Voice of Crow (5 page)

At last, Filip thought, and felt his body go slack.

“Let. Him. Go.” Her voice, deep and commanding, had moved a few steps away.

Adrek froze. His hands stopped squeezing but didn’t release.

“You won’t shoot me,” he said.

“I won’t have to,” she replied. “Because you’re going to let him go.”

The ceiling’s wooden beams wavered and swam above Filip. He wanted to tell the woman to leave, let Adrek finish.

“I know you’re in pain,” she said, “but this isn’t the way. You’re better than this Descendant. Don’t change that by killing him.”

Filip tried to let go of life, to sink into the closest thing he could find to a warrior’s death.

The hands left his neck, and breath came staggering back into his lungs through what felt like a pinhole. He gagged and coughed, gasping for air he didn’t even want.

Zelia’s soft hands touched his throat. He pushed her away and rolled to his right side. The arrow wound speared his shoulder with pain.

Filip dry-heaved over the side of the bed for what felt like half a day, but when he turned on his back again, the light in the window hadn’t changed.

Zelia approached, carrying a cloth and a steaming bowl. “I’ve sent for more security. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

He shook his head and wiped his face.

“Don’t try to talk.” The healer sat on the bed and dipped the cloth into the bowl, which she then set on the nightstand. “Suicide by crazy Cougar, huh?” She stroked his bruised throat with the cloth. “Bet you thought it’d be quick.”

He shook his head again.

“Don’t assume the future will be awful,” she said, “just because it’s not the past. It’ll be different, that’s all.”

The warm liquid she rubbed on Filip’s neck made his throat expand and relax. The next breath held half the pain as the one before.

“You can’t make me live,” he rasped. “I’ll stop eating.”

“How noble. An end fit for a warrior.”

She had a point, unfortunately. “Who was that woman?” he asked her.

“Some Wolf from Kalindos. I was surprised she could sway him. Kalindons usually can’t control
themselves,
much less each other. Still, it’s unconscionable what your people did to them. It’s my duty to protect your life, but I don’t blame that man for wanting to kill you.”

“Neither do I.” Filip stared at the door, wounds throbbing, and wondered if the mysterious Kalindon woman deserved gratitude or contempt for what she had saved.

When Zelia left him alone again, he opened his right fist. The red-and-yellow ribbon stuck to his palm, its ridges leaving a fading dent in his pallid skin.

Just before sunset, Alanka found Lycas sitting at their brother’s grave—at least, it was the spot where he’d decided Nilo was buried. The wheat field, scorched to the soil by the Descendant attack, had been turned into a mass burial ground, home to hundreds of dead Asermons and Descendants, as well as a few Kalindons.

She strode over the ruddy soil, pushing away the memories. She couldn’t show her brother how the battlefield, even empty, scared her more than ever.

Lycas’s head was bowed, and his chin-length black hair swept forward to hide his face. He poured an amber liquid from a clay pitcher into a mug.

As she approached, she noticed tiny seedlings of wildflowers—what the wheat farmer would have called weeds—thrusting up toward the sun, less than half a month after the battle. Soon the field would be a meadow of many colors, and within a decade or two the surrounding woods would reclaim it. No crops would grow here again.

She sat beside her brother without speaking. He gave her a grim smile and held out the mug he had sipped from. She nodded thanks, then took a long gulp of warm ale. It quenched her thirst in a way water never could.

Then she noticed the other mug sitting on the ground near them, filled to the rim. Nilo’s ale.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Lycas finally said. On the silent, breezeless evening his voice seemed to echo across the field, to the trees and back.

“In the morning. We need to get back to Kalindos and help rebuild.” She paused. “You’re staying here in Asermos.”

“I don’t want to.” Lycas rolled a clod of dirt between his long, thick fingers. “I want to go to Leukos and get your people back. Our father’s people, even though I never knew him. I want to kill Descendants.”

She nodded, accustomed to his casual declarations of Wolverine aggression. “But you can’t go.”

“Not with Mali pregnant. Besides, a rescue mission needs people settled into their second-and third-phase powers. I’ve only been second phase for a month.” He took the mug from her. “You drink too slow.” He drained the rest, then refilled it.

“I’m used to Kalindon meloxa. It’s much stronger.” Thinking of the fermented crabapple drink reminded her of home, and what had happened to it. “I wish I were second phase. Then I could be invisible at night, like Marek, and I could go with the rescuers. I dread going back to Kalindos. It’ll be so empty.”

“Hopefully not for long. Galen said the rescue party is picking up a third-phase Hawk in Velekos on the way to the Descendant city. Another one’s coming from Tiros to stay here and receive her messages.” He handed her the full mug. “Asermos will keep Kalindos updated as best we can.”

“Didn’t the Velekon Hawk just become third phase? Won’t that make it harder to figure out what she’s saying long-distance?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to interpret ‘We found them!’ or ‘We’re captured!’ At least we won’t be left wondering, feeling any more useless than we already do.”

She took another gulp of ale. “Don’t feel bad about staying with your family. Ladek’s going back to Kalindos to take care of Thera and Etarek, and because he’s our only Bear. So it’s just Adrek going with the Asermons.”

