The Crow Rider

by Kalyn Josephson

  “When they came to our house, my father refused,” Samra continued. “Even though he was already loyal to the bastards. He thought he could extort them for more money and power.” She spit the words out like sand. “My older brother and I were there when they came. They slit my brother’s throat.”

  The words pierced ice cold, and I wrapped my arms about myself for warmth. Another family member dead at Razel’s command. In her lust for power.

  An ember of fury flickered to life in my stomach. Lately, it never seemed to leave. Everything I saw around me, every thought I had of Illucia or Razel—it all lit a fire inside me. I let it burn.

  “I broke the jaw of the soldier nearest me.” She flexed her hand as if remembering the sting of bone against her knuckles. “They blinded me in one eye in retribution.”

  Samra didn’t stumble over the words. Didn’t shift her weight or clench her hands or betray any hint of the turmoil inside her. She relayed the events like a general reporting the dead—grave, reverent, colder than the sea spray misting against my skin.

  “My father submitted of course. My younger brother and sister were in Trendell at the time. They unknowingly returned home only to be used as more leverage against him.”

  “It’s them you wanted to protect,” I said quietly.

  She didn’t reply, but her silence was as good as a confirmation.

  A soft breeze lifted her dark curls and pulled at the ends of my braid, prickling like frosted teeth at my skin. The ember in my stomach blazed hotter.

  “I’m going to stop her.” My voice trembled with rage. “I’m going to make her pay for what she’s done.”

  The captain shifted her dark eyes to me. “Careful of what promises you make. The Night Captain doesn’t take kindly to liars.”

  I shivered. I’d heard stories of the Night Captain as a child, mostly from my mother on the rare occasions when she spent the evening telling me stories, but two weeks of nights on Samra’s ship had given me a new appreciation for the legend, which spoke of flaming ships left burning in the night after Diah’s crew was done with them. Apparently, even mentioning her name was considered ill luck. The night was her domain, and uttering her name on a lone ship with nothing but miles of vast ocean in every direction risked invoking her power.

  I held Samra’s gaze. “I give you my word.”

  She studied me, her eyes obsidian in the moonlight. Then her gaze softened, and the barest hint of a smile pulled at her lips. “Perhaps you’re not so bad after all, for a Rhodairen.”

  The unspoken meaning behind her words rang louder than the crash of the sea: perhaps you are not your mother.

  Perhaps you are better.

  “Did Caylus ever tell you how we met?” Samra’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I shook my head, and she continued, “Most of the fighters that come to Malkin’s court are free. Caylus was one of the few in his debt whom he forced to fight. Though at the time, I didn’t know anyone was, or I’d never have gone there.

  “After Illucia claimed the Ambriels, I started joining the fights. I had trained all my life, and throwing myself into those fights was the only thing that kept me from killing every Illucian soldier I saw.”

  Her jaw tightened. “One day, I learned who Caylus was from a girl who claimed to be his sister. When he fought, I saw the way he receded into himself, as if he became someone else entirely in order to do what he had to. He hates fighting, and because of that, he won’t be able to make this journey with you. He’s spent too long fighting. Given too much of his life to it. If you go down this path, he won’t walk it with you.”

  My cheeks flushed with a frustration I didn’t fully understand. “You don’t know that. He’s here, isn’t he?”

  He’d left behind his new life, his workshop and his bakery, all to help me escape, to fight. Without him, I never would have made it out of Illucia.

  She shook her head. “He cares about you. Maybe he even loves you, and it has brought him this far. But whatever bond the two of you forged sitting in that workshop of his wasn’t made to go to war. You run toward a fight. Caylus has been forced into them again and again, and he is one wrong blow away from breaking.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even as I spoke, a sliver of doubt prickled at my insides. What if she was right?

  Could our connection survive the landscape of blood and steel and pain we would soon face?

  “Maybe.” She turned away, gaze settling once more on the sea. “But it’s what I think.”

