“Looking for this?”
Sareb stood on the deck of the ship, which loomed far higher than Marek could jump. The captain stepped forward with Nilik in his arms, suspending the boy over the water.
Marek’s stomach froze. Sareb couldn’t be shot without dropping the child into the harbor. The impact alone from that height could kill the boy.
“I’ll trade you,” Marek said. “My child for yours.”
Sareb laughed. “She’s not mine. You can keep her.”
“No!” Mila ran to the railing and clung to it as someone tried to drag her away from behind. “Give me back my baby!” she cried to Marek. “Please!”
Marek forced out the words. “Only if you give me mine.”
“Sorry,” the captain said. “I get paid to bring home Asermon babies, not Ilion babies. Your son could be our one chance.”
“Chance for what?”
“For whatever it is they want babies for. I don’t ask for answers, just payment.” Sareb shifted Nilik in his arms, and the boy shrieked. Mila joined in, clutching the railing.
Eneas leaned close to Marek. “We could try to overrun the ship.”
“If we attack, he’ll drop Nilik. Besides, look.” He pointed to the other end of the ship, where a line of soldiers were taking their places at the railing. “There could be a hundred more down below. You might not even get to him before you’re all killed.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Marek drew a deep breath and picked up Neyla’s basket. “Take the other babies back to Asermos. Tell my wife—” He stopped, combing his mind for a message that would comfort her. “Tell her I’ll protect our son. Whatever it takes.”
The Bear nodded, face grim, and clasped Marek’s shoulder. “Good luck to you.”
Marek stepped onto the gangplank and boarded the ship.
20
Coranna’s funeral pyre sat in a clearing north of Asermos, a space usually used for celebration bonfires. The morning of the funeral, Rhia stood in a clearing with her father, thinking of the weddings, birthdays and solstices she had attended there. Her memories turned as gray as the rain-swollen sky.
Only Kalindons burned instead of buried their dead—due to their rocky soil, but also to their desire to unite with the trees and the air in one final act. For the sake of the Asermons, Damen had prepared Coranna’s body as if for burial, wrapping it in strips of scented, ritually blessed cloth.
She lay now inside the pyre, which rested on flat stones to keep the blaze from spreading to the grass. A pile of dry juniper branches sat off to the side, and torches flickered at each corner of the pyre.
“Damen set all this up in one day?” Tereus asked.
“He’s presided over many funerals in Velekos.” Rhia heard her own reply as if someone else had said it. Her mind kept flying down the river to the bayside village where Marek had been rescued, or not, last night. She wanted to scream at the sky to speed up time, for the sun to sink and make it evening, when the Velekon pigeons would arrive with news of their fate.
Tereus spoke again, bringing her back to the present. “Did Damen send word to Coranna’s grandchildren in Tiros?”
“Yes, we apologized for not delaying the funeral until they could arrive. But we have to be ready to leave in the morning.”
“Are you?”
She nodded. If he asked her one more question, she would explode.
Tereus touched her arm. “Your band of rescuers is here.”
The friends she’d gathered for the mission were climbing the hill to the clearing, walking together as if already bonded by the trials ahead.
Her brother Lycas approached first, giving her a strong, wordless embrace.
“What did Mali say?” she asked him.
“She said if I leave her now, I should never come back.”
“Oh.” Rhia’s heart twisted. Without her brother’s power and ferocity, how could they overcome Marek’s captors?
“With any luck,” he said, “she’ll miss me so much while I’m gone that she’ll change her mind by the time we return.”
Rhia hugged him again. “I’m sorry.”
“Anyone who respects family loyalty as little as that woman does can—” He gritted his teeth. “Never mind. It was a bad idea from the beginning, me and Mali.”
