Voice of Crow (9 page)

Yet he suspected their generosity. “What do you want in return?” he asked them.

“Information,” Galen said.

“I thought so.” He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. “I won’t betray the land of my birth, whether it’s still my country or not.”

“I assure you it’s for defensive purposes only. We have no desire and no plan to attack the nation of Ilios.”

“You sent a band of warriors to my city.”

“To liberate the prisoners your brigade stole from Kalindos. A thousand soldiers, ransacking an undefended village of a hundred. Was this an honorable use of arms, in your opinion?”

Filip held the Hawk’s gaze for a long, silent moment. “No. It was unusually cruel, and unworthy of the uniforms they wear. My people are not so atrocious.”

“They’re not?” Galen leaned forward. “Prove it.”

Tereus clutched her tight until she gasped for breath. “It feels like four years since you left home, instead of only four months.”

“It’s been a long summer.” She turned to Lycas as he dismounted the gray mare. “You actually came.”

“I couldn’t miss my little sister’s wedding.” Lycas lifted her high off the ground in a hug, then set her down. “I heard how hard Kalindons celebrate. I could use about a thousand drinks.”

“I knew Mali would drive you crazy.”

“Don’t start.” Lycas stepped back to examine her. “She’s half a month more pregnant than you, but she’s twice as fat.”

Rhia grinned and wagged her finger. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Do it, and I’ll stuff the words back in your mouth until you choke.”

“Children, play nice.” Tereus led the ponies farther into the village. “I’m not an expert, Rhia, but you do look small for four months pregnant. How do you feel?”

“Like I could climb MountBeros in an hour.” She swung her arms as she walked, the crisp autumn air filling her with excess energy. After three months of plaguing her sleep, the voices of the dead had faded, even the vindictive Skaris. They hummed in the back of her consciousness, like an infectious tune, but no longer made her ill. “Finally no more headaches, dizziness, throwing up—although that’s probably more detail than you wanted.”

She stopped when she realized she was talking to herself.

Behind her, Tereus and Lycas had come to a halt, gaping at the network of tree houses above their heads.

“It’s incredible.” Lycas lowered his gaze to Rhia. “But so empty.”

Her face fell. For a few moments, her happiness at seeing her family again had overcome the daily dread of reality.

“Any word from the Asermon rescuers?” she asked.

Tereus shook his head sadly. “They left Velekos over two months ago,” he said. “The Hawk sent a message when they arrived in Leukos.”

“We heard. What about after that?”

“Nothing.” His lips turned down. “The Hawk has gone silent.”

Rhia’s stomach seemed to drop. “Dead?”

“Maybe not,” Lycas said. “She’d just gotten her third-phase powers, so that might cause a communication problem.”

“There’s another possibility.” Tereus jutted his jaw to the right. “Galen thinks our powers might diminish in that land, so the Velekon Hawk could just be muted.”

“Why would Galen think that?”

Tereus and Lycas exchanged a look. Her father said, “Let me tell you about Filip.”

They led the ponies to the new paddock and stable while Tereus explained. Rhia was intrigued to learn about the Descendant who had acquired his own Guardian Spirit after a short time in Asermos.

“If our magic fades in Descendant land,” she said, “does that mean the Spirits have no power there?” The idea worried Rhia. On the other hand, it was a more comforting explanation for the Hawk’s silence than her death.

“We don’t know yet,” Tereus answered, “and without sending more third-phase Hawks, which we don’t have, we have no way to test that theory. Filip has helped us in some ways, but I doubt he’ll ever become one of us. He refuses to discuss the Bestowing.”

They entered the paddock and tethered the ponies, replacing bridles with halters. “Tell her the bigger news,” Lycas said.

Tereus glared at his stepson. “I said we’d wait for the wedding so everyone can hear it at once.”

“What could be bigger news than the loss of the rescue party,” Rhia said, “or the fact that our powers might fade in Descendant lands?”

Tereus put a hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, Rhia, but first I need to meet with the Kalindon Swans.”

She gasped. “Common dreams? A prophecy?” Her gaze darted between the two men. “Is it good? Bad? It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s good.” Tereus gazed into the emptiness of Kalindos. “If it’s what I think it is, it’s exactly what our people need.”

