Black Sun

by Rebecca Roanhorse

Okoa had never asked about the stable hand’s religious leanings, and why would he? But now he was beginning to suspect that he was talking to a believer.

  “Yes, I know them. I’ve even attended a meeting or two.”

  It was a small thing to confess. Most Carrion Crow scions of a certain age had been to at least one Odohaa ceremony, either out of curiosity or on a dare. And many people had a relative, an older aunt or cousin, who claimed membership in the group. They were a fact of life in Odo, even if the rest of Tova and the Watchers in the tower thought them cowed into submission.

  Ashk grinned at Okoa’s confession, showing a mouthful of uneven gray teeth that had once been stained red. “They say a storm is coming. And soon. That the Odo Sedoh will return.”

  Okoa nodded. They had been saying that all his life. Vengeance for the Night of Knives. Honor and pride once again for the clan.

  “They sent me,” Ashk said, leaning conspiratorially close. “Told me to invite you to their next meeting. It will be tonight, after the funeral.”

  Okoa shook his head, thinking quick. “I’ll likely be in mourning with my family.” It was custom to cover oneself in ash and sit vigil until the next morning, so he was not lying, but he was certainly glad for the convenient excuse.

  Ashk pressed something into his hand. It was a crow feather. Someone had written with chalk on one side. “Here is the house where we meet. Come tonight if you can. If not, another time. There will always be an Odohaa there to welcome you, Lord Okoa.”

  The man made to leave, but Okoa stopped him. “Who asked you to come to me? And why me? What do the Odohaa want from me?”

  Ashk’s eyes were shining with tears, clearly overcome with some emotion. So much that Okoa took an involuntary step back.

  “The storm is coming, Lord, and we want you to teach us.”

  Okoa wanted justice for his clan, but joining with the cultists was not the way. They were fanatics, men and women convinced that if they only prayed hard enough, they could raise a god who had been dead for a thousand years. If he had learned anything at Hokaia, it was that justice came though the actions of humans holding wrongdoers to account, not through some vague divine retribution and certainly not through violence.

  He pressed the feather back into the man’s hand. “I can’t help you. You’ve got the wrong man. I want nothing to do with the Odohaa or their reborn god.”

  He turned sharply on his heel and left the aviary before Ashk could say anything else.

  * * *

  The storm is coming, and we want you to teach us. Okoa turned the phrase over again and again in his mind as he and his myriad relatives and the citizens of Odo processed to Sun Rock to send his mother on her way into death. The storm is coming, and we want you to teach us. The storm is coming, and we want you to teach us.

  “Stars, Okoa! The least you could do is pay attention. We are going to our mother’s funeral, after all.”

  Okoa shook himself to attention. He had been lost in thought and had accidentally stepped on Esa’s hem. She had worn a dress in proper mourning white that dragged on the ground, picking up a layer of dirt as they walked through the street. If she had truly aspired to the customary, she would have gone barefoot, but flurries had begun to fall an hour ago, and the air cut at the skin like pinpricks made of ice. Again, custom would have them bare-armed, a display of haahan appropriate in a time of grief. But Esa wore a thick fur coat of some poor white animal, and the rest of his relatives, cousins and aunts and uncles, who trailed behind their new matron and her Shield, did much the same, only with less panache.

  “Apologies, Sister,” he murmured.

  “I see you chose to wear your blacks after all,” she said, voice dry. She arched an eyebrow at his leathers. Not only had he kept his uniform on, but he’d topped it with a cloak of crow feathers made from Benundah’s own shed. He’d sewn it himself and kept it oiled and well preserved. It was the first time he had donned it in years, and it felt good to have it on his shoulders once again.

  And I see you chose to pick at me like a hungry gull, he thought, but held his tongue. He might have said it aloud to Esa even as recently as this morning, but he understood now that she was targeting him for the smallest slight in order to distract herself from what lay ahead of them. He had been ungenerous before to judge her. They were both grieving, after all.

  “What do you know of the Odohaa?” he asked instead.

