Eyes of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  She lay in the dark with her hand over her belly and wondered how it would feel round and full of life.

  “It’s odd to have only one child, though,” she said.

  Her father’s sigh held more exasperation this time. “Galen never remarried after Arcas’s mother died in childbirth.”

  “But he doesn’t have a farm. Lycas and Nilo won’t stay around forever to help you. They’re not made for this life.”

  “Rhia, do you honestly want to come home in a year to find another woman in your mother’s place?”

  With that image in her mind, she tried to squeak out the lie of “Yes,” but couldn’t. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you need.” When he didn’t answer, she pressed on, “You’re not even forty. Please say you’ll consider it.”

  A long silence passed, filled with his choppy breaths.

  “No.”

  From the tone of his voice, she knew it was the final word. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you, too. Good night.”

  Rhia pulled the blanket to her chin and waited for a slumber that refused to come.

  10

  The next morning, Rhia entered the hounds’ pen to feed them for the final time. As they finished eating, they approached her one by one for hugs. Her bonds with the current pack’s six members were not as close as the one she had shared with Boreas, but she could identify each of them with her eyes shut, by their barks or even the unique rhythms of their paws.

  “Will you miss them more than me?” her father asked.

  She looked up, startled, then shook her head, unable to speak.

  He entered the pen and scratched the closest hound behind the ears. “The dogs will be fine without you.”

  “Don’t let Lycas tease them.”

  “I won’t.” He squatted next to her. “Are you ready?”

  “There’s nothing to pack. Galen won’t let me bring any of my own belongings.”

  “He’ll bring everything you need. When I asked if you were ready, I meant, are you ready?”

  Her thoughts flitted to Mayra’s death. “I’m long past ready, Father.”

  “Good.” He stood with a brisk movement, knees popping. “Because they’re coming right now to see you off.”

  “They?”

  “Galen, your brothers, other villagers.”

  “Oh.” She twisted her hand in her long skirt.

  “Arcas is with them.”

  “Oh!” Rhia scrambled to her feet and hugged her father. With a final pat for each of the hounds, she scampered out of the pen to the top of the hill.

  A crowd trudged up to meet her, nearly half the size of the multitude attending her mother’s funeral. Some carried baskets of food and flasks of drinks—they must have planned a celebration feast in her honor (and absence) after her departure. Tradition called for such, but Rhia had not expected such attention, given the tardiness of her Bestowing. She wondered how much of the food would fit in her pockets.

  Upon seeing her, Lycas and Nilo broke from the pack and dashed up the hill. Nilo scooped her up in his arms as if she were a child.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled through her laughter.

  Lycas grabbed her heels, and the twins carried her toward the woods, her body hanging between them like a dead deer.

  “We thought you wouldn’t go unless we dragged you,” Nilo said.

  “Please put me down.” A little-sister whine had come into her throat. She cleared it and deepened her voice. “I demand you release me.”

  “Release you?” Lycas said. The twins’ eyes met with a mischievous spark. “Interesting thought.”

  “Oh, no.” She jerked her legs. “If you drop me in the mud, I swear I’ll—”

  “Ah, you’re no fun anymore.” Lycas slowly lowered her feet to the ground. Nilo lifted her shoulders until she was standing, then he dusted absolutely nothing off the back of her coat. She turned to him.

  “I won’t miss you,” she said, and hugged him hard.

  “My life will be paradise without you, too, little bird.”

  When Nilo released her, she faced Lycas. “I really won’t miss you.”

  He embraced her, lifting her up. “I’ll miss having you for target practice.”

  When her feet hit the ground again, she smoothed her hair and looked at the approaching crowd, which had crested the hill. Arcas strode next to Galen, his gaze on Rhia, his mood inscrutable from this distance.

  Lycas whispered over her shoulder. “If that boy hurts your feelings, he won’t be feeling much for long.”

