Eyes of Crow (15 page)

They were repeating the same verse for the tenth time when Marek suddenly stopped singing. He grabbed her arm and put a finger to his mouth. She silenced.

Something whistled, then thudded, just above their heads. When Rhia’s eyes refocused, she saw an arrow jutting from a tree a few steps away. Her knees turned to water.

“Marek—”

He held up his hand, then went to examine the feathers that fletched the arrow.

“Crazy bitch,” he muttered.

“I heard you!” A female voice rang from their left, uphill, or perhaps from one of the boulders nearby.

Marek’s gaze swept the surrounding forest. “Alanka, you missed.”

“No, I didn’t.” The voice came closer, its source still obscured. “I was aiming for the centipede.”

He turned back to the tree. “What centi—”

From nowhere a young woman appeared, leaping onto Marek’s back and crooking her arm around his neck. Her momentum pushed them forward, and she pressed her finger against the trunk, where the arrow had pierced it.

“Right there,” she said. It was true: Dozens of pairs of brown-yellow legs stuck out from behind the arrow’s head.

Alanka yanked out the arrow. “Welcome home.” She made a slurping sound against Marek’s cheek, a cross between a kiss and a lick. “About time.”

She slid off him, whereupon he turned and swept her into an embrace so hearty that Rhia took a step back, feeling as invisible as he had been these last few nights. The girl’s long black braid bounced against the quiver of arrows strapped around her shoulders as Marek rocked her from side to side.

Clearly they were close.

Marek let go of her. “Alanka, this is Rhia. Rhia, Alanka.”

The woman’s dark eyes appraised her, beginning with her feet and moving upward. When their gazes met, a smile broke across her face. “Hi!” She hugged Rhia, who tried to reciprocate, but Alanka had already let go. “Don’t worry, I won’t lick you. Unless you—”

Alanka cut herself off. She sniffed the air above Rhia’s shoulder, then did the same to Marek. “Ah, good.” Her eyes sparkled at both of them, and she ruffled his head. “So you’ll finally stop cutting your hair, then?”

He blushed and took Rhia’s hand. “Maybe.” He tried to draw Rhia near to him, but she resisted. His curious look turned to one of comprehension.

“Alanka’s Wolf, too,” he told her.

Rhia let out a sigh of relief. If custom were the same here as in Asermos, Marek would as soon take Alanka to bed as he would his own sister. Sharing a Guardian Spirit made two people far too alike in all the important ways for attraction to take root. It was a blessing of the Spirits that such an effective taboo existed, for it allowed co-Animals to work, hunt or fight together without distraction.

“Rhia is Coranna’s new apprentice,” Marek said.

Alanka’s eyes lit up, but in the next moment her smile faded. Her gaze turned almost sympathetic. She cleared her throat. “It’s good to have you.” Alanka slipped her hand into the crook of Rhia’s other arm.

The three of them continued down the path, the Wolves chatting about a herd of elk that had wandered into the foothills after a late snowfall. Rhia studied Alanka from the corner of her eye. She wanted to dislike her, to feel intimidated by her superior strength, self-possession, beauty and height as she would a similar woman in Asermos. But something familiar about Alanka’s face made Rhia feel…at home?

A feeling that vanished when she saw Kalindos.

She didn’t come upon it all at once. Rather, it came upon her. By the time she knew she had arrived, the village had surrounded her.

Ladders hung all around, some made of wood and rope, fastened to a stake in the ground, and others entirely of wood. At least one person was descending each ladder, scrambling down with the ease of squirrels. Rhia, Alanka and Marek stopped near one of the larger trees. Rhia lifted her gaze and gasped.

A network of wooden homes lay above, stretching among the branches, some extending from one tree to another. Dampness darkened the wood on both the trees and houses. Pine needles dripped with dew, though it was late morning, and moss grew on nearly every surface, absorbing and softening all sound, including Marek’s next words.

“We’re here.”

Half a dozen people stood before her, with more coming from a distance, neither hurrying nor dallying.

