For all that Ekail was willing to talk after declaring that shamble men could die and Carvers took their curses, he gave away very little about the whole process. He talked about carving wood versus stone and how “some people need a break from the goddess’s eye to do their best work”. Not Magda though. Apparently, she had more patience for crafting dizzyingly intricate Mazes than any other Carver in their Enclave. He talked about how there were different enclaves spread out around the territory so that the whisper women wouldn’t have to travel as far when they delivered the wooden coffins and that they didn’t celebrate the Heartsong Festival…for reasons.

And I couldn’t press him on any of it because my mind was still caught on the fact that Carvers could live for hundreds of years after taking on a shamble man’s curse, that those curses could be transfered, and that shamble men could truly die.

It didn’t make any sense.

Shamble men were Her servants, bound to shamble around for eternity without souls for daring to entertain the thought they could ever rise up against Her. Everyone who had turned since Grislander did so because they committed the same crime of failing to follow to the goddess’s decrees and passing on as they should in smoke and fire. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t burn themselves after death. The tribe was there to fill in the gap.

That was understood. That made sense.

For all that shamble men were referred to sometimes as Her true children, given how they were death walking, everyone knew better than to want to become one. To bear the curse or interact with them.

And yet Her prized Carvers, the very people responsible for trapping the body so it was properly disposed of and sending the soul to the Silver Forest, were made from accepting the curse that their Mazes prevented.

It was like the Black Handed Healers all over again. Something meant to be reviled or barely tolerated in times of need suddenly getting a place of recognition and power. Black Handed Healers got marked by the Beloved; Carvers got to scrape away at trees that everyone else could barely touch.

Shamble men got to die and their undeath gave their curse bearers decades and centuries of more life.

No matter how many times I repeated it it didn’t make sense in a way that what I had been taught growing up could accept.

But my mark kept me alive, in a sort of stasis, when I should have been dead. I didn’t like to think about it, but Ekail was right when he pointed out that I was likely to become one of the longest lived people because of that.

It was different from the Carvers’ situation, but not by much. Perhaps it could even be considered its own curse if I was forced to keep surviving situations like being frozen solid for days on end. A situation I might have been caught in as punishment for healing someone without healer’s beads.

Tribe healers and Black Handed healers, shamble men and Carvers. Why did it seem like they got the worst and best the goddess had to offer for participating in the same thing? Unless, of course, you were a whisper woman or one the goddess’s chosen—those were Her true favorites. As much as the goddess could have favorites when it came to anyone other than the Beloved.

I didn’t have an answer for any of it, so I turned the question on Ekail. “Why would the goddess have you take shamble men’s curse?”

He broke off a long winded explanation about why he chose to carve the bane pack to consider his answer. “Why give you your blessing or allow the Beloved her trials in the first place?” He shrugged. “The goddess has a purpose for everything even if we can’t see it and, I suppose, the number of shamble men might get overwhelming if they weren’t taken care of.”

I couldn’t decide if that was the whole truth of it or if he was giving me a partial answer so I wouldn’t press him on the point. For all I knew the Carvers might need the curse to make their Mazes work and he didn’t want to divulge those secrets, but I couldn’t let the question go so easily. “Why did you accept a shamble man’s curse?”

Wrinkles crinkled the corners of his eyes as he smiled ruefully. “It was that or never see Magda again. I figured being half dead was better than feeling that way.”

I held my tongue back from needling that particular piece of questionable logic and tilted my head in Magda’s direction. “And her?”

Magda blinked slowly before her intense gaze settled on me. “To carve. One place, one focus.”

“That was worth losing your soul and being tied here?”

“It would have been. I live more now.”

Ekail added, “As far as we can tell we still have our souls but we did lose something else.” He held out his wrist so I could see the faint smudge of a dot there. “No blessings, common or unique. We need the Ember to survive or we’d have no way to make fire.”

My eyebrows drew together. “That’s all?”

Ekail laughed again but this time it sounded slightly pained. “There might be more but it’s not for outsiders to know.”

Part of me still wanted to press for answers, but one glance at Tufani shut that notion down. She wouldn’t allow me to blatantly fish for more information when I had already been told no.

Instead I turned my questions in a new direction. “How do you die if you bear the shamble men’s curse?”

“That I can answer.” Ekail settled back against the wall. “We pass it on, just like we take it in the first place. One generation after another until it loses all its power and breaks. No one here has an original curse. Old Ion’s is second generation, but last I heard there were only a handful of first generation.”

“How do you pass it on?”

“You’ll find that out if you ever become a Carver.” I stared at him and he must have seen the obvious dread on my face because he added, “It’s not as bad as you might think.”

I’d rather deal with my blessing than accept anything from a shamble man and spend my days carving wood. Especially when what the Carvers got out of the deal sounded similar to my blessing but with more drawbacks.

“Did you want to live longer?” I asked.

