The Queen of Crows

by Myke Cole

  “Oh, we were so worried,” Samson said. “The Kipti threw us out. Said she needed to be alone to help you.”

  “If you’re going to be staying with ‘Kipti,’” Leahlabel said, “you should know that only villagers call us that.”

  She saw Leahlabel’s strained smile out of the corner of her eye. Like all villagers, Samson had been raised to distrust the Kipti.

  “We should call them the Traveling People, Father,” Heloise said, gently pushing her parents away.

  Leahlabel looked at Heloise with respect, but she spoke to Samson, “‘Kipti’ is a word the algalifes gave us when we wandered in the desert generations ago, and your Emperor adopted it. It means ‘homeless.’ We are not homeless. Our homes move, and that makes us free.”

  “My apologies,” Samson said, “and thank you for healing my daughter, and to the Traveling People for welcoming us.”

  “There are many bands of the people. We are the Sindi.” She tapped the trefoil pin at her throat.

  Leahlabel turned to Heloise. “I will speak with the Mothers and then come to you.”

  Barnard and her parents followed Heloise to where Sigir stood over five bodies, wrapped tightly in winding shrouds. Dead, because they had all followed her into the ambush. She wanted to weep, but she kept her voice even. “How many people died?”

  Sigir’s face was taut with grief. “Your eminence. We are so glad that you…”

  “Please,” Heloise said. “Is that all?”

  Sigir shook his head, his eyes wet. “I cannot say for sure. At least twenty. Many may yet live and be scattered. All that we are certain remain are standing here now.”

  She had never thought to count how many had set out from Lutet. She hadn’t known she was supposed to. What do I know of how to lead an army? “How … many … how many are … were we?”

  “Ah, your eminence, it is my fault for not giving you report. We were one hundred strong, give or take.”

  “Do you have the names?”

  Sigir shook his head. “Only of those who lie here. Myron fell, and Erik. Marta the mender’s daughter. The one with the lame…”

  “I know her, Sigir.”

  “It is customary, after a battle, for the victor to allow the losers to return to the field to collect their dead. The heralds take names then.”

  “We can’t … we can’t ask them…”

  “No.” Sigir shook his head again. “We can’t. That’s how it happens in a … regular war … I suppose.”

  “This is not a war?” Leuba asked.

  “This?” Sigir said. “No. This is crime. This is rebellion. There will be no parlay and no quarter.”

  “It is only crime to the Order.” Barnard choked out the words.

  Sigir ignored him, put his hand gently on Heloise’s. “It’ll be all right,” he said. “War or crime, it makes no difference. All ways are equally fraught now.”

  Heloise felt a cold spike in her gut as she surveyed the faces of the villagers one more time, noted an absence. She remembered a body bouncing on Barnard’s shoulder, a red hole in the base of a helmet. “Where is Gunnar?”

  Barnard’s jaw tightened. He shook his head, once.

  The cold spike turned to nauseating grief. Basina’s brother. A fixture in Heloise’s life for as long she could remember. He’d had little time for younger girls, but his strong hands had been there to pick her up when she fell down, to bring her flowers on her naming days. He looked like Basina and smelled like the Tinkers’ workshop, and he had been a piece of home. The grief was followed by a surge of rage, the image of Tone’s mocking smile. I will find a way to make you pay for this.

  Barnard looked down at the freshly healed stump of her wrist. “The Kipti woman said she could heal a wound, but she couldn’t bring the dead to life.”

  Heloise could feel every eye in the camp on her. She felt naked without the machine’s protecting metal frame. She swallowed the rage with an effort. “We should say the rites for Gunnar, for everyone.”

  “Here?” Barnard looked over his shoulder, whispered, “Your eminence, I understand that they helped us, but these are heretics. They won’t have a shrine.”

  “At least we can say the words. We can go outside the camp and…”

  The tinker crossed his arms and looked at his knees, his face reddening.

  “Peace, Barnard,” Leuba said. “These heretics saved us.”

  Heloise was amazed at the kindness in her mother’s voice, speaking to the man who’d thrown her husband to the ground just the day before. Her mother was slow to anger, and quick to love again.

