Free The Bone Wall by D. Wallace Peach Page A

them.”
    “Black Dogs? River Walkers?” Rimma snorts.
    “Descendants of God?” I snort back.
    In a snit, Rimma snatches her blanket from the pipe-bench, wraps it around her shoulders and plops down beside me. “They said the descendants of Paradise did something. But who deserves such slaughter? Who would butcher children? How do we know what will happen if we all kneel and let them come for us? They’re evil, Angel. We can’t trust them.”
    “Mag didn’t seem evil to me,” I press, “hard and terribly strange, but not exactly evil.” My words sound traitorous in my ears, but I feel compelled to counter Rimma’s loathing. How can we formulate a plan without an attempt at honesty?
    “What did she mean by claiming us?” Rimma asks, twisting to face me, her voice challenging, eyes sparkling like blue frost beneath the rippling shield.
    “I don’t know,” I whisper.
    “Why didn’t that Biter see both of us? What did he mean by light-benders?
    “I don’t know.”
    “What was all that talk of magic,” she persists. “Our magic, bone wall magic?
    “I don’t know, Rimma, I don’t know.” I close my eyes and cover my ears; she’s made her point.
    “She doesn’t see a need for much killing, Angel. How much is acceptable?”
    A sob chokes from my throat and I fold over. “Leave me a little hope, Rimma.” A naïve child’s wish, my voice a pathetic squeak.
    Rimma’s barrage of questions falls silent as she rests her arm on my back, a comforting hand patting me. “Well, I don’t think they’ll cook us and eat us,” she says as a concession. “And she said they have better uses for our ‘healthy blood’ than bloodying their knives, whatever that means.”
    “They aren’t healthy,” I murmur as I sit up and sniffle. “There’s something horribly wrong with them.”
    “I hadn’t noticed,” Rimma says, her sarcasm thick as she lies back, her blanket tight around her.
    I wriggle down beside her, both of us staring up at the dance of light overhead. “They know Heaven will fall.”
    “Our bone wall,” Rimma clarifies. “And she’s right, we are helpless. Hopelessly at their mercy, if they have any.”
    “We should do as Mag says, Rimma. We should kneel, beg for peace.” I try not to let my panic hurry my words or shrill my voice. “We should tell the others, tell mother, at least, so she can inform the deacons.”
    Rising to an elbow, Rimma peers down at me with a smile. “We’d have to say we talked with Biters, ignored Abrum’s threat, left the gate to Heaven open. They’ll banish us…not that it matters now.”
    “But we have to warn them,” I insist. “So they’ll kneel. So they won’t panic or attempt to fight. So the Biters won’t kill us all. We can’t sit here and do nothing and just let it happen.”
    “They won’t listen, Angel.” Rimma shakes her head and lies back down.
    “We should tell them regardless,” I whisper. “I’ll tell them. They can banish me.”
    “No, my sister.” Rimma’s sigh fills the whole rooftop. “You’re the little sparrow and I’m the hawk, remember. I’ll tell them, but you must swear an oath first.”
    “What oath?” I hold my breath, suspicious of anything she’ll demand.
    “You must swear to let me bear all the burdens of our life in the broken world. You must swear to let me endure every suffering and evil that befalls us, allow me to be as vile and vicious and heartless as I need to be to keep you safe.”
    “No, Rimma, I can’t swear that,” I cry, reaching for her hand, her words terrifying.
    Her fingers close on my hand, a vise squeezing my bones as she rolls on her side toward me. “Promise me,” she hisses, her breath hot on my cheek. “Papa said life brims with choices, Angel. Every minute of every hour of every day, we face choices that define us. This is my choice and I want your oath.”
    “Let me go, Rimma.” I yank on my hand, trying to shove her away. She snarls, throws off her blanket and climbs