Eyes of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “I wouldn’t know.” Razvin gripped the stranger’s arm. “Listen to me—my daughter stays safe. You promised.”

  A breeze made a small wave lap on the shore, less than a legspan from where they sat. The foreigner shifted back to avoid getting wet, revealing a long, shiny sword lying at his side.

  The sword of a Descendant.

  She drew in a sharp breath, then covered her mouth. Razvin tilted his head in her direction. He had heard her, or at least heard something that caught his interest.

  Oblivious to the disturbance, the Descendant nudged Razvin and gestured to the markings. “I don’t believe some of these Aspects, especially the third-phase ones. Crow people bringing back the dead, Hawks sending messages to each other over hundreds of miles with just their minds. My superiors won’t believe it, either, unless you show me some proof.”

  Razvin held very still. “I didn’t tell you about the Aspect of Fox. All three phases enhance our natural cunning, the ability to learn secrets with which to manipulate people and events. The first phase allows us to read emotions from the most minute body language. For instance, I can tell you’re afraid of me, even though you carry a sword and I don’t.”

  “No, I’m—”

  “The second phase is camouflage. If I remain perfectly motionless, I can blend in with my background to such a degree that I might as well be invisible.”

  “Show me.”

  “If I do, I won’t have enough energy to display my third-phase powers.”

  The Descendant gave Razvin a skeptical look. “Which is what? Telling the perfect lie?”

  Razvin laughed, long and loud. “No, I was born with that power. I didn’t have to wait to become a grandfather, like I did for this.”

  He stood and took a dramatic pause before removing all of his clothing. Even at his age, he possessed an admirable physique, and Rhia’s mind careened away from the image of her mother admiring it, too.

  When he was naked, Razvin crouched on his hands and knees. The Descendant remained still while looking like he wanted to run away.

  Razvin changed more quickly this time, though the process looked no less agonizing. His shrieks morphed into howls as the fox shape overtook his body.

  The Descendant’s eyes widened with panic. Uttering a string of curses Rhia had never heard before, he leaped to his feet and tried to back away, but bumped into the embankment where she was hiding. He turned to fumble for his sword, and she saw his face, etched with terror.

  Razvin stared up at him, panting, his mouth appearing to form a smug grin. Her hounds gave that look after stealing meat, when they would treat the ensuing chase as a game they would never lose.

  With a cry of rage and fear, the Descendant lunged, swinging his sword at Razvin’s mocking face. The fox hopped back in time to avoid the blade’s arc. Tongue lolling, he turned to run, but the muddy bank gave him little traction. The Descendant lashed out again and sliced the tendon above the fox’s left heel. Razvin squealed in pain and slipped again, one leg useless. His claws scrabbled the mud as the soldier closed in. The next blow, a stab to the throat, cut short Razvin’s cry and threw him to the ground.

  The Descendant swung again and again, hacking at the fox’s lifeless body. Fur and flesh rained red on the riverbank.

  “Beasts!” The man slashed and chopped with a wild panic, as if Razvin would rise if there were anything left of him. “You’re all nothing but beasts!”

  Rhia’s stomach lurched, and her vision blurred and spun. Crow’s wings throbbed inside her head in a rush of rage at the senseless murder and desecration. She pressed the dry grass against her mouth to stifle the cry of anguish, the pain and fear Razvin had experienced at the moment of his death. It was as if he were dragging her to the Other Side with him in his hasty retreat from life. The wing-beats were so loud, she had no idea if she screamed or not.

  The Descendant speared what was left of Razvin the Fox on the tip of his sword and flung him into the river. He lost his grip on the weapon in the process, and it plopped into the muddy shallows several feet from where he stood. He cursed again, then cut himself off as he heard a noise behind him.

  No.

  He looked straight toward Rhia. He wiped the gore from around his eyes with a bloody sleeve, then stared hard at the place where she hid. He didn’t look certain he saw her, but if she moved or even breathed…

  The wind gusted then, pushing down the grasses between them. The Descendant gaped at her for a long moment. With his face full of fear, he looked younger than ever.

