Fire & Bone — Chapter XIII
· Winston Everlast
Apple discovered that making pie was considerably more difficult than eating it.
This seemed unfair.
He had eaten enough pie to understand the important parts.
There was crust.
There was something good inside the crust.
There was sugar.
The third part had apparently been doing more work than Apple had appreciated.
He stood over a low wooden table beneath an ash tree, staring at the contents of a bowl.
The contents stared back.
Not literally.
That would have been easier.
If the filling had developed eyes, Apple could have stabbed it and started again.
Instead, the bowl contained chopped apples, two bruised pears, a handful of dark berries, ground nuts, and something Lati had called sweetroot despite the fact that Apple had tasted it twice and found the name fraudulent.
He tasted it a third time.
Still fraudulent.
“No,” he said.
Lati sat across from him with both hands wrapped around her knees.
“No what?”
“It needs sugar.”
“We do not have sugar.”
“I know.”
“You have said that seven times.”
“It has remained true.”
Around them, Ti Temple tried to become a village.
There were no platforms.
No waterwheels.
No bridges speaking to one another through copper and stone.
No central elder tree.
South of them, smoke still rose through the wound in Greenvale where Ti Temple had stood. The explosion had opened a circle in the canopy so large that afternoon sunlight reached the ground in a white column. At its center, far beyond the northern camp, blackened roots curled around glassed earth.
Nothing moved there.
Apple had checked.
Twice.
The second time Titima had told him that if Apple went south again, he would tie him to a tree.
Apple had explained that this would require catching him.
Titima had not appreciated the clarification.
So Apple remained north with the others.
The surviving Simiah had stopped beside a long ridge where three great trees grew close enough together to shelter the Ti Stone between their roots. It was not their destination. Savala had made that clear. The Heart Stone would travel farther north once the wounded had rested and scouts had found a route that could carry the litter.
But for one afternoon, they had stopped.
That alone felt strange.
No one was running.
No soldiers followed.
No ley currents threatened to collide.
Every Simiah who had left Ti Temple had been counted.
Then counted again.
Then the children had counted everyone a third time because children did not trust adults with numbers after an explosion.
Everyone was alive.
Bruised.
Burned.
Cut.
Shaken.
Some had lost packs. Others tools. One family had escaped with three cooking bowls and no blankets. Another had six blankets and no bowls. A gem tender had carried a padded case of moonstones nearly a mile before discovering that his own food had fallen from his pack somewhere behind him.
The food was gone.
The moonstones were not.
Apple understood him completely.
The Ti Stone rested beneath layers of woven copper, wool, and elder leaves in the hollow between the trees. Four guards remained beside it at all times, although there was nothing nearby large enough to steal it without first becoming very noticeable.
The scholars had already begun arguing about where the new measure would be laid.
That comforted Apple.
People who expected to die did not argue about construction tolerances.
A group of children had gathered behind Lati.
They had been there for some time.
Apple pretended not to notice them.
They whispered.
“That is him.”
“He can hear you.”
“No he cannot.”
“He is a capuchin.”
“So are you.”
“He killed the humans.”
“He killed all of them?”
“The fire killed them.”
“He made the fire.”
“The stone made the fire.”
“My brother said he built the trap.”
“My mother said the Emberkin did.”
“The Emberkin lost his hammer.”
“It was a mace.”
“What is a mace?”
“A fighting hammer.”
“I want one.”
“You cannot lift one.”
“I could if I was a hero.”
Apple continued cutting apples.
Very carefully.
A smaller voice whispered, “He can read.”
Apple’s knife stopped.
Lati looked over his shoulder.
The children became silent.
Apple resumed cutting.
Another whisper.
“And write.”
That one was worse.
Apple set down the knife.
He turned.
There were seven of them.
Two capuchins.
A young langur with arms that appeared to have grown faster than the rest of him.
Three macaques.
And one very small Simiah Apple could not identify because only her eyes and the top of her head were visible behind the others.
They stared.
Apple stared back.
The smallest one ducked completely out of sight.
“What?” Apple asked.
No one answered.
“You were talking.”
Seven faces attempted innocence.
They were bad at it.
Apple pointed at the oldest capuchin.
“You.”
The child swallowed.
“Yes, Saru.”
Apple’s tail went still.
Lati noticed.
The children had heard his Temple Name.
Of course they had.
Everyone had.
Saru of Ru Temple.
The warning writer.
The ringless artisan who had arrived with an elf, a human noble, and an Emberkin and told Titima his people would die if they stayed.
Then proved it.
Apple was not certain how he felt about children saying Saru as though the name belonged in their mouths.
Something in his chest hurt.
Not badly.
He disliked it anyway.
“What did you want?” he asked.
The capuchin looked at the others.
They looked at him.
He had apparently been elected by cowardice.
“Did you really write the warning?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Wyn helped.”
“But you made the letters?”
“Yes.”
The children murmured.
Apple frowned.
“That is not more impressive than the trap.”
The langur said, “It is to my sister.”
“Your sister is wrong.”
The hidden little Simiah peered out.
“My mother says males at Ru did not write.”
Apple looked at her.
“My mother is dead.”
The words came out before he decided whether to use them.
Silence followed.
Not frightened silence.
A child’s silence.
The kind that happened when a room suddenly contained something much larger than the conversation that had been taking place inside it.
Apple wished he had said something else.
He did not know what.
Lati did not rescue him.
He appreciated that.
Finally Apple said, “At Ru, I worked stone and metal and locks. I learned letters later.”
“From the elf?”
“From Wyn.”
“Is he a good teacher?”
“No.”
From somewhere behind Apple came Wyn’s voice.
“I remain wounded by the ingratitude of my pupils.”
The children scattered.
Not far.
Only enough to pretend they had not been listening.
Wyn approached carrying two folded blankets and a bundle of cut branches beneath one arm.
His hair was full of leaves.
Apple found this satisfying.
“You made the line backward three times,” Apple said.
“I was teaching you adaptability.”
“You called it wrong.”
“A technical term.”
Lati covered her mouth.
Wyn looked into the bowl.
His expression changed.
“What is that?”
“Pie.”
“No.”
“It will be.”
“I was present when you ate pie. This seems unrelated.”
“It needs sugar.”
“Most things do.”
Apple looked at him.
Wyn looked back.
Neither mentioned the five sugar cubes Apple had once counted in a buried mansion.
There were no sugar cubes now.
Between Blacklands travel, gifts, experiments, and the ordinary attrition of carrying something delicious through dangerous places, Apple’s private supply had ceased to exist.
He considered this one of Malrick’s lesser crimes.
Still a crime.
Wyn set the blankets down.
“Could you use honey?”
“We do not have honey.”
“Dried fruit?”
“In the bowl.”
“Spice?”
“Lati found bark.”
Wyn looked at Lati.
“Edible bark?”
Lati considered.
“My grandmother used it.”
“That is not the same answer.”
Apple pointed at him.
“See? Bad teacher.”
Wyn left.
The children followed him at a distance.
Apple watched them go.
The oldest capuchin had found a straight stick. He carried it over one shoulder like a mace.
Apple looked away before anyone noticed him smiling.
⁂
The crust was worse.
Apple had not known crust could become angry.
He knew now.
The flour had survived evacuation in three different sacks owned by three different families. None contained precisely the same grain. One was pale and fine. One was coarse
enough to scratch his palms. The third smelled faintly of smoke and had several small black seeds mixed through it.
Lati found rendered fat.
Apple did not ask from what.
Heroes sometimes required boundaries.
He mixed everything according to his memory of the pictures from the Book of Your Heart’s Desire.
The book itself remained wrapped inside his pack.
Its pages had gone dull again after Greenvale. Wyn’s brief reawakening of it had consumed the stones they used, and Apple had no intention of spending another gemstone asking a book how much water went into pastry.
He remembered the drawings.
Mostly.
A bowl.
Hands.
A rolling pin.
Something folded.
A cheerful finished pie.
There had been no drawing of failure.
Books concealed important information.
Apple added water.
The dough became mud.
He added flour.
It became stone.
He added more fat.
It became oily stone.
Lati watched.
“You have made this before?”
“No.”
“You said you knew how.”
“I know what pie is.”
“That is different.”
Apple pushed both hands into the dough.
His tail took the bowl before it could slide away.
“I know what a sword is.”
“Yes.”
“I cannot make one.”
“I understand.”
“This is easier than a sword.”
Lati examined the dough.
“Is it?”
Apple glared at her.
She smiled.
Eventually three elderly Simiah women came to help.
Not because Apple asked.
Apple did not ask.
They simply appeared.
The first took the bowl away.
The second added something from a small pouch.
