Eyes of Crow (20 page)

Something inside Rhia thawed and cracked like a river in springtime. The worst pain yet, but it was a relief. If she hurt, she lived.

“Then one of you heat some rocks on that fire,” Elora said. “Soon it will be time to add warmth to her body.”

“I’ll do it.” Marek scooted out of the cave. Rhia imagined him ducking to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. By now he would be invisible, so she did not try to open her eyes.

Scraps of memory flitted through Rhia’s mind, the hours before Crow had come to take her away. She remembered pacing, fuming and—

What had she said to them? In desperation she had raged, begged for her life, gone any way but gracefully to her death. The shame flowed through her like the blood that slowly returned to her limbs.

She had been a coward, of course.

A horrible memory, clear as rain now, replayed her last words to Marek, about Coranna:
You wouldn’t have to see her every day and remember what she took from you.
She remembered the pain that crossed his face and made him turn his eyes away from both of them.

And Coranna—surely those words had pierced her as well. Rhia curled up inside herself and dreaded her return to life.

But life was coming. When Elora pulled Rhia’s arm out of the bundle and checked her wrist for a pulse, she felt the healer’s soft hands, though at a distance, as if her own skin were several inches thick.

“Bring the stones,” Elora said. “The blood is starting to flow to her limbs. If this happens too fast, the cold, stagnant blood from her arms and legs will flood to the rest of the body and drop her temperature again.”

Rhia felt alarm. Could she die again? She had so many questions, but her throat was too cold to speak.

And getting colder. Her heart began to skip beats—thumping fast, then not at all, then fast again. Her breath rattled.

“Hurry!” Elora said. Rhia was turned on her back, her other arm released from the bundle. Warm, hard objects were placed under her armpits and at the base of her neck.

“What’s happening?” Marek sat close to Rhia’s head. She wanted to reach for him, for the warmth he had given her those cold nights in the forest.

“She’s dropping,” Elora said in a clipped voice. “I’ll need to do a spell.”

“Dropping? What’s that?”

“Marek, come here.” Coranna snapped her fingers. “Give her room. Elora, do you need anything?”

“Only silence.”

No, not silence,
Rhia thought. She needed to hear voices, needed to grasp something from this world.

Elora laid her hands on either side of Rhia’s pelvis, paused for a moment, and began to chant.

The roiling, high-pitched song went straight to Rhia’s blood, infusing it with a warmth that traveled up one side of her torso and down the other. Unlike Coranna’s low, soothing intonation that called the spirit out of the body, this chant shocked and invigorated. Elora sang of the summer sun, and the yellow-white orb itself seemed to journey through Rhia’s body, stopping at the places where her legs joined her hips.

The healer repeated the action at Rhia’s shoulders, then at the base of her throat, until her chest and abdomen felt almost normal. Her heartbeat was steady now, without skips and jumps, and her breath came with a reassuring regularity. Warmth leaked slowly into her arms, legs and head, this time without the sensation of cold flowing back to her body.

She opened her eyes.

Marek whispered her name from a few feet away.

“Wait,” Elora said. She appeared in Rhia’s view, and even in the low glow of the fire, her eyes shone with concern. “Can you speak?”

Rhia blinked and opened her parched mouth. Her tongue felt like a dead leaf.

“Here, some water.” Elora held a wet cloth to Rhia’s lips and dabbed the inside of her mouth.

“Thank you,” Rhia whispered. Her voice sounded hollow. “I almost died, didn’t I? Just now?”

Elora raised an eyebrow. “Not on my watch, little woman.” She twisted behind her to pick up a flask. “Can you swallow some honey water?”

Rhia tried to nod, but the most she could manage was a twitch. “Yes.”

Elora removed the warm rocks from her neck and her right armpit. “Marek, help me turn her on her side for a moment.”

Unseen hands took hold of her left shoulder and hip and eased them forward. Her hand hit the ground with a thud as the dead weight of her arm dropped. Elora tilted the flask and let a few drops spill into Rhia’s mouth. She swallowed one of the drops, as the rest dribbled out the side of her mouth. After she had consumed two or three swallows of the warm, sweet liquid, they laid her on her back again.

