Eyes of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “I’m not surprised the Descendants are invading.” Galen stood to pace the scuffed wooden floor of his home. “The warning signs have been there for years. But that one of our own would betray us…”

  Rhia glanced at Alanka, who sat at the table with the three of them, her gaze downcast. “Razvin didn’t consider himself one of us. A lot of Kalindons agree with him. Even those who would never act against us won’t come to our defense.” Rhia sat back in her chair. “I thought they accepted me as one of their own. They gave up pieces of their lives for me, after all.”

  Galen nodded with a look of regret.

  “What do you mean?” Arcas said.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Rhia asked Galen. “You knew I’d have to die, and how my life would be paid for.”

  Arcas gaped at her. “What?”

  “You wouldn’t have gone if I’d told you,” Galen said.

  “You don’t know that.” Rhia shook her head. “You should have told me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Galen’s voice held genuine contrition. He put his hand on Rhia’s shoulder and gazed down at her. “I did what I thought best at the time, but I may have been too sparing with the truth.”

  Rhia doubted he would change his actions if given another chance, but perhaps he was right. Even if she had gone to Kalindos knowing it meant her death, she would never have accepted the ransom of others’ lives to bring her back.

  “What are we going to do about the Descendants?” she asked him.

  Galen crossed the room to a small desk in the corner. “I’ll notify Torin so he can begin a battle strategy. Tomorrow the Council will hold a public meeting to discuss the news with the village.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a parchment map, which he unfolded on the table. “Some Asermons may wish to evacuate to Tiros, or at least send their children. It lies in the opposite direction from the invading forces, so they’ll be safe there for now. I’ll send a message to the Tiron Council leader asking him to accept our refugees.” He pointed to a mark south of Asermos. “Velekos is too close to Descendant territory. They may even be invaded first. We should warn them if we can get a messenger there in time.”

  “Razvin’s soldier didn’t mention Velekos,” Rhia said.

  “But it makes sense.” Arcas traced an imaginary line between the Southern Sea and Asermos. “Velekos lies between us and the Descendants. They’re a smaller village and don’t pose much of a threat. If conquered, they could even be forced to fight against us.”

  Rhia shuddered at the thought of her people waging war against each other with their magic. Arcas was right, though, and he was thinking like a Bear.

  “I must go.” Galen took his hawk feather fetish from a peg on the wall and hung it around his neck. As he opened the door, he nodded goodbye to Alanka, then gave Rhia a tight smile. “Welcome home.”

  As she watched him go, she wondered if she were truly home.

  “Alanka and I should leave, too,” she said to Arcas.

  He frowned and shuffled his feet under the table. “I missed you, Rhia.”

  Alanka glanced between them, then her eyes widened. “Oh.” She pushed her chair from the table. “Where’s the outhouse?”

  Arcas gave her an apologetic look. “It’s outside.”

  “Of course. I’ll be there. Outside.” She hurried out, sending Rhia a grimace as she left.

  “Sorry,” he said when the door had closed again. “I didn’t mean to embarass her. But what I said is true. I missed you.”

  She shook her head. Razvin’s slaughter, Marek’s disappearance, the impending war—all made it impossible to handle the strange mix of emotions Arcas inspired in her.

  “I must see my father.” She stood and moved toward the door. “And our brothers. They need to know their father is dead, and that they have another sister.”

  He followed her. “I’ll take you.”

  “Shouldn’t you be meeting with Torin? You’re a Bear, right?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Everyone knows.”

  Rhia stopped and stared at him.

  “After you left,” he continued, “I thought about what you said. You were right. Besides, the Bear Spirit never answered when I reached out for Him. And Spider—” He pressed a hand to his temple. “She wouldn’t let me go. It’s what I am.”

  He parted the top of his vest to reveal a delicately carved wooden spider hanging from a thin rope around his neck. “This was my third attempt.” He fingered the fetish. “The legs broke off the first two.”

