Voice of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “I wouldn’t even if I could.” Rhia forced her feet to stay put. “Give him to me.”

  Basha stopped and laughed, tilting back her head. The mirthful titter descended into a threatening chuckle. “No one gives me orders, especially not my murderer’s little bitch.”

  “I know how you got that.” Rhia pointed at the fox’s cage with a trembling finger. “I know what you did to him.”

  “But you don’t know what he did to me.” Basha came closer, swaying her hips and swishing her long white skirt. “How he made me scream his name night after night.”

  “Stop it.”

  “How he showed me new worlds of brutal pleasure I didn’t know existed.”

  “Shut up.” Rhia’s voice cracked.

  “He loved it!” Basha’s eyes gleamed like a young girl speaking of her first sweetheart. “And he loved me.” She stood close to Rhia and examined her without lowering her own chin. “I set free the beast in him, the one he could never show a delicate creature like you.” She plucked at Rhia’s sleeve.

  “Enough.” Rhia shoved Basha’s hand away, then realized it was the first time she’d touched one of the dead souls. She shuddered. “Give him to me,” she said, too forcefully, “or I will end you.”

  “Sorry, that won’t work.” Basha flicked the fingers Rhia had touched as though they had filth stuck to them. “I’m already dead.”

  “Not as dead as you could be.” Rhia sensed Crow nearby, waiting for her decision.

  Basha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re as poor a liar as you are a lover. According to Marek, at least.”

  Rage burned Rhia’s gut, begging her to do something she’d regret until the day she crossed the Gray Valley herself.

  “I think I’ll stay.” Basha returned to the cage and sat on it. She crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands. “I’ll watch your dog of a husband wither in your embrace. I’ll watch your marriage become an empty, passionless shell. And I’ll watch your only child slaughtered at the hands of—”

  “Stop!” Rhia lifted her hand to signal Crow.

  Wings rushed forth, but when she looked up, it wasn’t the night-black of Crow’s feathers that filled the sky.

  Raven flew to her.

  Rhia dropped to her knees and covered her face. Icy shame coursed through her at what she had nearly done.

  “Rhia, look at me,” said a voice that flowed like water. “There is something you should know.”

  She dropped her arms to regard the every-color bird.

  “This woman stole Marek’s soul part because someone else has a piece of hers.” Raven’s head dipped. “You may end her if you wish. Or help her.”

  Rhia looked at Basha, who stared slack jawed at the Spirit of Spirits. The fox in the cage had fallen silent behind the drape.

  “Help her how?”

  “Find her missing piece and bring it to her.”

  Rhia looked around the valley. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

  “He hides. He cannot speak.”

  Rhia gazed at the cage. It would be so easy to annihilate Basha.

  Easy the first moment. Then would come the other moments, lined up in a row until her own death, living with what she could never undo.

  She turned her back on the tree.

  “Be warned,” Raven said, “the place you go is farther and harder than any other. You risk your own life in this venture.”

  Rhia stopped. Perhaps she could come back another time, when she was stronger. Marek could wait.

  No. She’d seen the dead look in his eyes. She had to get her husband back before Basha holed up in a far-flung place in the Gray Valley where Rhia could never find her.

  Rhia took a step forward, then another. The rocks all looked the same in this direction, too.

  Then the valley curved to the left, taking her around a bend, out of sight of the barren tree.

  Her skin jumped. A dark void lay ahead of her, carved from the pale rock like a wound. A place to hide.

  She walked to its entrance and extended her hand within. It disappeared. No light penetrated the cave even an inch. She pulled her hand back, fingertips tingling with a reborn fear of the dark, the fear that Marek had once helped her conquer.

  She held her breath and lifted a foot to step inside.

  “Rhia, wait,” came an all too familiar voice.

  Her jaw clenched. Skaris was the last person she needed to see right now.

  “I have something you need,” he said.

  “Leave me—” She cut herself off. His voice had lost its mocking lilt.

  She turned to him, hoping it wasn’t another trick.

  Skaris stood behind her holding the crow. It no longer dangled from his hand, but sat upright and alert on his wrist.

