Voice of Crow (27 page)

“You’ll give my people magic?”

“Not all of them, not yet. They would only use it to rule others. Besides, the powers of the wilder Spirits are weakened in your city. Our strength comes from things of the earth, not things built by humans.”

Filip contemplated how the Asermons had no temples for their rituals, how Bolan had told him that man-made structures separated them from the Spirits. It was so different from his people, who built elaborate temples to the deities.

His stomach sank, and he looked up at Horse. “Do our gods exist?”

“They exist.” Horse swung Her head toward the south. “They exist because you created them.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He put his head in his hands. “But they must exist, outside of our minds. They’ve answered my prayers. I prayed for speed to beat my brother in the Ilion Games, and it worked. During the drought I prayed for rain—we all did—and it worked.”

“That’s how you measure your gods’ strength? By how often they do your bidding? What about all the times they didn’t answer your prayers?”

“I hadn’t made a large enough sacrifice,” he said, “or I’d said the words in the wrong order. Or maybe it was just their will.”

“Why do you make excuses for them? If they are true gods, they don’t need your apologies.”

Filip felt the last of his old faith fade within him, yet nothing settled in its place. “I can’t worship you.”

Horse snorted. “I don’t want your worship. I want your honor and your respect. I want you to give that to every person and every creature you meet, but especially to me. I want you to hold my wisdom close to your heart, or your head, or whatever you use to make decisions, so that you can find it when you need it.” She stepped back. “That’s all. If you can accept that, if you can accept
me
as your Guardian Spirit, then rise.”

Filip dug his fingers into the sandy soil, one last attempt at resistance.

But he wanted to cross the chasm, not stand on its edge and peer across, or gaze with longing at its rocky depths. Without his Spirit, he was alone. Without Alanka, he was lost.

He planted his hands on the ground and heaved his weight onto his foot. Then he stood, arms spread—for balance and to receive whatever entered them. “I’m ready.”

“Close your eyes,” Horse said softly.

Filip obeyed, then felt himself waver. He stretched his arms wider to keep his balance, but did it too quickly. His body wobbled and fell forward.

A soft, warm form caught him in time. He wrapped his arms around Horse’s neck and curled his hands around the long, coarse hair of Her mane. He sobbed without tears over his lost home, his inability to turn back time.

When his breath came deep and even again, Horse spoke.

“Filip, the Spirits have given you a place of honor in their hopes. We expect much from you. In return I give you the power to live inside the minds of other creatures, to feel the ground beneath their feet, the wind through their feathers, the waves over their scales. With this power you shall connect to the land, the air, the water, as few others have.” She grumbled. “I daresay, no one needs this power more than you.”

A sudden warmth flowed through Filip, stealing his breath. His blood sang with freedom and power, cleansing him with every heartbeat.

“We will always be with you,” She whispered. “Never forget that.”

She was gone. Filip sank onto the grass and rolled on his back. He stared at the blue sky, his mind drifting with the clouds.

A vulture soared overhead, black-and-white wings catching the breeze like a sail. Filip closed his eyes and opened his awareness to the creature.

It was hot and bright up here, and silent except for the wind’s low whistle. The vulture was hungry but not starving. The feathers at her wingtips rippled, letting her anticipate the slightest change in draft. The world below was tiny and passive, like a war map empty of soldiers.

Is that thing dead?
the vulture wondered.
Saw it move a while ago. Down for closer look.

Filip saw himself flap his arm to show he was alive.

He disconnected, then watched from below as the vulture sailed away.

The sun cleared the treetops, and he realized it would burn him if he didn’t dress and return to the shade. Yet he lingered, turning his head to the side to shade his eyes.

A beetle crawled through the grass nearby, and Filip wondered what it would be like to have six legs instead of one. Cautiously, his mind reached out to the insect.

Green, everywhere, and huge. The world around the beetle teemed with life Filip never knew was there. Ants, the size of one of his six feet. Mites, smaller yet. He stumbled through the forest of grass, following the scent trail of a nearby female. Around the next blade, she waited, ready.

