The Thread That Binds the Bones (8 page)

Michael looked pale and disheveled. Alyssa stood beside him at the altar. Sun crowned her hair with gleaming copper. She looked serene. She wore a simple dress colored the pink of clouds at sunrise, and she carried a single lotus blossom.

Everyone drifted into the circle. The musicians set their instruments down on the pillars and descended to join the others.

Uncle Jezra emerged from the crowd and went to stand behind the flower-decked stone. “Welcome,” he said. “Thank you all for blessing this union with your presence.”

Michael and Alyssa joined hands and knelt in front of the altar, their backs to the crowd, Tom closed his eyes a moment, and opened them into Othersight.

In daylight people’s own light was harder to see, but he caught glimpses of it where an arm shadowed a side, or a skirt shadowed a lower leg. He looked around, and saw that the phantoms he had seen the night before were present too, faded by daylight like stains washed three times. He turned and studied Laura, who smiled at him. She had a blue edging, but over her stomach the light was greener, closer to the color he saw in his own hand.

He sighed and put his arm around her shoulders. One of the ghosts ventured near them.

Uncle Jezra spoke in that other language, his voice reaching out to touch everyone. As he spoke silvery shimmers came from his mouth, and as people responded, turquoise sparkles rose from their mourns, spinning above the circle, waltzing with the silver in visible harmony. Laura leaned her head against Tom’s shoulder, her gaze fixed on Uncle Jezra. Tom watched the colors dance, then looked at the nearby ghost.

—Peregrine? Tom thought.

The ghost nodded.—Thank you for honoring my Family.

—What?

—By accepting this bud from my tree, and granting it communion with your seed.

Laura murmured something, touched her finger to her lips, and gestured, as everyone else was doing. Tom suppressed his confusion.

—Peregrine, please help me.

—By your leave. The ghost walked into him. He blinked again, and listened with ears and mind as Peregrine whispered a running translation while Jezra spoke, and used Tom’s lips, tongue, and throat to join in the ceremony.

“By the chain of lives from our past into our future, we bind ourselves, muscle, blood, bone, and mind, pledging our time and gifts to the betterment of the Family,” Tom said in concert with everyone else.

“By the air above and the earth below. By the water that runs within us. By the sacred fire.” Uncle Jezra clapped and a flame appeared, dancing in the air above the altar. “From the fire we each take sparks, feeding the flames of ourselves. Through the fire we temper and ennoble ourselves. When two flames join together with the assent of the Presences and Powers, we rejoice in the continuation of our line.”

Jezra lifted the clay bowl. It had something in it. “Through the goodness of the Powers, we have sustenance. Will all partake?”

The bowl traveled around the circle and each person scooped a double fingerful of the bowl’s contents, and tasted. Tom, still ravenous, was ready to reach for a handful, but Peregrine guided him into taking only a little.—It’s symbolic of the Starving Time, when all we had to eat was this. There must be enough for all.

It was a gray paste, which tasted like salted oatmeal.—Salt privilege, Peregrine added.—We who share the sacrament of salt agree not to make war on each other.

“By the goodness of the Powers, we have drink. Will all partake?”

The goblet’s contents proved to be water, a relief after the salt, but not enough of one.

“We stand here gathered, one people, to join these two children together ... Will you, Michael Bolte, take Alyssa Locke as your wife?”

“I sure will,” he said.

“Will you, Alyssa Locke, take Michael Bolte as your husband?”

“I will,” she said, her voice firm but low.

“Then, by my status as eldest, by Powers and Presences above and below, by ancestors and descendants, by earth and sea and sun and sky, by permission and with joyous boldness I do pronounce you husband and wife; may your life together be sweet and long and fruitful and full of gifts. Give me your hands.”

They placed their hands on the capstone. Jezra lifted the little knife and nicked their index fingers. “Mingle blood as covenant of the closeness you will share; grow greater as two become one,” he said. Michael and Alyssa pressed their fingers together.

“Now kiss each other, and rise to greet your guests, Alyssa and Michael Bolte.” He crowned Michael and Alyssa with the lily-and-rose wreaths. They kissed and stood up, turned, and clasped hands, smiling at everyone.

—Well done, Peregrine thought.

—Pretty, Tom thought.

Peregrine snorted mentally.

