The Crow God's Girl

by Patrice Sarath

“And so,” boomed Kenery, “We leave our new family with new bonds to sustain us.” He lifted a goblet of wine, his face already red from his other toasts. “To Terrick! To Kenery! May the high god favor our boldness!”

  His wife clapped her hands delightedly at his wordplay. Colar barely wet his lips. He refrained from glancing at his father. Not that Lord Kenery would suspect a thing. He spent most of his days sleeping off the previous night’s excesses, and most of his nights drinking until he snored loudly and was carried off by his serving men.

  “To Favor,” Lord Terrick said. He lifted his glass and at the signal, the men at arms lining the dining hall stepped forward. Kenery would not have noticed them either, since they stood at attention every night of the visit. They were not dressed in full armor, but they were armed.

  Janye noticed though, and looked around, her eyes widening with alarm. When her gaze passed his, Colar couldn’t resist–he lifted a finger to his lips to shush her. He had to admit, he was impressed. She was spoiled and rude, but she was not stupid.

  “Father!” she cried out.

  “Janye, Janye, child, please.” That was Lady Niyani, alarmed and a little annoyed.

  “Mother, we must go, now.” Janye tried to get to her feet but Colar held her wrist to keep her seated.

  Some of her fright must have gotten through because Kenery looked around. His gaze sharpened and he set his wine down, carefully, his hand on the table, the other at his waist. Lady Beatra sat stone-faced, at the other end of the table. She had been warned of the plan, and had only said that she would make Eri and Yare eat in the kitchen that night. She had been unhappy since the day of his return, he knew. Colar wanted to talk with her, but there was never time, and it seemed she was avoiding him. And now, he was leaving, off to war once more.

  “There is nothing to fear,” Lord Terrick said, his voice like gravel. More men came in, all of them Terrick’s. From the sound of scuffling outside the door they held Kenery’s men at bay. They had orders not to kill any of them, for what good would that do, when they would need everyone to march on Favor.

  “My new daughter,” Lord Terrick said, turning to Janye. “Lady Niyani. There is nothing to fear. We have but to make sure of Lord Kenery.”

  All three Kenerys burst out angrily, their shouting overlapping, but the sound of scraping steel made them all cut short. Kenery swept the room with a look, his expression cold. He was no longer the affable buffoon.

  “My men are in Kenery,” the big man said. “Do you think this paltry handful is enough to take Favor?”

  “You’ll write to them and send them to march on Favor from the north,” Terrick said. “You will do that in good faith, and they will arrive, and in the meantime, we offer the hospitality of Terrick to your good wife and your daughter, who is my son’s wife now.”

  “Father!” Janye burst out, her eyes wide. “Father! You said it was in name only!” She stood, pushing back her chair so that it fell over.

  Colar ached to repudiate her and the marriage, but he knew he couldn’t, not if they were to take Favor and have something good come out of this.

  “No, not in name only, not on my part,” Colar said. “In good faith, I wed you. Come, good wife, the sooner we have Favor, the sooner you may see your father again.”

  He was used to her looking at him with contempt, but this time she faced him with fear. She looked from him to her father.

  “You did this to me,” she said, her voice low, to her father.

  “You gave me no choice,” he snapped at her. Lady Niyani gasped.

  “Aladir!”

  He ignored his desperate wife. “Who else could I have sold you to, daughter, who didn’t already know the disgrace you brought down on our House?”

  Silence rang in the hall. Colar broke it.

  “I don’t know what you did, Janye, but it must have been something, to disgrace Kenery any more than your father has done.”

  Another silence descended.

  He turned to his father-in-law. “Write the letter, sir. We’ll send it with one of our couriers. In the meantime, you will ride with us on Favor.”

  Raymon brought over pen and ink and a sheaf of finely made paper. Kenery scowled and then pushed aside his goblet and his plate. Terrick stood behind him and watched him write.

  Colar thanked his god. Soon they would be underway.

