Eyes of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

Rhia turned to see Coranna looking at the two of them with dismay. In the next moment she covered it with a tight smile and beckoned Rhia to follow her.

  Marek mirrored Rhia’s confusion. He released her hand. “Go on. I’ll see you soon.” He looked past her at Coranna’s retreating figure. “I hope.”

  20

  “You can do it. Just don’t look down.”

  Coranna was peering over the wooden railing of her porch at Rhia, who clung, white-knuckled and shaking, to the tree ladder. She had climbed three-quarters of the way up with no trepidation, until her foot had trouble finding the rung and she had made the mistake of looking down to locate it.

  The forest floor shrank and swelled, and the movements of the people below became erratic and hasty. Rhia stared at the ground, afraid to blink, frightened at the thought of even momentary darkness at such a height.

  “Look at me, Rhia.” Coranna’s soothing voice teetered on the edge of impatience. “Just do what you’ve been doing. Climb.”

  “I—c-can’t,” Rhia said between chattering teeth. Fear obliterated shame.

  “Well, I’ve got things to do, so I’ll see you when you get up here.”

  Rhia heard Coranna open and close the door of the house over her head. Relief trickled through her veins. One fewer person would watch her fall to her death.

  No. Stupid.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the rung in front of her. A good start, not looking down anymore. The world’s gyrations slowed, then stopped. She began to take full but wobbly breaths again.

  Fine. She was fine where she was, content to hang on to the ladder for the rest of her life. She would not fall if she never moved again. A certainty. Fine.

  Equally stupid.

  She would move. Up. Up was closer, and up was where she wanted to go. Right? Yes, up. She would move.

  But which to move first, hand or foot? She thought about it for several moments. It had felt natural all the way up, moving hands and feet at the same time, but now such acrobatics seemed impossible.

  She loosened the grip of her left hand, then in a panic, tightened it more. A foot, then. She would move a foot.

  A toe twitched, then froze. Not a foot, then.

  Rhia wished she’d never come to Kalindos. What had made her and Galen think she was worthy to confront death itself, when she couldn’t even climb a tree?

  Death itself.

  Crow.

  Please help me, she prayed to her Guardian Spirit. I can’t serve you without the strength to overcome my fears. Grant me courage for the little moments like this, and I vow I’ll find it myself for the big ones.

  Without waiting for a reply, Rhia heaved herself to the next rung. She cried out in fear and relief, then did it again, and again, her voice softening with each upward movement, until at last she was moving hand over hand, foot past foot, without stopping. Her breath came hard but steady, and when she reached Coranna’s porch, she did not collapse, clutching the floor, as she imagined she would. Instead Rhia stood, straightened her coat and opened the door, as if she had entered such an abode every day of her life.

  Coranna half-turned from the stove. “Ah, good. Set your pack down on the clean bed and come eat with me.”

  Rhia let out a shaky breath and looked around. The tree house was smaller than her home in Asermos. To the left of the door was a kitchen with a stove and low table. To the right sat two beds, one in each corner. The farther one held rumpled blankets; the other, beside her, was neatly made. Rhia ducked under a large branch that grew in through the wall and out through the ceiling, then took the pack from her back and dropped it onto the bed.

  The room was clean but cluttered. Clay pots sat strewn across wooden shelves on the near wall. Two piles of clothing—one large, one small—sat against the far wall next to Coranna’s bed. Several bright colors and many white items peeked out of the larger pile.

  “We never wear black, you and I.” Coranna gestured to the lumps of clothing as she carried two steaming plates to the table. “Nothing against Crow and His feathered finery, but there’s no sense accentuating the macabre. Death is grim enough without us traipsing around like bits of midnight. Besides, black dye costs too much.”

  Led by the scent of food, Rhia joined her at the small, low table, which sat a few feet from the stove. Soft cushions covered with rough-textured cloth took the place of chairs. A large brown woven rug warmed the floor and gave the kitchen area a cozy feel, as if it were its own space separate from the rest of the house.

