Eyes of Crow (16 page)

“Don’t ruin it by explaining, Alanka,” Razvin said. “Rhia’s just tired from her journey with Marek. Doubt they got much sleep.” He and his daughter shared a chuckle.

Rhia’s words blurted out. “Actually I was distracted by thoughts of my dead mother.”

The other three fell silent. Razvin lowered his gaze to his plate and seemed to stare through it to the floor below. Coranna’s face held no expression; she looked content to watch the drama play out.

“Oh, Rhia,” Alanka said. “I could tell you lost someone by your hair, but your mother—I know how that is. Mine died when I was eight. It was awful. I can’t imagine losing Father.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Razvin whispered under his daughter’s chattering. “Mayra was a good woman.”

“Who’s Mayra?” Alanka split a quizzical look between them. “Father, did you know her?”

“If she was a good woman,” Rhia said to Razvin, “then why did you leave her?”

“I didn’t—”

“She had twin boys, did you know that? My brothers.”

“Wait…” Alanka said.

“For what it’s worth,” Razvin said, “I didn’t abandon her. Not by choice. I was chased out of Asermos, rejected because I was Kalindon, not good enough for one of their women.” His upper lip almost curled into a snarl before he regained control of it. “I left willingly because I didn’t want to cause your mother more pain and shame.”

“What could cause more pain and shame than being abandoned with two children?” The meloxa had loosened her tongue, and she was grateful to it. “Why didn’t you take her with you?”

“She wouldn’t have come.”

“Did you ask her?”

He waited a long moment before saying, “No. I didn’t believe—and I still don’t believe—that Kalindons and Asermons can even live as mates, much less as husband and wife.”

Rhia flushed as she thought of Marek.

Coranna’s scoff broke her silence. “Nonsense. More likely it’s Foxes and Otters who don’t work.”

“So do I have it right?” Alanka said, her thick brows knit. “My father is also your father?”

“No, sweet,” Razvin said, “Rhia’s mother Mayra is the mother of my sons. They’re your half brothers, because you have different mothers, and her half brothers, because they have different fathers.”

“In my lifetime alone, I’ve known,” Coranna counted on her fingers, “six Kalindon-Asermon marriages. Don’t listen to him, Rhia.”

Rhia grew more confused. Did Coranna now support her relationship with Marek?

Alanka looked at Rhia. “So what does that make us?”

“Nothing.” Rhia caught herself when she saw Alanka’s dismay. “Nothing but friends, that is.”

A smile crinkled the corners of the girl’s eyes. “I always wanted a sister.”

Rhia took her hand. “Me, too.”

Razvin pushed his plate away and folded his hands under his chin. “Not a day passes when I don’t think of the woman and the sons I left behind. I cannot say that I regret it entirely, for if I had stayed in Asermos, Alanka never would have been born, and she is the greatest joy any father, any person could ask for.”

“It’s true, I am.” Alanka snickered, then flushed as she realized the moment had been wrong for a joke.

“The day I left your mother,” Razvin continued, “I felt as if my heart had withered within me. When I heard she had married—” he blinked as he tried to recall the name “—your father, I rejoiced even in my pain, for I knew him to be a good man. A stable man. One who would never squeeze a single tear from her beautiful eyes.” He took a deep breath. “Please accept my apologies to your family. I can’t expect you or them to ever love me, but I’d work every day to dispel your hatred.”

Rhia gave a slight nod, trying to convey that she had heard and understood him, but that she had not yet accepted him as a potential friend. As she nodded, her mind felt sloshy, and her eyelids grew heavy.

“We’d best be getting to bed.” Coranna rose from the table and thanked them for their hospitality.

Alanka hugged Rhia at the door. “I have to hunt tomorrow morning, but in the afternoon I can show you around.” She whispered, “Places the older folks don’t know about.”

“I’d like that.” Rhia looked at Razvin. “Tereus.”

“Pardon?”