The third struck Apple’s hand when he reached for the dough.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Her fur was almost completely white.
“You are hurting it,” she said.
“It is dough.”
“Yes.”
“How can I hurt it?”
“You are managing.”
Lati made a sound.
Apple turned.
She was coughing into her hand.
There was no smoke.
Apple looked back at the old woman.
“What did you add?”
“Salt.”
“That does not solve the sugar problem.”
“No.”
“Do you have sugar?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To prevent a second problem.”
That seemed reasonable.
Apple moved aside.
Not far.
He watched.
The women worked with the ease of people who had made food for more years than Apple had been alive. Their hands barely seemed to touch the dough. They pressed, folded, turned, rested.
No rushing.
Apple knew that rhythm.
It was not cooking.
Not really.
It was craft.
Listen first.
Shape second.
Force last.
Koruma had taught him the same thing about metal.
The thought arrived without warning.
Apple’s hand went to the cord at his neck.
His claws found nothing.
The cord had broken in the heart chamber.
Koruma’s ring was gone.
Not lost.
Used.
The silver had become part of the electrum joint above Halen’s mace. The green stone had broken beneath Apple’s tools. He had left the black fragments on the dirt where the Ti Stone had rested.
Then Travis entered.
Then Ti Temple became light.
There was nothing to recover.
Apple lowered his hand.
The eldest woman noticed.
She said nothing.
Care could be that too.
The pie went into a shallow iron pan.
They had no oven.
Halen solved this.
He sat on a fallen log with the pan balanced across two flat stones before him, his hands held beneath it.
Orange light moved through the cracks of his fingers.
Very little.
Just enough.
Apple crouched beside him.
“Not too hot.”
“I know.”
“The bottom should brown.”
“I know.”
“Not black.”
“I understand cooking.”
“You heat potatoes in your hands.”
“They cook.”
“They burn on one side.”
“They become warm.”
“That is not the same.”
Halen’s chest brightened slightly.
Apple narrowed his eyes.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am heating your pie.”
“Correctly.”
“I am trying.”
Apple sat beside him.
For a while neither spoke.
Halen’s hands remained steady beneath the pan.
He looked wrong without the mace.
Apple had thought the same thing in the heart chamber.
Halen’s right hand kept opening slightly as though the haft should still be there.
It was not.
The mace had remained beneath Ti Temple.
The Returning Fire.
The runes.
The weapon that had traveled with Halen through the Wall, Graymark, Dunmere, the Blacklands, Glarus, Fishbrook, and Greenvale.
Gone.
Apple looked at Halen’s empty belt.
“Do you miss it?”
“Yes.”
No pause.
Apple liked that.
“You could have taken it out.”
“No.”
“We might have found something else.”
“No.”
Apple watched heat shimmer beneath the pan.
“You did not know it would work.”
“No.”
Apple’s tail curled around the log.
Halen turned his head.
“We knew what had to be done.”
“That is different.”
“Yes.”
They sat with that.
Around them, the refugee camp expanded.
Rope went up between trees.
Blankets became walls.
Cooking fires were dug into small pits lined with wet stone so Greenvale would not catch. Water arrived in buckets from a stream farther north. Guards returned from scouting with mud to their knees and leaf marks painted across their faces.
A group of artisans had gathered beyond the Ti Stone.
They were doing something with metal.
Apple heard hammers.
Not temple hammers.
Too small.
Too close.
One.
Pause.
Three.
Pause.
Two.
He looked.
Halen did too.
“What are they making?” Apple asked.
“I do not know.”
Apple stood.
Halen caught the back of his gambeson.
Apple stopped.
“You are cooking,” Halen said.
“You are cooking.”
“It is your pie.”
“You are holding it.”
“It was your promise.”
Apple looked at the distant artisans.
Then at Halen.
Then at the pie.
Sacrifice took many forms.
He sat down again.
⁂
The pie was terrible.
Not dangerous.
Apple checked.
Twice.
It was merely bad.
The crust resisted the knife.
The filling was sour enough to make Sebastian’s eyes water.
Wyn took one bite and became very still.
Halen chewed longer than necessary.
Lati swallowed and immediately drank half a cup of water.
Apple ate his entire piece.
No one spoke.
Finally Sebastian set down his fork.
“That,” he said carefully, “was an experience.”
Apple looked at him.
“You do not like it.”
“I did not say that.”
“You are a bad liar.”
“I am an excellent liar.”
“Not about food.”
Wyn pushed his plate one finger farther away.
“I believe the crust may have defensive applications.”
“It is not that hard.”
Halen tapped the edge with one claw.
The crust made a small metallic sound against the plate.
Apple stared at him.
Halen removed his hand.
“The filling is interesting.”
“It is sour.”
“Yes.”
“You do not like it either.”
Halen looked at the pie.
Then at Apple.
“No.”
Lati laughed first.
Not politely.
Her whole body folded over the table.
Wyn joined her.
Sebastian tried not to.
That made it worse.
Even Halen’s chest began to pulse with the slow rhythm Apple had learned meant silent laughter.
Apple looked around at them.
His ears flattened.
He took another bite.
It was awful.
He swallowed.
Then he reached for the pie.
Sebastian caught the pan.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting another piece.”
“You just said it was terrible.”
“It is.”
“Then why?”
Apple pulled the pan toward himself.
Sebastian held on.
Apple’s tail joined the argument.
“Because,” Apple said, “heroes get pie.”
Wyn closed his eyes.
Lati laughed harder.
Sebastian released the pan.
Apple cut himself a second piece.
A large one.
He ate it all.
This was principle.
Principle did not have to taste good.
⁂
Titima found him afterward.
Apple had gone to the stream to wash sour berry filling from his fingers.
He was alone when the older Simiah approached.
Titima no longer carried his spear.
That was the first strange thing.
The second was that he sat.
Not near Apple.
Near enough.
His silvering shoulders lowered against the tree behind him. For the first time since Apple had met him, Titima looked old.
Not weak.
Apple had learned those were different things.
The defender looked downstream.
“You said the pie was a human custom.”
“Yes.”
“Humans do that deliberately?”
“Usually better.”
Titima nodded.
“That is reassuring.”
Apple washed one claw at a time.
The stream water was cold enough to hurt.
Titima waited.
Apple knew the technique.
He had used it on people with locked doors.
Silence made others want to open things.
Apple refused.
They remained quiet together.
Finally Titima said, “The children follow you.”
Apple glanced toward camp.
Two small shapes disappeared behind a tree.
“They are bad at following.”
“They are children.”
“Yes.”
“They want to learn your knives.”
“No.”
Titima looked at him.
Apple dried his hands on his gambeson.
“They can learn fighting when they learn not to stand behind a tree with their tails showing.”
Titima’s mouth moved slightly.
Almost a smile.
Almost.
“They also say you write.”
“I can make letters.”
“You wrote the warning.”
“With Wyn.”
“The warning reached us.”
“Yes.”
“My daughter argued that we should listen.”
“She was correct.”
“Yes.”
Apple looked at him.
Titima said it again.
“She was correct.”
The stream moved around stones between them.
South, very faintly, something collapsed in the ruins of Ti Temple.
Neither looked.
Titima took a long breath.
“When you arrived, I called you Saru of nothing.”
Apple’s claws pressed into wet moss.
“I remember.”
“I was wrong.”
Apple did not answer.
There were several replies available.
Most were satisfying.
None seemed useful.
Titima looked at him.
“You carried Ru farther than I understood.”
Apple’s throat tightened.
“Ru is gone.”
“So is Ti.”
Apple turned toward him.
Titima gestured north.
Behind them came the sound of children, tools, voices, a crying infant, someone arguing about rope, someone else laughing about the pie.
“No,” Titima said. “It is not.”
Apple looked at the camp.
The Ti Stone lay beneath the three trees.
Around it, the people moved.
Ti Temple had survived.
Apple understood.
He did not like understanding.
It made everything more difficult.
Titima continued.
“We have scouts north. Savala remembers two places where we may shelter longer. Neither was built for this many. Neither has a measure laid. We will need food, water, defensible ground, and a place where the Ti Stone can rest without being buried beneath roots we do not understand.”
“You need artisans.”
“We have artisans.”
“You need guards.”
“We have guards.”
Titima studied him.
“We need someone who can move ahead of them.”
Apple’s tail stopped.
“Someone who knows traps. Humans. Elves. Roads. Someone who can climb where our wounded cannot. Someone the young ones will follow when they are frightened.”
“I am not a leader.”
“No?”
“No.”
Titima looked toward camp again.
A child ran past carrying a stick over one shoulder.
The stick was now wrapped with cloth at one end.
