Eyes of Crow (23 page)

They bid her good-night, but when she had moved away, Rhia said to Marek, “I can’t rest now. We don’t know why Etar died.”

He took her hand. “Rhia, judging by your face, you’re barely able to speak, much less probe a mysterious death.”

She had to admit it was true. The activities of the past few days had drained her energy. The aches that had disappeared after Etar’s journey were returning even stronger, as if angry at their banishment.

She let Marek lead her back to his house. He kept a slow pace so that Rhia could see the way despite her limited night vision and lingering light-headedness.

When they arrived home, she sank onto the soft pile of skins that made up his bed and felt him stretch out beside her.

His finger traced the edge of her jaw. “You were very brave tonight.”

“I wasn’t. I almost lost my dinner. It was awful, seeing him disintegrate like that. But you must be used to it.”

“I haven’t seen that many burnings. The children don’t watch. The sight and smell make perfect nightmare fuel.”

She touched his chest and felt his heart beat. The steady pulse under her palm reassured her. “Did you see it happen to your parents?”

“No. The fire that killed them—”

“Of course.” She cringed at her own insensitivity. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. At the time, I was numb. I couldn’t believe it. We lost so many people. But all I could think about was how relieved I was, how lucky I was to be spared. When something like that happens, you feel guilty for surviving, but you’re secretly happy to be alive, to have the chance to feel anything at all.”

They spoke no more, for they did need to feel, at that moment, anything that would separate them from the dead. As they made love, Rhia tried to memorize every stroke, every shiver, every sigh that passed between them, as if her memory could keep them both alive forever.

Later, though her body wanted to drag her into slumber, she stayed awake long after Marek had fallen asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, flames danced on the back of her eyelids, licking and gnawing, their flesh-hunger yet unsated.

So she lay in the dark listening to Marek breathe, marveling at the miracle of each inhale and exhale.

“Never be ashes,” she whispered to him.

On the forest floor below, the Kalindons danced and sang, defiantly.

Coranna stirred when Rhia opened the door to their home. “Did Etar’s ashes already,” she mumbled. “We have to rebuild the pyre, but that can wait. Go back to sleep. Or at least make no noise, whatever you do.”

Rhia shut the door, more loudly than necessary. “You said you would contact Etar today.”

She opened one eye to glare at Rhia. “I just went to bed.”

“I’ll brew some chicory to wake you up.” She went to the stove. “I can heat water for a bath, if you like.”

Coranna groaned. “I feel half-dead myself.”

Without turning from the stove she replied, “Then it shouldn’t be that hard to reach him.”

After a long moment, Coranna said, “Chicory would be good.”

They skipped breakfast and, after dressing in a loose, plain gown, Coranna went to her shelves and retrieved a small box of dark polished wood. She pulled a bundle of brown cloth out of the box and unwrapped it to reveal a thick stick of tightly wound leaves.

“What’s that?” Rhia asked.

“Not for apprentices, that’s what. It helps me leave this world behind. Would you drum for me? Begin when I finish the chant. Keep silent unless I ask you to speak.”

Rhia picked up the drum and sat on the edge of her bed. Coranna knelt on the thick green rug between their beds, then lit the herb stick. The heady aroma seemed to swell the space inside Rhia’s head, and she bit her lip to force herself to focus.

Coranna began to chant—a high, keening sound that prickled Rhia’s spine. It was a lament as well as a beckoning and contained all the woman’s anguish at the loss of her friend. She had told Rhia to maintain a distance from others’ pain, yet her own emotions assailed the air like sparks. But perhaps the grief itself called Etar. Despite the wonders of the Other Side, his friend’s sadness might tug at him one final time.

The chant faded. As Coranna reclined on the rug, Rhia secured the drum between her knees and began to tap a light rhythm in the tempo Marek had used when she died.

Coranna lay motionless for several minutes, eyes moving behind her closed lids. All at once her back stiffened, and she covered her ears as if to blot out a loud noise, then lowered her hands.

“I’ve found him,” she whispered, then her voice turned to a scold. “Etar, why are you here? Elora says your grandchild will be healthy and strong, just like his mother. You should leave us now.”

“I seek justice for my death,” said a voice that came from Coranna’s mouth but was not quite hers. “I wasn’t ill, not that I was aware.”

