Eyes of Crow (3 page)

Secretly she hoped that if she denied Crow, perhaps another Spirit would take His place, one who would inspire acceptance rather than fear in herself and in those around her. But no Spirit came or spoke to her; in fact, they all seemed to drift farther away. All except Crow, who flew within the gray space between waking and sleeping, His wings offering a warm, soft promise, His eyes understanding and accepting the darkest corners of her soul.

Each fall, as the oak leaves turned gold and fell to the earth, Rhia would haunt Dorius and examine his surroundings for anything or anyone that could give him the wounds she had seen in her vision. The most casual allusion to tensions between Asermos and one of its trading partners would steal her sleep for weeks.

It was late summer now, and the leaves waved green and succulent on the trees adjoining the meadow where Rhia and Arcas sat close together. His family’s small flock of sheep grazed a short distance away. A few of them wandered to drink from the wide, lazy stream that curled in front of the meadow before joining the river near the heart of Asermos. Even the smallest trading ship could not navigate this shallow portion of water, so Rhia and Arcas were blissfully, blessedly alone.

Bits of grass stuck to their outstretched feet, damp from wading. She wiggled her toes and let the sun warm her upturned face, reveling in this rare afternoon away from the farm. Her brother Lycas had taken her chores for a few hours, and she tried not to imagine what favor he might ask in return. That worry was for tomorrow or tonight. Today was here and good.

A white cloth full of ripe raspberries, which she had collected on her way to meet Arcas, sat in her lap. He made a show of pawing through them, brushing the skin beneath her thin skirt before selecting each one, in a brazen attempt to make her blush as red as the berries themselves.

“I can’t decide,” he said, “if I want to eat these or mash them up in your hair.”

“My hair’s not red enough for you?” As usual, the summer sun had burnished her sable locks with ruddy overtones.

“Your hair is perfect, but it would be fun to hear you squeal.”

Rhia picked up a handful of berries and crushed them in her palm. “Marvelous idea.” She smeared his hair from scalp to ends.

His yelp echoed from the stream’s opposite bank. He seized her wrist and squeezed until her hand opened to reveal the red ooze, which he wiped across the front of her dress, leaving a small, blurry handprint. “There. Explain that to your mother.”

“I won’t have to explain anything to her today,” Rhia said.

“What do you mean?”

She looked at his puzzled face for a long moment before losing her nerve. “Never mind.” She searched for a topic that would deter his curiosity. “Your Bestowing last month. What was it like?”

His dark blue eyes grew distant and guarded. The distraction had worked. “You know I’m not allowed to tell.”

“Can you tell me if you were afraid?”

Arcas grimaced. “I thought I was going to die.” He glanced at her stricken face. “But no one ever does.”

“No one? Can you be sure?”

“My father told me so. He prepares you for everything you need to know.”

“But not for the fear. He doesn’t prepare you for that, does he?”

Arcas gave an exasperated sigh. “Anyone who dwells on their fear as much as you do will be more than prepared.”

She tried to turn her face away from him, but he caught it with the tips of his fingers and gently returned her gaze to meet his.

“Rhia, love, you must go. It’s well past your time.”

She shook her head. “I’d have to leave you.”

“For a while. Then you’ll return with your gift.”

She thought of the war that would slay Dorius. “But what if while I’m gone—?”

“Shh.” He kissed her, and she pulled away.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “You didn’t see what I saw.”

“I understand that you’re troubled, and that the only way to ease your mind is to learn how to face your powers.” His hand moved to her waist, and he nuzzled the bare spot where her shoulder met the curve of her neck. She closed her eyes for a moment to savor his lips against her skin, then gathered her nerve and returned to the subject she had avoided before.

“I have a secret,” she said.

He raised his head, his eyelashes flickering with intrigue, but said nothing.

“My mother’s noticed how close we are, you and I,” Rhia continued, “and so she sent me to Silina.”

“Silina? The Turtle woman? I thought she helped women have babies.” He drew back to stare at her belly. “Are you—”

“Of course not. Silina does help women have babies. Or not have them.”

Arcas cocked his head. “How? How not have babies?”