Filip pulled his mind out of the beetle’s—out of disgust or decency, he wasn’t sure. He sat up, head aching.

He dressed, beginning with his prosthesis. It reminded him of Horse’s offer, to let him return to Leukos more or less whole, but without magic and without Alanka. In exchange for his acquiescence he’d been granted more power than most of her people normally received.

The Spirits wanted him to reconcile two populations with little in common. Did They want him to undo centuries of Ilion progress? Then again, if the accomplishments of Ilios meant disconnecting from the Spirits, maybe it wasn’t progress after all.

Perhaps this voyage to Leukos would mark the beginning of a new era of peace, one in which his parents’ people and Alanka’s could learn from each other without death and captivity.

Or maybe it would be the next phase of war.

If he closed his eyes and clamped the thin pillow around his ears, he could pretend he was with her that first night, on the cold ground, with each other’s bodies as the sole source of warmth. He’d been invisible at night back then, and she’d let him make love to her before even seeing his face. Somehow they had known, after only a few hours, that they belonged together.

He ached for her touch now. During the day he could occupy himself with his chores and caring for Nilik, but night brought loneliness and longing without relief.

A hand grasped his shoulder, and he stifled a yelp.

Petrop.

The butler, dressed in his nightclothes, whispered, “Her Honor wishes to see you in her chamber.”

Marek froze. “What for?”

“Correction—Her Honor orders your presence in her chamber.”

Marek sat up and reached for the shirt hanging over the foot of his bed.

“Don’t bother,” Petrop said.

Barefoot, Marek followed the butler down the dark hallway, lit by the torch the older man carried. Booted footsteps behind them told him they were well guarded.

Now Marek understood why he’d been given soap and a tub of hot water to bathe and shave with that evening, instead of the usual cold, damp cloth. He’d thought it a reward for some task well done, when in fact, it was preparation for a task ahead. His knees felt liquid.

Following Petrop past the top of the stairs, he came to a part of the house he’d never entered before. His pace slowed as they passed a closed door. Nilik was in that room, he could smell.

The next door was open and flanked by guards. Petrop led him through a small sitting room, past a table with a reflective glass. Marek stopped at the threshold of a bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the light of a dozen candles.

Basha lay in the center of a large bed surrounded by lush purple curtains. Red silk sheets revealed bare shoulders draped with golden curls. One thin eyebrow arched at the sight of him.

“Come.” She beckoned with long fingernails. “I have a meeting early in the morning, so no time to waste.”

Someone gave Marek a pointed shove between his shoulder blades. He crept forward to stand at the side of the bed. This couldn’t be happening.

“My healer claims you are free of diseases,” Basha said. “She also says you’re well endowed for someone of your stature. So you may trade five days’ kitchen duties for the privilege of serving in my bed tonight.” She drew the sheets aside to reveal her naked body. “I assure you, it will not feel like drudgery.”

Marek looked at the floor, searching for a diplomatic way to decline. “I’m truly honored,” he said, “but I have a wife.”

“Not anymore.”

He swallowed. “We’ve taken vows.”

“Look at me.” When he dragged his gaze back to her face, she continued, “If you never come home, won’t she marry someone else and have another baby? I know how your magic works. If she’s ever to come into full power, she’ll need a child she can be assured will grow up into a parent.”

“But it’s so soon.” If he could get a reprieve, maybe she’d lose interest over time. “Only a month since I was taken. I need time to mourn before I can—serve you this way. Before I could do it well.”

She looked past him at Petrop. “Is this slave attempting to negotiate with me?”

“It would appear so, Your Honor.”

“Fascinating.” She turned her attention back to Marek. “Before making your final decision, be aware that I have guards watching us.” She twirled the end of a curl around her finger. “If you refuse me, they will kill you.”

A shudder gripped his body. To betray Rhia this way would sear his soul to ashes. He couldn’t. The memory would be worse than death.

