Varak Koltun's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

When Mika arrived two days later with the Frost Walkers, she stopped at the altar first. Her brother's name was there. She touched the carved bone and wept. Then she walked to Varak's fire and sat down to talk about the market. But the Valley Folk wouldn't come near the altar. Their leader, an old woman named Sula, stood at the valley's edge for half a day, staring at the standing stones. Varak walked to meet her. She pointed at the torch bowl. "My daughter's name isn't there," she said. "You carved sixteen, but nineteen died." The cold settled into Varak's bones. He'd searched his memory for every name, asked the Frost Walkers for the ones he'd missed. Three names lost to time. He looked at Sula's weathered face and saw the gap his carelessness had left. "Tell me," he said. She did. He spent that night carving three more bones while Sula watched. When he placed them in the bowl at dawn, she nodded once and walked to his fire. Varak knew bones alone wouldn't be enough. He walked to the birch grove north of the valley and strung a garland between two trees—bells that would ring when the wind blew, beads from the coast, and small bones from the deer he'd hunted that fed him while he built. He hung it where the path from Silent Ridge entered the valley. Anyone coming from that direction would pass beneath it and hear the bells. A sound to mark the crossing from grief to hope. When he stepped back, the garland swayed and chimed softly. The Valley Folk helped him build five more, one for each trail. By the fourth day, the valley rang with quiet music whenever the wind rose. On the fifth morning, Varak carried a bundle to the altar. He'd gathered bones from every deer he'd taken in the past two seasons, and antlers from the six-point buck that had led his herd through the worst storm he'd seen. He stacked them carefully beside the standing stones, bones interlocked, antlers rising from the center like a crown. The pile grew taller than his waist. When he finished, Sula stood beside him. "This is for the ones who'll die if we don't gather," he said. "The hungry winters. The raids we can't fight alone. The children who won't see spring." She studied the bone pile for a long moment, then placed her hand on his shoulder. "The clans will come," she said. "They'll see you remember the dead, and they'll trust you with the living." Varak watched the torch flames dance in the bowl. His grandmother had been right. The past had to be honored before the future could begin.