Laura smiled up at Tom. He thought about kissing her, then’remembered he had a guest, which might complicate things.—Are you planning to stay inside me? Tom asked, not sure what to do if the answer was yes.

—Are you inviting me?

—No!

Peregrine laughed out loud in sheer delight, then stepped out of Tom.

“Tom?” said Laura. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Temporarily possessed, but he’s gone again.” Peregrine was nearby, but he was looking around at other people now, though still grinning, a dimple scored deep into his cheek. Tom said, “Is this anything like a regular wedding reception? Will there be food? I’m hungry enough to eat grass.”

“Let me make it easier for you,” said Carroll from behind them. Tom turned to see Carroll gesturing, spinning red and gold coils through the air, and murmuring small red butterflies that flew with rapid wing flutters at him. Colored coils draped Tom, butterflies landed on him. He felt terribly sick.

Then he was splitting out of his clothes, his body barreling, arms, legs, and face lengthening, self growing hair and hooves and tail, ears stretching and furring, hair sprouting down the back of his suddenly elongated neck.

“Jackass,” said Carroll. He smiled and walked away.

After a moment the sickness faded as Tom settled into this new shape. The view had changed. He saw different things with each eye, almost no overlap, but he had become accustomed to adjusting to new views, and after a moment he could sort the grayed landscape enough to see that people looked like
that
,
and rocks looked like
this.
Smells and sounds had changed too. The different shades of plant smells had become much more important. He lifted his equine head and looked around.

How amazing to be in something other than a human shape! He had never been able to move his ears before.

Laura laid a warm hand on his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his mane. She was grinding her teeth.

Chapter 7

The scentless pale gray shimmer that approached him from the opposite side took Tom a moment to figure out. It bunched beside him so he could see something above it, and it thought—Tom?

—Peregrine? Tom cocked his head to get a better view. The shimmer remained muddy, not exactly person-shaped except in outline.

—Good, you can still sense me.

Tom shivered the skin of one shoulder, amazed at how it felt to have vibrating skin. His relationship with gravity and the ground had shifted radically. He lifted a front hoof, almost fell off balance, placed it on the ground again.

“Tom, I’m so sorry.” Laura’s free hand clenched into a fist. “If only I had his powers,” she said.

His mouth couldn’t smile. He felt a lot of long teeth inside his lips.—Peregrine, is this an abuse of salt privilege?

—Not if he can pass it off as a wedding prank. Don’t eat or drink. It makes the form harder to shed.

Tom was glad of the warning. The scent of grass was enticing, curling juicy whispers to his tongue, and his hunger felt bottomless.

“Tom?” Laura said. “I can beg him to change you back ... is that what you want? Nod if it is.”

Tom shook his head. He was too busy exploring. Besides, begging sounded like a bad tactic.—How does one shed a form? he asked.

—It depends upon how careful he was.

The gray blotch that was Peregrine traveled back. Tom moved his head to keep the form in sight.—Hmm, Peregrine said.—What do you see when you look at this with Othersight?

Tom looked back at himself, enjoying the sensation of bending such a long mobile neck. He blinked, hoping that Othersight wouldn’t confuse him further, but what it revealed looked familiar: red and gold coils, webbing around him in a loose net. Othersight, apparently, worked on some frequency that didn’t respect the donkey’s sight limitations; the colors of the net were rich and clear. Now that he could see the net, he could also feel its tension as it clung to him. It was itch-irritating, but it didn’t feel very strong. He described it to Peregrine.

—That’s interesting, Peregrine said.—I am not gifted with Othersight, except as the dead have it, for seeing other dead things. I can perceive the sensation of someone else’s power around you—more like a taste than a vision. That ... net is all that holds you in this shape. In a good spell built to last, it would taste a lot stronger than it does; so perhaps this
is
just a prank spell, short term, and it will wear off after a moment or two. Still, if you can conjure any manner of altering it ...

“Tom—damn! I wish I could talk to you. I mean, I wish I could understand you. I don’t know what to do!” Laura said.

Tom imagined himself tugging the net loose with phantom hands. As soon as he touched it with a mental finger, it frayed to nothing. He closed his eyes during the disorientation of shapeshifting, then opened them again when he was upright on his hind legs. It was less confusing now because his standard human worldview had returned, with only a faint overlay of Othersight. “It’s okay,” he said.