“Which one is Coranna?” she whispered to Marek from the side of her mouth.

“None of them. That’s why they haven’t greeted you yet. They’re waiting to give her the honor.”

Meeting me is an honor?
Rhia thought.
Because I’m a visitor or because I’m Crow?
Galen had told her little about what to expect in Kalindos, and she suspected his reticence had less to do with ignorance than his desire for her to deal with the situation without bias or prejudice.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to scare her away.

She tried not to fidget under the gaze of so many strangers. They examined her with the cool politeness reserved for those just passing through. Mixed with their astonishingly mild curiosity was…pity? Perhaps they had heard about her mother, or noticed her shorter hair.

Marek squeezed her hand, and when she looked at him he tilted his chin to their left.

The crowd packed several people deep in that direction, everyone craning necks to peer behind them. The group parted, and a woman stepped forward.

Silver hair fell in waves to her waist and glistened in the shafts of sunlight she passed through. Her face held not a single wrinkle that Rhia could see, and her feet moved in silence, gracing the ground with their soundless presence. Like the other Kalindons, she dressed in the muted colors of the pine forest, but seemed to glow with a light that came from beyond the world.

She moved like death itself—deliberate, fluid and unstoppable.

Rhia wanted to step forward and shrink away at the same time. Was this a dying person’s last sight? Would she herself someday become as ethereal and imposing? She couldn’t imagine possessing such power, such splendor.

The woman stopped in front of Rhia, who finally remembered to bow. She returned the gesture, then extended her hand, palm down.

“Rhia, welcome. I am Coranna.”

Rhia took Coranna’s hand and unstuck her own throat. “Yes, you are. Rather, I thought you were. I guessed you might be.” She clamped her lips shut before more insipid words seeped out.

A serene smile spread over Coranna’s face. She laid her other hand against Rhia’s cheek. Rhia fought the urge to lean against the long, strong fingers, like a dog eager to be petted.

“It has been several years since I’ve had an apprentice,” Coranna said. “I greet you—we all greet you—” she took in the crowd with a wave of the hand “—with the utmost joy.”

Rhia saw nothing close to joy on the faces of the Kalindons. They bore smiles, but wistful ones, as though they were resigned to her presence. Had she disappointed them already? Or did they dread the sight of another harbinger of death? Perhaps their reticent manner was Kalindon nature, though if that were the case, Marek wouldn’t fit in. He was anything but reticent.

She looked at him. His bewildered expression said he didn’t understand the subdued reception, either.

Rather than bowing as Asermons would, the Kalindons came forward one by one and embraced Rhia, though none with the force and enthusiasm of Alanka. She struggled to keep the names and Guardian Spirits straight, since they didn’t wear fetishes. In such a small village, she realized, everyone would know their neighbors and had no need to announce their powers.

On the whole, they appeared shorter and lighter than Asermons. Rhia wondered if their slight builds were due to their famously spare diets. At least it held an advantage for their surroundings—any excess weight would make climbing in and out of dwellings that much more exhausting.

The last person to introduce himself was a taller-than-average man with black hair and eyes.

“Finally.” Alanka squeezed Rhia’s elbow. “This is my father, Razvin.”

The man took Rhia’s hand and bowed deeply, as if he were going to kiss it. “It’s an honor,” he said in a voice as smooth as butter, “for an old Fox like me to meet a beautiful young Crow.”

Rhia’s shoulder twitched, as if it would jerk back her hand. Mayra had told her never to trust a Fox.

Alanka made a low groan. “Father, please. You’re not old.”

“But she is beautiful,” he said without taking his eyes off Rhia, who sensed Marek stepping closer to her side. “Have we met before?” Razvin asked her.

Laughing, Alanka took her father’s arm. “Of course not. Let’s go home before you embarrass yourself.”

“I believe it is too late.” Razvin nodded goodbye to Rhia and let his daughter lead him away. Rhia stared after him.

“Ignore him,” Marek said. “He thinks he’s charming.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you for everything.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

“Oh, dear.”