A mace.
Apple frowned.
Titima did not.
“You told my entire temple to leave while I was still trying to defend it.”
“That was different.”
“You ordered my guards away from their posts.”
“They were going to die.”
“You entered the heart chamber when the ley lines opened.”
“The catch was stuck.”
“You built the mechanism that killed Travis.”
“That was a lock problem.”
Titima’s eyes narrowed.
“You have an answer for everything.”
“Usually.”
“Stay.”
The word landed harder than Apple expected.
Titima did not soften it.
“Stay with us. Guide us north. Help us find ground. Teach the children enough that they stop imitating the dangerous parts and perhaps learn the useful ones.”
Apple stared at the water.
“I am with Halen’s Heroes.”
“I know.”
“We are chasing Malrick.”
“I know.”
“He caused this.”
“I know.”
Titima’s voice had gone rough.
Apple looked at him.
The old defender’s eyes were on the smoke through the trees.
“He took my temple from me,” Titima said. “Even dead, Travis was only the hand. Malrick remains.”
Apple said nothing.
Titima turned back.
“But my first duty is here.”
Apple understood that too.
That was the problem.
Titima rose.
He placed one hand briefly on Apple’s shoulder.
Not ownership.
Not command.
Weight.
Then removed it.
“Think before morning.”
“I do think.”
“Longer than usual.”
Titima walked back toward camp.
Apple remained beside the stream.
He looked at his reflection.
Small.
Wet fur around his hands.
White scar through one cheek.
Armor made from pieces other creatures had tried to kill him with.
No ring at his neck.
Saru of Ru Temple.
Apple of Halen’s Heroes.
For the first time in years, someone had asked him to stay.
Not as a prisoner.
Not as a curiosity.
Not because he was useful until the next port.
Because they wanted him there.
Apple sat beside the water until Lati came looking for him.
She did not ask what Titima had said.
She already knew.
⁂
Night did not begin with celebration.
It began with names.
That was the Ti way.
At least, it was the Ti way tonight.
Apple did not know whether the custom was old or whether Savala had created it because old customs belonged to platforms now melted into the earth.
Sometimes survival invented tradition very quickly.
The Simiah gathered around the Ti Stone.
No one stood above anyone else.
There was no platform left to stand upon.
Mats had been laid over roots and leaves. Families sat together where the ground permitted. The wounded rested on folded blankets near the center. Children sat in front until they became bored and migrated into whatever spaces adults failed to defend.
The Ti Stone remained covered.
Only its shape showed beneath wool and woven copper.
Four small lamps surrounded it.
One north.
One south.
One east.
One west.
Savala stood beside the western lamp.
Titima stood opposite her.
Lati sat with the other young Simiah.
Apple sat between Sebastian and Halen.
Wyn sat on Halen’s other side.
No one had told them where to sit.
Places had simply opened.
That felt more important.
Savala raised both hands.
Every voice stopped.
“The temple has lost no child,” she said.
Silence answered.
“No parent.”
Silence.
“No keeper.”
Silence.
“No tender.”
Silence.
“No guard.”
Titima lowered his head.
Savala looked toward the south.
“But we have lost a place that carried all their names.”
Around the circle, tails curled closer.
Hands found hands.
Apple saw one old langur press his knuckles to his mouth.
Savala continued.
“So before we speak of what lived, we speak of what is gone.”
The names began.
Not people.
Places.
The eastern lift.
The summer kitchen.
The blue channel.
The first bridge.
The children’s sleeping platform.
The copper gallery.
The upper cistern.
The root stair.
The shell path.
The western watch.
The heart chamber.
Each name passed through the gathering.
Sometimes many answered.
Sometimes only one.
When the name belonged to a place so old that few remembered its use, an elder would speak a sentence about it.
The lower resin room, where a young Savala had once spilled an entire basin and blamed a squirrel.
The third training rail, where Titima had broken his wrist and lied about it until swelling made the lie impractical.
The north kitchen shelf, where generations of children had stolen dried fruit despite generations of adults moving it higher.
Laughter entered the grief.
Not against it.
Through it.
Apple remembered Ru Temple.
He remembered bridges.
Shrines.
The work platform where Koruma had first let him hold a real setting tool.
The sleeping place where Savana had groomed burrs from his tail while pretending not to know he had caused them by climbing somewhere forbidden.
No one had spoken those names when Ru burned.
There had been no time.
Now Ti spoke theirs.
Apple added Ru’s silently.
One by one.
When Savala finally said, “The heart chamber,” everyone answered.
“The heart carries the measure.”
The old phrase moved beneath the trees.
Apple lowered his head.
Then Savala lifted the western lamp.
“And the measure travels.”
Titima lifted the eastern one.
A child took the southern lamp.
Lati took the northern.
They carried the four lights outward from the Ti Stone and placed them among the people.
Something changed.
The mourning ended.
Not the grief.
The part of the night devoted to it.
A hammer struck metal.
One blow.
Another answered from farther away.
Two.
A third voice joined with three quick taps against a copper bowl.
Apple’s ears lifted.
The old temple patterns.
Not the same ones.
There was no east platform to answer.
No waterwheel to turn.
No gemstone channel beneath their feet.
So the Simiah became the temple.
Hands struck bowls.
Wood tapped against hollow logs.
A pair of langurs used lengths of salvaged copper as chimes.
Someone produced a skin drum from a pack Apple had previously assumed contained something sensible.
The rhythm passed through the camp.
One.
Two.
Three.
Answer.
Pause.
Answer.
Children began dancing first because children had no respect for ceremonial pacing.
Adults followed.
Not in pairs.
In lines that crossed and separated, tails linking for a breath before releasing. Capuchins ran along fallen trunks and launched themselves over seated families. Langurs
caught branches overhead and swung in long arcs, dropping low enough to make children scream before climbing again.
A great ape Apple had seen carrying the Ti Stone performed a dance consisting mostly of standing completely still while six small capuchins attempted to climb him.
Apple did not understand it.
Everyone else found it hilarious.
Sebastian leaned close.
“What is he doing?”
“I do not know.”
“You are Simiah.”
“There are many of us.”
The great ape slowly raised one arm.
Three children hung from it.
The gathering roared.
Wyn said, “I believe it may be a courtship display.”
Apple looked at him.
“You believe everything is a courtship display.”
“Not everything.”
Sebastian pointed toward Lati.
“Some evidence supports him.”
Apple kicked Sebastian in the ankle.
Sebastian laughed.
Later came food.
Ti custom, Lati explained, required each family to contribute once before any family contributed twice.
It did not matter how much.
One family brought roasted roots.
Another had a bowl of crushed nuts.
Another three dried plums.
A guard contributed a strip of smoked meat so tough that even Halen declined a second piece.
Someone brought Apple’s pie.
Apple tried to stop them.
He failed.
The pie traveled around the entire gathering.
No one took much.
Some customs were wise.
A small capuchin ate one bite, stared at Apple with betrayed admiration, and quietly returned the rest to his plate.
Apple pointed at him.
“You wanted to be a hero.”
The child looked down at the pie.
“Maybe later.”
Sebastian nearly fell over.
The night became louder.
A storyteller stood on a stump and recounted the destruction of Ti Temple less than half a day after it happened.
Apple was interested to learn that he had personally leapt through both ley lines while carrying Halen under one arm.
Halen listened solemnly.
“That is not what happened,” Apple whispered.
“Stories improve.”
“I was carrying the dagger.”
“The dagger has been mentioned.”
“It was the wrong dagger.”
Halen considered this.
“Then accuracy has suffered.”
By the time the storyteller reached Travis’s death, Sebastian had somehow acquired a jeweled crown.
Wyn controlled three storms.
Halen was on fire from beginning to end.
Apple was taller than everyone.
“That part is correct,” Apple said.
Wyn looked at him.
“Spiritually?”
“Importance.”
A child near them turned.
“You were bigger when you fought.”
Apple nodded.
“See?”
Then Savala stood.
The drums stopped.
Not all at once.
One by one, as the musicians noticed.
The celebration gathered itself around her.
Titima came forward carrying something wrapped in dark cloth.
Behind him walked six artisans.
Halen’s empty hand closed.
Apple saw it.
So did Wyn.
Savala looked at the four of them.
“You came to warn us,” she said. “You stayed when warning was no longer enough. You gave what could not be returned so that our people could carry what must not be lost.”
Her eyes went first to Halen.
“You gave the weapon that had become part of your hand.”
Halen bowed his head.
“To Aelwynar, you gave the liquid power you had carried through danger because power held in a pack is less valuable than lives walking north.”
Wyn’s expression changed slightly at his full name.
Not anger.
Attention.
