A wistful smile curved the girl’s lips. “I have brothers. Can we visit them someday, Father?”
“Perhaps.” His face said it would never happen.
On the walk home, Rhia whispered to Coranna, “I’m sorry if I acted ungraciously, but I don’t trust him.”
“No reason why you should, given your family’s history.”
“Do you trust him?”
Coranna chuckled. “Never trust a Fox.”
21
In her dream, Rhia stood alone on a flat plain. No undulations broke the monotony of the ground, which was covered in patches of bleached fuzz that couldn’t earn the name of grass. The gray of earth and sky blended, as on a foggy day, yet no moisture permeated the air or restored the barren ground.
The horizon darkened, as if something beyond the sky were casting a shadow. The dark area spread like a stain. A low murmur reached her ears and quickly sharpened into a raging, rioting blast.
Before she could decide whether to block out the sight or the sound of the approaching menace, she realized the cloud was made of crows—hundreds, perhaps thousands.
Crows flying straight for her.
She should welcome them—these were her brothers and sisters—and yet she knew they were coming to take her to the Other Side. No human stood to greet or guide her, and the birds had no souls she could detect.
Rhia turned to run, not to escape, for that was impossible, but rather to stretch her life even for a few terrifying moments. Anything was better than nothing.
By the third step, the crows were in front of her, coming from the other direction. She turned to the side, and they flew there, too. Every way she faced, the flock roared closer.
They were near enough now that she saw each thumping wing, pure black in the dull light. Their beaks split opened in continuous caws, revealing angry red throats that would swallow her whole.
With a surge of certainty, she raised her palm toward the looming flock.
“No.”
Her eyes opened onto darkness. The wind whispering in the trees replaced the shrieks of the crows. Out of newborn habit, she reached for Marek before the creak of wooden walls reminded her where she slept. Behind her, Coranna snored softly.
The tree was all around, cradling her, crooning her back to sleep, but she fought to stay awake and decipher her dream.
Was it her own death she envisioned, or that of others? Perhaps each crow represented a separate death—a war? Had her command stopped the onslaught? Could she hold back death?
She wished her father were here to interpret the dream. But she was on her own now and couldn’t run to Papa every time something puzzled or frightened her.
Rhia turned over and listened to the faint creaking of the branches in the breeze. When she was up and about, she hadn’t noticed how the tree house swayed, but lying in bed she felt the gentle rocking and understood why Kalindons chose to live within the trees rather than below them. It was impossible to forget that one was a part of the forest, as dependent on it for survival as on air itself.
Lulled into a drowse, Rhia let go her quest for immediate understanding. The meaning will show itself in time, she thought, and slid back through the curtain of sleep.
She began the morning refreshed, surprised that the meloxa had not left her crusty-minded the way a few mugs of Asermon ale would. Perhaps a substance in the tea counteracted the brew’s toxic effects.
Coranna woke slowly and grumpily, muttering her distaste for “larks,” which Rhia took to mean “early risers.” The older woman’s mood brightened when she tasted the breakfast, whereupon she proclaimed that Rhia could add cooking to her other honors.
After breakfast they gathered roots for Coranna’s powders. As they meandered through the damp forest, Coranna discussed the practical aspects of being a Crow person:
“Obviously people don’t die every day, even in Kalindos, so I perform other duties. I serve on the village Council, as elected, and I act as a judge, an arbitrator of disputes. This is common for Crows, who have a natural tendency for dispassionate objectivity.”
Rhia added this to the qualities she needed to develop. More than one person had accused her of being judgmental, which was a trait rarely found among good judges.
“Also,” Coranna continued, “we need never worry about obtaining our own food. The other villagers take care of us, in return for our services. I’ll eat anything, but if you have any special likes or dislikes, let Marek know.”
Rhia almost said, “Marek knows what I like,” but refrained. She couldn’t yet determine Coranna’s attitude toward her relationship with him.
“But then again,” Coranna continued, “he probably knows you better than any of us at this point.”
Rhia gave a noncommittal grunt and pretended to search beneath a rotting log. “Will we see him today?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone.
Coranna hesitated. “I asked him to stay away.”
Rhia dropped the log, which rolled on her foot. “Ow. Why?”
“Marek will assist me with the first part of your training. To do that, he needs to forget his own sentiments.”
Rhia extracted her foot from under the log. “I don’t understand.”
“You will. Your training starts tomorrow.” She gestured toward the west. “The Spider Woman says the weather will be right.”
“What kind of weather do we need?”
“Cold.”
Coranna moved on abruptly, as if to signal the end of the conversation. Rhia followed, already feeling in her bones the coming chill.
“Tell me all about my brothers.”
“They’re…” Rhia searched the forest around her for a flattering word to describe Lycas and Nilo, and finally gave up. “Infuriating.”
Alanka’s dark eyes gleamed when she looked up from the wild turkey she was plucking. “I wish I knew them. Do they look like me? Without the breasts, of course.”
“Very much. My mother thought Lycas would be Wolf—his name means wolf. But they’re both Wolverines.”
