Voice of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Alanka’s heart leaped. Rhia jumped as if she’d been shocked.

  “Where?” they asked in unison.

  “In the market a few days ago,” Adrek said. “That’s why I was here today. Hoped I could signal him.”

  “Was he with anyone?” Rhia asked.

  “Guards, six of them, and two other slaves.”

  Alanka’s throat thickened with tears. Her Wolf-brother had lost his freedom.

  “What did the guards look like?” Filip said.

  Adrek angled a suspicious gaze at him, then spoke to the others. “They wore the insignia of the Senate on their shoulders.”

  “Then he’s owned by a senator.” Filip scraped his beard with his knuckles the way he did when he was deep in thought.

  “But how do we find out which one?” Rhia asked. “What if his owner never lets him come back to the market?”

  “We could follow each of them home,” Lycas said.

  “And ask the animals nearby,” Bolan added.

  “I have an idea.” Filip paused. “I saw the war monument in the Senate courtyard yesterday. My name was on it. Everyone in this city believes me dead.”

  Alanka felt her eyes soften. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “It helps us, because I can walk about without being recognized. Also, the monument reminded me of something else.” He looked at the others. “Once every ten days the homeless are permitted to beg in the Senate courtyard. They’re not allowed to speak or look at anyone, but they can show their presence. The law is meant to keep the politicians aware of how far anyone can fall.” He took a deep breath. “Many of the homeless, unfortunately, are wounded veterans who can’t find work. Often their families abandon them out of shame if the injury occurred in a military defeat.” His voice quieted. “It would’ve been my fate, most likely, had I returned home.”

  “I see now why you couldn’t,” Lycas said. “But what does this have to do with Marek?”

  “I know.” Alanka gazed up at Filip, her heart heavy. “You mean to beg in the courtyard yourself, to overhear information.”

  He nodded. “It’s a prime place for gossip. They would speak freely in front of a beggar. No one’s more invisible to them, except perhaps a slave.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Adrek said. He met Filip’s startled gaze. “The more ears, the better. Besides, I can’t let you be the only hero.” He winked at Alanka.

  “We’ll all do it,” Lycas added. “The men, at least. The women should patrol the market, in case Marek shows up again.”

  Filip’s jaw dropped. “Thank you. It would be most useful.” He let out a long breath and seemed to search for his next thought. “According to the calendar, tomorrow is the next legal begging day.”

  “Good,” Adrek said, “because it’s not only Marek we have to save. When I was clearing the land near Surnos, I overheard the soldiers say it was for the children. Maybe they’re bringing the Kalindons there. Maybe that’s where Daria will be.”

  “An army camp for children?” Rhia said. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what I heard, and out there I still had my sharp senses.”

  Alanka jolted. “What do you mean, out there you had them?”

  “My magic is mostly gone in the city.” Adrek looked at her and Lycas. “Yours will both disappear, too. The wilder Spirits have no power here.”

  “Cougar has abandoned you?” Alanka said.

  Adrek shook his head. “I can feel Him. He’s with me, but doesn’t have much to give. I’ve got half the stealth and night vision I did when I was first phase.” He rubbed his thin arms. “Strength and jumping, next to nothing, like I’m thirteen again. But I feel more connected to Cougar than ever. He’s all I have left. Until now, anyway.”

  Alanka felt a pang of sympathy and admiration for her former mate. Unlike her, he’d kept his faith, even after suffering more than any of them.

  Except perhaps Marek.

  Marek took Basha hard and rough—because that was the way she demanded it, but also because it was the only way he could channel his hatred. When his mouth pressed against her neck in what she called passion, he had to stop his teeth from tearing out her throat.

  As soon as it was over, he turned to leave the bed. She grabbed his arm.

  “Wait,” Basha said. “Stay awhile.”

  He lay back down and regarded the ceiling. He couldn’t look at this woman who had robbed him of everything he’d ever cared about—except Nilik—without wanting to kill her.

