Eyes of Crow (21 page)

She studied his posture to discern if his dejection were genuine. Had the Asermons treated him the way he claimed? Would they do the same to Marek? She thought of Mali and Torynna’s mocking words at the riverside.

Until she made up her mind about Razvin, it would be best to show sympathy. Besides, making enemies on the Kalindon Council would not be the wisest tactic.

“On behalf of my people,” she said, “I want to apologize.”

Razvin looked up at her with astonishment, his face guileless for the first time since they had met.

Someone tugged Rhia’s arm.

“Why do you waste time talking to my father,” Alanka said, “when you could be dancing?”

Razvin’s composure returned in an instant. He gave Rhia a suave grin. “Go on, you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, and you certainly won’t with a tired old man like me.”

“Father, stop fishing for compliments.”

Rhia let Alanka drag her toward the bonfire. The musicians were limbering up to play a faster tempo.

“Do you know how to dance?” Alanka asked Rhia.

“Of course. We have parties in Asermos, too.” She looked up into the trees, which held men and women in various combinations, striking poses of flirtation and acts far beyond. “But not like this.”

“I thought so. Oh!” Alanka twisted to face Rhia, her back to the bonfire. “See the man with the long blond hair? The one in the green shirt? That’s Morran, the Bobcat I told you about.” She shook her head. “Better off without him. He drinks too much.” She pointed her chin to the left. “Endrus the Cougar, with the brown hair. He drinks too much, too.”

“What about Marek?”

“He has reason to drink.” She shrugged. “But it’s never made him miss a hunt, or even a single shot, which is more than I can say for Morran.”

Rhia held up her mug. “How can anyone drink this?”

“They didn’t sweeten yours enough, did they? Let’s get some more honey.”

The fiddler shot into a spirited tune, joined in a few moments by a man on a wooden flute and another strumming a stringed instrument. Young people bounced into the circle as if on cue and began to dance—in small groups, couples, or alone. The elders stood on the outskirts and clapped a rollicking rhythm.

Buoyed by the music, the food, the drink and her brush with death, Rhia put down her mug and joined the dance. For the first time in days, every inch of her felt warm.

Someone grabbed her waist. It was Morran, who laughed when he saw her surprise.

“I won’t keep you,” he said. “There’ll be a line soon.”

“A line to dance with you?”

He laughed even louder, his head thrown back and brown eyes squeezed shut. “No, with you.”

Morran was a good dancer, despite the quantity of meloxa he had ingested based on the lopsidedness of his smile. Perhaps the drink had lent him its fluidity.

Before the tune had even reached its peak, she was handed off to Endrus, who had thin arms and a wicked grin. He was shorter than Morran, which relieved her neck. The tempo increased, stealing their breath and precluding both the capacity and the need for intimate conversation. They spun faster around the circle, laughing as their steps grew sloppy trying to keep up with the rhythm, which grew in speed and complexity, as if the musicians’ only goal was to exhaust and confound the dancers.

Just when she knew her legs or lungs would burst from the strain, the song ended. Without pausing, the troupe slid into a slow, sensuous tune, adding a drummer thrumming on a taut skin.

Rhia stepped back from Endrus, wanting neither to offend nor join him.

“My turn,” a familiar voice over her shoulder said. With a glance of mock resentment, Endrus bowed and turned away. He latched on to the first willing girl within reach.

Marek slipped his arm around Rhia’s waist and drew her hips tight to his, a look of about-to-be-satiated hunger on his face. They moved as if the music had melded them into one body. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend they were the only two people in the forest again.

“How long do these parties last?” she asked him, wondering when they could slip away together.

“Until the food and drink runs out.” He twirled her slowly in his arms, reeling her out and back in again, so that the distance only accentuated their return to closeness. “Note that I say food
and
drink, not food
or
drink. As long as we have one or the other, we’ll stay up.”

“How long?”

“Three, maybe four days. Or five. We grab sleep every other day or so.” Without letting go of her hand, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “You may not have seen it yet, but life here is hard. Sometimes in the winter we have nothing to eat. Not just ‘nothing but nuts and berries.’ Nothing. It’s a rare winter when someone doesn’t starve.”