Rhia flinched at the implication. She could have given him the answer if she had looked inside him that night.

“I believe I was poisoned,” Etar said. “A young man gave me a mug of meloxa. Skaris the Bear.”

Rhia held back a gasp. Marek’s friend, his mate’s brother.

“Why would Skaris want to kill you?” Coranna said. “He’s too young to take your seat on the Council.”

Etar hesitated. “Perhaps someone asked him to do it.”

Rhia nearly stopped drumming. She knew who helped prepare the food and drink that night. Against her instructions, she spoke. “Razvin had the chance. I think he was watching me while I spoke with you.”

Etar was silent for a moment. “I told Razvin I would ask you to estimate my remaining life, and he bet me a month’s worth of meloxa you wouldn’t do it.”

Coranna spoke indignantly. “You wagered on my apprentice’s integrity? I expect more reverence from you both.”

“No, you don’t,” Etar said. “Rhia, when Razvin watched you, he may have been wondering if he could collect on the bet.”

Rhia bit back an argument. Perhaps she judged the Fox harshly because of what he did to her mother. If she let past grievances cloud her reasoning, she couldn’t help Etar’s search for justice.

“Begin with Skaris,” Etar said.

“We will.” Coranna softened her tone. “Please trust us to do what’s right, and leave now.”

“No.” Etar’s spirit-voice strained from her throat. “Coranna, don’t let me drift away.”

Her body tensed. “You must. Fly with Crow, Etar. Find your peace.”

“I can barely see you now.” His words slowed and elongated. “It’s like looking through a fog.”

A tear squeezed from the outer corner of Coranna’s eye. “Go,” she whispered.

With a farewell that Rhia could sense but not hear, Etar faded from the reaches of this world. Coranna rolled onto her side. As tears dripped onto the rug beneath her, she hugged her knees to her chest like a child.

Rhia stopped drumming, hating herself for doubting Coranna’s display of emotion.

A scrabbling came from the ladder outside. A moment later, the bell rang. Rhia opened the door to see Alanka.

“Good morning!” the Wolf girl said.

Rhia rubbed her eyes. “Did we have plans?”

“We do now. Thera’s having the baby.”

Rhia looked at Coranna, who was slowly sitting up, then back at Alanka. “So?”

“So we have to be there.” Coranna got to her feet and approached the door. “You’re certain the baby is coming?”

Alanka nodded. “I waited to wake you until we were sure. Kerza and Elora are already there.” She waved her hand to hurry them. “It’s coming fast.”

“That’s a blessing,” Coranna grumbled, then pointed to Rhia’s pile of clothes. “Change out of that dress. It’ll get messy.”

“I’ll tell them you’re on your way.” Alanka hurried down the ladder.

Rhia shut the door and rushed to change her clothes. “Are Thera and the baby in trouble?”

“I hope not.” Coranna pulled on a pair of trousers and shoes. “Crows always greet newborns with prayers and rituals.” She crossed the room and stood by her shelves of pots. “Where did I put that lavender?” She uncorked several containers. “Crow brings us into life and takes us away. The nice part is, we get to hold them first.”

“Hold who?”

“The babies. It reminds all who are present that every moment of life we have, even the first one, is by the grace of Crow. Ah, here’s the lavender. Ready?”

Rhia hurried to follow her down the ladder, concerned about Thera but wondering when and how they would confront Skaris.

After they reached the forest floor, Coranna said, “Also, if something goes wrong with the birth, Spirits forbid, we’re there to ease the other sort of transition between two worlds. Have you ever seen a baby born?”

“A few. My mother was an Otter, and sometimes she helped our Turtle woman with the births.”

“Good. You can help. I can’t cope with all that blood.”

Rhia almost tripped over a root. “But what about the people we deliver to Crow?”

“That’s different. Dead people don’t bleed for long.” An ear-shattering shriek pierced the forest just ahead of them. Coranna pressed a hand to her temple and winced. “That would be Thera. I hope.”

A few men were gathered near the healer’s low tree house, which featured a short staircase rather than a ladder, to ease the climb for the sick and weak. One young blond paced and cracked his knuckles; Rhia figured him for the father. He flinched with each cry of the laboring mother and looked as if he wanted to run far away.