  “Please stay out of this,” she said with enough gravity that her brothers stepped back.

  Everyone bowed in greeting. Galen carried a large pack on his back but did not appear to labor under its weight. Rhia spent a moment hoping it contained many varieties of food before turning her attention to Arcas. He smiled at her, though not in the way he used to, and beckoned her aside. She looked at Galen, who nodded his approval before moving to greet Tereus.

  Arcas and Rhia entered the bower of bare-branched oaks, where they stood near Mayra’s grave. Her palms grew clammy with sweat, and she drew her hands up into the sleeves of her coat.

  “Are you cold?” Arcas asked.

  “Why did you come?”

  He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

  “I’ve no time to discuss the weather, Arcas.”

  “I came because I wanted you to know two things.”

  She held her breath.

  “I love you,” he said.

  A smile spread over her face, then dissipated. “What’s the other thing?”

  “I think we should be free while you’re away.”

  “Free for what?”

  “To figure out if what we have is real. When you come back, you’ll be Crow, and I’ll be—maybe I’ll have accepted what I am. Until then, I don’t think we should hold each other to any promises. If you meet someone—” he looked away “—or if I meet someone—”

  Torynna’s face flashed in Rhia’s mind, along with those of a dozen other girls. “Have you?”

  He shook his head, a little too quickly. “You know I love only you.”

  “How would I know that? When I come to your home, you’re never there. How can I know anything about what you feel or who you are anymore, when all winter you pretend you don’t exist?”

  “I’m still me. You know me.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Then I was right to say we should be free.”

  Rhia felt patronized. “I’m not arguing with you.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “How could I, when you wait until I leave on the most important journey of my life? Did you expect me to set aside all other cares today and beg you to bind yourself to me?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been a coward—about you, about being a Spider.” Arcas paused, and she hoped he wasn’t waiting for her to contradict him. “I wish things were simpler, Rhia.”

  She felt none of the cold dread that had permeated her during their last fight. Now only resignation remained. In her mind, their love had been mortally wounded when he walked out of her house months before. Its demise now brought her a mixture of grief and relief.

  “What happened to us?” she said.

  “I don’t know.” He stepped forward to touch her cheek. “But something tells me this is not the end.”

  “I don’t want it to be.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. He kissed the top of her head and returned her embrace.

  Rhia pulled away first. “I’m taking this with me.” She showed him the white stone he had given her.

  “You’ll need it.” He ruffled her hair, whose curls now brushed the tops of her shoulders. “Take care of yourself.”

  “Crow will take care of me.”

  “Or else He’ll have me to reckon with.”

  When they left the bower, Rhia’s brothers regarded them with narrow eyes, probably judging her level of pain to determine w
hether they needed to inflict some upon Arcas. She gave them a smile she hoped would lull them into at least a temporary peace.

  Galen gestured for Rhia to join him. She stood behind him and waited while the crowd processed, Tereus at its head, her brothers following, and the rest of the villagers in a mass behind them. Galen and Rhia brought up the rear as they moved toward the forest.

  Rhia took one last long look at the pastures of her family’s farm. She could almost see her mother’s figure bending to collect the herbs and flowers to soothe and heal her patients.

  When they reached the place where their farm met the dark woods, the crowd parted to let Galen and Rhia move through its middle. As she passed them, the villagers reached to touch her garments. She held her composure, trying not to shrink from the mass of hands seeking contact with that which would soon be holy. A child grabbed her skirt and halted Rhia’s movement until his mother pried open his fist to let her go.

  She was permitted one final goodbye to each of her family members. Nilo and Lycas hugged her together.

  “Don’t tease the dogs,” she reminded Lycas.

  “But it makes them feisty,” he said.

  She ignored him and planted a quick kiss on each of their cheeks. Finally she turned to her father. “Remember what we talked about.”

  “Boiling water kills the yeast and makes bad bread. I won’t forget.”

