Voice of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  He and Bolan left the inn and strode through the long shadows of the side streets toward the market. On the way there, he explained the city’s layout.

  “It’s divided into quadrants. Right now we’re in the northwest quadrant. Tawdry area, for the most part. Lower-class, manual laborers, a few craftsmen. Few slave owners, though, so I’d be surprised to find Marek here.”

  Bolan cast a wide-eyed gaze around him and said nothing.

  “Don’t gawk,” Filip told him. “You’ll call attention to yourself.”

  Bolan narrowly avoided bumping into a donkey cart. “Where are all the trees?”

  “In the park.”

  “What’s a park?”

  “A place where they have trees.” He breathed in deep through his nose, savoring the unique mix of salt air, rotting fish and horse dung, a combination he once found putrid. Now its familiarity made it painfully sweet.

  On the outskirts of the bustling market block, they found their first target. A skinny brown dog lurked in a recessed doorway, ribs showing through its dull, shaggy coat. Filip and Bolan approached it from an oblique angle so as not to startle it. They leaned against the stone wall of the building. Bolan squatted with a chunk of bread, holding it out to the side without looking at the dog.

  The animal, a female, slunk out of its safe place, nose straining forward, legs tense and ready to run.

  “Come on, girl,” Bolan murmured. “Early supper for you.”

  Filip took Rhia’s wooden box from his pocket, and the dog backed up.

  “It’s all right.” Bolan offered the bread. He pursed his lips to make a kissing sound, avoiding the dog’s gaze.

  She stretched out, snatched the bread from his hand and leaped back to gnaw it, dripping crumbs from the sides of her mouth. Her scrawny tail wagged weakly. Filip held open the box.

  Bolan rolled his sleeve down over his hand and picked up Marek’s scarf, the one Rhia had packed, the one they hoped held Marek’s scent over a month after his disappearance.

  Bolan held out the scarf in the same posture as the bread. The dog crept forward, curious. Filip closed his eyes and linked his mind with the dog’s.

  Hunger pinched her gut, and her mouth was raw and sticky with thirst. Tiny things crawled through the fur on her neck.

  The man with the food held out something else. Could it hurt me? The dog stepped back. But his hand smelled of bread, and his mind made kind, soothing noises. Safe. She took a step forward on sore paws.

  The scarf smelled of another man, and, more faintly, a woman. Food Man wanted something from the dog.

  “Have you smelled this man?” he asked. Filip heard Bolan’s words through the dog’s mind. He opened his eyes to see her lick Bolan’s fingers and risk a glance at his face. She wanted more food. No sign of recognition.

  Bolan frowned. “Thank you, anyway.” He reached in his pocket, the one that held the rest of the bread.

  Filip stopped him. “We need that for the others.”

  “But look at her, she’s starving.”

  “There are hundreds more like her. You can’t save them.”

  Bolan stood and looked at the dog, who backed off several paces, ready to flee, though she didn’t look as if she would get far on such shaky legs. “How can they let them live like that? Why doesn’t someone take care of them?”

  “Because they’re just beasts. They don’t have souls.”

  Bolan turned to him. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Now I do, but how are these people supposed to know that? The Spirits abandoned them, left them not only without magic, but without wisdom, too.” They walked on, and he lifted a hand to the tall buildings around them. “They made their own wisdom out of nothing. Can you blame them?”

  “They abandoned the Spirits first.”

  “Maybe, but they’re only human. What’s the Spirits’ excuse?”

  “What about the gods?”

  Filip stopped walking. They stood before a small temple, erected in honor of a god he’d never heard of, no doubt the protector of this specific neighborhood and its people. “I used to believe they gave us all this,” he said, “that the city was sitting here waiting for our ancestors. Most Ilions believe that, especially here in Leukos.”

  “What do the others believe?”

  “That our ancestors built it with the gods’ guidance.”

  “And what do you believe now?”

  Filip watched the worshipers file in and out of the temple, entering with offerings and leaving empty-handed. For one brief black moment, he hated the Spirits for tearing the veil from his eyes.

