Malice of Crows

by Lila Bowen

  “Plenty homey in here,” Sam said, and Rhett smiled at the way his friend had of focusing on something nice and light even as the world was falling down.

  “I like a place I can stand up in without scraping my head, but I reckon it’ll do. Compared to the alternative.” Rhett tried to give Sam a comforting, confident smile, but he was et up with worry.

  If those buffalo didn’t have the sense to go around the wagon, Sam would get crushed to pulp, and maybe Rhett, too, although Rhett would probably still be alive to feel it. For some reason, Sam didn’t seem at all troubled by the prospect. He sat down on the bed, then scooted over to make room for Rhett. Considering there was nothing back here but the bed and Prospera’s old trunk, it was pretty much the only place to sit, so Rhett shyly joined him, being careful not to sit too close or lean in or do anything that would remind Sam of Rhett’s peculiar feelings. Even after last night’s strange conversation, Rhett would’ve rather been stung by a hundred scorpions than knowingly make Sam uncomfortable. But whatever he did now, Sam didn’t move away. In fact, he moved just a little closer, his knee bumping into Rhett’s.

  “I reckon —” Sam started, but the buffalo arrived like all the thunder the gods had ever made.

  The wagon juddered and tipped as massive, powerful bodies skimmed around it. Rhett panicked and threw his arms around Sam, tackling him to the bed, which was still covered by Rhett’s own buffalo coat, soft and deep. It smelled of Cora, but all Rhett cared about was Sam.

  “Uh, Rhett?” Sam’s lips were near Rhett’s ear, and his hot breath made Rhett shudder.

  Rhett drew a shaky breath and spoke into the fuzzy fleece.

  “Sam, it’s not what it looks like… I’m not… Look. If they break up this wagon, I might be the only thing that’ll keep you safe. Better they hurt me than you. So just forgive me and try not to think about it. Ignore me. Pretend I’m armor, if you have to.”

  For a long moment, the only sound was the buffalo herd outside, just a few inches away, separated by wood and canvas and sheer luck. The stutter of hooves, the rumble of breath, the occasional bellow, the shakes and tremors as the wood creaked against muscles and horn. Rhett saw it go a thousand ways, but one image in particular haunted him. The beasts bashed in the wagon and caught Rhett and Sam on their horns, on their hooves, carrying their bodies away on a wave of brown like gory trophies. A little sob ripped unbidden out of his throat when he thought about how far they’d come only to lose now, and not even to a clever, powerful monster or villain, but to a dumb herd of buffalo just doing what comes natural. All the other animals knew what was coming and had the good sense to get the hell out before the pilgrimage of hooves and horns came over the horizon. But not the dumb humans, who just sat there, innocently marching toward their own goddamn doom.

  Maybe such thoughts were the reason it took Rhett several long moments to realize that Sam was clutching him back, fiercely, his arms snaked tight around Rhett’s back and his hips pressed forward more urgently than how a boy about to die should’ve managed. Sam’s breath was ragged in his ear, their hats tumbled off, the sound of thunder merging with their heartbeats, pressed chest to chest.

  Rhett’s head untucked from Sam’s shoulder, and he ventured a look-see. Sam pulled back, too, and they stared at each other with wide, baby-doe eyes. The black of Sam’s eyes was endless, the blue sparkling with… sweet hell, was it tenderness? And something else, something Rhett had only seen when they’d drunk the god’s wine at Buckhead and began to pay their delicious toll?

  “I could never ignore you, Rhett,” Sam whispered.

  “You okay, Sam?” Rhett asked, cautious and terrified of being hurt again.

  Sam swallowed hard. “I… I reckon I am. The buffalo don’t seem to want us dead.”

  Rhett nodded. “Loud as hell but not downright murderous.”

  “I never dreamed there were so many of ’em. You think it’ll ever stop?”

  Rhett felt about like he had before leaping off that cliff at the Cannibal Owl’s lair and learning he could fly. He’d jumped then, and that had turned out pretty good, so he jumped now.

  “I wouldn’t mind if it didn’t, Sam,” he murmured, a bare whisper against the backdrop of the stampede.

  Sam inhaled, and Rhett knew that whatever he said next was as sure as a bullet and just as likely to shatter something as fragile as what they had.