The rest of them approached her one by one with quiet embraces. Arcas had insisted on joining them, because even though he had turned out to be a Spider, he’d trained his whole life as a Bear and thus could wield a sword almost as well as a natural-born soldier. Koli the Bat owned the boat they’d be taking to Velekos. Her stealth powers, scout experience and sensitive hearing would help them gather information. She was also the fastest rider Rhia knew. Bolan would come, as well, bearing pigeons who would fly home to Asermos so the troupe could relay messages in an emergency. Finally, Alanka’s skill with a bow had few rivals. She could hunt food for them on the journey and help ward off attackers.
Damen beckoned Rhia from the pyre. His dark eyes scanned the heavy clouds as she approached. “Everything’s set,” he said, “as long as the weather holds.”
She picked up his white ceremonial robe from the top of the pyre, then held it so he could insert his arms. Its sleeves bore two rows of crow feathers.
He turned to let Rhia fasten the robe behind his back. “I’m going to miss her.” His voice was flat, as if he were observing his emotions instead of feeling them. “She was a good friend.”
“She never felt like a friend to me,” Rhia said. “More like a mother, though she was nothing like my real mother.”
“She worried about you.”
“Why?”
“She said you could be one of the most powerful Crows in a long time, if you’d only follow the rules.”
“Instead of thinking for myself.”
“It’s never that simple. You’ll understand when you’re older. You can’t make the world the way you want it to be.”
Rhia’s lip curled. She wanted to slap him. “I’m learning that very well now, thank you.”
He was silent for a moment, perhaps realizing the carelessness of his remark. “I think that more than anything, she wanted your trust.”
“Which I never gave her, not completely. Now it’s too late.” She turned to the pyre. “How did you die?”
The question seemed to startle him. “I’ve never talked about that with anyone.”
She waited, not taking back the question.
He touched the handle of one of the tall torches. “I froze.”
“Me, too.”
He nodded. “But you thawed.”
She watched the flame flicker against the dark clouds. “Maybe I was never meant to.”
Rhia stood with her family, listening to Damen’s eulogy.
“Thank you for coming today to say goodbye to a woman many of you never met. You honor Coranna’s Spirit with your presence.” He paused. “The Aspect of Crow is one of the rarest. Like most third-phase Crows, Coranna had no one to teach her except the Spirit Himself. Few have adhered so tenaciously to their Spirit’s principles. Kalindos—indeed, the world itself—has lost one of its most valuable citizens.”
Damen glanced at Rhia. She should say something about the person Coranna was, especially after Damen’s dry tribute. She stepped forward. “Many people found it hard to get close to Coranna. She acted proud of the distance she kept from others. She said it was the only way to fulfill a Crow’s duty, to pretend to ourselves that we don’t care, that we don’t hurt.
“I think she hurt.” Rhia’s throat ached. “I know she cared. Cared so much about doing right by others that she shoved her own feelings deep inside her. She did it not out of pride, but love.”
Instead of stepping back into the crowd, Rhia joined Damen at the pyre to sing home Coranna’s soul.
They began to chant, a rousing song that would last until at least one crow came into sight, cawed and flew away, symbolizing the flight of Coranna’s Spirit to the Other Side.
It appeared quickly, beckoned as it was by Crow’s own servants. It cut a harsh shadow against the muted gray sky as it flapped low across the clearing.
Though the bird was alone now, it would soon fly home to its mate, perhaps feed a brood of hungry mouths. Tonight it would share a warm, safe nest with its family. Envy sparked inside Rhia.
They ended the chant as the crow flew away. It was time to burn.
Damen and Rhia each took a torch and touched it to the bottom of the pyre. The oil-soaked wood lit with a sudden wisp of dark smoke. The flames licked at the dry slats, and as they climbed to the top of the pyre, they seemed to form a living creature made of pure heat. Sparks snapped and popped, and Rhia blinked hard with each loud report.
As the flames crept closer to the body, the crowd edged backward. Now the juniper branches were ablaze, releasing a pungent scent that would mask much of the odor of burning flesh.
Rhia wanted to run forward and douse the flames before it was too late.
But it was already too late. Through the flames she could see the strips of cloth curling, blackening.
