Page 130 of Silver in the Bone

“Come out, Flea,” Caitriona said.

Neve jumped as the girl crawled out from beneath the lower shelves.

“How long have you been there?” Neve asked, clutching her chest.

“Long enough to hear you muttering and fluffing up your courage like a goose,” Flea said. She glowered at the older priestess. “No way ye saw me, Cait!”

“No, in truth, I did not,” Caitriona said. “But Betrys complained to me that one of her prayer stones vanished, which happened to coincide with you disappearing from your lesson with her.”

The girl stuck out her lower lip, crossing her arms over her chest. “Wasn’t me.”

“Must we do this every night, Flea?” Caitriona asked, some of her exhaustion breaking through to the surface.

“Only ’cause ye make me,” Flea countered.

“Empty your pockets and prove that your word is good,” Caitriona said.

The girl only hung her head, sulking. “I’ll give it back.”

“Thank you,” Caitriona said. “Please do so now and apologize to her. This is not a courteous way to treat anyone, let alone your sister.”

“But—” the girl protested.

“Now, Flea,” Caitriona said, opening the door for her.

Flea sent one last look my way, some smugness slipping into her smile, but did as she was told. Caitriona locked the door behind her, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against it.

“I know what I’m doing here,” Neve said, looking at each of us in turn. “But what are the rest of you doing?”

“We’re about to get an overdue explanation,” I said, taking a seat on the edge of the worktable.

“So you finally got caught snooping around?” Neve said.

“That would be the negative spin on the events of this evening, yes,” Emrys said.

“Where would you like me to begin?” Olwen asked. “Perhaps with the bone sculptures, as you called them?”

“Fine by me,” I said.

Olwen crouched, lifting the curtain of fraying fabric that covered her lower shelves. She retrieved a basket and set it down on the table next to me. Inside, wrapped in layers of linen, was one of the sculptures.

An inverted skull formed the base of this one, with an array of long, thin bones fanning out around it like the petals of a great and terrible flower. Neve gasped at the sight of it, and it was impossible to tell if what she felt was surprise or delight. She leaned forward, studying the etchings.

“If I may?” Caitriona asked quietly.

Neve stepped back, allowing Caitriona to lift the sculpture and place it on a wooden pedestal covered in wax drippings. Olwen handed her a small candle, which Caitriona carefully placed inside. The wick flared as she passed a hand over it.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the pedestal and a trail of mist appeared, wrapping around it, spinning its top. The flame inside the bone flickered wildly, casting fluttering shadows and glowing sigils on the walls.

“Our memories dwell in our minds, yes, but also in our blood, and in our bones,” Olwen said. “Upon the death of an elder druid, a vessel like this would be made of his bones, so that his memories could be preserved and consulted for the ages to come. After it is shaped and carved, it is placed inside the cauldron you saw so that it can be imbued with more memory and magic. This is the vessel of our High Priestess Viviane.”

“It was made by the last descendant of the druids to learn the craft,” Caitriona added. “And by the Great Mother’s mercy, he taught us how to use it only days before he himself was killed.”

I turned, trying to take in the sigils as they streamed around us. “The symbols ... they’re different than the sigils used by sorceresses. What do they mean?”

“Alas, I haven’t the slightest idea. It is the language of magic used by the druids,” Olwen said. “They brought it and the cauldron here when they left the mortal world.”

“Do the bones in the sculptures belong to druids, then?” I asked.

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