  She leaped to her feet and ran. Though she had taken him off guard, he caught up to her within a few strides. He grabbed for her, his fingers slipping off her back. She sprang forward. If she could just reach the forest…

  A hand locked onto her wrist and yanked up and back. Something popped, and she spun as a lightning bolt of pain screamed down her right arm and up into her neck. She shrieked and dropped to her knees.

  “What did you hear?” His face, reeking of fresh blood, pressed close to hers. He jerked her arm again, producing shocks of agony that blinded her. “Tell me what you heard, witch.”

  She didn’t know this word, “witch.” Maybe she could pretend she understood nothing. She began to babble, spouting gibberish in the hopes he would set her free.

  “Don’t you dare put a spell on me.” He cuffed her across the jaw, sending her sprawling on the ground, where she lay stunned.

  “Get up.” He jerked her arm again, and though she wanted to resist, the pain forced her to follow to keep from passing out. Tears blurred her vision. She stumbled downhill until her feet hit mud and she realized where they were going: toward his sword.

  “No!”

  She kicked out, and her foot found the meaty part of his calf, making him cry out. His grip loosened and slid down to her wrist. He grabbed her other arm and held her fast. “I don’t want to hurt a woman, but I can’t let you get away, and I can’t let you work your magic on me.”

  “I’m a Crow,” she sobbed. “My magic can’t touch you yet. Please let me go.”

  “Let you go? So you can warn Asermos of the invasion? I won’t let that happen.”

  “Invasion?”

  His face fell as he realized he’d revealed a secret she hadn’t been certain of.

  He gave an angry tug, and they lurched toward the spot where the sword lay, mud and blood washing away in the shallow water. The Descendant spoke to himself under his breath, perhaps girding up the will to slaughter a woman in cold blood.

  When he let go of one arm to reach for the sword, she twisted out of his grip and turned to run. She took only a few steps before he grabbed the neck of her blouse and threw her on her back with a thud. Her shoulder screamed again.

  She stared up at him, his fine hair now caked and straggling over his frightened face. Beyond him the sky shone blue. A crow called from a nearby tree, waiting for the dead fox to wash ashore—or to see if another feast awaited it.

  They would start with her eyes, she knew. Crow had neither mercy nor cruelty—He just was, and in a few moments she would see Him again.

  32

  The Descendant gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and lifted it, preparing to drive the blade through her breast. He hesitated, and she thought he might change his mind. Then his gaze grew hard. He gritted his teeth and drew back for the blow.

  A mass of gray flashed over her, and the soldier disappeared with a cry of surprise. She rolled to her knees to see a wolf snapping at the throat of the Descendant, who was trying to beat it off with the hilt of his sword.

  It was the old lone wolf, the one whose life she’d saved.

  She scrambled to her feet, wanting to help the creature. But the Descendant had a solid hold on his weapon, which was swinging wildly. Teeth and steel flashed, and she knew she could only save herself. One of them would die.

  She ran, putting the growls and shouts behind her. Each step jarred her shoulder and sent a hot burst of pain through the right side o
f her body, but she had to run. Her entire village depended on her escape.

  A yelp came from the river. Rhia stopped, listened and heard nothing. Even the birds had quieted. The wolf had given its life to repay a few scraps of venison.

  The Descendant would follow soon. She couldn’t outrun him. She looked around for a tree with branches low enough to climb. A hemlock grew about fifteen paces to the north. Its thick layers of branches would conceal her if she could just climb.

  Shuddering, she explored her right shoulder with her left hand. A hard knob at the front of the joint told her it was dislocated, which meant it could be put back in place. She’d seen her mother do it, including with her brothers.

  Could she do it to herself? Even the leather-tough Wolverines had screamed when Mayra reset their shoulders. But relief would follow agony, and in her current state she could barely move, much less climb.

  “Where are you, little girl?” the Descendant shouted in the distance.