  He turned back to Bolan. “I believe it’s getting late. Let’s move on.”

  They gave a final glance at the brown dog, who had returned to lie in her doorway. Her head rested on her paws, dark eyes following them. Filip shut his mind hard against the dog’s longing, before it could break him.

  They walked in silence down the street to the market. The dogs here were bolder and fatter, though still unkempt and uncared-for. As soon as they smelled the food that Bolan and Filip offered, they swarmed around the two men. As they ate, they sniffed the scarf but took no more than a passing interest.

  By midday Filip and Bolan had moved on to the northeast quadrant, where most of the government buildings were located. Filip tilted down his face, on the slim chance he was recognized.

  They reached the square across from the Senate building where the city’s largest market served the politicians and their burgeoning staff. It was crowded at this hour, with the afternoon respite. Throngs of people massed into the shady areas, fanning themselves and sipping cold juice drinks or diluted wine. Filip’s mouth would have watered if he’d had enough saliva to wet it with.

  In the wide, sunny courtyard in front of the Senate, a war monument stood, a monolithic structure of dark gray stone. It absorbed and radiated the sun’s heat. No one stood near it on a summer day unless he or she had to.

  He had to. He crossed the street, avoiding a train of noblemen on horseback.

  Bolan hurried to follow. “Where are you going? The dogs are all back there.”

  “I have to see.” He strode to the monument, feeling its heat oppress him from a hundred paces away. He reached its left side, then walked along its flank, careful not to step on the red and yellow roses strewed along the base. He trailed his fingers along the polished marble, touching the names of those who had lost their lives generations before his birth. So many wars, so many dead, so many sacrifices to keep his people free.

  Around the last corner, on the side that had been blank the last time he was here, a new section was carved. At the top read Asermos.

  Filip’s hands shook as they caressed the stone, searching down, near the end, at waist level, for the last to die. He found the names of the six enlisted men shot by Bobcats outside the hospital.

  And right before them, his own name.

  Kiril had made it home after all, and reported Filip’s demise. He was truly dead to his countrymen now.

  His finger, no longer trembling, traced the letters of his first name, the stone’s heat nearly burning his skin.

  “Is that someone you knew?” Bolan said over his shoulder.

  Filip nodded, then moved his hand to his second name. He heard Bolan sound out the letters, then gasp.

  “It’s you.” He reached to touch the F. “I can’t imagine…”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “And who’s that?” Bolan pointed to Filip’s last name. “Kal-Kalo—”

  “Kaloyero. It’s me. It was me. My family name.” He looked up the stone, among the mass of men, some of whom he fought side-by-side with, some he’d only heard of. “It’s the same as my brother’s.” He traced the outline of Fedor. The corners of his eyes felt heavy and thick.

  “Your family thinks you’re dead,” Bolan whispered. “How horrible.”

  “No, it’s good,” he said vehemently, then wondered whom he was trying to convince. “It means I’ll be
remembered with honor. It means my family was well rewarded.” His false foot shifted the stem of a red rose against the base of the monument. “Sacrificing both sons to Ilios would not have gone unnoticed. They’ll be rich forever.”

  “It doesn’t make up for losing their children.”

  “True, especially since no one lives to carry on the name. But with that kind of money, they can pay a very nice dowry for my sisters, maybe enough to let one of them keep our name.” He slid his finger across Kaloyero. “If she has a son, it will live on.”

  “A name is that important?” Bolan asked.

  Filip turned from the monument and gazed across the street at the market, for a moment unable to remember why they were there. Who was he? Only Filip, or maybe no one at all.

  A dog scampered off to the left, shooed by an irate butcher.

  Filip pointed at it. “Back to the mission,” he said to Bolan.

  They started across the courtyard, slowed by the weight of the afternoon heat. Filip let himself look back once, and not at the monument itself, but at the roses left by those who loved the fallen. They may have been fresh this morning, but now they lay limp and wilted in the sun.

