A Box of Bones Read online

  She toiled for over an hour, pressing, pushing, and prying, but by dinnertime, she was ready for a break. She set the box on her desk and headed for the kitchen.

  Kallie set the table as usual, folded napkins crisply, placed them strategically beside each plate, and aligned cutlery neatly on top.

  “To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one’s family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one’s own mind,” she quoted from Buddha.

  That night, the storm started up again. Kallie lay in bed teetering on the brink of sleep. She listened to the soothing clatter of rain against her window.

  Perhaps it was just the rain, but somewhere, just beneath the gentle tap, tap, tap, she could swear she heard another sound. A low rattle—as though something were trapped inside the box, and it was struggling to get out.

  3

  POSSIBILITIES

  The dark waters of the lake had begun to cool, and the nights stretched, eating away at daylight hours with a ravenous appetite.

  The final weeks of summer vacation had evaporated like morning mist. Kallie had spent most of her time preparing for school—and trying to solve the mechanism of the puzzle box. She’d pressed, pulled, shifted, lifted, twisted, and pried, all to no avail.

  It was late Monday night when she finally accepted her father had been right all along. She had wasted enough time and energy on the box and refused to give it another moment’s thought. She would get rid of it first thing in the morning.

  Kallie awoke at precisely 6:57 a.m. She always set an alarm—even on weekends—a whole three minutes ahead of her schedule on the odd chance the clock ran out of sync with standard time while she slept. She reached for her glasses on her nightstand, sat up, and stretched.

  She’d nearly forgotten her resolve to get rid of the box until she saw it perched on her desk. She slipped out of bed, picked it up, and prepared to pitch it into her wastepaper basket, when suddenly it shifted, coming alive in her hands.

  Kallie dropped the box as though it had bitten her. It thumped against the old pine floor and tumbled to a stop. For a moment, she stood staring at it. In the back of her mind, she could hear her father’s voice puncture out the words: Boxes can’t bite.

  She must have applied pressure to the right spot, triggering a move.

  Reaching for the box, she held it tightly. It was cold and hard and perfectly immobile. She turned it over and examined the myriad circles inside circles on each of the faces. How had she done it?

  Kallie placed the box on her desk beside the textbooks, careful to arrange it in the exact spot, at the exact angle it had been. She paused, replaying the scene in her mind. Once she was ready, her thumb and index finger formed pincers, just as they’d done the first time. She touched two sides, squeezed, and lifted.

  Nothing happened.

  Kallie set the box back down and flexed her fingers. She lifted it a second time. Still, nothing.

  She tried again and again, each time adjusting her hand a smidge this way, a pinch that. She even slid her fingers along the etchings, but nothing moved.

  Her gaze swung from the box to the textbooks, and she sighed. The cube had wasted enough precious time. She lifted it one last time to plunk it into the wastebasket when she felt a soft click. One of the tiny circles had turned.

  The circles. Of course. Kallie kicked herself for not having thought of it sooner. What was the fundamental property of a circle? It turned.

  Kallie tried to turn the same circle again, but it was locked in place. She tried reversing the direction, but that didn’t work, either. Kallie frowned hard. Then she had an idea.

  She turned her attention to all the other circles on that face. She tried each one individually, but none would budge. She turned the cube over and systematically tried all the circles on all the other faces until, at last, one moved a hairsbreadth clockwise.

  That was it. You could move only one circle at a time, and then you had to find the next move and the next. Kallie decided the circles worked like the dial in a combination lock. This was the trick Grandpa Jess was talking about. She’d solved the mystery of the mechanism.

  There were fifty-seven circles in total. Kallie did some quick calculations. If there were sixty clicks in a full rotation, that meant over three thousand possible moves.

  Perhaps, she thought, some circles didn’t require a full rotation. Then again, what if others moved beyond a single rotation, maybe two or three full turns? The possibilities could be endless. The designer of the box certainly intended for maximum frustration. A broad grin spread across Kallie’s face.

