Silina raised her voice. “Please, I beg everyone to reconsider such an act. The Spirits require us to be truly prepared before passing to the second phase—prepared to be parents, that is.”
“I agree.” Torin stepped forward. “We’ve all seen the perversion of powers that results from the rash acts of young people.” He cast a scowl over the gathering, and Rhia wondered if his daughter Torynna had gotten pregnant early, as she’d planned. “We can’t risk such chaos at a time like this.”
One of the other Council members, a Horse woman named Arma, rose to her feet. “But Torin, wouldn’t the Spirits want us to protect ourselves? Why else would they give us powers if not to use them in our defense?”
“It’s not right,” Silina retorted. “What about the children left behind when their fathers are killed in battle?”
“If the fathers are second-phase,” Arma said, “they’re less likely to die in battle to begin with.”
Murmurs of assent ran through the audience. On the opposite side of the room, a Wolverine Rhia didn’t know raised his hand, then spoke without waiting to be acknowledged. “Many of us will die whether we’re first-, second-or third-phase. The population of Asermos may be decimated. We need all the children we can get.”
“Children without parents?” Silina said. “What kind of life will they have if we lose?”
“If we lose,” Arma said, stepping forward, “the Descendants will take the spoils of war. Including women.”
Rhia put a hand to her chest. Rape was a weapon as old as war itself. But if some women were already pregnant with Asermon children, at least the Descendants could not wipe out bloodlines with their own seed. The logic chilled her.
“It takes time to get pregnant,” Silina pointed out. “New powers might not even be available in time for the battle.”
“We don’t know that,” said the Wolverine. “Galen said the invasion could be weeks or months away.”
Rhia looked at the Hawk, as did many of the other villagers. Galen made no move to speak, but merely absorbed the arguments around him. The opinions seemed equally divided between those in favor of the idea and those opposing it.
Rhia understood the temptation to reach for power; it had existed as long as her people possessed Animal magic. But the Spirits forbade such actions. Even those like Marek, who broke the rules accidentally, suffered consequences. For a person—or an entire village—to create children for the sole purpose of gaining power…
But in a desperate situation, their lives, their freedoms, their way of life, might depend on such power. Perhaps the Spirits would forgive them.
The debate raged for several more minutes, and still Galen sat silent. Eventually the number of people waiting for him to speak exceeded the number of people trying to speak themselves, and the crowd quieted.
He stood and seemed to meet the gaze of each person before addressing them. “Thank you for your attention. This idea troubles me, to say the least. You have heard well-intentioned, well-reasoned arguments on either side. If you are waiting for me to tell you what to do, I’m afraid I can’t satisfy that wish. The decision to become a mother or father is one that cannot be dictated by Council decree. It is between you, your spouse or mate, and your Guardian Spirits. Search your hearts and ask the Spirits if you have the wisdom to handle both the new powers and the new responsibilities of parenthood. Advancing too quickly can have terrible consequences for the individual and the community alike.”
Galen concluded, “We will meet again when the scouts have returned. Until then, the warriors have their orders. Everyone else—” A wisp of sadness brushed his face. “Prepare.”
As the crowd filed out, beginning from the back, Rhia caught a glimpse of Dorius, Galen’s brother. She remembered her vision of the man’s death, his bleeding body writhing under the golden oak tree. Did it mean that the Descendants would not invade until autumn? Perhaps the war would last until then and Dorius would be killed in a later battle or skirmish.
She rubbed her forehead, as if the action would smooth her thoughts. For all she knew, the vision could take place next year or the year after. It hadn’t shown a clear enough glimpse of his face to guess his age, and since Butterflies maintained a youthful appearance far longer than others, his death could occur years from now.
Regardless, Galen should know. But he had forbidden her to reveal her visions of others’ death.
Alanka laid her hand on Rhia’s knee. “You haven’t said a word about Marek since we left Kalindos.” Though they were not alone, the hall’s background noise allowed them privacy. “I wouldn’t give up hope. He may yet come. They may all yet come.” Alanka’s voice took on an edge. “And if they don’t, and we lose this battle, may those lofty trees fall on their heads.”
Rhia was in the kennel a few afternoons later, showing Alanka how to groom the hounds, when Arcas appeared on foot over the top of the hillside.
Alanka elbowed her in the ribs. “You think he wants to, er, gain power with you?”
Rhia sighed. Even if Marek never came, even if he were dead or had decided to stay to defend Kalindos, she couldn’t bear the thought of another man’s hands, another man’s scent, on her body. Not for Arcas, not even for Asermos. “I can’t.”
“I know.” The Wolf girl assessed him from a distance. “If you don’t want him, there must be other women who do.”
“Don’t remind me.”
As Arcas came closer, the hounds leaped against the fence to greet him, wagging their long gray tails.
“I missed you fellows.” He ruffled the fur on the closest one’s head. “And you ladies, too.” He waved to the females who bounced and barked behind their larger companions.
“Hello, Arcas.” Alanka started forward, undeterred by the rampaging dogs.
He squinted into the sun at her. “I hear you’re deadly with an arrow. We could use someone like you.”