  Cold spray from the mountain stream arced over the stone bridge, a perpetual rainbow glowing in the thin sunlight. Hotshot’s hooves clomped across well-worn stone that was scraped clean of mud and ice. Water spattered over Kate, chilling her, but she hardly noticed. She couldn’t help but gape up at the stronghold, carved out of the mountain, the reddish stone of the mountain giving it its name. Tall trees stretched in front of Red Gold Bridge, taller than the Pacific redwoods of the United States. Even though the trees were barren still, they were magnificent.

  This was Gordath Wood, the real Gordath Wood. Back home, the trees were mostly scrub, second growth. That forest had only a small measure of the grandeur because back home in North Salem it was the outskirt of this great wood. The real heart was here, and she was in its center.

  In this forest was the gordath itself. She was only a few miles from home. Her heart leaped.

  “I don’t like this,” Balafray said. Their ragtag little band captured plenty of attention from the strongholders making their way along the bridge and the road. Strange enough to see a flock of crows on the road in daylight, and stranger still to see a girl and a horse with them. “There’s no reason for us to visit this lord.”

  “There’s reason for me to,” Kate said. “Lady Sarita is an old friend of mine.”

  That was stretching it somewhat, but it didn’t matter. She would ask to see Lady Sarita, the crows could wait outside, and with a bit of luck and subterfuge, she would ditch them and go through the portal.

  Balafray grabbed her arm, and pulled her to face them. They stood on the bridge, nose to nose. He was livid and his scar blazed with the cold.

  “You’re one of us now, girl.”

  “Leave off, Balafray,” Grigar said, laying a hand on his elder brother’s shoulder. Balafray tensed, and Kate felt it in his grip. “The girl knows what she is doing.”

  The girl knows she’s betraying you all. With her face as neutral as possible, Kate stared down Balafray until he released her with another growl. Kate didn’t trust herself to say anything. She clucked to Hotshot, and led the way to the great gate.

  The iron-banded gate stood ajar, letting traffic stream through. Kate and the crows looked up as they entered the courtyard. She thought she heard Ossen gasp.

  The stronghold stretched overhead up the sheer face of the mountain. There was a heavily fortified wall and towers that jutted out from the mountainside. A balcony with arched windows curved around the side of the cliff.

  “When I see a stronghold like this, I see a House with many enemies,” Grigar mused.

  The real enemy was what the forest harbored. She handed Hotshot’s reins to Ossen, and impulsively gave her the small pouch of the remaining money.

  “I’m going to see Lady Sarita,” she said. “I suppose you can stay here. But it might be better to wait for me down by the docks.”

  There was a smallholding there with a few shops and a tavern. Crows might not be allowed in the stronghold proper, but on the docks, where even Brytherners came and went, they would raise no interest.

  “You trust us?” Ossen said, and her expression was so clear and accepting, Kate almost confessed everything.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, stumbling only a little over the words. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “All right,” Ossen said, still uncertain. She nodded to her brothers and they headed back out the gate, only looking back a couple of times. It was too easy. What if Lady Sarita didn’t want to see her? When she was Mrs. Hunt in North Salem, she hadn’t exactly been friendly. Kate hadn’t been sure that she even knew who Kate was, except as one of several teen girls who boa
rded their horses at her stables. She took a deep breath and slipped in through the massive reinforced gate along with the rest of the traffic.

  Kate went in search of a strongholder to take her to Lady Sarita. She found a man directing an ox-drawn wagon off to the side of the courtyard amid a crowd of foot and wagon traffic, and approached him.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Who should I talk to–”

  “I’m busy, girl,” he said. “Go see the steward.”

  “Okay. Where do I find the steward?”

  But he turned to look at her as soon as she said Okay. He frowned, his brown eyes curious and wary. He wore a simple insignia on his shoulder and she knew what that meant. Uh oh. A House captain. If he were like Raymon, he wouldn’t be happy with her bothering him.

  “Who are you?”

  “Kate Mossland. I’m here to see Lady Sarita, if she’s here.” She crossed her fingers behind her back.

  “Hold on.” He finished directing the wagoneer, and then turned back to her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and she took an involuntary step back. “That’s not an Aeritan name.”

  “No. It’s not. Mrs.– Lady Sarita knows me though.”