As she spoke, Elora drew the blanket tighter around Rhia and tucked it under her chin. “Sleep now. I’ll wake you for more honey water. Your body needs fuel for strength. By morning you’ll have your limbs back.” She patted Rhia’s hand. “Won’t that be nice?”

Rhia managed to smile, although to an outsider it may have looked more like a grimace.

Marek cleared his throat. “Elora, may I…”

“It’s safe now.” The healer’s face showed doubt. “But ask her first.”

A hand brushed a lock of hair from Rhia’s face. “Rhia,” Marek said, “would it be all right if I lay next to you? To give you more warmth.”

She wanted that more than anything, but feared to admit it. He would have left behind everything he knew to save her life, if she had only asked. And in return for his devotion, she had assailed him with more fury than she knew she possessed. How could he forgive her so easily?

She turned her head to look at Coranna. The older woman’s hair glistened in the firelight as she leaned forward to speak.

“When someone’s freezing to death,” she said, “they become irrational. They say things they don’t mean. I warned Marek ahead of time, so let him help you. Don’t be silly.”

Rhia looked straight up where she thought Marek’s face would be. “Do it.”

He nestled beside her and tugged another blanket over their bodies. He pulled her tight against him and drew his leg across hers, surrounding her like fog around a mountain. His warmth seeped into her, carrying blood and life to her most remote and desolate regions.

They were wild.

When they reached her, the shouting crowd lifted her off her pony onto their shoulders. She wobbled with a strange sense of weightlessness and looked back at Marek.

“Enjoy!” he said with a wave of the hand.

Singing and laughing, they carried her to a clearing in the woods where a bonfire burned, surrounded by smaller fires which cooked a variety of meats. Her mouth watered at the scents. After two days of honey water and dried fruit, she’d happily eat a porcupine, quills and all, with a side of roasted pine bark. Or maybe just a side of more porcupine.

She noticed that none of the food had been touched. A long table sat off to the right of the fire, filled with dishes of fruits and nuts and berries. Her stomach would have growled if it weren’t lurching with the rest of her.

Alanka scurried up holding a bundle of cloth. “Wait, wait, wait, everyone. You can’t expect the guest of honor to preside looking like that.” She gestured to Rhia’s appearance. The villagers groaned with impatience as they set her down. “You’ve waited three days to eat,” Alanka said to them, “you can wait a few more minutes. Now stay here.”

She yanked Rhia through the crowd to a dense growth of shrubs. When they were hidden from sight, she tugged at the ties on Rhia’s trousers. “Take those off.”

“What did you mean, they’ve waited three days to eat?”

“We’ve been fasting since you left.” At Rhia’s surprised gaze, she said, “In solidarity, of course. Plus, it helped us save up extra food. And appetite.”

“You all knew.” Rhia slowly unfastened her trousers. “You all knew I was going to die.”

Alanka cringed. “I’m so sorry. Coranna told us when Marek left to meet you after your Bestowing. I wanted to tell you, but she said it would only make it worse. Will you forgive me?”

Rhia couldn’t bear for the moment to turn somber. “That depends on what you’re planning to dress me in.”

With a flourish and a grin, Alanka held forth a long gown of the darkest, most vibrant violet Rhia had ever seen outside of wildflowers. The velvet material sifted through her fingers like the lushest spring grass. A moan of admiration escaped her lips.

“I’m to wear this?”

Alanka cocked her head. “No, you’re to scrub pots with it.”

“But I thought women here only wore trousers.”

“Then it must be a special occasion.” She waggled the dress. “Put it on, we’re starving.”

Rhia shed her clothes, then sighed as Alanka slid the dress over her head. Her friend tied the strings in the back, and the garment tightened to accentuate Rhia’s few curves. A short, flowing cape hung from the back of the gown, making her feel like she bore a set of light, graceful wings. The garment provided just the right amount of warmth for the spring day, as the sleeves extended to her wrists and the neckline to her collarbone.

Alanka let out a low whistle. “I’m not sure I should bring you out there.”

“Why? Does it look bad?”

“It does not look bad. But if you go out there, the men may never spare me another glance.” She tilted her head. “Ehh, I could use the rest. Let’s do your hair.”

Rhia sat on a stone while Alanka braided her hair in an elegant looping style. Soon she was ready—at least on the outside.

Coranna’s voice came from the other side of the brush pile. “Shall we go?”