  She hesitated, no doubt expecting him to argue with her, but she answered his question. “They have done a lot for the people.”

  That surprised him. “When I left, they were mostly underground. Focused on ceremonies to resurrect the crow god.”

  “They still are in private, but no one’s foolish enough to stand in the streets calling for the Crow God Reborn anymore, and certainly there’s no talk of usurping the Watchers or the Sun Priest. No one wants another Night of Knives. So they’ve turned their public attention to charity, mostly. Feeding children, caring for widows. That sort of thing.”

  “Militia training?”

  Her mouth turned down. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

  “I spoke to a cultist today, someone I know. He asked me to train them to war.”

  She frowned, thinking. “Armed rebellion?” she asked.

  “Even with a hundred fighters, two hundred, they could not challenge the tower as long as it had the support of the other clans.” His fingers wove through the obsidian cloak clasp at his neck as he thought. “How many call themselves Carrion Crow?”

  “Somewhere around two thousand, but that includes children and elders who could not fight.”

  He mulled it over. Even five hundred might be enough, but… No. War was not the answer. “It doesn’t matter. It would take years to train them to take on the Knives, and it would be another slaughter along the way. And to what end? We bring down the priesthood and replace it with Odohaa?”

  “It worries me that they came to you,” Esa said. “I’ve wondered when they’d make their move. Mother was too lenient with them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Their numbers have increased since you’ve been gone. It’s no secret that she indulged them. Let them do as they pleased even if it endangered us all.”

  “And you mean to change that?” He asked it cautiously, careful not to give away any of his own feelings on the matter.

  “When things quiet after the solstice, and I am officially invested as matron of the clan, I’ll have you use the Shield to bring them back in line, perhaps thin their numbers a bit. They’ve become too bold. You just said so yourself. Best we stop this nonsense before they do something that will land all of Odo’s heads on a chopping block. Again.”

  An involuntary chill shuddered through his body. Surely that could never happen again. This time, the other Sky Made clans would rise in Carrion Crow’s defense. This time, the Watchers would not condone the slaughter of so many innocents to destroy a fanatical few.

  But to use the Shield to restrain their own people, as Esa suggested? He didn’t condone that, either. It felt like the kind of betrayal that a body like Carrion Crow would not recover from.

  They had reached the bridge to Sun Rock. Beyond it, he caught the dull glint of gold and blue, the soft gloss of green through the flurrying snow. The other clans were already there and in place. Which meant that at the center of the circle, beyond his sight, was the Sun Priest. She would be standing there now in her mask of hammered gold, her tsiyos—killers all—surrounding her.

  “You didn’t paint your face?”

  Esa’s face was coated with ash and thick red streaks ran below her eyes like tears.

  “I didn’t have time.”

  “Too busy brooding?” Her lips curled in affection.

  “I…” He shrugged.

  She sighed. “Come here, Brother.”

  He stepped closer and she drew a finger through the red on her own face, glazing her fingertip. “Close your eyes.” He did, and she painted three
lines on his face from forehead to cheek, over his eyelids, two on the left and one on the right.

  He opened his eyes to find her studying him approvingly.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Better.” Her smile turned grim. She squared her shoulders. “Now let’s go show them what it means to be a Crow.”

  CHAPTER 19

  CITY OF TOVA

  YEAR 325 OF THE SUN

  (13 DAYS BEFORE CONVERGENCE)

  Above all things, the Sun Priest must unite what is above to what is below. He must mirror the perfect order of the heavens to contain the disorder of the earth. Only when these are aligned can there be balance, and without balance, surely the world will tip into chaos.

  —The Manual of the Sun Priest

  The air around Naranpa simmered even though the snow had been falling steadily for a while. What had started as morning flurries had become a true fall. It turned the world to white, as if the sky itself mourned the Crow matron. The noise of the crowd gathered on Sun Rock was dampened to an impatient rumble as those gathered waited for Carrion Crow to appear.

  They were late, of course. But that was their prerogative, and it would have been unseemly for another clan to arrive after them. To avoid such a social transgression, they came late.

