Eyes of Crow (14 page)

He laughed. “No. If an enemy bothered to invade Kalindos, we Wolves would act as scouts. During the actual battles, though, we’d stay in the village as a last line of protection. It suits me fine. I’ve no craving for glory.” More chewing sounds. “Hmm, somehow we started talking about me. Clever Crow. What else are you afraid of in the dark? Besides us fierce, slobbering wolves.”

“You said, ‘us.’ Are there many Wolves in Kalindos?”

“Several. End of discussion again. What are you afraid of in the dark?”

Rhia sat back and tried to focus on her fears. “The unnameable. How can I explain? It’s a not-thing. A void with no presence of its own. I feel like it will suck me into itself and turn me into nothing.”

Marek spoke softly. “You could never be nothing, Rhia.”

She didn’t respond, instead choosing to finish the last portion of her fish.

“Maybe what you fear isn’t losing yourself,” he said, “but losing your old ways.”

“No, I welcome my transformation, my entrance into—into a new way of seeing the world, of relating to others and to the Spirits. I embrace my new way of being.”

“Who taught you to recite that?”

Rhia was glad the darkness hid her blush. “My mentor. It’s not a recitation, just something he said would happen.”

“And it will. Close your eyes.”

She cast a skeptical look in his direction, but hearing no response, she obliged. “Now what?”

“Now you stay that way.”

“How long?”

“Until I tell you to open them.”

“When will that be?”

He sighed. “When I think you’re ready.”

“I think I’m ready now.”

He let go of her and stood up. “I need to hang up the rest of the food before it gets too dark for me to see.”

“Wait!” She reached out for him. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right here, but you won’t be able to hear me unless I speak. I can’t stop the stealth at night, remember.”

Rhia bit her lip. She wanted to open her eyes to scan the campsite for signs of Marek—the rising pack of food, the shifting of the campfire logs. But she knew he was watching.

“And I am watching,” he said, “so no peeking.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, ostensibly to keep warm but more to reassure herself that she was still there.

The forest lay mute around her. It was too early in the season for bullfrogs, swallows, and spring peepers to fill the twilight with their cacophonous chorus.

There was nothing outside of her.

Rhia’s heart thumped against her breastbone, and her breath quickened, shallowed. She felt her hands grow cold and damp. Thoughts raced, too fast for her conscious mind to register. A whimper formed in her throat, but she didn’t let it escape.

Just breathe.

Her body finally obeyed.

Her thoughts quieted, and she heard nothing but her own breath, which slowed and steadied as she listened. Her heartbeat joined the rhythm inside her ear and lulled her into a near-trance.

With nothing to see and little to hear, her sense of touch magnified. Her skin prickled, and the darkness pressed in—not smothering or oppressive, but with a caress that both soothed her wariness and demanded her attention.

Three nights ago, the darkness and something within it had chewed up her soul and spit it out again. Even fear had abandoned her by then, leaving only the raw instinct of self-preservation, fighting to prevent the dark thing from annihilating her. Yet the Spirit could not fill her if she had not first become hollow.

The air near her shifted, and without opening her eyes she turned her head to welcome Marek back to her side. He knelt on the ground behind her, then took her hands and opened her arms wide, lining them up with his own so that they were like two birds with wings outstretched.

“What do you feel?” he whispered.

She grew warm with desire, and turned her head to nuzzle him. “I feel you.”

“Beyond that. Stretch out with your mind, with your spirit. Reach for everything beyond me.”

Rhia faced forward again. Within a few moments, she felt a trickle of energy swim through her, with hesitant, unsteady strokes at first, then with more power and assurance, as if she had given it an unconscious signal to pass.

“Let it flow,” he whispered. “Let everything within you uncoil. Feel it course through you.”

“What is it?”

He didn’t reply, and she sensed that the thing had no name. The stream became a river, the energy of the world flowing through their bodies. It was beyond them, and yet not outside them—it was within them, of them, between them. It had existed before the First People, even the First Animals, and it would flow long after they all went to the Other Side.

It moved beyond the earth, to the stars and moon and sun—past them even, to the darkest regions of the Upper World.

The night cradled her, and she understood with a strange certainty that most of existence was shrouded in darkness and mystery. To move within it and help others do the same, she had to embrace it as it had embraced her.

But Crow had said not to let the darkness absorb her.

“Marek?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“Promise me something?”

He tensed, almost imperceptibly. “What is it?”

“No matter what happens between us—don’t let me lose myself.”

“I understand.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Whatever we become to each other, I promise to keep you in this world.”

“Even if I don’t want to stay.”

“Especially if you don’t want to stay.”

She turned her head to kiss him. The river of energy ran through their lips as it had their hands and soon found other conduits.

As she floated toward sleep hours later with Marek in her arms, Rhia felt connected to everything that had ever lived and ever would live. She knew the moment and the feeling were fragile, and held on to it with the gentlest of grips, lest it crumble or slip away.