  She rolled her eyes and decided to forego further admonitions, especially since her throat was growing tight. Tereus embraced her quickly, then let go, as if his arms wouldn’t unlock if he held her for more than a moment.

  “Without further ceremony—” Galen raised his hand “—we shall depart.”

  It truly was without further ceremony, as he turned on his heel and strode into the woods. She had to hurry to keep sight of him, and only had time for a brief wave goodbye to the others. Off to the side, Arcas watched her go.

  She and Galen walked without speaking on a well-worn path covered by dry, ash-colored leaves. Sunlight streamed across the forest floor, for the trees had yet to bud. Though she had begun the hike in shivers, the exertion warmed her, and she unfastened her coat.

  “Is the pace too quick for you?” Galen asked, long after it would have made a difference.

  “No.” Rhia tried to hide her panting. “When would you like to stop to eat?”

  “Not now.”

  She fell back into silence and tried to think of something other than food. To the left of the path, a squirrel scratched at the dirt under a thin pile of leaves to extract a buried acorn. Chattering in triumph, the creature scurried up a nearby tree to find a comfortable spot in which to munch and gloat in Rhia’s direction.

  The path curved uphill, and soon the trees began to change from hickory and oak to pine and spruce. Cones mixed with leaves on the forest floor, which grew more shrouded from the late morning sun. Rhia peered warily at the shadows. They had never ventured this far during her training.

  Finally Galen stopped in what seemed to be a predetermined spot, yet to Rhia the area appeared no different than any other place they had passed. But her tired legs and empty belly forbade her to question his timing. Galen sat on a fallen tree and opened the top of his pack.

  “We’ll eat the fresh meat first. After today it will be dried venison only.”

  She took the hunk of meat and loaf of bread he offered, trying not to appear too eager. Her mouth refused to cooperate, however, and gobbled down the first half of the food before she even tasted it.

  “You certainly have the appetite of a Crow,” Galen said. “I’ve no doubt now, He is your Guardian Spirit.”

  Rhia forced herself to finish chewing before she asked, “You had doubts before?”

  “These things are never certain until the Bestowing.” His speech slowed, as if he were choosing his words with care. “Sometimes when one does not honor one’s Spirit, another will take Its place.”

  Rhia’s stomach tightened around her meal. “I tried to reject Crow after that day with Dorius, I tried to pretend—”

  “Nevertheless, Crow has chosen you. I am certain.”

  She wondered why he was so certain about her when he had been wrong about his own son.

  Galen touched the tip of the brown and red feather hanging from his neck. “A Hawk’s sight is only as strong as his willingness to see. My blindness made me fail before, and I prayed I would not fail you.” He looked at her. “I have not, and I will not.”

  “Failure is final,” she said, “and so long as Arcas lives, you have not failed yet. He’ll find his way, if you help him.”

  Galen molded the soft part of the bread between his fingers, flattening it into a thin brown wafer. “I regret that my son’s confusion has brought strife between you.”

  “If he pretends to be something he’s not, what future can we have?”

  “He is a coward.”

  Rhia was taken aback at Galen’s harsh words, though she didn’t disagree with his judgment. She had ascribed the same word to herself for denying her own Spirit.

  “A coward, for not defying his father’s wishes?” she said. “Have you made it easy?”

  “It doesn’t have to be easy. It just has to be done.”

  “Then let him.”

  “He’s a man, not a boy. I do not ‘let’ him do anything anymore.”

  “You’re his father. He craves your approval and always will, because he respects and loves you. Tell him you know he’s Spider and that you accept him for it. Only then will he accept himself.”

  Galen’s patient expression eased her concern. “I know what I must do, Rhia. Give me time to be human.”

  She silenced herself with the rest of her meal, chastened but not regretting her words. Whether she and Arcas ever renewed their love, she wanted him to be happy. She recalled her last glimpse of him through the trees, how empty and lost he had looked.

