Voice of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Alanka was about to ask Endrus’s opinion on the subject when she heard the distant sound of footsteps. They rustled the dry leaves with a solid, regular beat—not a rabbit or bird. A deer?

  “I hear something.” Her nostrils flared, but the wind was blowing from the opposite direction.

  Endrus readied his bow, nocking the arrow against the string.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the rhythm of the footsteps. Human. A man, judging by the heavy tread. Not likely a Kalindon. They all knew that wandering through the hunting grounds at this time of morning could get them accidentally shot.

  Besides, the steps were heading toward the village, not away. A stranger, then. A Descendant? No, surely not alone.

  “I see him,” Endrus whispered. He raised his bow.

  A slim man with long black hair appeared. Though Alanka couldn’t see what he carried on his back from this angle, the weight of his walk suggested a heavy load. Someone from a distance, then.

  “Halt!”

  Alanka jumped at the sound of Endrus’s voice at her ear, low and commanding.

  The man stopped and peered up into their tree. “Hello?”

  “Who are you?” Alanka said.

  He came forward a few steps, and Endrus shouted, “I told you to halt!”

  The black-haired man held up his hands. “Don’t shoot, please. I come from Velekos.”

  Endrus tautened the bow further. “I’m supposed to take your word for it?”

  “Wait,” Alanka told the Cougar. “I remember him.” She scrambled out of the tree, scraping her arm and nearly falling on her head.

  The man watched her, hands in the air, his long muskrat coat hanging below his hips. She approached him, his name stuck between her mind and her mouth. Then she saw the black feather fetish around his neck. “Damen?”

  “That’s right.” He smiled and nodded at her, then shook his head. “I haven’t the slightest idea who you are.”

  “I’m Alanka. You can put your arms down now, by the way.”

  “Alanka?” He gaped at her and held his hand waist high. “Little Alanka?”

  “How long has it been? Ten years?”

  “Ten long years.” Damen grinned at Endrus, who had dropped from the deer blind, with much more grace than she had. “Greetings.”

  “Welcome.” Endrus introduced himself and gave Damen the traditional Kalindon vigorous embrace. Damen reacted in typical eye-bulging non-Kalindon fashion. “What brings you here?”

  Damen recovered his breath from the hug and straightened his crow feather. “At long last, I entered the second phase.”

  Alanka and Endrus shared a gasp. “Have you heard the Raven prophecy?” the Cougar asked.

  Damen rolled his eyes. “It’s all anyone talks about, especially now that Reni’s pregnant.”

  “Your wife must be so excited,” Alanka said.

  Damen’s glance darted away. “Well, we’re not married, ya see.”

  “Ah.” Alanka wondered why it had taken so long for Damen to enter the second phase. He must be twenty-seven or twenty-eight by now. It was rare even to reach twenty-five without becoming a parent.

  “Go take him to Coranna,” Endrus said to Alanka. “I’ll stand guard alone, try to keep myself entertained.” He winked at them, then leaped to grasp the edge of the deer blind. In a moment he had hoisted himself back into position.

  Alanka and Damen headed toward the village. “Coranna will be happy to see you,” she said.

  “And more than a tiny bit surprised, I imagine.”

  “Funny you showing up now. Her other apprentice just left to go back to Asermos. She’s having a baby, too.”

  “I did hear that from the rescue party, very good news.”

  “Coranna and I are going to be there next spring when it’s born. You should come, too, and meet her.”

  “I’d very much like that,” he said, “but no doubt she won’t feel like getting acquainted in the middle of labor, heh?”

  His lilting Velekon dialect extracted her first smile in weeks. “I remember when you were here before, I’d follow you around to listen to you talk.”

  “You find my accent amusing, do ya?”

  “The way all your words run together in one long breath until you get to the end of the sentence and it pops up.” Her voice pitched and plummeted over the last two words in what she thought was a perfect Velekon accent.

  “Uncanny. You’d fit in nice there.”

  “Thank ya.”