Ekail blew a bit of wood dust off the carving he was still working on. “I thought it was a decent trade.”

“How old are you?”

He winked at me. “It’s not nice to ask a man his age.”

Magda immediately ruined the suspense. “Ninety eight. I’ve reached my hundredth year.”

Ekail rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin the fun just because you wanted to brag.”

All he got as a reaction was the smallest upturn to one corner of her lips.

Ekail focused back on me. “Any other questions?”

I shook my head. I had a dozen other things I wanted to ask but I had little doubt that I’d get a straight answer for any of them. If he wouldn’t talk about how they passed on the curse then he wouldn’t talk about the Mazes or any of their other secrets. I knew better than to push too hard for answers that the person didn’t want to give. Better to wait and hope a chance arose when they were in a better mood or put the pieces together myself from what I observed.

Ekail fell into conversation with Tufani and Magda while I mulled over everything I had learned and what it might mean. I still had a bit of trouble accepting that anyone would want to take on a shamble man’s curse despite the proof in front of me.

Sometime later Tufani declared that it was time for us to go and Ekail slipped the little figurine he had finished carving into my hands. I flinched a bit at the contact but I didn’t drop it.

He gestured to the little storm bird that looked like it was about to take flight. “Keep it.”

I closed my fingers around it and nodded, not quite sure what to make of the gift or the man, but it was a pretty carving. If nothing else it’d prove that this entire night had been more than a fever dream.

Tufani wasn’t entirely steady on her feet after helping down a jugful of “the good stuff”. Still, she managed to cross over to the ladder and climb without tripping over her feet or her cane. As soon as we were back out in the woods the hidden door in the tree trunk swung closed like it had never been.

Tufani pressed another bird figurine into my hands. This one was intricately detailed and looked like it was sleeping in a nest. “Give that…give the bird to your friend.” She concentrated for a moment. “Prevna.”

“But—”

She waved my protest away. “Magda caves—car—makes one every year.” Her hand landed on my shoulder. “Go.”

I shoved down the impulse to slip out of her grasp and put the new carving in a pouch with the other one before I carefully started searching out the eye carvings to lead us back to the clearing. I couldn’t help but wondering if Tufani brought me along so she could indulge more than normal or if she managed to stumble back to the right place every year on her own.

It was slow going, following the hidden path in reverse with Tufani dragging on my shoulder, but we managed to find Cloud dozing in the clearing with easily enough. That was when the worry that had burned at my gut ever since I noticed Tufani’s drunkenness flared up. She might have gotten us here but how was she supposed to be lucid enough to give Cloud directions on the way back?

Tufani thumped over to Cloud with more confidence than I thought was deserved before she patted th bird on the beak and made her way with a bit if difficulty into the saddle. I climbed up after and double checked every knot she made as she tied her cane and herself in place.

She noticed and bopped me on the back of the head with one hand. “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive.”

That sounded surprisingly lucid so I got myself tied in place and squished myself into the side of the saddle again. I couldn’t deny that my grip was knuckle white on the handles though. Tufani got herself in place and pointed forward with an outstretched arm. “Home!”

That didn’t sound anything like her normal volume. I was about to protest flying with a drunken leader but Cloud was already running, flapping, taking off. I clung on and prayed that we didn’t end up lost or falling off.

I needn’t have worried. Even with Tufani’s lackluster awareness and directions that consisted more of praising the bird than any actual input, Cloud knew her way home. We landed near Tufani’s hut to a mostly wound down celebration. Groups were spread out among the nests, some snuggling with the birds, others entertaining themselves quietly or eating the last bits from the cooking fires.

Prevna launched herself from the top of Tufani’s hut as soon as Cloud touched down. Dera was a step or two behind her and I narrowed my eyes at her as I got myself untied.

Their eyes widened at Tufani’s unsteadiness but I got the Tamer’s cane down and in her hands before she slipped on the snow. Tufani’s son appeared from somewhere and waved us off with an assurance that he could Tufani in her hut and take care of Cloud on his own.

As soon as we had given them some space Prevna rounded on me. “We were supposed to dance together.”

I heard the real reprimand she wasn’t saying. “I didn’t mean to leave this time.”

“Where did you go?” I glanced over at where Dera was hovering and Prevna caught it. “She kept me company all night.”

I didn’t like that. Didn’t like it at all even though I knew Dera was probably only being nice. So I purposefully pulled out the intricate bird that Magda had carved and pressed it into Prevna’s hands. “A gift from a Carver.”

Prevna blinked once at the wooden figurine and again at the mention of a Carver before visibly pulling herself together. She forced a bit of her usual playfulness into her voice. “You better come get me the next time you go on an adventure.”

“Carvers?” Dera asked, eyes wide.

I sighed and gave them the very short version of it. Tufani had taken me with her on a whim because she wanted to get drunk without worrying. Prevna could hear about the interesting bits that turned my world upside down later. The short version was enough to shock them all on its own.