  Rhia dashed to the tree and sat hidden behind the trunk. It was either fix her shoulder or feel the Descendant’s sword. She crammed the front of her blouse into her mouth.

  She bent her right knee and clasped both hands around it. Her eyes closed, and she calmed herself the way Galen and Coranna had taught her, taking several deep breaths in through her nose, out through her mouth.

  Help, she prayed to any Spirit who might be listening.

  She extended her neck and leaned back to straighten her arms. A gratifying pop! coincided with a wave of pain that sparked her vision red. Though inside her mind she was screaming, she uttered only a soft grunt. It hurt too much to cry out.

  In a few moments the pain subsided dramatically. She shifted her right shoulder in a slow, cautious motion. It would be sore for a while, but it was back in place.

  She began to climb, favoring her right arm, though it helped steady her as she shifted from branch to branch. The limbs nearly cracked from her weight, which meant they probably wouldn’t hold the Descendant if he found her.

  “I hear you,” a mocking voice called.

  She halted her climb and settled into the crook of a large branch.

  “Was that one of your friends I killed back there? Razvin didn’t tell me Wolves could shape-shift, too, but I figured it out. Was that his daughter I just gutted?”

  He thought the gray wolf had been a Kalindon, she realized. So he still knew nothing about Wolves. But he knew many of her people’s other secrets, and would soon share them with the rest of the Descendants.

  Unless she killed him first.

  But with what? She looked around—no branches hung by only a few fibers so that she could tear them off to use as a weapon. It was too far down to risk jumping on him, stealing his sword and stabbing him left-handed, as if that were a realistic scenario to begin with.

  If he climbed up after her, maybe he would fall. Or if he found her and decided he couldn’t retrieve her from the tree, he might stay at the roots and wait for her to come down. Eventually other Kalindons would come looking for her—maybe Kalindons with bows and arrows.

  Or maybe just Coranna. He could kill the unarmed old woman easily, or use her as bait to get Rhia out of the tree and then kill them both. She couldn’t take that chance.

  If only she could summon Crow to take this man to the Other Side. Her spirit quaked at the thought of wielding such power.

  The Descendant came into view between the branches. His shirt was stained with even more blood, some flowing from his own wounds. He bore a pronounced limp, and the trousers of his right leg were torn and bloody.

  “Where are you?” His voice was tinged with panic and fury. “If you don’t come out, I’ll kill everyone in Kalindos. We agreed to leave your village alone if Razvin told us what he knew about Asermos, but since he’s dead, I see no reason to hold to that bargain. Unless, of course, you come with me.” He leaned against her tree, panting. “I won’t kill you, I promise. I’ll show you luxuries you can’t imagine. You won’t have to live like a savage anymore.”

  He put a hand to his head, drew it away and looked at the fresh blood on it. He wavered, then steadied himself, muttering under his breath.

  “You couldn’t have run far, not in such a short—”

  A twig snapped to Rhia’s left, and the Descendant whirled. With what looked like a great effort, he lifted his sword and charged in the direction of the noise. In his haste, he failed to notice the squirrel bounding up a nearby tree—a squirrel that was the likely cause of the sound.

  A distant “Aaauurgh!” of frustration reached her ears. Perhaps he was losing his way in the forest. Served him right if he were eaten by a bear or cougar or stumbled onto a copperhead snake.

  When she no longer heard his voice or footsteps, Rhia scrambled down from the tree and ran as fast as she could back to Kalindos.

  She saw Alanka on the outskirts of the village, plucking and cleaning a large bird. Rhia stopped, then turned to approach the village from another direction.

  Too late. Alanka’s sensitive ears heard her before she took another step. She waved at Rhia and beckoned her over. Her usual cheery greeting was cut short when she saw Rhia’s face.

  “What happened to you?”

  Rhia put a hand to her cheek and remembered the sharp blow the Descendant had given her. The pain in her arm had dwarfed it. “It’s nothing. Alanka—”

  “Who hurt you?”

  Rhia stood mute as a mouse. Where to begin?

