Voice of Crow (11 page)

Filip frowned at the roost of pigeons that sat against the stable on Tereus’s farm. They cooed to each other about sand and stone and fried bread.

A chill wind ripped over the hills, finding passage through his thin leather coat, which he pulled tighter around him. It was only the middle of autumn, according to the Ilion calendar he’d drawn on parchment and hidden under his pillow. Yet here in Asermos all but a few dry yellow-brown leaves had fallen from the oaks and hickories, and this morning he swore he could smell snow in the air. Perhaps if the Ilion generals spent one winter in this place, they’d end their plans for conquest.

The pigeons continued to converse, and he leaned closer to the roost, as much for shelter from the brutal wind as to hear their bird words.

“Thinking of adding a little something to their food to knock them out?”

Filip turned to see Bolan rounding the corner of the small farmhouse, followed by Galen the Hawk. They wore no coats, of course. Bolan’s long blond hair was tied back from his face as if it were midsummer.

The young Horse, whom he saw every other day now, walked up and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Filip and Galen exchanged uneasy bows.

Filip indicated the pigeons. “What are they talking about?”

Bolan listened for a moment. “Sounds like Velekos. They’re talking about home. They are
homing
pigeons, after all. Isn’t that what you called them?”

“Have the others arrived yet?” Galen asked.

“Almost an hour ago. Fastest test flight yet.” Filip pointed to the Asermon pigeons, two white birds on the right side of the roost, in a cage separate from the others. “They brought these.” From his pocket he produced two small scrolls and handed them to Galen. Unlike the Ilion pigeon messages, these held pictures and maps but no words. Though these people could sound out letters and simple words, they had trouble grasping the syntax of complex written language, no matter how he explained it. But in this case it didn’t matter, because the words came from the birds themselves. The Asermons had taken his people’s military tactic, added magic to it and made it their own.

Bolan eased the smaller white pigeon from its cage. He held it near his face but far enough to avoid getting pecked in the eye.

“When did you leave?” he asked the bird.

“Right after sunrise,” was all Filip could understand before the pigeon’s words turned garbled. It embarrassed him to have Bolan translate bird-speak. Dogs and horses were easier.

“Any further messages?” Bolan asked the pigeon. A few moments later he laughed. “Galen, next time you’re in Velekos, Nadia the Horse woman wants to have dinner with you.”

Galen coughed, then looked at the darkening sky. “It took the birds almost all day to get here, but it’s faster than we could ride. Safer, as well.”

Bolan set the bird on its roost and gave it a gentle stroke. “Hawks would be even quicker.”

Filip latched the cage. “I told you they can’t be trained to deliver messages. Our military tried, but hawks only work for hunting.” The men looked askance at him, and he realized he’d said,
our military.
“The Ilion military, that is.”

Since arriving at Tereus’s farm three months ago, Filip had resigned himself to no longer being an Ilion. But he refused to help the Asermons any way but defensively. Even that aid was self-preservation, he told himself; if Ilios invaded Asermos, Filip would have nowhere to live.

“I suppose you’re right,” Bolan said. “Arma’s trying to teach our hunting falcons to fly long-distance, but even third-phase Horse magic can’t work against an animal’s instincts.”

From the corner of his eye, Filip saw Galen examining him carefully. If he didn’t excuse himself with a farm chore, the Hawk would put him through another round of questioning. Galen seemed to regard Filip and his latent magic as a puzzle whose solution held the key to his people’s survival.

“The horses need watering.” Filip picked up the bucket and headed for the pump. “Release one of the Velekon birds if you want.”

“Wait,” Galen said.

Filip stopped short. He winced, not only because his prosthesis chafed his thigh when he made sudden moves. “What is it?”

“Have you decided what to do about your Bestowing?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Yes, you’ll go?” Galen sounded surprised.

“Yes, I’ve decided. I’ve decided not to do it.” He walked toward the pump and heard Galen’s footsteps following.

“During the Bestowing,” the Hawk said, “the Spirit of Horse will grant you your full powers.”

“I tried telling him that,” Bolan called.

“I don’t want any more powers,” Filip said. “The ones I have are bad enough.”

“The Bestowing will help you control them.” Galen caught up to him—an easy thing to do. “It’s like taming a young colt. All his speed and power aren’t much use until you can rein him in. The Bestowing gives you the reins.”

Filip didn’t answer. He wanted better control over his powers, but the Bestowing carried other, unacceptable consequences.

“When you undertake the ritual,” Galen said, “you will become one of us.”

“Exactly.”

Galen stopped, and Filip moved on.

Rhia and her family rode to a fork in the wooded trail, with one path leading uphill. Tereus turned to her. “Do you want to go home first or visit Silina for an examination?”

“Home,” she said, as the voice behind her said, “Silina.”

She turned to glare at Marek, who held on to her waist even after they’d stopped moving. “I won’t go into town looking like this.”

“You look fine,” he said.

“Smelling like this, then.”

They continued uphill. As they neared the family farm, the rolling, sun-drenched fields seemed to want to yank her out of the dark woods. She could almost smell the hay and hear the melodic twitter of the red-winged blackbirds.

When at last the woods grew sparse, she could see the small farmhouse and its pastures below. The ponies were gathered at one side of the paddock, where the water trough lay. A figure walked toward them with an unsteady gait, carrying two buckets.

“Is that Filip?” Rhia asked her father.

“That’s him.” Tereus scanned the farm from their vantage point on the hill. “The place hasn’t fallen apart.” He turned to his stepson. “I told you we could trust him.”

Lycas shrugged. “He probably trained the hounds to attack us when we return.”

They rode toward the paddock. The sandy-haired Descendant acknowledged them with a nod as he emptied the water buckets into the trough. Rhia felt Marek’s arms tense around her waist.