Rhia hesitated, so Alanka turned her toward the village and gave her a little shove. As she stepped into sight, Coranna took her hand and led her toward the bonfire. The crowd quieted. They parted to let her pass, heads half-bowed, almost as if they would drop to their knees. Rhia prayed they wouldn’t.

The two Crow women approached the long table and stood at its head. Coranna drew herself up to her full, intimidating height and held out her hands to the crowd.

“Thank you for all your efforts, both physical and spiritual, on behalf of my new protégé. It pleases me to tell you that she completed the ritual with courage and serenity.”

Rhia kept her face neutral as the crowd whooped and clapped. She didn’t want to show pride in the lie or embarrass Coranna by displaying a dubious expression.

When the applause subsided, Coranna said, “Her magic and wisdom will serve all of us, but remember that she is still learning to use her powers, as, in a way, we all are. I present to you Crow’s new gift to our people—Rhia of Asermos.”

Instead of cheering, they all stared at Rhia with expectation. Was she supposed to perform magic for them? Sing a song about her trip to the Other Side and back?

Coranna leaned over and whispered to the top of Rhia’s head. “Speak now.”

Her heart went cold, almost as cold as when she died. “I have to give a speech?”

Coranna patted her shoulder. “Make them glad their deaths may be in your hands.”

Rhia slowly turned back to the crowd. The glare of the torchlight in her eyes let her see only the closest people, none of whom she recognized. She resisted the urge to twist her hair.

Suddenly she understood: When they looked at her, they didn’t see a once-crippled child scared of shadows, but rather a powerful woman who had undergone heroic tests proving her worthiness.

“Thank you,” she said. They seemed to like that, so she said it again. “Thank you for accepting me into your midst. I hope to learn much from you and—and be a source of goodwill—of continuing goodwill—between Kalindos and Asermos.

“Though our cultures differ, we are all connected to the Spirits who bless our people with a world of beauty and power, which they share by granting each of us the magic and wisdom of one of their creatures.”

She glanced at Coranna, who returned a look of encouragement.

“My Guardian Spirit,” she continued, “is Crow, whom many dread and fear worse than any predator, for His embrace is everlasting.”
More or less,
she reminded herself. “But know that you will not leave this life alone. And believe me when I tell you that a beautiful world lies beyond.”

The faces dropped at the suggestion, and she realized that this line of rhetoric might be morbid for such a gathering. A mug lay on the table near her hand. She raised it and said, “But tonight, let us celebrate life and all its gifts.”

The crowd cheered, and everyone who could reach a mug lifted it high and drank with her. It was a testament to her new fortitude that she did not spew out the nearly pure meloxa before or after it trickled down her throat.

The music struck up again, though at a more leisurely pace than before, and the food was brought forth. Rhia sat at the head of the long table with Coranna, the other six members of the village Council—including Alanka’s father Razvin—and their mates or spouses. The younger folks who weren’t serving food lounged around the bonfire, laughing and jostling for space. She wished she could join them—a wish that disappeared when she realized that her table would start eating first.

Some foods she recognized, others not, but all of it was tasty and served with enthusiasm. She gave a grateful smile to the observant young man who deposited a flask of water next to her plate; he must have noticed she wasn’t washing down her meal with meloxa. He returned the smile, which warmed her insides even more than the food and drink.

Her dress tightened as she ate, and she tugged at the unyielding fabric at her waist. The tautness forced her into a straight posture, in contrast to the figures around her slouched over their meals and drinks, leaning to hear each other’s words amid the din.

Coranna introduced the man to her right as Etar the Owl, one of the seven Council members. Rhia recognized him as the father of Alanka’s mate Pirrik, but decided not to mention it in case Etar wasn’t aware of their relationship. Not that one could hide anything from an Owl.

“What do you think of Kalindos, Rhia?” Etar asked.

“It’s beautiful. Er—” She glanced at the cavorting around the bonfire. “Startling.”

“It’s no place for people our age. Right, Coranna?”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Coranna tugged his long gray ponytail. Rhia sensed the two shared more than friendship.

“My bones aren’t what they used to be.” Etar gave an exaggerated wince as he crushed an acorn against the table with a small rock. “Some days I can’t bear the thought of climbing out of my own house. ‘Down’ is a lot harder on the knees than ‘up.’” He picked the meat out of the nut. “Nonetheless, days like today make it all worthwhile.”

