Voice of Crow (35 page)

“You still have it?”

“Not still. Again. When I was in Leukos it went away, but they sent me out here and suddenly—” he spread his hands and puffed out his cheeks “—I can’t control it. The others laugh at me.”

“All the more reason to join us. We can show you how to connect to your Spirit and develop your powers.”

“I don’t want them to develop. I want them to go away.”

His words sounded painfully familiar. “I know you do. But you can’t imagine what it’s like to have a Spirit who accepts everything you are, who grants powers and asks for nothing in return but respect.”

“You’re right. I can’t imagine that, because it’s a lie.”

“It’s the only truth. The Spirits want us to bring the world together again.”

Kiril sat up straight. “That’s what this camp will do. These children will conquer their own homeland with magic. Then we’ll all be united under the Ilion flag.”

Filip uttered a sad laugh. “Don’t you understand? These children will grow up with power they can’t control, like I was, like you are now. You’d end up killing them for your own protection.” His voice hardened. “How does that sound? A decade from now, exterminating a generation of twelve-year-olds?”

Kiril frowned and threw a glance toward the convoy of children, miles behind them. “I have my orders.”

“Only if you wear that uniform.”

Kiril scoffed. “You want me to be a scruffy rebel like you? What would my family think?”

Filip had no answer. For Kiril to turn traitor would be the epitome of dishonor. He had no right to ask his friend to make that choice. Not voluntarily.

“A proposal.” He raised his sword. “Join us or die.”

“Assuming you can beat me.”

“I’ve always beaten you.”

The captain raked a derisive glance over Filip’s prosthesis. “That was when you were a man.”

Rage and shame flickered inside Filip, but only for a moment. “We’ll fight on foot.”

Kiril raised his eyebrows. “So be it.”

They tethered their horses on opposite sides of the road, then met in the center, ceremonially. Before fighting, they bowed, then crossed swords and grasped each other’s left hand. As he stared into the eyes of his battle brother, Filip tried to turn him into just another faceless enemy.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he told Kiril. “If I win, you join us.”

Kiril hesitated. “Agreed. If I win, I take you prisoner.”

“I won’t leave my wife. If you win, kill me.”

The distant sound of hoofbeats came from Filip’s left, from the direction of the convoy.

Kiril’s posture stiffened. He heard it, too.

They each took two steps back, Filip testing the ground beneath his false leg. It provided a firm, even surface. He circled to his right to get a glimpse of the oncoming horse. Its color and speed told him it was Koli’s mount, but it was swerving in an odd manner.

Before Kiril could attack, Filip backed up and opened his mind to the chestnut gelding, for just a moment.

In the brief flash, he knew something was wrong. The steel bit pinched his mouth from reins held too tight. His mane was yanked from side to side by someone fighting not to fall off. The rider’s voice yelled in his twitching ears.

Alanka.

“Wait,” he told Kiril, but the captain lunged at Filip’s good leg. Filip twisted in time to block the blow with his sword, then slammed his shoulder hard into his opponent’s chest.

Kiril stumbled back, a look of astonishment on his face. In the distance, the hoofbeats halted.

Filip threw his sword aside. “Get down!” He flung himself at Kiril, tackling him as a loud crack snapped the air. They crashed to the ground. Kiril slammed Filip’s ribs with the hilt of his sword, but Filip slipped around his back to maneuver him into a headlock.

“If you won’t listen,” Filip said, “then look.”

He turned Kiril so he could see the arrow sticking out of the ground a few feet away, the arrow that had almost killed him. Kiril uttered a crude oath, then went limp.

Alanka rode closer, shouting Filip’s name.

“Don’t shoot!” he called. “It’s all right.” He let go and helped Kiril to his feet.

The man’s expression was a mixture of relief and mourning. “You saved my life.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Filip stepped into the road to stop Alanka’s horse before it could bolt again. He murmured soothing sounds to the creature, whose mind was a cacophony of complaints.

When he had hold of the horse’s bridle, Alanka slumped in the saddle with relief. “What’s going on?” she said. “I thought he was the enemy.”