Ahead of her, Kalindos held uncertainty, trials and further transformation. Behind her, Asermos held security, but also pain and grief. Here in the forest, on the path between her past and future, lay a dark place of peace. She would dwell within it a little longer.

At first she thought Marek’s body was wrapped around hers, but she saw him across the clearing, building a small fire for breakfast. Nothing was holding her down.

Nothing, that is, but her own weakness.

Marek glanced over. “Awake at last. Hope possum’s all right with you. I was too slow and tired to catch a rabbit this morning.” He made no effort to hide his grin. “Your fault, of course.”

She pushed back the blanket, muscles protesting. That was all she could do.

“I’m not going to feed you like a baby bird.” Marek stoked the fire. “If you help me cook it, it’ll taste better.”

“I can’t get up,” she croaked.

He turned to her, startled. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t felt this way since…”

Since she was ill as a child. She began to tremble.

Marek came to her. He brushed the hair out of her eyes, then put a hand to her forehead.

“You have a fever. Not too high.” He sat back on his haunches and contemplated her. “It’s no wonder. You spent three days and four nights without food, then another two nights and a day of walking and—other exhausting things. You need rest.”

“Marek, you don’t understand. When I was a child, I was sick. It wasted away my muscles until I couldn’t walk, could barely breathe. I nearly died.”

A flicker of fear crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Why would Crow bring you through the Bestowing just to take you to the Other Side?”

“I told you, He does things in His time, not ours.”

“But He needs you too much, to do His work in this world.”

Rhia had never considered that idea before, that the Spirit might continue to spare her life for His own purposes. She would have to ask Coranna if Crow people ever died young.

“You’ll recover,” Marek said, “but you have to rest and let me take care of you.” He pulled the blanket back over her, then folded up his own blanket and placed it under her head for a pillow. “We’ll stay until tomorrow. Kalindos isn’t going anywhere.”

With trembling fingers, Rhia tucked the blanket under her chin. She closed her eyes as Marek gently massaged her back, releasing and relieving the familiar pain within.

“My mother used to do this for me,” she said.

Marek’s hands halted for a moment, then continued their soothing pattern. “Sorry I don’t have her healing skills.”

“This feels just as good. But different.” She stretched, causing the large muscle in her lower back to seize up. She flinched and tried to smile at him. “Considering you helped put me in this state, the least you can do is nurse me out of it.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t know casting blame was a fever reducer. One of those little-known healing secrets, I suppose.”

She hated for him to see her like this, hated that she was weak and always would be. Part of her had hoped the Bestowing would grant physical strength as well as spiritual, but it had sapped her reserves instead.

Marek said something about breakfast, but sleep stole her consciousness before she could respond.

When Rhia woke again, the sun’s light had changed little, so she assumed she had merely dozed. She raised herself up on her elbow. The light shone from the opposite direction.

“I slept all day?” she murmured.

Marek’s voice came over her shoulder. “You missed the excitement.”

“What happened?”

“I made some new arrows.” He held up a long thin stick with the bark peeled off and sighted it at her, one eye squinting down the length of the shaft. “More or less.” He put down the stick. “Not that exciting, actually. How do you feel?”

She rubbed her face, trying to remove the mist from her mind. “Not sure yet.”

“How about some sassafras tea?”

Rhia blinked at him. Tea. Did she like tea? A voice at the corner of her brain said, “That would be lovely.” She relayed the message to Marek.

“We’ll have to drink from the pot,” he said, “since there’s no mugs.” He put his finger in the pot, which was sitting off to the side of the smoldering campfire. “It’s cool enough.” He reached to pick it up.

“No,” she said, “I’ll come over there.”

“Are you sure?”

“I need to move.”

“Let me help you.”

“No.” She got to her knees and stayed there for a moment, panting. Marek walked over, placed a small but sturdy branch in her hands, then returned to the fire. She appreciated his confidence in her, even if it was partly feigned.

When she had gathered enough energy, she used the walking stick to bear her weight as her legs slowly straightened. No pain coursed through her, only a bone-deep weariness that would pass with rest and food. She hobbled over to the fire and eased herself to the ground next to Marek.

“Welcome back to the world.” He handed her the pot. She accepted it with a barely audible thanks, then as soon as her hands stopped trembling, raised it to her lips.

“How much farther to—phleh!” Rhia spit out the tea. The drops sizzled and popped in the fire.

“Too strong?” he said.

The coughing and hacking prevented her from uttering a word. She struggled to uncontort her face. “What is in that—that concoction?” Her eyes watered from the lingering sour taste.

“It’s not entirely sassafras tea, I admit. You’ve never had meloxa?”

“What’s meloxa?”

“Fermented crabapples.”

She spit out what was left in her mouth. “What made your people create such an abomination?”

“We have no other cheap way to get drunk.”

“You don’t have ale?”

Marek looked like he would spit, too, at the thought. “Ale is for babies.” He gestured to the pot. “Try it again. It grows on you.”

