Conspiracy of Ravens

by Lila Bowen

  Shucking off his boots, clothes, hat, guns, and eye kerch, he stuffed everything into the door of Winifred’s empty wagon, took off at a run, and changed. Soon, he was soaring into the sky, grateful that in this form, nobody tried to talk him into any damn thing. It was good to finally have some silence.

  The giant bird landed on clumsy feet, hopping toward the fire with its great curved beak open and screaming. The people sitting there watched it, curious.

  “Nobody understands you, you great git,” Earl said, waving a hand as if to shoo it away. “Change back.”

  “What is he?” Sam asked from over by the horses, his hand on his gun as if that would actually do anything useful if the bird proved a threat.

  “Not a vulture, apparently,” Dan said. “I thought he was a vulture. I haven’t seen him this close before, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Winifred cocked her head and tossed the bird a strip of deer meat. “Neither have I. He must’ve come from far away. His people must’ve.”

  The bird gobbled up the meat, ducked its head, and hobble-hopped behind the wagon. A short while later, Rhett emerged, fully dressed and feeling more self-conscious than usual.

  “You-all got any idea what I am?” he asked, voice rough.

  “No, but it’s impressive,” Winifred answered with a smile that was a little too fond for his taste.

  “The camp,” Earl urged. “What did you see of it?”

  Rhett had to think back, hard. Although he’d gotten better at it, remembering what he saw as a bird was as hard for him now as remembering the point of being human when he was a bird.

  “Road goes on into the city, crosses the bridge Sam mentioned, and heads north like it’s got business up there. I reckon I saw the railroad near there, but it didn’t make sense to me, then. Tracks, sky filled with black smoke, tents, bodies. Horrible smell, and that’s coming from a creature that likes its food a week gone. Just a big ol’ mess of trouble.”

  “Well, how long until we get there?”

  Rhett scowled at Earl’s constant pugnacious, pushy, demanding attitude. “Well, shit, donkey-boy. I didn’t check my fine pocket watch while I was a-flying overhead.”

  Earl jumped up with his hands in fists, and Rhett put a hand on his gun, and Coyote Dan stepped between them.

  “Rhett, I made you a bow. Let’s go practice.” When Earl opened his mouth again, Dan raised a hand. “A couple of days, give or take. Isn’t that right, Rhett?”

  Rhett shrugged. “Give or take.”

  “Then come on.”

  Dan led him away from the road to a clearing with several prickly pears standing sentinel on the prairie. Three arrows sat on a scrap of chewed-up leather that Rhett remembered from all the way back when he’d first met Coyote Dan. The feller always carried it in his mouth when he was in critter form and kept it nearby when he was a human. The arrowheads were knapped stone, just like Rhett had seen Dan shear off before he’d fought the Cannibal Owl. Dan had made a whole pile of sharp rock shards, and Rhett had kept one and slashed the owl’s eye wide open with it, just like Delgado had slashed his with a silver bullet. Funny, how those little details came back to a person, much later.

  “Do you remember what I said about materials for your bow?”

  Rhett scrolled through his memories. “Something orange, something ash. Hellfire, Dan. That was a long time ago.”

  Dan gave him a lopsided smile. “Rhett, that was barely two months ago.”

  “Well, it feels like forever.”

  “Osage orange, cedar, ash, willow, juniper. Hard and flexible, I said.” Dan grinned. “Much like you.”

  “So what’s this one?” Rhett inclined his head toward the bow in Dan’s hand.

  “Juniper. Plentiful around here. Do you remember how to hold it?”

  Rhett took the bow and stared at it like it was a live snake. “I remember how to hold a gun.”

  Dan muttered something under his breath in another language, grabbed an arrow, and moved to stand behind Rhett, arranging his hands in a way that could only ever be awkward between the two of them. Rhett let him, his whole body stiff. No wonder he could never find the way of it, with Dan standing so close to him. With a gun, you didn’t need to touch anybody else. Not to learn to shoot, and not to kill.

  “There. Do you feel it?”

  “Hell no, Dan. It doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

  “Now hold out your elbow here, and draw back the string to your cheek, and then release it with one finger.”

