Eyes of Crow (33 page)

The Descendant’s eyes flared with pain, and his legs thrashed as if they could run to find air. Though others needed her, she clutched his hand as his mouth begged without words.

“He’s coming for you,” she whispered. “He’s coming.”

There were herbs in her pocket to ease his pain, but she couldn’t reach them without letting go of the man’s hand. Her touch and words of prayer seemed to soothe him, and she felt him stop fighting. In a few moments his eyes stared through her. She forced herself to drop his hand and beckon her father.

“He’s dead. Put both the bodies aside.”

Tereus reached to touch her arm. She drew it away.

“I need no comfort,” she said. “Show me the others.”

She repeated the grisly procedure at the next skid. One dead, two injured, one seriously enough to be on the edge of life and death. No sooner had her father and the other two pony leaders disappeared into the smoky battlefield, another three appeared with more wounded.

The bodies became a blur to Rhia—some Asermon, some Descendant, even a Kalindon or two, though all of the archers lived and fought, their task made more difficult by the thick smoke that choked the sky.

The only Kalindon unaccounted for, as far as she knew, was Marek. During one of her brief moments of rest, she scanned the visible edges of the woods for any sign of him.

Her father arrived then with another batch of potential patients. She went to work without hesitation, numb from the death and pain she had witnessed. Response became automatic: yes, no, save her, don’t save them, it’s too late, it’s not too late. The prayer of passage created a constant background hum in her mind, swamped only by the onslaught of Crow’s wings. It became easier to distance herself from the sight of oozing red cloths piled high in the corner, from the smell of blood and smoke, and from the sound of wounded warriors calling for their mothers.

Then a battle roar sounded, too close. She looked up from the injured patient at her feet to see a platoon of Descendant infantry charging the wall of archers less than a hundred paces away. The twenty or more soldiers had broken through Asermon defenses in the wheat field. Half a dozen Bears and Wolverines pursued, including Lycas and Nilo, but they were too late.

The archer on the far left was overtaken before he could even react. They were close enough to the hospital tent that Rhia could hear his cry of agony. She stepped out to the edge of the hill to watch the horror as it unfolded.

A Descendant soldier snatched the bow from the dead archer, then knelt on the ground while several of his compatriots shielded him from the arrows now being fired at close range. In a few moments, they parted slightly, and she saw the soldier, still kneeling, aiming an arrow wrapped in something white. A torch-bearing Descendant lit the end of the arrow.

The flaming arrow flew—straight for the hospital. Rhia screamed as it pierced the air over her head and landed on the roof of the tent, which began to smolder. She ran back to the hospital, where the healers had already begun to stack barrels and crates and anything else they could find to reach the roof.

Along with her father and two of the Asermon healers, she climbed the stack of crates. Buckets of water were passed up. At the top of the line next to her, her father dumped the water onto the fire, which was starting to crawl down the seam of the tent. If it spread much farther, the flaming roof would fall onto the patients and healers underneath.

She had just dropped an empty bucket to the person waiting below when she glanced back at the archer’s wall from her higher vantage point. The soldier was preparing to shoot another flaming arrow their way even as his defenders were falling before a Wolverine assault.

“Father, look out!” she cried.

A moment before the soldier released the arrow, Lycas pushed aside his last shielder and seized him. The arrow shot, not toward its intended target, but straight up. Before it even reached its zenith, Lycas had torn off the man’s helmet and sliced his throat.

The arrow took forever to fall. Like a meteor, its brightness flared as it shoved the air aside on its deadly, indifferent mission. The Descendants, distracted by the arrow’s fall and their efforts to avoid its path, proved easy prey for the Bears’ swords and Wolverines’ knives. The arrow landed harmlessly in the flaming field.

Someone shoved another bucket into Rhia’s hands. She passed it on to Tereus, who climbed higher to douse the last few flames on the roof. With the danger averted for now, her attention was drawn back to the battle.

If ever violence could be described as beautiful, her brothers were exquisite. They fought back to back, jabbing and feinting and blocking as one unit, occasionally tossing each other weapons from the arsenal strapped to their chests and hips. The knives themselves seemed connected to their hands, like the long claws of real wolverines.