  They settled into the modest meal and ate without speaking. Rhia burned with questions—about Kalindos, Marek, Razvin and Coranna herself—but didn’t know how or even whether she should speak first.

  Finally, Coranna pushed her plate aside and sighed with contentment.

  “So what do you think of our village?”

  Rhia wasn’t sure what she thought yet, and could only compose one certain observation: “It’s quiet.”

  “For now. Winter still has a hold on Kalindos. Spring has been teasing us, flirting with us, but never staying more than half a day. Once spring hangs up its coat and takes its shoes off, this village will transform into something quite different.” She appeared to restrain a grin. “Also, the Kalindons are busy preparing your welcome celebration.”

  Rhia swallowed. “But they seem so underwhelmed to see me.”

  “You’ll be one of us once you begin your training.”

  “When will that be?”

  “In a few days, depending on the weather. Until then, you must rest, obtain your bearings.” She swept her hand to encompass the house. “Get used to living in trees.”

  A jangling sound came from the door. Rhia looked over to see a small clay bell. A thin rope, now taut, rose from the bell into a tiny hole in the door. Coranna got to her feet with surprising agility and opened the door.

  Marek stood on the porch. He waved to Rhia. “Hello.”

  Coranna looked between the two of them. “Marek, we need to discuss something. Alone.” She glided back to the table. “Give me a minute to clean from lunch.”

  “I’ll do it,” Rhia said.

  “Ah, one of the benefits to having an apprentice.” Coranna picked up her cloak. “After you’ve cleaned up, take a rest. You’ll need your strength in the days ahead.”

  She gestured for Marek to precede her down the ladder, which he did after a worried glance at Rhia. Rhia marveled at their nimbleness at climbing and wondered if she’d ever zip down the ladder as if it were as natural as walking—if, in fact, she’d ever be able to descend the ladder at all. More than anything, though, she wanted to know what they were discussing. Herself, no doubt.

  It took only a few minutes to wash and dry the plates and mugs. She found an ice chest in which to store the extra food and wondered if most homes in Kalindos had as many amenities as Coranna’s. Certainly her Crow gifts were indispensable.

  A few small doors sat in the wall at eye level. She opened the closest one to a rush of cold air and a wall of solid green.

  It was a window, sealed tight against the elements when closed, but opened to provide a clear view of the ground near the tree. Rhia peered out, fighting the vertigo.

  Marek and Coranna stood about twenty paces from the tree’s trunk, he with his arms crossed, shaking his head. Coranna gestured toward her home—toward Rhia—with calm restraint. Marek turned away as if to leave. Coranna put a hand on his arm, and he moved to brush it off. Rhia strained to hear their words, but the wind in the pine needles drowned their voices to mere murmurs.

  Marek looked up at Rhia then. His eyes seemed to plead for her to run. Coranna did not follow Marek’s gaze, but spoke to him urgently, squeezing his forearm.

  The wind faded. Marek turned on Coranna, and Rhia heard him shout, “What if you can’t?”

  Coranna bowed her head and said something Rhia couldn’t hear. The Crow woman reached for him, and he did not resist her embrace. His arms folded tight against his chest, as if clut
ching something precious, protecting it from Coranna’s grasp. When she let go, he stalked away without another word.

  Rhia shut the window and latched it with a trembling hand. Her curiosity drained, she ignored the once-fascinating contents of the house and crossed to sit on the edge of her bed. She pulled her pack into her lap and stroked it like an anxious puppy.

  No dogs would live here, since they couldn’t climb trees and would probably eat more meat than they were worth. Who would comfort her, then, in her uncertainty? She missed her hounds, with their wiry fur and calm assurance. Here they would be miserable, with no wide patches of sunlight in which to stretch and laze the day away. The afternoon was already fading, the sun having descended behind the nearby mountains. Kalindos was a place of darkness.

  Minutes passed, and Coranna did not return. Rhia’s wary gaze alit on the piles of clothing across the room. The garments were crushed together and sure to be rumpled. Her hands twitched at the thought of a useful task.

  She knelt before the smaller pile and shook out the articles of clothing one by one. They were clean, and the wrinkles could be steamed out over the stove.