When they entered, Thera the Hawk was resting between contractions on a low stool and leaning against her aunt Kerza. Alanka paced on her other side and brightened when she saw the Crow women.

“I made you mint tea,” she said. She scuttled to the stove and poured two mugs of amber-green brew, appearing relieved to leave the birthing area for a few moments. “I’ve never seen a baby born,” she told Rhia in a hushed voice.

“How is she?”

“Angry, sad, happy, everything. Elora says it’s going quickly, especially for a first child. I’ll introduce you.”

When they met, Thera gave Rhia an exhausted half smile, which vanished as the next contraction came.

“I think this is it!” Elora said. “Alanka, get her other arm.”

Coranna was setting up some herbs on a low table nearby, humming quietly to herself. She accepted the tea Rhia offered with a nod. As Thera let out another holler of pain and determination, Coranna gripped the mug with white-knuckled fingers.

“When do we start?” Rhia asked her.

“As soon as my head stops pounding.” She gave Rhia a tight smile. “Which should be today.” She set down the mug with reluctance, then bunched a handful of lavender flowers and stems in a small, tight bundle the length of her hand.

“I can see the head!” Elora shouted.

Rhia resisted a look over her shoulder and held the bundle so Coranna could tie it. She inhaled and felt the herb soothe the tense muscles of her temples.

“There’s no magic here,” Coranna said, “except what Raven gave us when She created lavender.” She took the bundle and sniffed it, relaxing as she exhaled. “Sometimes the greatest wisdom is knowing when magic is utterly unnecessary.”

The notion comforted Rhia, especially since her magic was not an everyday sort.

Coranna lit one end of the bundle and set it in a clay bowl. The scent wafted through the room, carried by the breeze that slid through the two open windows.

Thera’s howls softened to whimpers. “Please let it be over,” she said.

“We’re almost there.” Elora’s hands were hidden under the swell of Thera’s belly. “When you feel the next contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can.”

Thera gave a long, defeated moan. Coranna, eyes closed, intoned a low chant, one that repeated a simple line of welcome. As the chant grew in volume, Coranna raised her hands, palms up and out. Alanka and Kerza took the signal to join the song, crooning softly in Thera’s ears.

Rhia knelt a few feet away, closed her eyes, and lifted her voice with the others. The chorus of women, together with the scent of lavender, lulled the room into a place of serene, hopeful waiting—at least on the outside. Being with Kerza and Coranna in such a close space pushed the thoughts of Etar’s death to the front of Rhia’s mind, from which she could not banish them.

“Here’s the shoulders.” Elora braced her feet. “Give us one more push.”

Thera’s shriek ripped through the room, and Rhia struggled to maintain the steady chant. Alanka broke off the song to whisper words of encouragement to Thera, who was sobbing through gritted teeth.

The girl let out a last cry of pain and triumph, and Elora exclaimed, “There he is!”

Rhia opened her eyes in time to see a dark mass slip into the Otter woman’s hands. Elora rubbed him dry with a rough blanket, and the baby let out a screech that rivaled his mother’s. An answering cry of celebration went up from the crowd gathered outside the house. Thera released a hoarse laugh through her fatigue.

A bit of thin rope lay just out of Elora’s reach, and Rhia leaned forward to hand it to her. The healer smiled.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She tied off the umbilical cord, then wrapped him in a clean white blanket. “You may present him to Thera.”

Rhia looked at Coranna, who, though still chanting with her eyes closed, nodded her permission.

The baby squalled like a hungry puppy as Rhia took him into her arms. “He’s beautiful, Thera. He’s—” She looked around. “Am I supposed to say something profound?”

“There are no words.” Coranna was at her side. She passed her hand over the boy’s dark, damp hair. “Crow has granted him a life. We can add no further blessing to that.”

Rhia brought the baby to Thera, who reclined in her aunt’s arms on the birthing stool. “Thank you for the honor of presenting your child,” she said as she eased him into his mother’s embrace.

“Thank you,” Thera said in a husky voice. “Oh, you’re right. He is beautiful.” Everyone laughed. “His name is Etarek, in memory of my father.”

Coranna began another song, one that lifted their voices in joy. An echoing verse rose from outside, from a village that had seen too much sorrow.