“At least it gets him out of your life, which can’t be bad.” He angled a black-eyed gaze at her. “Are you seeing him tonight before he leaves?”

She looked away and tried to sound casual. “I think so.”

“Don’t get pregnant.”

She gaped at him. “Even if I were considering—which I’m not—it’s still the month of mourning.” She couldn’t stop a glance at Nilo’s mug.

“Good general advice, anyway. Don’t wish you were second phase. Enjoy your youth while you have it.”

Alanka nudged his shoulder. “
My
youth? I didn’t know Asermons got old at twenty-four.”

He didn’t smile at her teasing. “Becoming a parent brings power, but it also takes it away. Mali and I should both be on that rescue mission, but instead we’ll be here, driving each other crazy. Fulfilling life for a pair of warriors.”

“But like you said, Asermos is only sending established second-and third-phase people, so if Mali hadn’t gotten pregnant, you’d both be first phase and still not going.”

“That’s not my point—”

“And if you hadn’t gotten your second-phase defenses before the battle, then you might have been killed—” She stopped before adding
too,
but not soon enough to avoid the meaning.

They looked at Nilo’s mug for a long moment. Then Lycas slowly poured its contents onto the thirsty soil.

Rhia launched out of bed, stumbling over Marek in her dash for the door. He grabbed his bow and arrows on the way out.

They reached the wooden rope bridge between their house and Coranna’s just as the Crow woman opened her own door.

“All clear!” called Olena, the Wolf woman from two trees over. “Just another nightmare.” After a moment she added a soft “Sorry.”

Rhia released a sigh, echoed by Marek and Coranna.

“Was that the third time this night or only the second?” he asked on their way back to bed. “I’ve lost track.”

“The second. Better than last night.”

He crawled in first to lie against the wall. “Were you asleep?”

“Almost.” She sank onto her back and glared at the ceiling with wide-awake eyes. “You?”

“Sound.” Marek lay his head on the pillow and sank back into slumber.

She envied his ability to drop off so easily, but knew his exhaustion came from patrolling all night, hunting before dawn, then chopping wood until dusk. In the five days since the attack, the Kalindons had repaired the homes of every remaining villager, of which there were only a hundred now. Tomorrow they would begin building a new stable and paddock. Nobody wanted to go near the old one and its grisly memories.

Rhia lay awake for what felt like hours, listening to the dead, unable to discern words among the jostling sounds. She drew her thumbs over her brows to relieve the dull ache behind her eyes. If she could talk back to those who had passed, maybe she could help them cross over.

She had to try or go mad. Rhia eased herself out of bed, not bothering to be quiet, since Marek would hear her anyway.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled.

“To Coranna’s for chamomile.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“She’d rather have me, not you, creep in on her while she’s sleeping.”

“She won’t hear if I do it.”

“The baby needs fresh air.”

He didn’t argue. Outside, she trod over the rope bridge in silence. The cloudy night was pitch-black, but she knew which boards to step over to avoid telltale creaks. She lifted the rusty latch to Coranna’s door, jiggling to release it, then reached inside to silence the hanging doorbell.

Rhia crept along the wall to Coranna’s herb shelves. By touch she found the clay jar of chamomile and picked it up, so as not to make herself a liar. Then her fingers slid along the highest shelf until they encountered a smooth wooden box the length of her foot. She pulled down the box and opened it.

A white cloth lay in the center; she squeezed it to make sure the bundle of dried herbs was inside. Coranna had used it to speak with the dead—
thanapras,
it was called.

She took a cautious sniff of the bundle. The heady scent made her dizzy. She remembered the baby, and wondered how the thanapras would affect him or her. It might not be safe.

She sighed and closed the box, then set it back on the overhead shelf, a bit too loudly.

Coranna’s snores stopped. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Rhia said. “I can’t sleep, so I came for chamomile.”

Coranna shifted in her bed. “How can you not sleep? You should be exhausted.”

“Don’t you hear them?”

“Who?”

“The dead. The ones we just buried.”

Coranna sat up, or at least it sounded like she had. “You hear distinct voices? Voices you recognize?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know who it is?”

“Who else would it be? They died violently, and they must want justice, like Etar did.”

“You’re probably right.” Coranna’s voice was muted, and Rhia remembered how stricken the older Crow had been when her friend Etar had died, then lingered instead of continuing to his peaceful rest. He had crossed to the Other Side only after Coranna had convinced him they would investigate what he knew to be his murder. “But their killers are far away. They might never find justice.”

Rhia fumbled her way to the bed, banging her ankle on a chair leg. “Can we at least bring them peace? Convince them to cross over?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Coranna shifted over to give Rhia room to sit. “On rare occasions, when people die, they take a piece of a living person’s soul with them.”

Rhia took a moment to rehear what Coranna had just said. “They take soul pieces to the Other Side?” The skin on her nape felt like it wanted to crawl down her back.