  The wind picked up, whistling through the masts and rattling a distant chain. I turned back for the warmth and safety of the bunks below.

  Six

  Exhaustion had settled deep into my bones by the next morning. I’d spent the rest of the night lying in bed, unable to sleep, and now each step felt like a gust of wind pushed back at me. It was a familiar sensation, a heavy, slow feeling that had haunted me for months. Some small part of me had hoped it had gone for good, but in truth, I’d known it might always be there, ready to drag me down the moment I waded too deep into my self-doubt, into my dark, acrid memories, into the knowledge of what I faced.

  I’d done all those things in the long hours of dawn. Now my mind swam with thoughts I couldn’t control, couldn’t banish. Would Caylus abandon me? Would Ericen catch us and drag me back to Illucia? Would Trendell ally with Rhodaire?

  Never mind that Res had just used his powers successfully for the first time against our enemy. Never mind Kiva’s arm was healed and she had Sinvarra back.

  The feeling never cared about the stuff I should be happy about. It was like the sea or the wind or the rain; it simply was, and I had to deal with it.

  The whine of slicing metal snapped my train of thought. I whirled out of the way as Kiva brought Sinvarra down in a broad stroke and leapt back, my boots clattering against the solid wood of the main deck. The cacophony of sounds all around us flooded back, centering me in the moment.

  Kiva grinned, sword poised for another strike. My heart hammered. The black gold blade had been wrapped to dull its edge, and Kiva would have softened the blow, but it still would have hurt. I needed to pay attention—it wouldn’t be long before sparring became war. I had to be prepared.

  The eyes of the crew strayed from their tasks to watch us, and Talon, the ship’s lookout, shouted unhelpful advice from the crow’s nest.

  “Charge her!” he called. “Take her legs out!”

  The sun heated my flying leathers, and sweat beaded on my brow. Kiva’s skin was flushed pink, her jaw set. She lunged again. I dodged, stepping inside her guard and twisting. I seized her sword wrist and threw an elbow back into her stomach. She wheezed, releasing the sword like I’d expected—and then her arms came around me in a great bear hug, pinning my arms to my side and leaving me trapped.

  “Hit her in the chin!” Talon called. “The chin!”

  “Shut. Up,” I wheezed.

  Kiva laughed and, after a moment of my struggling, finally released me. “You’re fun to spar with when you’re distracted,” she said. “I get to stomp you without trying.”

  “I’m going to put seaweed in your bed,” I grumbled back.

  “Are the two of you done?” Samra called from the quarterdeck. Aroch perched on her shoulder. “You’ve been taking up my deck space for long enough.”

  I waved in acknowledgment and approached the shadowed area below where Res perched on the quarterdeck rail. He had his wings half lifted, the breeze fluttering his feathers. He balanced easily as he experimented with the feel of the wind.

  For one long breath, I let my dark thoughts rise. Ericen would catch us and kill him. I wouldn’t be strong enough to be Res’s rider. One crow wouldn’t be enough to stop Illucia. He’d be the last of his kind, the other eggs forever out of my reach.

  With a heavy exhale, I shoved the rising tide of emotion back down, whe
re it settled into a molten pool of lead in the pit of my stomach. The feeling might never leave, but I’d learned how to fight this battle. I’d learned that I could.

  I am more.

  “Rider ahead!” Talon called a moment before Jenara ascended the gangplank. She wore her old riding leathers, a sight that brought me closer to tears than I wanted to admit. It’d been a long time since I’d seen another rider wearing them.

  Res fluttered down before her, something small and green clasped delicately in his beak. He dropped it proudly before Jenara.

  “Is that for me?” She scooped the item up, revealing a grass-colored rope knotted in the shape of a leaf.

  “Is that one of my talismans?” Samra leaned over the deck railing. “Your crow’s a damned thief!”

  I grinned sheepishly, holding up a piece of black coral Res had given me that morning. “I was going to give this back at dinner.”