The following morning, in front of more people than Marek had expected, he and Rhia were married. Kalindon weddings usually attracted few guests, which couldn’t be said for the feasts afterward, when most villagers would sidle up to the tables, pretending they had been there all along.

But today the ceremonial clearing was crowded with spectators, who whooped and wept when the bride and groom sealed their pact with a kiss. After the invasion and ensuing summer of struggle, the Kalindons needed to celebrate life—even if one of the objects of revelry was an Asermon.

The feast was the most raucous he could remember. There hadn’t been time or the will to hold wakes for the elders killed in the Descendant attack, and the Kalindons’ pent-up energy was releasing itself now in waves of defiant euphoria. It was as if they were trying to send a message to the Asermons, the Descendants and the Spirits themselves: Kalindos lived.

Marek sat at his new family’s table with Rhia, who gazed up with amusement at her father’s attempts to calm the crowd so he could make a toast. The revelers were slow to quiet, giving Marek several moments to do nothing but admire his new wife.

Rhia’s pale, delicate features had bloomed with color these past two weeks as her strength had returned. Tonight her auburn hair was swept up in an elegant style that let her curls drape around her cheeks and jaw. The dark green dress brought out the vibrancy of her eyes, which seemed to reflect the life of the forest around her. His gaze traced the white lace edging the neckline. It swooped low enough to hint at the curve of her breasts, and he had a swift, sudden urge to leave the party.

Needing a distraction to keep himself from carrying Rhia off right now, he shifted to look at Alanka, who sat on his left side. She dragged her lips into a reluctant smile, which he knew would fade the moment he turned away. He’d hoped the party would break his Wolf-sister out of the shell she had sealed herself into the past few months. The possible failure of the rescue party, which included her former mate, Adrek, had added to her gloom.

Slouched over tree stumps and tables, the Kalindons gazed blearily at Tereus, waiting for the boring part to be over so they could go back to dancing.

The Swan cleared his throat. “I hope this will be like no other wedding speech you’ve ever heard. Partly because it will be short but—”

A roar of approval drowned out the rest of his sentence. Tereus laughed. Marek closed his eyes for a moment and reveled in the sound. It had been too long since he’d heard voices raised in anything but anguish.

The crowd finally humored Tereus, quieting to low murmurs.

“Thank you.” He lifted his mug of meloxa. “First, to Marek and Rhia. If I prattled on about how I felt about them, they would die of embarrassment. So I’ll just say that I’ve never known two people more willing to crawl to the ends of the earth for each other. May they never spend a day apart.”

A jovial cheer rose from the Kalindons. Rhia widened her eyes at Marek. Apparently the work she had done to soothe and console the mourners had made up for her accidental role in bringing the Descendants’ wrath upon Kalindos. Or maybe the villagers understood her devotion to Asermos, as fierce as that which they felt for their own home.

Tereus continued when the crowd noise had fallen lower than he could shout. “I also have an announcement, about something affecting the fate of our entire people.” His words made heads turn and mouths silence. “Several Asermons have come to me recently with the same dream. I’ve conferred with your two Swans.” He nodded to them, a man and a woman. They returned the gesture solemnly. “They tell me that a few of you have dreamed the same vision. Our interpretation is unanimous.”

He paused, and Marek noticed that Tereus’s mug trembled in his hand.

“What’s the dream?” someone shouted in the back. A round of nervous laughter passed through the crowd.

The Swan did not smile. “Some elements change with each person, but the central image is the same. It starts with a flock of crows.”

The tension around Marek thickened—he could smell it. Everyone’s gaze shifted to Rhia. He squeezed her hand.

“The crows meld together into one giant black bird, which in turn transforms into an egg. The egg falls to the ground and shatters.”

Marek shivered. His former mate, Kalia, had been a Swan; he knew enough about their interpretations to know that an egg meant a child. Such dreams were said to predict a person’s future Guardian Spirit, since an animal usually emerged from the shell.

