Eyes of Crow (10 page)

Arcas…was this what he meant when he thought the Bestowing would kill him? Rhia was dying, she was sure, but not a death of the body, like her mother. This was worse. She dreaded the thing that was on the other side of this nothingness, the thing she would become.

The presence in the woods, a living void, had come at sunset, before she even built a fire. It mattered little, for she would not be able to attend the fire, and whatever devoured her kept her…not exactly warm, but not cold.

Not heavy, not light. Not happy or sad, parched or soaked, hungry or sated.

Not anything at all.

She was turning into nothing.

The night had swallowed her whole.

The sky above Rhia was a deep periwinkle, but she didn’t see it, only saw through it. She no longer even saw her eyelids when she blinked, if she blinked. She was too busy watching the end of the world.

In a vast vista before her, a river of fire ran next to a river of clouds. They flowed forth toward a distant mountain range, cutting two gouges into the earth, bearing close to each other but neither meeting nor mingling until they converged at the foot of the mountains. At this place, every element fused into one, in the end as at the beginning.

The world was dying and being born over and over before her eyes. She felt as though she could watch forever, that she was seeing the world’s Forever inside her own Forever, a Forever doomed to be interrupted soon.

The sky shone a bright blue. Her awareness now included the forest around her, though it felt less real than the visions that had filled her sight every moment she could remember. Her life before the last two days felt like a myth, a dimly recalled bedtime story.

we

are

came a whisper. Something swished in the corner of her eye—a feather, or perhaps a furry tail.

We

Are

it came again, louder. The movement repeated itself, so quickly that Rhia could not even describe the color of the object that passed through her vision.

WE

ARE

She sat up, the ground solid and cold beneath her. “You are?”

NO

WE

ARE

The voices came from everywhere at once, pressing on her head. She stood and turned in a circle.

WE

ARE

Rhia resisted the urge to cover her ears. In the presence of these voices, seeing nothing was almost worse than seeing monsters.

Then the chorus melted together to make one clear voice.

WE

ARE

Out of the empty space between two pine trees, from the air itself, a tiny brown rabbit appeared—a baby, ears round and legs stubby. Rhia almost smiled at the little creature, until she noticed its feet were not touching the forest floor. No dry leaves rustled at its passing as it moved toward her.

The baby rabbit was about ten paces away when it sat back, fluttered its forelegs and turned into a hawk. The hawk flapped its wings and lifted into a nearby branch. Its wings made no noise, and the branch did not dip and bend under its weight. It grew in length, head and tail fading to white, then uttered the scream of an eagle. The eagle stretched its wings forward as if to grasp the branch it sat upon, and morphed into a squirrel, which chattered and shook its fluffy tail at Rhia.

On and on it went, from squirrel to dove to bobcat to bear to bee and trout, on and on as the day progressed, one blurring into another, some as unfamiliar as the giraffe, until she no longer remembered
any
of the animals, much less all of them.

Finally, as the shadows lengthened, there coalesced before her a furry, feathered, scaly creature nearly half the height of the trees. It consisted of every animal she had ever seen, and many she didn’t recognize. Horns, paws, tails, ears poked out in all directions. It hovered like a soap bubble over the forest floor.

Her jaw slackened at the sight. It was beautiful rather than grotesque, this melding of all life. It was like viewing the whole world in one place.

WE ARE, it uttered, and she knew it was right. All one. To separate and divide was to corrupt this truth. She ached with awe at the simplicity and complexity of life, and with regret at the mistakes she had made during her short existence.

The every-animal body swelled and twisted in the fading sunlight. As the last rays slipped over the hill, the creature began to tremble, faintly at first around the edges, then violently from within, as if a great force were trying to hatch out of it.

The sun set, and the body burst. Out of the center flew a giant raven, luminous, iridescent—each feather containing every color as it had at the moment of the world’s birth.