  She took a step toward him. “Does this mean—”

  “I’ll still fight when the Descendants invade.” He held up a hand at the sight of her dismay. “It’s what I’ve trained for, all my life. Asermos needs every warrior. I won’t be the best, but I’ll be there.”

  She gazed at his determined face, ruthlessly browned by the sun, and admired Arcas more than ever. Whether she loved him, however, remained to be seen.

  “I understand,” she said. “I’m proud of you, and grateful for your service to Asermos.” The words sounded so formal. All she could think of was the rush of Crow’s wings over his body. “I just hope I never have to—”

  “Shh.” He touched her hand. “There’ll be enough death soon. Let’s not speak of it now.” He lowered his head to kiss her.

  “I’m sorry.” She stepped away, cheeks burning. “I must find my family.”

  Tereus was kneeling beside one of the mares, cleaning her left front hoof, when Rhia and Alanka approached the house on foot. She paused to watch him, to soak in the pastoral serenity that might soon be lost forever.

  He sat back on his heels and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Rhia was relieved he hadn’t cut his hair again since Mayra’s death. He wore it in a short braid that fell a few inches below the shoulders.

  He looked up then and squinted, as if he didn’t believe what he saw.

  “Papa!” She started to run. He dropped the hoof pick and held out his arms, a bewildered look on his face. She hugged him carefully, to avoid hurting her shoulder again.

  “Rhia, what are you doing home?” He smiled at Alanka. “Who’s your friend?”

  She introduced them, and after Tereus bowed he touched Rhia’s sling. “What happened to you?”

  “Too much to tell twice more today. Are my brothers here?”

  He cast a glance at the setting sun. “They should be back with the hounds soon, and hopefully some fresh dinner.”

  “Then my story can wait until they arrive.”

  A distant holler came from the other side of the field. Rhia shaded her eyes to see two black-haired men waving their arms.

  “Is that them?” Alanka’s voice sounded hopeful for the first time in days.

  “None other.” A smile crept onto Rhia’s face.

  The dogs reached her first, their long gray legs devouring the uphill climb, tongues lolling with the exhaustion and exhilaration of the hunt.

  Alanka yelped in alarm at the approach of the six-hound pack. “You said they were big, but—” Her words were smothered in fur and slobber, and soon she was laughing.

  Lycas and Nilo arrived then, each carrying two rabbits, which they dropped on the ground so they could hug Rhia.

  “You’re early,” Nilo said as he let go of her.

  “We weren’t expecting you until next spring.” Lycas grabbed her around the waist and scooped her off her feet as though she were made of feathers. “Who can I complain to about the change in schedule?”

  As Lycas put her down, Rhia sensed the difference in him. She touched his skin, which had grown thick and tough. The second phase had strengthened his defenses.

  “Please say it’s not Mali,” she said.

  He looked at Tereus. “You told her?”

  Her father held up his hands. “I said nothing. They just arrived.”

  The twins turned to Alanka, who was trying to keep her feet among the milling dogs. Rhia gestured to her.


  “Lycas, Nilo, this is—”

  “Your sister Alanka.” The girl approached them and looked back and forth at her brothers’ faces. The three stared at each other for a long moment, then Nilo turned to Lycas.

  “She looks like you,” he said.

  “No,” Lycas countered. “Definitely more like you.”

  Rhia groaned. “You both wish you were half that pretty. Stop gawking and greet her.”

  Stunned, the men began to bow, then gave up and wrapped Alanka in a hearty hug.

  “Ack,” she said over Nilo’s shoulder, “I can’t breathe.”

  They let her go and examined her face again. Their expressions sobered in the same moment. Lycas touched the side of Alanka’s head.

  “Why is your hair short?” he asked with trepidation.

  Alanka began to cry.

  Over dinner, Rhia’s father and brothers listened to her tale with grave demeanors.

  When she finished, Tereus rose and collected their dishes, moving slowly, as if he had aged a decade while they talked. “My dreams make sense now.”

  “You’ve seen this coming?” she asked him.

