Carrying Stones

The last moon of the old year was not visible in the sky. The sun had vanished early in the afternoon and the moon refused to appear, leaving only black and bitter night. It had been an unusually cold winter, and by the time what should have been the beginning of spring arrived, snow still splintered underfoot. 

The islanders celebrated the new year anyway, with the same stubborn tradition they did everything with. When their ceremonial fires sputtered out in the cold, they smudged the ash across their children’s faces to protect them from hungry ghosts. When the sun was smothered by the horizon, they lit candles to save the light. When the cold wind whipped across the trees and rattled the frames of their houses, they shut the windows and gathered indoors. They held hands and savored the last of the winter-fruits. 

Ilyanna walked the beach alone. The final day of the year was a holiday for families, and she had none. Her pockets were weighed down by heavy stones. She had found them in the forest, where she had spent most of the day. Holidays were a time of charity and purity, and she wanted neither— not from the islanders. 

She saw a figure, silhouetted in shadow, down by the line where the shore turned to sea. He was methodically throwing stones into the water, the same ritual she herself had come here to enact. 

“You have a lot of regrets, priest,” Ilyanna observed, peering over his shoulder. That was the tradition of the island, on this day: each stone represented a moment lost from the year, an opportunity wasted. They gathered the stones in the morning and bore the weight of their regrets for the day. Then when the sun set they were finally free to throw their penance to the ocean, where the water would carry it away. The lucky only had two or three stones to carry. Most had five or six. Di Caron, Ilyanna noticed, had twelve in his hand. 

He didn’t seem startled by her presence. He stared down at his hand, then threw a rock hard into the water. “Where are your stones, witch?”

Weighing me down, Ilyanna thought, but she gave him a sharp smile and said, “I have no regrets. I am unrepentant.”

“Must be nice.” Di turned away from her and mumbled something under his breath. Ilyanna knew it was traditional to speak all regrets but the last aloud, and that he wouldn’t want her to hear his penance. She took a step back.

“Why aren’t you with your family?”

“None of your business.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ilyanna crossed her arms. “You come to get your fortune told every week, and let slip your secrets there. Why is this any different?”

“That’s a business transaction. You need the secrets to tell fortunes.”

I need the secrets to stay alive, Ilyanna thought. Learning the guilty hearts of the islanders gave her a sliver of blackmail, just enough of an edge for her to continue walking along the precarious cliff-face of sacrilege. She brushed her fingers against the stones in her pocket. “If you want a trade, I can offer one. An answer for an answer.”

It was impossible for her to tell what he was thinking. He turned a stone over and over in his hand. “All answers lead to more questions with you,” Di said finally. “But I’ll play your game. You offered, so you tell your secrets first.”

“Fine.” Ilyanna pursed her lips. “Sometimes, when the church is empty, I speak to the statues of the gods. Now you.”

“I’ve seen you come in sometimes,” Di said.

“That’s a terrible secret, priest.”

“That’s not it. I was just saying. The church is never as empty as you think.” He tossed a stone to the water, where it skimmed lightly over the surface before sinking below. “To answer your question: I’m not with my family because I don’t want to be. My father speaks only in hymns. My mother speaks only of my failures. They talk in my head even when they’re not around.”

“And your sibling?” Ilyanna asked.

Di glanced at her, and did not answer. “Your turn.”

Ilyanna considered how much to say. Her livelihood depended on a string of lies— that she was invulnerable, that she didn’t care what the islanders believed, that she was strong and brave and never scared. If she told Di the wrong secret, he could push her off the cliff-face. But then again— who else could she tell? She couldn’t carry the stones in her pocket forever.

“I’m bored most of the time,” She said. “No one talks to me, except you. Being a witch isn’t all dark magic and damnation. It’s mostly long stretches of quiet.”

Di nodded, as if he understood. He turned a rock over and over in his palm. “Ev,” He said, like the name itself was a secret. “They’re… it’s hard. They’re hard. They hate me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Don’t interrupt, witch.” The wind rustled the edge of Di’s patched coat. The fabric was well-made, but Ilyanna could see where it was faded at the sleeves. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes everything is fine, ocean-calm. And then I say something, anything— and they just break. They’re so angry at everything. Angrier than you.”

I doubt that, Ilyanna thought, but held her tongue.

“Are you going to get rid of it?” Ilyanna asked, looking at the rock in his hand. Di grimaced, then threw it with force into the ocean, where it made a sound like shattering. 

“Your turn,” He said.

Ilyanna hesitated. “I would rather be at church than at home. There are ghosts in my house.”

“You spend too much time praying to be a witch,” Di said. She couldn’t tell if it was meant to be an insult or not.

Ilyanna scowled. “What would you have me be?”

“I don’t know. Forget it. You’ll always be a witch.”

“No, go on,” Ilyanna said, anger rising. “What would you have me be? A devotee, like you? Blindly obedient? That would be easy for you, wouldn’t it? Then nothing would interfere with your perfect little life. You could be a priest with two loving parents, an unassuming sibling, and an island who worships him nearly as much as the gods he serves. No more witches to hunt, no more work to do. Except I know that life for what it is— a lie. You told me so yourself.”

“Blasphemy,” Di warned.

“Is that all you care about?” Ilyanna said, annoyed. “I insulted your family, your profession, you— and you’re offended on behalf of the gods?” She shook her head. “Fuck the gods and fuck your pathetic little life. At least I’m honest about what I am.” 

“Not about one thing.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

Di reached out and handed her a stone, smooth and flat. “You do have regrets.”

Ilyanna’s face tightened. She looked at Di, then hurled the stone into the ocean as hard as she could manage. It crashed into the waves and sunk below. “You don’t know me.”

“Glad I don’t.” Di touched her shoulder briefly as he walked past, and started up the beach. “If I did know you, I’d say you carry more stones than all of us.”

Ilyanna opened her mouth to respond, but he was already walking away from her. She shook her head and followed him up the dunes. 

They walked in not-quite-comfortable silence until the beach turned to dirt and the ocean turned to forest. There they parted ways. Di headed up the steep-sloped hill to where his home rested, in the shadow of the church. Ilyanna turned to go to her house at the edge of the village.

 A hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed her arm. She froze, and resisted the urge to scream. Two baleful eyes glared at her from the darkness. A short figure stood near the tree line, freckled and frowning. They shouldn’t have been intimidating, but the force of their hatred, so visceral and sharp Ilyanna could taste it on her tongue, gave her pause.

“Stay away from my brother. Witch,” Ev Caron spat, and then vanished into the trees.