“Not exactly,” Coranna said. “Crow won’t let soul thieves cross over all the way. Such malevolence would pollute His peaceful realm.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Out of spite, often from a grudge or a heartbreak. It’s a way to gain power over someone or take vengeance on them.”

“Do the living know that they’re missing a piece?”

“Sometimes they hear the voice of the dead person, but usually they just feel different, incomplete. The symptoms vary depending on which part of them has been stolen.”

“They have to live that way forever?”

“Until the dead soul thief lets go. Sometimes they do it on their own, or a Crow person convinces them to give it back.”

Growing up in Asermos, Rhia had known no Crows, and it seemed as if every day brought a new awareness of their duties and powers. “Whose souls do the Kalindon elders hold?”

“Probably the soldiers who slaughtered them. Each man is no doubt lying awake now, hearing the voices of those he killed.”

“Good.” Rhia bit her lip, trying to quench an ember of bitterness. “Not good for the Kalindons, of course. Can the soldiers talk back?”

“No. Only second-and third-phase Crows can speak to the dead, and even then only with the help of thanapras.”

“But I spoke with Nilo after he died, without thanapras.”

“He was your brother. Sometimes loved ones can connect to us in a way others can’t.” She took Rhia’s hand—an effusive gesture for the reserved old woman. “I’ll speak to the elders, urge them to let go and cross over. But not tonight. Between the battle and the journey and the funerals, I’ve nothing left.”

“I know you’re tired.” Rhia squeezed Coranna’s fingers, which felt too cold for the warm weather. “That’s why I want to help.”

“Retrieving soul parts is exhausting, even dangerous. Besides, the thanapras isn’t safe for the baby. You can help me after your child is weaned if, Spirits forbid, the elders haven’t all passed on by then.”

Rhia’s shoulders sagged. “I hate feeling useless.”

“You have many years to learn your second-phase powers.” Coranna released a sigh that was half groan. “I wish you hadn’t progressed at a time like this. It’s such bad wisdom for one so young.”

“Too late. What do I do with it?”

“Keep it to yourself.”

Rhia thought she’d misheard. “We can’t tell the survivors that their loved ones aren’t at rest?”

“It would only trouble them,” Coranna said. “Remember, your highest value is compassion.”

“What about truth?”

“Truth brings pain. It’s our duty to bring peace.”

“Yes, to the dead.”

“And the living.”

Rhia wanted to protest, but she couldn’t deny that the last thing the surviving Kalindons needed was more heartbreak.

“Get some sleep.” Coranna squeezed Rhia’s knee. “Tomorrow I’ll show you some meditations to help quiet the voices.”

A few minutes later, Rhia sank back into bed. Marek shifted and wrapped himself around her. She nestled into his embrace, hoping his presence would calm her thoughts.

As her breath slowed and deepened, the chorus of dead Kalindons faded at last. Sleep drifted over her like fog.

“Comfortable?” a deep voice said.

Rhia’s eyes flew open. She must have dreamed it.

“Look at the cozy little Crow, lying in the embrace of my murderer.”

Her muscles seized, waking Marek with their jolt.

He came alert at once. “What’s wrong?”

Skaris the Bear, the man Marek had killed to avenge her own attempted murder, was in her head.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “My foot cramped.”

“Want me to rub it?”

“It’s better now. Sorry I woke you.”

Marek kissed her temple, then stroked her hair until he fell asleep again, his hand going limp against her head.

She waited for her old enemy to speak again. His voice hadn’t stretched and distorted itself like the Kalindon elders; it had been as clear as a nightingale’s call.

Did he hold a piece of her soul? Why did he haunt her and not Marek? She didn’t dare ask Coranna, for fear of revealing Marek’s guilt.

“I’ll be sure to tell her,” Skaris said.

Rhia jerked again. Marek grunted and sat up.

“What is it?” he said. “And don’t tell me it’s another foot cramp.”

She reached out in the darkness. “I hear him.”

Marek took her hand and kissed it. “Who?”

“Skaris.”

His grip tightened. “Where?” he growled.

“In my mind. You don’t hear him?”

“No. I thought you couldn’t identify the voices.”

“I can now. Just him. Do you know what that means?”

Marek put his other hand over hers. “Why would he hold a piece of you? Why not me?”

Skaris said, “He’s not the cause of my death. You are.”

Rhia slammed her palms against her ears. “Quiet!”

The Bear’s voice was as clear as if he were sitting beside her. “Marek was just the instrument. You took a month of life from me, from all of us, when Coranna resurrected you. You caused all this death.”

“No, I didn’t!” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Crow doesn’t work that way.”

Marek took her hands. “We have to get Coranna. She’ll help you.”

“She can’t, not now. If we tell her, she’ll try, and she might hurt herself.”

“Then what can we do?”

“Let her get her strength back. And pray to Crow that it works.”

They lay down again, and Rhia welcomed Marek’s arms tight around her despite the heat of the summer night.

“I wish I could kill him again for you,” Marek murmured.

Skaris snorted. “That’s not helping your cause.”

“Shh,” she whispered to both men.

Skaris didn’t speak to Rhia again that night. Though his voice had silenced, in its place was the nagging siren of her own conscience.