  “When Basina was little,” Barnard seemed just as surprised as Heloise, “you always warned her away from the road, that she might be taken by Kipti child-thieves.”

  “Those are … things you say because everyone says them,” Leuba said, “because we’ve always said them. I don’t see any stolen children here. These people saved us.”

  A tear tracked through the grime coating Barnard’s cheek until it was lost in his beard. He turned back to Heloise. “I am sorry, your eminence. I mean no blasphemy, but I … please do not do this here.”

  She touched Barnard’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  He died because I couldn’t save him, she thought, because I don’t know how to lead an army, because I had the stupid idea to bury myself under the road. Because some part of me believed that maybe I was … something more than what I am.

  Seeing Barnard so close to tears made her want to cry, herself, but the tinker had lost his second child in less than a fortnight. If he could contain the tears, then so could she.

  “I will not bury him here,” Barnard said. “He will be blessed in an Imperial shrine if I have to carry him with me until he is dust. I swear it in the shadow of the Throne.”

  Heloise nodded. “And I swear to help you, if we have to bring Gunnar before the altar in the Imperial chapel itself.” She had no idea how she would ever get access to a shrine again. The only ones she’d ever seen were in Lutet, Hammersdown, and Lyse. Lutet was on the other side of the victorious column of Pilgrims, Hammersdown was a smoking ruin, and Lyse was a town, garrisoned and surrounded by a thick stone wall.

  “Oh, now that’s a fine story.” Poch Drover’s cheeks were red.

  “Hold your tongue.” Barnard’s voice was low, dangerous.

  “You’ve all lost your minds,” Poch said. “I love Heloise same as any of us, but she’s just a girl. She’s not bringing anyone to the shrine in the capital. Not now, and not ever.”

  “I said…” Barnard boomed, taking a threatening step toward the drover.

  Barnard was at least twice Poch’s size, solid muscle where Poch’s time in the cart seat had made him run to fat, but as frightened as he looked, the drover didn’t back down. “I don’t care what you said! You think you’re the only man of faith among us? I love the Emperor and His holy Writ same as you. Let me ask you, if His favor rests so heavily with Heloise, then why’d we just get our backsides handed to us? Why’s half the village gone? Sacred Throne, man, your own son…”

  Barnard lunged, giant hands grasping.

  Then froze.

  Heloise looked down at her own arm. The pink scars of her stump were nestled close against Barnard’s stomach. Without thinking, she’d put out her arm and stopped him. And, as if her hand were a viper, Barnard had let her.

  She could feel the heat of his anger as he bellowed, “Speak again about my son! Speak his name! Do it, you blasphemer! You traitor!”

  “Traitor?” Sigir blanched. “Barnard, Poch…”

  Spit flew from Barnard’s mouth as he stabbed a finger at Poch. “You were the first to deny her after she threw down the devil and ascended to the Palantinate. The Order came to the village when she was hiding in the vault. Came right to my door. How is that possible unless they knew she was in there? And then, when she hid with Clodio in the wood, they were waiting for her when she came back. You think that was mere happenstance? The Emperor’s will? Someon
e told them.”

  “Now, you listen…” Poch was red-faced.

  “And then the ambush failed. They were ready for us.” He turned to Heloise. “This shriveled rodent told them we were coming.”

  “Barnard, no,” Heloise whispered. Barnard’s rage was a war-machine of its own. It could shield her from Poch’s criticism, but that didn’t make it right. “The horses felt the covering of the pit. That’s what alerted them.”

  Barnard turned back to Poch. The cords of muscle in his neck were still visible, his breath came in panting gasps. “Doesn’t mean this one isn’t in the Order’s pocket. Let me—”

  “Barnard, don’t,” Heloise said, louder now, “we are hurt enough without turning on each other.”

  Barnard looked at her now, but she held his gaze as she repeated, “Don’t, please.”

  Barnard’s rage gave way at last. “Yes, your eminence.”

  Heloise could feel the weight of the Sindis’ eyes on her. How will they trust us if they see us at each other’s throats?