  Samra grumbled something under her breath as Kiva snickered, sheathing Sinvarra. “What, nothing for me?” she asked.

  Res eyed her sidelong, then leapt from the ship, disappearing over the edge. He soared upward a moment later, circling back around to Kiva. But rather than land, he simply opened his beak atop her and doused her in water.

  I swallowed a laugh, but a low chortle burst from Jenara.

  “Saints! Stupid chicken.” Kiva shook the water from her arms and stomped over to where she’d left a cup of water, only to find Aroch there lapping it up. She threw up her hands. “He’s in league with the bird!”

  Res let out a cackling noise much like a laugh and circled back to land before Jenara. She patted him gently on the neck. “I’m ready whenever you two are.”

  We waited while Jenara retrieved two buckets, one filled with seawater, the other empty, and set them before Res.

  “This is one of the most basic water crow training exercises,” she explained. “The goal is to move the water from one place to another.”

  A painful familiarity flared at Jenara’s instruction, pulling free memories of my lessons with Estrel. She should have been the one helping me train, the one at my side. I’d thought it more than once while working on Res’s storm magic with Caylus, but I felt it even more keenly now, standing next to another rider clothed in flying leathers.

  I turned the feelings aside and looked to Res. “All you.”

  He squared up, lifting his head. Then he gave a low, whimpering caw and flopped pitifully to the deck, his wings spread limp as if unable to hold them up for need of food.

  “Impressive,” Jenara mused.

  I groaned. “Caylus isn’t here to give in to your begging.” I winced at the own truth of my words. This was usually the part where I griped at Res and Caylus bribed him with scones and cookies. But he hadn’t come out for breakfast, and I worried he wasn’t eating.

  Res croaked softly.

  “He isn’t coming,” I replied just as quietly.

  Res eyed me, plucking at the cord as if to ferret out the lie before slowly clambering back to his feet. He hopped to the bucket full of water, leaning close to inspect it, then tapped it once with his beak, making it ripple.

  “Focus on the size of the water,” Jenara told him. “Imagine its weight and substance. Think of it as a single entity.”

  Res lowered his head, focusing on the water. Energy surged along our bond. I hovered over his shoulder, holding my breath.

  The water beveled, rising up the sides. I nearly squealed in delight. Then whatever control Res had over it evaporated, and it sloshed back into place.

  “You did it!” I exclaimed.

  He cawed triumphantly, lifting his head.

  “Sort of,” Kiva muttered from the shade of the quarterdeck. She’d commandeered a new glass of water, and Aroch now sat on one of her broad shoulders, a fate to which she seemed resigned.

  Jenara chuckled. “It wasn’t bad for a first try. Let’s keep going.”

  We spent most of the afternoon on the task, trying again and again until Res finally managed to move the bulk of the water from one bucket to the other. Then we switched to moving different-sized globs of it, which proved far more difficult. By the time the sun had begun to set, Res was exhausted, hungry, and looked about ready to heft the water bucket over the side of the ship.

  “That’s enough for today,” Jenara said, scratching Res’s neck. He leaned into it, nearly knocking her over. “It’s a shame you can’t stay longer.”

  I nodded. “We have a few days to spare, but it’s probably best we don’t linger where Razel can easily find us.”

  “Well, in that case, take this.” She handed me a folded paper from her pocket. I opened it to reveal a detailed training routine for Res to follow. She flipped the paper over in my hands, pointing to a corner where she’d written a list of towns and names, some of which I recognized. They were all retired riders.

  “Friends of mine live in these towns. They’re all on your way to Trendell, and they each rode a different kind of crow in their day. Stop by if you can and see if they can help you with Res.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I said, tucking the paper safely into my pocket.