  “You’ve been so quiet lately.” She turned on her side to face him. “More than usual, that is.”

  He said nothing.

  “You may speak.”

  He said nothing.

  “By the gods, don’t be so sullen.” She trailed a finger down his arm, and he wanted to bite it off. “I only see light in your eyes anymore when you’re holding Nilik.” Her nails tickled the palm of his hand. “Or holding me, but that’s a different sort of light, isn’t it?”

  He heard her raise herself on one elbow. “Look at me.” She leaned in closer and turned his chin to face her. Her eyes sparked with fear and she let go of him. “On second thought, don’t look at me.”

  Marek expected to be dismissed, but Basha spoke again. “I’d rather you not dislike me too mightily. It makes me feel like a tyrant. Just because I own you doesn’t mean I don’t respect you.”

  Marek laughed out loud, then covered his mouth. He’d be punished for sure.

  “Respect your people, that is.” Basha went on as if he’d had no reaction to her last statement. “I find your culture fascinating. It’s so different from ours, I doubt you’ll ever be assimilated the way our other conquests have. Not by force, at least. I keep telling my colleagues that, but they won’t listen to a woman, not even me.”

  He felt the Fox inside him prick its ears, and he realized his opportunity. Self-pity would paralyze him. If he was to survive and escape one day, he needed information.

  “If not by force,” he said, “how will you conquer us?”

  She bit her bottom lip as she smiled. “Ah, you can form words after all. I thought perhaps my body had rendered you speechless.”

  He waited for her to answer the question. She stretched and turned onto her back. “Some want to mount another invasion, but I suspect that’s to save face. They lost so pitifully at Asermos, they want to avenge that humiliation. But such a deployment would be futile and expensive, especially when the tensions among the cities are so high.”

  “There’s internal strife?” His own lands had experienced it more than once, which partly explained his village’s historic mutual hostility with Asermos. Kalindos had never been foolish enough to wage outright war against the larger village, but skirmishes had occurred, causing bad blood to simmer down through the generations.

  Basha’s expression grew guarded. “Nothing Leukos can’t handle.”

  He turned to her, which made her face light up in surprise.

  “You say my people fascinate you,” he said. “Is that why you wanted Nilik? To have a piece of that culture?”

  “You’re half right. Nilik’s a baby. He has no culture. He’ll be raised as an Ilion citizen, as a Leukon, and he’ll have my dead husband’s name. As far as anyone, including him, is concerned, he’s my son.”

  Marek tried to keep his voice steady. “Then he’ll never know who he really is?”

  “You see, that’s the mystery.” She rolled over to face him and whispered conspiratorially, “We want to see if your people will gain magic when they come of age, if any Spirits will take them on, and if so, which ones. We have our theories.”

  “What theories?”

  “That the Spirits’ real power lies in the wilderness. People like you, whose animals need lots of space and have no tolerance for human interference, your powers fade in the city. But others, we’ve noticed, do not.”

  “Which others?”

  “Those with animals that can live alon
gside humans, who survive in the city, even if it’s in the park. Horses, Goats, Spiders. Bats and Foxes, to a lesser extent.”

  He shuddered at the last Animal—was that why it felt as if Fox had taken over his soul in the absence of Wolf? Was She even now helping him find a way to escape? If anyone was a survivor, it was Fox.

  Basha counted off on her fingers. “What else? Rats, of course. Several birds—Swans, Sparrows, Mockingbirds.”

  Crows? he wondered. Of course. They were everywhere.

  “You see, Marek, that’s why you’re half correct. I wanted Nilik because he was Asermon, but not to add him to my collection of quaint, rustic works of art. It’s to find out if I’m right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “That your people can be conquered without force. To do that we need to know everything about your powers. These children, especially the newborns, are a perfect experiment.” She smoothed his hair back from his face and curled her finger around the ends. “You will all fall before us, be assured. Everyone does in time. But I’d prefer to do it later and overwhelmingly, rather than sooner and sloppily. It’s much more humane that way, don’t you agree?”