Her eyes widened. Then she hugged him. “Did you—oh, never mind!”

“I’m underdressed again,” he said. He wasn’t sure how his new in-laws viewed nudity. He wasn’t that comfortable with it himself, not in front of strangers. Most of the wedding party had left the amphitheater, though some had seen him turn into a jackass and back, and a few were grinning at him as they walked past. “Please don’t move away from me,” he said, facing Laura and keeping his arm around her shoulder.

“But—” Laura said, laughing a little herself. “I don’t know if we can walk back to my room this way.”

Michael dashed up. “I’ll get Carroll for you, Tom,” he said.

Surprised, Tom said, “Thanks. I’d rather have a robe. Laura’s dress isn’t big enough for both of us.”

“Oh!” Michael picked up all the scraps from Tom’s former clothing, puzzled over them, frowned up at Tom, bit his lower lip, and managed to spell jockey shorts, a pair of white jeans, shoes, and a shirt out of the remnants. The jeans and underwear seemed fairly normal and even fitted; the shoes had changed from hightops into deck shoes; but the long-sleeved shirt was made of scraps from both the T-shirt and the windbreaker, patchwork fashion. Tom put everything on. He decided he liked it. He grinned. “Thanks! And congratulations,”

“You too,” said Michael. “You really want me to leave Uncle Carroll alone? I don’t think it was fair, his pulling something like that on you, even if it was only a short-term spell. You haven’t had time to get used to us yet.”

“I appreciate your concern. Michael?”

“Yes?”

“When we were driving here, Laura said your family would enjoy torturing me. And you didn’t seem very friendly last night.”

“Yeah, but now you’re married to us. We don’t hurt each other. At least, not permanently. And if anybody’s going to tease you, I want to start it, but I can’t till tomorrow, because it’s First Night for Alyssa and me. But Uncle Carroll ...”

“Don’t worry,” said Tom. “I’ll get him.”

“You will?” Michael squinted at him.

Tom smiled serenely. “Sure. Are there any refreshments at this party?”

“
Tanganar
will be setting up tables by the kitchen.” Michael dashed off.

“
Tanganar
?”
Tom asked Laura. He remembered the definition he had extracted from Laura’s rather the night before: mind-deaf, ungifted.

“Another reason for us to live far, far away. Fetches. Slaves. What I thought would happen to you. But I don’t want to attack a long-established tradition. This is the way my family has done things for as long as I can remember. I’ve never had enough power to change things.”

They walked toward the kitchen. Some of the stragglers stopped to offer congratulations. A little dark-haired girl Laura introduced as Pandora gave them each a white rose. Some of the relatives condescended; some sneered; some seemed happy. Laura named them all.

Aunt Agatha came by and stroked the air in front of Laura’s stomach. “Caught one already,” she said, beaming as if she hadn’t changed expression all night.

“What?” Laura sounded stricken.

“Is that what makes it blue-green there?” Tom asked, touching the air near Laura’s stomach.

“Good gracious, boy! Can you
see
it?”

Tom raised his eyebrows.

“I’m
Arkhos
,
and even I can’t
see
them. I can sense them when I’m close enough.” She pointed at him. “You come to me. I’ll train you. Good gracious, the boy has Othersight,” she muttered as she wandered off.

“Tom.”

He looked at Laura.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

“I thought that might be—your halo is blue and mine’s green, but right here there’s a green-blue patch ... is this okay with you? Is this too soon?”

She put her hand on her stomach and frowned. Then she smiled. “I think—I think it will be okay. It’s too soon to tell. But I think we can work with this. And—” She grinned. “It’s going to drive the others crazy! Most of us have to work hard and cast a lot of spells to get a baby.”

“What?” he said, but the sight of tables laden with food distracted him. Laura seemed equally distracted. They raced to the end of the line, and when their turn came, grabbed plates and loaded them with food—sliced meat, dark and light, though he couldn’t tell if it were fowl or beast, only that the steam rising from it promised savor; sliced dark bread spread with butter, redolent of garlic; crescents of melon, slices of yellow cheese and white cheese, fresh oranges and pickled apples, mashed potatoes and tureens of gravy—everything promising joy and restoration.