Eyes of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “I’m to wear this?”

  Alanka cocked her head. “No, you’re to scrub pots with it.”

  “But I thought women here only wore trousers.”

  “Then it must be a special occasion.” She waggled the dress. “Put it on, we’re starving.”

  Rhia shed her clothes, then sighed as Alanka slid the dress over her head. Her friend tied the strings in the back, and the garment tightened to accentuate Rhia’s few curves. A short, flowing cape hung from the back of the gown, making her feel like she bore a set of light, graceful wings. The garment provided just the right amount of warmth for the spring day, as the sleeves extended to her wrists and the neckline to her collarbone.

  Alanka let out a low whistle. “I’m not sure I should bring you out there.”

  “Why? Does it look bad?”

  “It does not look bad. But if you go out there, the men may never spare me another glance.” She tilted her head. “Ehh, I could use the rest. Let’s do your hair.”

  Rhia sat on a stone while Alanka braided her hair in an elegant looping style. Soon she was ready—at least on the outside.

  Coranna’s voice came from the other side of the brush pile. “Shall we go?”

  Rhia hesitated, so Alanka turned her toward the village and gave her a little shove. As she stepped into sight, Coranna took her hand and led her toward the bonfire. The crowd quieted. They parted to let her pass, heads half-bowed, almost as if they would drop to their knees. Rhia prayed they wouldn’t.

  The two Crow women approached the long table and stood at its head. Coranna drew herself up to her full, intimidating height and held out her hands to the crowd.

  “Thank you for all your efforts, both physical and spiritual, on behalf of my new protégé. It pleases me to tell you that she completed the ritual with courage and serenity.”

  Rhia kept her face neutral as the crowd whooped and clapped. She didn’t want to show pride in the lie or embarrass Coranna by displaying a dubious expression.

  When the applause subsided, Coranna said, “Her magic and wisdom will serve all of us, but remember that she is still learning to use her powers, as, in a way, we all are. I present to you Crow’s new gift to our people—Rhia of Asermos.”

  Instead of cheering, they all stared at Rhia with expectation. Was she supposed to perform magic for them? Sing a song about her trip to the Other Side and back?

  Coranna leaned over and whispered to the top of Rhia’s head. “Speak now.”

  Her heart went cold, almost as cold as when she died. “I have to give a speech?”

  Coranna patted her shoulder. “Make them glad their deaths may be in your hands.”

  Rhia slowly turned back to the crowd. The glare of the torchlight in her eyes let her see only the closest people, none of whom she recognized. She resisted the urge to twist her hair.

  Suddenly she understood: When they looked at her, they didn’t see a once-crippled child scared of shadows, but rather a powerful woman who had undergone heroic tests proving her worthiness.

  “Thank you,” she said. They seemed to like that, so she said it again. “Thank you for accepting me into your midst. I hope to learn much from you and—and be a source of goodwill—of continuing goodwill—between Kalindos and Asermos.

  “Though our cultures differ, we are all connected to the Spirits who bless our people with a world of beauty and power, which they share by granting each of us the magic and wisdom of one of their creatures.”

  She glanced at Coranna, who returned a look of encouragement.

  “My Guardian Spirit,” she continued, “is Crow, whom many dread and fear worse than any predator, for His embrace is everlasting.” More or less, she reminded herself. “But know that you will not leave this life alone. And believe me when I tell you that a beautiful world lies beyond.”

  The faces dropped at the suggestion, and she realized that this line of rhetoric might be morbid for such a gathering. A mug lay on the table near her hand. She raised it and said, “But tonight, let us celebrate life and all its gifts.”

  The crowd cheered, and everyone who could reach a mug lifted it high and drank with her. It was a testament to her new fortitude that she did not spew out the nearly pure meloxa before or after it trickled down her throat.

  The music struck up again, though at a more leisurely pace than before, and the food was brought forth. Rhia sat at the head of the long table with Coranna, the other six members of the village Council—including Alanka’s father Razvin—and their mates or spouses. The younger folks who weren’t serving food lounged around the bonfire, laughing and jostling for space. She wished she could join them—a wish that disappeared when she realized that her table would start eating first.