She grinned at his innocence and incoherence. “With herbs, of course.” She pointed to the lacy white flowers waving their heads throughout the meadow. “Wild carrot. I’ve harvested the seeds at summer’s end for my mother ever since I was a little girl. She called them a woman’s ‘freedom flowers’ but would never explain.”

“Until now.”

“Until now. Also, the—our being together—it has to be during the right, er, phase of the moon.”

His gaze scampered over the blue sky until it found the moon’s waxing crescent. “Is that a good moon?”

“For me, it’s good.” She took his hand and kissed the velvet skin inside his wrist, one of the few places on his body not tanned and toughened by his shepherd’s work. “For us, it’s very good.”

Without another word they undressed each other, trembling more than usual, then stretched out on the soft, lush grass. They had lain like this before, exploring and enjoying each other’s bodies, yet this time would end not in longing but fulfillment.

Rhia’s fingers followed a trickle of sweat traveling over Arcas’s broad chest and shoulders. A sudden hesitation seized her. Once they had joined together, how could she ever leave him? Now she understood why they should wait until they had both taken on their Aspects. She was incomplete.

Arcas’s expression darkened. “What’s wrong?”

“When I go away, will you wait for me?”

“I will.” His thumb traced her lower lip in a motion she found both seductive and soothing. “And what about you?”

Rhia tried to answer, tried to put into words the love that would live in her heart until the day it stopped beating. She failed.

Instead she kissed him, long and deep, and pressed her body forward to let his heat burn away the doubt and fear in her mind. Arcas groaned, and his arms snaked down her back to wrap around her waist, eventually parting her legs to accept his searching fingers. A familiar warmth spread through her, infused with an even more familiar need.

He rolled her on top of him, and together, fumbling, laughing at their own clumsiness, they guided him inside her.

Ready as she was to receive him, Rhia had not expected so much pain. It radiated to the core of her body and outward again. The sharpness of her cry made Arcas freeze, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry.” He stroked the hair at her temple. “Should we stop?”

She wanted to say yes, to retreat back into her clothes and maybe even the cool river, anything to soothe the ache. Instead she took a long breath and shook her head.

He moved more slowly inside her after that, and when her eyes were open she saw him studying her face for the signs of pain she tried to hide. Finally he lay still and placed his palms on the ground beside him.

“You,” he said.

Rhia paused to wonder if she could do it, if she could bring such hurt upon herself. She closed her eyes and said a prayer for strength to whatever Spirit might be listening.

Her hips moved against his, gingerly, until she felt herself begin to expand around him. Gradually the pain subsided, to be replaced with a sensation that recalled those he had given her with his hands and mouth. Yet this feeling, she knew before long, would carry her miles beyond.

The heat between them became oppressive, and she raised her upper body to cool it. In doing so, she drove Arcas deeper inside her. They both cried out at the shock. His back arched, muscles taut, and his gaze pleaded, “Let me…”

“Yes,” she said, and he released himself.

His hands moved over her as if trying to touch her everywhere at once. She cradled his head to her breast, and he pulled her nipples into his mouth as his hips surged beneath her. Never had she felt so powerful, nor so helpless. The cry that escaped her throat was that of a woman she had yet to meet.

The last thing she saw before collapsing onto Arcas’s chest was the radiant blue sky reflected in his astonished eyes.

They lay together in silence, their breath slowing. Arcas combed Rhia’s hair with his fingers, which slid carefully through the tangles. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It will be better next time.”

“I can’t imagine better.”

Rhia smiled, then turned on her back, wincing at the soreness. She felt a sudden need to bathe, and sat up, extracting herself from his arms. She congratulated herself on her rare display of bravery, then stood on unsteady legs and walked to the stream. A rustle of grass told her Arcas was following.

Minnows scattered, silver fins flashing, as her feet swished through the warm shallows. In a dozen steps the stream reached her waist. She scooped the water with cupped hands and held her arms straight before her. As it dripped through her fingers, she murmured, “Bless the Turtle who gives life.”

At her side, Arcas answered, “And bless the wild carrot seed that prevents it.”