She gestured to the overflowing tables. “And yet you waste all this food at a feast. Why not save it for hard times?”

“A celebration’s never a waste. Besides, all times are hard. Even more reason to sweeten moments like these, right?”

She looked at the exuberant Kalindons. Perhaps there was no better way to praise and thank the Spirits for their gifts than to relish said gifts until one collapsed.

“Has anyone ever died at one of these parties?” she asked Marek.

“Only you would ask a question like that.” He chewed his lip as he thought. “Not that I remember. We believe that during these feasts, the Spirits protect us from ourselves.”

She chuckled. “They’d better.”

Her smile faded when she caught sight of an unfriendly face. The same young man who had waited on her so solicitously not long before was now scowling at her from the side of the dancing area. His thick, dark brows shaded glowering eyes.

She put her chin over Marek’s shoulder. “Who’s the husky man with the brown hair, the one by the table wishing me dead?”

Marek sighed. “That’s Skaris the Bear. We’ve been friends since we could walk.”

“I don’t understand. Why is he glaring at me?”

“Skaris is like a brother to me.” Marek looked at the Bear, then back at Rhia. “Because he is, in a way. His sister was my mate.”

Rhia dropped her defensiveness for a moment in favor of sympathy. “I see. But he was so nice to me a while ago. I think he was even flirting a little.”

“That was before he knew you’d taken his sister’s place.”

She stared at Marek, her shock causing her feet to miss a step, then another. He seemed to have even startled himself with his words.

“I have?” she said.

They stopped dancing.

“Rhia, I know we haven’t known each other long, but we’ve been through so much together, and I—” Marek’s face reddened in the bonfire light, and his words stumbled over one another. “When we ran away from here, even though I believed you would change your mind, just like Coranna said, I would have taken you to Velekos if you’d wanted.” He shook his head. “It seems crazy now, but it’s true. Still, I have no claim on you.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I—” He looked at her with wide gray eyes. “Do I?”

Her face heated. “Alanka told me that relations between men and women in Kalindos are a little more, er—”

“Informal.”

“Yes, more informal than I’m used to. But I don’t—I only—I—” She groaned at her own ineptitude, then looked him in the eyes. “I only want you.”

Relief infused his face just as the sun sank behind the hills. Marek’s outline shimmered, then disappeared along with the rest of him. He uttered a crude curse. “Sorry,” he added.

She shook her head in sympathy. “How will I find you later?”

“Follow the floating meloxa mug. Or—” he steered them toward the edge of the circle “—come with me now.”

They slunk out of the crowd into the shadows. When the firelight was just a warm glow in the distance, Marek stopped, held her face in his hands and gave her a long, searching kiss. She sighed with relief. In the chaos her life had become, nothing felt as normal as this.

He pulled her close and breathed into her hair, the shuddering kind of breath taken after a fright. “When you died, I felt so numb, like I was as frozen as you. And when you came back, I wanted to warm you, put my hands and mouth all over you until you were the Rhia I remembered.”

“Do I feel different?”

“You feel like yourself.”

“I feared I’d be hard and clammy, or I’d smell like a grave, or—”

“Shh.” His hands slid down her back as he inhaled. “You feel, and smell, as good as ever.”

In the distance, a shriek ripped the air.

“Don’t wait for me. Run.”

He was gone. She sprinted toward the scream and joined the villagers heading north of the bonfire along one of the paths.

In the short time she’d known Coranna, she had never heard her raise her voice, much less release such a plaintive cry. Her chest tightened with more than just the physical strain of sprinting through the underbrush.

The crowd stopped beneath a small tree house and parted for Rhia. Perhaps they spoke to her, but she heard nothing under the rush of Crow’s wings. She fought the urge to clamp her hands to her ears and scream to cover the sounds.

Coranna knelt beside Etar’s supine figure, fighting back tears as she stroked his lifeless arm. The wings in Rhia’s head gave a last loud thump, then faded into the background below the crowd’s chatter.