A Descendant soldier slashed his sword at Lycas’s legs, but the natural armor of a second-phase Wolverine resisted the impact of the steel. Rhia closed her eyes and thanked the Spirits for Mali. In Lycas’s first phase, such a blow would have cost him a limb. He laughed at the attempt and dispatched the sword’s wielder with a stab to the throat.

Alanka had climbed a small hill behind the wall, providing better aim at the attackers but leaving her unprotected. She fired repeatedly, sweeping her arm back again and again to grab a new arrow. A few Descendants broke off to attack her. Alanka cut down the first two, then reached back—

—and came up empty-handed.

When he saw she was unarmed, the Descendant dropped his shield to run faster. As he approached, Alanka stood stunned, unaccustomed to being the hunted instead of the hunter. Then she turned her bow over, ready to wield it like a club, for it was the only weapon she had. It wouldn’t be enough, and she couldn’t outrun him. Rhia’s knees turned to water.

Just as the Descendant gathered himself to lunge for the Wolf woman, he halted, then tipped forward, as if his feet had caught in a snare. The hilt of a throwing dagger protruded from the base of his neck. Near the archer’s wall, Nilo drew his arm back and shouted with victory. Alanka sent him a smile of gratitude, but then her expression changed to one of horror.

Rhia looked at Nilo, whose own face had frozen.

“No!” she screamed, and nearly lost her balance. A hand caught her before she fell.

As Nilo toppled, the Descendant behind him withdrew the sword from his back. Though Lycas was facing the other direction, he staggered as if he had taken the blow himself. He turned, slowly, and saw his brother writhing in the last throes of death.

But he was not stopping. He was only gathering and stoking the ultimate source of his magic: rage. Rhia shrank back against her father’s legs, unable to look away.

Nilo’s killer was headed for the archer’s line when Lycas leaped ten paces in a bound and pounced on his back. They tumbled to the ground and rolled until Lycas sat on the man’s chest. Rather than draw a weapon, the Wolverine grasped the Descendant’s head between his enormous hands and squeezed.

A palm covered Rhia’s eyes, and her father said softly, “We must help Nilo.”

She turned to him. “It’s too late.”

“Not for his soul.”

Rhia, Tereus and the other healers descended the stack of crates to the ground. Tereus retrieved a pony with an empty skid and led him to the crest of the hill. Rhia followed, though she knew she shouldn’t watch.

His hands still drenched in the blood and brains of his brother’s killer, Lycas savaged the rest of the dwindling Descendant platoon, stabbing and slicing any flesh he could find. When all of his weapons were embedded in enemy bodies, he attacked the remaining soldiers with his hands and feet, snapping necks and imploding chests. A group of Bears guarded him to ensure he confronted only one opponent at a time, though it seemed he could have easily brought down half a dozen with one blow.

At last he ran out of nearby Descendants to kill, for they had all fled back to their ranks within the field, leaving the area near the archers’ wall safe again. Rhia and Tereus hurried toward Nilo, treading carefully to avoid slipping in all that had spilled from the dead and wounded. She told herself that the only difference between this place and the hospital was that the blood was fresher. But here the shrieks of the dying rolled over her, louder even than Crow’s wings.

When they arrived at Nilo’s side, Alanka was kneeling beside him. She was trying to turn him over, but her hands shook too hard to get a grip on his shoulders. Tereus helped her while one of the young Bears held the pony.

Rhia saw Lycas striding toward the field as if drawn by an invisible rope. She screamed his name against the battle din.

The man that stopped and turned to her was a stranger. Gore caked his hair, which now flew wildly about his shoulders. The green and black war paint from his face ran down his neck and chest. Each weapon sat in its scabbard, awaiting its next brief, warm home.

She stepped back, and he turned away again to honor his brother in the only way he knew how.

“Rhia, we need you,” Tereus called.

She watched Lycas disappear into another melee, more than a hundred paces away, then returned to the rest of her family.

Knowing Nilo was dead was one thing; seeing his lifeless eyes gaze at the sky and hearing the silence that came with an alighted Crow…

She sank to her knees at her brother’s feet, able to do nothing but stare, as if from afar, at his still figure awash in blood. His heart had been driven through.

Her sturdy walls crumbled, and she scrambled to stand, to move away, to keep from hurling herself on the ground.

“Wait!” Tereus said. “What about the prayer of passage?”

She stopped in her flight and turned to her father.