Alanka threw her head back in a howling laugh. “You grew up with twin Wolverines? You’re tougher than you look.”
Rhia smiled to herself. No one had ever called her “tough.”
She scooped the liberated feathers into two sacks—the vane feathers would fletch arrows and adorn ceremonial costumes, and the soft, small down feathers would stuff mattresses, pillows, and the linings of coats.
A dark feather reminded her of the crow nightmare. “Can you interpret dreams?” she asked Alanka.
“No, but I can pretend. Was Marek waving a snake at you? I know what that’s about.”
Rhia laughed, then told the details of the dream to Alanka, whose face turned as grave as Rhia had ever seen it, allowing for the fact that she had only known the girl one day. “What do you think it means?”
Alanka shook her head and returned to the nearly naked bird. “I’m a hunter. I stalk, I kill, I offer thanks to the Spirits. That’s all, and I’m glad. Your path is complicated.”
Rhia stroked the feather, flattening the barbs against its stiff vane. “My training begins tomorrow.”
Alanka started, then covered her alarm with a shaky grin. “That’s wonderful. I can’t wait for the feast.” Her foot nudged the bird. “Brother Turkey will be there, too.” She coughed, then swallowed audibly.
“What’s wrong? What’s so spooky about my training?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“Is that why no one in Kalindos will look at me?”
This time Alanka met her gaze with regret in her eyes. “Rhia, please don’t ask me anymore. I hate keeping secrets from you, but you’ll have to find out for yourself.” Her demeanor lightened. “What I do know is that when I met you on the path yesterday, I hadn’t seen Marek so happy since his mate died.”
Rhia warmed inside but kept her voice solemn. “It’s terrible, what happened to her.”
“I wish it were less common. Elora’s our Otter hea
ler, but when a birth is complicated, that’s when we could really use a Turtle.” Alanka flipped her braid over her shoulder away from the turkey. “After Marek’s mate and baby died, Elora sent two women to Asermos early in their pregnancies, so they could give birth with the help of your Turtle woman. She knew they’d need extra care.”
“Did they survive?”
Alanka nodded. “The mothers and babies, all fine and happy. I wish I could say the same for Marek.”
“It’s odd that he can’t control his powers after all this time. Wolf must be a hard Spirit to serve.”
“I think Wolf would be happy to stop punishing Marek if he would stop punishing himself.”
Rhia decided to change the subject. “Do you have a mate?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Alanka counted on her fingers. “There was Adrek, a Cougar, he was the first. After that came Morran, a Bobcat, then Endrus, another Cougar.” Alanka sighed. “Learned my lesson finally. Thrice bitten, once shy, right? Cats don’t stay around. Now there’s Pirrik, Etar’s son. He’s Otter, so maybe it’ll last.”
“My mother was Otter. You can’t find anyone more loving.”
“I know, he is. And playful. Together we’ve come up with some amazing games—not the kind for children, either. And if I ever get sick, Pirrik could take care of me, but—”
“But you like Cats.”
Alanka blushed. “Love Cats.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I figure, when I’m ready to have a child, I will, even if my mate can’t or won’t marry me. I’ll worry about finding a dependable husband later.”
“Is that the way it’s done here?”
“If necessary.” Alanka sighed. “In Kalindos, marriage isn’t about having children. It’s about finding the person to share your spirit with forever.” She gestured between them. “People like us, Wolves, Crows, Swans, Otters and others, we want it to be both—to have a family with our soul mates. But it doesn’t always happen that way.” She stared wistfully into the village. “Too many Cats.”
Rhia thought about why the Spirits would call different Animals to the two villages. Stability meant everything for a farming community like Asermos, so most Guardian Spirits there had animal counterparts that took only one mate at a time, making a personal commitment like marriage easier. Here in Kalindos, where life was more precarious, people would feel compelled to have children often and early. Just not too early, she thought, remembering Marek and his involuntary invisibility.
Thinking of how she couldn’t see Marek at night reminded her that she couldn’t see him today, either, and why.
“Do you remember your first day of training?” she asked Alanka.
The girl beamed. “It was only half a year ago, right after my Bestowing. I went hunting with Marek and Kerza, the third-phase Wolf. She can become invisible whenever she wants, day or night. Anyway, I’d always been good with a bow and arrow, but after my Bestowing, it was like they were part of my own body—I only had to look at something to hit it. It was magic.” Alanka inhaled deeply. “And the smells and the sounds—the whole forest came alive. I felt like I’d been blind before that day.”
“But your training wasn’t frightening?”
“Not at all.”
“And you didn’t do any special ritual.”
Alanka shrugged. “A prayer or two to start off, and of course the usual thanksgiving to the Spirit of the hunted.”
“And the feast afterward—what kind of food did they serve?”
“There was no feast, we just—” Alanka shut her mouth tight. “Never mind.”
Rhia let it go. She had enough pieces of the puzzle to demand the entire picture.
When Rhia arrived home early that evening, Coranna was packing a large sack.
“Where are we going tomorrow?” Rhia asked.
“You’ll see.”
“When do we leave?”
“Early.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“You’ll see.”
