Scott Hawkins

Tonight was the seventh moon, which is the moon of black lament. Under its light the shadows of bare branches flashed across her scars.

“You are Pelapi now,” Father said. “It is an old word. It means something like ‘librarian’ and something like ‘pupil.’ I will take you into my house. I will raise you in the old ways, as I myself was raised. I will teach you the things I have learned.”

The theory and practice of these crafts were organized into twelve catalogs—one for each child, as it happened.