Page 107

I let it out without speaking.

Kestria’s still awake. Her breathing hasn’t slowed, and she moves her foot when my hand brushes it on the way back to my knee.

I sit until I can feel my legs, then gather the stones back into the dish and push it behind the cold lamp.

Getting up takes longer than getting down.

I get my right foot flat and try to stand on it, but the knee won’t straighten. Perkele. I stay there breathing through my mouth, with my good hand on the floor.

Her clothes scrape the wall as she gets to her feet.

“Wait.” I get that hand onto the wall and push. My back brushes the low roof while I rise, and I stay bent until I’ve got both feet under me. That much I can still do.

Kestria waits where I told her, and I can hear her just beyond my hand.

“Rauk, those names—”

“Not in here.”

She waited the whole roll for that. I leave the cup beside the lamp and hold out my right hand.

“Here.”

She touches my wrist, then takes my hand.

I lead her out slowly, with my shoulder against the stone. Once we’re through, I go along the cache wall a little way, under the shelves.

“Sit.”

“You too.” She lets go of me. I hear her lower herself, then her palm finds my leg.

I sit beside her with my back against the wall and my legs stretched out, since they won’t do anything else. I rest the bad arm in my lap and wait for the ache to settle enough that I can speak.

Her hand slides from my leg to my wrist.

“Väinö taught me those names. The same man who taught me with the board you saw. It was the census. Every person in every den. A few hundred of us, all told. My father meant me to lead them after him, so I had to learn it.”

My throat’s rough, so I swallow and wish I’d brought the cup. I turn my hand over under hers to keep the claws off her sleeve.

“I thought I’d finished learning it once. Then a child was born, and I had to put her in. Lumi. I complained because I’d only just got through it without a mistake. She’s the last one. There were no more children after her.”

I let my head rest against the rock, and the fur catches between my back and the wall when I move.

She shifts closer, her good shoulder coming against mine.

“You heard where I stopped. That’s where my own name goes. I was meant to keep the census after my father. I leave mine out because I’m alive.”

I rub my thumb across one of her knuckles, and her hand’s rougher than it was this morning. That’s from the wood. Her fingers close around my thumb, and I let them.

“I say theirs every new moon. I’ve never missed one. The stones are mine. I brought them up from the river, and when I put my hand on the row, they’re all there. Väinö never told me what to do once everyone was dead.”

She stays against my shoulder while I get enough breath to go on.

“I keep it dark because it was dark the night they died. The shaft lets some moon in other nights, but not on the new moon, and I leave the lamp unlit.”

My knee aches, so I slide my heel farther out. Her hand stays with mine.

“People answered to those. My mother. My father. Jouni, when I shouted for him. I’ve got things in here that I can’t put a name to. I found them afterward, and there was nobody left to ask. But I know every person on that roll. Some of them have nothing on these shelves. The name’s all I’ve got, and I want to say it. So I do.”