  Marek felt as if his head were caught in a vise.

  “Perhaps you don’t agree,” she said. “So I’ll tell you there was a third reason for wanting Nilik.” Her gaze dropped to the space between their bodies. “I was lonely. I had lost so much.”

  And gained only a Senate seat, he thought.

  “I know you mourn your wife,” she said. “I understand, because I think of my husband every night and every morning. That’s why I ask others to share my bed.”

  Ask? She must be joking.

  Her eyes turned pensive. “I wonder sometimes when I look at Nilik, if my son would have done the same things he does. Like the way he stretches out the fingers of his right hand when he yawns, as though he’s drawing in breath through them.” She imitated the motion. “Do other babies do that?”

  “They each have their own gestures, like older people.”

  She smiled sheepishly. “Obviously I haven’t much experience with infants. I was the youngest child in my family. I preferred playing with anything other than dolls—toy animals, even my older brothers’ little soldiers, when I could steal them. Until I was pregnant, the idea of being a mother never appealed to me.” Her smile faded. “But when the baby died, it was all I could think about.” She brushed his cheek with the back of her fingertips. “You lost one, too. You understand me.”

  Marek did not answer. He hoped he’d never understand her, never understand how she could treat him this way and pretend it was nothing remarkable, how she could plot to use Nilik’s powers against his own people. Even if she released them both tomorrow and put them on a ship to Asermos, he’d never forgive her.

  “I should go.” He sat up. “With your permission, that is, Your Honor. It’s getting late.”

  “Stay.” She put a hand on his chest. “I want you again.”

  He froze. “I don’t think I can.”

  “It’s a challenge I’d like to accept.” She drew him down beside her. “Kiss me.”

  He withheld a sigh of disgust, seized her shoulders and pulled her into a hard, brutal kiss. After a moment, she pushed him away.

  “Not like that this time,” she whispered, her eyes wet. “Kiss me like you don’t hate me.”

  He hesitated. How could he?

  A voice whispered in the back of his mind. You have her.

  Basha’s eyes screamed her need for something to fill the space her loss had left behind. If he gave it to her, she could be influenced, even by a mere slave.

  Whatever it takes.

  He lowered his head to brush his lips against hers, softly. She moaned.

  “Yes.” Basha took his hand and drew it up her waist, over her breast. “Touch me like you don’t hate me.”

  Though Marek thought his hands would burn her with loathing, he obeyed, banishing his soul where it couldn’t crumple in her hands like a sheet of discarded paper. Without it, his body could do what it had to do, could respond to her touch as if it didn’t repulse him.

  When he was ready to enter her, she stopped him. “One more thing.” She gazed up at him. “Tell me you love me.”

  He rolled off her as tears swelled his chest and eyes. “I can’t do that. It’s the one thing I can never do.”

  “Please.” Her voice stopped short, as she must have realized she’d never spoken that word to him before. “I’m so alone.”

  “I don’t love you.”

  “Of course you don’t. Just let me pretend.”

  Pretend, he thought, and it came to him, the secret he’d been missing. He would pretend Basha was Rhia. Though her hands, legs, voice and scent were different, maybe his mind could fool his senses long enough to fulfill this task. If he could give Basha this, she would be his, and he could find a way to escape.

  He turned back to her, and it was Rhia’s skin he touched and kissed, Rhia’s mouth on his neck and shoulders, Rhia’s hands stroking him back to readiness.

  It was in Rhia’s ears he whispered, “I love you,” but as soon as the words left his mouth, they lost all meaning.

  33

  Using his crutches, Filip hobbled to his place at the foot of the stairway to the long stone Senate building. He sat next to one of two small shrubs flanking the stairs. Their shiny leaves were the only green he could see, though they looked black in the dim predawn light.

  He placed his begging bowl on the white stone pavement and waited. Everything about this endeavor felt wrong, down to his core, but he told himself his unease came from the preconceptions of his youth.

