Voice of Crow (36 page)

Forward, she reminded herself, and kept moving. Her hands and knees grew numb against the cold, hard surface. Suddenly the cave widened in all directions. She sat up and stretched her arms; they touched no walls.

The sucking sound echoed in the total blackness. At last she’d come to the end of the cave and was sitting in a room. She reached forward along the ground in front of her, searching for a person.

Her fingers slid into a moist mass. She stifled a scream and jerked back her arm.

“Who are you?” Her voice thundered in the tiny room.

The floor oozed and squished as if it were alive. She touched its surface and felt warm, pulsing muck.

“I don’t understand.” Basha’s soul thief wasn’t a man, but an unformed, unconscious being.

A chill slithered down her spine.

“You were never born,” she whispered.

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply. There would be no reasoning with him.

She put her hand in again, cringing at the membrane curling around her fingers. “I’m sorry. Please let me help your mother.”

The mass seemed to groan. She thought of Nilik, how she had struggled for nine months before his birth to keep him alive. Would he have gone to a place like this, holding a part of her forever? How many more almost-children lived here?

The answer came to her, and she nearly withdrew her arm.

All of them.

Tears spilled from her eyes. Her hand swam through the mass, searching for something whole.

Legs. Talons. She grabbed them and yanked, expecting hard resistance. The thing popped free so quickly, she pitched backward, knocking her head into the cave wall. She sat up, woozy.

Rhia’s fingers examined the bird in her hand. The size of her forearm from elbow to wrist, it fluttered its wings in what felt like indignation. She stroked its head and felt tufts of feathers sticking up like ears on a cat.

The bird let loose a high-pitched descending call, like the whinny of an alarmed horse. Basha was an Owl, a screech owl in this case. Marek might be amused someday, if she could ever get back to him.

A wave of fatigue swept over her, and she leaned back against the cave wall. The room now seemed like a warm, secure place to spend eternity. For these never-to-be-children, it wasn’t a barren exile, but a haven. She could rest here, just for a while. Her eyelids grew heavy. Rhia let them sink, ignoring the crow that tugged at her hair.

Pain spiked her hand, wrenching her awake. The owl had chomped the tender webbing between her thumb and forefinger. Rhia rubbed her eyes hard, then fumbled to find the room’s entrance. This part of Basha had just saved her life.

But not yet. With the owl tucked under her arm, she crawled back up the tunnel on her knees and one hand. The room had weakened her, and every exhale seemed to transfer her strength to the cave itself. Every time she stopped, the crow urged her on with a tap to the back of her head.

What seemed like hours later, she emerged from the cave, gasping for air. She collapsed on the cold, rocky ground.

A pair of embroidered boots and a white skirt appeared before her. She looked up to see Basha gazing down. The fox’s cage sat behind her, still draped with a blanket.

Rhia opened her parched mouth to speak. “Your son gave me this.” She lifted the screech owl with both hands. Basha reached for it. Rhia pulled it back. “Give me my husband first.”

Basha frowned. “How do I know that’s really me?”

“Look in her eyes.”

Basha turned her sharp gaze on the owl, whose heart tripped against its soft breast. Basha’s face softened. “I’m her home.” She looked at Rhia. “What happens next?”

“Crow takes you to peace.”

“And then what?”

Rhia had no answer. “That’s it.”

“It sounds boring.”

“And this place amuses you?”

Basha pushed out her lower lip. “I didn’t say that.” Her fist twisted in her skirt. “I want to live.”

“I know.”

“There were so many things I wanted to do. I was going to help your people. Who knows what my country will do to you now?”

Rhia felt the rage rise within her again. The crow uttered a soft
grok
in her ear to calm her. She gave it a grateful glance, then spoke to Basha in a firm voice. “We’ll find a way to manage without you.”

“You think so, but you don’t know them.” Basha sighed and stepped away from the cage. “I’m through with you all. Take it. It’s yours.”

“No,” Rhia said, “it’s Marek’s.”

The crow alighted on the corner of the cage closest to Basha, as if to guard it from further treachery.

Rhia held the owl in her hands, knowing she could yet take vengeance. Basha’s eyes filled with fear, and Rhia relished the sight for one long, sweet moment.

She released the owl. It flapped its gray-streaked wings and landed on Basha’s shoulder.