The Wolf inside him made one last stand. “Let them kill me.”

Basha sat up and moved closer to examine his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He stared over her shoulder and said nothing.

“Then let’s try again.” She drew her fingernail down the center of his bare chest. “Refuse me, and I won’t have you killed. I’ll simply sell Nilik to the highest bidder.”

He looked at her. “Like who?”

“Perhaps someone who loves children—” her hand drifted lower “—but in a different way than I do.”

Marek’s stomach lurched, from both the thought and her touch. “You wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m not overly fond of him.” She clicked her tongue. “He doesn’t like me. All he does is cry. Perhaps I’d be better off with a more pleasant child. It would be best to make the switch now before I become attached.”

“No.”

“Is that a no? Or is that a yes disguised as a no?”

Whatever it takes,
said the voice again, the voice that wanted to survive. “I can’t force you,” Basha said, “the way I could if I were a man and you a woman.” She untied his trousers. “But I can encourage you.” She slipped her hand inside. He caught it.

“Please, don’t.”

Basha slapped him with her other hand. “No begging! Be a man, not a little girl.”

Cheek stinging, he stared at her with a mix of horror and a rising rage. She moved to strike him again, but he seized her wrist in time to avoid the blow.

She laughed. “That’s right. I’ve heard you ‘beasts’ like it rough.” She stroked him, hard. “So show me.”

“No!” He shoved her away, and she fell back onto the bed, laughing.

He turned from her, but when he saw the door to the hallway, he remembered who lay in the next room.

Nilik.

Marek stopped. Two of his fellow slaves had been born in captivity, their bodies used in every way since childhood. If it had happened to them, it could happen to Nilik.

Basha waited behind him.

The choice should have been easy. It shouldn’t have taken so long to turn back to the bed. But first his soul had to fly away to perch on the ceiling, where it could watch him undress and climb into the bed with Basha. It watched as he met each of her demands. It wept to see his body’s willingness. It couldn’t see his eyes, but it felt the vacancy within them.

Afterward, Basha stretched and nuzzled her pillow, smiling. “A good effort for a first time. A bit sloppy, though, like your writing.” She trailed a finger in the sweat of his chest. “Don’t worry. Experience will bring precision to both endeavors.”

He stared at the ceiling, half-hoping his soul would stay up there forever. His body was no longer a clean place to live. But it came back, anyway, for Nilik, and with it an unsurpassable anguish.

Back in the slaves’ quarters, the guards let him wash again. He rubbed his skin with bath salts until it bled, but couldn’t erase her smell.

The next morning, Basha let Marek leave home to help fetch produce from the market. The guards watched every word and movement, but they couldn’t stop his mind from storing the sights, sounds and scents of freedom.

Wolf had left him, but another Spirit had taken His place, one who would keep Marek’s body alive and his mind scheming, even as his soul shriveled within.

Alanka walked with Filip along the sandy beach. She knew their journey was almost over, for they had turned northeast. Her eyes strained for Leukos in the distance, but the summer evening haze made the horizon hard to see.

Several times in the past two weeks Filip had guided their troupe inland to avoid small Ilion settlements along the shore. He’d shown them one, Marisos, from a nearby hilltop. From a distance it looked like Velekos, with the ominous addition of a large stone fort outside, flying the red-and-yellow Ilion flag. She’d shivered, hoping she wasn’t looking into her own people’s future.

In Leukos, Filip said, it would be easier to blend, as one of many anonymous peasants come to find work in the prosperous city. Bit by bit, the countryside was coming under the control of noblemen who evicted the peasants from their land, then replaced them with slaves. Even the richer farmers struggled to extract food from exhausted fields. No wonder the fertile hills of Asermos looked so good to the Ilions.

He let go of her hand and reached into his trouser pocket. “I brought you down here to the sea for a reason.”

“A reason other than a romantic walk on the beach?”

“Two reasons, then,” he said without smiling. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened it. A wooden bar the length of her little finger sat in his palm. It was painted with red-and-yellow stripes.