  Some foods she recognized, others not, but all of it was tasty and served with enthusiasm. She gave a grateful smile to the observant young man who deposited a flask of water next to her plate; he must have noticed she wasn’t washing down her meal with meloxa. He returned the smile, which warmed her insides even more than the food and drink.

  Her dress tightened as she ate, and she tugged at the unyielding fabric at her waist. The tautness forced her into a straight posture, in contrast to the figures around her slouched over their meals and drinks, leaning to hear each other’s words amid the din.

  Coranna introduced the man to her right as Etar the Owl, one of the seven Council members. Rhia recognized him as the father of Alanka’s mate Pirrik, but decided not to mention it in case Etar wasn’t aware of their relationship. Not that one could hide anything from an Owl.

  “What do you think of Kalindos, Rhia?” Etar asked.

  “It’s beautiful. Er—” She glanced at the cavorting around the bonfire. “Startling.”

  “It’s no place for people our age. Right, Coranna?”

  “Speak for yourself, old man.” Coranna tugged his long gray ponytail. Rhia sensed the two shared more than friendship.

  “My bones aren’t what they used to be.” Etar gave an exaggerated wince as he crushed an acorn against the table with a small rock. “Some days I can’t bear the thought of climbing out of my own house. ‘Down’ is a lot harder on the knees than ‘up.’” He picked the meat out of the nut. “Nonetheless, days like today make it all worthwhile.”

  “Do you have such celebrations often?” Rhia asked.

  “We hold feasts when people enter or leave this world,” Coranna said.

  “You did both in one day.” Etar held up his mug in salute. “So the party is twice as big.”

  Coranna turned to him. “She almost died again after I brought her back.”

  He regarded Rhia with keen interest. “What was that like?”

  Again, she couldn’t lie, not to an Owl. “I was terrified the second time, before Elora saved me. But when I died the first time, I was so cold, it was as if my feelings were frozen, too. I didn’t care if I lived.”

  “It’s Crow’s blessing,” Coranna said. “Allowing us to leave our bodies without fear or pain. After the initial struggle, we become numb.” She shifted the food on her plate without eating it. “When I drowned, it hurt at first, the water crushing me from the inside. I swore I wouldn’t fight it, but I did. I battled for every breath I couldn’t get.”

  The surrounding crowd was raucous, but the three of them sat in a bubble of silence.

  “Once I gave in,” Coranna continued, “everything began to sparkle. I was so enthralled with the sunlight dancing above me, I didn’t notice the darkness creeping in, until suddenly it was all I could see. Then it was over and Crow was there.” Her eyes met Rhia’s with intimate understanding.

  “So tell me.” Etar leaned across the table to speak low to them. “How long do you think I have to live?”

  Rhia blanched at the impropriety, but Coranna’s laugh rang out. “Etar, I’ve told you, we won’t play this game.”

  “Give Rhia a chance,” he said. “Besides, I’ve drunk so much meloxa, whatever she tells me I won’t remember tomorrow.”

>   “But without an illness or injury—” Rhia looked at Coranna “—how can I tell how long he’ll live?”

  “You can’t predict an accident. Those things don’t lurk inside people.” She leaned back in her chair and gestured to Etar’s body. “But sicknesses do, even when people feel well.”

  “You want me to tell him when he’ll die?” It went against everything Galen had taught her.

  Coranna eyed her neutrally. “It’s up to you. He wants you to see, and I won’t stop you.”

  “But you’re both drunk.”

  “Don’t be so stodgy, Rhia.” Coranna waved her mug, holding the handle with one finger. She placed Rhia’s hand on Etar’s arm. “It helps if you touch him.”

  Rhia gulped. With all her remaining courage, she took her hand off his arm. “No. I won’t do it.”

