Eyes of Crow (11 page)

“I promise,” she said. “I promise to find within myself the joy and strength and love of life you give me, even—” her voice halted a moment, then regained its power “—even in the face of despair.”

He stared at her with eyes that held the pride of a father. His wings opened to embrace Rhia, pulling her close to His dark bosom.

His body was warm and pulsed with something stronger than a mere heartbeat. She buried her hands in the soft feathers.

Crow let out a low, throaty call, and Rhia was filled with a sensation of power and peace, as if a bright light had entered each drop of her blood and was transported through her body by her own breath.

Her vision stretched out over the future years of her life, imparting not images but feelings.

She would enter death and return again. She would carry souls to the Other Side and leave them to dwell with the Spirits until the end of time. She would sit in judgment in matters of right and wrong, and people would hail her wisdom.

She would be of use.

The light darkened then, but lost none of its power. Joining the peace within her was a remorse so ravenous it threatened to swallow all memory, all sensation. She would look back in sorrow and anger and let this bitterness corrode those she loved. No one would escape its touch.

Rhia’s body tensed as a dark thrill passed through it. She would make someone pay for her pain. Her power could drag others into her despair, and she would never be alone in her grief.

“You will not relent forever.” Crow’s voice came from within her own head. “I give you this, to be certain.”

All at once Rhia was enveloped in a warm, protective love that seeped into her pores and filled every void inside her, including those she didn’t know she had. She wept, even as each tear dried the moment it reached her cheek.

“Don’t leave me,” she said.

“I’ll always be within you,” Crow replied. “I’ll perch on the edge of your mind, and we shall speak in your dreams and visions. But we shall never be together like this again until the end of your life.”

She gulped back a plea to let her die this moment.

“You have all you need,” Crow whispered. “Go now, and give yourself to the world in my name.”

She tried to speak but failed and could only give a weak nod against his soft feathers.

“Goodbye, Rhia.”

“No!”

But Crow was gone. So was the pool, the two trees and all the creatures that had dwelled there. The glade itself had turned into nothing more than a modest clearing. Around her the forest was cold again, the wind bitter.

She hurried to dress, and for a moment she doubted the entire incident.

“I’ll always be within you.” Crow’s voice came from somewhere other than mere memory.

She knew then, it had been real, the most real thing ever likely to happen in her life.

“I know,” she replied, and collapsed.

When Rhia awoke, she wasn’t sure if dusk or dawn appeared through the slits of her eyelids. The sky spread a bruise-colored purple above the trees. She lay there long enough to discern a slight darkening.

She sat up quickly. Wood for a fire. Without it, she would freeze tonight or at least be miserable.

As she struggled to her feet, a void gnawed at her stomach for the first time since the initial day of her Bestowing. She was truly back in the physical world, with all its inconvenient demands.

With a start she remembered the dried venison at the bottom of her pack. Her fingers, numb from the cold, fumbled with the tie for a maddening interval before loosening the knot. She shoved aside the clothes and blankets until her hands found the small pack of food.

It wasn’t much, but it would ease the cravings until Coranna’s escort arrived. Besides, it was all she had. Perhaps in the morning she could forage for some edible roots, if any could be found this time of year.

A low whine came from her left. She leaped up and away from the sound, one foot stumbling over the other.

A wolf stood at the edge of the clearing.

Rhia froze like a rabbit. She had endured the Bestowing only to be torn apart by the thing she feared most.

The wolf took a step toward her, and Rhia suddenly doubted her dread. The creature’s fur was matted and pale with age. Its eyes were sunken, and its skin hung loose on a skeletal frame. Instead of meeting her gaze in a challenge, it glanced at her hands, then looked away.

Rhia’s throat tightened as she recalled the last years of her dog Boreas. He had tottered about on fragile limbs, trying to retain his pride as he begged for food the other hounds denied him.

The wolf pack must have rejected this one for his weakness,
she thought.
He looks so sad and lonely.

And hungry.
Rhia took a slow step backward and glanced around for a branch to use as a weapon. If the wolf tried to attack her in its condition, she could probably fight it off enough to discourage it.

Rather than advance, the wolf sank to its stomach and whined. It glanced sideways at her hands again. Only then did Rhia remember what she held.

The food that would break her fast. The food she craved, the food her body needed to keep itself warm.