  Naranpa didn’t mind. She had so much on her mind that the funeral was a welcome distraction, an embrace of her official duties that she relished. She was back in her yellow vestments, day cape, and sun mask. Slipping that mask on had felt like a warm wash of summer air even in the heart of a snowstorm. She felt her power close, the wonder of the universe and the wheel of the sky at her fingertips. It was almost enough to make her believe in the old ways and the old gods. If someone asked her now, she could divine their future from the lay of the stars as easily as she drew breath.

  She wished that power allowed her to divine her own future, or the future of any of the priests. But it was forbidden, and that was one rule she would not break. Not because she respected the rules so much, although she did. But because she did not want to know.

  Her gaze traveled to Abah. The seegi priest stood fidgeting beside her in her mask and vestments. She had said nothing to Naranpa these past days since her trickery at the matrons meeting, and Naranpa had returned the favor. No doubt the young woman was waiting for Naranpa to accuse her, call her out in Conclave or at the very least to the four societies. But Naranpa found that she preferred to let Abah squirm. Let her wait and wonder what I have planned for her, she thought. Perhaps that will keep her busy.

  There was a risk in that. Abah could escalate. But Naranpa had not been entirely idle. She had left Abah to stew, but Eche she had demoted down to the lowliest of dedicants. He was no longer in line to succeed her, was not even here on the Rock with the rest of the celestial tower. Instead he had stayed behind to scribe records that Haisan had told her a while ago were decaying. It was difficult, hand-cramping work usually left for first-year dedicants, and now it was all Eche’s.

  He had taken to the punishment without a word of protest. She knew this thing between them was not over yet. He had powerful advocates, Nuuma Golden Eagle particularly. But he also had made enemies, not just in the tower but in the clans. She felt it was enough to clip his ambition until after the Shuttering was over and she could formulate a better solution.

  Thoughts of the Shuttering made her stomach growl. She was, as were all the priests, fasting in anticipation of the solstice. They were limited to a small meal in the morning and one before bed. In between they were only meant to consume water and yaupon tea, which often had emetic qualities when consumed in large quantities. The priesthood stayed inside and in contemplation during the Shuttering for a reason. Being out and active for this necessary but unfortunately timed funeral was trying for everyone.

  She looked over at Haisan, just to her right. He had remembered his mask this time, but he looked to be suffering the worst of them all—the lack of sustenance, the weather, and his age combining to no doubt make the old priest miserable. He was buried deep in his bear cloak and instead of standing was seated on a portable stool, head bowed and hands deep in the folds of his sleeves. She thought he might be napping. Well, no one would blame him. He had done the most work in preparation for the funeral. Prepared the songs that Naranpa would recite, reviewed from records the steps of the ceremony needed to send the matron on to the Sky Made ancestors in the proper fashion.

  Iktan was at her immediate side, silent in xir blood-red mask. Xe had not spoken to her since their last encounter, either. In fact, she was sure xe had been avoiding her. Oh, there was always a tsiyo at her side, or rather, hovering somewhere close. Xe would never let a personal disagreement compromise her safety.

  The truth was, she was ready for their feud to end. She had overstepped, made a crude remark meant to hurt, and obviously hit her mark. She needed to apologize and made herself a promise to do that as soon as this funeral business was done.

  “Finally,” Abah huffed. “I’m freezing my tits off!”

  Speaking of crude. Naranpa gave Abah a skeptical look, but the seegi just huffed and turned her shoulder to her. Mildly amused, Naranpa tapped Haisan awake. “Carrion Crow is coming,” she told him, as he roused himself to attention.

  She turned her focus to the bridge from Odo. Skies, did they make an impression.

  The children of the Crow materialized out of the snowstorm like white-clad spirits. They flowed into the open-air roundhouse, filling the benches that had been left empty for them. Most Sky Made had brought twenty, thirty representatives at the most. But Carrion Crow had brought ten times that. They dominated the Rock, and Naranpa felt Iktan move closer to her side, as if sensing her disquiet. She did not mind xir presence.