Rhia fell to her knees, then her stomach. She had never expected to be in the presence of Raven. The twiga, the dragon, the void-creature, the every-animal—none had provoked the terror she felt now, faced with the Creator of the World, the Bringer of Light, the Spirit Above All Others. She had dared look upon Her for a moment that stretched to an eternity. What punishment could pay for her brashness?

Raven flew overhead, the rush of Her enormous wings creating a melody that pierced Rhia’s heart. The Spirit circled around to alight in front of the trembling Rhia.

“Rise and behold.”

Raven’s voice belonged to another world. It was the sound of the stars flickering in the sky, the pulse of the sun’s rays, the wind that shifted the sands of the moon.

Rhia rose on unsteady legs and gaped at Raven. Looking at Her, she felt alive, calm. Complete.

“You are not complete,” Raven said. “Not yet.”

It was time, then.

“Are you—are you my—”

“I am no one’s. My duty, my love, is to all who walk this earth. I appear at every Bestowing to introduce each person to their Spirit.”

Rhia dropped her gaze, ashamed at her presumption.

“You are ready.” Raven folded Her wings to the side. She darkened until all Her feathers turned a deep violet-black. Her beak became pointier and the ruff under Her neck smoothed. Her body shrank until She was no taller than Rhia.

Until it was not Her at all anymore.

It was Him.

Crow.

“Good evening,” He said with a gallant half-bow. His voice sounded more affable and human than the other Spirits.

Rhia bowed in response. “Good evening.”

“You are not afraid.”

It was true. Her uncertainty, her hesitancy, her fear, had all dropped away. Whatever she did or said in the presence of this Spirit, He would accept her.

“I’ve lived with you for many years,” she said. “To see you at last is almost a comfort.”

Crow seemed to smile, if a beak could conjure such an expression. “Follow me. Bring your belongings. We won’t return.”

They moved out of the clearing into darker forest, and though Rhia was conscious of walking, her feet, like those of the Spirit, no longer rustled the fallen leaves.

“A comfort, you said.” Crow chuckled. “You’d be surprised, or perhaps not, how seldom I hear those words. People are rarely happy to see my face.”

“That’s why you need me, isn’t it? So that they’re not afraid of you?”

“Yes, to make a person’s crossing a time of peace. I do not relish yanking someone out of their life, struggling like a fish in a bear’s paw.”

Like my mother.

“Yes, like your mother,” Crow said. “You have acknowledged your part in the nature of her death and learned from it. But let guilt burden you no more, or it will stunt your powers.”

“But why did—” Rhia cut herself off, anticipating Crow’s interruption, which never came.

After a few moments, Crow asked patiently, “Yes?”

“Why did you tell me she would live another day?”

He sighed. “I would never lie to you, Rhia. Because we had not given ourselves to each other yet, our communication was unclear. It was like trying to speak to you underwater. You only caught part of the truth.”

“And filled in the rest with what I wanted to believe.”

“Yes.”

“But once I’d made a pronouncement, couldn’t you have waited?”

“Changed the speed of my flight to prove you correct?”

It did sound audacious, now that she thought about it. “I suppose death keeps you busy.”

“Even if your mother had been the only person in the world to die that night, I would not have changed the time I took her.” He clicked His tongue against the roof of His beak. “The Spirits do what they will.”

“Then what’s the use of prayer?”

“If you define ‘prayer’ as trying to change a Spirit’s mind, then it’s not much use at all. Sorry. But prayers focus your intentions and define what’s important, which may change your own actions. Besides, it pleases us to hear from humans.”

“Why?”

“Because we love you.”

Rhia stopped, dumbstruck. Crow turned to face her.

“Is that such a surprise?” He said.

“No. I always felt it.” She took a step toward him. The trembling began again, this time only on the inside. “Especially your love for me.”

“Yet you resisted it.” His midnight-blue eyes glittered in the moonlight.

“I did.”

“Understandable.” Crow shifted his wings. “I’m not popular among most humans. Then again, you’re not ‘most humans.’ To be honest, your rejection stung a bit.”

Rhia’s face crumpled. “Please forgive me,” she whispered.