  Rhett tried, and the arrow flew and skittered in the dust.

  “Were you even aiming?”

  “What the Sam Hill was I supposed to aim for?”

  “Anything! Pick a cactus! It doesn’t matter what you hit, so long as you decide to hit it and then you do.”

  Rhett tossed the bow on the ground. “Well, and how am I supposed to aim with only one eye?”

  “Idjit,” Dan muttered, picking the bow back up and holding it out. “Most folks shoot with an eye closed anyway. Stop letting your self-pity hold the goddamn reins.”

  Rhett took the bow, but he wasn’t happy about it. He was even less happy when he noticed that Dan closed an eye to aim, meaning he was telling the truth about that bit. Rhett’s powerful lack of skill had nothing to do with his gone eye.

  Dan tried, again and again, to teach him the proper way to hold a bow, to aim, to release, but it was as wrong to Rhett as a dog walking on its hind legs. It didn’t come natural, and Rhett had no interest in accommodating things that didn’t come natural, and Dan grew increasingly frustrated. And took to hollering at the sky in his own language. The more annoyed Dan got, the more amused Rhett was, and so the whole thing was pretty much a big goddamn waste of time for everybody.

  “How am I supposed to teach you to survive if you won’t learn?” Dan finally shouted, throwing the bow on the ground.

  “How am I supposed to learn if you’re teaching me something I don’t need to know? You want to help me, you teach me how to read the damn grimoire. Help me figure out what this Trevisan feller is I’m up against. I’m going in blind, and I guaran-damn-tee you that a handmade bow won’t be the thing that saves my skin this time.” He picked up an arrow and tested the tip on the pad of his thumb. “Or at least teach me how to bang rocks. One of these blades did me good, once.”

  Dan got himself under control and stared at Rhett like he was an animal nobody’d ever seen before. “For an idjit, you sometimes make sense,” he said. “But there’s not enough time to teach you how to read. If you think shooting an arrow is hard, wait until you try to spell receive.” He kicked the ground, but thoughtfully. “And I don’t have a supply of the right kind of stone nearby. Thing is, I think you’d be great at shooting, if only you wanted to. If you’d give it a chance. Once you shut your fool self off, nothing can get into your skull. Stubborn as a mule.”

  Rhett twanged around with the bow but still found the whole damn thing as mystifying and cumbersome as Coyote Dan himself. “Shutting myself off makes sure only the right things get in.”

  Dan nodded thoughtfully, his expression going dark. “That’s a good point, Rhett. Let’s try it one more time. I’ll help you.”

  Taking a step away, Rhett said, “Well, I reckon that’s all right, Dan. One more bad shot won’t teach me nothing.”

  The coyote-boy’s smile was dangerous. “Oh, it might.” He held out the bow. “C’mere.”

  To Rhett’s reckoning, he had to take the bow or admit he was, for the moment, more than a bit fearful of his friend. Most of the time, Coyote Dan was an even-tempered man who talked too haughty and too much, but just now, Rhett saw the Dan that lurked underneath that calm shell. This Dan was watchful and carried threat in every line of his body, especially in his coyote-brown eyes. But Rhett would rather die than let Dan know he was worried, so he gave a firm nod and took the bow.

  Dan moved around him in his usual way, one arm holding the bow on one side of Rhett and the other holding the
arrow. The cage of his body was taut as the bow’s string, and Rhett held his breath and tried not to move.

  “Pull to here,” Dan said, voice low. “Then hold it. See how strong your arm is. Sight along the arrow.” His hands left the bow and the juncture of arrow and string, and Rhett held it against his cheek, hoping to stay on whatever good side Dan had.

  Something hot pricked through his shirt to his skin, just under his ribs, and Rhett struggled not to show the fear shooting up his spine.

  “Now, about my sister,” Dan said, cool and low and deadly.

  Rhett took a deep breath. So that’s what this was about.

  “Well, what about your sister, Dan?”

  “Be careful in your dealings with her.”