  The Bear lifted his arm, and the crow took off. Its strong, lustrous wings thumped the air as it flew to her. It alighted on her shoulder, and though it had no weight, its presence seeped into her, calming her nerves like a warm bath.

  “I’m sorry,” Skaris said. “For everything. Thank you for saving Lidia.”

  She peered past him. “Where are Zilus and the others?”

  “Moved on. Guess they felt like they were leaving the world in good enough hands. I was waiting to thank you for saving Lidia, and to give that back to you in person.” He gestured to the crow. “Figured it was the least I could do.”

  “Thank you,” she said, two words she never imagined giving the Bear.

  They watched as the Crow Spirit swooped from the sky. Skaris suddenly turned to her, brown eyes shadowed by the night.

  “Don’t wait,” he said. “Hurry.”

  She ducked into the cave before her fear could rise again.

  Blackness surrounded her in every direction, even behind. She spun in a circle, searching for light, and lost her bearings. Panic squeezed her throat.

  The crow grabbed a lock of her hair and pulled hard to the left. She turned in that direction. The crow let go, and Rhia began to walk.

  Forward, forward, she chanted in her mind. Her pace quickened. The cave narrowed and its ceiling lowered, until she was crawling on all fours through a tunnel not much wider than herself. At least now she wouldn’t overlook the soul thief, as there was no room for him to run past her.

  The terrain sloped down steeply, requiring all her strength to keep from tumbling forward. She stopped to rest for a moment, stroking the soft feathers of the crow’s neck to reassure herself.

  Rhia had no idea how long she’d been crawling; Marek must be worried by now. Lycas’s faint tapping on the block of wood was a tenuous tether to the world she’d left behind. He would have to stop one day, and she’d be lost in here forever. The cave would swallow her present, her future and eventually her past.

  Then she heard it, below her brother’s rhythm. Liquid, sloshing. The sound reminded her of a boot popping out of thick, wet mud.

  Forward, she reminded herself, and kept moving. Her hands and knees grew numb against the cold, hard surface. Suddenly the cave widened in all directions. She sat up and stretched her arms; they touched no walls.

  The sucking sound echoed in the total blackness. At last she’d come to the end of the cave and was sitting in a room. She reached forward along the ground in front of her, searching for a person.

  Her fingers slid into a moist mass. She stifled a scream and jerked back her arm.

  “Who are you?” Her voice thundered in the tiny room.

  The floor oozed and squished as if it were alive. She touched its surface and felt warm, pulsing muck.

  “I don’t understand.” Basha’s soul thief wasn’t a man, but an unformed, unconscious being.

  A chill slithered down her spine.

  “You were never born,” she whispered.

  He didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply. There would be no reasoning with him.

  She put her hand in again, cringing at the membrane curling around her fingers. “I’m sorry. Please let me help your mother.”

  The mass seemed
to groan. She thought of Nilik, how she had struggled for nine months before his birth to keep him alive. Would he have gone to a place like this, holding a part of her forever? How many more almost-children lived here?

  The answer came to her, and she nearly withdrew her arm.

  All of them.

  Tears spilled from her eyes. Her hand swam through the mass, searching for something whole.

  Legs. Talons. She grabbed them and yanked, expecting hard resistance. The thing popped free so quickly, she pitched backward, knocking her head into the cave wall. She sat up, woozy.

  Rhia’s fingers examined the bird in her hand. The size of her forearm from elbow to wrist, it fluttered its wings in what felt like indignation. She stroked its head and felt tufts of feathers sticking up like ears on a cat.

  The bird let loose a high-pitched descending call, like the whinny of an alarmed horse. Basha was an Owl, a screech owl in this case. Marek might be amused someday, if she could ever get back to him.

  A wave of fatigue swept over her, and she leaned back against the cave wall. The room now seemed like a warm, secure place to spend eternity. For these never-to-be-children, it wasn’t a barren exile, but a haven. She could rest here, just for a while. Her eyelids grew heavy. Rhia let them sink, ignoring the crow that tugged at her hair.