“You are forgiven. If that was the last time.”

“It was.”

His gaze was both wise and sad. “Perhaps. Let us continue.”

They journeyed onward. The trees grew closer together until their canopy nearly blocked the light of the rising full moon. Judging by the moon’s position, Rhia knew they were in the real world, yet Crow’s presence gave the forest an otherworldly feel. As the surroundings grew more obscure, she edged closer to the Spirit, her former trepidation returning.

“Where are we going?” she asked, expecting the kind of impatient, you’ll-see-when-we-get-there answer she had come to expect from humans and Spirits alike.

“To the place of your Bestowing.” He saw Rhia look back over her shoulder. “You will not be lost. It is a place well-known to all who have been Bestowed. The location is the same, though it appears different for each person at the sacred moment. When we are finished, you will wait nearby until someone comes to take you to your new home.”

“How long will I have to wait?”

“In human terms, I don’t know. Spirits measure time differently.”

“How far from Kalindos are we?”

“In human terms, I don’t know. Spirits measure space differently.”

“Who will find me?”

“In human terms—” Crow winked at her “—someone good.”

Rhia’s curiosity roused, and she felt buoyed by Crow’s jesting. “Someone good only in human terms?”

“Good in any terms one can imagine.”

She was about to ask Crow more about her future escort, but was silenced by the sudden view.

The forest parted to reveal an open glade, bathed in light too bright to be explained even by the full moon. As they drew closer, she saw the source of the light: In the center of the glade lay a pale blue luminescent pool. Faint trails of steam rose from the water, which was surrounded by long reeds that looked like dark glass. The reeds swayed and chimed against each other, creating a sound so soothing that she wanted to sink into the pool and envelop herself in the ethereal music.

Crow paused on the outskirts of the glade and faced Rhia so she could see both of His eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He said.

She began to answer a hasty “yes,” then considered her response. The Spirit had pursued her throughout life, sparing her as a child so that she could serve Him one day and by doing so, serve her people in one of its most dreadful and honorable duties. When she resisted, He had waited until she could no longer ignore the call.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I trust you.”

“Then let us enter.”

They stepped into the glade.

The wind died, as if the glade were sealed from the forest’s bitter weather. She had not noticed until that moment how cold she had felt for the past few days. She removed her coat and looked for a spot to put such a profane item in this sacred place.

“Here.” Crow’s beak pointed to the grass, which was as green and soft as the rest of the glade, unlike the rough brown vegetation outside. “You can put it all here.”

“All?”

“Your clothes.”

“Why?”

“Before the Bestowing, you must cleanse yourself.”

She turned to the pool and let out a sigh of anticipation. How soft and warm the water would feel against her skin. She began to lift the heavy blouse over her head, then hesitated.

Rhia turned to Crow, who watched her without expression. “Er…”

“First of all,” Crow said, “I’m a Spirit. I am everywhere, and I see people in every indignity. Death is rarely comely. Second, I’m a bird. The human body neither allures nor disgusts me. Third…” He drew himself up to full height and fluffed out His feathers. “I’m naked, too.”

Rhia suppressed a grin, then removed the rest of her clothes, hiding her reluctance. Regardless of His Spirit-ness, bird-ness and nakedness (under his feathers, she would add), Crow spoke with a man’s voice, which made her feel awkward.

She dropped her undergarments on the pile without a glance at the Spirit’s face, then stepped quickly into the pool.

The water greeted her skin with a shock of pleasure so intense it held her in place for several moments. She waded farther into the pool until the water reached her hips, then sat down to let it cover her body.

It was warm, so warm, and caressed her with millions of tiny bubbles that seemed alive, scrubbing her clean without the aid of soap or brush. She bent her head back to soak her hair, and the water crept over her face and scalp with what felt like a thousand gentle fingers, like the way her mother used to wash her hair.

The surrounding reeds provided a screen that made her feel as if she were in her own world. They swayed with a tinkling sound, singing sweetly and slightly off-rhythm, like a chorus of little girls. A heady, unfamiliar scent drifted from the reeds’ bowing heads, smoothing the last wrinkle of anxiety from Rhia’s consciousness.