“Oh, no,” she whispered sharply. “I can’t give you this. I won’t. It’s mine.”

The wolf inched toward her on its belly, then laid its head on outstretched paws as if to await her decision in a more comfortable pose.

“You don’t understand.” Rhia clutched the venison strips. “I haven’t eaten in days. I need this. I can’t hunt like you.”

But the wolf appeared no more capable of capturing and killing prey than she was herself. Still, beneath the patchy fur lay a well-muscled body, however gaunt. If she fed the wolf, it might regain enough strength to fend for itself.

“I don’t know when they’ll come for me,” she told it. “It could be days before I eat again. This is all I have.”

The wolf’s white ears and eyebrows twitched with the rise and fall of her voice, but the creature otherwise remained motionless. It let out a deep, clear sigh.

Rhia took one step forward, then another—only to examine the wolf more closely, she told herself. As she approached, its gaze grew apprehensive, until it sat up and retreated several unsteady steps into the forest. It turned and looked at her again, this time at her face. Their eyes met.

Rhia forgot her arguments for keeping the food. She forgot the hunger that chewed at her stomach and sapped strength from her limbs. She forgot the fear that no one would come for days, or perhaps at all, and that she would be lost in the forest until she starved. She forgot everything but the need in the wolf’s eyes. She tossed the food on the ground.

The wolf leaped so fast it made Rhia jump, and she cut short a squeak. It gulped the first three strips of deer meat, grabbed the rest and darted off into the forest. Within moments it was gone.

She looked around with dread. It was dark. Very dark. A thick cover of clouds hid what should have been a full moon. Now she would never find enough firewood to last the night.

Rhia groped around beneath the trees until she located a few twigs and branches. She started a small fire that provided more light than warmth, but at least it would help her find a safe resting place. As she searched, she took small sips of water from the skin Galen had left her.

A cluster of short spruces stood about twenty paces from the fire. Their lowest branches created a sort of roof a few feet from the ground. It was not as secure a shelter as the boulder where she had spent the last few days, but she’d never find her way back there. Besides, Crow had instructed her to wait for Coranna’s envoy. She had to trust the Spirit even with her life. Especially with her life.

Rhia laid one of her wool blankets on the soft bed of needles, then crawled under the branches and wrapped the other blanket tight around her, covering her head. She breathed through the fabric of her mittens to warm her hands.

The two sleepless nights of her Bestowing weighed upon her body; not even fear could keep her awake. Shivering, she watched the pitiful fire diminish into a pile of embers, until all went dark.

Eyes were upon her.

Something moved through the forest, closer and closer to where Rhia lay.

Her muscles felt frozen. She listened hard in the dark for any sound that would tell her the direction of the—whatever it was. It seemed to lurk behind, then far in front of her. She sat up and stared into the clearing, which was now and then soaked in moonlight as the clouds dissipated and traveled across the sky.

Needles on the clearing’s floor seemed to compress on their own, though nothing had disturbed them.

It moved toward her. Her breath—surely the last of its kind—caught in her throat.

“Who—?”

The branches behind her shifted. Something furry seized her, pinning her arms. A hand covered her mouth and a voice growled,

“Please don’t scream.”

“Easy, little Crow,” a teasing voice said. “You’ve been waiting for me.”

She stopped struggling.
“Mmmph mhphmm?”

“Whatever you said, yes. I come from Coranna. My name is Marek.” The man let her go.

Rhia twisted to face—nothing. Only the cold wind surrounded her. She flailed and hit something soft.

“Ow,” it said.

“Who are you?”

“I told you, I’m Marek. Coranna sent me.” The voice was soft and smooth. “I hope you’re Rhia.”

Without answering him, she said, “Where are you?”

“I’m as right here as you are.” He touched her arm, and she flinched. “Sorry. I’m invisible.”

“I can see that. Or rather, not see it. Can you stop? Can you show yourself?”

“I don’t have a good grasp on my Wolf powers yet.”

Rhia recoiled. “Wolf?”

“Stealth at night. A nice trick, except I can’t control it. You are Rhia, right?”

She stared at the place where his voice came from. “Why should I trust you?”

“If you’re Rhia, you’d probably like some of this.”

A bag dropped out of nowhere into her lap. She opened it cautiously and pulled out—
glorious Spirits, food!

The rabbit meat smelled fresh and warm, as if it had been cooked that night. A pair of red apples tumbled out of the bag.