  “Rhia, you’re scaring me.” Alanka shook Rhia’s right arm, making her cry out in pain. “What’s wrong? Tell me what happened.”

  Rhia glanced toward Kalindos. She had to tell the others right away so they could warn Asermos. But Alanka deserved to hear it first.

  She gestured to the fallen tree Alanka had been sitting on. They sat together, and Rhia took her hand.

  “I just saw your father.”

  “So?”

  “He met with a man. Someone from the city of the Descendants. A soldier, I think.”

  Alanka jerked her hand out of Rhia’s. “No. He doesn’t have any business with them. They don’t even trade with us.”

  “He wasn’t trading, at least not for goods. He was—he was telling the Descendant about Asermons and their powers.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Why?”

  “So they could invade us.”

  “No!” Alanka leaped to her feet. “He would never do that. He’s a good man.”

  “He made a bargain to protect Kalindos, to protect you.”

  “No!” She stopped pacing and turned in the direction Rhia had come from. “I’ll find him and ask him myself.”

  “You can’t.”

  She kept walking. “Why not?”

  “Alanka, he’s dead.”

  The girl stopped as if she’d taken an arrow to the heart. Slowly she turned to Rhia, her face white. “It must be someone else. You saw someone else. Not Father.”

  “He shifted his shape, and the Descendant—he lost his mind. He killed your father while he was a fox.” She stood and approached Alanka. “I was right there. The Descendant saw me.”

  Alanka backed away. “You’re lying. If he murdered Father, why didn’t he kill you, too?”

  “A wolf saved me. The soldier killed it, but their fight was enough time for me to escape.”

  The girl stared hard at the ground to Rhia’s side, black eyes flickering. She seemed to be searching her mind for any explanation other than the one Rhia proffered.

  “Where did this happen?”

  Rhia described the area.

  “I know where that is,” Alanka said. “I’ll see if you’re telling the truth.” She grabbed her hunting knife and bow and arrows, and began to run.

  “Alanka, no! The Descendant may be out there.” Her voice ached from the pain in her jaw. “Why would I lie to you?”

  Alanka stopped and turned once more. “You never liked him.” Then she bolted deeper into the forest.

  Rhia called her name again an
d again, but it was too late. She turned for the village, hating herself. Had she told Alanka the news too willingly, too harshly? If someone had accused her own father, Tereus, of such treachery, she wouldn’t trust them, either.

  With her last bit of energy, she ran toward the center of the village. Her weary legs carried her to the base of the trees where Marek and Coranna lived. Coranna’s blue flag waved in the slight breeze. Rhia called their names and heard the panic in her own voice.

  Coranna poked her head out of one of her windows. “Marek’s here. Why are you shouting?” She squinted at Rhia. “Are you hurt?”

  They hurried down the ladder, Marek first. He leaped to the ground and gaped at her face, which was no doubt swollen by now.

  “Call a Council meeting,” she told Coranna. “Razvin’s dead, and he’s betrayed us all.”

  Without waiting for further explanation, Coranna hurried off. Marek led Rhia to the small clearing nearby where the Council met, where a ring of seven flat stones gave each member a permanent seat.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” He held her and rubbed her back as if to warm her. The shock of her experience was starting to set in, and she wanted to lie down and pretend it was all a dream.

  “Let’s wait until the Council arrives. It’s hard enough to tell twice.” She looked up at him with dread. “I saw Alanka on the way here.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She didn’t believe me, so she went to see for herself.”

  “Is she safe?”

  “I hope so. The man who murdered her father is probably gone by now, back to his people. Unless he’s looking for me. Besides, I couldn’t stop her.”

  Marek examined the bruise on her face. His expression grew feral. “I’ll kill this man for hurting you. Who was he?”

  She uttered the hard words. “He was a Descendant.”

  “A Descendant?” said a voice behind them.

  They turned to see Zilus the Hawk striding toward the center of the circle, hurrying himself with the aid of a walking stick. Behind him filed four more council members, two men and two women, Kerza and Coranna. Without Razvin and Etar, they were now only five.