Tereus’s eyes flashed. “What are you waiting for? He deserves that much. He’s your brother!”

Her hand reached out, but her feet would not move closer.

“I’ll do it,” said a firm voice at her side. Coranna had followed them. She slipped to her knees next to Nilo’s head.

Rhia’s eyes flooded, and she jammed her palms against them. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t see what was happening. One tear would end her ability to serve Crow with any honor.

But her brother needed her.

“No.” Rhia stepped forward. “Let me.”

“Are you sure?” Coranna gave her a cautionary look. “You’re close to him. It will hurt you.”

“Then let it hurt.” Rhia knelt beside Nilo across from her father and Alanka, then took her brother’s hand. It was slick with blood.

Scarcely had she murmured the first few syllables when her tears began to flow. She took a deep breath and began again. The more she tried to speak, the more the sobs racked her throat. She was weak. She was failing her brother.

Tereus reached across Nilo’s body and cupped her chin in his hand. “It’s all right to cry, Rhia. He won’t mind.”

So she said the prayer of passage through her anguish. The words were garbled and incoherent to human ears, but she hoped—knew—that Crow understood them. She felt a loosening, freeing from Nilo’s soul and wished that she could see his face full of life for one more moment before he left.

Another hand grabbed hers, and suddenly Nilo was there, and Coranna, too. They formed a circle in a place of light as they had after Etar’s death. Nilo gave Rhia the sly smile she had always loved, the one that said he knew he was secretly her favorite brother. He examined his surroundings, then nodded, as if even the Other Side failed to surprise him.

He was gone.

Rhia opened her eyes to see Tereus looking at her expectantly. The scorching air dried the last tear from her face. “It’s done, Papa.”

Alanka began to cry. “He died because he was too busy saving me to stay on guard.”

Rhia moved to take her sister in her arms. “He died doing what meant most in the world to him.”

“You mean killing?” Alanka said bitterly.

“Protecting the people he loved.” Rhia stroked her hair. “You should rest a while.”

“No!” She pushed out of Rhia’s embrace. Before anyone could stop her, she picked up her bow and fled to rejoin the line of archers.

Coranna helped Rhia to her feet. “How do you feel? Can you continue?”

Rhia’s bones felt light. Her exhaustion was rapidly dissipating. The sight of Nilo at peace placed a temporary balm on her grief. It would return to shred her later, she knew.

She returned to the hospital with Coranna, leaving Tereus and the young Bear soldier to move the bodies of Nilo and another fallen soldier onto the skid. There were none in the area of the skirmish who weren’t past the healers’ help.

Water dripped off the roof of the tent as Rhia entered, reminding her to cleanse her hands. She poured hot water from a pitcher into a basin and performed the simple act, which returned her ability to think. “I can keep going,” she told Coranna. “I must.”

As if in response, another skid arrived, full of lifeless bodies.

One of them was Dorius.

Rhia covered her eyes to blot out the vision made real. Part of her had always wondered if her powers had fooled her that day years ago. Now she knew they had seen clearly.

Could she have prevented his death? The sickening thud of her heart said she should have tried. If a warning could have given him a tiny chance—

A hand caught her arm. Elora directed Rhia’s attention to an incoming skid. “Some are alive on this one.”

They rushed to help the two wounded men. The Kalindon Cougar Adrek grimaced as one of the healers’ apprentices helped him into the tent. His foot was twisted at an odd angle, but he appeared otherwise uninjured.

Relieved that at least one case was straightforward, Rhia turned back to the other man.

All sound around her seemed to cease.

It was Arcas.

“No…”

Elora tore his shirt open to reveal a gaping abdominal wound that pulsed with blood. His neck and back curved up in an arch of agony. The Otter pressed the heel of her hand against the wound, and he shrieked.

Rhia covered her ears and closed her eyes.
I can’t do it,
she told Crow.
This death will devour me. I’d rather have no magic at all.
There was no answer but the thump of wings, hovering.

Someone called her name. She opened her eyes to see Elora’s desperate face looking up at her.

“Tell me now,” the healer said. “Can we save him? Is it too late?”

Rhia started to shake her head to say she didn’t know.

“Which is it?” Elora’s voice pitched up. “No, we can’t save him, or no, it’s not too late?”