“Not anymore.” Kiril walked forward slowly, holding the hilt of his sword out for Filip to take. “I owe you my loyalty now, brother.”

Filip accepted the weapon and inserted it into his own sheath. “I have an idea how you can repay the debt.”

Kiril nodded reluctantly. “Somehow you managed to give me the only honorable excuse to help your cause.”

“You were looking for one?”

Kiril gazed past them, up into the trees. Filip turned to see the branches full of light. Hundreds of fireflies winked on and off, creating a shifting tapestry of yellow-green dots.

“It’s beautiful,” Alanka whispered.

“Yes.” Filip helped her slide off the horse into his arms. He pulled her close, glad to be alive. “It certainly is.”

“So where do we go from here?” Alanka asked Filip as they rode back to meet the convoy. He wore both his own sword and the Ilion’s. She rode his black mare, to her relief, and he somehow restrained Koli’s chestnut gelding while holding the reins of the horse Kiril rode.

“We’ll go wherever you want,” Filip replied.

“I want to stay in Ilios until every Kalindon and Asermon goes home.”

“That could take years.”

“We could start with that children’s camp. They’re bound to bring more babies soon, right?” she asked Kiril.

“That’s the plan,” he replied. “I can’t say I’d be sorry to see that place destroyed, despite my hard work in creating it.” Kiril brushed the dirt from his uniform sleeve. “Does being a rebel pay well?”

Alanka laughed. “No, but you meet more interesting people.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Including women?”

“Other women, yes,” Filip said. “Specifically, the ones who aren’t married to your commander.”

“I thought I outranked you.”

“Not anymore.” Filip sidled his horse closer to Alanka and spoke to her in a low voice. “There’s just one thing. Playing renegade in the wilderness will make it hard to start our own family.”

She frowned. There’d been a time when all she wanted was a man who wouldn’t leave her, a man to give her children and a stable life. “We have time for that later,” she told him. “This is more important.”

He nodded. “After a year we’ll reevaluate.”

“Five years.”

“Three.”

She chuckled. “Three years.”

Soon they met the wagons, which were already rolling in their direction.

Lycas met them at the head of the group, dressed in the too-tight uniform of one of the dead soldiers. He drew a long dagger from his belt when he saw Kiril. “Who’s that?”

“Our newest comrade,” Filip said. “He’s bound to me by a warrior’s honor. And he has his very own Aspect.”

The Wolverine narrowed his eyes. “You must be joking.”

Filip turned to Kiril. “Show him.”

The Firefly raised his hands, cupping them into an empty sphere, which a moment later filled with a yellow-white light.

Lycas’s jaw dropped. “That will come in handy. But keep an eye on him. He gets no weapons.”

The group moved as quickly as they could through the darkness, with Kiril providing light when he could, and Adrek and Lycas leading the way with their night vision when he couldn’t.

In a few hours, they reached a crossroad. They turned right to head north, away from Surnos and toward the lands of their people.

At first light, they found a place in the woods to pull far off the road to hide and care for the children.

All day they kept a keen ear out for travelers on the road. Each time horses were heard, the troupe fell into total silence. It pained Alanka to see how acutely even the youngest children sensed the mortal danger.

As soon as the sun descended behind the forested hills, they prepared to set out again. Alanka looked at Filip. “It’s time to tell them.”

They went to Rhia, who was lifting toddlers up to Nelma in the wagon. She turned when Alanka approached.

“What’s wrong?” Rhia asked. “Your face is sad.”

Alanka touched her friend’s shoulder. “I’m here to say goodbye. We’re staying in Ilios until we find the other Kalindons and Asermons.”

Rhia smiled, even as tears filled her eyes. She embraced Alanka tightly. “I don’t know what to say, except that I’ll miss you. And thank you.”

“A Horse and a Wolf against the Ilion army?” Arcas appeared from the other side of the wagon. “You’ll need help.”

“Are you volunteering?” Filip asked.

From across the camp, Koli shouted, “Not without me!”