  “It’s just us in here, ain’t it?” Sam whispered. “Like our own little world. Everything outside is thunder and noise, but in here, it’s just you and me.”

  Rhett let himself relax a little, his head pillowed on Sam’s shoulder. “Nobody can see, nobody can hear. Not like we can go anywhere. Makes me feel downright cozy.”

  As the buffalo didn’t seem intent on bashing the wagon in just then, he rolled over onto his back, his elbows out and his hands behind his head. It was a position that said “I’m harmless and I’m not trying anything,” but it was also a position that said, “But you go on ahead, if that’s your inclination.”

  Sam sat up on his elbow and grinned. “It’s like being in the middle of a thunderstorm, ain’t it? So much energy in the air. So much…”

  “Passion?” Rhett supplied, feeling like a dog rolled belly up. He was trembling now, and not just because of the wagon shaking around him. Energy, yes. Electricity. His heart felt like the buffalo herd, a cacophonous, endless tumult of desperation and fury and power, and he didn’t even have the words to explain to Sam how it felt, how when he looked up at Sam in the low light, he wanted to believe in a god so he’d have somebody to thank.

  “That’s one word for it,” Sam agreed.

  He licked his lips, and Rhett could’ve died.

  “It’s funny,” Sam began.

  When he didn’t elaborate, Rhett said, “What is?”

  Sam swallowed again and thought about it for a moment, and then the wagon rocked hard to the tune of a buffalo’s grunt, and Sam fell over, right on top of Rhett. He quickly pressed away, set himself up on his elbows, and Rhett was looking right up into his favorite face in the world, Sam’s body half-splayed over his, Sam’s knee pressing down between his, Sam’s fine blue eyes blinking closed with golden lashes, Sam’s face dipping down to his, and finally, finally, bless all the damn gods, Sam’s warm, soft lips brushing Rhett’s own with an electric jolt more powerful than a million buffalo. Rhett froze, accepting the kiss, praying for more and terrified to scare Sam off by liking it too much.

  Sam backed off just a little, his beard scraping Rhett’s chin, his eyes looking hurt.

  “Well, ain’t you going to kiss me back?” he whispered.

  Rhett gulped in a breath, reached for Sam’s face, and showed him exactly how much he wanted to do exactly that, and it was everything he’d ever dreamed of in his entire life, and it was over far too goddamn soon.

  Sam pulled away, and Rhett drew in a ragged breath, seeing stars.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Sitting back, Sam ran a hand through his hair, still mussed from Rhett’s fingers. “I don’t rightly. It got quiet. The wagon’s not shaking.”

  When he listened, Rhett heard the same thing. A few clopping hooves here and there, but no more beasts shouldered the wagon, and the ground wasn’t quaking as hard. He hopped up quick and headed for the door.

  “Sam, we got people to feed. Let’s find us a straggler and take it down.”

  Sam blushed red as he adjusted himself and put on his hat.

  “Your mind moves fast, other Hennessy.”

  Rhett gave him a serious look, a smoldery look. “Well, I can change my mind back the other way just about anytime you like,” he said. “But I reckon we’d both prefer it on a full belly.”

  “There’s hungry and then there’s hungry, other Hennessy.”

  Sam laughed, a light and friendly sound that assured Rhett that things wouldn’t be awkward between them, not now. Rhett untied the door and scouted about before hopping down to the churned-up dirt. Little tumbleweeds
of brown fuzz rolled everywhere, along with fresh, wet cow patties and overturned stones and hoofprints. The grass was all tore up, and the wagon’s wood was dented and cracked, brown gouges in the purple paint.

  “There!” Sam shouted, and Rhett followed him toward a limping buffalo cow holding up a damaged leg. It wasn’t any work at all to shoot the poor thing in the head – more of a kindness, really.

  “I reckon they get running like that, all bunched together, and they’re bound to hurt one another,” Rhett said.

  “She’s not hurting anymore, at least, you soft-hearted fool. You go find our people.” Sam looked up, and his eyes were back to being Ranger-sharp, not at all dreamy, but still tender in their way. “My palomino might come if you whistle like this.” He demonstrated, and Rhett could only look at his kiss-swollen lips. But he nodded.