Tereus halted his pony next to the paddock and slid off with a grunt. “Filip, greetings. This is my daughter, Rhia, and her husband, Marek.”

Filip started to bow, then stared at Rhia with recognition.

“You gave me water,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“After the battle, in the healer’s tent. We spoke.” He looked away and ran his fingers over the edge of his coat. “I regret some of my words.”

Her memory unclouded. “But at the time you weren’t—that is, you had—”

“Two legs?” His face reddened, and she felt hers do the same. “An infection set in later.” He looked at her pony’s head, then back at her and Marek. “He’s tired.”

“No, I’m not,” Marek snapped.

“I meant the horse.” Filip glared at the Wolf. “And his right hock is sore.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Rhia nudged Marek, and he slid off the pony. She dismounted after him. “His gait was fine on the way here.”

“I doubt that.” Filip walked around the horse’s right side, passing his hand along the dark brown flank until he came to the rear leg. The Descendant’s limp was imperceptible now, maybe because he knew he was being watched. “Then again, with these ponies it can be hard to tell when their gait’s off. They’re not exactly the height of refinement.”

She gaped at her father. Was this man insulting their stock? Tereus just turned his eyes to the sky with a look of resignation.

Lycas dismounted and led his gray mare to the stable without a word for Filip. The tension among the men made Rhia uneasy. Only her father seemed at peace with the situation.

“Everything all right while we were gone?” he asked Filip, who was crouched beside the gelding’s right rear leg.

The Descendant didn’t answer. Rhia ducked under the pony’s neck to see Filip’s blue eyes unfocus as he ran his hand over the hock and down the cannon bone to the ankle. He seemed to be listening to another world. She knew the feeling.

“No heat, and the pain isn’t sharp, so it’s probably only a bruise.” Filip stood and patted the horse’s haunch. “We’ll put a poultice on it and see how it feels in a few days.”

“Thank you.” Tereus held out the reins. “If you could attend to these two while we get cleaned up, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll help,” Rhia said.

Marek placed a hand on her shoulder. “You should get something to eat and drink.”

“Yes. Let me know when it’s ready.” She leaned forward to kiss him and added in a whisper, “Don’t let my father cook.”

She ignored Marek’s frown and joined Filip to lead the ponies toward the stable. The swish-thump of hooves through grass was the only sound until he cleared his throat. “They come scruffier in Kalindos, don’t they?”

Her neck jerked. “What did you say?”

“The ponies.” He gestured to the piebald whose reins he held. “Smaller, with thicker coats. Because of the colder climate, right?”

“Oh.” She thought he had been referring to Marek. “Yes, I imagine. Everywhere seems to be uphill there, so the horses are sturdier.”

They entered the stable. Lycas stood at the far end, untacking his pony. He shook out the riding blanket and laid it over the door of a nearby empty stall without sparing them a glance.

A slim golden head poked from a stall door to Rhia’s left.

“Keleos!” She crossed the stable to greet him, leading her own pony. The stallion’s ears pricked forward, then pinned back.

“Wait.” Filip reached to take the reins from her. “Those two don’t get along. Greet him alone.”

“Sorry.” Rhia approached Keleos more slowly and let the stallion nuzzle her hand before reaching under his jaw to scratch him. “Does he remember me?”

Filip hesitated. “Not really. He likes you well enough now, though.”

“He saved my life.”

“I know.” Filip’s voice fell flat.

Rhia bit her lip and rubbed Keleos’s sleek neck. No doubt her theft of the horse from the Descendant camp gnawed at Filip’s pride. “Did Father tell you about me?”

“What specifically?”

“About my Aspect.” She turned to him. “I hear voices, too.”

He looked unimpressed. “Are the dead as talkative as animals?”

“You’d be surprised how much they have to say.”

“Nothing would surprise me anymore. When I first heard an animal speak to me, I thought I was going insane. The second, third and fourth time I heard an animal speak to me, I thought I was going insane. Then I found out one of my comrades had magic, too.”

“What was his power?”

“He could make light from nothing.”

“Ah, Aspect of Firefly.” She ruffled Keleos’s silver mane, then took back the reins of her pony. “Useful.”

“Kiril didn’t think so. He left, hoping he’d shed the powers when he returned to Leukos.”

Rhia put a halter on her pony so she could tie him to the grooming post. “Do you think our people would also lose their powers there?”

“Maybe. But like I told Galen, my people were born without magic, so Kiril would just be reverting back to normal. Your people grow up around the Spirits, so it’s more a part of them.”

“You believe in the Spirits now?” she asked.

“I don’t have much choice,” he said sullenly.

“Then you admit that your gods are false?”

“No!” His voice rang sharp. “There’s no reason why the gods and the Spirits can’t both exist. They have different domains. What’s so hard to understand about that?” He currycombed the pony with more vigor than was necessary even for the thick-coated creature.

She approached him slowly, keeping the piebald mare between them. “Then if you underwent the Bestowing, it wouldn’t be a betrayal of your gods.”

“You don’t understand.” He rubbed harder, sending up clouds of dust and black-and-white hair. “I might not belong in Ilios, but I don’t belong here, either, not in that tight, selfless way, like we’re all part of the same body.”

“We are. We need each other’s gifts.”

“I don’t want to be needed.” He tossed away the currycomb and picked up the wood-handled brush. “You people make no room for what any person wants. The Spirits choose you and that’s your destiny. There’s no fighting it, no decision of your own.”

Rhia couldn’t argue, since those same thoughts had plagued her as she’d struggled to accept Crow.

Filip continued. “What if I don’t want to talk to animals? I don’t even like animals.”

“You like horses.”