  She smiled warmly. “It’s you we should be thanking. It’s no easy task you have ahead of you. Take care of yourself. Both of you.” She clapped me on the shoulder again, then enveloped me in another hug, saying in a low voice, “And make Razel pay for what she’s done.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  After posting a letter to Caliza to let her know I was safe and to update her on the fires, surviving crow eggs, and our upcoming itinerary, we set sail from Isair early that evening, half the town pouring out onto the promenade to see us out.

  It took a little convincing to get Samra to agree that stopping in the other towns was for the best, but in the end, she accepted that Res needed the training. With just over a week of travel remaining and nearly two weeks before Belin’s Day, we could spare a few hours in each town for me to track down the riders and get their help starting Res on training regimens for the other powers.

  It felt good to have an immediately actionable plan. Something to keep me busy through the days of travel and distract me from the immensity of what waited ahead. It didn’t stop that heavy feeling from seeking me out, but it helped.

  When Caylus didn’t come to dinner again, I carried a bowl of stew and plate of bread to his room, my mind so engrossed in the latest Sella tale Darya had spun that I almost missed the sounds echoing from within. A sharp, heavy thudding. Rhythmic and bone deep, it made me shudder. I turned the handle and pushed open the door.

  A dim sona lamp shadowed Caylus’s broad form. His back was toward me, his shirt gone, baring the crisscross of angry red and white lines. He’d pinned a pillow to the wall before him and wrapped his hands in strips of cloth, but neither had stopped his knuckles from scraping raw and staining both fabrics a bright, vicious red.

  He drove his fists into the pillowed wall again and again, the strike of bone against wood turning my stomach. Caylus didn’t even flinch. How used to pain did someone have to be before bloodying their knuckles against a wall over and over again had no effect?

  “Stop.” The word came out as a whisper, lost beneath his strikes. I swallowed hard, finding my voice. “Caylus, stop!”

  He froze, arm half-extended, bloody knuckles metallic in the dim sona light. For a moment, he simply stood there, his shoulders heaving with his wild breathing, every muscle coiled like a knotted chain. Then he faced me, and the hollowness in his eyes nearly broke me. Tears tracked down his cheeks, his jaw a tight line.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  “Why?” I asked hoarsely.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Trembling, I set the bowl on the small desk and closed the distance between us. I reached for one of his damaged hands, still curled into an impossibly tight
fist. He shuddered.

  He’s spent too long fighting. Given too much of his life to it.

  Samra’s voice beat a dangerous tattoo in my head.

  Caylus has been forced into them again and again, and he is one wrong blow away from breaking.

  An uncomfortable thought sprouted in my head. He didn’t want to fight, but he would for me.

  He didn’t want to be here, but he came for me.

  My hands looked so small beside his. I curled my fingers around his hand, cupping it like an injured bird. “I don’t expect you to fight for me, Caylus,” I said. His eyes widened, but I pressed on before he could argue. “You’ve done so much for me already. More than I had any right to ask, and I’m so sorry for what it’s cost you. I know how hard this is for you, and I know it isn’t what you want. You don’t have to do this.”

  “You don’t understand,” he breathed, voice jagged. He stumbled through his words, not with his usual nerves but with an energy barely contained. “I want—I—” He stopped. Tried again. “There’s something wrong with me, Thia.” The words were half confession, half prayer, and they spilled out of him. “When I first met you in the Colorfalls, and then when we went looking for Malkin, it was like some other part of me took over. I wanted to fight. I wanted to drive my fist into your opponent’s face until only blood remained.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. He didn’t notice, his eyes trapped on some spot over my shoulder without truly seeing.

  “There’s this—this hole inside me that I fall into when I’m fighting, and I lose myself to it. I don’t know how to stop when I’m inside there. I don’t know how—how to find myself.”

  What are you looking for, Caylus?

  I don’t know.

  “It becomes my purpose,” he said. “I want to help you. I want to stop Malkin and Razel before they destroy anyone else’s world like they destroyed mine. But I don’t want to fall into that hole again. I don’t want that to be my purpose.”