“I don’t want to see.” Her palms grew damp within her clenched fists. “I want to know.”
Coranna stopped packing and looked up. Rhia wouldn’t let herself break the astonished stare, even when the woman rose to her full length, more than a head taller than Rhia. “You don’t want to know.”
“Until it’s too late to change my mind, you mean.”
“Change your mind?” Coranna’s laughter clanged like a bell. “The day Crow chose you, it was already too late to change your mind.”
“Then why not tell me?”
Coranna pursed her lips and nodded. “But eat first.” She glided to the stove and spooned out two bowls of stew.
Foreboding knotted Rhia’s gut, but she emptied most of the bowl. She pushed it away and looked expectantly across the table at her mentor.
“Do you fear death?” Coranna asked her.
Rhia knew any equivocation would lead the conversation nowhere. “Yes. Everyone does.”
“Because death is the ultimate unknown. Few people speak to us from the Other Side, and even fewer return. That’s why everyone fights it, and why everyone fears it.” Coranna leaned forward, candlelight dancing over her face. “But you’re not everyone. If people look in your eyes at their last moment and see a reflection of their own terror, their crossing will be a time of struggle rather than peace.”
“I understand. I must learn not to be afraid. But how?”
Coranna hesitated only an instant. “By facing your own death.”
“I need to be put in danger? From what?” She imagined a slavering beast hungry for her flesh. “Will I be safe?”
“You’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll be with you. Marek will be with you.”
“Oh.” Rhia sat back, relieved. A simple exercise in bravery. Nothing could devour her soul more than the not-thing in the forest the night before the Bestowing. At least this time she wouldn’t be alone.
“You will die,” Coranna said.
22
Rhia looked up at her, dazed. “W-what did—what did you say?”
“We will journey up Mount Beros to a sacred place. I will take your coat and begin the ritual. The wind will do its part and take the heat from your body until life has slipped away. Then I’ll bring you back.”
Rhia’s mind refused to understand. “Bring me back from…”
“From death.”
Someone inside her head was screaming, faintly, as if from a distance.
Rhia laughed out loud, but the sound rang hollow against the wooden walls. “You’re joking, aren’t you? For a moment I actually believed you.” She flitted her hand against her chest.
Coranna blinked slowly. “You have to die.”
The shrieks in her head grew louder. Rhia pushed back from the table and stood up. “That’s not—” She put her hands out as if searching for an object in a dark room. Something to grasp, something to hold her up before she—
Fell.
Her knees hit the floor at the rug’s edge. She barely noticed the bruising impact, for her head felt full of air and water and scream. She gasped for breaths that came too hard and quick. Her hands went cold, as if she had already started dying.
Coranna sat beside her and stroked her back. “I know it’s frightening.”
Frightening? Rhia thought. A rustle in the dark is frightening. A spider crawling across a bare foot is frightening. She clutched the edge of the rug.
Coranna spoke again, softly. “Would it help to know that it could be much worse? Freezing is relatively painless, I’m told. You’re fortunate—it was summer when I began my training.” Her hand stilled on Rhia’s back. “I had to drown.”
Rhia gaped at her and finally forced out a few words. “This ritual—it’s grotesque.”
“It works. Nothing overcomes the fear of death better than facing and conquering it yourself.” She cupped Rhia’s chin in her hand. “It’s the only way to become a true Crow.”
Rhia remembered wha
t Marek had shouted to Coranna yesterday. She pulled away. “What if you can’t?”
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t bring me back.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Why should I?”
Coranna seemed to grow impatient with the argument. “Because you have no choice.”
Rhia sucked in her breath. It was not her choice to die, to be born again, to have these troubling powers, to be Crow. She had resisted it as long as she could, but she would have protested forever had she known.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have made you eat first.” Coranna crossed the room and opened the window. “Come, get some fresh air. If you feel sick, use the bucket, not the window. We don’t want to surprise anyone down below.”
Rhia forced her feet to plant themselves under her and drag her body to the window. The air was biting cold, which heightened her senses but reminded her of the ordeal ahead. She rested her chin and arms on the sill and tried to breathe.
“How long will it take?” she asked in a dull voice.
“It’s less than a day’s journey up—”
“How long will it take me to die?”
“That’s up to you. You’ll fight it at first, out of instinct. But once you surrender, it won’t be long. An hour, maybe two, depending how cold it is. I’m told it’s like going to sleep. You’ll wear light clothing from head to foot to protect your skin from frostbite.”
Rhia winced. “It’s not fair,” she whispered, though she knew it was an absurd argument.
“I know.” Coranna’s voice softened. “Being Crow is a great burden and a great honor. We must have faith that He only chooses those few who are able to withstand hardship, loneliness and the pain of mortality.”
Could Crow un-choose her? Rhia wondered. If she could just get away, maybe they could renegotiate their pact.
In any case, she would not win this argument with Coranna, not in a straightforward manner. Her shoulders sagged.
“All right,” Rhia said. “I’ll go.”
Coranna sighed. “Thank you.” She touched Rhia’s face and kissed the top of her head. “I promise it will all happen according to plan.”
Eyes of Crow Page 17