  Rhett snorted, the blade breaking his skin as he exhaled, not that he showed it. “You worried I’ll break her heart?”

  “No, idjit. I’m worried she’ll break yours. Or that she’ll make you forget your mission. If you’re mooning about like a calf and sniffing after skirts, then you’re not focused on the goal. The Shadow doesn’t have time for love, Rhett.”

  “And who said I loved her?”

  The knife bit in and twisted. “You don’t. I know you don’t. That’s the problem. You’re both like cats, always holding back and toying with others until you get bored. You’ll join and squabble and hiss and join again while the rest of us burn.”

  Quick as a flash, Rhett spun, dropped the bow, and knocked Dan in the jaw with his elbow, knowing full well the knife would leave yet another damn scar. He looked down to inspect the red-dabbed hole in his shirt as Dan ran his sleeve across a split lip.

  “You don’t seem to think much of me. Or her.”

  Dan laughed bitterly and spit a wad of blood into the dirt. “Do you think you’re the first one she’s called to her side in the night? She’ll take her pleasure where she will, on her own terms, with no fuss from me. It’s the aftermath with you that I’m worried about. Just trust me on this, Rhett: Move on.”

  It was a peculiar feeling, knowing that Dan’s disapproval just made Rhett want something more. Being told not to do something in such highfalutin, clear terms was mighty compelling.

  “I reckon you’re not the boss of me,” Rhett said. He grinned. “Or her.”

  “I know that. You think I don’t? If there’s one thing I know, it’s that neither of you does what they’re told, much less what I’d personally prefer. But trust me on this: Keep tangling with Winifred, and one way or another, you’ll regret it.”

  Dan’s lip had healed by now, and he reached for the bow. As he stood, he slapped Rhett across the cheek with it with a solid thwap, drawing a hot line of blood.

  “And if you’re so keen for blades but won’t learn to shoot, just yank off the arrowheads and keep them in your pocket. My gift.”

  He turned to walk back to camp, shoulders heaving with rage. Rhett leaned down to pick up the arrows. Using his knife, he popped one of the arrowheads off and held it up to the light. “Little small, ain’t it?” he called.

  Without turning around, Dan shouted, “A man like you can’t speak to size.”

  Rhett colored with rage and nocked an arrow, the movements at least coming smoother without Dan so close and critical. He pushed out his elbow, pulled back the string to his cheek, aimed for the middle of Dan’s back, and released. It fell far, far short, damn his single eye.

  “I don’t need size to stab you in the night,” he muttered.

  As far as their arguments went, he considered it a draw.

  When Rhett got himself under control and returned to camp, everything was as normal as could be expected for three monsters and a man eating charred snake around a smoky fire.

  “You all right?” Sam asked with an innocent smile.

  “I reckon I’ll do,” Rhett said. He almost brushed his fingertips over the thin, raised scar where Dan had struck him with the bow. “You got any more of that snake?”

  Winifred reached toward the fire and held out a pointed stick with sizzling meat threaded on it. “I saved you the last piece. It’s not much, but it’s still good,” she said.

  Rhett gave her a smile he hoped was charming. “Well thank you, darlin’. I’m not a large man by any means, but I suspect this here tidbit is tasty enough to satisfy me.”

  Coyote Dan growled out a sigh and looked like he wanted to leap across the fire and strangle Rhett with his bare hands, which Rhett found enormously satisfying.

  “Did you boys have fun romping about the prairie?” Earl asked, his voice going clipped with impatience. “Was it a pleasant afternoon, then?”

  “Not this again,” Sam muttered.

  Rhett ripped into the meat, letting the juice run down his chin. “Damn, donkey-boy. You were annoying when it was just us, but now you’re downright hateful.”

  Earl hopped up and marched over to where he sat. “Oh, well, and considering that every hour we add to our trip means me brother and friends are losing fingers or possibly their lives, I do get a bit riled up when we stop just after lunch for a party, thank you very much.”