  Their scent lingered in his memory, to haunt him the rest of the day.

  32

  Rhia leaped to the door when she heard the knock. She threw it open to reveal Filip and Bolan, sweaty and red from the day’s heat.

  Filip entered and handed Rhia the box with Marek’s scarf. “Your husband’s in Leukos.”

  Alanka gasped and hugged him. He winced as she scraped her arms over his sunburned neck.

  “I’ll get the others.” Koli brushed past them into the hallway.

  Rhia opened the box to see the scarf, dotted with dust and dog slobber. “You’re sure?” She looked at Filip, then Bolan. “What about Nilik?”

  They shook their heads. “We don’t know,” Bolan said. “I’m sorry.”

  Rhia wanted to hurl the box against the wall. Then she remembered Marek’s message. He would watch over Nilik, whatever it took. If Marek was alive, they must be together.

  The others entered. “You found him?” Lycas said.

  “In the northeast quadrant, the government district.” Filip took a long sip of the water Alanka offered him and Bolan. “Several of the animals—dogs, horses, even a stray cat—recognized his scent. They remembered him fondly because he petted them.”

  “When was he there?” Rhia asked.

  “Impossible to tell exactly,” Bolan replied. “But some of them remembered it as a sunny day, while others remembered rain, which means that he didn’t just pass through on the way to somewhere else. He’s been on the streets more than once.”

  “I asked around,” said Filip, “and it rained the day before yesterday.”

  Rhia’s logic tried to quench her excitement. “How do we know the animals were remembering that storm and not another?”

  “It must be,” Filip said. “It rarely rains this time of year.”

  “So he was there only two days ago.” She paced, turning the box over in her hands. “If he goes to that market regularly, then he must live nearby.”

  “How large is the northeast quadrant?” Arcas asked Filip.

  “It’s enormous. There’s no way to know exactly where he is unless we’re lucky enough to spot him.”

  “Then we’ll go to the market tomorrow when it opens,” Rhia said.

  Filip nodded. “It’s our best lead. But if he belongs to someone now, his presence at the market will be at his owner’s whim. Going out in public is a reward for household slaves who behave well.”

  Rhia shuddered at the idea of someone owning Marek. He would never stand for it.

  She noticed Filip giving her a chilling look. “I need to speak with Rhia alone for a moment,” he said.

  The others went to the next room to figure out what they needed to make dinner. Filip closed the door behind them, then sat in the rickety chair by the bed. She could see the exhaustion in his red-rimmed eyes.

  “What is it?” she managed, her heart pounding.

  “You remember how my Spirit gave me unusual powers for a first-phase Horse. I can not only hear an animal’s thoughts, but I can connect to its mind—see what it sees, hear what it hears, smell what it smells.”

  She nodded. “Go on.”

  “I sensed something troubling in the animals who met Marek.”

  Rhia held her breath. “What was it?”

  “They smelled him, of course.” He looked at her with dread. “He smelled like fear.”

  The next morning Rhia was at the market the moment it opened. She tried to appear unassuming as she walked past the blocks of merchant stalls with her friends, but her gaze darted in all directions. Filip’s findings had fed her worst suspicions. Marek was held against his will. He suffered.

  Koli pinched Rhia’s arm. “You look suspicious. We’re here to shop, remember?”

  “I don’t want to miss Marek.”

  “There are seven of us. If he’s here, one of us will see him.”

  Rhia nodded. They had split into three groups—Filip and Bolan, Lycas and Alanka, and she and Koli with Arcas.

  She faked a casual glance at the nearest stall’s produce. Some she didn’t recognize, including a fuzzy blushing fruit whose heady scent she could smell from where she was standing. Curiosity overcame her, and she reached for it.

  “First of the season,” said the proprietor, a plump man with curly blond hair. “Everyone’s asking about them—I’m the first to sell them. Come back in an hour, they’ll all be gone.”

  “How much?” she asked, wanting to appear normal.

  He told her the price, and she haggled him down by half, as Filip had instructed, taking two for the price of one.