“To Sebastian Valcour, you gave a piece of the past when the past was the only material strong enough to hold the future.”
Sebastian looked at her.
She had used Valcour.
Openly.
No one around them reacted.
To the Simiah, it was simply a name.
Apple watched some of the tension leave Sebastian’s shoulders.
Then Savala looked at him.
“And Saru of Ru Temple gave a master’s ring.”
Apple’s throat closed.
She did not say Koruma.
She did not need to.
“A ring he had crossed an ocean, a city, and death to keep.”
The gathering was silent.
“It held.”
Apple looked down.
Savala said, “We cannot return what any of you gave.”
Titima unwrapped the cloth.
“We can answer it.”
He turned toward Halen.
The artisans stepped forward.
Inside the cloth lay a mace.
Halen did not move.
Apple leaned closer.
The weapon was not beautiful in the way Sebastian’s noble weapons were beautiful.
No polished gold.
No gemstones.
No delicate engraving that would disappear the first time Halen hit an armored creature with it.
It was beautiful because it had been made to survive Halen.
The haft was dark metal wrapped at two grips with braided leather. The head was broader than his old mace but shorter, built around a dense central block with four reinforced faces.
Apple recognized pieces.
A guard spear collar.
Part of a lift axle.
Blackened iron from a water gate.
Copper from a channel brace.
The artisans had converted what the temple no longer needed into something Halen did.
Across the mace head ran thousands of tiny punched dots.
Not etched lines.
Dents.
Intentional ones.
The dots formed the Ti Stone at the center. Two great currents curved toward it without touching. Around them rose roots, branches, and small figures with linked tails and hands.
The image had been made by striking the metal.
Another blow could not ruin it.
It would only join the others.
Halen reached for the mace.
Then stopped.
“You need this metal.”
Titima’s expression became familiar.
Grumpy.
Apple relaxed.
“We needed it yesterday,” Titima said. “Yesterday is finished.”
“We can rebuild it into tools.”
“It is a tool.”
Halen looked at Savala.
She said, “At Ti Temple, nothing performed only one task.”
Apple remembered.
Water cooled chambers and turned lifts.
Lifts touched gemstones.
Gemstones changed channels.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing only one thing.
Halen accepted the mace with both hands.
The artisans had measured him somehow.
It fit.
His right hand closed around the grip.
For the first time since the explosion, Halen looked complete.
Not the same.
Apple noticed that too.
Halen turned the mace over and studied the dotted image.
“It will mark.”
“Of course,” said the oldest artisan.
“It will dent.”
The artisan shrugged.
“So do you.”
Halen looked at him.
The artisan pointed at the dotted pattern.
“You cannot ruin a picture made of hammer marks by hitting it with a hammer.”
Halen’s inner fire brightened.
He bowed his head deeply.
“I will carry it.”
Titima grunted.
“That was the intention.”
The gathering laughed.
Next came Wyn.
Savala carried the gift herself.
It was small enough to fit in one hand.
A packet folded from pale barkcloth and tied with green fiber.
Wyn accepted it carefully.
He opened the wrap.
Inside lay seven narrow leaves.
They were dry and dark green, with silver veins that remained visible even in the low firelight.
Wyn’s amusement disappeared.
“Valic,” he said.
Lati looked surprised.
“You know them?”
“I have read about them.”
“Of course you have,” Apple said.
Wyn ignored him.
Savala said, “They grow where old trees fall and light reaches ground that has forgotten it.”
Wyn touched one leaf with the tip of his finger.
“They are rare.”
“Yes.”
“You should keep them.”
“Yes.”
Wyn looked up.
Savala smiled.
“That is why it is a gift.”
Wyn closed his mouth.
Apple enjoyed this.
Savala continued.
“Our healers use Valic when grief becomes so heavy the body begins agreeing with it. A leaf in tea. Sometimes less. It does not erase sorrow.”
“What does it do?” Sebastian asked.
The old healer beside Savala answered.
“It reminds you that morning has happened before.”
Wyn looked down at the leaves.
For once, no clever response arrived.
Savala said, “You carry shadows well, Aelwynar. That does not mean you must always carry them alone.”
Wyn retied the packet.
Very carefully.
“Thank you.”
Nothing theatrical.
No bow.
No joke.
Apple thought that meant more.
Sebastian came next.
There was no object.
At first he seemed confused by that.
Titima stepped into the center.
Then Savala.
Then Lati.
Then the guards.
Then the artisans.
One by one, Simiah rose around the gathering.
Not everyone.
Enough that the movement became something larger than individuals.
Each placed one hand against their own chest.
Those with long tails curled them forward.
Those with short tails simply stood.
Savala spoke.
“Sebastian Valcour.”
Sebastian straightened.
“When you stood before Travis, he spoke to you because he believed a human noble was the only voice worth hearing.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
“You gave the answer to me instead.”
Savala touched her chest.
“You gave us standing when your enemy denied it.”
Around her, the Simiah did the same.
“So Ti gives standing to you.”
Sebastian looked around the circle.
“If a day comes when you require the hands of Ti Temple,” Savala said, “send your name.”
Titima added, “And a reason.”
Savala glanced at him.
“A good reason.”
“A reason,” Titima repeated.
The corner of Sebastian’s mouth moved.
Savala continued.
“If we can come, we will come. If we can carry, we will carry. If we can speak, we will speak. If all we have left is one hand, that hand is promised.”
The Simiah answered together.
“We hear.”
Sebastian went very still.
Apple knew the look.
It was the one Sebastian wore when something struck beneath armor.
He bowed.
Not the shallow noble bow he had used for Travis.
Deeper.
“To each of you,” he said, “I will remember.”
Titima handed him a short length of braided green-and-copper cord.
Four knots had been tied into it.
“No magic,” Titima said.
Sebastian ran his thumb over the knots.
“What does it do?”
“Reminds you not to lose the promise.”
Sebastian looked at Apple.
Apple shrugged.
“Sensible.”
Then everyone looked at Apple.
Apple disliked this immediately.
He stood.
“Do I get a weapon?”
“No,” Lati said.
“Sugar?”
“No.”
“Gemstones?”
Titima’s eyes narrowed.
Apple looked at Savala.
“Nothing?”
Savala turned toward the children.
That was when Apple became frightened.
The seven from earlier came forward.
Then more.
A great many more.
The oldest capuchin carried something between both hands.
It was rectangular.
Wrapped in a piece of blue cloth.
Apple stared.
The child stopped before him.
“We made this.”
Apple looked at Lati.
She was smiling.
That was unhelpful.
He took the bundle.
It was light.
He unwrapped it.
A book lay inside.
Not a fine human book.
Not leather and gold.
The covers were thin pieces of smooth wood salvaged from a broken record case. Between them, sheets of bark paper, cloth, and trimmed journal pages had been stitched together with three different kinds of cord.
The binding leaned slightly.
One corner was already bent.
On the front, someone had drawn four figures.
Halen was enormous.
Wyn was mostly black lines.
Sebastian’s hair reached his knees.
Apple stood at the center.
He was larger than Halen.
Apple nodded.
“Good.”
The children laughed.
Above the picture were letters.
Large.
Careful.
Apple knew them.
He moved his claw beneath each one.
Slowly.
“The… Heart… Walked… North.”
His voice failed on the last word.
No one hurried him.
Apple opened the book.
The first pages showed Ti Temple.
Not accurately.
One child had drawn the central elder tree with a face.
Another had colored every gemstone blue.
Then came the soldiers.
Then Halen holding back two enormous snakes of light.
Wyn’s shadows covered the Heart Stone.
Sebastian stood over six children with a sword in each hand.
Apple appeared inside the heart chamber operating a machine with approximately four hundred levers.
“I did not have that many,” Apple said.
“You could have,” the oldest child replied.
“Correct.”
He turned another page.
There were fewer pictures now.
Names.
Marks.
Family symbols.
Small handprints in charcoal.
Tail prints.
A line drawn by an infant that crossed three pages and appeared to have been preserved because no one had successfully stopped the infant.
Apple looked at Savala.
“What is this?”
“The people who walked out.”
Apple looked down again.
Every surviving family had placed something in the book.
A name.
A mark.
A picture.
A sign.
Proof.
“You warned us in writing,” Savala said. “So the children decided we should answer you the same way.”
“I cannot read all of this.”
“No.”
Apple frowned.
“That is a bad gift.”
A child gasped.
Lati covered her eyes.
Savala smiled.
“Then you will have to learn.”
Apple looked at the book again.
The oldest capuchin child held out a narrow wooden stylus.
“There are empty pages.”
Apple took it.
“For what?”
“So you can write what happens next.”