She grinned at him, then bent over to splash water on her face. He tipped her over with a gentle shove. She flailed for an instant before he caught her arm in time to save her from going under.

“Hey!” She smacked his chest with her free hand. “After what just happened, you might stop seeing me as a little girl to torment.”

“Grown women don’t smear berries on people.” He leaned to rinse the goo from his hair. “Besides, I enjoy tormenting you. Would you rob me of that—” He straightened suddenly, whipping his gaze toward the shore. “Someone’s coming.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“They’re far away.” He listened another moment, Bear senses tuned. “But coming fast.”

They splashed through the water back to the meadow and sprinted up the hill to the place of flattened grass where they had left their clothes. Arcas helped refasten her dress, then yanked on his own trousers and shirt. Rhia heard the rumble of approaching hooves.

Arcas faced the distant edge of the meadow, shading his eyes. Two dots moved closer, one white, one chestnut red.

“Is that your brother, on the gray mare?” Arcas asked her. “He’s driving her awfully hard.”

“They always do that.” Rhia sat on the grass to put on her shoes. “Especially Lycas. He can’t go to the market for milk without acting like he’s being chased by wildfire.” She chuckled to herself, even as her heart fluttered with an inchoate fear.

“It is him. And—my cousin Gorin?” He turned to her. “They don’t even like each other. Why would they—”

Rhia held up her hand to silence him. She saw her brother, bent low over the neck of his white horse. His hair, shiny and black like their mother’s, streamed behind him in the wind. She began to run.

They met quickly. The rear hooves of Lycas’s pony skidded as he brought her to a halt. His face was wet with what Rhia hoped was only sweat, and his dark eyes burned into her.

“It’s Mother,” he said. “I think she’s dying.”

Yet it mattered little. Mother was dying. Rhia had had no time to ask Lycas questions before Arcas had scooped her up behind her brother and they had taken off for her home. Now her voice would be carried away by the wind that whipped Lycas’s hair into her face—not to mention the pounding of the mare’s hooves and the heave of her breath. The poor thing was exhausted but valiant.

Rhia turned her head, straining to hear the hoofbeats of the pony Arcas rode, the pony brought by Gorin, who had stayed behind to watch the flock. But the wind swallowed all sound, and even this slight movement threatened to unbalance her.

Maybe she should focus on the pain, she thought; better that than the scene that lay ahead. What would she see when she entered her home? Would the heavy wings alight or rush away? She had never confronted a human whose death was imminent. Now she wished she had, so that her first should not be the person Rhia loved above all others, the one who had given her life over and over, not just at birth but every year since then.

Lycas veered the pony suddenly to the right to avoid a small gray boulder jutting among the long meadow grasses. They turned uphill, yet their pace did not slow, not until they entered the woods, where even Lycas was not so reckless as to plunge headlong. The pony slowed to a walk, shaking her head and splattering froth on the leaves around them. When Rhia had caught her breath, she puffed out the words she’d been wanting—and not wanting—to say, “What happened?”

“She collapsed.” Lycas’s voice was clear, his breath barely quickened from their hard ride. “Said her heart hurt.”

Rhia’s own heart seemed to constrict. She waited for him to continue.

“When I left—” his shoulders shuddered “—when I left to get you, she could hardly breathe.” He cursed to himself. “Spirits take these brambles.” He reached down and pushed a thick rope of wild raspberries away from his pony’s chest. Blood seeped from tiny cuts in his arm, but he didn’t wince.

“Did someone fetch a healer?”

“Silina was drying herbs with her when it happened. She couldn’t do much except keep Mother comfortable. Nilo went to find Galen, in case…”

“In case?”

“In case she dies. Someone has to prepare her spirit.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Since we don’t have a Crow.”

Rhia’s face burned. Her voice caught as she tried to reply. But then the clearing lay ahead of them, and Lycas dug his heels into the pony’s ribs. The horse surged forward again, her strength restored, and Rhia had to clutch her brother’s shirt to keep from falling.

The sunlight blinded as they broke into the clearing. Her home appeared across the hill. No human puttered in the paddock or in the dogs’ pens. At the sound of their approach, three hounds came out of the kennel, stretched, bowed and wagged their tails at them behind the fence.