  “Just as well. I like a little mystery in my life, anyway.” Etar rose to his feet with a grunt. “I need to stretch these old bones. Coranna, want to take a walk with me?” A passing server offered him a fresh mug of meloxa, which he accepted with a smile.

  “I’d love to.” The crone tossed her hair like a young girl as she stood, then leaned in close to Rhia. “You passed an important test just now. You trusted your own wisdom more than my authority.” She squeezed Rhia’s shoulder. “Just like a Crow.”

  They left her to wallow in bewilderment. She examined the contents of her mug, then pushed it away. If more “tests” lay ahead tonight, her judgment should remain clear.

  The same young man who had just served Etar placed a new mug of meloxa in front of her. He winked a dark brown eye and said, “I heard you like it sweet.”

  “Thank you.” As handsome as he was, she hoped he was referring to the drink.

  When the server moved away, she scanned the table for more water. Her eyes met those of Razvin, seated at the opposite end. He studied her in a way that said his glance had not begun only the moment before.

  Rhia’s old instincts told her to drift away to the safety of those she knew well. Instead she took her mug and strolled to Razvin’s end of the table.

  He contemplated her approach with surprise, and when she arrived, he barely emitted a “Congratulations, Rhia.”

  “Thank you.” She took a confident swig, suppressed a wince—this meloxa was no sweeter than the previous one—and met his searching stare. “Did you enjoy the food and drink?”

  “I should. I helped prepare it.”

  “Then thank you again.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Your daughter saved my life a few nights ago. I hope I can repay the honor someday.”

  “I hope you never have to.”

  She hesitated. “How many Bears and Wolverines have been called in Kalindos recently?”

  His gaze grew wary. “A few.”

  “More than usual?”

  “A few is more than usual. Kalindos is a place of peace. Unlike your home.”

  “Asermos has never attacked anyone. Our wars have all been defensive.”

  “True enough.” He turned back to his plate and murmured, “But not all wars are fought with arrows and swords.”

  She studied his posture to discern if his dejection were genuine. Had the Asermons treated him the way he claimed? Would they do the same to Marek? She thought of Mali and Torynna’s mocking words at the riverside.

  Until she made up her mind about Razvin, it would be best to show sympathy. Besides, making enemies on the Kalindon Council would not be the wisest tactic.

  “On behalf of my people,” she said, “I want to apologize.”

  Razvin looked up at her with astonishment, his face guileless for the first time since they had met.

  Someone tugged Rhia’s arm.

  “Why do you waste time talking to my father,” Alanka said, “when you could be dancing?”

  Razvin’s composure returned in an instant. He gave Rhia a suave grin. “Go on, you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, and you certainly won’t with a tired old man like me.”

  “Father, stop fishing for compliments.”

  Rhia let Alanka drag her toward the bonfire. The musicians were limbering up to play a faster tempo.

  “Do you know how to dance?” Alanka asked Rhia.

  “Of course. We have parties in Asermos, too.” She looked up into the trees, which held men and women in various combinations, striking poses of flirtation and acts far beyond. “But not like this.”

  “I thought so. Oh!” Alanka twisted to face Rhia, her back to the bonfire. “See the man with the long blond hair? The one in the green shirt? That’s Morran, the Bobcat I told you about.” She shook her head. “Better off without him. He drinks too much.” She pointed her chin to the left. “Endrus the Cougar, with the brown hair. He drinks too much, too.”

  “What about Marek?”

  “He has reason to drink.” She shrugged. “But it’s never made him miss a hunt, or even a single shot, which is more than I can say for Morran.”

  Rhia held up her mug. “How can anyone drink this?”

  “They didn’t sweeten yours enough, did they? Let’s get some more honey.”

  The fiddler shot into a spirited tune, joined in a few moments by a man on a wooden flute and another strumming a stringed instrument. Young people bounced into the circle as if on cue and began to dance—in small groups, couples, or alone. The elders stood on the outskirts and clapped a rollicking rhythm.

  Buoyed by the music, the food, the drink and her brush with death, Rhia put down her mug and joined the dance. For the first time in days, every inch of her felt warm.