Apple stared at him.
The child pointed near the back.
One page had been labeled in very large letters.
SARU.
Beneath it, in smaller, less disciplined letters, someone had added:
APPLE.
Both names were there.
Neither crossed out.
Neither explained.
Apple’s tail curled tightly around his leg.
He shut the book.
Not hard.
Carefully.
“Thank you,” he said.
He hated how small his voice sounded.
Lati’s tail touched his ankle.
Apple did not move away.
⁂
The seer came after the gifts.
Apple recognized her by the sound of her walking stick.
He had first seen her in the heart chamber, white fur framing a capuchin face marked by age. Both eyes had gone completely clouded. A smoky quartz ring circled her tail.
She had placed her hands on the Ti Stone before it was lifted.
She had called the measure.
She had given Halen one breath.
Now she walked through the gathering without anyone guiding her.
People moved before she reached them.
She stopped beside the uncovered earth at the center.
“Four,” she said.
Apple looked at Halen.
Halen looked at Wyn.
Wyn became suspicious.
Sebastian looked amused.
That meant Sebastian did not understand what was happening.
Lati whispered, “She sees paths.”
Wyn’s amusement disappeared.
“Actually?”
Lati shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
“That is an alarming qualification.”
The old capuchin turned her blind eyes toward him.
“So is living.”
Wyn closed his mouth.
Apple liked her even more.
The seer lowered herself onto a folded mat.
“It has been many years since Ti honored outsiders this way.”
Apple raised a hand.
“I am not an outsider.”
The seer turned toward him.
“No?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Apple lowered his hand.
He was not certain what had just happened.
The old capuchin placed four objects before her.
A black stone.
A feather.
A piece of cord.
An empty wooden ring.
Nothing glowed.
Nothing moved.
Wyn leaned forward.
She struck his hand with the walking stick.
“Ow.”
“No measuring.”
“I was looking.”
“You look like a man measuring.”
Apple grinned.
The seer ran both hands over the ground.
“The future is not a road,” she said. “Roads are made by people who want you to travel where they have already decided.”
Sebastian glanced at Wyn.
Wyn noticed.
Neither spoke.
“A future is a branch under weight. I can tell you where it bends. I cannot tell you whether you climb, fall, cut it, or grow another.”
She picked up the black stone.
“Halen.”
Halen moved before her.
The seer held out her hand.
Halen placed his enormous palm beneath it.
Her fingers rested against one of the glowing seams.
She flinched.
“Hot.”
“I apologize.”
“You are made of fire.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop apologizing for being warm.”
Apple looked at Halen.
Halen looked offended by the complexity.
The seer smiled.
Then her face changed.
Her fingers traced the cracks in his palm.
“I see a wall.”
Halen became still.
“A great wall. Strong enough to survive storms, armies, hunger, and years. Everyone shelters behind it.”
The gathering quieted.
“The wall is proud that nothing passes.”
Halen’s new mace rested across his knees.
“Then one day someone knocks.”
“From outside?” Halen asked.
“No.”
The seer’s blind eyes lifted toward him.
“From inside.”
Something in Halen’s chest clicked softly as his stone cooled.
“The wall does not know how to open. No one ever taught it that a wall may contain a door.”
Her hand closed around his finger.
“I see you kneeling beside a cradle of fire. You believe the thing inside is yours to guard because no one can understand it as you do.”
Halen’s glow deepened.
Apple knew where his thoughts went.
The Emberkin egg.
The nursery.
The rite Halen had never completed.
The hands that had held him back when longing became danger.
The seer continued.
“Another hand reaches for the cradle.”
Halen did not breathe.
“You will want to close yours.”
Her fingers opened.
“If you do, you will hold only ash.”
Halen stared at her.
“If you open them?”
The old capuchin smiled.
“Then someone else carries the weight.”
Halen’s voice was quiet.
“And the cradle?”
“I did not say it broke.”
She released him.
“One more thing, wall.”
Halen waited.
“When someone asks if you are hurt, there will come a day when the correct answer is not ‘I can continue.'”
Apple looked at Sebastian.
Sebastian looked at Wyn.
Wyn looked innocent.
Halen heard all three of them not speaking.
“I understand,” Halen said.
The seer snorted.
“No, you do not.”
Halen returned to his place.
Apple leaned toward him.
“I like her.”
“I had gathered that.”
The feather came next.
“Aelwynar.”
Wyn approached slowly.
“Must we use that one?”
The seer tilted her head.
“Is it not yours?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is available.”
Apple nodded.
Wyn gave him a look and sat.
The seer held the feather between two fingers.
It was gray on one side.
Black on the other.
She turned it without seeing it.
“I see two forests.”
Wyn’s face became unreadable.
“In one, everyone knows your name and does not know you.”
Apple stopped smiling.
“In the other, no one knew your name when you arrived.”
She turned the feather.
“They learned.”
Wyn looked toward the darkness beyond the fires.
“One calls you traitor.”
Greenvale.
The elders.
The mill.
Aelwynar of Shen Aethel.
“One calls you friend.”
No one in Halen’s Heroes moved.
Wyn said, “That is not especially obscure prophecy.”
“No.”
The seer smiled.
“Obscurity is useful when one is wrong.”
Sebastian laughed.
Wyn almost did.
Then she reached up and touched one finger beneath his chin.
“You have built a house from locked doors.”
The humor left him.
“You stand in every doorway and ask what others hide. You know the hinges. The grain. The mechanism.”
Her finger moved lightly against his throat.
“But you keep the key to your own beneath your tongue.”
Wyn did not speak.
Apple had never seen him look younger.
Not physically.
Something else.
The seer lowered her hand.
“I see a woman waiting beyond a closed door.”
Cyralyn.
Apple felt the name pass through the group without anyone saying it.
“You will reach her,” the seer said.
Wyn’s breath caught.
“Alive?”
The old capuchin’s face hardened.
“I said I see a woman.”
Wyn closed his eyes.
Future was a branch.
Not a road.
He nodded.
The seer continued.
“The door will not open because you know more than everyone around you. It will not open because you found the clever word or the hidden mark.”
Wyn opened his eyes.
“How?”
“You will ask someone else to help you.”
For the first time that night, Wyn looked genuinely alarmed.
Apple smiled.
“That is terrible.”
The seer pointed her stick toward Apple without looking.
“Your turn comes.”
Apple stopped.
To Wyn she said, “When the truth you hide can become either bridge or blade, choose before someone else chooses for you.”
Wyn returned to the group.
He sat down.
Apple leaned close.
“You have to ask for help.”
“I heard.”
“I can remind you.”
“I will pay you not to.”
“You do not have enough sugar.”
Wyn looked toward the heavens as though considering whether the Veil accepted exchanges.
The seer took up the cord.
“Sebastian Valcour.”
Sebastian rose.
This time he did not react to the name.
He simply crossed the circle and sat before her.
The cord lay across her palms.
Three knots.
Then a fourth.
“I see a man who has spent half his life running from a name,” she said.
Sebastian’s mouth tightened.
“And the other half?”
“Pretending the running was freedom.”
He exhaled through his nose.
Apple waited for an objection.
None came.
The seer ran the cord through her fingers.
“I see a gate.”
Sebastian looked at her.
“Behind you are people who cannot command soldiers, buy judges, write laws, or make Houses afraid.”
His hand rested on his knee.
“Before you are men waiting for your order.”
The night seemed colder.
“There is an easy order.”
Sebastian’s eyes lowered.
“It will preserve the gate.”
She tightened the cord.
“It will spend the people.”
No one moved.
“There is another order. Harder. Less certain. It may cost you the gate.”
The old woman let the cord fall loose again.
“But it allows those behind you to choose what they risk.”
Sebastian stared at the knots.
“What do I do?”
The seer smiled.
“That would be an order.”
Sebastian’s head lifted.
For a heartbeat he looked surprised.
Then he laughed.
Quietly.
“Yes.”
She placed the cord in his hand.
“I see your oldest name becoming useful.”
His expression changed.
“Valcour?”
“You have more than one old name?”
“No.”
“Then stop asking questions with obvious answers.”
Apple covered his mouth.
Sebastian glanced at him.
The seer went on.
“The first time you speak that name before people who matter, it will not be to claim what belongs to you.”
She closed his fingers around the cord.
“It will be to stand between power and someone it believes belongs to it.”
Sebastian looked down at his fist.
“Will the name be enough?”
“No name is enough.”
The seer leaned closer.
“That is what your family forgot.”
Sebastian bowed his head.
When he returned to his place, Apple nudged him.
“Seba is still better.”
Sebastian’s face softened.
“Yes.”
Last came the empty wooden ring.