  “I’ll do my best for you, Sam.”

  “I always know you will, Rhett.”

  They traded goofy smiles, and Rhett lit out in the direction the horses had run before the stampede hit. After walking long enough to get up a sweat, he cussed to himself, shucked his clothes on a boulder, and took to the sky, where he could see farther and with much less effort. He found the horses first, Ragdoll and Samson and Puddin’ and Kachina and the two Blues all huddled together with the second-stringers that hadn’t earned names yet. Sam’s palomino wasn’t around, so Rhett rubbed noses and checked hooves and let out a few whistles before taking back to the sky, knowing the worried herd would stay right there until someone came to fetch them.

  In the air, he followed his nose to a disappointing scene: Sam’s palomino, trampled and torn open by unapologetic hooves. Even as a carrion bird, Rhett kept enough of his soft heart about him that he didn’t eat a single bite. Back in the air, he flew in ever wider circles until he found a creature that made him feel ten kinds of strange.

  Dragon, his mind flashed.

  Friend.

  Kind of.

  He landed and turned back into a human, and the dragon did the same, and they stood there, all alone in the wide, trampled prairie, buck nekkid and shy.

  “You seen the coyotes?” Rhett asked. “And Earl?”

  Cora nodded. “Yes. All are safe and headed back to where the wagon stood. I was looking for you.”

  “You found me. Only critter we lost was Sam’s leggy horse, as far as I know. We’ll have some leathers to fix, but we did bag a hurt buffalo, so we’ll eat tonight, at least.”

  Cora dipped her head, careful not to look down. It was strange, Rhett figured, to know and like someone’s bare body just fine yet find moments in life where it was the last damn thing you wanted to look at.

  “I will fly back, then,” she said.

  She turned away, and Rhett said, “You’re a right beautiful dragon, you know. Pretty girl, too. But I always wanted to see a dragon, and I reckon I ain’t disappointed.”

  Cora turned around and gave him a shy smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Red-Eye Ned. There is a season for everything, is there not? And how quickly they can change. Buds bloom; leaves fall. A natural progression, I think.”

  And then she rippled over with scales and launched into the air. Rhett watched her, considering. He’d liked her sensible nature from the start, and as far as he was concerned, she’d just cut him completely loose in the most polite way possible. If he couldn’t still taste Sam on his lips, maybe that would’ve bothered him. But it didn’t.

  He felt one of his favorite things, just then: sweet freedom.

  He turned into a bird and hurried back to his clothes, then the waiting horses.

  When Rhett rode up to the camp on Ragdoll’s back and fully dressed, followed by a small but happy herd, he was cheered to smell fresh buffalo meat already cooking over a nice-sized fire. Dan and Winifred carved on the carcass, and Cora walked around gathering buffalo fluff. Rhett thought it was a right silly thing to do until he realized that buffalo fluff was a damn sight softer and more absorbent than the rags he used for his hated monthlies, so he snatched up a few rolling balls of fuzz, too, stuffing them into his saddlebags when nobody was looking.

  Seeing as how everyone else was working contentedly, except Earl, who was blessedly silent due to being asleep, Rhett set to fixing Samson’s sliced traces and tying up the horses to the wagon. The grass had been entirely ruined, kicked up and trampled by the buffaloes’ huge hooves, so they’d have to wait until they’d got to live ground again to graze and drink. Too much grain would be dangerous. That meant they couldn’t camp here long, which Rhett figured everybody knew but he had to mention anyway.

  “How long do y’all expect to stay here?” he asked as he moseyed up to the fire. “No water, all the grass gone, and the horses near scared to death. We can make a few miles by sundown, head southwesterly and maybe get beyond the herd’s damage.”

  “That’s right, Rhett,” Sam said, giving him a sunny smile. “Give the meat an hour or so to cook up and let us get something in our bellies, and we can store the rest and get moving.”

  “That suit you-all, Dan?” Rhett asked.

  Dan glared at him from the buffalo carcass, just a stone’s throw from the campfire. Dan knew his way around a butchering and was stripped down to his breechclout, his skin coated in slick, dark blood as he sliced and dug and sorted.