  He shook his head. “You better have not just come through–no,” he corrected himself as he took in her Aeritan clothing, well-worn and travel-stained. “Not by the looks of you, you haven’t.”

  He moved her along into the stronghold. Kate blinked while her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness and she stumbled over the uneven stone floor.

  “Do you mean the gordath is open?” she dared to ask.

  He snorted. “It better not be,” he said. “Or the guardian will have some explaining to do.”

  Her heart sank but she buoyed her spirits. That didn’t mean anything. What was important was that this guard was aware of the possibility of the gordath opening. It had opened before. It could open again.

  “Who do you have, Tal?” said another man, coming out of an arched doorway, a loaded tray straining his arms. The smell of good bread and hearty soup assaulted Kate’s senses and her mouth watered. Road food with the crows kept her going, but they had to eat sparingly. The serving man looked her up and down. “Another lostling?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Tell the lady she has a visitor. I’ll put her in the small work chamber.”

  Captain Tal opened a door to a small round chamber with a cheerful fire and glazed windows that looked out over the river. There was a table with an account book like the ones at Terrick, and papers strewn about. This was someone’s study.

  “Stay here,” he ordered and she obeyed, standing as close to the fireplace as she could. This was the first time she had been warm since she set out with the crows nearly a half-month before. Kate removed her half-cloak and her scarf and gloves, putting her hand out to the flames. She closed her eyes and sighed with comfort. Oh to be warm always, she thought. She thought about the sun on her bare shoulders. Camisoles and miniskirts, sandals and shorts, she thought, full of longing. She had forgotten how much she loved summer.

  When the door opened again, Lady Sarita stepped in, followed by the captain.

  “Mrs. Hunt!” Kate took a step forward, so happy to see a familiar face that she almost threw her arms around her. She brought herself up short at Lady Sarita’s pained expression.

  “Kate Mossland,” Lady Sarita said. She gestured to the captain and he bowed and closed the door behind him. “I’ve been expecting you.” She looked her over and Kate felt extremely dowdy. As Mrs. Hunt, Lady Sarita always looked elegant. Now she wore Aeritan clothes, but on her they looked smooth and beautiful, not plain and frumpy.

  “Um,” she said awkwardly, “Should I not call you Mrs. Hunt?”

  “I’m Lady Sarita, now, and always have been. Let’s go with that. Now, Kate Mossland, why did you want to see me?”

  “Lady Sarita,” Kate said. “I want to go home. Please, can’t we just open the gordath one more time?” To her dismay, her throat tightened and tears sprang into her eyes. Lady Sarita made no sign that she noticed. Instead, she gestured Kate to sit, and drew up a chair at the table next to her.

  “No,” she said, and her long fingers drummed the tabletop, but that was the only sign of her discomfort. “It’s closed, and for good, we hope. It’s not a gateway, though we’ve used it like one. It’s a dangerous thing, and we’ve treated it like a toy.”

  No. She actually said no.

  “That’s not fair,” Kate said. Anger replaced tears. “You went through and you came back. Lynn went back. Even Joe went home–but I’m stuck here?”

  “Just because this world bared its teeth to you, you want to go home? How very childish,” Lady Sarita said. “I expected more from you.”

  Kate flushed. “So you’re trying to tell me that the portal that opened and closed so conveniently for so many people–including you–is now locked against me? All I’m asking for is one more chance. Close it after me. I’m not coming back.”

  Lady Sarita sighed. “I suppose I could tell you it’s closed for ever and a day, and you would still go and try it the first chance you get, and we would be right back where we started with an unstable portal. Very well. Are you mounted?”

  Unsure at what was happening, Kate said, “I–he’s with friends right now. It’s Hotshot, actually. I sold Allegra, and –”

  Lady Sarita held up a hand to stop the spate of information and went to the door. The captain must have been standing outside, because she gave him orders and he responded in a low voice.

  “Come,” Lady Sarita said. “You shall see for your own eyes.”