She picked it up. “What’s this?”

“A ribbon. Every Ilion soldier who completes basic training receives this one.”

She tried to bend the inflexible bar. “Why’s it called a ribbon when you can’t tie it?”

“These bars stand in place of the real ribbons, which are worn on parade uniforms. We wear these on our field uniforms here, in rows.” He pointed to the space above his heart. “We can acquire others through service or valor.” He chuckled. “We pretend we don’t care about ribbons or medals, that all we care about is the mission. But secretly we keep score.”

She had learned to ignore his habit of referring to the Ilion troops as
we.
Since the Bestowing, he was one of her people; someday she knew his words would follow. “Was this ribbon yours?”

“I got it from Adrek, your friend who tried to strangle me. He brought it from your village. It fell off one of the invading soldiers.”

She almost dropped it, as if it would burn her, but then placed it carefully in his hand. “You kept it, so it must mean something to you. It’s yours now.”

“Not for long.” He drew back his arm to throw it in the sea.

“No!” She caught his wrist. The ribbon fell to the wet sand in front of them. She dashed to pick it up before the next wave rolled in.

“What are you doing?” he said. “I want to get rid of it.”

“You can’t throw away your past. It’s part of you.” She pointed toward Leukos. “It’s a part we need if we’re going to survive in your city. You have to act like them, talk like them, think like them.” She held out the ribbon. “Horse wants you to be a bridge between our peoples. A bridge can’t stand if it’s not connected to both shores.”

Filip stared at her for a long moment, then took the ribbon and tugged her into his arms. “You understand me better than I understand myself.”

“It’s because—” She stopped. Every other man had swept the words aside. “It’s because I love you.”

His body stiffened, and he pulled back. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

Fear froze her muscles. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to say it first.” He cupped her face between his broad hands. “I love you, Alanka. I promise I’ll love you forever.”

She took in a sharp breath. “What are you saying?”

“When we return home, I want to marry you.” His thumb caressed her cheek. “If you want.”

He kissed her, and she wanted to melt into his embrace and let him shield her from the pain of the past and future. But it felt like something someone else would do, not her.

“What if we never go home?” she said when their lips parted. “What if we stay here, even after we find Marek and Nilik? There are so many others from my village. They could be scattered around the country.”

“I’ll help you find them. If we stay here, we’ll just be married between us. I’m legally dead as far as Ilios is concerned.” His lips twitched. “At least I don’t have to pay taxes.”

“There is that.” She raised her chin. “What are taxes?”

He laughed. “Taxes are when the people pay money to—Wait, you never answered my question.” He looked as if he was trying to look amused. “Will you marry me?”

“Maybe.” Her gaze dropped. “I’m not ready now. Not until my Spirit returns, if He ever does.”

“Alanka, maybe Wolf hasn’t abandoned you. Maybe you abandoned Him.”

She pulled out of his embrace. “How can you say that?”

“I’ve offered ways to reconnect with Him, but you have an excuse for why each one won’t work without even trying. It’s as if you’d rather wallow in guilt than become whole again.”

“I am whole again. Rhia returned my soul part.”

“But you haven’t listened to it. You act like your father’s watching over your shoulder, judging your memories, calling you a murderer for defending your brothers’ home.” He stepped closer to her. “You have the chance now to help Marek. Wolf will be at your side. If the Spirits regret abandoning my people long ago, they won’t be quick to do the same to those who’ve served them well.”

She shut her eyes and turned away. “I don’t know how to let Him back in.”

“If you stop pushing Him away, Wolf will probably figure it out on His own.” Filip put his arms around her from behind. They stood for a long time, listening to the waves. Suddenly he drew a quick breath. “Look.”

She turned to where he was pointing. The haze had cleared, and the setting sun shone from behind them, glistening pink against a series of bumps on the distant horizon.

“What is that?”

“It’s Leukos,” he whispered. “We’ll be there tomorrow.”