  “You try my patience, Shadow,” he said, each word dropping slow and deadly as he lifted a dark purple mass of muck out of the critter’s gut. Dan was usually a sunny enough feller, which made it all the worse when he was angry. He sliced off a bit of whatever he was cutting on and handed it to Winifred, who ate it. Rhett shuddered at the thought of slimy, raw guts.

  “It’s the liver,” Winifred said, rolling her eyes. “Good for the baby.”

  Rhett looked from her to her brother. “Is that why you’re mad at me, Dan? Because I yet again failed to protect your sister?”

  “My sister and her child, yes.”

  Guilt settled like a fist in Rhett’s gut, but he wasn’t about to give Dan that satisfaction.

  “Well, hellfire, Coyote Dan. It ain’t mine, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Dan dropped the liver and stood, seeming to rise from the ground like some spectre, some bloody god enlivened by rage. He didn’t bother to rub the gore from his skin, just walked to where Rhett stood, leaving rusty red footprints in the shape of his long, bare feet. He stopped, his nose inches from Rhett’s, the scent of him heavy with death.

  “I thought you were a hero, Rhett Walker.”

  “I am a hero.”

  “But you bring only death. No life.”

  Rhett swallowed but wouldn’t let himself back down. “Maybe there’s different kinds of heroes. Maybe death’s all I got to offer.”

  Dan shook his head like he was disappointed. “Maybe each man chooses what sort of hero he’ll be, and you choose the actions that release you from responsibility. Killing puts problems to rest. I hoped that as you grew, as you learned, you would begin to choose life.”

  Rage simmered up Rhett’s spine, and his teeth ground together. “I did choose life, Dan. I chose to protect the only one of us that the buffalo could kill. Your sister and her god’s get are well-nigh indestructible, far as I know. But if we lose Sam —”

  “If you lose Sam, you mean.”

  Rhett’s hands made tight fists at his sides. The entire prairie went silent. Even the horses watched them, curious, ears pricked. Every eye at the campfire was on them. Now would not be a good time to punch Dan in the teeth, much as Rhett wanted to do so. Because that would mean Dan was right, wouldn’t it? That Rhett always chose violence. And that it was a bad thing to do.

  “Are you saying you don’t care if Sam lives or dies, Dan?”

  Dan snorted, his chin going up an inch.

  “I’m saying you choose him for selfish reasons. Yourself first, then him, then the womenfolk, maybe, if there’s time. Me, you didn’t even think about. And we all know it. Don’t think I don’t notice that you always sav
e the white man and let the brown folk fend for themselves. That’s not what the Shadow was fabled to be. You were our hero. You were supposed to stand up to white men, not fawn all over them like a puppy.”

  “It ain’t because he’s white,” Rhett said, each word careful and sharp. “It’s because he’s Sam.”

  “Someone with your power should protect the weakest. And Sam isn’t weak.”

  Earl, still in donkey form, brayed his agreement.

  “Fair enough, Dan. I didn’t think of you when the herd of buffalo arrived because you’re the cleverest, wiliest, hardestto-kill asshole I ever met, myself excluded. And I didn’t think of the critter with four goddamn hooves because he’s as stubborn as a damn buffalo. I helped Cora. I slapped Kachina to get Winifred far off. And, yes, damn my eye, I went and protected the most helpless among us, because whatever’s in your sister is just as immortal as she is and probably the size of a goddamn gnat. I’m not saying Sam’s weak, but his body isn’t made of… hell, whatever ours are. Magic and stubbornness, I reckon. I’m not sorry for my actions, and I don’t need your approval. I’m sorry you grew up thinking the Shadow was a savior built just for you, but I’m doing the best I can. You know well enough how I feel about white folks in general, and you also know that Sam is goddamn different. So’s the Captain. I follow my gut, no matter what. And considering not a one of us took a single injury, I suspect that whatever I’m doing, I’m doing right.”

  Dan stepped back, his body ramrod straight, and shook his head sadly. “I hope I’m not there the day you find out you’re wrong, Rhett. And I hope my sister never takes harm on your watch.”

  Turning his back, he returned to butchering the buffalo. Winifred spoke to him in their language, and she sounded like maybe she was chewing him out, but a lot of their language sounded like that to Rhett. Feeling like every eye was still stuck to him, he exhaled and moseyed over to the fire, all nonchalant-like.