A grin spread across Arcas’s face. “Consider us a team. We can divert any search party looking for the children, too.”

“Thank you.” Filip took Alanka’s hand, looking stunned. “That makes four, five including Kiril.”

“Six.” Lycas approached them. “As soon as I get them safely to Velekos, I’ll come back and meet you in Surnos.”

“What about your daughter?” Alanka asked.

“I want to be with her.” Lycas fingered the red lining of his uniform. “But I want even more to protect her future, make sure she has a free land to grow up in.”

“I’ll watch over her as best as I can,” Rhia said, “as well as Mali will let me.”

Someone touched Alanka’s hand. She turned to see Marek, then reached to hug him hard. Her throat tightened almost too much to speak.

“I just got you back,” she whispered. When she let go of him, she stroked his cheek. “You’ll be a Wolf again someday.”

He nodded, though the sadness in his eyes said he didn’t believe her. “Bring them all home, Alanka. Bring Kalindos back to life.”

He was free, at least on the outside.

His arms ached from lugging restless children. Their group had abandoned the wagons two weeks ago so they could leave the road and avoid detection. Their escape route had led through mosquito-filled woods, far to the west of Ilion coastal settlements.

Behind him came the light tread of Adrek’s footsteps. Marek unslung the bow and arrows from his back. The Cougar came to stand beside him at the top of the hill.

“Sorry we have to share.” Adrek looped the quiver’s strap over his shoulder and adjusted it for his thinner frame. “Wood around here’s too brittle for bow making.”

“It’s good to have it again, even part of the time. I’m glad Alanka brought it.”

“Guess she always knew they’d find you.”

Marek shrugged. “Or she wanted a spare.”

They stood listening to the chirps of the summer’s first cicadas, never taking their eyes off Ilios. They hadn’t shared stories of their enslavement, but when they’d washed in the river, Marek had glimpsed the scars on Adrek’s arms and back.

“My watch now,” Adrek said. “Go sleep. If you can.”

Marek gave Ilios one last, long stare. Tomorrow when they continued north, he wouldn’t look back.

As he approached his family’s tent, Nelma came out with Nilik in her arms.

“Feeding time.” She glanced back at the tent. “Rhia asked me to keep him for an hour or so afterward.”

His stomach fluttered at the implication. “No, you’re too exhausted.”

“It’s no trouble. He usually falls asleep in the middle of eating, anyway. This way, I won’t have to wake him.” She reached to pat Marek’s arm, then seemed to think better of it. “I’ll see you at daybreak.” She headed for the tent she shared with Adrek.

Marek wiped his clammy palms on his trousers.

“Are you coming to bed?” a soft voice asked from within.

He swallowed hard and entered the tent. Rhia lay on her back, her hair spread loose and soft on the folded blanket they used as a pillow.

Marek sat next to her. “Everything’s quiet out there.”

“And in here, for once.” She smiled, briefly, as if testing the expression. “I’ve missed you, Marek.”

He lay on his side but didn’t touch her. “I was only gone a few hours.”

“You know what I mean.”

He did, and wanted to run.

Her hand crept forward, cautious as a stray dog, and touched his cheek. He steeled himself to keep from flinching.

“I won’t hurt you,” she whispered. The pain in her voice twisted his gut.

“Of course you won’t.” With every muscle in his face clenched, he leaned forward and kissed her. Her hand slid behind his head so that he couldn’t pull back without an effort.

Fighting the urge to draw away, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her body tight against him. She uttered a soft moan and slid her tongue between his lips.

His insides froze. He let go of Rhia and turned his face away. “I can’t. I still can’t.”

“I’m sorry.” She took his hand. “It’s too soon. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s not too soon.” He sank down on his back and pressed his other hand to his temple. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Rhia’s silence rang louder than any cry of protest. When she finally took a breath, she said, “Because of her. Because of what she did to you.”

“Feels like she still owns me. Like she’s clutching a piece of my soul.”

“Maybe she is.”

He looked at her, not daring to hope. “Ilions can be soul thieves, too?”