Rhia broke from the healer’s gaze and sank to the grass next to Arcas. He saw her now, though his eyes roved the sky beyond her face as if watching someone else approach.

“Hurry, Rhia,” Elora said. “There are others coming.”

“Arcas…” she whispered. “Don’t go with Him. Turn away.”

His face seemed too gray.

“No.” She spoke to him through gritted teeth. “Fight Him. Stay with us. Don’t let Him take you.”

He focused on her now. “Rhia…we’re winning.” His voice caught in a groan.

“I know it hurts,” she said. “Crow can take the pain away, but He can’t ever bring you back.”

“It’s so…warm.” His head sank to the side, though he kept his gaze upon her. “Tell me you love me.”

“No!” She dug her nails into his arm. “Arcas, if you die, I will hate you forever.”

He watched her for a few rattling breaths, no doubt waiting to see if she would relent.

Crow hovered.

Rhia turned to Elora. “Save him! Now!”

She watched them carry Arcas into the tent and prayed that she had not dishonored her calling. If Coranna or even Crow wanted to take her to task for it, let them.

The next few groups of wounded and dead consisted of Descendants only, and Rhia noticed that the battlefield had quieted. Perhaps the fighting had dispersed to the surrounding woods due to the flames.

By noon, the field ceased to burn, save for a few smoldering patches. When she looked out upon the blackened ground, the only people standing were Asermons. She could just make out Lycas’s hulking figure and black hair. He was kicking the bodies of Descendant soldiers, perhaps looking for signs of life to extinguish. As she watched, he fixated on one random body, driving his boot into the dead man’s stomach again and again. Finally Lycas gave a long, curdling shriek to the sky and collapsed. He sat swaying, arms wrapped around his head.

Rhia wanted to run to him. She started toward the field.

A hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see her father.

“I’ll go,” he said. “You’re needed here more than I am. Besides, he could still be dangerous.”

She shook her head, not in disagreement but despair. No physical peril mattered anymore. Her mind and soul were shattered, so what good was her body?

Tereus kissed her forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

“Papa…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Please be careful.”

He grabbed the halter of a pony with an empty litter and led it onto the smoky field. She turned and entered the tent to see how she could be of use.

Arcas slept on a makeshift bed in the far corner, his abdomen bandaged. When she sat beside him, he shifted and opened his eyes. An uncertain smile crossed his face. “Is it over yet?”

“Should it be?”

“I was wounded by a retreating Descendant. Tried to cut him off, take him prisoner, but slipped in—in someone’s blood.” He put a hand over his eyes. “I’m not much of a soldier.”

“Will they attack again?”

“They might. Rhia, there were so many. Outnumbered us three to one.” He paused for several moments to catch his breath. “But when they saw how our soldiers fought—I don’t think they knew what we were made of.”

“They do now.”

“That’s the problem. Next time will be worse.” His face grew grave. “Have we lost many?” She nodded, unable to speak. “Who?”

“Your uncle Dorius. And—” She forced out her brother’s name. “Nilo.”

“Ah, no. Rhia, I’m so sorry. And my father, he’ll be—” He cut himself off and looked at her. “You saw it, didn’t you? All those years ago, when Dorius was sick.”

“Yes.” She fought back tears, which she thought had been depleted. “I knew he would die violently, but I didn’t know when or how, only that it would happen under the golden oak.”

“And you’ve had to live with that knowledge.” Arcas put his hand on hers. “I’m sorry.”

“I wanted to warn him, but I couldn’t. Crow might have taken him, anyway, if it were his time.” She pushed out the words before sobs overtook them. “But at least Dorius would have known, he could have said goodbye to his family. I wish I’d told him.”

“No, you couldn’t violate your Spirit’s trust. You did the right thing. The hard thing.”

She cried without shame, tears dribbling onto his blanket. His thumb caressed the back of her hand in sympathy, then stopped. Through bleary eyes she saw that his expression had turned pensive.

She wiped her face to speak. “You want to know if I saw your death.”

He looked startled, then guilty. “No, no. Of course not.”

“I didn’t. Coranna taught me how to prevent the visions. It’s too terrible a burden, she says, and she’s right.”

“Good.” He nodded several times, as if to convince himself. “I’m glad.”

They sat for several moments, until Elora came to examine Arcas.