  That morning, she made her usual breakfast—a steaming bowl of instant oatmeal with a half teaspoon of brown sugar, two shakes of cinnamon, and ten raisins. After she ate, she returned to her bedroom, explaining to Grandpa Jess she was quite busy and could not be disturbed.

  She sat rigidly at her desk. Beside her, she placed a pencil and a notepad in which she would record each move.

  Each of the faces had a different number of circles forming a different pattern. She labeled each face from one to six and then labeled each circle according to its size. Once the chart in her notepad was complete, she took a deep breath, and then, slowly, methodically, she began.

  After three hours, Kallie had recorded 437 moves. It was tedious work—though not difficult. She knew she was still a long way from opening the box—if, in fact, it did open—but something strange had begun to happen.

  The apparently random etchings—the swirls and lines—began to connect, and Kallie understood what it meant. The chaos theory was right—these etchings were not random. Kallie picked up her pace.

  She worked for another solid hour before breaking for lunch. She was getting closer and was now more determined than ever. By late afternoon, she had recorded over two thousand moves, and judging by the way the etchings were connecting, she knew some of the circles had found their final resting place.

  There was a sharp knock at the door. Kallie’s father poked his head inside. She hadn’t heard him come home from the office.

  “You haven’t set the table yet.”

  Kallie smiled—a little too widely. “Coming.”

  He narrowed his eyes and stepped into the room. “What have you been up to?” He looked at her desk and frowned. “Tell me you haven’t spent all day on that ridiculous box.”

  “Grandpa was right,” said Kallie. She held up her notepad, now filled with pages and pages of moves. “It’s mechanical.”

  He sighed. “I suppose determination is a virtue.” He was about to leave but then paused. He added, a little softer than Kallie was used to, “Just don’t expect anything from it. I’d hate to see you disappointed. It’s only a box.”

  She nodded and stood. They left the room together and entered the kitchen. To mark the end of summer vacation, Grandpa Jess made a special meal consisting of tourtière—a flaky crust filled with minced pork and potatoes—maple baked beans, and garlic toast. They were Grandma Gem’s recipes, handed down to her from her mémé.

  Once Kallie had finished eating, she cleared the dishes and returned immediately to her room. She had recorded nearly three thousand moves, but it was getting late. Soon it would be bedtime. She had to work quickly.

  Most of the faces were complete. Kallie could see the patterns clearly. On one of the faces were two stars. On another, two stars and a full circle. On a third, two stars and a half circle. The fourth, two stars and a crescent.

  Like the phases of the moon, thought Kallie.

  Though exhausted, she continued at a feverish pace. Her fingers moved independently of her mind. One more move. Just one more. Another. And another. And at last, it was done. All the circles had reached their final resting place.

  She lifted the box to have a closer look when suddenly the full circle at the bottom of the box flipped open and something scattered across the floor. The large cube had given birth to smaller cubes.

  Kallie dropped to her knees. She set the
box beside her and gathered the pieces into a line. There were nine in total, all made from the same ivory-colored substance as the circle inlay.

  Each of the tiny cubes had etchings forming pictures. She made a mental note of the images facing upward. Then she picked up one of the pieces. There were different images on each of its six faces.

  What could this be? Kallie wondered. Some sort of game? She had a game of Yahtzee tucked away in her closet. Grandpa had given it to her two years ago for her tenth birthday. It had five dice. You had to toss them and try for specific combinations.

  Kallie gathered the pieces, cupping them in both hands.

  “Bedtime!” her father boomed from the hall.

  Kallie never had to be reminded. His voice startled her, and her hands came apart, scattering the pieces a second time. As one by one she lined them up, her stomach clenched and her eyes grew wide. They had landed on the exact same pictures.