But if the egg smashed, it predicted a hard or tragic birth. Kalia had had such a dream of a flock of swans before she went into labor with their son. He had thought it nothing but a new mother’s anxiety, but it had proven completely and fatally true.

Tereus waited for the murmurs of dismay to taper off. He took a deep breath, then another. “Out of the egg—” his voice hushed “—flies a raven.”

Marek had never known such silence, not even in the dead of a winter’s night. He heard nothing but Rhia’s heartbeat, surging and skipping. He wanted to look at her, but couldn’t tear his gaze from Tereus’s face.

“It is well-known,” the Swan continued in a near whisper, “that Raven has never bestowed Her Aspect. She is the Spirit of Spirits, the Mother Creator, the one who sees all times, all places. No human can hold such power.

“But they say that in dire times, when our people face great peril, perhaps even extinction, Raven will bestow Her Aspect on one young person who will be able to move through space and time and save us all.” He looked at the crowd. “The dreams tell us that this Raven boy or girl will be the offspring of a Crow.”

Marek looked at Rhia. Her green eyes glowed in the torchlight as she stared at her father. Her hand crept to cover her belly, but she otherwise looked strong, her jaw set, not half as frightened as he felt.

No one said anything for a long moment. Finally Rhia cleared her throat.

“Well, Father, at least you didn’t embarrass me.”

Laughter bellowed forth, as much from the relief of tension as from the joke itself.

Ladek the Bear stood and raised his mug. “To Raven!”

“To Raven!” the crowd echoed.

“To Rhia and Marek!” someone else shouted. More cries leaped forth and mugs clashed, spilling meloxa in widening puddles on every table.

Rhia looked at Marek, then they stood as one. Tereus sat, and the crowd quieted again.

Rhia spoke first. “Whatever the future brings, we have to face it together. All four villages must put aside their differences. We must be one people if we’re ever to overcome the Descendants. We don’t have to agree on everything, but it should be easy to agree on one thing—survival.” She raised her mug of honey water. “To one people.”

They cheered and drank.

Marek raised his own mug. “To the Reawakened.”

They cheered harder.

He leaned over to kiss his wife amid the noise. “Congratulations, mother of the world’s savior.”

“The Reawakened?”

“You said we had to put aside differences. Including religious ones, right?”

She gave him a warning smirk. “I’ll get you for that.”

The Kalindons seemed to have decided the talking part of the feast was over, and launched into celebration with more intensity than ever.

After a long reel during which he and Rhia had to dance with everyone in attendance, Marek excused himself. Rhia waved to him, with more energy in her hand than he felt in his entire body, as another Bobcat swept her into his arms.

He saw his new father-and brother-in-law at one of the tables, and brought them fresh mugs of meloxa. He’d added extra honey, since the fermented crabapple drink was an acquired taste, he’d been told. He sank his wedding-weary frame onto the bench beside Tereus.

“This drink—” Lycas pointed in the general direction of his mug “—is amazing. I have to bring some back to Asermos.”

“Absolutely not,” Marek said. “We barely have enough here as it is.”

“I’ll pay any price.” The Wolverine gazed into the liquid depths. “I’d trade a hundred barrels of ale for one flask of this.”

“You have a deal.” They clinked their mugs together, almost missing.

Tereus laughed. “So how are you holding up, Marek, with the baby coming in the middle of all this?”

Marek felt his lopsided smile disappear. “I keep dreaming the baby goes away.” He covered his eyes with his fingertips. “What does that mean, Tereus? In all my dreams, the baby either disappears or we accidentally throw it out.” He related the first nightmare, with the baby in the waste bucket.

“Is this before or after it’s born?” Tereus asked.

“Before. It’s always tiny and looks more like a doll or a little bird than a person.”

“I see.” Tereus grew somber, though he seemed to be trying to keep a calm face. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Marek watched his father-in-law approach Elora, and this time it wasn’t to dance with the healer. Though he couldn’t hear their conversation through the crowd’s babble, their drawn brows and tight mouths gave him a chill.

“I have the same dream,” Lycas said, bringing Marek’s attention back to the table. “Except I have our baby—mine and Mali’s baby—on a leash, like a dog. The moment it pulls on the leash, even a little bit, I let go.”