  Someone grabbed her waist. It was Morran, who laughed when he saw her surprise.

  “I won’t keep you,” he said. “There’ll be a line soon.”

  “A line to dance with you?”

  He laughed even louder, his head thrown back and brown eyes squeezed shut. “No, with you.”

  Morran was a good dancer, despite the quantity of meloxa he had ingested based on the lopsidedness of his smile. Perhaps the drink had lent him its fluidity.

  Before the tune had even reached its peak, she was handed off to Endrus, who had thin arms and a wicked grin. He was shorter than Morran, which relieved her neck. The tempo increased, stealing their breath and precluding both the capacity and the need for intimate conversation. They spun faster around the circle, laughing as their steps grew sloppy trying to keep up with the rhythm, which grew in speed and complexity, as if the musicians’ only goal was to exhaust and confound the dancers.

  Just when she knew her legs or lungs would burst from the strain, the song ended. Without pausing, the troupe slid into a slow, sensuous tune, adding a drummer thrumming on a taut skin.

  Rhia stepped back from Endrus, wanting neither to offend nor join him.

  “My turn,” a familiar voice over her shoulder said. With a glance of mock resentment, Endrus bowed and turned away. He latched on to the first willing girl within reach.

  Marek slipped his arm around Rhia’s waist and drew her hips tight to his, a look of about-to-be-satiated hunger on his face. They moved as if the music had melded them into one body. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend they were the only two people in the forest again.

  “How long do these parties last?” she asked him, wondering when they could slip away together.

  “Until the food and drink runs out.” He twirled her slowly in his arms, reeling her out and back in again, so that the distance only accentuated their return to closeness. “Note that I say food and drink, not food or drink. As long as we have one or the other, we’ll stay up.”

  “How long?”

  “Three, maybe four days. Or five. We grab sleep every other day or so.” Without letting go of her hand, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “You may not have seen it yet, but life here is hard. Sometimes in the winter we have nothing to eat. Not just ‘nothing but nuts and berries.’ Nothing. It’s a rare winter when someone doesn’t starve.”

  She gestured to the overflowing tables. “And yet
you waste all this food at a feast. Why not save it for hard times?”

  “A celebration’s never a waste. Besides, all times are hard. Even more reason to sweeten moments like these, right?”

  She looked at the exuberant Kalindons. Perhaps there was no better way to praise and thank the Spirits for their gifts than to relish said gifts until one collapsed.

  “Has anyone ever died at one of these parties?” she asked Marek.

  “Only you would ask a question like that.” He chewed his lip as he thought. “Not that I remember. We believe that during these feasts, the Spirits protect us from ourselves.”

  She chuckled. “They’d better.”

  Her smile faded when she caught sight of an unfriendly face. The same young man who had waited on her so solicitously not long before was now scowling at her from the side of the dancing area. His thick, dark brows shaded glowering eyes.

  She put her chin over Marek’s shoulder. “Who’s the husky man with the brown hair, the one by the table wishing me dead?”

  Marek sighed. “That’s Skaris the Bear. We’ve been friends since we could walk.”

  “I don’t understand. Why is he glaring at me?”

  “Skaris is like a brother to me.” Marek looked at the Bear, then back at Rhia. “Because he is, in a way. His sister was my mate.”

  Rhia dropped her defensiveness for a moment in favor of sympathy. “I see. But he was so nice to me a while ago. I think he was even flirting a little.”

  “That was before he knew you’d taken his sister’s place.”

  She stared at Marek, her shock causing her feet to miss a step, then another. He seemed to have even startled himself with his words.

  “I have?” she said.

  They stopped dancing.

  “Rhia, I know we haven’t known each other long, but we’ve been through so much together, and I—” Marek’s face reddened in the bonfire light, and his words stumbled over one another. “When we ran away from here, even though I believed you would change your mind, just like Coranna said, I would have taken you to Velekos if you’d wanted.” He shook his head. “It seems crazy now, but it’s true. Still, I have no claim on you.”