Kate felt the color drain in her face. She had never told Ossen that. “How did you know?” Her voice was very quiet. The crows all looked at each other, and away.
It was Balafray who responded. He placed a hand on Kate’s shoulder, pressing her down. “What one crow knows, we all know. You were the stranger girl in the camp during last year’s war and your tale was known to all. Healer, wise-woman. Mistress to the general.”
“I was n–”
“You knew ways of war beyond our world. It was your words that brought victory to our army, and blood to our weapons. You will do the same for us crows.”
She had told the general what she knew about wars and weapons, but how to translate guns, bombs, jet fighters and drones, aircraft carriers and tanks, to Aeritan? The general had taken her concept of a tank and recreated a shield wall, and with it broke Tharp’s army. But to say she was responsible was ludicrous. She almost said that out loud but held her tongue. It might be worse if they thought she had no value at all. Rock, meet hard place.
“When you came back last year, you were with the general,” Ossen said. The girl’s slender fingers wrapped around her cup of vesh, and the firelight glinted on her bone-pale skin.
“He kidnapped me.” Kate’s mouth was dry, and panic hammered at her. I had nothing to do with it.
“He was ridden by the crow god to bring you back,” Balafray said.
No. It couldn’t be. He was crazy, for sure, but he wasn’t crow. At the end, he let her go. But maybe–she remembered the events of last summer unwillingly. When he let her go, she thought that he had come to his senses. He had looked at her and he was old and tired and even sad. Maybe he had been acting as a puppet of the crow god, and then snapped out of it. Ohhhhh...
“Is that what malcra means?” she said.
They nodded, and she understood. Crows were mostly normal–until they weren’t. Under the influence of their mad god, they went mad.
“The general meant to raise an army of crows that would overturn the Council and lift the boot on our backs. He brought you back to be a part of this. You are his heir, and you are our fortune.” Balafray concluded with triumph.
There was a ringing silence. Oh you idiots, she wanted to tell them. That army of crows? A bunch of alcoholics and drug addicts who had been living under a bridge. Twenty or thirty of them at most. As for the general’s great plan, she doubted it was to free the crows. Rather, he meant to use them for his own ends as the crows had always been used. And as for her being heir, that was preposterous–until all of a sudden she remembered. Not the exact words because it had been almost a year ago, but he had said something like, the soldier’s god was in her.
The soldier’s god had always answered her calls for help. The grass god’s daughter had never been able to get through to her; was it because she was too independent or was it because she already belonged to another?
“Balafray, you are a great fool,” Grigar said. “She’s a girl hardly older than our Ossen. She is not the general, for all she might have lain with him. And right now, you are making a fool of yourself if you think she is anyone’s fortune. Look at her! See how you’ve scared her?” He flung out a hand at Kate. She sat frozen under their eyes.
Contradictory responses jostled one another. He’s right! Hey wait–just a girl? And once again–
“I did not sleep with the general,” she said.
Grigar laughed and she flushed. “I’m sorry, girl. That was ill-mannered of me. It must be the company.” He gave Balafray a glare, which was returned in kind.
“You don’t know anything of us and what it means to be crow,” Balafray growled. “You don’t know the malcra. You don’t know what the girl means. You are not–”
“Stop!” Ossen jumped to her feet. “Balafray, stop!”
Balafray growled, but he stopped before the words made it past his lips. Grigar glanced at his little sister and then said,
“Ossen is right. Believe what you want, I’ve had enough. Ivar, take first watch, wake me next.”
They kept the small fire going, a tiny patch of warmth in a cold, damp night. Kate rolled up next to Ossen, and she heard the men settle in around them. The bedroll was wet enough that the cold settled into the small of her back. She had grown used to sleeping next to another body, so without any embarrassment she and Ossen scootched together. Blessed warmth spread between them, and it gave her a chance to ask the question that had nagged her all evening.
“Ossen,” she whispered. “Is Grigar really a crow?”