  As best as she could tell, the first was some kind of animal with sharp ears and a pointed snout. The second was a goblet with a jagged line down the center. Beside it, an egglike shape with holes. Then a castle; a cylinder spouting flames; a coffin; a skull; and a long pointed object, like a knife or a dagger. The final piece had no carvings at all. It was blank.

  Kallie knew the probability of the five-dice game well. She and her friend Pole had once figured it out—just for fun. Five dice, each with six sides, meant 7,776 possible combinations. How many possibilities could there be for nine pieces? Eight if you excluded the blank.

  Kallie calculated. It was in the millions. Millions of possibilities, and the pieces had landed on the same pictures, in the same order, a second time. There was a greater chance Kallie would be struck by lightning.

  Slowly, carefully, she picked up the cubes. She had to try again. No way could they land on the same pictures a third time. Her hands trembled as she shook them and let them fall.

  “Lights out,” her father called. “Tomorrow’s the first day of school. You need your rest.”

  Kallie tried to respond, but her throat had gone as dry as desert dust. She opened her mouth, but no sound escaped.

  The pictures. They were all the same.

  With trembling hands, Kallie stuffed the pieces back into the open circle. In the instant she sealed it, every circle on every face began to spin backward, like clockwork, and a soft melody began to play. It was a low, mournful tune that burrowed deep into Kallie’s brain like a breeding sand flea.

  Then, all at once, the spinning and the music stopped.

  Kallie seized the box, tore open her closet, and flung the thing into the farthest corner, slamming the door shut. But it was too late. Something had changed. The room felt colder. And darker. And a high-pitched howl echoed from somewhere outside.

  Kallie crept to her window and peeled back the curtain. In the middle of the deserted street stood an animal. It appeared to be a cross between a fox and a wolf. It glared up at Kallie with amethyst eyes, its pearly coat shimmering in the moonlight.

  Something else had escaped the box. Something other than the pieces. Something that could not be stuffed back inside.

  4

  THE JACKAL

  Evil had spread throughout the land. It seeped into the earth of the fields, infecting all that grew. It lingered in the dying branches of old trees. Its black breath bent every blossom, every blade of grass, and every weed from the Sallow River to the Burning Mountains, from the ancient forests to the poor villages. All that had once flourished under the benevolent Empress now soured under the reign of her only child.

  In the darkest hours of the early morn, the old bone carver and his apprentice left the mud-brick walls and thatched roof of their meager workshop and set out upon a long and desolate road.

  It was the eve of Barterfest—the one time each year merchants were permitted into the palace to sell their goods. The bone carver was a poor man with no cart or oxen. It was a long journey to the palace on foot, and so he prepared for an early start.

  “Is it true, Master?” asked Liah. “Does she bathe in a blood pond?”

  The bone carver did not respond. Instead, he pulled the drawstring tighter on his hemp-fiber sack and slung it over his shoulder. In it, he carried many precious carvings, wrapped in silk for added protection.

  Liah was lucky to have such a wise and honorable master. He was a skilled carver—the best in the land. He knew how to prepare bones—how to wash and bleach them, how to perform the ancient rituals that released the spirit from its mortal bind.

  In the nights before the journey, he had made many sacrifices to his dead ancestors. If they were pleased, the child Empress would find favor in his workmanship and pay him richly. If they were displeased, she would reject his wares and he would leave the palace empty-handed.

  Liah was a foundling. There were no bones for her to honor. No sacrifices to be made. And no ancestors to determine her fate.

  The sack of provisions she carried drew her shoulders straight. In it were several hard millet cakes and two large gourds filled with water that had been boiled and cooled. To the sack she had secretly added two of her own carvings—a musical instrument and a thin dagger—to see if perhaps she might be allowed to present them to the Empress.

  “I have heard she keeps a forest of meat where she feasts on the flesh of her enemies,” said Liah.