  “The images were too cloudy. Now it’s clearer. There are other pieces, though, that don’t fit.” He turned to them. “I need some time alone to figure out what it all means.”

  “Go upstairs,” Rhia said. “We’ll clean up.”

  The four siblings washed and dried the dishes without speaking. For once, Lycas joined his twin in a stony silence. They had gained a sister, lost a father and learned of a war, all in one evening.

  When the house was clean, they gathered their mugs and the jar of ale, and slipped outside. Rhia spread a large blanket on the ground. The sun had dipped below the horizon, sending tendrils of color threading through the wispy clouds.

  Alanka stared at the view. “I’ve never seen a sky so big.”

  “You should see Tiros.” Nilo handed her a mug of ale. “Flat, dry, boring, but nice sunsets.” To Rhia he said, “Would you do something for us?”

  “Is it a trick?”

  “No. We’d like you to call our father home.”

  Rhia realized that in the flurry of panic on their exit from Kalindos, no one had remembered to hold a funeral for Razvin. Perhaps Coranna had performed it after they left. Yet the man’s children deserved comfort.

  “I’ve never done it alone.” She looked at the darkening sky. “I hope it’s not too late for crows.”

  “You can do it.” Alanka touched Rhia’s elbow. “But if you’d rather not—his death was hard on you, too.”

  “I’ll do it.” They knelt in a circle on the blanket and joined hands. Rhia closed her eyes, letting the sound of the wind in the trees clear her mind. She chanted low at first, uncertain as to the quality of her voice. It sounded awkward to her own ears until she got her full breath under it. The tone cleared and resonated at the back of her throat. As the other three joined her, she felt the call float to the sky and spread through the air.

  Just as her mouth began to dry, a crow cawed from the top of a nearby pine, then swept across the field where the ponies grazed. The chant faded as the bird flew away.

  She opened her eyes. “He’s gone.” She wished she could feel Razvin’s spirit leave, but he had probably crossed over days before. The declaration appeared to soothe her siblings, though. They remained motionless for several moments. She considered asking her brothers if they wanted to shear their hair, but they might assent only to avoid hurting Alanka’s feelings, not out of any true sense of loss. No doubt they would cut their hair when Tereus died, though they weren’t blood relatives.

  Finally Lycas stirred. “You have a way with those birds. Maybe you could call a pheasant for tomorrow’s dinner?”

  She returned his slight smirk and said nothing.

  “Thank you, Rhia.” Alanka squeezed her hand, then sipped the ale and stared at the sunset. Her lower lip trembled, and she looked overwhelmed by the foreign sensations. Rhia herself felt out of place here. Earlier she had marveled at the simple act of leaving a building without a ladder. The cord of her crow feather fetish chafed the back of her neck; she hadn’t worn it since the day she left home for her Bestowing.

  Lycas tousled his new sister’s hair, what there was of it. “We’re glad you’re here.”

  Alanka’s mouth twitched. “So you can torture me?”

  “Rhia!” Nilo gave her good arm a light cuff. “You weren’t supposed to warn her. Now there’ll be no fun at all.”

  “You’re just mad because we outnumber you,” Rhia said.

  He scrunched up his face. “Two of us, two of you—how do you figure?”

  “Two women are twice as formidable as two men.”

  “No argument here,” Lycas said. “If Mali has a daughter, I’m dead.” He frowned. “I’m already dead, though, once I tell her that her pregnancy means she’ll have to evacuate.”

  Rhia cringed. “They’ll have to drag her to Tiros.”

  Lycas’s face was serious. “It’ll destroy her not to fight. I know how she feels. We train for years for a moment like this. We live for it, terrible as that sounds.”

  “It’s not terrible,” Alanka said. “You’re defending your people, your land.”

  A dark look passed between the twins, and Rhia knew that it was not the defense of freedom that boiled their blood. They were Wolverines, born to kill. No doubt their hands itched to close around a Descendant’s throat.

  To break the spell that war had cast upon them, Rhia nudged Alanka’s arm. “How do you like the ale?”