Rhia turned to see Coranna looking at the two of them with dismay. In the next moment she covered it with a tight smile and beckoned Rhia to follow her.

Marek mirrored Rhia’s confusion. He released her hand. “Go on. I’ll see you soon.” He looked past her at Coranna’s retreating figure. “I hope.”

Coranna was peering over the wooden railing of her porch at Rhia, who clung, white-knuckled and shaking, to the tree ladder. She had climbed three-quarters of the way up with no trepidation, until her foot had trouble finding the rung and she had made the mistake of looking down to locate it.

The forest floor shrank and swelled, and the movements of the people below became erratic and hasty. Rhia stared at the ground, afraid to blink, frightened at the thought of even momentary darkness at such a height.

“Look at me, Rhia.” Coranna’s soothing voice teetered on the edge of impatience. “Just do what you’ve been doing. Climb.”

“I—c-can’t,” Rhia said between chattering teeth. Fear obliterated shame.

“Well, I’ve got things to do, so I’ll see you when you get up here.”

Rhia heard Coranna open and close the door of the house over her head. Relief trickled through her veins. One fewer person would watch her fall to her death.

No. Stupid.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the rung in front of her. A good start, not looking down anymore. The world’s gyrations slowed, then stopped. She began to take full but wobbly breaths again.

Fine. She was fine where she was, content to hang on to the ladder for the rest of her life. She would not fall if she never moved again. A certainty. Fine.

Equally stupid.

She would move. Up. Up was closer, and up was where she wanted to go. Right? Yes, up. She would move.

But which to move first, hand or foot? She thought about it for several moments. It had felt natural all the way up, moving hands and feet at the same time, but now such acrobatics seemed impossible.

She loosened the grip of her left hand, then in a panic, tightened it more. A foot, then. She would move a foot.

A toe twitched, then froze. Not a foot, then.

Rhia wished she’d never come to Kalindos. What had made her and Galen think she was worthy to confront death itself, when she couldn’t even climb a tree?

Death itself.

Crow.

Please help me,
she prayed to her Guardian Spirit.
I can’t serve you without the strength to overcome my fears. Grant me courage for the little moments like this, and I vow I’ll find it myself for the big ones.

Without waiting for a reply, Rhia heaved herself to the next rung. She cried out in fear and relief, then did it again, and again, her voice softening with each upward movement, until at last she was moving hand over hand, foot past foot, without stopping. Her breath came hard but steady, and when she reached Coranna’s porch, she did not collapse, clutching the floor, as she imagined she would. Instead Rhia stood, straightened her coat and opened the door, as if she had entered such an abode every day of her life.

Coranna half-turned from the stove. “Ah, good. Set your pack down on the clean bed and come eat with me.”

Rhia let out a shaky breath and looked around. The tree house was smaller than her home in Asermos. To the left of the door was a kitchen with a stove and low table. To the right sat two beds, one in each corner. The farther one held rumpled blankets; the other, beside her, was neatly made. Rhia ducked under a large branch that grew in through the wall and out through the ceiling, then took the pack from her back and dropped it onto the bed.

The room was clean but cluttered. Clay pots sat strewn across wooden shelves on the near wall. Two piles of clothing—one large, one small—sat against the far wall next to Coranna’s bed. Several bright colors and many white items peeked out of the larger pile.

“We never wear black, you and I.” Coranna gestured to the lumps of clothing as she carried two steaming plates to the table. “Nothing against Crow and His feathered finery, but there’s no sense accentuating the macabre. Death is grim enough without us traipsing around like bits of midnight. Besides, black dye costs too much.”

Led by the scent of food, Rhia joined her at the small, low table, which sat a few feet from the stove. Soft cushions covered with rough-textured cloth took the place of chairs. A large brown woven rug warmed the floor and gave the kitchen area a cozy feel, as if it were its own space separate from the rest of the house.