“My father’s name. The one who married her.”

He tilted his chin. “Of course.”

“And your sons—” she looked at Alanka “—your brothers, are Lycas and Nilo.”

A wistful smile curved the girl’s lips. “I have brothers. Can we visit them someday, Father?”

“Perhaps.” His face said it would never happen.

On the walk home, Rhia whispered to Coranna, “I’m sorry if I acted ungraciously, but I don’t trust him.”

“No reason why you should, given your family’s history.”

“Do you trust him?”

Coranna chuckled. “Never trust a Fox.”

The horizon darkened, as if something beyond the sky were casting a shadow. The dark area spread like a stain. A low murmur reached her ears and quickly sharpened into a raging, rioting blast.

Before she could decide whether to block out the sight or the sound of the approaching menace, she realized the cloud was made of crows—hundreds, perhaps thousands.

Crows flying straight for her.

She should welcome them—these were her brothers and sisters—and yet she knew they were coming to take her to the Other Side. No human stood to greet or guide her, and the birds had no souls she could detect.

Rhia turned to run, not to escape, for that was impossible, but rather to stretch her life even for a few terrifying moments. Anything was better than nothing.

By the third step, the crows were in front of her, coming from the other direction. She turned to the side, and they flew there, too. Every way she faced, the flock roared closer.

They were near enough now that she saw each thumping wing, pure black in the dull light. Their beaks split opened in continuous caws, revealing angry red throats that would swallow her whole.

With a surge of certainty, she raised her palm toward the looming flock.

“No.”

Her eyes opened onto darkness. The wind whispering in the trees replaced the shrieks of the crows. Out of newborn habit, she reached for Marek before the creak of wooden walls reminded her where she slept. Behind her, Coranna snored softly.

The tree was all around, cradling her, crooning her back to sleep, but she fought to stay awake and decipher her dream.

Was it her own death she envisioned, or that of others? Perhaps each crow represented a separate death—a war? Had her command stopped the onslaught? Could she hold back death?

She wished her father were here to interpret the dream. But she was on her own now and couldn’t run to Papa every time something puzzled or frightened her.

Rhia turned over and listened to the faint creaking of the branches in the breeze. When she was up and about, she hadn’t noticed how the tree house swayed, but lying in bed she felt the gentle rocking and understood why Kalindons chose to live within the trees rather than below them. It was impossible to forget that one was a part of the forest, as dependent on it for survival as on air itself.

Lulled into a drowse, Rhia let go her quest for immediate understanding.
The meaning will show itself in time,
she thought, and slid back through the curtain of sleep.

She began the morning refreshed, surprised that the meloxa had not left her crusty-minded the way a few mugs of Asermon ale would. Perhaps a substance in the tea counteracted the brew’s toxic effects.

Coranna woke slowly and grumpily, muttering her distaste for “larks,” which Rhia took to mean “early risers.” The older woman’s mood brightened when she tasted the breakfast, whereupon she proclaimed that Rhia could add cooking to her other honors.

After breakfast they gathered roots for Coranna’s powders. As they meandered through the damp forest, Coranna discussed the practical aspects of being a Crow person:

“Obviously people don’t die every day, even in Kalindos, so I perform other duties. I serve on the village Council, as elected, and I act as a judge, an arbitrator of disputes. This is common for Crows, who have a natural tendency for dispassionate objectivity.”

Rhia added this to the qualities she needed to develop. More than one person had accused her of being judgmental, which was a trait rarely found among good judges.

“Also,” Coranna continued, “we need never worry about obtaining our own food. The other villagers take care of us, in return for our services. I’ll eat anything, but if you have any special likes or dislikes, let Marek know.”

Rhia almost said, “Marek knows what I like,” but refrained. She couldn’t yet determine Coranna’s attitude toward her relationship with him.

“But then again,” Coranna continued, “he probably knows you better than any of us at this point.”