  “Now, boys. Let’s not fight,” Dan said, and when Rhett cast him a doubtful and questioning glance, he shook his head and held up his hands. “No, really. We all know the score, and none of us need more scars. We’re close. We’ll hit the camp in a couple of days. We need to make sure Rhett and I are ready to go in. That means we talk about our plans and discuss weaponry. Now, I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but that’s how the Rangers do it. An extra hour of sleep or planning can be the difference between a victory and a massacre. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  Sam nodded agreeably. “It is, Dan. You boys do what you need to do.”

  “Now, have you and Winifred been going through the grimoire, trying to figure out what we’re up against?”

  Earl deflated and sat back down. “Oh, sure, and it’s no help. Whatever he is, it ain’t in there. But the witch we met recently wasn’t in there, neither. Some things…well, far as I can figure, lads, some things wish to remain secret.”

  They went quiet for a moment, chewing that information along with their meat. Rhett swigged from his canteen, grateful for the cool, clear water they’d collected from the stream that morning. Who knew? Next time he refilled it might be with the water of the Brazos in Lamartine, one of the biggest cities in Durango. It made him right itchy, thinking about that many people. Probably thousands, maybe more, and most of ’em wouldn’t think much of him on sight. Like Mueller, they’d probably take him for Sam’s servant. And he’d do anything for Sam, but he’d never be anybody’s servant.

  It bothered him, how Dan had brought up love earlier, thrown it in his face. As if Rhett couldn’t love. Because sure enough, he loved Sam. Didn’t he? Maybe it wasn’t what most folks would consider commonplace, but that didn’t make it any less true. And if he loved Sam, why had he done what he did with Winifred, and why was he hungry to do it again? Sam had admitted from the start that he could never love Rhett that way, and the only time they’d shared in an intimate fashion had been drunk and drugged and being used as rag dolls of the gods, flopped around in someone else’s hands.

  He looked at Sam, then at Winifred. A smile arrived, unexpected and unbidden, on his face. Just like everything else in Rhett’s life, perhaps this didn’t have to be an either/or choice.

  “We did find one interesting thing, though,” Winifred said, interrupting Rhett’s thoughts.

  “And what’s that?” Rhett asked playfully. He looked up at her with a cocky grin, but his attention was caught by a single black feather, twirling into the fire.

  And that’s when hell erupted from the sky.

  Chapter

  15

  It was hell, and hell was a million birds.

  The moment they descended, their caws rent the night in a cloud of black feathers and earsplitting cries. Rhett pulled his hat down to protect his eye, drew his gun, and headed for a collection of boulders he’d pissed behind earlier.

  Ro
ugh claws plucked at his hat and shirt as he ran. Birds landed on his head and shoulders and back, much heavier than he expected birds to be. One hand on top of his hat and one on his pistol, he fired over his shoulder, the gun aimed up, knocking off the bird that was currently using its beak to tear at his ear. The bird screamed and its weight disappeared, but Rhett didn’t feel any blood or splatter. Still, the momentary confusion of his gunshot bought him the time he needed to get behind two boulders and wedge himself in, his ears ringing all the while.

  He couldn’t see the campfire from his hiding spot, but he hadn’t been able to see it from anywhere, not once the birds had attacked. He’d never seen anything like this before—the flock must’ve been silent in the air, their ink-black feathers merging with the night sky. There’d been no reason to look up.

  Rhett’s blood told him to charge out, shooting pistols with both hands. But the Ranger in him said that was a great way to shoot all his friends full of holes. And Sam Hennessy, so human and soft and tender, might not be able to survive a single bullet. All Rhett could do was wait until the damn birds returned to their senses and their rightful place in the sky.

  Wait.

  No.

  There was something else he could do.

  Something only he could do.

  Shedding his clothes, he shoved the bundle between the rocks and changed. A few hops outside and he was flying into a flock of angry black birds. Birds much smaller than he was. They cawed, but he squawked, tearing a hole through the swirling flock. Reaching with his huge talons, he grasped, crushed, and dropped fat, feathered bodies. His beak snapped them out of the air. His great wings beat them down, knocking them silly. When he opened his mouth to give what passed as a laugh of triumph, a bird flew right in, and he landed on the ground, tipped back his head, and swallowed it whole.