They settled into the modest meal and ate without speaking. Rhia burned with questions—about Kalindos, Marek, Razvin and Coranna herself—but didn’t know how or even whether she should speak first.

Finally, Coranna pushed her plate aside and sighed with contentment.

“So what do you think of our village?”

Rhia wasn’t sure what she thought yet, and could only compose one certain observation: “It’s quiet.”

“For now. Winter still has a hold on Kalindos. Spring has been teasing us, flirting with us, but never staying more than half a day. Once spring hangs up its coat and takes its shoes off, this village will transform into something quite different.” She appeared to restrain a grin. “Also, the Kalindons are busy preparing your welcome celebration.”

Rhia swallowed. “But they seem so underwhelmed to see me.”

“You’ll be one of us once you begin your training.”

“When will that be?”

“In a few days, depending on the weather. Until then, you must rest, obtain your bearings.” She swept her hand to encompass the house. “Get used to living in trees.”

A jangling sound came from the door. Rhia looked over to see a small clay bell. A thin rope, now taut, rose from the bell into a tiny hole in the door. Coranna got to her feet with surprising agility and opened the door.

Marek stood on the porch. He waved to Rhia. “Hello.”

Coranna looked between the two of them. “Marek, we need to discuss something. Alone.” She glided back to the table. “Give me a minute to clean from lunch.”

“I’ll do it,” Rhia said.

“Ah, one of the benefits to having an apprentice.” Coranna picked up her cloak. “After you’ve cleaned up, take a rest. You’ll need your strength in the days ahead.”

She gestured for Marek to precede her down the ladder, which he did after a worried glance at Rhia. Rhia marveled at their nimbleness at climbing and wondered if she’d ever zip down the ladder as if it were as natural as walking—if, in fact, she’d ever be able to descend the ladder at all. More than anything, though, she wanted to know what they were discussing. Herself, no doubt.

It took only a few minutes to wash and dry the plates and mugs. She found an ice chest in which to store the extra food and wondered if most homes in Kalindos had as many amenities as Coranna’s. Certainly her Crow gifts were indispensable.

A few small doors sat in the wall at eye level. She opened the closest one to a rush of cold air and a wall of solid green.

It was a window, sealed tight against the elements when closed, but opened to provide a clear view of the ground near the tree. Rhia peered out, fighting the vertigo.

Marek and Coranna stood about twenty paces from the tree’s trunk, he with his arms crossed, shaking his head. Coranna gestured toward her home—toward Rhia—with calm restraint. Marek turned away as if to leave. Coranna put a hand on his arm, and he moved to brush it off. Rhia strained to hear their words, but the wind in the pine needles drowned their voices to mere murmurs.

Marek looked up at Rhia then. His eyes seemed to plead for her to run. Coranna did not follow Marek’s gaze, but spoke to him urgently, squeezing his forearm.

The wind faded. Marek turned on Coranna, and Rhia heard him shout, “What if you can’t?”

Coranna bowed her head and said something Rhia couldn’t hear. The Crow woman reached for him, and he did not resist her embrace. His arms folded tight against his chest, as if clutching something precious, protecting it from Coranna’s grasp. When she let go, he stalked away without another word.

Rhia shut the window and latched it with a trembling hand. Her curiosity drained, she ignored the once-fascinating contents of the house and crossed to sit on the edge of her bed. She pulled her pack into her lap and stroked it like an anxious puppy.

No dogs would live here, since they couldn’t climb trees and would probably eat more meat than they were worth. Who would comfort her, then, in her uncertainty? She missed her hounds, with their wiry fur and calm assurance. Here they would be miserable, with no wide patches of sunlight in which to stretch and laze the day away. The afternoon was already fading, the sun having descended behind the nearby mountains. Kalindos was a place of darkness.

Minutes passed, and Coranna did not return. Rhia’s wary gaze alit on the piles of clothing across the room. The garments were crushed together and sure to be rumpled. Her hands twitched at the thought of a useful task.

She knelt before the smaller pile and shook out the articles of clothing one by one. They were clean, and the wrinkles could be steamed out over the stove.