  “So what did you turn out to be?” he asked her.

  She held up her bow. “Wolf. Kerza’s my mentor. You remember Kerza?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “She survived the attack, I heard.”

  “There’s only about a hundred of us now.” The dead feeling, banished for a few moments by Damen’s appearance, returned. “Just the ones who fought in the battle for Asermos, and a few second-phase Wolves who disappeared in time.”

  He jammed his hands in his coat pockets. “Velekos is finally changing its shameful policy of neutrality toward Ilios.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “We didn’t want to be conquered, so we looked the other way when the Descendants invaded Asermos. We’re a small village.”

  “Not as small as Kalindos. Especially now.”

  He brushed his hand against her elbow in an awkward motion that she nonetheless found sweet. “I heard about your father.”

  She groaned and covered her face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I don’t understand why Razvin would spy against Asermos for the Descendants.”

  “Partly to bargain for the safety of Kalindos, for my safety. But also because he hated Asermos. A long time ago he was in love with Rhia’s mother, Mayra. He wanted to marry her but the Asermons didn’t want some Kalindon scum to marry one of their women. That’s what he told me, anyway. He left Mayra with twin boys—Rhia’s half brothers and my half brothers, Lycas and Nilo, who never even met him.”

  “I see. Go on.”

  “Last spring he made a deal with a Descendant soldier and gave him information on every Animal’s powers. But he also made the mistake of showing off his third-phase Fox magic.”

  “He shape-shifted in front of a Descendant?”

  “Who got scared and killed my father while—” her voice threatened to break. “—while he was in the form of a Fox.” Alanka took a deep breath. Telling the whole story at once had loosened her chest.

  As they continued toward the village, Damen asked her about several Kalindons he remembered from his last visit. He gave up when it turned out most of them were dead or missing.

  When they entered Kalindos, he fell silent at its emptiness, to which Alanka had almost grown accustomed.

  A blue flag hung from Coranna’s porch, signaling that she was home and accepting visitors, though Alanka knew it was no guarantee the Crow woman would feel sociable. They climbed the ladder to her porch and knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” came an irritated voice from within. “I’m busy.”

  Damen leaned close to the entrance. “Too busy for an old friend, heh?”

  Rapid footsteps approached the door, which swung inward with a whoosh. Coranna’s mouth dropped open at the sight of Damen. “I don’t believe it.” She moved onto the porch to wrap him in an embrace. Alanka stepped back; she’d never seen Coranna show such unrestrained affection to anyone.

  “Come in, come in. You must be exhausted.” She dragged him inside, beckoning Alanka to follow.

  “I should get back to my post,” Alanka said.

  Damen offered her a slight bow. “Thank you for escorting me.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Coranna started to close the door.

  “Coranna, wait.” When the Crow woman stopped, Alanka said, “With Marek and Rhia gone, do you need help?”

  “Thank you, but now that Damen’s here—”

  “I mean, for practical things, like food and supplies, what Marek used to do for you. I could l
ive next door in his house until they come back.”

  Coranna glanced behind her at Damen. “I don’t think—”

  “Please,” Alanka said. “It’s hard living in my father’s house since he died.”

  Coranna’s eyes softened. “I suppose I could use the help. Thank you.” She gave a tight-lipped smile and shut the door.

  “That’s odd,” Alanka murmured, wondering at Coranna’s reluctance. Then she walked over the wooden rope bridge to what had been Marek and Rhia’s home.

  The tiny house was sparse but clean inside. Alanka opened the two windows to let in fresh air, then sat on the bed and dared a small smile.

  Maybe if she left her father’s house, he would leave her mind.

  11

  Birds again. Why was it always birds?

  Filip frowned at the roost of pigeons that sat against the stable on Tereus’s farm. They cooed to each other about sand and stone and fried bread.