  “Tastes better than meloxa.” Alanka belched, to her brothers’ amusement. “But I need twice as much to get half as drunk.”

  “We have ways of drinking faster,” Nilo said, “time-honored methods passed down through the ages from big brothers to little sisters.”

  They talked and drank until long after the stars appeared. Rhia banished her thoughts of death, danger and betrayal. For one summer night, at least, it was enough to be young and alive and with the family she loved.

  35

  Galen called a public Council meeting early the following afternoon. When Rhia, Tereus and Alanka arrived at the long town hall by the riverside, it looked as though the entire village of three thousand had showed up. Most crowded outside; only one person from each household could attend the meeting. This rule ensured that everyone would hear the proceedings from someone in their home and no one would go uninformed.

  “You go in,” Tereus told them. “Your parts in this are bigger than mine.”

  Alanka agreed, frowning. Rhia worried that Razvin’s name would be spoken with venom in this meeting. She squeezed her friend’s hand and led her through the crowd toward the center of the stuffy room where a long wooden table sat.

  “If they can see you, they might not mention your father.”

  “I can’t blame them for being angry. I know I am.” Alanka’s hand swept her forehead. “There’s so many people in one place.”

  “You’re not used to it.” Neither was she, Rhia realized. After the Kalindon serenity, the bustle of Asermos threatened to suffocate her. But here she would remain, though she felt she had left a piece of herself behind in the forest, a piece held firmly in the jaws of a certain Wolf.

  Rhia and Alanka found seats near the table just as Galen and the ten other village Council members filed in and took their seats around it. The Hawk waited several moments for the crowd to quiet, then stood next to his chair at the center of the table. The wave of silence spread from the front to the back of the room.

  “By now,” he said, “most of you have an idea why I’ve called a meeting of the entire village. Rumors fly quickly in Asermos.”

  A man in the front row stood. “Galen, are the Descendants invading or not?”

  Galen took a deep breath. “We have reason to believe so.”

  The hall erupted in dismayed cries and impromptu discussions as the word spread to the folks outside. Galen gave them a chance to assimilate
the news, then held up a hand for quiet.

  “We have sent extra scouts, Bats and Weasels, both south and west to monitor the progress of Descendant troops. We don’t know yet when the invasion will take place. It may be days, weeks or months, but we must prepare. I have asked the village of Tiros to take in any Asermons who wish to evacuate. Those who wish to leave or send their children should prepare to do so immediately.”

  Galen gestured to a tall, thick-set man standing against the wall to the side of the table. “Torin would like all Bears to assemble immediately after this meeting at his headquarters to review military strategies. Wolverines, Wasps and all archers meet them in Deer Meadow at first light tomorrow to begin maneuvers.”

  Many audience members appeared to calm at the thought of the Asermon defense forces. Few of them, Rhia included, understood the true power of the village’s army. At least, she hoped that there was more to it than met the eye, for there could have been no more than a few hundred Bears and Wolverines, a few dozen archers—Bobcats, mostly—and perhaps a dozen Wasps. Others would help fight, but the total forces available did not approach a thousand.

  Silina the Turtle woman raised her hand, and Galen gestured for her to speak. She stood slowly. Rhia had never seen her so somber. Even when Mayra had died, Silina’s sorrow had been tempered with tenderness. Now her face held pure dread.

  “Galen,” she said, “in the last day, since the rumors began, I have had several visits from Asermons who wish to—” she bit down on the word “—hasten toward their second-phase powers in time for the battle.”

  It took a moment for the implications to set in.

  Galen cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I understand. You’re saying that some villagers—”

  “Want to make babies to gain power,” she said. “I can’t say it any clearer than that.”

  Rhia saw her horrified gaze reflected in Alanka’s face as the crowd descended into heated mutters.

  “You can’t do that,” Alanka whispered to Rhia. “Look what happened to Marek when he wasn’t ready to be a father.”

  His face etched in silent pondering, Galen sat down to indicate the topic was open for all to discuss.