  “What did you think I would be,” she asked Galen, “if not Crow?”

  A brief smile flickered over his lips, as if he were embarrassed to share his theory. “Crow is wise in the ways of death, has a strong understanding of right and wrong and an enormous ability to solve problems.” His voice stooped to a whisper. “But Raven is wise in all things. She moves and sees through time and space.”

  The back of Rhia’s neck tingled. Raven, not simply another Spirit, but the Spirit Above All Others. Mother of Creation. “But Raven never—”

  “Never lends Her Aspect to a human, not since anyone can remember. The Aspect of Raven would make one more powerful than everyone else and upset the balance among humans. We live in harmony because we are different but equally essential to the whole. But some say that in extraordinary times, when the survival of our people is at stake, Raven will bestow her Aspect upon one young woman or man, who will be able to go anywhere, inhabit any time, to save us all.”

  The forest seemed to grow colder. “And you thought—” she almost didn’t dare say it “—you thought it could be me?”

  “The way you speak sometimes, as if you possess many times the wisdom for someone your age. It made me wonder.”

  “Hawks are also wise beyond their years.” Rhia hoped she didn’t sound obsequious. “Why didn’t you think I could be Hawk?”

  “Your gifts were obvious when as a child you foretold the deaths of animals. They say that Crow often chooses those who confront and conquer death early in life. Like you.”

  “I did hear Crow for the first time when I was ill.”

  “Perhaps at the same time, Raven also brushed you with Her wings before giving you to Her favorite son.”

  Rhia sat stunned. So many questions burned inside her, each competing for the chance to be the first one asked.

  “Before we begin our journey again…” Galen reached in his pack and handed her a small pouch.

  She tugged on the pouch’s strings to open it, and her mouth watered. An assortment of dried fruit—pears, apples and grapes—spilled like jewels into her hand. She shone a grin of
gratitude upon the Hawk. If his offering was a tactic to get her to stop talking, it worked.

  As she chewed, she reflected on what Galen had said about Raven. Only a few minutes before, she had had the presumption to tell him how to handle his own son. Now she understood how much experience and wisdom Galen held within his mind, and recalled the awe she had felt for him in her younger years. His forbearance in the face of Rhia’s onslaught of opinions showed a patience and control that she needed to learn. Someday she would undoubtedly face grieving family members who would question her ability to serve their loved ones. Even her mother had encountered those who thought they knew more about healing the sick than she did.

  When Rhia finished eating, Galen rose without a word, heaved the pack to his shoulders, and continued up the path, deeper into the forest. Rhia scrambled to her feet and hurried to catch up. She did not want to think about being left alone in a place that was becoming stranger by the step.

  The afternoon darkened early, due both to the increasing tree cover and the clouds that had blown in from the south. Rhia’s feet ached less now, as the path had grown softer from the presence of fallen pine and spruce needles. It looked soft enough to lie down on and sleep until dinnertime. Her mind dulled from exhaustion, and she had seen nothing but the path beneath her feet for what felt like hours.

  Suddenly Galen pulled up short, and Rhia walked into his back with an oomph! of surprise.

  “Sorry,” she said. “What is it?”

  He pointed to a pine tree about ten paces from the path. Four claw marks gouged its trunk, higher than Rhia could reach even on tiptoe. Strips of fresh bark dangled from them, red as clay, standing out against the gray-brown of the trunk.

  “Bear.” Galen went to the tree and reached for the claw marks. The bear’s paw dwarfed his hand. Rhia imagined the power such a paw would wield in an angry strike.

  “A big one,” he noted with typical understatement. “Probably groggy from its winter rest. We should make plenty of noise. If it hears us coming, it will move away.”

  He walked up the path and began singing a favorite Asermon tune, a lively harvest song meant to strengthen field workers through their hard labors. Rhia joined him. Her voice was strong but by no means melodic. The Hawk switched to a harmony that would accompany her limited vocal range.