Rhia wiped her mouth. “I’d rather stay sober—and thirsty.”

Marek shrugged and took the pot from her. After quaffing a long gulp, he reached in his pack and brought out an empty horseskin flask, which he filled with the contents of the pot.

“I’ll make some meloxa-free tea.” From a larger flask he poured fresh water into the pot. “Help yourself to food.”

Rhia didn’t have to be asked twice. She marveled that his foraging skills equaled his proficiency at hunting. Lying next to the meat were at least a dozen roots, cleaned and cooked to a tender crispness.

Marek accidentally sloshed some of the water onto the fire as he replaced the pot to boil. He sighed and cursed.

She looked at his lopsided grin. “Have you been drinking meloxa all day?”

“No, I told you, I was making arrows.”

Rhia glanced at the small pile of crooked, flimsy sticks that were likely never to touch a bowstring.

“And drinking meloxa,” he added. “You were asleep. I was bored.”

“Do Kalindons drink a lot?”

He thought for a moment. “Define ‘a lot.’”

“Why so much?” she said.

“You mean me, or Kalindons in general? Because those ‘why’s’ aren’t the same.”

“Kalindons. Your ‘why’ is obvious.”

“Is it?” He adjusted the pot, steadying it for longer than necessary before letting it go. “The reason why a Kalindon does anything is to be close to the Spirits.”

“Hunting? Eating? Making love?”

“Everything. We believe that really living in
this
world is the best way to touch the Spirit World. Not that we walk around in a trance, murmuring ‘Bless you, name-of-Spirit, for that fantastic piss I just took.’ To watch us, you wouldn’t think we were particularly spiritual. To watch us, you’d think us a bunch of shameless sots who bear too much resemblance to the animals who Guard us.” He grabbed a root from the pile in her hand. “You’ll fit in quite well.” He held up a finger. “I meant that as a compliment.”

“You must have traveled a lot,” she said, “to understand Kalindons from an outsider’s point of view.”

“Coranna doesn’t travel, so I collect her supplies. I’ve been to all the villages of our people—Asermos, Tiros on the western plains, and even down south to Velekos.”

“I’ve been there.” It was the only place outside of Asermos she’d visited. “For the midsummer Fiddlers Festival.”

He brightened. “What year? Maybe we were there at the same time.”

“I was sixteen, so it would have been two years ago.”

Marek’s eyes shifted away. “Oh. I wasn’t there then.”

His wife and child. Of course. Rhia changed the subject before his mood grayed. “Have you ever been to the land of the Descendants?”

“Never that far south. Doubt I’d like it. One of our Bears, a friend of mine, delivered a message there once from the Kalindon Council. He said there were buildings made of white stone as far as he could see. At one point, in the center of the city, he couldn’t see a single tree.” Marek took on a faraway expression. “The really strange thing is, he couldn’t feel the Spirits.”

“Not feel them? But they’re everywhere.”

He looked at the trees, the rocks, the fallen branches.

Rhia whispered, “You think where there’s no—” she gestured around her “—
this,
there are no Spirits?”

“Those people don’t believe. They have human gods. They worship what they’ve created, and it’s not of the earth. It’s of them.”

“And that’s why they have no magic. The Spirits have abandoned them.”

“Or…” Marek hesitated.

“Or what?”

“Or maybe the Spirits only thrive where people believe in them.”

Rhia stared at him. “That can’t be right. That would mean—”

“That they need us as much as we need them.”

“But if every human died, the Spirits would live on.”

“And if the Spirits died—”

“They can’t die,” she said.

Everything dies.
Crow’s words came back to her.
But all is reborn as well.

“I think they did once already,” Marek said. “Before the Reawakening.”

“You believe in the Reawakening?” She remembered her conversation with the giraffe.

“The Descendants are proof. If people can fall away from the Spirits once, they can do it again. Which means they could have done it before. Our ancestors were chosen to survive at the Reawakening because we agreed to honor the Spirits, to keep within our limits.”

“In Asermos we’re taught that’s a myth. We’re taught that humans have always lived in harmony with the Spirits. We’re not the exception, the Descendants are. They’re a warning.” She looked at the pot, which was starting to quiver from the water boiling inside. “But after my Bestowing, I’m not so sure.”

Marek sat back and took another swig of meloxa. “It makes sense, I suppose, for Asermons to believe that.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to think it could happen to you.”

“Why would it?”

“Look at your roads, your ships, your farms. Like the Descendants, you’re turning the world into a place for humans.”

“Our roads and ships and farms are for survival.”

His loud guffaw was not unkind, though it did make him cough. “Kalindos will teach you a few things about survival. The Descendants aren’t just a warning, Rhia, they’re a history lesson. For your village, it should be the same thing.”

Rhia’s weariness weighed too much to argue further. The implications of his words troubled her, but she saw no solution, no way for Asermos to undo its way of life and remain strong enough to defend itself.

“On second thought,” she said, “give me some meloxa.”