She moaned and shoved the meat toward her mouth. Marek grabbed her wrist.

“Slowly,” he said, “or you’ll get sick.”

She remembered her manners. “Thank you. For the food. For meeting me here.”

“You’re welcome. Now eat.”

She did, marveling at the tenderness of the meat. Whoever had prepared it bore an uncommon talent. The fruit was crisp and juicy, cooling her parched throat.

After the first life-giving bites, she glanced around. “Where are you now?”

“Where I was before,” he said with a chuckle.

“You really can’t be seen at night, even if you try?”

“Sometimes, if I concentrate hard, I can produce a shimmer. Wait a moment.” He paused. “Is that better?”

“You mean, can I see you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Damn.” He let out a gust of air. “I’ve been trying.”

“I believe you.” She looked at the remnants of her meal and felt a pang of shame. “Would you like some of this?”

“I already ate, but thank you.”

“You’re wel—”

A cold shiver ran down Rhia’s spine. Had they already met? “You said you were Wolf, right?”

“Right.”

“Not
a
wolf.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I saw a wolf earlier. It was old and hungry. Alone.”

“What did you do?”

Rhia said nothing, feeling foolish to have thought he could turn into a wolf. Shapeshifting was a third-phase power for some Animals—Foxes, for instance—and Marek’s voice sounded too young to be a grandfather. Besides, she’d never met a Wolf, for there were none in Asermos, and she wasn’t sure if they could shapeshift at all.

“You gave it the rest of your food, didn’t you?” he said. “That’s why you were so hungry.”

She shrugged. “I knew you were coming.”

“But you didn’t know when,” he said. “The wolf may have been a test of your compassion, sent by the Spirits. It’ll return the favor someday, you’ll see.”

Marek’s voice felt like a warm breath against Rhia’s neck, even though he was a few feet away. She shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked her. “You can have my coat. I don’t need it.”

“I’ve got a coat.”

“I noticed.” His voice took on a disapproving note. “Wolf skin.”

Her face grew warm. “Sorry.”

“I’m joking. I’ve got one, too. Feel.”

A furry arm brushed her cheek, and she jerked back.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

“I know.” After all, Crow had declared her escort to be “very good.” With Marek she felt safe, but not in the helpless way of a child with a parent. She felt safe and strong. “You startled me, that’s all.”

“I do that sometimes.”

“Why is your coat invisible, too?”

“If I touch most of something, it disappears, like me. But not if I only touch a bit. Watch that apple closely.” A shadow in the shape of a fingertip obscured part of the apple’s peel. “But if I hold it in my hand…”

The shadow enveloped the apple, whereupon it vanished. Rhia grabbed the air for the missing fruit.

“You are a hungry one, aren’t you?” he said. “Just like a Crow.” He took her hand and placed the smooth apple in her palm. When he pulled away, the fruit reappeared.

“Coranna’s the same way,” he said. “Never get between her and her next meal—the most valuable advice I can give you in your entire training.”

Rhia turned the apple over in her hands, marveling at its reappearance. “Are you Coranna’s son?”

“In a way,” Marek said. “When my parents died, about ten years ago, I went to live with her, helped with her duties. I was only ten, not ready to live on my own. We needed each other, so we made our own family.”

“That’s wonderful. And unusual.”

“Not in Kalindos. We don’t put so much stake in blood relations. Everyone takes care of everyone else. We have to, or we’d never survive.”

“I’m sorry about your parents. I lost my mother last summer.”

“I wondered who had died, seeing your short hair.”

Rhia twisted the ends of her curls self-consciously. They were only now reaching her shoulders. “Kalindons cut their hair in mourning, too?”

“We share a lot of the same customs. I think you’ll find we’re not so strange after all.”

She looked toward him with an odd sense of shyness. “You’re the first Kalindon I’ve met, and I can’t even see you. That’s a bit strange.”

“You can see me.”

“How?”

“Two choices—wait for daylight, when the sun will show me in all my nonexistent glory, or try this.” He took her hand and tugged off her mitten.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting you see me.”

He drew her hand, palm open, toward himself. Warm skin met hers, a cheek with a light coating of stubble, long enough to be soft instead of harsh. Her fingers curved under his chin. She stared hard at the shape they created as they traced his jaw.

“You’ll see me better if you close your eyes.”