A shadow blacker than night appeared next to them. Crow bent to touch Rhia’s forehead. “Raven said She will not forget this day. You will see Her again, when the end seems nigh.”

He enveloped Basha in his wings. Her pale face turned rapturous as they faded together into violet light.

A growl rumbled inside the cage, sounding unusually menacing for a fox.

The crow lifted the edge of the blanket. Gray fur glowed in the night.

Not a fox. A wolf.

Yellow eyes of pure wildness peered through the bars. A dripping pink tongue lolled between long white fangs.

“You’re coming with me,” Rhia said. She staggered to her feet and grabbed the cage’s handle to lift it. It wouldn’t budge. She yanked on it with both arms but couldn’t slide it more than a handspan.

She squatted next to the cage. “If I let you out, will you run away?”

The wolf licked his chops. She groaned. She had nothing that could act as a leash, no way to confine or control him until they reached the fog.

“Either way, you can’t stay in there.” Rhia unlatched the cage and opened the door. The wolf shot out, then turned to regard her. “Please stay,” she said.

At the sound of her voice, the wolf loped away, down the valley toward the tree. She tried to chase him, but her legs grew heavier with each step.

The dead tree glowed white ahead of her. She kept her eyes on it as her feet shuffled over the rocky ground. By the time she reached it, the wolf was gone.

Rhia dropped to her knees. She had lost Marek.

The air itself seemed too heavy for her body to hold up. She crawled forward a few more steps, then collapsed onto her stomach. The crow nudged her arm, then her head, uttering concerned clucks deep in its throat.

The valley floor was cold against Rhia’s face, and the chill soaked into her body. Soon she would freeze to death like she did on MountBeros. But this time she would be alone. This time, no one would bring her back. Crow would come, shaking His head in disapproval, wishing He’d called someone stronger. She hadn’t even the strength to cry.

A warm breath blew against her ear, followed by a short huff. Something wet slid over her cheek and under her nose. Sputtering, she lifted her head.

The wolf stood over her. He pawed her shoulder and whined like a dog begging for its morning meal.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “Not by myself.”

He sidled closer. She pushed herself to her knees and looped an arm over his thick, furry shoulders. The wolf grunted, and for a moment Rhia thought he would bolt.

Step by laborious step, they left the tree behind, the wolf on four sturdy legs, she on one blistered hand and two aching knees.

Just when she thought her strength would fail, they entered the fog, together.

“What’s happening?” Lycas asked. He looked as if he wanted to reach for his sister.

“Don’t stop drumming,” Marek told him. He rocked Rhia and shouted a plea to Crow in his mind. He couldn’t lose her. “Rhia, leave me there if you have to, but come back.”

Her hand twitched against his shoulder. He gasped, then held her out to examine her slack face. Perhaps he’d imagined the movement.

She moaned. “Marek…”

“Yes!” he said. “I’m here. Come to me.”

She opened her eyes, slowly, as if their lids were made of stone. “I got it.”

Lycas stopped tapping. “Thank the Spirits,” he grumbled. “Now what?”

“She has to return my part,” Marek said. “Hold her up.”

Once Lycas was supporting Rhia’s weight, Marek lay down beneath her. He took her cold, limp hands and cupped them to her mouth. She leaned over and breathed against his solar plexus.

A hot jolt seared through Marek, racing to the end of his fingertips. He cried out in near anguish.

Something inside him had shifted to make room for a fierce, strong presence.

He was Wolf again.

He reached for Rhia and took her gently from her brother’s arms. Her skin was warming, but the heaviness of her limbs told him her strength was spent. She sank against him.

“I’ll get the Otter,” Lycas said. “She’ll know how to help her.” He left the tent quietly.

Marek stroked Rhia’s hair. “Thank you. I can never repay you.”

“Be here,” she whispered against his chest. “That’s all I want.” She dragged her hand up to rub her cheek. “That and some food, honey water and three days’ sleep.”

He chuckled. “I don’t suppose anyone packed a secret stash of meloxa, did they?”

She tilted her chin to look at his face. “How do you feel?”

“Like a man whose wife almost just died, but didn’t. Relieved. Happy. A little angry that you risked your life.”

“I didn’t know it would take so long.” She tugged his shirt. “What I meant was, how do you feel with your soul part back?”

“Like a Wolf.” He closed his eyes and inhaled hard through his nose. “But I can still feel Fox. I don’t want to let Her go. She saved my life, and probably Nilik’s, too.”

