Eyes of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “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.

  “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.