Rhia gave a noncommittal grunt and pretended to search beneath a rotting log. “Will we see him today?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone.

Coranna hesitated. “I asked him to stay away.”

Rhia dropped the log, which rolled on her foot. “Ow. Why?”

“Marek will assist me with the first part of your training. To do that, he needs to forget his own sentiments.”

Rhia extracted her foot from under the log. “I don’t understand.”

“You will. Your training starts tomorrow.” She gestured toward the west. “The Spider Woman says the weather will be right.”

“What kind of weather do we need?”

“Cold.”

Coranna moved on abruptly, as if to signal the end of the conversation. Rhia followed, already feeling in her bones the coming chill.

“Tell me all about my brothers.”

“They’re…” Rhia searched the forest around her for a flattering word to describe Lycas and Nilo, and finally gave up. “Infuriating.”

Alanka’s dark eyes gleamed when she looked up from the wild turkey she was plucking. “I wish I knew them. Do they look like me? Without the breasts, of course.”

“Very much. My mother thought Lycas would be Wolf—his name means wolf. But they’re both Wolverines.”

Alanka threw her head back in a howling laugh. “You grew up with twin Wolverines? You’re tougher than you look.”

Rhia smiled to herself. No one had ever called her “tough.”

She scooped the liberated feathers into two sacks—the vane feathers would fletch arrows and adorn ceremonial costumes, and the soft, small down feathers would stuff mattresses, pillows, and the linings of coats.

A dark feather reminded her of the crow nightmare. “Can you interpret dreams?” she asked Alanka.

“No, but I can pretend. Was Marek waving a snake at you? I know what that’s about.”

Rhia laughed, then told the details of the dream to Alanka, whose face turned as grave as Rhia had ever seen it, allowing for the fact that she had only known the girl one day. “What do you think it means?”

Alanka shook her head and returned to the nearly naked bird. “I’m a hunter. I stalk, I kill, I offer thanks to the Spirits. That’s all, and I’m glad. Your path is complicated.”

Rhia stroked the feather, flattening the barbs against its stiff vane. “My training begins tomorrow.”

Alanka started, then covered her alarm with a shaky grin. “That’s wonderful. I can’t wait for the feast.” Her foot nudged the bird. “Brother Turkey will be there, too.” She coughed, then swallowed audibly.

“What’s wrong? What’s so spooky about my training?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Is that why no one in Kalindos will look at me?”

This time Alanka met her gaze with regret in her eyes. “Rhia, please don’t ask me anymore. I hate keeping secrets from you, but you’ll have to find out for yourself.” Her demeanor lightened. “What I do know is that when I met you on the path yesterday, I hadn’t seen Marek so happy since his mate died.”

Rhia warmed inside but kept her voice solemn. “It’s terrible, what happened to her.”

“I wish it were less common. Elora’s our Otter healer, but when a birth is complicated, that’s when we could really use a Turtle.” Alanka flipped her braid over her shoulder away from the turkey. “After Marek’s mate and baby died, Elora sent two women to Asermos early in their pregnancies, so they could give birth with the help of your Turtle woman. She knew they’d need extra care.”

“Did they survive?”

Alanka nodded. “The mothers and babies, all fine and happy. I wish I could say the same for Marek.”

“It’s odd that he can’t control his powers after all this time. Wolf must be a hard Spirit to serve.”

“I think Wolf would be happy to stop punishing Marek if he would stop punishing himself.”

Rhia decided to change the subject. “Do you have a mate?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Alanka counted on her fingers. “There was Adrek, a Cougar, he was the first. After that came Morran, a Bobcat, then Endrus, another Cougar.” Alanka sighed. “Learned my lesson finally. Thrice bitten, once shy, right? Cats don’t stay around. Now there’s Pirrik, Etar’s son. He’s Otter, so maybe it’ll last.”

“My mother was Otter. You can’t find anyone more loving.”