  “Well,” Poch exhaled, “thank the Emperor someone has some sense. Heloise did an amazing thing, but this … this madness that she’s the Emperor’s hand has to stop. We have a Maior. We should be following him. Come on, Samson.” Poch gestured to Heloise’s father. “She’s your daughter, speak reason to her. To all of us. We need to come to terms with the Order. We need to beg forgiveness.”

  Heloise felt her father move closer to her. She glanced at him, saw the shame in his eyes. He had been her father, had tried to forbid her to fight in the ambush. That authority had been broken. “You said yourself that we have a Maior,” Samson said quietly.

  “Aye, put this on me.” Sigir sounded exhausted. He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter who we follow anymore. The Order does not care.”

  “You can’t seriously—” Poch began.

  “We are in revolt, Poch,” Sigir interrupted him. “We have consorted with a wizard, touched the body of a devil, made war on the Order. You think they’ll forgive that? I am raised to Maior by your voices, but I am anointed by the Imperial observer. They’ve unseated me on the village rolls now, I promise you.”

  “We don’t know what they’ve done or what they’ll do,” Poch began. “Everything’s changed now. Heloise killed a devil. They might…”

  “You’re a fool if you think that,” Sigir said. “They see us, they kill us. The choice before us now is to run or to fight. Who we follow down either road makes no difference.”

  “You’re wrong!” Poch shouted. “Someone has to go talk to them. Someone has to try to—”

  “You do it,” Leuba’s voice carried over all.

  Poch’s voice died, his jaw hung open. All around him the villagers looked at their feet. Even Sald Grower, his arms crossed, standing defiant at Poch’s side, would not meet Heloise’s mother’s eyes.

  “If you are so certain it is the right decision,” Leuba said, “you go and speak for us.”

  Poch’s faced reddened and he opened his mouth to reply.

  Heloise took a step toward Poch, her anger at Tone leaping to this closer target. “The Order hates the Traveling People,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “If you go to them, what do you think they’ll do to these kind folk who have saved us?”

  “They didn’t save—” Poch began.

  “Pardon me.” Leahlabel appeared at Heloise’s shoulder. A knot of Sindi men stood with her, nervously fingering their knife hilts. “I see that you are … tired after your ordeal, and I hate to interrupt, but the Mothers are insisting on meeting Heloise, now that she is awake.”

  “I’m sorry.” Heloise turned to her, searching Leahlabel’s face for a hint of how much she’d heard.

  Leahlabel’s face was inscrutable. She stepped aside, making room for the two other cloaked women Heloise had seen when she left the wagon.

  One of them, a woman who could have been Leahlabel’s twin if not for her hard eyes, spoke first. “I am Mother Tillie, and you don’t look like you killed a devil.”

  The words were so plain that Heloise was struck dumb.

  Heloise heard Barnard gasp, spoke quickly to cut him off. “We have the head, if you need proof. It’s in a tinker-vault on the war-machine.”

  “Ah, yes. The machine we pulled you from. It needs retrieving,” Tillie said, “lest the Order’s scouts find it first. We’ll have a look at this head then.”

  “No one has ever fought a devil and lived,” the other Mother said, this one old and fat, with a mole on her chin that sprouted white whiskers, “and her own father said it was a Pilgrim’s flail what took her eye.”

  “Indeed, Mother Analetta,” Leahlabel began, “but—”

  “She is a Palantine,” Barnard snapped. “She shouldn’t be put to the question…”

  “Please,” Samson added, “she has been through hell itself…”

  “It’s true,” Heloise said over them. “I don’t believe it myself, but it’s true. My friend was … Veilstruck. The devil came out of his eye.”

  “I believe her,” Leahlabel said. “I hear truth in her voice, and I have heard some clever lies in my day. Either she is very smart, or very honest.”

  “Oh, come now,” Analetta’s jowls shook, “we are all of us Mothers. Clever children are hardly anything…”

  “She is so clever she cut off her own hand? Took out her own eye?” Leahlabel’s voice was both laughing and angry at once. “She is so clever that we found her battle-scarred and driving a war-machine, with an entire village behind her?”