Not a single dress or even a skirt lay among the clothes. Had these been boys’ garments, perhaps belonging to one of Coranna’s grandsons? No, the cut of the fabrics allowed for a woman’s figure—certainly not a buxom one, but Rhia had no concerns in that regard.

She almost laughed as the answer came to her. When scaling trees all day, it wouldn’t do to wear a skirt to display oneself to the world.

The door opened with a bang.

“Sorry,” Coranna said, “it sticks when the weather is humid.” She closed the door and perused her house with a satisfied sigh. “It feels more like a home here already. Good, you found the clothes. They’re a mess. I’m not much for chores, I’m afraid. Are they the right size?”

“Yes, thank you. I wasn’t expecting such generosity.”

“What were you expecting?”

Rhia didn’t know how to answer without sounding naïve or insulting.

Coranna waved it off and came over to help sort the clothes. “Alanka invited us to have dinner with her and her father tonight. I hope it’s all right I accepted.”

“That would be—” She stopped, remembering the familiarity of Razvin’s face. “Coranna?”

“Yes?”

Again Rhia struggled for the right words and could only come up with directness. “He’s my brothers’ father, isn’t he?”

Coranna stopped folding the blouse in her hands and fixed Rhia with a kind expression. “I’ve known Razvin my entire life. When he left your mother he was a troubled young man, full of bitterness.” She sat on her bed. “Until Alanka came along. He’s changed, but I don’t blame you for bearing him ill will.”

“Should I tell him I know?”

“Yes, when the moment is right.” Coranna nudged the pile of clothes with her foot. “I suppose you figured out why women here don’t wear skirts.”

“I killed it myself.” Alanka grinned at Rhia over the steaming pot. “My first hunting trip without Marek. Usually Wolves hunt in pairs or groups, where one hunter drives the prey toward the other, or flushes a bird to shoot. Alone it’s harder, but not impossible.” She gestured to the bubbling stew. “Obviously.”

The home Alanka shared with her father had a similar layout to Coranna’s, with the addition of a curtain between the two beds and a larger table, at which the two elders now sat, shelling nuts to accompany the grouse stew.

“Speaking of Marek,” Alanka said, “I invited him to come to dinner tonight. Even though we wouldn’t be able to see him.”

“He said no?”

“Said he was tired. He didn’t look tired.”

Rhia sighed. “He’s avoiding me, I think because of Coranna, but I don’t understand why.”

Alanka glanced over her shoulder at the others and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Marek’s not unhappy with you. He’s a loyal person, and for a few days those loyalties will be divided.”

“Why?”

She scrunched up her face with the pain of keeping a secret. “Coranna will tell you, when she thinks it’s time. Until then, just have faith.” She put a mug of meloxa tea in Rhia’s hand. “And enjoy yourself.”

“Is dinner ready yet?” Razvin called from across the room. Rhia had scarcely looked him in the eye since arriving. To think that the man who had caused her mother so much pain could inspire adoration in Alanka—but perhaps he had changed over the years. Her brothers were twenty-three now. Surely in two decades a man—even a Fox—could learn devotion.

They sat around the table like a family—the young women on one side, Razvin and Coranna on the other, father facing daughter across the table. Rhia was relieved to sit as far from Razvin as possible.

The food was delicious and helped take her mind off the tension growing inside her. She took a tentative sip of the meloxa tea. To her surprise, it was much more palatable than the brew Marek had proffered in the forest. Which wasn’t saying much, only that she didn’t feel compelled to spit it on the floor. Alanka must have sweetened it to counteract the sour apple flavor.

Razvin was telling a joke. She understood why her mother would find him attractive. His animated way of speaking, the mischievous glimmer in his gaze, even the way he tilted his head when he told the punch line—all could easily enchant someone who didn’t know better.

The table erupted in laughter, which Rhia did not join.

Alanka nudged her elbow. “Let me explain. See, the Mouse thinks that the Hawk is offering him a gift, but actually—”