“I know, he is. And playful. Together we’ve come up with some amazing games—not the kind for children, either. And if I ever get sick, Pirrik could take care of me, but—”

“But you like Cats.”

Alanka blushed. “Love Cats.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I figure, when I’m ready to have a child, I will, even if my mate can’t or won’t marry me. I’ll worry about finding a dependable husband later.”

“Is that the way it’s done here?”

“If necessary.” Alanka sighed. “In Kalindos, marriage isn’t about having children. It’s about finding the person to share your spirit with forever.” She gestured between them. “People like us, Wolves, Crows, Swans, Otters and others, we want it to be both—to have a family with our soul mates. But it doesn’t always happen that way.” She stared wistfully into the village. “Too many Cats.”

Rhia thought about why the Spirits would call different Animals to the two villages. Stability meant everything for a farming community like Asermos, so most Guardian Spirits there had animal counterparts that took only one mate at a time, making a personal commitment like marriage easier. Here in Kalindos, where life was more precarious, people would feel compelled to have children often and early. Just not too early, she thought, remembering Marek and his involuntary invisibility.

Thinking of how she couldn’t see Marek at night reminded her that she couldn’t see him today, either, and why.

“Do you remember your first day of training?” she asked Alanka.

The girl beamed. “It was only half a year ago, right after my Bestowing. I went hunting with Marek and Kerza, the third-phase Wolf. She can become invisible whenever she wants, day or night. Anyway, I’d always been good with a bow and arrow, but after my Bestowing, it was like they were part of my own body—I only had to look at something to hit it. It was magic.” Alanka inhaled deeply. “And the smells and the sounds—the whole forest came alive. I felt like I’d been blind before that day.”

“But your training wasn’t frightening?”

“Not at all.”

“And you didn’t do any special ritual.”

Alanka shrugged. “A prayer or two to start off, and of course the usual thanksgiving to the Spirit of the hunted.”

“And the feast afterward—what kind of food did they serve?”

“There was no feast, we just—” Alanka shut her mouth tight. “Never mind.”

Rhia let it go. She had enough pieces of the puzzle to demand the entire picture.

When Rhia arrived home early that evening, Coranna was packing a large sack.

“Where are we going tomorrow?” Rhia asked.

“You’ll see.”

“When do we leave?”

“Early.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t want to see.” Her palms grew damp within her clenched fists. “I want to know.”

Coranna stopped packing and looked up. Rhia wouldn’t let herself break the astonished stare, even when the woman rose to her full length, more than a head taller than Rhia. “You don’t want to know.”

“Until it’s too late to change my mind, you mean.”

“Change your mind?” Coranna’s laughter clanged like a bell. “The day Crow chose you, it was already too late to change your mind.”

“Then why not tell me?”

Coranna pursed her lips and nodded. “But eat first.” She glided to the stove and spooned out two bowls of stew.

Foreboding knotted Rhia’s gut, but she emptied most of the bowl. She pushed it away and looked expectantly across the table at her mentor.

“Do you fear death?” Coranna asked her.

Rhia knew any equivocation would lead the conversation nowhere. “Yes. Everyone does.”

“Because death is the ultimate unknown. Few people speak to us from the Other Side, and even fewer return. That’s why everyone fights it, and why everyone fears it.” Coranna leaned forward, candlelight dancing over her face. “But you’re not everyone. If people look in your eyes at their last moment and see a reflection of their own terror, their crossing will be a time of struggle rather than peace.”

“I understand. I must learn not to be afraid. But how?”

Coranna hesitated only an instant. “By facing your own death.”

“I need to be put in danger? From what?” She imagined a slavering beast hungry for her flesh. “Will I be safe?”

“You’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll be with you. Marek will be with you.”

“Oh.” Rhia sat back, relieved. A simple exercise in bravery. Nothing could devour her soul more than the not-thing in the forest the night before the Bestowing. At least this time she wouldn’t be alone.