  Six figures came forward bearing the body of the fallen matron. She was shrouded in red and sat on a bed of black feathers that were as long as a human, obviously taken from their great corvids. They placed the body on the low platform twenty paces in front of Naranpa and the rest of the priests and rearranged the feathers so they covered her body like a second shroud. Around her were objects to accompany her into the next life between the stars—a drinking cup and eating utensils, jewelry of obsidian and jade and turquoise, an extra pair of sandals.

  Once the body was in place and the bearers had retreated, Yatliza’s two children stepped forward. Naranpa recognized the white-clad daughter. She was tall and willowy like her mother had been, and mica glittered in her fall of tangled dark hair. Her narrow face was painted with ash and carmine, making her doelike eyes even more prominent. She placed something on her mother’s chest that Naranpa couldn’t quite make out, no doubt an object of personal affection.

  The son stepped forward next. He was the only one among them who still wore Carrion Crow black, a sleek uniform of panther hide under an impressive cloak of feathers. His long black hair was parted down the center and braided in two rows tight against his head, the loose ends tied with ribbon and dyed red where they trailed past his shoulders. He cut a striking figure, handsome and muscular and possessing the grace of a warrior.

  He bent to place a folded paper on his mother’s chest. As he straightened, he looked up and met Naranpa’s eyes.

  Fire and fury. That’s what blazed through his dark gaze. So hot it almost burned her. Skies and stars, the hate. She felt it like standing too close to a fire.

  Iktan tensed beside her; xe had noticed, too.

  In that moment she fully believed Carrion Crow had sent an assassin to end her life.

  And then the son was stepping back to join his sister, and it was Naranpa’s turn to approach the corpse. Her hand shook as she placed a scroll of bark paper on the pyre. It was the star map she had divined for the mother so that she may find her way home among the stars and dwell with the ancestors of the Sky Made.

  And then there was nothing left to do but begin the ceremony.

  It went well enough. Two hours of songs and prayers that left Naranpa’s throat sore and her voice almost
gone. Haisan had sung parts of the eulogy song, and Abah, who had a sweet voice that belied her viperous nature, sang a song of healing that had many in the gathering wiping tears from their eyes. Naranpa closed the funeral with a dedication to the sun that did not go over particularly well with some of the Carrion Crow clan. She could feel more than see the restless wave that rolled through the Crows in white, and she was positive she heard a few call out, “Odohaa!”

  There must be cultists in the crowd, she thought to herself. Of course there are. Dozens. No, more. She had thought the popularity of the Odohaa, the Breath of the Crow, as they called themselves, was small, but perhaps she had been wrong. Iktan would know how many there were. Xe would have been keeping an eye on them, surely.

  Later that night, members of Carrion Crow would return to take the body and the burial items to be interred somewhere private in Odo while something of the woman would be burned to hasten her return to the stars. The other Sky Made clans and the priesthood would not be present for that. The public part of the funeral was over.

  The snow had turned to an icy rain, and the top of Sun Rock was a winter-locked world. A chilling wind blew across the open mesa. There was no protection here from the elements, no roofs to huddle under or trees or other structures to temper the breeze. No one wanted to linger.

  The clans began the procession back to their respective districts over the woven suspension bridges. The bridges had iced over and become treacherous during the ceremony. People were forced to move slowly, and with the biting wind and ever-darkening sky, no one was particularly patient. There were more than a few shouts to slow down, and a small scuffle broke out at the base of the bridge to Titidi. Naranpa craned her neck to see if she could see the cause, but there were too many people between her and the bridge to see.

  There was no direct bridge to Otsa and the celestial tower. The priesthood could cross into Odo with Carrion Crow or into Tsay with Golden Eagle. They’d come through Tsay, and tradition would have them return through Odo, but Naranpa could not fathom it. She wanted to believe she and the others would be safe in Odo, but tonight of all nights it seemed like tempting fate. Instead, they had decided to return the way they came, although after the stunt that Abah and Eche had pulled, Tsay did not sound particularly attractive, either.