“I’ve never shot a human before.” Alanka touched her collarbone where her long braid used to hang. “But I’d be honored to try. I mean, honored to be trained as a warrior.”
Arcas bowed his head to her. “Thank you.” After an awkward pause, he cleared his throat. “Would you like to go for a ride?” He directed the question to Rhia, but, ever-courteous, included Alanka in his glance.
“Not me,” Alanka said. “I still haven’t recovered from the trip from Kalindos.” She rubbed her backside and gave an exaggerated wince.
Arcas turned to Rhia. “Your father said the two chestnut ponies need more exercise.”
Rhia looked away and nodded. She couldn’t avoid him forever. “I’ll get the bridles.”
Once on horseback, Arcas set out toward the southwest.
Rhia followed. “Why are we going this way?”
“I have something to show you.” He held up a hand. “It’s a surprise, so don’t ruin it with a hundred questions.”
They rode in silence through the sun-speckled woods. Finally Arcas asked her, “What did you miss most about Asermos?”
“Now that I’m back, I realize I missed the clouds. In Kalindos you can’t see more than a patch of sky at any time, so the shapes of clouds get lost. I missed deciding what they looked like.”
“What else did you miss?”
“Bread. Ale. Cheese.”
“And?”
“And dogs.”
He sighed. “What do you miss most about Kalindos?” She didn’t reply. The trail widened, and he slowed his pony to come beside her. “You met someone there.”
“I met many people. They were good, mostly. Even Razvin—he loved his daughter so much he was willing to do anything to protect her. People there, they love fiercely.”
“Do they?”
She didn’t meet his eye. “Look at Alanka. She traveled all this way to help us, because she’s my friend and my sister. She knew she might be greeted with hostility because of what her father did.”
“No one would dare treat her badly now that she’s fighting for us.”
; “Wolves usually hunt as a group. She may be able to draw from that for battle tactics.”
“Good idea. I’ll ask her.” His fingers idly combed the end of the pony’s red mane that swept the riding blanket. “Are there other examples?”
“Examples of what?”
“Kalindons who love fiercely.”
Her heart twisted. “I believe so,” she said softly.
“You wait for someone else to come.”
“I do.”
Arcas fell silent beside her. Framed by the trees, a wide field lay ahead, where stalks of wheat, still early-summer green, undulated in the wind.
He grabbed one of her pony’s reins. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“It’s the surprise. Trust me.”
She shut her eyes, clamping the pony tighter with her legs to maintain balance. With no sight, the sounds and smells of the field and trees came stronger. Soft stalks brushed Rhia’s legs, releasing a dusty scent. Soon the way was clear; they must have reached a path in the middle of the field.
“It’s just a little farther.” Arcas led them a bit farther, then halted both ponies. “Open your eyes.”
She did, and gasped.
Ringing half the field were a dozen trees in every color of autumn. Leaves of scarlet, orange and gold leaped from the background of green forest.
“Do you like it?” he said. “I made it for you.”
She turned to him. “You did this?”
“It’s a sunrise.” His arm swept the expanse of trees. “Those red and orange maples are the clouds, and the golden oak in the middle is the sun.”
The golden oak? Her gaze jerked back to the trees.
“No…”
She kicked the pony into a gallop and dashed across the field to the yellow tree. As she approached its roots, a dizziness overcame her. She halted the pony and slid off onto her feet before she could fall.
Arcas rode up. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”
“How did you do this?”
“Spider magic. I didn’t hurt the trees, I promise. They’ll grow back green next year.”
“Will the leaves fall early?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“You have to know. It’s important!”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen this.” She knelt on the ground and put her hand on the thin grass. “Something happens here.”
He drew in a breath as he grasped her meaning. “The battle.” Arcas looked at the sun. “To get here from the southwest, the Descendants will go around Velekos, which means they’ll arrive sooner, and probably stronger.” He dismounted and knelt next to Rhia. “Is it me you see?”
“I couldn’t tell you if it were.” She relented at the sight of his fear. “It’s not you.” She touched his cheek. “That doesn’t mean you won’t die.”
“I’ll be careful.”
A golden leaf fell between them.
She sprang back as if it were covered in poison. “Tell your father they’re coming. Go now!”
“But the scouts—”
“Don’t wait for them. Get your troops ready.”
Arcas leaped onto his pony. She grabbed his leg.
“Don’t tell Galen how you know.”
“I won’t.” He leaned over and pulled her into a kiss, then let her go before she could protest. “May I see you tonight?”
Rhia knew he was asking more than what he said out loud. “Arcas, I don’t think—”
“Just to talk.”
She nodded. Their business was unfinished. “Come for dinner.”
He gave her a bleak smile. “I love you, Crow woman, more than ever.”
His pony took off through the field toward Asermos. Rhia gazed into the woods as two more golden leaves drifted to the ground. They would come through here, with swords and spears and Spirits knew what else.
Death was on its way.
36
The discussion around that night’s dinner table was grim.