  Lady Sarita ordered horses to be saddled for them, a borrowed dun gelding for Kate, and for Lady Sarita, the great stallion Dungiven. For a second time, Kate’s heart leaped when she saw the ghostly horse, the Irish warmblood that had been the pride of Hunters Chase.

  “Oh Lady Sarita,” she said, and she almost started to cry again. The sight of him brought it all back. If it hadn’t been for Dungiven refusing to load into the trailer that fateful day, Lynn would not have ridden him on the trails and would not have crossed into Aeritan. Kate would not have followed her in her ill-conceived plan to find Lynn and bring her home. And her own horse, her beloved Mojo, would not lie in Temia on a battlefield of moldering bones.

  “Can I–” Kate said. Lady Sarita nodded with only the slightest impatience. Kate went up to the horse and blew into his nostrils. He blew back, his oaty breath warm and sweet. Then, almost regally, the horse laid his massive head against her chest, and she put her forehead to his.

  “Kate Mossland,” Lady Sarita said.

  “Sorry,” Kate said hastily, wiping the tears away. But it was Dungiven. He was a piece of home. And he’s stuck here, too. She didn’t want to think of that. She mounted and gathered the reins. Lady Sarita was given a leg up into the saddle–not too many people could mount a seventeen-hand horse from the ground–and they were off. Kate gave Lady Sarita a sidelong look. As Mrs. Hunt she played the part of a horsewoman in her fine breeches and expensive boots, but was never known to set foot to stirrup. It turned out she was born to the saddle as befit a daughter of Wessen, where Aeritan’s best horses were bred.

  The forest, even as bare as this one in early spring, closed around them and their horses, their hooves sinking into the muddy track. The trail narrowed and branches scraped against their horses’s flanks, and then opened up into a clearing.

  The two-story stone house sat at the edge of the clearing, covered with moss and vines. It looked like a tor rather than a house, but for the blank windows above and the wooden door at ground level, a few arrows sticking out of the planks. Kate remembered this house. She had been here a winter ago, during the last pitched battle of the war. She held General Marthen in the sights of an SKS semiautomatic rifle that day. If she had shot him then, she would be home now.

  The clearing was silent and still. Kate glanced over at Lady Sarita, not sure what she was supposed to do next.

  “My lady,” came a voice from b
ehind them.

  Kate turned in the saddle, suppressing a shriek.

  The guardian came out of nowhere, a stocky, shaggy man with bright black eyes and tangled hair. His clothes were so snagged with twigs and leaves it looked like he wore a gillysuit.

  “Arrim, this is Kate Mossland, from North Salem. She wishes to return home. I thought she should see for herself.”

  Arrim grimaced. “I don’t like to bother it, my lady, not even for show.”

  “She’ll follow your every order.”

  Kate glanced uncertainly between them, then dismounted. He crooked a finger at her and she followed. Lady Sarita stayed behind.

  Good. She made herself be ready. All she had to do was break free of the guardian, and nothing could stop her from bolting through.

  He led her to the edge of the clearing and then into the woods a bit farther. The hair rose on the back of her neck and she felt faintly sick, one of the first signs they were getting close to the portal. Up ahead she could see a bit of darkness like a cave mouth, and she strained to get a better look.

  The guardian grabbed the back of her cloak and hauled her back.

  “Stop,” he said through gritted teeth. “Too close and you will wake it. Do you feel it?”

  She nodded. The gordath lurked in the woods barely fifty paces away. She could break free in an instant and be through it before anyone could stop her. Her muscles tensed to make the run, when he spoke in her ear again, his breath hot against her cheek, and reeking of neglect.

  “You think the gordath is a doorway that can be opened and closed at whim, with maybe a bit of difficulty with the lock and the latch.” He grimaced again, and she could tell that it was a nervous tic, not an expression. “It’s a monster, girl. It eats a hole in two worlds, and the more we tickle it to make it yawn, the more it eats. Our only hope is to lock its jaws shut until it forgets all about us and goes to sleep.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Kate said, stubborn. “You opened it before. You can open it again.”

  “Idiot girl!” he said. “Look closer, fool, and tell me again you don’t believe me.” He let go of her cloak and swept the twigs aside for her to get a clearer view.