“It’s not about magic. It’s just power, something anyone can take.” She laid a soft hand on his shoulder. “Come with me, and let’s get it back.”

Rhia watched her brother Lycas strike his flint to light the small bundle of thanapras. He placed it in the clay pot she’d brought.

“Be careful this time,” he told her. “Tereus will kill me if anything happens to you.”

Marek turned to Rhia. “Is this dangerous?”

“Crow will watch over me,” she said. “Lie down.”

Rhia knelt on the blanket next to Marek and chanted—silently, so as not to wake the camp’s children. Her lips moved, and her throat strained, but no sound echoed outside of her own head. She knew Crow would hear it anyway.

Rhia finished the chant and lay on her back, her shoulder and hip touching Marek’s.

Lycas tapped a small chunk of wood, a near silent version of the ritual drum. Rhia’s breath grew deep and even as she stepped through the fog into the Gray Valley.

It was night. The sky stretched black, starless, but the rocks sparkled as though they lay dusted with snow under a full moon. Even the dead tree glowed white, its branches a lustrous marble.

Rhia waited, but no one appeared. For the first time, the Gray Valley felt like a place of fragile peace.

She turned left to search a part of the valley she’d never explored. No wind tossed her hair or rattled the tree branches. Though she walked softly, her footsteps thumped loud in the utter stillness.

A growl came from behind, then a metallic bang.

Rhia faced the dead tree. A golden-haired woman crouched in its hazy shade, her back to Rhia.

“Were you Basha Mylosa?”

The woman stood with dignity, as if receiving a guest. Her curls fell below her shoulders, glistening in the light of the invisible moon.

“I will always be Basha Kantera Mylosa.”

At her feet sat a blanket-draped cage. Something inside it yipped and howled.

“Hush!” Basha slammed her heel against the cage.

The heat of wrath crawled over Rhia’s scalp. She drew a deep, ragged breath and tried to steady her voice. “The Other Side is beautiful and peaceful, much better than this place. But you can’t go unless you give him up.”

“How do you know what it’s like?”

“I’ve been there.”

“And you came back?” Basha started forward, eyes gleaming. “I want to come back, too.”

“You can’t.”

“Bring me back and you can have him.”

“I wouldn’t even if I could.” Rhia forced her feet to stay put. “Give him to me.”

Basha stopped and laughed, tilting back her head. The mirthful titter descended into a threatening chuckle. “No one gives me orders, especially not my murderer’s little bitch.”

“I know how you got that.” Rhia pointed at the fox’s cage with a trembling finger. “I know what you did to him.”

“But you don’t know what he did to me.” Basha came closer, swaying her hips and swishing her long white skirt. “How he made me scream his name night after night.”

“Stop it.”

“How he showed me new worlds of brutal pleasure I didn’t know existed.”

“Shut up.” Rhia’s voice cracked.

“He loved it!” Basha’s eyes gleamed like a young girl speaking of her first sweetheart. “And he loved me.” She stood close to Rhia and examined her without lowering her own chin. “I set free the beast in him, the one he could never show a delicate creature like you.” She plucked at Rhia’s sleeve.

“Enough.” Rhia shoved Basha’s hand away, then realized it was the first time she’d touched one of the dead souls. She shuddered. “Give him to me,” she said, too forcefully, “or I will end you.”

“Sorry, that won’t work.” Basha flicked the fingers Rhia had touched as though they had filth stuck to them. “I’m already dead.”

“Not as dead as you could be.” Rhia sensed Crow nearby, waiting for her decision.

Basha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re as poor a liar as you are a lover. According to Marek, at least.”

Rage burned Rhia’s gut, begging her to do something she’d regret until the day she crossed the Gray Valley herself.

“I think I’ll stay.” Basha returned to the cage and sat on it. She crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands. “I’ll watch your dog of a husband wither in your embrace. I’ll watch your marriage become an empty, passionless shell. And I’ll watch your only child slaughtered at the hands of—”

“Stop!” Rhia lifted her hand to signal Crow.