“What happened?” a woman behind her whispered.

“He fell,” another answered. “I saw it happen.”

“Did the ladder break?”

“No, he stopped as he was climbing and clutched at his chest. On the next rung he just dropped.”

“Poor man,” the first woman said. “I didn’t know he was ill.”

“He hid it well. If I’d known, I’d have sent him more food this winter.”

Was he ill?
Rhia wondered, and suddenly wished she had looked inside him when she had the chance.

Pirrik burst through the crowd on the other side, Alanka following.

“Father!”

Pirrik sank to his knees and cradled Etar’s head in his lap, oblivious to the blood flowing onto his hands. He released a long, hollow cry. It was echoed in a moment by a woman’s wail, which grew louder as it neared. A pregnant girl appeared at the front of the crowd. When she saw Etar’s broken body, she swooned.

Alanka leaped to catch the girl before she fell, then rocked her in a tight embrace. From her appearance Rhia guessed she was Pirrik’s younger sister, and she realized that Etar had already been a third-phase Owl at the time of his death.

“Poor Thera,” one of the women behind Rhia whispered. “I hope the baby doesn’t come too soon now.”

Coranna caught Rhia’s gaze and beckoned her over. She hurried to join her, hoping that no one observed her half-second hesitation. Coranna nodded to Etar’s other hand. Rhia grasped both hands so that the three of them formed a circle.

Everyone fell silent. Rhia closed her eyes and heard nothing but Pirrik’s and Thera’s stifled sobs.

Her world went bright again. Coranna was there in the corner of one eye, and Etar in the other. They both smiled. She mimicked their expressions easily, for they were all surrounded with a pulsating light that emanated love from its core. The experience was a pale reflection of her own death, but it left her brimming with joy.

As Crow approached, Coranna let go of Etar’s hand, and Rhia followed suit.

Etar’s smile disappeared. His eyes filled with confusion, and he looked as if he were about to shake his head in protest. Then he vanished, enveloped in the wings of Crow.

The bright world faded as well, and she was back in Kalindos. Even before her eyes opened, she felt the damp ground beneath her knees. Yet the awareness of the Other Side lingered like a haze, and for more than a moment she ached to return.

The crowd let out a collective sigh. Coranna placed a gentle hand on Pirrik’s shoulder.

“Your father’s gone,” she said. She stood and squeezed Thera’s hand. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice wavered, and Rhia sensed that this death hit Coranna harder than most.

An older woman wept as she comforted Thera. Rhia recognized her as Etar’s sister Kerza the Wolf. Alanka knelt beside Pirrik. He leaned into her embrace and muffled his sobs against her neck.

Elora appeared then with a blanket and healing bag. One look at the faces of those gathered around Etar’s body told her it was too late. Coranna beckoned Elora to join her and Rhia away from where Etar’s children grieved.

In a low voice, Elora asked, “What happened?”

In an even lower voice, Coranna replied, “I hoped you could tell me.”

“People say he fell.”

“Yes, but why? He may be old, but he’s far from feeble. Something took hold of him in the moments before he let go.” She blinked hard and frowned, as if remembering something, then turned to Rhia. “Find me half a dozen strong men who can carry him to the pyre.”

Rhia turned toward the crowd, her mind swimming from the moments on the Other Side. A few men had already stepped forward for the onerous task. Rhia quickly found three more. When she returned, Elora had cleansed the blood from Etar’s head and bound it with a swath of bandage. His body was wrapped in the blanket she had brought.

The crowd parted for the solemn procession of the corpse. Faces that had been lit with giddiness less than an hour before were now cast in sorrow. Many muttered to themselves in prayer.

Unsure of her role, Rhia shadowed Coranna all the way to the funeral pyre. The Crow woman seemed to be reining in her own emotions like unruly horses. Rhia wasn’t sure if the lump of sadness in her own throat came from the death of the intriguing old man, or from her brief return to that place of bliss and peace. Thinking of it made her feel more homesick than thoughts of Asermos. Her hands and feet tingled as if warming, though she hadn’t been cold. The exhaustion from the long ride and the dancing had disappeared.