  Soon dawn leaked blue around the buildings and over the white courtyard. The war monument stood as a dark void, a reminder to all who passed of their countrymen’s sacrifices.

  They would get a few more reminders soon. Adrek, Arcas and Lycas had spaced themselves around the square, along with about a dozen regular Leukon beggars.

  The clear sky blushed pink and orange, and the tops of the buildings glowed. He watched as his city came to life. Soon the streets bustled like anthills. Senate staffers in blue uniforms, most a few years older than Filip, hurried through a side courtyard to his left, ready to prepare the building for another session.

  He spotted the first senator crossing the street from the market, a few hundred paces away. He was dressed in the goldenrod robe of his office, a red sash at his waist, and looked to be in his late fifties. He used a wooden cane, favoring his right side.

  Filip sat with his back to the wall, his half leg extended before him, with the empty part of the trouser tucked under his stump so that there could be no mistaking what had happened to him.

  His mouth went dry at the thought of his countrymen seeing him like this. They would wish he’d hide himself like a proper man. No, a proper man would have died in battle or ended his own life rather than continue this way.

  The senator hobbled across the courtyard, on a path that would take him past Filip. Surely this man would understand what infirmity meant. Upon closer look, he looked more like sixty or sixty-five years old. Lines etched his face like a map of the Four Rivers region. The metal tip of his cane clicked against the stones as he approached the building. Then Filip saw a blue patch on the man’s shoulder, signifying that his wounds had been garnered in victory. He leaned around the small shrub to get a better glimpse.

  The senator stopped at the foot of the steps and looked straight at Filip, who stared back. For one moment, they were brothers-in-arms.

  Suddenly the older man roared and waved his cane at him. Filip’s stomach twisted. After telling his friends, “Don’t look at them,” he’d forgotten the rule himself. He dropped his gaze to the pavement in front of him.

  “I ought to have you arrested.” The tapping came closer, louder. “It’s bad enough we have to see human garbage like you every tenth day, but to have one of them look at us, judging us?”

  “Forgive me,”
Filip whispered, “I meant no—”

  “Do not speak to me!” The cane whistled through the air, missing his left shoulder by less than a handspan. “If there weren’t laws against beating you myself, I’d bash in your skull. Think I’m too old and feeble to do it?”

  Filip trembled with rage at having to beg for the chance to beg. He imagined the surprise that would paint the senator’s face if he grabbed the cane, turned it around and plunged it into his gut. Then the man would see that a warrior lived in him still.

  His imagination would have to suffice. He kept his gaze on the ground. An ant wandered in the mortared crack between the flat stones.

  “Spaneas, what’s the matter?” Another man approached on lighter footsteps—another senator, judging by his yellow hem, the only part Filip dared to regard.

  Spaneas snorted. “This hoodlum had the temerity to look at my face, even speak to me. We should fetch the police.”

  “Later. Come, the chairman needs to speak with you before the meeting.” He tossed a coin into Filip’s bowl before taking the older man away. Filip was so surprised, he forgot to nod his gratitude.

  As the sunlight on the buildings changed from orange to yellow, other senators filed past, ignoring Filip in their hurry to get inside before the session started. Though he wasn’t watching their eyes, he sensed their indifference and understood what it was like to be invisible.

  A bell gonged, and the courtyard fell empty and silent. Filip looked across at Adrek, Arcas and Lycas, each at other corners of the square. None of them signaled success.

  Perhaps this plan was idiotic, he thought, as the late-morning sun grew hot and merciless. He’d overheard nothing before session besides the ramblings over political minutiae. A new bridge in Thalassia, a law forbidding the sale of slaves under a certain value on holidays, the trading of votes on various issues.

  At one time it would have fascinated him. He’d hoped to run for office when he was older, be elected by the people, unlike his plodding bureaucrat of a father, slavering at the feet of politicians.

  The Spirits had other plans for Filip, as did the gods, if they existed.