Arcas revealed the Asermon army’s two-tiered strategy to Tereus, Alanka and Rhia. First they would try to defeat the Descendants using only “mundane” magic—the natural fighting abilities granted to warriors by the Spirits, along with certain weapons enhancements such as “spelled” arrows that could penetrate armor. If the invaders were not deterred and Asermos faced a desperate situation, they could call on the Spirits for more extreme measures. This last-resort plan, however, might cost more power than they could use without self-destructing.
“We must plan for either contingency,” Arcas said, “because we don’t yet know the enemy’s strength. Our scouts haven’t returned.”
“Maybe they’ve been captured,” Alanka said.
Tereus shook his head. “Bats and Weasels are too fast, too stealthy. Even if one or two were captured, the rest would make it back, on foot if they had to.”
They finished the meal in silence, and Rhia wondered if the others were imagining the same scenarios of horror as the one in her mind.
After dinner, Arcas and Rhia went for a walk in the woods, to finally discuss the subject that filled her with almost as much dread as the war itself.
“You used to be afraid of the forest after dark,” he said.
She thought of the night Marek had taught her not to fear. “That was before.”
“Of course. The Bestowing changes us in many ways, though for some of us the changes take longer to understand.”
She touched his arm to reassure him. “I’m proud of you, Arcas, for being who you are. And for fighting as a Bear, though I worry for your safety.”
“Why?”
She stopped and turned to him. “You know why.”
“I don’t think I do. And I’m not being coy.”
Would he really make her say it? “Because you’re my friend.”
His face seemed to pale, even in the moonlight. “A friend? That’s all?”
“It’s all I can be to you now. Maybe forever.”
“Then you do love someone else.”
“Yes.”
“Someone who isn’t here.” His voice hardened. “Someone who failed you. Someone who was too much of a coward—”
“He could be dead for all I know, and if he’s dead, it’s because he’s not a coward.” She reined in her indignation. “But if he’s alive, he’ll come.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know. I just believe.”
“Rhia, can’t we just try?” He took her hands in his. She knew she should pull away, but they were so warm, and she was so afraid. “I’ll be going to war soon, and I might not come back.” He brushed her hair from her cheek, then followed it over her shoulders with a touch that made her shiver, a touch that recalled distant memories of laughter and pleasure and heat.
“This man you love, if he were coming, he would have arrived by now.” Arcas spoke with sympathy, as though his first concern were for her happiness, not his own. He pulled her closer, so slowly it was as if they had grown together. “Would it be so bad to be with me again?”
He kissed her, full and deep, and she knew it was over. She could kiss a thousand men who weren’t Marek, and they would all feel fake. Her body now knew it as much as the rest of her.
Rhia shrank back and lowered her head. “I can’t.”
Arcas let go with a groan, then pressed his fists to his forehead. “I was such a fool. If we’d promised ourselves to each other before you left, you wouldn’t have fallen in love with him.”
She hesitated only a moment. “Yes, I would have.” He stared at her. “I’m not sure it would have made a difference,” she said, “whether you and I were together or not. With him, everything felt—feels—so honest.”
He held up a hand between them. “There’s such a thing as too much honesty.”
“I’m sorry.”
Arcas wiped his face hard with both hands, as though he could obliterate his own emotions. He let out a long sigh. “All right, then. I’ll walk yo
u home.”
“Go,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Torin wants to discuss how I can help the healers help the troops.”
“By figuring out which of us can’t be saved?”
She nodded, a gesture he echoed ruefully.
“It’s an honorable duty,” he said. “I pray you don’t get hurt on the battlefield.”
“So do I, for you.”
His face pinched the way it had when he was a misbehaving child. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“Go,” she repeated. “I just want to be alone.”
He lingered for another few moments, as if he wanted to say more, then disappeared down the path.
She sat on a nearby rock and watched the trees shift in the faint breeze until tears blurred her vision. Everything was lost to her, or soon would be. The Asermons had little time to prepare for the Descendant troops. Aid from Kalindos would not come. She would feel the slaughter of her people as Crow carried them away, one by one. Sobs racked her ribs, unhindered by pride or shame.
When her breathing slowed and she felt able to face Tereus and Alanka with dry eyes, she dragged herself to her feet to begin the short walk home. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, angling silver rays beneath the tree canopy to shine on the path before her. In her dark mood, the night felt like home.
Rhia came to a clearing on the outskirts of her family’s farm. She looked past the horses’ paddocks at the small log house, wondering who would live in it if the Descendants overtook Asermos. A sudden movement startled her.
A man was hurrying through the clearing, about a hundred paces away. When he saw her, he stopped.
It’s true what they say, she thought. Too much moonlight can drive a person crazy. For the vision before her was both familiar and foreign, like a reflection in a rippling pond.
Marek. In the moonlight.
“Rhia!”
Stunned, she watched him run toward her. She could see him. It was night, and she could see him.
He neared her, and Rhia’s shock gave way to joy. She closed the gap between them and threw her arms around his neck, ignoring her shoulder’s yelp of pain. He repeated her name as he clutched her back. She closed her eyes to revel in the sound of his voice, but only for a moment. She had to look at him.
Eyes of Crow Page 30