The pyre consisted of long wooden slats, stacked to create a container that reminded Rhia of a hollow log house that would accommodate the body of one adult. Atop the pyre, overlapping its perimeter, lay a thin stone slab, presumably to shelter the wood and keep it dry. The six men laid Etar’s body on the slab. Coranna asked them to find a few guards to take the first shift.

“I’ll do it.” Marek’s voice came from just behind Rhia. “Let me get my bow.”

Coranna stood next to the pyre and took a deep breath before turning to face the crowd.

“My fellow Kalindons, Etar—our friend, father and brother—has gone to the Other Side.” Though by now word had spread, a cry of anguish rose from the people. The man who had played the drum covered his face with his hands. A gray-haired woman leaned against a tree and quietly keened.

Coranna continued, her voice fighting to remain steady. “Please, return to your homes and pray for his easy passage. At daybreak we will gather to say goodbye. Afterward we will celebrate his life, both the one he lived with us and the one he will live with the Spirits for all eternity.”

She turned away from the crowd, who took her signal to disperse, which they did in silence, some weeping and shaking their heads. Rhia joined her on the pyre’s platform.

Elora appeared at the other edge and exchanged a glance with Coranna. They uncovered Etar’s body. Rhia reminded herself that this death was among the less ugly ones she would likely see.

Welcome to the rest of your life,
she thought with a pang of self-sympathy.

Eyes closed, Elora put her hands on either side of Etar’s head. Her fingers probed his neck.

“Lift his side just a little toward you,” she said. Coranna and Rhia obeyed. The healer slipped her hands under him and felt the length of his spine. She stopped when she reached the midpoint. “He broke his back in the fall.”

“But what made him fall?” Coranna asked her.

“Did he drink a lot of meloxa?”

“No more than usual.”

Rhia spoke up. “One of the villagers said when Etar was climbing the ladder, he clutched his chest in pain.”

Coranna looked at Elora. “Did he ever come to you with symptoms?”

“No,” the healer said, “but you know how men are, too proud to admit any illness until it kills them. And sometimes Crow simply strikes with speed and mercy.” She smoothed the bandage on Etar’s head, tenderly, as if the action could help him. Her face turned thoughtful. “If I were third-phase, I could determine even now if he had been sick.”

Coranna put her hand on Elora’s. “You’re exhausted from our journey. Go, rest and pray now. Rhia and I will keep vigil.”

After a last mournful glance at Etar, Elora slipped into the darkness.

Rhia watched Coranna stand, unmoving, at the side of the corpse. “What do we do now?” she asked finally.

“We wait,” Coranna said.

“Wait for what?”

“For morning.”

Rhia glanced at Etar. Had Coranna’s questions for Elora been simple curiosity or did they reflect a deeper suspicion? Rhia wished more than ever that she had done “the wrong thing” and granted Etar’s request to tell him when he would die.

“When do we clean and wrap the body?” she asked Coranna.

“No need. It will be burned tomorrow at sunset.”

“You don’t bury your dead?”

“The soil here is too rocky. Like all Birds, his ashes will hang from the tree where he once lived.”

“Oh,” was all Rhia could think to say. Kalindons and Asermons differed in so many ways it was getting harder to believe they were the same people. She thought of what Marek had said about the nature and length of Kalindon funerals, and remembered that her own party had been a funeral of sorts.

“Coranna?”

“Yes?”

“If you can return people from the Other Side, the way you did for me—”

“Why don’t I do it for everyone?”

“I know you can’t undo every death, but how do you decide?”

Coranna didn’t respond, and Rhia feared she had blundered by asking such a question.

Finally Coranna said, “To reverse Crow’s flight, a bargain must be struck. Life for life.”

Rhia grew cold. “For a person to come back to life, someone else has to die?”

“It’s not simply one life for another. It’s time on earth that I must trade.”

“Another life is shortened?”

“Yes. By the same amount of time as the returned has remaining in his or her life.”

The forest swayed around Rhia, and not just from the wind. “Then who—for me—?”

“Everyone.”