“Half. Our father lay with a smallholder. When the babe was born, she put him out in the field. But our father knew it would happen and he took him away and saved him. That was Grigar.”
So their father had raped a villager and left her pregnant. Ossen’s matter of fact recount was almost as chilling. If Balafray’s attitude was anything to go by, he never let Grigar forget that he was only half crow. Why Grigar put up with it she didn’t know, unless as half crow he was not welcome among other Aeritans. But the way he talked, the way he dressed–someone, somewhere, had taken an interest in Grigar despite of–or because of–his heritage.
She pretended to sleep, but she had gone sick to her stomach.
The plan stays the same, she told herself. Cross the river to Red Gold Bridge, part ways with Ossen and her brothers.
The crow god would have to find himself another girl.
Five days later they stood at the riverside harbor of the Aeritan River, the water fast and dangerous. Tangled piles of driftwood coursed down the river amid the last remaining ice. The road had turned to thick churned mud, and the docks below them tilted in disrepair. There were three ferry boats tied to the docks. Two were laden already, the decks piled high with bales and barrels, as well as humans and livestock. As they watched, a rider came galloping up, urging his horse onto the dock, the hollow hoofbeats ringing against the wood. He pulled up the horse in a sliding stop. A bit of conversation with the captain, and he and his horse were loaded onto a boat. Then the crew untied the boat and began coiling the lines, and other sailors pushed away from the dock with long poles. The low-riding boats moved sluggishly. First one, and then the other, drifted away from the docks, the rowers unshipped their oars, and the boats made their way across the river, weaving among the debris.
The icy wind from the river drove at them. Kate shivered. She ached all over, her throat was sore, and all she wanted was a warm, dry bed. She thought with longing of her bedroom at home.
“Sell the horse,” Balafray said in his gravelly voice. “We’ll need the money for passage.”
Kate thought of her stake, hidden deep in her bedroll. “No,” she said flatly.
“Crows don’t have horses.”
“I’m not a crow and I’m not selling him.” She tightened her hold on Hotshot’s reins. The horse waited with calm patience, relaxed and hipshot under his saddle and pack. Good, phlegmatic Hotshot.
“Stranger girl, do you not remember what I told you? You are one of us.”
Just until we get across the river. Hotshot was relaxed now, but in his younger days he was a prized polo pony. She knew how to get speed out of him.
“I have money, Balafray. I can pay for our crossing.”
She pulled the bedroll off the horse, unrolled it, and pulled out the small sack of coin. She hefted it, then tucked it in her belt, and repacked her blanket. When she turned around, she met their eyes. Ossen had an expression that was a mix of glee and outrage. The younger brothers were annoyed. Grigar and Balafray exchanged a speaking glance, allies for the moment.
“She was holding out on us,” Arlef whined, and Ivar scowled.
“Shut up,” Grigar suggested in a soft voice that belied its menace. They did.
“Ossen,” Balafray said, but his eyes were still on Kate. “Did you know about this?”
“Balafray,” Ossen said, “You are an old, ugly fool and our stranger girl is smart. What did you want? A stupid fool like you to remake the world?”<
br />
Silence. Kate was acutely aware that the little group swayed on a precipice of power. Fall one way, and Balafray would win. Fall the other–and Ossen would become the leader. The world was changing.
And then Balafray smiled, his scar pulling his lips into a horrible leer.
“Little sister,” he said, and reached out to paw her shoulder clumsily. “Hear that? She’s smart, is our little sister. Just like the stranger girl. Smarter than everyone.”
Ossen shrugged off his hand impatiently.
The third boat was still being laden as they trailed down to the docks. To Kate’s surprise the captain was a woman, richly and warmly dressed against the weather in thick breeches, oiled boots, and an almost modern looking slicker, a canvas-like peacoat. She wore a wool watch cap and her eyes were lustrous brown.
She looked over them with amusement.
“What a ragged bunch,” she said, her voice a rich alto. “Six crows and a horse. Did you steal the nag from a lord? I don’t want any trouble.”
“He’s mine,” Kate said. “What is the price of passage, captain—?”
