "It's that googly-eyed woodling out there who needs someone to teach him what's what and who's who. I need you like I need a bent rake."

"And what's wrong with a bent rake?"

"It's bent. It's a bent rake. Nobody wants a bent rake."

Peter nearly threw down the bags. "It's not my fight, Lena."

"To the pits with the fight, it's not about that."

"Then what's it about?"

"Helping someone in need."

"But he doesn't want my help."

"To the pits with what he wants, too," she said, sharply. "Nobody likes being alone when they're afraid, and he's no exception. He's just trying to spare us the bother."

"Then you admit it's a bother."

"Peter— "

"Think about it," he challenged. "I can't even shear a sheep proper and you're asking me to lead some unwitting feral kid to the most industrious place in Karna. It's a foul idea."

She rolled her eyes. "You can too shear a sheep."

"I can't," he angrily insisted. "The things hate me. They won't stay still."

"Then maybe you'll find a better calling out there."

"That's assuming I even have one."

His response cooled her bearing, made her look away. "I know it's been a disappointing couple of years for you, but you've got a good enough head on your shoulders to get by." She met his eyes again, and in hers there was a peaceful empathy as cosmic and open as the infinite sky. "You can do this," she promised. "You might even have some fun."

"Aye," he sullenly agreed. "A fortnight's march with someone I don't even know."

She tried not to laugh. "Maybe it's time high north made a friend."

"High north doesn't need a friend. High north has you."

"I don't count," she retorted, but it still made her smile. "You don't shout for your little sister when you're looking to ride the river with someone." 

"I liked riding the river with you."

"I didn't mean it literally."

"I know what you meant."

"I've packed the shell that I was working on," she told him. "It's not the prettiest thing in the east, but I reckon it'll work just fine. Check in with me when you settle for the night, okay? I'll have the other one done before sundown."

"I thought you wanted to sell them."

"I'd rather just know you're safe out there."

He was shaking his head, over and over. "I'm not going."

"Sure, you are," she said. "You're already partway there, see?"

Peter had backed into the main road, unbeknownst. He felt his crinkled brow go smooth. "What'll you tell everyone?"

"Nawt but goose eggs. I'll say you were off next thing I knew."

"Did you pack my notebook?"

She nodded. "Bring me a souvenir from Oldden."

"Don't tell me what to do." He glanced out west once more while she sniggered. "Just you wait," he grumbled. "I'm going to regret this. I'll be expecting an apology when it all blows up in my face."

She employed the top of her hand to lightly whack him under the chin. "Buck up," she said. "Try not to look so down in the mouth or you'll make him feel bad."

"Yeah, yeah."

"And see if you can catch a ship on the way back."

He hefted the provisions, turning. "Tickets are expensive."

"Peter." He could hear a flicker of grief in her voice. "I'm only asking you to get him where he needs to go. You realize that, right?"

"So?"

"So get him there, but come back once you do. Please."

Slowly, he nodded. "Alright."

"Go on, then," Lena said, forcing a smirk. "Scram, turkey."

It would forever be ingrained in his mind, the clarity of that day. The plains had been like the sea itself, pulling him in like a tide from the pier, Ethos charting the course ahead. Once they'd gotten to know one another better, and they'd effectively squashed whatever proud convictions they'd once had about themselves, Peter would think back and say

 

 

 —the crow, the storm, the bugs, the bones—