Tears swelled behind her eyelids. As she reached to wipe them, a voice inside her whispered, No.
She closed her eyes. Is that you? She reached out for her Spirit, fearing the voice was Skaris again, returning to haunt her now that her guard was down.
It’s me, Crow said, His presence like a warm dark cloak around her. You don’t have to be like those who came before. Tears don’t make a person weak.
Her chest ached. But Crows are supposed to turn off the pain.
In the past, perhaps. But the Spirits’ ways are changing.
Does this have to do with Raven? she asked. Will Nilik have Her Aspect?
He was silent for a moment. I don’t know. Of all the Spirits, only She can see the future clearly. She’s told each of us, “make your people ready.”
A thrill coursed through Rhia’s blood, part fear, part hope. Ready for what?
Crow chuckled. Didn’t I just say I couldn’t see the future clearly?
Sorry.
Stay who you are, Rhia. Only more so.
As she felt Crow’s presence fade, her tears began to flow. She didn’t stanch them or even wipe them away.
When she opened her eyes, Damen was staring at her across the pyre. His eyes shone, though perhaps they only watered from the sting of heat and stench.
Finally the fire smoldered and sputtered, and the flames receded to reveal what was left of Coranna’s body—many small bone fragments amid a pile of light gray ashes. Damen turned and thanked the crowd in a muted voice. Most of the people headed back toward the village, some steadying their queasy companions.
Alanka hurried up to hug Rhia. “I’m proud of you both. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It had to be done.” Damen picked up an urn and a small brush. “That’s all.”
Alanka grimaced at Damen’s stoicism. He knelt and swept a tiny amount of ashes into the urn. The ashes would return to Kalindos to hang from the tree where Coranna had lived.
Rhia turned back to Alanka. “I wish I could say I thought of nothing but Coranna.”
“I worry about them, too.” She rubbed her elbows and gazed southwest, toward the river. “It’s hard waiting.”
Rhia watched the last curls of smoke rise from the pyre and wondered what she was waiting for—the news of Marek and Nilik’s rescue or the signal to rescue them herself.
By nightfall she would know.
21
Alanka scanned the pale gray evening sky above Tereus’s house for any sign of the white birds. Rhia quickened her pace as they trudged up the hill to her father’s farm.
Behind them, Bolan cleared his throat. “The pigeons won’t arrive until almost nightfall, especially after the rain we had.” He paused. “They might not come until tomorrow.”
Rhia turned on him. “Don’t say that!”
The other members of the rescue party fell silent. Even Lycas held back his usual teasing.
Alanka almost whispered a prayer to Wolf to keep Marek safe before remembering that her Spirit had abandoned her. She had to concentrate to maintain a Wolf person’s graceful gait and not trip over her own feet. The air smelled as stale as a stone.
Tereus was pacing outside his front door when they arrived. Angry voices shot through the open window.
“Don’t go in there,” he told them.
“What’s happening?” Rhia’s voice snapped taut.
“Galen suspects Filip in the kidnappings.”
“I knew it.” Lycas slammed his fist into his palm. “Let me see him.”
“No!” Alanka said. “It can’t be him.”
Tereus gave her a curious look before turning back to Rhia. “Galen thinks he might have been spying for the Descendants, telling them where the newborns lived.”
“How would he know that?” Bolan said.
“He spent weeks in that hospital,” Lycas pointed out. “He probably overheard Zelia talking about other patients.”
“Father, is it possible?” Rhia asked. “Could he do this to us, after we helped him?” Her voice pitched higher. “How could he?”
“He didn’t,” Alanka insisted, but no one listened.
“I never would have thought him capable of such a thing.” Tereus rubbed the back of his neck. “But he’s disappeared on several occasions in the last few weeks, for hours at a time.”
The noise inside rose. “Where were you?” shouted a rough voice. “If you weren’t meeting a Descendant spy, then where were you?”
Bolan huffed. “Galen brought Badgers to question him?”