  The bone carver stopped. He wagged a calloused finger. “The parrot is a foolish bird, for it repeats what it hears with little knowledge and less thought.” He paused, peered side to side, and then added softly, “The Empress has many spies. Speaking evil of her invites bad fortune.”

  Liah had heard many tales about the child Empress. Some villagers said she could turn water to stone. Others claimed she could melt the stars in the sky and make it rain gold. Some said she was a great and powerful sorceress who could charm snakes and scorpions with but a single word. Liah had even heard she could shift form and roamed the land in disguise, observing her enemies unseen.

  There were so many whisperings it was difficult to sift granules of truth from bushels of lies. Yet all were in agreement: Though young, the Empress was dangerously cruel, slaughtering mercilessly all who opposed her. Liah might have been worried were she not under the protection of the wise and venerable bone carver.

  The two continued for some time in darkness past the empty marketplace, the last of the village homes, and through the grassy fields toward the river’s edge. Another few steps and it would be as far as Liah had ever been allowed to venture.

  When at last the cinnamon sun bled over the horizon, their path entered a dense wood where gnarled trees huddled like frightened giants, their roots interwoven in lacy patterns over the parched earth. What little light managed to pierce the thick canopy only served to deepen the shadows. The air was cool and smacked of decay. Liah pulled her brown cloak tighter around her shoulders.

  They had traveled a great distance, and Liah’s feet had begun to blister. She stopped to rub her heel. The bone carver wore goatskin shoes, which protected his feet. Liah’s were made of straw woven together with flax thread. They were rough and thinning.

  “When might we rest?” she huffed.

  The bone carver glanced about nervously. “This is an ancient forest, haunted by the spirits of those who perished without ancestors to provide their bones with a proper burial. Remain on the path. And do not disturb anything. We will rest once we reach the crossroads.”

  Liah pressed onward, but after several more hours, she grew weary and began to lag. Each time she skipped to catch up, the burst of energy cost her dearly, and she slipped farther behind.

  As she walked, she kept a sharp eye on the shadowy maze. Gray rocks. Brown crusted leaves. Blackish-green moss. Then, all at once, she stopped and squinted, for something had caught her eye.

  Not far off the path lay the remains of a small creature—perhaps a badger or a young hare. It was a lucky find. The bone carver rarely gave Liah her own pieces to carve, and when he did, the
y were tiny fragments, hardly useful. If a large piece was intact, Liah might boil it, bleach it in sunlight, and carve from it a crescent-shaped comb or a butterfly hairpin.

  She had been warned to stay on the path and to touch nothing. But the bones were too precious to resist. Liah took a tentative step toward them, then another, and another, until she stood within reach. All around her grew silent and still.

  The carcass at her feet had been stripped clean by scavenger birds and insects. Clumps of matted fur lay strewn about, but there was no stench of death; the creature had perished some time ago. Liah reached for the longest and strongest piece—a hind leg bone—and as her hand gripped its hard, rutted surface, the surrounding silence was broken by the soft snap of a twig.

  Her body tensed as her eyes darted in the direction of the sound. She sensed movement but could see none. She was about to turn when something emerged from the lacy shadows.

  Liah had never seen anything quite like it before. They stood studying each other, but when Liah took a small step backward, the creature’s hind legs crouched, preparing to spring.

  In her satchel was the small dagger—one of her precious carvings—but there was no time to retrieve it. Instead, her grip tightened on the bone in her hand, and as the beast leaped toward her, she flung it as hard as she could, narrowly missing her target.

  Her hands flew to her face, and the curtains of her eyes drew shut. She let out a strangled yelp, awaiting the sharp sting of barbed teeth.

  5

  SOMETHING YELLOW THIS WAY COMES

  Blip, blip, blip … Blip, blip, blip …

  The alarm pinged softly. Kallie opened her eyes. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. It was the last Wednesday in August—the first day of school in the state of Vermont.

  The new day brought with it new perspective. Kallie decided there were simple, logical explanations for all the strange happenings of the previous night.