  Pain spiked her hand, wrenching her awake. The owl had chomped the tender webbing between her thumb and forefinger. Rhia rubbed her eyes hard, then fumbled to find the room’s entrance. This part of Basha had just saved her life.

  But not yet. With the owl tucked under her arm, she crawled back up the tunnel on her knees and one hand. The room had weakened her, and every exhale seemed to transfer her strength to the cave itself. Every time she stopped, the crow urged her on with a tap to the back of her head.

  What seemed like hours later, she emerged from the cave, gasping for air. She collapsed on the cold, rocky ground.

  A pair of embroidered boots and a white skirt appeared before her. She looked up to see Basha gazing down. The fox’s cage sat behind her, still draped with a blanket.

  Rhia opened her parched mouth to speak. “Your son gave me this.” She lifted the screech owl with both hands. Basha reached for it. Rhia pulled it back. “Give me my husband first.”

  Basha frowned. “How do I know that’s really me?”

  “Look in her eyes.”

  Basha turned her sharp gaze on the owl, whose heart tripped against its soft breast. Basha’s face softened. “I’m her home.” She looked at Rhia. “What happens next?”

  “Crow takes you to peace.”

  “And then what?”

  Rhia had no answer. “That’s it.”

  “It sounds boring.”

  “And this place amuses you?”

  Basha pushed out her lower lip. “I didn’t say that.” Her fist twisted in her skirt. “I want to live.”

  “I know.”

  “There were so many things I wanted to do. I was going to help your people. Who knows what my country will do to you now?”

  Rhia felt the rage rise within her again. The crow uttered a soft grok in her ear to calm her. She gave it a grateful glance, then spoke to Basha in a firm voice. “We’ll find a way to manage without you.”

  “You think so, but you don’t know them.” Basha sighed and stepped away from the cage. “I’m through with you all. Take it. It’s yours.”

  “No,” Rhia said, “it’s Marek’s.”

  The crow alighted on the corner of the cage closest to Basha, as if to guard it from further treachery.

  Rhia held the owl in her hands, knowing she could yet take vengeance. Basha’s eyes filled with fear, and Rhia relished the sight for one long, sweet moment.

  She released the owl. It flapped its gray-streaked wings and landed on Basha’s shoulder.

  A shadow blacker than night appeared next to them. Crow bent to touch Rhia’s forehead. “Raven said She will not forget this day. You will see Her again, when the end seems nigh.”

  He enveloped Basha in his wings. Her pale face turned rapturous as they faded together into violet light.

  A growl rumbled inside the cage, sounding unusually menacing for a fox.

  The crow lifted the edge of the blanket. Gray fur glowed in the night.

  Not a fox. A wolf.

  Yellow eyes of pure wildness peered through the bars. A dripping pink tongue lolled between long white fangs.

  “You’re coming with me,” Rhia said. She staggered to her feet and grabbed the cage’s handle to lift it. It wouldn’t budge. She yanked on it with both arms but couldn’t slide it more than a handspan.

  She squatted next to the cage. “If I let you out, will you run away?”

  The wolf licked his chops. She groaned. She had nothing that could act as a leash, no way to confine or control him until they reached the fog.

  “Either way, you can’t stay in there.” Rhia unlatched the cage and opened the door. The wolf shot out, then turned to regard her. “Please stay,” she said.

  At the sound of her voice, the wolf loped away, down the valley toward the tree. She tried to chase him, but her legs grew heavier with each step.

  The dead tree glowed white ahead of her. She kept her eyes on it as her feet shuffled over the rocky ground. By the time she reached it, the wolf was gone.

  Rhia dropped to her knees. She had lost Marek.

  The air itself seemed too heavy for her body to hold up. She crawled forward a few more steps, then collapsed onto her stomach. The crow nudged her arm, then her head, uttering concerned clucks deep in its throat.

  The valley floor was cold against Rhia’s face, and the chill soaked into her body. Soon she would freeze to death like she did on Mount Beros. But this time she would be alone. This time, no one would bring her back. Crow would come, shaking His head in disapproval, wishing He’d called someone stronger. She hadn’t even the strength to cry.

