More Bones by Arielle North Olson Page A

screen to her room and closed it behind her. The soldier waited impatiently. When she returned, she was wearing a loose white garment. Oddly enough, the handle of a shovel poked out from under the hem.
    â€œFollow me,” she whispered. They moved through the village under a cloudy sky, with only fleeting glimpses of the moon. On such a night, ghosts were said to wander. The soldier followed the white figure ahead of him, careful not to awaken sleeping dogs. They slipped through the village streets to the woods beyond, hurrying down the dark road until they reached an ancient cemetery.
    When the moon emerged from the clouds, they could see old gravestones covered with moss and mold. Here and there, bamboo cups held wilted flowers. Weathered statues of gods stood guard, protecting souls.
    The maiden stopped by a grave that looked quite fresh. She pulled forth her shovel and began to dig, flinging clods of dirt to one side. Then she dropped to her knees and swept aside dirt with her hands. The soldier could see that she had uncovered a small coffin.
    Imagine his surprise when she lifted the lid, opened the white shroud, and tore an arm off the corpse inside. Then she clamped it in her teeth and took a large bite.

    â€œIf you love me, you will eat what I eat,” she cried, ripping the other arm off the corpse and tossing it to the soldier.
    He didn’t hesitate. He took a large bite himself. Now he was even more surprised. He was eating a candy corpse, made of sugar and rice flour.
    The maiden burst out laughing. “You are the only one of my suitors who did not run away. I want to marry a brave husband, and you are the one.”
    You would think that the soldier would laugh, too. The maiden was not a monster, after all. But he glowered at her. “Only candy!” he said. “I thought you were giving me much more.” He grabbed her shovel and began to dig up a real grave.
    This time it was the maiden who ran away screaming.

The Enchanted Cave
    SPAIN
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Peregil didn’t Need the moonlight to find his way to the ancient well. The water carrier and his faithful donkey had trudged up the steep path thousands of times to fill their earthenware jugs with water. Usually they didn’t work this late, but the night was hot, and thirsty townsfolk were still in the streets. “Perhaps I can sell another jugful,” Peregil told his long-eared companion.
    They entered the abandoned fortress that rose high above Granada and proceeded to the well. The great battlements of the Alhambra—with its watchtowers, fountains, and elaborately decorated rooms—had been built centuries earlier when Moors ruled that part of Spain. The wells they had dug were as impressive as their fortress, because the shafts reached all the way down to the purest, coolest water.
    Peregil was about to fill his large jugs when he heard a feeble cry. A gnarled hand beckoned to him from a stone bench just beyond the well. The water carrier hurried over to find out what was wrong. In the moonlight he could see an old man lying there, dressed in Moorish garb. His voice was faint and raspy.
    â€œI will give you twice what you could earn for your jugs of water,” he said, “if you will let your donkey carry me to the city instead.”
    â€œGod forbid,” cried Peregil, “that I should charge a man in such trouble.” He hoisted the Moor onto his donkey and steadied him as they moved down the path, keeping him from falling onto the rough ground. They descended so slowly that the streets were empty by the time they reached the city.
    Peregil asked the man where he was going. “Alas,” he said, “I don’t know anyone here. But if you will let me spend the night at your home, you will be rewarded.”
    The water carrier knew that the very lives of Moors and Jews were endangered, because the Inquisition was raging in Spain. Peregil had already been harassed by government officials for