“No one’s ever had two Spirits at once. But Crow said things are changing.”

“For the better, I hope.”

She was silent a moment. “Eventually.”

He held her tight until the Otter woman came to the tent. As she ministered to Rhia, Marek stepped outside to speak to Lycas. The eastern sky held the first blush of dawn.

“Thank you for helping us,” he told his brother-in-law.

Lycas nodded, then opened his mouth as if to speak. He shut it again.

“What is it?” Marek said.

The Wolverine rubbed the back of his ear. “When I was in the hallway at the senator’s mansion, dispensing with those guards…”

“Yes?”

“I heard what she said to you.”

Marek’s face heated. His wife’s own brother knew he’d been unfaithful. “I’m sorry.”

Lycas held up a hand. “If you ever apologize for it again, I’ll punch you so hard you won’t wake for a week. What that woman did to you…” He ground his fist against his palm. “It’s why I stopped myself from killing her. I thought you should have the privilege.”

As odd as the statement sounded, Marek knew that from Lycas it was a declaration of absolution. He’d needed to hear it from someone besides Rhia, someone who didn’t desperately want him to be whole again.

He let out a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lycas patted his shoulder.

Marek picked his way over the rocks and shrubs toward Nelma and Adrek’s tent. He needed to see his son.

The wounds Basha had dealt him would take years to heal. The memories would last forever. But perhaps he could take what he’d learned in Leukos to help his people resist the inevitable Ilion aggression.

Whether Raven bestowed Her Aspect in the next generation or the next or the next, the Reawakened would fight.

Rhia gasped at the crowd awaiting them at the edge of Velekos. Though Bolan had sent a pigeon days before with news of their return, Rhia hadn’t expected the entire village to greet them. Their cheers echoed off the cliffs near Prasnos Bay, where the water shimmered and sparkled in the late-morning sunlight.

Her pony balked at the oncoming crowd, causing Nilik to squirm in the sling against her chest. Behind her, Marek squeezed her waist and pointed ahead to the left.

“Look,” he said, “in front.”

Rhia shaded her eyes and squinted into the sun. A wide smile stretched her chapped lips. “Father!”

“Let me take Nilik while you run ahead,” Marek said.

“No, we go together.” She clicked her tongue to urge the pony forward.

Tereus reached her first as the crowd swept among their troupe, hugging the adults and cooing at the children. He helped her and Marek dismount the pony and took his grandson in his arms.

“He’s so big.” Tereus’s face pinched, then he bent to kiss Rhia’s cheek. “I knew you could do it.”

She gazed at her father with blurry eyes, then heard a familiar voice call her name.

Damen was rushing toward her. She hugged him hard enough to make him gasp, then drew back. The dark circles under his eyes might be a good sign.

“Your son,” she said. “Is he—”

“On his way.” He stood on tiptoe to look behind him. Nathas led Reni through the crowd, pushing aside those who would jostle her. The Squirrel woman held a bundle in her arms.

Rhia let out a tightly held breath. “That’s why you’ve lost sleep.”

“Sleep?” He rubbed his eyes and looked at the sky. “I remember something called sleep.”

Marek sprang to their side and wrapped Damen in a Kalindon-style bear hug. Rhia turned to Reni and Nathas as they approached and remembered to greet them before gawking at the baby.

“His name’s Corek,” Reni said. “In memory of Coranna.”

Tears slid from Rhia’s eyes, unbidden and unexpected. Marek’s and Nilik’s disappearance had overshadowed Coranna’s death. Now that they were safe, she could finally mourn her mentor.

Damen slid an arm around Rhia’s shoulder. “There’s a feast waiting in the town hall,” he said gently. “That’s the best part, heh?”

She wiped her eyes and nodded. Only a fellow Crow could understand the consoling power of food.

They headed for the village, where more people waited in the streets. A large open tent had been set up outside the Velekon town hall. Rhia’s stomach growled at the savory smells, and she wished the crowd would let them pass more quickly.

She looked at Marek. “I was going to ask if we could wash up first, but now that we’re here…”

He smirked. “It would be impolite not to eat a little.”

“Just a little.”

They ate and drank all afternoon, fitting in bites and sips between visits from total strangers who wanted to welcome them and meet Nilik, who slept through most of the chaos.