Apple did not move.
The seer waited.
“No,” Apple said.
Lati laughed quietly.
The old capuchin lifted the ring.
“Saru.”
Apple remained seated.
“Apple.”
His ears moved.
“Sa.”
Apple stood.
“That one is private.”
“So is the future.”
He crossed the circle.
Everyone watched.
He hated that.
He sat.
The seer held out the wooden ring.
Apple did not take it.
“What is that?”
“A circle.”
“I know.”
“Then your education has advanced.”
Apple frowned.
She placed it on the ground between them.
No gemstone.
No inscription.
No mastery.
Only a circle carved from dark wood.
“I see a very small creature carrying two homes and insisting he has none.”
Apple’s stomach tightened.
“I am not very small.”
The seer reached out.
Her fingers found the top of his head.
She measured him with one hand.
The gathering laughed.
Apple endured this.
With dignity.
Mostly.
“I see two Heart Stones behind you,” she said.
The laughter ended.
“One hidden.”
Ru.
“One carried.”
Ti.
Apple looked toward the covered shape among the roots.
“You touch both.”
The seer’s fingers moved down to his cheek.
“You keep neither.”
Apple swallowed.
“Good.”
The word surprised him.
The seer smiled.
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
She tapped the empty wooden ring.
“I see the day when the most valuable thing you have ever found will fit inside your hand.”
Apple waited.
“You will want it.”
That seemed obvious.
“You will know how to take it.”
Also obvious.
“You will be able to leave before anyone stops you.”
Apple’s tail curled.
“Then what?”
“You ask who it belongs to.”
He stared.
The old woman tilted her head.
“Terrifying, yes?”
Wyn made a small sound behind him.
Apple ignored it.
“And because you ask,” the seer said, “someone gives you something better.”
“What?”
“No.”
“That is not fair.”
“Future.”
Apple scowled.
Her hand found his shoulder.
“I see Saru.”
His chest tightened.
“I see Apple.”
His eyes burned.
He blamed smoke.
“There is a day coming when one person calls the first name and another calls the second.”
Her fingers squeezed gently.
“You turn to both.”
Apple stopped breathing.
“You do not have to kill one name to keep the other.”
No one behind him spoke.
The seer’s voice softened.
“The place you most want to stay will ask you to leave.”
Apple looked at Lati.
She had gone very still.
“And a place you once thought you had lost will wait for you to return.”
“Ru?”
The seer shook her head.
“Greedy child.”
Apple frowned.
“You have already been given three names. Now you want me to name every home.”
A few people laughed.
Apple did not.
“What does it mean?”
The seer drew her hand away.
“Home is not where you stop.”
She picked up the wooden ring.
“It is where your absence leaves a space.”
She placed the ring in Apple’s palm.
“And where you are expected to come back.”
Apple looked through the empty center.
Lati sat beyond it.
So did Halen.
Wyn.
Sebastian.
Ti families.
Children.
The covered Heart Stone.
Too many things fit inside the circle.
Apple closed his hand.
The seer leaned back.
“That is enough futures for one night.”
Apple remained sitting.
“I have more questions.”
“I am old.”
“One question.”
“I am tired.”
“You were not tired for the others.”
“I became tired during yours.”
“That seems convenient.”
“It is one of the privileges of age.”
Titima stood.
“The ceremony is finished.”
Apple looked at him.
“You planned this.”
Titima looked pleased.
Apple hated conspiracy.
Especially successful conspiracy.
⁂
The celebration continued.
Apple did not.
Not really.
He remained among it.
He ate roasted nuts.
He watched children perform an increasingly inaccurate recreation of Travis’s death.
He laughed when one small macaque playing Halen fell on top of the child playing Sebastian and neither could stand because their costumes had become tangled.
But part of him had moved elsewhere.
Stay.
Titima’s word would not leave.
Neither would the seer’s.
The place you most want to stay will ask you to leave.
That was not what Titima had done.
Titima had asked him to remain.
Maybe prophecy was wrong.
Apple liked that possibility.
He found Halen, Sebastian, and Wyn after the drums had slowed.
They sat beyond the nearest fire beneath a tree whose roots formed a natural hollow.
Halen had his new mace across his knees.
Wyn held the packet of Valic leaves but had not opened it again.
Sebastian had tied the Simiah promise cord around the inside of his wrist where armor would cover it.
Apple carried the book under one arm.
He sat.
No one spoke.
Apple looked at them.
They looked at him.
“This is irritating.”
Wyn raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You are waiting.”
“Yes.”
“Stop.”
Sebastian said, “We can leave if you prefer.”
“No.”
They waited differently.
That was worse.
Apple opened the book.
He turned past the drawings.
Past the family marks.
To the blank pages.
Then closed it again.
“I want to stay.”
There.
He said it.
No joke.
No explanation placed in front of the words to make them smaller.
Halen’s hands remained on the mace.
Sebastian looked at Apple.
Wyn looked at the fire.
No one argued.
Apple became angry.
“You are supposed to say something.”
“You had only just begun,” Sebastian said.
Apple picked at one of the book’s cords.
“I want to be Saru again.”
The name felt different aloud.
Not secret.
Not ceremonial.
A want.
“I know I am Saru,” Apple continued. “That is not what I mean.”
Halen nodded once.
Apple looked toward the camp.
“I want someone to call it from another tree because they need a tool. I want to know where the food is kept. I want children to be annoying near me.”
Wyn looked at him.
“You have achieved the last one.”
Apple ignored him.
“I want to fix something and know I can see it tomorrow.”
His voice changed.
He hated that.
He continued anyway.
“I want to know where I sleep.”
No one moved.
“I want to belong to a place that knows what a tail ring means without me explaining why mine is gone.”
The words hurt.
He let them.
“It is all I ever wanted.”
Halen set the mace aside.
Not far.
Just out of his hands.
“If you stay,” he said, “we will go on without you.”
Apple’s head snapped toward him.
“That is a bad argument.”
“It is not an argument.”
Halen’s fire was low.
Steady.
“I would rather you come.”
Apple looked away.
Halen continued.
“But wanting you beside us does not make you ours.”
Something tightened behind Apple’s ribs.
He looked at Sebastian.
Sebastian rested both arms across his knees.
“I ran from a House that believed calling me family gave it the right to decide my life.”
Apple’s ears lowered.
“I will not turn Halen’s Heroes into House Valcour.”
“We are better than House Valcour.”
“That is an exceptionally low standard.”
Apple almost smiled.
Sebastian did.
Then his face became serious again.
“If staying is your choice, stay.”
“You would leave me?”
“No.”
Sebastian shook his head.
“I would leave without you.”
Apple frowned.
“That is the same.”
“It is not.”
Apple understood.
He disliked understanding again.
Sebastian said, “I want you with us. I want Malrick stopped. I want someone nearby who can open doors that should remain closed and steal things we have specifically agreed not to steal.”
“I rescue them.”
“Of course.”
“But those are things I want.”
Sebastian touched the cord on his wrist.
“You asked what we think. I think your choice matters more than what I want.”
Wyn looked into the fire.
“I spent the last two days being informed that choosing these three over my people makes me an exile, a fool, or both.”
“Mostly both,” Apple said.
“Thank you.”
Wyn glanced at him.
“I therefore feel overqualified to tell you this is not a choice anyone else can make well.”
Apple waited.
Wyn sighed.
“I would miss you.”
Apple blinked.
Sebastian looked at Wyn.
Halen looked at Wyn.
Wyn scowled.
“Do not make this an event.”
Apple’s tail twitched.
“You would?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Wyn stared at him.
“I withdraw the statement.”
“You cannot.”
“I just did.”
Apple smiled despite himself.
Wyn’s expression softened.
Then he said, “Stay if you can become Saru here without pretending Apple was only something done to you.”
Apple stopped smiling.
Wyn looked toward the children.
“Come with us if Apple is the person who learned to make a nest from people rather than trees.”
“That is too many words.”
“I am an elf.”
“That is not an excuse.”
“It frequently is.”
Apple looked down at the book.
Halen said, “A home remains home when you leave it.”
“You do not know that.”
“No.”
Halen glanced toward the north, where the Ti Stone waited.
“But I am beginning to think it may.”
Apple sat with them until the fire became coals.
He had asked.
They had answered.
None of the answers decided anything.
That was rude.
Eventually he stood.
“Where are you going?” Sebastian asked.
“To think.”
Wyn leaned back against the root.
“Titima specifically requested more of that.”
Apple threw a nut at him.
Wyn caught it.
Apple hated elves.
⁂
Lati was waiting in the tree.
Of course she was.
Apple climbed without calling up.