“Do you have such celebrations often?” Rhia asked.

“We hold feasts when people enter or leave this world,” Coranna said.

“You did both in one day.” Etar held up his mug in salute. “So the party is twice as big.”

Coranna turned to him. “She almost died again after I brought her back.”

He regarded Rhia with keen interest. “What was that like?”

Again, she couldn’t lie, not to an Owl. “I was terrified the second time, before Elora saved me. But when I died the first time, I was so cold, it was as if my feelings were frozen, too. I didn’t care if I lived.”

“It’s Crow’s blessing,” Coranna said. “Allowing us to leave our bodies without fear or pain. After the initial struggle, we become numb.” She shifted the food on her plate without eating it. “When I drowned, it hurt at first, the water crushing me from the inside. I swore I wouldn’t fight it, but I did. I battled for every breath I couldn’t get.”

The surrounding crowd was raucous, but the three of them sat in a bubble of silence.

“Once I gave in,” Coranna continued, “everything began to sparkle. I was so enthralled with the sunlight dancing above me, I didn’t notice the darkness creeping in, until suddenly it was all I could see. Then it was over and Crow was there.” Her eyes met Rhia’s with intimate understanding.

“So tell me.” Etar leaned across the table to speak low to them. “How long do you think I have to live?”

Rhia blanched at the impropriety, but Coranna’s laugh rang out. “Etar, I’ve told you, we won’t play this game.”

“Give Rhia a chance,” he said. “Besides, I’ve drunk so much meloxa, whatever she tells me I won’t remember tomorrow.”

“But without an illness or injury—” Rhia looked at Coranna “—how can I tell how long he’ll live?”

“You can’t predict an accident. Those things don’t lurk inside people.” She leaned back in her chair and gestured to Etar’s body. “But sicknesses do, even when people feel well.”

“You want me to tell him when he’ll die?” It went against everything Galen had taught her.

Coranna eyed her neutrally. “It’s up to you. He wants you to see, and I won’t stop you.”

“But you’re both drunk.”

“Don’t be so stodgy, Rhia.” Coranna waved her mug, holding the handle with one finger. She placed Rhia’s hand on Etar’s arm. “It helps if you touch him.”

Rhia gulped. With all her remaining courage, she took her hand off his arm. “No. I won’t do it.”

“Just as well. I like a little mystery in my life, anyway.” Etar rose to his feet with a grunt. “I need to stretch these old bones. Coranna, want to take a walk with me?” A passing server offered him a fresh mug of meloxa, which he accepted with a smile.

“I’d love to.” The crone tossed her hair like a young girl as she stood, then leaned in close to Rhia. “You passed an important test just now. You trusted your own wisdom more than my authority.” She squeezed Rhia’s shoulder. “Just like a Crow.”

They left her to wallow in bewilderment. She examined the contents of her mug, then pushed it away. If more “tests” lay ahead tonight, her judgment should remain clear.

The same young man who had just served Etar placed a new mug of meloxa in front of her. He winked a dark brown eye and said, “I heard you like it sweet.”

“Thank you.” As handsome as he was, she hoped he was referring to the drink.

When the server moved away, she scanned the table for more water. Her eyes met those of Razvin, seated at the opposite end. He studied her in a way that said his glance had not begun only the moment before.

Rhia’s old instincts told her to drift away to the safety of those she knew well. Instead she took her mug and strolled to Razvin’s end of the table.

He contemplated her approach with surprise, and when she arrived, he barely emitted a “Congratulations, Rhia.”

“Thank you.” She took a confident swig, suppressed a wince—this meloxa was no sweeter than the previous one—and met his searching stare. “Did you enjoy the food and drink?”

“I should. I helped prepare it.”

“Then thank you again.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Your daughter saved my life a few nights ago. I hope I can repay the honor someday.”

“I hope you never have to.”

She hesitated. “How many Bears and Wolverines have been called in Kalindos recently?”

His gaze grew wary. “A few.”

“More than usual?”

“A few
is
more than usual. Kalindos is a place of peace. Unlike your home.”

“Asermos has never attacked anyone. Our wars have all been defensive.”

“True enough.” He turned back to his plate and murmured, “But not all wars are fought with arrows and swords.”