“I was riding,” Filip told his interrogators in a loud, firm tone.
“He’s lying,” said another man, “but not entirely.”
Galen spoke in a measured tone. “Filip, did anyone see you on these outings? Did you meet anyone in town or in the woods?”
Alanka crept closer to the window to hear his reply.
“No,” Filip said. “I was alone.”
“That’s not true!” Alanka pushed past Tereus and opened the door. The five men inside gaped at her. Filip sat in a chair between two Badgers wearing the armbands of the Asermon police force. One of them was Medus, the man who had listened to her story two nights ago. Next to Galen stood a man she didn’t recognize, wearing an owl feather fetish. He’d no doubt been employed to detect Filip’s lies.
“He was with me,” she said.
“What?” Lycas followed her in, banging the door into the wall behind it. “You and him? My sister and a Descendant?”
“Your sister and an Ilion, yes.” She squared her shoulders. “And why not?”
Lycas blinked rapidly. “Alanka, his people destroyed your village, slaughtered your elders.”
“They’re not his people. He’s not one of them.”
“She’s right.” Filip glared at Lycas, then stood and moved to the trunk at the foot of his bed. “And clearly, I’m not one of you, either.” He lifted the trunk’s lid.
Alanka went to his side. “What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
Her stomach flipped and twisted. “You’re leaving?”
He looked at her, then at Galen. “Are we finished? I’d like to speak with her alone.”
Galen turned to Alanka. “Will you swear by your Spirit that Filip was with you on the days in question?”
She worried her doubt would show, since she couldn’t swear by a Spirit she didn’t have. Nonetheless, Alanka recounted the instances when she and Filip had met, where they had gone and for how long. She ignored her brother seething near the door.
The Owl appraised her, arms crossed over his broad chest. “The facts she relates are true.”
Medus sighed. “It must have been the other Descendant, then. The one who ran away.” The Badger gave Filip a grudging nod. “Sorry.”
Filip’s jaw clenched, and he didn’t reply.
Galen rubbed his chin hard, clearly vexed. “Fil
ip, why would the Descendants want to kidnap the children? Is it to see how we develop powers? It’s not for the sake of cruelty, is it?”
“Why not?” Lycas said. “They’re capable of anything.”
Filip spoke to Galen. “I’ve never heard of such plans, but I was a junior cavalry officer, not exactly privy to secret strategic planning. Besides, I haven’t been home in over a year, and no, I haven’t been meeting with spies.”
The other man looked at the Owl, who nodded. “I sense no treachery in this regard.”
“My apologies, Filip.” Galen gave a slight bow, then turned to Alanka. “We’ll wait outside for the birds to return.”
They left Alanka and Filip alone, though it took both Badgers to drag Lycas out of the house.
She turned to Filip. “Please don’t leave.”
“I can’t stay, no matter how much you make me want to.”
“Why not?”
“They only accept me when I serve their purposes.” He jabbed his finger to his temple. “Peering into the depraved mind of a ‘Descendant.’”
“Maybe that’s true of Galen, but what about Tereus? What about Bolan?” She took his hand. “What about me?”
“You’re different. So is Bolan. Maybe Rhia, too. As for Tereus—I thought he trusted me, after all these months living in his home. But I saw the doubt in his eyes today. He actually thought I might be capable of hurting children.” His lips tightened, and he let go of her hand. “I can’t forgive that.”
“His grandson was taken. He’s probably not the best judge of character right now. Remember, he wouldn’t have brought you here in the first place if he didn’t have good instincts about you.”
“But the others—you didn’t see the way they looked at me. I’ll never be anything but a Descendant here.” He turned back to the trunk and sifted through his clothes.
“So where will you go?”
“Tiros. I hear people there leave each other alone.”
“Is that what you want? To be left alone?”
“Sometimes.” He folded a pair of trousers and tossed them on the bed.
Alanka slammed the trunk shut. “What about other times?”
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