When Lycas finally brought the gasping pony to a halt in front of the house, the door opened. Their brother Nilo stepped forward to grab the reins.

“It’s all right,” he told them. “She’s resting.”

He put his hands on Rhia’s waist and lifted her off the pony. Her body seemed to creak as she slid over the dusty, sweaty hide. Though he lowered her gently, when her feet hit the ground, it felt as if two sharp fenceposts had been driven into her hips.

“You two go in,” Nilo said. “I’ll cool her down.” He pulled the reins over the mare’s head and led her away at a brisk walk. Rhia glanced back at him, grateful that his gaze had not pierced her with accusation as his twin’s had. Though they looked alike and sometimes even spoke in unison, Nilo’s thoughts and feelings seemed to travel inward instead of sparking out to burn those around him.

A warmth enveloped her hand, and she looked down to see Lycas’s long, strong fingers wrap around hers. Their grip steeled her courage enough for her to enter the house.

Her father approached them, but she looked past him to her own small bed, where her mother lay. Tereus spoke Rhia’s name, and his lips continued to move, but the rest of his words were lost.

Lost in a roar of wings.

The sound crescendoed until she could only feel and not hear the wail ripping her throat. Her knees buckled, and she tried to sink to the floor—
through
the floor, even—but Lycas’s grip tightened, and he yanked her to her feet. She tore free and covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut as if the feeling, the certainty, came from the outer world and she could blot it out, turn away from it. But there was nowhere to turn. Crow was here to stay.

Rhia backed against the door and fumbled for the latch. A harsh voice hissed in her ear.

“What are you doing?” Lycas shook her shoulders. “She can hear you, stupid.”

She sucked a breath, choking on her own cries of anguish. Her lips pressed together so hard, her teeth bruised them. When she opened her eyes, she saw her father step in front of Lycas. He pulled her tight to him.

“Papa, I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest.

He stroked her hair. “I know. I knew even before you arrived that we could do nothing. But still I hoped—” Tereus cut himself off and moved to look at her. He smoothed back the strands of hair that tears had adhered to her cheek. “I wish you didn’t have to see it so clearly.”

“I don’t just see it, Papa. I feel it.” Her soul seemed as heavy as a sack of wet grain, and she wanted to collapse, to succumb to the weight of her mother’s impending death.

The large bird she felt on her shoulder was not real. She couldn’t see it with her eyes or touch it with her hands. But it touched her, its claws piercing her skin, and at that moment it was the most real thing in the room.

“Go to her,” Tereus said. “And Lycas is right, you must be strong. Dry your eyes.”

Rhia breathed in deeply, every muscle straining to maintain control. Her exhale was less shaky. She wiped her cheeks and the hollows under her eyes.

Her legs moved of their own accord as they carried her across the room, and she was grateful to them. For the first time, she noticed Galen sitting on the floor at Mayra’s feet. He watched her with an inscrutable gaze as she passed.

The weight on her shoulder and on her spirit grew heavier with each step. It was a relief to sink onto the bed next to her mother. She reached for Mayra’s hand, then hesitated. Mayra’s eyes were closed, her face slack, skin wan, dark hair carefully arranged on the pillow. She looked peaceful—and completely unfamiliar.

Who was this stranger? A future corpse. Not her mother. It was safe after all.

She touched Mayra’s hand, and her mother’s eyes opened. In an instant the distance between them vanished. Rhia felt light again, like only a daughter. She held back tears but knew her eyes shone as they looked upon the dying woman.

Mayra’s thumb twitched on Rhia’s wrist, as if she were trying to squeeze her hand. She parted her dry lips to speak. Her throat strained with no result.

“Shh,” Rhia whispered. “We can speak later, after you’ve rested.”

Mayra narrowed her eyes in disbelief. She tilted her chin to beckon Rhia closer. Rhia leaned forward until their faces were a hand’s width apart.

“Yes?” was all her mother said. Rhia looked into her eyes and nodded slowly. A tear fell from her lashes onto Mayra’s lips.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I wish…” She gave Mayra a pleading look, expecting her to provide comfort or reassurance, as she always did when Rhia was distressed.