  A chill wind ripped over the hills, finding passage through his thin leather coat, which he pulled tighter around him. It was only the middle of autumn, according to the Ilion calendar he’d drawn on parchment and hidden under his pillow. Yet here in Asermos all but a few dry yellow-brown leaves had fallen from the oaks and hickories, and this morning he swore he could smell snow in the air. Perhaps if the Ilion generals spent one winter in this place, they’d end their plans for conquest.

  The pigeons continued to converse, and he leaned closer to the roost, as much for shelter from the brutal wind as to hear their bird words.

  “Thinking of adding a little something to their food to knock them out?”

  Filip turned to see Bolan rounding the corner of the small farmhouse, followed by Galen the Hawk. They wore no coats, of course. Bolan’s long blond hair was tied back from his face as if it were midsummer.

  The young Horse, whom he saw every other day now, walked up and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Filip and Galen exchanged uneasy bows.

  Filip indicated the pigeons. “What are they talking about?”

  Bolan listened for a moment. “Sounds like Velekos. They’re talking about home. They are homing pigeons, after all. Isn’t that what you called them?”

  “Have the others arrived yet?” Galen asked.

  “Almost an hour ago. Fastest test flight yet.” Filip pointed to the Asermon pigeons, two white birds on the right side of the roost, in a cage separate from the others. “They brought these.” From his pocket he produced two small scrolls and handed them to Galen. Unlike the Ilion pigeon messages, these held pictures and maps but no words. Though these people could sound out letters and simple words, they had trouble grasping the syntax of complex written language, no matter how he explained it. But in this case it didn’t matter, because the words came from the birds themselves. The Asermons had taken his people’s military tactic, added magic to it and made it their own.

  Bolan eased the smaller white pigeon from its cage. He held it near his face but far enough to avoid getting pecked in the eye.

  “When did you leave?” he asked the bird.

  “Right after sunrise,” was all Filip could understand before the pigeon’s words turned garbled. It embarrassed him to have Bolan translate bird-speak. Dogs and horses were easier.

  “Any further messages?” Bolan asked the pigeon. A few moments later he laughed. “Galen, next time you’re in Velekos, Nadia the Horse woman wants to have dinner with you.”

  Galen coughed, then looked at the darkening sky. “It took the birds almost all day to get here, but it’s faster than we could ride. Safer, as well.”

  Bolan set the bird on its roost and gave it a gentle stroke. “Hawks would be even quicker.”

  Filip latched the cage. “I told you they can’t be trained to deliver messages. Our military tried, but hawks only work for hunting.” The men looked askance at him, and he realized he’d said, our military. “The Ilion military, that is.”

  Since arriving at Tereus’s farm three months ago, Filip had resigned himself to no longer being an Ilion. But he refused to help the Asermons any way but defensively. Even that aid was self-preservation, he told himself; if Ilios invaded Asermos, Filip would have nowhere to live.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Bolan said. “Arma’s trying to teach our hunting falcons to fly long-distance, but even third-phase Horse magic can’t work against an animal’s instincts.”

  From the corner of his eye, Filip saw Galen examining him carefully. If he didn’t excuse himself with a farm chore, the Hawk would put him through another round of questioning. Galen seemed to regard Filip and his latent magic as a puzzle whose solution held the key to his people’s survival.

  “The horses need watering.” Filip picked up the bucket and headed for the pump. “Release one of the Velekon birds if you want.”

  “Wait,” Galen said.

  Filip stopped short. He winced, not only because his prosthesis chafed his thigh when he made sudden moves. “What is it?”

  “Have you decided what to do about your Bestowing?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Yes, you’ll go?” Galen sounded surprised.

  “Yes, I’ve decided. I’ve decided not to do it.” He walked toward the pump and heard Galen’s footsteps following.

  “During the Bestowing,” the Hawk said, “the Spirit of Horse will grant you your full powers.”

  “I tried telling him that,” Bolan called.

  “I don’t want any more powers,” Filip said. “The ones I have are bad enough.”

  “The Bestowing will help you control them.” Galen caught up to him—an easy thing to do. “It’s like taming a young colt. All his speed and power aren’t much use until you can rein him in. The Bestowing gives you the reins.”