“Varenn. Captain Varenn. And this isn’t a ferry boat, by the way. I ply this river, I don’t just cross it. Depending on where I let you out, that’s how much you pay.”
“Red Gold Bridge,” Kate said quickly, before Balafray could say anything. He scowled at her, and she said, “We can reprovision there.”
He still scowled, as if he knew something was up. Captain Varenn watched them with a wary eye.
“Right,” the captain said. “Red Gold Bridge. Six crows and one horse, a day’s journey upriver, hard rowing in this current–ten horseheads should cover it.”
“Ten!” That was Ivar. “We’re not going to pay that–”
“Fine,” Varenn said, bored. “You’d rather swim the river?”
A brief scuffle and a cuff from Grigar, and Ivar whined and settled down.
Ten horseheads was a third of the money Mitain had given her. Doesn’t matter, Kate thought. She wouldn’t need the money where she was going. Once she persuaded Lady Sarita to let the guardian open the gordath for her, she would give Ossen what was left of the money. Kate counted out the ten heavy silver coins, each with a stamp of horsehead. They were Wessen coins, well minted–trust Mitain to have good money. The captain was impressed. Her eyebrow went up and she tested the coin with her teeth. Kate tried not to laugh. Her laughter faded when the captain looked at her and crooked her finger at her. Uneasy, Kate handed Hotshot’s reins to Ossen and followed the captain toward the bow. Cold came off the river and water squished between the gaping boards of the spindly dock. The wind was brisk, and Kate’s eyes watered.
“Normally, I’d think you killed someone for the horse and the money, but you aren’t crow, even if the rest of them are,” Varenn said. “So who are you?”
“My name is Kate Mossland. I have to get to Red Gold Bridge. As for my traveling companions–we’re together out of expediency, nothing more,” she said. She felt a tiny bit of guilt at that. Ossen had accepted her, given her friendship, such as it was. She didn’t like leaving her to take her brother’s wrath when Kate skipped out. On the other hand, she could can take care of herself.
“Expediency,” Varenn repeated. “Do they know that?”
Ouch. “We won’t be any trouble,” Kate said. “We just need passage to Red Gold Bridge.”
“Damn right there won’t be any trouble. Not on my boat. If there is, you all go over the side. Except the horse. I figure he’s blameless in all this.”
Kate gave a reluctant smile. “I can vouch for the horse.”
Varenn grinned, and slapped her on the shoulder. “All right then. Let’s get underway.”
Lading took half the afternoon. Goods from all over southern Aeritan were loaded on board, and the ship–the River Lady–creaked and groaned as crew stowed cargo in the hold and topside, lashing everything securely with thick rope. Hotshot was placed in the makeshift livestock section in the stern with a cage full of chickens, two goats, and a donkey. Kate and the crows took up a spot near the bow, stowing their gear against the gunwale.
“Stranger girl, you have not played honestly,” Balafray scratched out. “Why Red Gold Bridge? Why not further upriver, closer to Temia?” Typical of the crows to make their homeland the least hospitable place in Aeritan. If she lived to be one hundred, she never wanted to experience another winter as cold as the winter she spent in Temia.
Kate sat on her bedroll, back against the hull, and pretended to be preoccupied with her bootlace.
“Better to get across the river where we can get provisions,” she said. She looked up at him.
“Crows take from the land. It is our right.” He sounded–unwilling to concede, she thought.
“All the more reason,” she said. “I remember Temia, and I don’t remember a whole lot of smallholdings. Let’s just buy or trade for supplies. We’ll be in much better shape, trust me.” She sounded so convincing, she almost convinced herself that she was going with them. Good. Good. Lay their fears. She willed her expression to be guileless but firm.
He scowled but he made no further argument. Grigar gave her a speaking look though and she turned away, pretending to huddle with Ossen, who was already looking seasick, even though the boat just rocked gently at the dock.
