Silent Hall by NS Dolkart

was what Phaedra would have called ‘appropriate.’ Nobody else knew why she was called Bandu, and that was also appropriate. Four-foot’s heartbeat had been a secret that only she knew about, and she wanted it to stay that way.
    The day after Four-foot died, Brother Gedrel left them. He said only that he had stayed too long, but Phaedra understood what he meant. She explained to them that the Brothers of Gedrel’s order never stayed in one place for more than a year or two, but went from holy place to holy place in between larger voyages. Gedrel had been in charge at the Crossroads not because he was smarter or stronger or older or better than the others, but because he had been there longest and would soon be leaving. After he was gone, Brother Tanatos was the head of the friars. Bandu did not like him as much. He spoke more, and listened less.
    Criton talked to Brother Tanatos a lot. He asked very many questions about some kind of things called dragons, and Brother Tanatos always gave him long answers. Those answers clearly bothered Criton. He seemed especially sad when the friar said the word, ‘Extinct.’
    Phaedra seemed to understand everything, and she didn’t mind explaining. Bandu was glad to have her. Phaedra used a needle and thread to make Bandu’s new coverings fit better, and Bandu agreed to practice her speech with her. If she couldn’t live in the forest with Four-foot anymore, she would have to learn how to speak better.
    Phaedra did not really like it here, Bandu realized. Not anymore, anyway. She wanted to like it, but she didn’t. The trouble was that Phaedra loved to learn new things, and she knew too much about this place already. She took to pacing around the little building, restless and bored. Bandu thought that people who loved to learn should not be so good at it. It would last them longer that way.
    Bandu did not know what she would do without Four-foot, but she knew that staying here would not bring him back. If Phaedra was done here, that meant it was time to go.
    But before they all managed to leave, Brother Tanatos found a way to pull Bandu aside and talk to her.
    â€œYou are about to become something that you never were before,” he said. “It will be frightening, and you will think you are losing yourself. Don’t be afraid, and don’t blame it on your friends. Your sadness is the sadness of leaving childhood behind, which is something we all must do. You understand?”
    Bandu’s knowledge of words was getting better. It made her feel much more confident in her answer.
    â€œNo,” she said.

10
    Hunter
    T hey would travel together for safety until they found reason to part ways. Hunter doubted it would take long: Criton wanted to go looking for dragons, Narky didn’t, Bandu was most comfortable in the woods, and Phaedra had only ever slept in a bed. Soon Hunter would have to make a decision. Where would he go? With whom would he stay? There was no obvious answer, but that was not really the problem. The problem was that he didn’t care.
    He had had plans before, for a whole life. Now those plans were useless, and he could not think of a new one. It seemed that he was not as resourceful as Phaedra.
    When they left the abbey, the crows were waiting for them. There must have been at least fifty of the birds watching them from outside the grounds, and they greeted the survivors of Tarphae with a chorus of raucous voices.
    â€œI wish those damned birds would quiet down and go away,” Narky said.
    â€œQuiet,” said Phaedra. “The crow is sacred to Ravennis.”
    â€œThey must be here for me,” Hunter said.
    Narky stared at him. “Why would they be here for you?”
    Hunter let his breath out through his teeth, and tried to explain. “Father went to see the Oracle of Ravennis, the Day Before. That’s why he made me go.”
    He thought they should understand, but they clearly