  Filip didn’t answer. He wanted better control over his powers, but the Bestowing carried other, unacceptable consequences.

  “When you undertake the ritual,” Galen said, “you will become one of us.”

  “Exactly.”

  Galen stopped, and Filip moved on.

  Rhia and her family rode to a fork in the wooded trail, with one path leading uphill. Tereus turned to her. “Do you want to go home first or visit Silina for an examination?”

  “Home,” she said, as the voice behind her said, “Silina.”

  She turned to glare at Marek, who held on to her waist even after they’d stopped moving. “I won’t go into town looking like this.”

  “You look fine,” he said.

  “Smelling like this, then.”

  They continued uphill. As they neared the family farm, the rolling, sun-drenched fields seemed to want to yank her out of the dark woods. She could almost smell the hay and hear the melodic twitter of the red-winged blackbirds.

  When at last the woods grew sparse, she could see the small farmhouse and its pastures below. The ponies were gathered at one side of the paddock, where the water trough lay. A figure walked toward them with an unsteady gait, carrying two buckets.

  “Is that Filip?” Rhia asked her father.

  “That’s him.” Tereus scanned the farm from their vantage point on the hill. “The place hasn’t fallen apart.” He turned to his stepson. “I told you we could trust him.”

  Lycas shrugged. “He probably trained the hounds to attack us when we return.”

  They rode toward the paddock. The sandy-haired Descendant acknowledged them with a nod as he emptied the water buckets into the trough. Rhia felt Marek’s arms tense around her waist.

  Tereus halted his pony next to the paddock and slid off with a grunt. “Filip, greetings. This is my daughter, Rhia, and her husband, Marek.”

  Filip started to bow, then stared at Rhia with recognition.

  “You gave me water,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “After the battle, in the healer’s tent. We spoke.” He looked away and ran his fingers over the edge of his coat. “I regret some of my words.”

  Her memory unclouded. “But at the time
you weren’t—that is, you had—”

  “Two legs?” His face reddened, and she felt hers do the same. “An infection set in later.” He looked at her pony’s head, then back at her and Marek. “He’s tired.”

  “No, I’m not,” Marek snapped.

  “I meant the horse.” Filip glared at the Wolf. “And his right hock is sore.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Rhia nudged Marek, and he slid off the pony. She dismounted after him. “His gait was fine on the way here.”

  “I doubt that.” Filip walked around the horse’s right side, passing his hand along the dark brown flank until he came to the rear leg. The Descendant’s limp was imperceptible now, maybe because he knew he was being watched. “Then again, with these ponies it can be hard to tell when their gait’s off. They’re not exactly the height of refinement.”

  She gaped at her father. Was this man insulting their stock? Tereus just turned his eyes to the sky with a look of resignation.

  Lycas dismounted and led his gray mare to the stable without a word for Filip. The tension among the men made Rhia uneasy. Only her father seemed at peace with the situation.

  “Everything all right while we were gone?” he asked Filip, who was crouched beside the gelding’s right rear leg.

  The Descendant didn’t answer. Rhia ducked under the pony’s neck to see Filip’s blue eyes unfocus as he ran his hand over the hock and down the cannon bone to the ankle. He seemed to be listening to another world. She knew the feeling.

  “No heat, and the pain isn’t sharp, so it’s probably only a bruise.” Filip stood and patted the horse’s haunch. “We’ll put a poultice on it and see how it feels in a few days.”

  “Thank you.” Tereus held out the reins. “If you could attend to these two while we get cleaned up, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll help,” Rhia said.

  Marek placed a hand on her shoulder. “You should get something to eat and drink.”

  “Yes. Let me know when it’s ready.” She leaned forward to kiss him and added in a whisper, “Don’t let my father cook.”

  She ignored Marek’s frown and joined Filip to lead the ponies toward the stable. The swish-thump of hooves through grass was the only sound until he cleared his throat. “They come scruffier in Kalindos, don’t they?”