She submerged her head, eyes open, to search for the source of the blue light. The water murmured its own language against her ears as she looked to either side. Not only did the light appear to come from every direction, but neither it nor the pool itself had a discernible beginning or end. Perhaps she could swim underwater for miles and never reach the edge.

She surfaced and cupped the liquid in her hands, where it continued to glow. What was this place?
Where
was it? On the edge of the Spirit World for certain, created to cleanse more than bodies. She let go of the need to understand and allowed it to nourish her from the outside in.

After several minutes, when the water began to cool and feel like mere water, she knew it was time to leave the pool. Reluctantly she squeezed the drops from her hair and stepped back to the bank.

Crow waited for her in silence. For a moment she resented the ostensibly male presence in a place so female. But His gaze was as passionless as one would expect from a bird looking upon a human body.

“We shall begin,” Crow said.

“May I dress first?”

“If you must. But if you are to learn the deepest secrets about yourself and your future, it is best to have nothing to hide behind. Besides, summer is a long way off. How long before you have another chance to be naked?”

She considered it, then turned away from the pile of clothes, resisting the instinct to check for lecherous gazes in the forest around them.

She stood beside him. “I’m ready.”

Crow closed His eyes.

On the other side of the pool an even brighter light shone from above. Growing from the lush green grass were two trees, roughly twice Rhia’s height.

The branches of the tree on the left were draped with leaves, which reflected the light with a lustrous green hue. Flowers and fruit of every size and color dotted the tips of even the tiniest twigs. Birds chased each other from branch to branch, chirping and twittering. Butterflies alighted on the flowers to drink the nectar within.

The tree on the right resembled its twin in size alone. Its twisted black branches bore no leaves, fruit, or flowers. They clattered in a wind she couldn’t feel, scraping against each other like bones. Scars gouged its trunk in long, irregular gashes that oozed a crusty white sap. No creatures played or fed within this tree. In fact, it seemed as though it would extinguish any life that dared approach it.

Rhia took a step toward this second tree. A sharp sigh from Crow made her stop.

“It is as I feared,” He said.

She turned to Him. “What does it mean?”

His beak pointed to the left. “The healthy tree is your wisdom, your strength and resilience, but most importantly your love of life. I give these gifts to you.”

She looked at the barren tree again, compelled to touch it, even climb it. “What about the other?”

“That tree is what you will become if you allow death to take over your spirit. If you surrender to the illusion that death makes life bitter instead of sweet.”

Rhia frowned. It would be hard to resist such a notion when surrounded by death, especially if a war came to take her loved ones.

Crow continued, “I promise that joy will always dwell inside you. You must promise me to always find it even when everything has failed.”

“Failed?”

“All things fail. Everything dies, but all is reborn as well. Never forget that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

Crow’s head bowed. “Yours is a difficult and treacherous path. Yet few paths are easy in the coming times.”

Rhia turned back to the barren tree. “Can nothing be done to help it, to make it bear fruit again?”

“Its fruit would taste as bitter as its bark.”

“Can it be cut down?”

“No more than evil can be driven from the earth once and for all.” Crow spoke over her shoulder. “Know that tree, accept it, even pity it if you must, but ultimately choose the other if you and your people are to be saved.”

“My people? Is Asermos in danger?”

“Your people include more than the Asermons.”

“But are they in danger?”

“There are those from a distance who think the turning of the earth means leaving behind the ways of the Spirits. They would force everyone to believe as they do—believe or die.”

Rhia should have been filled with dread, as she had whenever stirrings of war rustled within Asermos over the past years. Yet inside all she felt was a hard, cold resolve.

“I won’t allow it,” she said.

Crow examined her. “You may find the price for this power too high.”

“I will pay it.”

He faced her fully. “Then you must make that promise I asked of you.”

Rhia scoured her memory until she found the most important thing He had said since they arrived.