Rhia hesitated, then followed his suggestion. He was right. The chin was strong but not pointed. She put her other hand under his jaw to steady his head while she explored the area around his eyes. His brows were thin with a slight arch, and what felt like a thick set of lashes grazed his skin. Her fingers continued down the bridge of his nose, which tilted up slightly at its tip. Then she stopped.

“Go on,” he whispered.

She was suddenly conscious of the closeness of their bodies, and feared to touch his mouth. Instead she pinched his nose shut.

“Hey!” Marek laughed and tried to pull away, but she kept hold until he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it to make her let go. “That hurt.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She heard him rub his nose with his other hand. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“Nothing yet. Are you going to let go of me now?”

“Not until you’re finished. For all you know, I’m bald with a harelip.”

“Then hold still.”

She reached forward gingerly, making sure to avoid poking him in the eyes. The first thing her hand contacted was his mouth.

Her mind ordered her fingers to move on, but they disobeyed, tracing the outline of his lips, which parted slightly at her touch. A reckless desire to slip her fingertips inside overcame her, to feel the warm moistness within. She thought she heard his breath quicken.

Without removing her right hand from his lips, she ran her left hand over his hair, then gasped.

It was short. Very short, the length barely two spans of her fingers.

“You’ve lost someone,” she whispered.

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Who?”

With a gentle but firm motion, he removed her hands from his head. “That’s enough. You must be tired.” When he let go of her, she felt cold and alone. A blanket was pulled from Marek’s pack. “Sleep on the inside,” he said, “next to the trunk. You’ll be warmer there, and safer.”

Rhia considered protesting that she didn’t need any coddling, but the rigor of the last few days had taken its toll. She longed to sleep soundly and let someone else take charge of worrying for one night.

She lay facing away from Marek and heard him settle and draw the blanket around himself.

“It’s a few days’ walk to Kalindos,” he said, “but tomorrow we’ll get as far as the river where we can catch some fish.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Her stomach, though nearly full, growled a hearty agreement. Marek chuckled.

She peeked over her shoulder. His blanket was gone, having absorbed his invisibility. She wanted to tug it off of him, slowly, to see when it would slip into sight again.

Instead she turned back to the tree and pulled her own blanket over her head, hoping that her breath would generate enough warmth in the enclosed space. Her teeth chattered now that the ground was soaking up her body’s heat. If the temperature dropped further, sleep could become dangerous.

“If you’re cold—” Marek started to say, but before he finished the sentence, Rhia had scooted over to press her back against his. The night was too cold to fret over improprieties. She held her hand before her face. Still visible. The gesture reminded her of something.

“When you first got here,” she said, “why did you grab me?”

“I thought it would scare you less than having a disembodied voice speak your name.”

“I just had my Bestowing. Disembodied voices have become a regular occurrence. But why tell me not to scream?”

“Oh. That was for me. I have sensitive ears.”

Rhia thought about his ears, how they had felt between her fingers, just before he had pulled away. She realized, with a mixture of wonder and shame, that she probably knew the contours of Marek’s face better than Arcas’s. Already her former lover was fading from her mind, which was what he claimed to want. Still, the white stone he had given her pressed her thigh through the trouser pocket where it lay, and she wondered if he slept alone tonight.

“You don’t like wolves, do you?” Marek said.

“I’d never met one up close until tonight. Person or animal.”

“Odd that Asermos has no Wolf people. Kalindos has plenty.”

Rhia tried to think of a good reason. “Wolves kill sheep.”

“How many sheep? In a year, for instance.”

“Last year there was one, a lamb.”

“And how many lambs froze to death during a blizzard or starved after their mothers abandoned them?”

Rhia didn’t reply, since the answer was far more than one.

“I would never hurt you.” Marek’s voice was mild now. “A real wolf would never hurt you, either.”

“I’ve heard stories. A baby was stolen—”

“I’ve heard that story, too. It was during a harsh winter. But you have to wonder why anyone would leave an infant alone near the forest unless they wanted it to be taken by wolves.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Like I said, it was a harsh winter.”

“It can’t be true.”

“Truer than a wolf sneaking into a house to steal a human child. Trust me, wolves fear you more than you fear them.”

Chastened, she returned to teasing. “Do you fear me?”

Marek’s laughter rang through the forest. After it died to a low rumble, he said, “Probably someday.”