Wings rushed forth, but when she looked up, it wasn’t the night-black of Crow’s feathers that filled the sky.

Raven flew to her.

Rhia dropped to her knees and covered her face. Icy shame coursed through her at what she had nearly done.

“Rhia, look at me,” said a voice that flowed like water. “There is something you should know.”

She dropped her arms to regard the every-color bird.

“This woman stole Marek’s soul part because someone else has a piece of hers.” Raven’s head dipped. “You may end her if you wish. Or help her.”

Rhia looked at Basha, who stared slack jawed at the Spirit of Spirits. The fox in the cage had fallen silent behind the drape.

“Help her how?”

“Find her missing piece and bring it to her.”

Rhia looked around the valley. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

“He hides. He cannot speak.”

Rhia gazed at the cage. It would be so easy to annihilate Basha.

Easy the first moment. Then would come the other moments, lined up in a row until her own death, living with what she could never undo.

She turned her back on the tree.

“Be warned,” Raven said, “the place you go is farther and harder than any other. You risk your own life in this venture.”

Rhia stopped. Perhaps she could come back another time, when she was stronger. Marek could wait.

No.
She’d seen the dead look in his eyes. She had to get her husband back before Basha holed up in a far-flung place in the Gray Valley where Rhia could never find her.

Rhia took a step forward, then another. The rocks all looked the same in this direction, too.

Then the valley curved to the left, taking her around a bend, out of sight of the barren tree.

Her skin jumped. A dark void lay ahead of her, carved from the pale rock like a wound. A place to hide.

She walked to its entrance and extended her hand within. It disappeared. No light penetrated the cave even an inch. She pulled her hand back, fingertips tingling with a reborn fear of the dark, the fear that Marek had once helped her conquer.

She held her breath and lifted a foot to step inside.

“Rhia, wait,” came an all too familiar voice.

Her jaw clenched. Skaris was the last person she needed to see right now.

“I have something you need,” he said.

“Leave me—” She cut herself off. His voice had lost its mocking lilt.

She turned to him, hoping it wasn’t another trick.

Skaris stood behind her holding the crow. It no longer dangled from his hand, but sat upright and alert on his wrist.

The Bear lifted his arm, and the crow took off. Its strong, lustrous wings thumped the air as it flew to her. It alighted on her shoulder, and though it had no weight, its presence seeped into her, calming her nerves like a warm bath.

“I’m sorry,” Skaris said. “For everything. Thank you for saving Lidia.”

She peered past him. “Where are Zilus and the others?”

“Moved on. Guess they felt like they were leaving the world in good enough hands. I was waiting to thank you for saving Lidia, and to give that back to you in person.” He gestured to the crow. “Figured it was the least I could do.”

“Thank you,” she said, two words she never imagined giving the Bear.

They watched as the Crow Spirit swooped from the sky. Skaris suddenly turned to her, brown eyes shadowed by the night.

“Don’t wait,” he said. “Hurry.”

She ducked into the cave before her fear could rise again.

Blackness surrounded her in every direction, even behind. She spun in a circle, searching for light, and lost her bearings. Panic squeezed her throat.

The crow grabbed a lock of her hair and pulled hard to the left. She turned in that direction. The crow let go, and Rhia began to walk.

Forward, forward, she chanted in her mind. Her pace quickened. The cave narrowed and its ceiling lowered, until she was crawling on all fours through a tunnel not much wider than herself. At least now she wouldn’t overlook the soul thief, as there was no room for him to run past her.

The terrain sloped down steeply, requiring all her strength to keep from tumbling forward. She stopped to rest for a moment, stroking the soft feathers of the crow’s neck to reassure herself.

Rhia had no idea how long she’d been crawling; Marek must be worried by now. Lycas’s faint tapping on the block of wood was a tenuous tether to the world she’d left behind. He would have to stop one day, and she’d be lost in here forever. The cave would swallow her present, her future and eventually her past.

Then she heard it, below her brother’s rhythm. Liquid, sloshing. The sound reminded her of a boot popping out of thick, wet mud.