The northern ash had a long branch extending above the camp. Beyond it, through the trees, the destruction of Ti Temple had opened a wound in the canopy.
Stars filled it.
Apple had not noticed how many.
At Ti Temple, branches had hidden most of the sky.
Now there was too much.
Lati sat near the trunk with her back against the bark.
Her tail hung beneath the branch.
Apple settled beside her.
Not touching.
For a while.
Below them, the celebration faded.
A drum continued somewhere near the Ti Stone.
Slow.
Not ceremonial now.
Someone simply enjoyed playing it.
A baby cried.
Someone laughed.
A guard called quietly from the northern path.
Life made inconvenient noises.
Apple liked them.
“You talked to them,” Lati said.
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“Too much.”
“Wyn?”
“Mostly.”
She smiled.
Apple looked through the opening in the canopy.
“Your father wants me to stay.”
“I know.”
“You knew before he asked.”
“Yes.”
“That is conspiracy.”
“It is family.”
“Same thing.”
She laughed once.
Then became quiet.
Apple looked at her.
“You want me to stay.”
Lati’s tail stopped moving.
“Yes.”
Simple.
No performance.
Apple appreciated that.
He leaned back against the trunk.
“Good.”
She turned toward him.
“Good?”
“I wanted you to.”
“That is not the same as staying.”
“No.”
The word rested between them.
Lati looked south.
Smoke had thinned enough that the stars were visible above the ruins.
“My whole life was there.”
Apple said nothing.
She pointed.
“Sleeping platform there. Mother’s meeting place farther east. Father’s guard station above it.”
Her finger moved through empty darkness.
“The blue channel ran there.”
Apple remembered.
“The third stone was crooked.”
She looked at him.
“You noticed.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were showing off.”
“I was.”
Lati smiled.
Then her eyes shone.
“I thought I would earn my ring there.”
Apple looked at her bare tail.
“I thought my children would know those stairs. I thought when my parents became old enough to become impossible, I would move them to the eastern rooms because the climb was shorter.”
“Titima is already impossible.”
“He has worked very hard at it.”
They laughed.
Quietly.
Then Lati wiped one cheek with the back of her hand.
Apple looked away until she finished.
Care could be that too.
“I do not want you to go,” she said.
Apple’s tail curled around the branch.
“Then I should stay.”
“No.”
He turned.
Lati’s face had changed.
Not grief.
Resolve.
“No?”
“No.”
“You are doing this wrong.”
“I know.”
“You tell me you want me to stay, then I stay.”
“No.”
“That is a simple mechanism.”
“You like mechanisms too much.”
“They work.”
“Not people.”
Apple frowned.
Lati shifted closer.
Her tail touched his.
Not wrapped.
Only touched.
“Malrick is still alive.”
“I know.”
“Travis is not Malrick.”
“I know.”
“The elves who made bargains with him are still in Greenvale.”
“I know.”
“The animals in Fishbrook—”
“I know.”
“The things he did to your Emberkin friend’s people.”
Apple’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
Lati leaned toward him.
“Then stop saying it like knowledge is enough.”
He looked at her.
For a moment she sounded like Wyn’s prophecy.
No.
Like Wyn’s problem.
Lati continued.
“If Malrick continues, where do we go?”
“North.”
“And when north is not far enough?”
Apple did not answer.
“We carry the Ti Stone,” she said. “We find trees. We build platforms. We lay channels.”
Her voice shook.
“We teach children the names again.”
She pointed south.
“And he does this somewhere else.”
Apple stared into the dark.
“He has to be stopped.”
“Yes.”
“My staying could keep you safe.”
“For how long?”
“I do not know.”
“So you stay one week.”
Apple said nothing.
“One month.”
Nothing.
“One year.”
Her tail wrapped around his now.
“And each time someone tells you Malrick destroyed another place, you tell yourself you cannot leave because we need you more.”
Apple’s throat tightened.
“That is possible.”
“Yes.”
“I could leave later.”
“Yes.”
Lati’s voice softened.
“That is why you have to leave now.”
Apple hated this.
He hated her being correct.
He hated Titima being correct earlier.
He hated Wyn.
That was unrelated but dependable.
Lati looked down toward the camp.
“Do you know what the children call you?”
“Saru.”
“Some.”
“What else?”
“The Heart-Thief.”
Apple’s ears lifted.
“That is good.”
“I knew you would like it.”
“Why thief?”
“You stole the Ti Stone from Travis before he arrived.”
“We removed it.”
“They are children.”
Apple nodded.
“Heart-Thief is better.”
Lati smiled.
“Some call you the Written Saru.”
“That is bad.”
“Some call you Little Halen.”
Apple recoiled.
“I am nothing like Halen.”
“You both run toward dangerous things after people tell you not to.”
“That is different.”
“You both believe carrying something yourself makes it safer.”
Apple opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Lati raised her eyebrows.
“Continue.”
“No.”
“Good.”
She rested her shoulder against his.
“The gods put you near two Heart Stones.”
Apple looked at her.
“We do not know that.”
“Fine.”
Lati waved one hand at the sky.
“Chance. Gods. Bad judgment. Whatever keeps arranging your life.”
“That is more accurate.”
“You hid Ru’s Heart Stone where the pirates could not take it.”
“Yes.”
“You carried its location across the sea.”
“Yes.”
“You came here and helped us carry Ti away before Travis could take ours.”
“We all did.”
“I know.”
“Halen gave his mace.”
“I know.”
“Wyn gave the vials.”
“I know.”
“Seba gave Senca’s ring.”
“I know.”
Apple touched his empty neck.
“And Koruma’s ring.”
Lati’s tail tightened.
“Yes.”
“It was everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you making this about me?”
“Because everyone did not ask whether he should remain here.”
Apple became quiet.
Lati looked at him.
“You think being a hero means someone is saying you did everything alone.”
“That is usually what humans mean.”
“Then humans are stupid.”
“Yes.”
“We agree.”
She turned toward the stars.
“Ru’s Heart Stone survived because of you.”
Apple’s eyes burned again.
Smoke.
Still smoke.
“Ti’s Heart Stone survived because you came.”
“Because all four of us came.”
“Yes.”
Lati’s voice sharpened.
“Why do you keep trying to make being part of something mean you count less?”
Apple stared at her.
He had no answer.
That was unpleasant.
Lati touched the side of his face.
Her fingers moved through the fur near his scar.
Slowly.
A grooming touch.
Ru.
Ti.
Home.
“You saved two Simiah hearts,” she said. “Two communities get to have a tomorrow because you refused to let someone else decide what happened to them.”
“Ru has no people.”
“You.”
Apple flinched.
Lati did not let him look away.
“You are Ru.”
His breath stopped.
“The Heart Stone is hidden.”
“Yes.”
“You remember the work.”
“Some.”
“You know the names.”
“Not all.”
“Enough to teach one.”
Apple shook his head.
“That is not a community.”
“It is how one begins.”
He looked through the branches.
Below them, Ti Temple slept around a Heart Stone without a temple.
Maybe Titima had been right.
Gone did not always mean ended.
Lati said, “And now Ti lives.”
Apple swallowed.
“Because we worked together.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“That is what heroes are for.”
“I thought heroes got pie.”
“They can do two things.”
“The pie was bad.”
“It was terrible.”
“You ate all of yours.”
“I love you.”
Apple froze.
Lati froze.
The forest did not.
A night insect chirped.
Someone below dropped a bowl.
The drum continued.
Lati’s eyes widened.
Apple stared at her.
She closed them.
“No.”
Apple’s tail had gone completely rigid.
“No?”
“I meant—”
She opened her eyes.
Then stopped.
Apple waited.
Lati’s face changed.
Not embarrassment leaving.
Decision arriving.
“No,” she said. “I meant it.”
Apple’s heart did something structurally unsound.
“Oh.”
Lati looked at him.
“That is your answer?”
“I was not prepared.”
“You built a trap between two ley lines.”
“That was easier.”
She laughed.
The sound broke something open inside him.
Apple looked down at their tails.
Hers around his.
His had not moved away.
“I do not know what I am supposed to say.”
“You could tell me the truth.”
“That seems to be happening too much today.”
“Yes.”
Apple considered several answers.
Most were jokes.
The seer had warned him about locked doors.
Wyn’s prophecy.
Not his.
Still irritating.
Apple looked at Lati.
“I want to come back to you.”
Her eyes shone.
“That is not the same sentence.”
“No.”
He took one breath.
“I think I love you too.”
Lati smiled.
Apple immediately regretted giving her this much power.
“Think?”
“I am still learning.”
“Letters?”
“Everything.”
She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his.
Apple closed his eyes.