  “Tell us the truth of how you lost your hand,” Analetta said.

  Barnard seethed, took a step toward her. The Sindi, as one body, twitched toward him, the men’s hands flying to the knives.

  Again, Heloise touched Barnard. Again, the huge tinker froze. “It’s all right,” she said.

  “You don’t have to answer them, your eminence.”

  Heloise faced Mother Analetta. “I climbed into the machine … Not the one you found me in. A roof fell on it, crushed it, and it … hurt me. They couldn’t save my hand.”

  “Are you satisfied?” Barnard snarled at the Mothers.

  Analetta grunted, shook her head.

  Heloise felt Leahlabel’s hand on her shoulder. She turned to Analetta. “What child would craft such a tale?”

  But Heloise was tired of the Mothers speaking of her as if she weren’t there. “It is not a tale, and I am not a child. I killed a devil, and that makes me a woman grown.”

  “It surely does,” Leahlabel said, “and it’s not the only thing. Will you tell the Mothers about Basina?”

  And suddenly Heloise was choking down tears, because she was so tired, and so hungry, and all she could see was Basina’s weak smile as she bled out into the mud.

  “Who is Basina?” Mother Tillie asked. Her father’s arm settled across Heloise’s shoulders, pulling her close.

  Heloise felt a twinge of fear. Had Basina told Barnard that Heloise had tried to kiss her? If so, Barnard was keeping the secret. But secrets cast a shadow over the beauty of their friendship.

  So Heloise told what truth she could. “I loved her.”

  “She has lost.” Leahlabel raised her head to Tillie.

  “She has,” Tillie answered. “Not a child, obviously, but someone dear to her.”

  Leahlabel nodded, turning to Analetta. “She has lost. Loss is the spinning wheel, it crusheth us beneath…”

  “And raiseth us up again,” Analetta answered slowly, dragging out the words as if she didn’t want to say them.

  “Then you are welcome, Heloise,” Leahlabel said. “The Sindi band makes room at the fire for you.”

  4

  TO LOSE, TO LEAD

  The heretics kneel before their widows and bereaved. They have a saying, “Only those that have lost can lead.” They believe that wisdom and salvation are found in grief, and not in the shadow of the Throne. They see fighting as ignoble, a ritual dance reserved for their menfo
lk. Only their sacred “Mothers” command the bands, women touched by tragedy—those who have lost children, or husbands. To these Kipti, the world is stood upon its head. Black is white and down is up. The sooner we settle them and break them to the Writ, the sooner the valley will be at peace. The blight follows these brigands as surely as night follows day.

  —Letter from Brother Witabern to Lyse Chapter House

  Heloise was still eating when Mother Tillie touched her shoulder. “You are well enough to drive the machine?”

  “I think so,” Heloise said.

  “We have left it too long,” Leahlabel said. “We are good at covering our tracks, but it won’t take a gifted ranger to figure out our location if they find it. We should go now, if you can.”

  Heloise wiped her mouth and stood. “Let’s go.”

  “There is no need. The Order will not find it.” Barnard’s eyes were too wide, moving too fast. He ground his teeth. “The relic is on its shoulder. It will conceal it from their sight.”

  A part of Heloise feared Barnard; his new devotion to her was a kind of madness. He had thrown her father down and threatened him. What might he do to her if he ever stopped believing she was a Palantine?

  But none told him that he was mad, that his words made no sense. Sigir looked frightened, and spoke slowly. “Well … all the more reason we should go get it now, while the Order is delayed. I don’t like the idea of leaving such an important … relic … out of our hands. The Emperor cannot prefer that we leave it unprotected.”

  Barnard was silent for a long time, looking at his feet, giving no sign that he had heard. Guntar looked torn. He put a gentle hand on Barnard’s shoulder, “Father…”

  Barnard’s head snapped up, eyes focused again. “Aye, let’s go.”

  He turned on his heel and walked toward the edge of the camp. Guntar stared after his father, but made no move to follow. Heloise looked to Sigir. “Does he know where it—”