Instead Mayra only stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and fixed. Her hand grew cold.

“Mother?” In a near-panic, she shook Mayra’s shoulder. “Mama?”

Mayra blinked and took a slow breath that seemed to pain her. Without looking at Rhia, she whispered, “I’m frightened.” Another long breath. “I’m frightened, Rhia. Help me.”

Rhia’s glance jerked toward Galen. He kept his eyes on Mayra and sighed.

The door opened behind her. The hulking figure of Arcas stood next to Nilo’s muscular frame. The two men were silhouetted against the sunshine outside so she couldn’t see their faces. A whispered conference with Lycas passed along the grim news.

Rhia turned to her mother and felt on her back every gaze in the house, which was becoming crowded, stifling.

Mayra’s lips moved to form one word. “When?”

Rhia looked at Galen. “You can know,” he said.

She turned back to her mother. “Wait a moment.”

Rhia closed her eyes and clutched Mayra’s cold hand. She turned her mind to Crow, whose presence hovered, shimmering black and violet, near her shoulder. His spirit merged with hers, His knowledge and certainty spreading over and enveloping her consciousness like a pair of dark wings.

Her mother had strength. Not enough to survive, but enough to say goodbye.

“A day or two,” Rhia said at last. “I wish it were more, but—” She couldn’t finish the sentence:
you don’t have enough life.

Mayra relaxed, her hand going limp in Rhia’s. “I can sleep.”

“Yes. Good.” She realized her mother had feared she would never wake up. “Do you need another blanket?”

Mayra tilted her head from side to side, almost imperceptibly. Her eyes closed in the next instant, and her face went slack. Rhia stared at it, trying to etch every detail into her memory.

A hand lay on her shoulder. “Let us speak in private,” Galen said.

Rhia reluctantly let go of her mother’s hand and followed him toward the door. As she and Galen stepped out into the sunshine, Rhia looked back to see her father sit by Mayra, his head bowed.

The bright day mocked her mood and the darkness that would always dwell within her now. The air was so clear and sharp she could even see the distant brown face of MountBeros to the northeast, unshrouded by summer haze.

“I should have gone long ago,” she said to Galen.

“There’s no sense in regrets.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted to tell me, that I should have gone when you asked? You were right.”

“What matters is that you find peace, peace in yourself that you can give your mother in her final hours.”

“Where do I find it?” She gestured to their surroundings. “Under which stone, in which tree?” She kicked a small branch that had blown into the yard during the previous night’s storm. “Peace isn’t inside me, and feels like it never will be now.”

Galen pulled his large leather pouch to the front of his waist. He loosened the ties and withdrew a black feather the length of his hand. He held it out to her on a leather cord.

“It’s time for you to have this.”

She wanted to reach for it, but didn’t. “I haven’t even been for my Bestowing yet.”

“You will,” he said, “after you mourn. In the meantime, this will help you focus on your powers. Your mother needs them.”

She took the feather from him and stroked its smooth barbs. “What do I do?”

“You’ll know.”

Rhia withheld a frustrated sigh at his vagueness.

“How long will she live?” he asked her.

“She’ll see another sunrise, but no more, I think. I want to—I want to stay with her all night. Help her, though I don’t know how.”

“Crow will show you, as much as He can. I will return early tomorrow morning. She needs her family now.” He turned toward the house.

“Wait,” she said. “What will you do for her? Can you help her pass over? Make her not so afraid?”

“I can help ease her mind with regard to her life. The rest is up to her. And you, of course.” He laid his hand on her shoulder again. “I’m sorry, Rhia. It shouldn’t have to be like this.”

As he walked away, she wondered if he meant to comfort or rebuke her. Probably both: Galen’s words never meant only one thing.

In a few moments, Arcas came out of the house alone. With no hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Rhia’s small frame and held her while she cried. What she couldn’t tell him was that she wept not only for her mother’s death but for the part of herself that had once felt fully alive.

Though Arcas’s body seemed far from her, she clung to it, as if it alone would anchor her to this world.