  A warm breath blew against her ear, followed by a short huff. Something wet slid over her cheek and under her nose. Sputtering, she lifted her head.

  The wolf stood over her. He pawed her shoulder and whined like a dog begging for its morning meal.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “Not by myself.”

  He sidled closer. She pushed herself to her knees and looped an arm over his thick, furry shoulders. The wolf grunted, and for a moment Rhia thought he would bolt.

  Step by laborious step, they left the tree behind, the wolf on four sturdy legs, she on one blistered hand and two aching knees.

  Just when she thought her strength would fail, they entered the fog, together.

  40

  Marek clutched his wife’s limp body. “Rhia, come back,” he whispered, his breath threatening to turn to a sob. “Come back to me.”

  “What’s happening?” Lycas asked. He looked as if he wanted to reach for his sister.

  “Don’t stop drumming,” Marek told him. He rocked Rhia and shouted a plea to Crow in his mind. He couldn’t lose her. “Rhia, leave me there if you have to, but come back.”

  Her hand twitched against his shoulder. He gasped, then held her out to examine her slack face. Perhaps he’d imagined the movement.

  She moaned. “Marek…”

  “Yes!” he said. “I’m here. Come to me.”

  She opened her eyes, slowly, as if their lids were made of stone. “I got it.”

  Lycas stopped tapping. “Thank the Spirits,” he grumbled. “Now what?”

  “She has to return my part,” Marek said. “Hold her up.”

  Once Lycas was supporting Rhia’s weight, Marek lay down beneath her. He took her cold, limp hands and cupped them to her mouth. She leaned over and breathed against his solar plexus.

  A hot jolt seared through Marek, racing to the end of his fingertips. He cried out in near anguish.

  Something inside him had shifted to make room for a fierce, strong presence.

  He was Wolf again.

  He reached for Rhia and took her gently from her brother
’s arms. Her skin was warming, but the heaviness of her limbs told him her strength was spent. She sank against him.

  “I’ll get the Otter,” Lycas said. “She’ll know how to help her.” He left the tent quietly.

  Marek stroked Rhia’s hair. “Thank you. I can never repay you.”

  “Be here,” she whispered against his chest. “That’s all I want.” She dragged her hand up to rub her cheek. “That and some food, honey water and three days’ sleep.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t suppose anyone packed a secret stash of meloxa, did they?”

  She tilted her chin to look at his face. “How do you feel?”

  “Like a man whose wife almost just died, but didn’t. Relieved. Happy. A little angry that you risked your life.”

  “I didn’t know it would take so long.” She tugged his shirt. “What I meant was, how do you feel with your soul part back?”

  “Like a Wolf.” He closed his eyes and inhaled hard through his nose. “But I can still feel Fox. I don’t want to let Her go. She saved my life, and probably Nilik’s, too.”

  “No one’s ever had two Spirits at once. But Crow said things are changing.”

  “For the better, I hope.”

  She was silent a moment. “Eventually.”

  He held her tight until the Otter woman came to the tent. As she ministered to Rhia, Marek stepped outside to speak to Lycas. The eastern sky held the first blush of dawn.

  “Thank you for helping us,” he told his brother-in-law.

  Lycas nodded, then opened his mouth as if to speak. He shut it again.

  “What is it?” Marek said.

  The Wolverine rubbed the back of his ear. “When I was in the hallway at the senator’s mansion, dispensing with those guards…”

  “Yes?”

  “I heard what she said to you.”

  Marek’s face heated. His wife’s own brother knew he’d been unfaithful. “I’m sorry.”

  Lycas held up a hand. “If you ever apologize for it again, I’ll punch you so hard you won’t wake for a week. What that woman did to you…” He ground his fist against his palm. “It’s why I stopped myself from killing her. I thought you should have the privilege.”

  As odd as the statement sounded, Marek knew that from Lycas it was a declaration of absolution. He’d needed to hear it from someone besides Rhia, someone who didn’t desperately want him to be whole again.