There was shouting from the first mate, and lines were cast off. The boat rocked more wildly as the men brought out long poles and pushed away. Ossen grabbed Kate’s arm in panic. The current caught the heavily laden boat, swinging it out stern first, but the rivermen brought it around, the oars poked out from the oarholes, and the boat turned ponderously into the current. Another shout and the sails were hoisted, flapping to catch the breeze.
A rhythmic beating began and the oars caught at the water, propelling the boat away from shore. Kate stood and looked at the shore. They were mostly traveling downriver, but as the oarsmen gained speed and the wind pushed at the sails, the River Lady countered the current and crawled upstream. Her heart beat almost as hard as the drumbeat keeping the rowers in sync.
I’m almost home. I’m almost home. I’m almost home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“So what are you going to do?” Aevin’s breath came easy as he and Colar sparred in the courtyard, using old-fashioned, heavy swords that Raymon and Maksin favored for training. His words showed no strain at all. Raymon and Maksin stood on the sidelines and shouted occasional advice; the other men at arms, including a few of Kenery’s personal guard, watched the two young lords go at it.
Colar pushed him back. It felt good to fight. It had been too long since he had sparred, and Aevin had become good, very good, even since their last disastrous battle. He’s probably hoping to get me back for that, Colar thought.
“Go to war, take Favor, become lord,” he said. He swept hard and his sword clashed against Aevin’s with a boneshaking clang that jarred up his arms.
“I mean about Kett,” his little brother said, parrying effortlessly.
“She hates being called that.”
“What? Her name?”
Colar didn’t explain.
“So?” Aevin pushed. Colar pushed back, and their muscles swelled under their light woven shirts.
“So if I tell you, will you run to lord father?”
“I’m not Yare.”
Colar gave a quick grin at his outrage.
“I’ve sent a dispatch rider to Red Gold Bridge, to hold her there. When we have Favor, I’ll send for her.”
Aevin stepped back and put up his blade, signalling an end. His clear eyes were skeptical.
“Will she like that?”
“Like what?”
“Being held. Being sent for. Since you know what she likes, I mean.”
The disdain was back in Aevin’s voice.
“Hey, you two!” That was Maksin. “Less talk, more work!”
They picked up their swords again, and set at each other.
“What do you mean, she won’t
like it?”
“Colar, she was really angry. She had words with father. But she didn’t seem like she was sad.”
“Aevin, you’re a kid. You don’t know anything about it.” Colar redoubled his attack and pressed his brother back, swinging hard and savagely. Aevin gave as good as he got, and their swords blurred as they hit hard, with little technique. Now his breathing came fast, and sweat stung his eyes. He ignored it, as he had been trained, and focused on the fight.
“That’s better,” said Maksin, satisfaction in the old guard’s voice.
Colar went up to change when Maksin and Raymon finally let the brothers go. Warm bath water waited for him, a pitcher set next to the fire, and he sluiced himself down, dried off, and rummaged through his childhood chest for clean clothes. That night was the last dinner. Janye’s parents were to go home tomorrow. He had heard his bride arguing with her mother and father, wanting to go with them, but in this they held firm. She was to stay with her husband until they had won Favor. Good riddance, he thought, except that it wasn’t the plan he and his father had for them. He pulled out his old pair of blue jeans and laughed out loud. He wondered what they would say if he showed up in these. He was about to put them back when he felt stiffness in the back pocket.
Colar pulled out the Annapolis brochure and the scrap of thick paper with it. Frowning, he unfolded it.
He read her note over and over until the words sunk in and merged with Aevin’s and Janye’s.
She was really angry. But she didn’t seem like she was sad.
Did you love her? Or were you just grateful?
His stomach tied itself up in knots. Aevin was right–she hated him. But he had just spent weeks in the company of his wife and her family, and high god help him, he needed her. As soon as we have Favor, I will ride to Red Gold Bridge. I’ll apologize, I’ll explain, I’ll beg her forgiveness every day. Uplifted by thoughts of penance, he tucked the letter back inside the brochure, and stuffed it back into the jeans. Then he got into his real clothes and went downstairs to dinner.
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