  She caught up to Arcas and Koli at a flower stand. Many of the blooms she recognized—lavender, chamomile, purple coneflower, but the larger ones she couldn’t place.

  Rhia examined a container of red flowers. Their smooth petals clustered in a velvety embrace. Like the fruit, their scent was cloying, overpowering. She ran the back of her finger against a petal. Its softness made her ache for Marek’s touch.

  “She likes them.” The merchant, an old woman with sharp blue eyes and several missing teeth, smiled at Arcas. “Buy one for her. Why not?”

  “What do they do?” Rhia asked.

  The merchant looked confused. “Do?”

  “What ailments do you take them for?”

  The old woman chortled. “Nothing but loneliness.” She waved her hand. “Silly girl. The herbals are over there. These flowers are all for decoration.” She raised her eyebrows at Arcas. “Or love.”

  Arcas started. “Oh, she’s not my—er, not anymore.”

  “Maybe it was lack of roses that did it, heh?”

  Rhia realized she meant the flowers. Next to the container with the long-stemmed flowers sat several pots containing soil and rose shrubs. One of the homes they’d passed on the way to the market had displayed these in a window box.

  “Why spend money on something so useless?” Koli murmured. “That wouldn’t impress me at all.”

  Arcas bought a red one and handed it to Koli, who promptly changed her mind about the utility of a rose.

  Something hit the back of Rhia’s leg. She looked down to see a pebble bounce near her shoe. She ignored it, assuming it had been kicked by a passerby.

  Another, larger pebble hit Rhia’s calf. She turned to look across the street. A man with light brown hair slipped back into the shadows behind a row of fish vendors. Her breath quickened. Marek? She started forward, then remembered Filip’s warnings.

  She tapped Koli and motioned for her and Arcas to follow.

  “There’s the signal.” Lycas squeezed Alanka’s arm so hard it hurt.

  “I didn’t hear it.”

  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This way.” He hurried down the street toward the fish merchants. She had to jog to keep up with him.

  Rhia wa
s waving at them from the head of an alleyway, obviously trying to subdue her excitement.

  “They found him?” Alanka couldn’t keep her feet from running.

  They entered the alley. Halfway down, Rhia, Koli and Arcas surrounded a man sitting on a crate. Alanka didn’t see a child in his arms.

  Rhia stepped back.

  It was Adrek.

  He stood to greet Alanka, thinner than ever. A beard covered his face, and his hair fell ragged over his forehead, but beneath the mess his green eyes glistened at the sight of her.

  “You’re alive!” She ran forward and hugged him hard. His sharp collarbone dug into her neck, and his shoulder blades seemed covered only by skin. “I thought you died.”

  “Some of us did.”

  “Oh, no.” She drew back to look at him. “What happened?”

  “We were ambushed near the second battalion’s base, east of the city.” His shoulders slumped. “Some died in the fight. The rest were taken captive.”

  “What about you?”

  “They put me and the other men to work clearing rocks for a new army camp near Surnos.”

  “You were a slave?” She touched his cheek in sympathy.

  “I escaped two months ago and came here to look for Daria.” His gaze dropped. “No luck yet.”

  “Where’s Marek?” said a voice behind her.

  Adrek looked up and snarled. “You!” He hurled himself at Filip, who dodged his attack and sent him sprawling on the ground.

  “Adrek, stop!” Alanka rushed to quiet him, worried he’d draw the attention of the police. “Filip’s one of us now.”

  Adrek rolled to his feet with no trace of his usual agility. “What do you mean, one of us?”

  Rhia stepped forward. “He’s had his Bestowing. The Horse Spirit claimed him.”

  Adrek turned an incredulous gaze on the rest of them, settling on Lycas.

  “I couldn’t believe it myself,” the Wolverine said, “but I saw it happen.”

  Adrek gaped at Alanka’s hand, wrapped around Filip’s. “Makes no sense.” He rubbed his head, then looked up at Rhia. “I saw Marek.”