At Ru, grooming had meant trust.
Shared tails had meant intimacy.
Presence had meant more than words.
Human beings kissed.
Simiah had other languages.
Lati’s fingers moved gently through the fur above his ear.
Apple let her.
He did not know how long they remained that way.
Time worked differently when nothing was trying to kill him.
Eventually Lati whispered, “You still have to go.”
Apple opened his eyes.
“That was manipulative.”
“Yes.”
“You told me you love me and then told me to leave.”
“Yes.”
“Your people are dangerous.”
“You noticed.”
He leaned his head back against the tree.
“I could stay.”
“You could.”
“I could help your father.”
“Yes.”
“I could teach the children.”
“Yes.”
“I could learn the measure.”
Her expression softened.
“Yes.”
Apple looked down at the book beside him.
The Heart Walked North.
Empty pages waited.
“I want that.”
“I know.”
She took his hand.
“But if Malrick wins, none of it lasts.”
Apple closed his fingers around hers.
Below them, Halen’s new mace caught firelight as the Emberkin crossed camp.
Sebastian slept near the root hollow.
Wyn did not appear to be sleeping, which was normal.
Halen’s Heroes.
His nest.
Not his only one.
That was new.
Apple had always thought belonging meant finding the place from which he would never be taken again.
Maybe that was wrong.
Maybe belonging could be having somewhere to return.
The seer’s empty ring.
Home is where your absence leaves a space.
He hated prophecy.
It was too much like being given an answer before he finished the puzzle.
Lati squeezed his hand.
“Promise me.”
Apple looked at her.
“What?”
“That you will come back.”
His tail tightened around hers.
“I do not like promises.”
“I know.”
“People break them.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes they die.”
Lati’s eyes did not leave his.
“I know.”
Apple swallowed.
The pirate ship.
Alric.
Koruma.
Savana.
Ru Temple.
Every promise life had made without asking him.
Safety.
Tomorrow.
Home.
Broken.
“I cannot promise Malrick will not kill me.”
“I did not ask that.”
“I cannot promise how long.”
“I did not ask that either.”
“What are you asking?”
“When it is finished,” Lati said, “come back.”
Apple stared at her.
“To Ti?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
“To me.”
That was harder.
Apple looked at the stars where the temple roof had been.
“Fine.”
Lati frowned.
“That is not a promise.”
“It is close.”
“Saru.”
He hated how she said his name.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it was right.
Apple sighed.
“I promise.”
Lati’s tail tightened around his.
“Say the rest.”
“You are very demanding.”
“Yes.”
Apple looked at her.
“When Malrick is stopped, I will come back.”
“To?”
“You.”
She smiled.
“And Ti.”
Her smile widened.
“And the children.”
“Good.”
“Not your father.”
She laughed loud enough that Titima shouted from below.
“What?”
“Nothing!” Lati called.
Apple leaned over the branch.
“Your daughter is insulting you.”
Lati slapped one hand over his mouth.
Below them, Titima said something sacred and definitely impolite.
Apple laughed against her palm.
They remained in the tree all night.
They spoke of Ru.
Not the end.
Before.
Koruma teaching him how to listen to a lock.
Savana correcting his work by placing the proper tool beside him without saying he had chosen the wrong one.
The first platform Apple had been trusted to repair.
The first time he fell from a branch and told everyone he had intended to descend quickly.
Lati told him about Ti.
The northern waterwheel that froze one winter and threw three apprentices into a cistern.
Savala’s first trade mission.
Titima as a young guard who apparently had possessed even less patience than he did now.
Apple refused to believe this.
Lati swore it was true.
They talked about the future because neither knew what else to do with it.
A new temple.
Perhaps.
New channels.
A new heart chamber.
Perhaps not underground this time.
Apple argued underground was inherently bad.
Lati pointed out that above-ground temples exploded too.
Apple conceded the evidence.
At some point she rested against him.
At some point his fingers found hers again.
Neither slept.
Near dawn, the stars began disappearing.
Not all at once.
The eastern sky paled beyond Greenvale, turning black branches gray.
Birds began testing the morning.
One call.
Another.
Answer.
Apple listened.
For the first time since entering Greenvale, the forest did not sound like someone deciding whether to permit him.
It simply sounded like morning.
⁂
Lati climbed down with him.
Neither spoke much.
There was nothing left that words could improve.
At the ground, the camp had already begun moving.
Simiah packed blankets.
Cooking bowls disappeared into sacks.
Guards returned from the north.
The Ti Stone litter had been uncovered enough for the bearers to inspect its bindings. Deep red light showed faintly beneath the wool.
Titima stood beside it.
He saw Apple.
Then saw Lati.
Then looked at their tails.
They were no longer touching.
Titima looked at Apple again.
Apple prepared several excellent defensive statements.
Titima said only, “You are leaving.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
Titima nodded.
No disappointment.
That made it worse.
“I thought you wanted me to stay.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you not arguing?”
“My daughter already did.”
Apple glanced at Lati.
“She argued the wrong direction.”
Titima almost smiled.
“She does that.”
Savala approached.
She carried Apple’s pack.
He stared.
“You went through my things.”
“No.”
“How did you know which was mine?”
“It is heavier than it should be.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It contains a book that should not be there.”
Apple took the pack.
“Many books should not be where they are.”
Wyn’s voice came from behind him.
“An admirable summary of your relationship with property.”
Apple turned.
Halen’s Heroes stood at the edge of the northern path.
Halen with the new mace across one shoulder.
Wyn with his bow and cloak, the Valic leaves tucked safely inside an inner pocket.
Sebastian with his broadsword at his hip and the green-copper promise cord hidden beneath his glove.
Their packs were ready.
They were ready.
Apple was not.
Savala touched his shoulder.
“Saru of Ru Temple.”
He looked up at her.
“Ti will remember.”
Apple tightened his grip on the book beneath one arm.
“So will I.”
She inclined her head.
Titima said, “If you die, I will be annoyed.”
Apple looked at him.
“That is not how death works.”
“It will be how yours works.”
“Tell the children not to copy my fighting.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“They do not listen to me.”
“That is because you are always grumpy.”
Titima stared at him.
Apple smiled.
Then Titima reached forward.
He pulled Apple against his chest.
Apple went rigid.
The older Simiah held him once.
Hard.
Then released him before Apple decided whether to object.
Titima stepped away.
“No one replaces Koruma,” he said.
Apple stopped.
Titima’s eyes moved to the book.
“But a father would have been proud to see what you carried out.”
Apple could not speak.
This was becoming a problem.
He nodded once.
Titima turned away before Apple recovered.
Apple appreciated him for it.
Then only Lati remained.
Morning light had reached the gold in her russet fur.
She looked tired.
Apple probably did too.
Neither mentioned it.
“You promised,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I heard.”
“You made me say it twice.”
“I may make you say it again.”
Apple touched her tail with his.
Once.
“I will come back.”
Lati’s tail curled around his.
Then released.
“Go save something.”
Apple looked at her.
“I already saved you.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do not become arrogant.”
“Too late.”
She smiled.
Apple turned before he changed his mind.
He crossed the camp.
Children noticed.
Of course they did.
The oldest capuchin raised his stick-mace.
“Saru!”
Others turned.
“Saru!”
“Heart-Thief!”
“The Written Saru!”
Apple kept walking.
Then the smallest child shouted, “Apple!”
He stopped.
Looked back.
The children waited.
So did Lati.
Savala.
Titima.
A whole community that had known him for less than three days and had somehow created a space shaped like his absence.
Apple raised one hand.
“Saru and Apple,” he called.
The children looked at one another.
Then shouted both.
Badly.
Without rhythm.
Several started at different times.
One shouted Heart-Thief anyway.
Apple laughed.
Then he went to his companions.
Sebastian watched him approach.
“We were not certain you were coming.”
Apple adjusted his pack.
“You would be lost without me.”
Wyn nodded.
“Frequently.”
Halen rested both hands on his new mace.
“I am glad.”
Apple looked back one last time.
Lati stood beneath the ash tree.
The book was heavy beneath his arm.
Not physically.
That was different.
He put it carefully into his pack.
Then tightened the straps.
“Also,” Apple said, “there is no sugar here.”
Sebastian blinked.
“That decided it?”
“No.”
Apple started down the path.
“But it helped.”
Halen followed.
Then Sebastian.
Wyn came last.
Behind them, Ti Temple gathered itself for the journey north.
Ahead, Greenvale waited.
Somewhere beyond it was Malrick.
Apple touched the empty place where Koruma’s ring had once rested.
Then he let his hand fall.
He had carried the ring far enough.
Now he carried names.
Halen’s Heroes walked into the morning.