  Not a single dress or even a skirt lay among the clothes. Had these been boys’ garments, perhaps belonging to one of Coranna’s grandsons? No, the cut of the fabrics allowed for a woman’s figure—certainly not a buxom one, but Rhia had no concerns in that regard.

  She almost laughed as the answer came to her. When scaling trees all day, it wouldn’t do to wear a skirt to display oneself to the world.

  The door opened with a bang.

  “Sorry,” Coranna said, “it sticks when the weather is humid.” She closed the door and perused her house with a satisfied sigh. “It feels more like a home here already. Good, you found the clothes. They’re a mess. I’m not much for chores, I’m afraid. Are they the right size?”

  “Yes, thank you. I wasn’t expecting such generosity.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  Rhia didn’t know how to answer without sounding naïve or insulting.

  Coranna waved it off and came over to help sort the clothes. “Alanka invited us to have dinner with her and her father tonight. I hope it’s all right I accepted.”

  “That would be—” She stopped, remembering the familiarity of Razvin’s face. “Coranna?”

  “Yes?”

  Again Rhia struggled for the right words and could only come up with directness. “He’s my brothers’ father, isn’t he?”

  Coranna stopped folding the blouse in her hands and fixed Rhia with a kind expression. “I’ve known Razvin my entire life. When he left your mother he was a troubled young man, full of bitterness.” She sat on her bed. “Until Alanka came along. He’s changed, but I don’t blame you for bearing him ill will.”

  “Should I tell him I know?”

  “Yes, when the moment is right.” Coranna nudged the pile of clothes with her foot. “I suppose you figured out why women here don’t wear skirts.”

  “I killed it myself.” Alanka grinned at Rhia over the steaming pot. “My first hunting trip without Marek. Usually Wolves hunt in pairs or groups, where one hunter drives the prey toward the other, or flushes a bird to shoot. Alone it’s harder, but not impossible.” She gestured to the bubbling stew. “Obviously.”

  The home Alanka shared with her father had a similar layout to Coranna’s, with the addition of a curtain between the two beds and a larger table, at which the two elders now sat, shelling nuts to accompany the grouse stew.

  “Speaking of Marek,” Alanka said, “I invited him to come to dinner tonight. Even though we wouldn’t be able to see him.”

  “He said no?”

  “Said he was tired. He didn’t look tired.”

  Rhia sighed. “He’s avoiding me, I think because of Coranna, but I don’t understand why.”

  Alanka glanced over her shoulder at the others and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Marek’s not unhappy with you. He’s a loyal person, and for a few days those loyalties will be divided.”

  “Why?”

  She scrunched up her face with the pain of keeping a secret. “Coranna will tell you, when she thinks it’s time. Until then, just have faith.” She put a mug of meloxa tea in Rhia’s hand. “And enjoy yourself.”

  “Is dinner ready yet?” Razvin called from across the room. Rhia had scarcely looked him in the eye since arriving. To think that the man who had caused her mother so much pain could inspire adoration in Alanka—but perhaps he had changed over the years. Her brothers were twenty-three now. Surely in two decades a man—even a Fox—could learn devotion.

  They sat around the table like a family—the young women on one side, Razvin and Coranna on the other, father facing daughter across the table. Rhia was relieved to sit as far from Razvin as possible.

  The food was delicious and helped take her mind off the tension growing inside her. She took a tentative sip of the meloxa tea. To her surprise, it was much more palatable than the brew Marek had proffered in the forest. Which wasn’t saying much, only that she didn’t feel compelled to spit it on the floor. Alanka must have sweetened it to counteract the sour apple flavor.

  Razvin was telling a joke. She understood why her mother would find him attractive. His animated way of speaking, the mischievous glimmer in his gaze, even the way he tilted his head when he told the punch line—all could easily enchant someone who didn’t know better.

  The table erupted in laughter, which Rhia did not join.

  Alanka nudged her elbow. “Let me explain. See, the Mouse thinks that the Hawk is offering him a gift, but actually—”

  “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.”