Finally, after dinner, she was able to speak with Damen alone about the cave in the Gray Valley. He rubbed the corner of his jaw as he listened, tensing at her description of the oozing, sucking mass.

“Should we move these unborns,” he asked her, “and if so, where?”

“I don’t think they can be moved. They seemed like a part of the land itself. And they didn’t feel unhappy to me. Not happy, either, just—there.” She shifted her feet under the table. “It’s hard to explain, but they didn’t feel like people.”

“How could the senator’s son steal her soul piece if he wasn’t a person?”

“Maybe she gave it to him. Maybe she thought it would keep him alive.”

Damen ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “I think I would’ve done the same for Corek. Not consciously, of course.”

“We all try to bargain with Crow, whether we mean to or not.”

Damen swished his drink. “And it never works.” He took a long sip and set the empty mug aside. “Next time either of us speaks to Him, we’ll have lots of questions.”

The fiddlers struck up a reel, and Rhia felt a hand squeeze her shoulder.

Marek kissed the top of her head. “I insist you don’t dance with me.”

She laughed and stood to join him, despite her drowsiness from the food, ale and traveling. At first it felt strange to dance, to move with no purpose other than joy, but the music injected her feet with an energy she hadn’t felt in months. They danced the first song together, then switched partners with every new tune, according to Kalindon custom. The Velekons were confused at first by the irregularity, but soon caught on.

As evening fell, she sat with her family and Damen’s, devouring the last of the berries and cream. Lycas was telling their escape story to another group of curious Velekons. With each mug of ale, the events grew larger and wilder.

“…and then the crows themselves carried us away,” he told an astounded group of listeners.

“How could they do that?” asked a gray-haired woman with a skeptical regard.

“They grew wings the size of horses, of course,” Lycas said, “and wrapped us all in a giant blanket made of—of rose stems. So they could grab hold.” He nodded solemnly.

“What are roses?” another voice asked.

“Hideous plants,” Marek said, “with thorns that leap out and cut you, like snakes from a hole.” He exchanged a grim look with Lycas. “It was a painful journey in that blanket.”

When the Velekons wandered off to spread the story, Lycas and Marek shared a long laugh.

“That ought to keep people talking awhile,” Lycas said as he finished his dessert.

“When will you go back to Ilios?” Tereus asked him.

“Right away.” Lycas’s gaze tripped over the crowd again, as if expecting Mali and Sura to appear. Tereus had told them that when Mali found out Lycas would be leaving again, the Wasp refused to bring their daughter to see him. Rhia planned to have some words with her old nemesis, the kind of words she wouldn’t utter in front of her own father.

Tereus nodded. “I’ll help Adrek and Nelma take the children back to Kalindos.”

“And see Elora while you’re there,” Rhia said.

Her father gave an embarrassed smile, then sobered. “It will be hard for her to hear her children are still missing.”

“They won’t be for long,” Marek said, “if Alanka has anything to do with it.”

Rhia looked at Nilik, who slept in an open basket beside her. On the other side of him, Damen’s son, Corek, stretched and cooed in Reni’s arms. From the corner of her eye, Rhia saw the rest of the table watching the babies, as well. She knew what they were all thinking: which boy would become Raven?

“I think they should arm wrestle for the Aspect,” Marek said.

Damen set his elbow on the table and pushed his plate out of the way. “Maybe their fathers should act as stand-ins, heh?”

Marek rolled up his sleeve. “Agreed, Crow man. Let’s see whose son gets to save the world.”

Rhia laughed with the others as the Crow and Wolf battled biceps, cheered on by their respective families. Lycas leaned over and kept the contest a tie by pushing their hands to favor whoever was losing at the moment.

Rhia watched the grasp of three hands, one from each village. Though the Ilions had attacked, slaughtered and captured her people, they had also united them. If the people of the Spirits—or the Reawakened, as Marek insisted on calling them—could continue to join their strengths as they’d done this past year, perhaps they could ward off future calamity.

Tiros had helped, as well, by sending its third-phase Hawk to Asermos, and by taking the evacuees from last year’s battle. The headstrong residents of that distant, dusty village would probably be the last to admit they needed anyone else.

Perhaps one day even the Ilions would unite with Rhia’s people, as Horse had told Filip. Her time in the Descendants’ land had only heightened her dread of the future. Their ways had grown so far apart, a final reconciliation seemed impossible.

But if the Spirits could dream it, so could she.