The Crow God's Girl

by Patrice Sarath

  “Here’s your port,” Captain Varenn said.

  “Wow,” Kate said. “How did you know about this place?”

  Varenn pushed back the bangs off her forehead. It was hot and humid, and the air was thick and still. “I’ve been plying this river for twenty years and I don’t know everything about her. She has plenty of secrets, to be sure. The Temia landing, though–well, maybe it’s time it comes back into its own.”

  The affable captain was serious for once. Was that advice meant for me? Kate wondered. There was so much to do to restore Temia and her people to their former greatness, and it was true that a port would go a long way toward making it happen, even one as secluded as this one. Thoughts of canals and engineering filled Kate’s head.

  Varenn jerked her head at the stairs, dipping into the water. “Time to go. We’ll run a gangplank for the horse. I haven’t been inland more than a quarter-mile, but the road is still clear–mostly–and it will take you into the Temia heartland.”

  As the sailors slid a narrow gangplank down to the dock, Kate gathered her things and her horse. The horse was dubious about the gangplank, so she clucked and coaxed and sweet-talked and ultimately the gelding half-leaped down to the stone causeway, sliding a bit on the slick, wet surface. The horse turned and neighed, as if to tell her to hurry up.

  Kate let her breath out–she had been half afraid the horse was going to hurt himself on the precarious gangplank by falling off the side. She shouldered her pack and followed the horse.

  The River Lady didn’t wait. Two sailors tossed the lines back onto the deck, and bounced up the plank, and the ship was drifting back down toward the river before Kate even led the horse onto land. She tightened the saddle girth, hooked her packs back into place, and mounted.

  She was alone. The forest was so thick with underbrush she couldn’t even see the River Lady once she pushed the horse up the hill toward the port buildings. The great stone structure loomed ahead of her. It was covered with lichen and moss, and its roof of broken tiles was littered with branches, leaves, and decades of rotting organic material. It had been grand once. The stone was blurred by time and weather, but she could still see the carvings around the windows and doors. There was writing above the entrance, but it too was blurred. No, more than blurred. The writing was of a strange alphabet, the characters unlike anything she had ever seen before.

  This wasn’t an Aeritan port, then. In a way, that made sense–why have a port on a slough away from the main river? But if this wasn’t Aeritan, what was it?

  It wasn’t English. She would recognize English, even if she couldn’t read it anymore. This was some other language.

  Catching her unease, the horse shook his head and snorted. Kate pushed him toward the side of the building, trying to get a look in the windows. In the saddle she was just high enough to see, and she leaned in to look. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  It was a big room with a high ceiling. The flagstones were covered with leaves, and the far end of the building had caved in. Thick, ropy vines wound inside. It smelled like forest but it also smelled like urine. It had obviously been used as a den. But more than anything it reminded her of a train station.

  She heard the growl at the same time as the horse shied, almost dropping her out of the saddle. Kate gathered the reins and turned the horse, her heart leaping. A big forest cat, its dappled spots making it merge into the shadows, crouched behind them, tail lashing, the growl turning into an unearthly howl. She had bloody jowls, and a small creature dangled in her jaws.

  Oh shit oh shit. A mama cat, defending its cubs. The horse backed up until its rump was pressed against the wall. It crouched, trembling, held in place. She flexed her fingers on the reins and sat deep in the saddle, keeping the horse gathered.

  “We don’t mean any harm,” she said, her voice as calm as she could make it. “We’re going now.”

  She moved the horse in a half-pass around the cat. The cat continued its yowl, and its glowing eyes never left them. Kate moved the horse another sidestep, every fiber of the horse trembling with the need to run. Another step, and now they were free of the wall, and back on the trail. The cat crouched deep, haunches twitching, ready to pounce.

  “No!” Her shout rang out in the forest and the horse neighed in distress, shrill with fear, sitting back on its hindquarters. The cat sat up in surprise. Before it could change its mind, Kate turned the horse in a tight circle and kicked it hard, bolting up the path. The horse ran full out, lather already scraping off his neck, its mane whipping her face. Kate pushed hard with her hands and feet, riding like a jockey.

  After a minute she looked back, but the trail behind them was empty.

  “Okay, whoa baby whoa,” she said, pulling the horse back to a walk. She patted him on his neck, her hand coming away slick with sweat. Her own heartbeat slowed and she gave a little laugh. “Looks like we lost the nice kitty, eh pony?”

  Still, it was a pointed lesson. Humans were not her only danger. She resolved to remember that.

  Up ahead, the forest opened up as the trees grew sparse. The road Captain Varenn had spoken of was visible through the trees. Kate sighed with relief. It was good to get out of the woods.

  She took one last look as she turned south down the road. “I’m coming back, kitty,” she said out loud to the open sky. “There’s something going on out there, and I want to get to the bottom of it.”

  Ahead were the jagged mountains that separated Temia from Red Gold Bridge. They made a barrier against the white-blue sky, and the rocky plains undulated out to meet them, rising to foothills. As horse and rider topped a rise, she saw a figure in the distance. Kate squinted. She could make out a ragged cloak, whipping in the wind over the Temian plains, and a long staff rising above the figure’s head.

  Ah. The crow king. She put the horse into a ground-eating trot. The figure never moved, even when Kate pulled up next to him.

  He was as skinny as ever, his ribs showing under the tattered cloak, still no more covered than before. The bags under his eyes pouched with blood, and his nose was bent and swollen.

  Oh yeah. I did that.

  “Umm,” Kate said. “Do you need a lift?”

  He made a sound that almost could have been a laugh, and instead of answering, pointed the staff eastward. She looked that way, saw nothing different, except for a faint track that led away from the main road. She frowned.

  “So, do I go that way?”

  No answer. She turned around. He was gone. Kate gaped. The road was empty save for her and the horse. The wind blew the same as before, the sun beat down as strongly, the sky was as bleached.

  “Whoa,” she said under her breath. “Okay, then.”

  She turned the horse’s head eastward, and took the narrow path. Hours later, the sun was lowering behind them when her tired horse plodded down a short slope, and there in front of her were the ruins of Temia.

  There was no sign of life. The broken House with its fallen walls jutted into the sky, and the wind picked up with a rustling noise, kicking up dirt and dead grass. Kate’s heart sank and her vision blurred with tears. They weren’t there. She dismounted, scrubbing at her face with one grimy hand, and led the horse toward the House. Fear, anger, loneliness all welled up. How could they have left her alone? Didn’t they know she would come back? Where could they have gone? She was being unfair, a part of her knew, but she couldn’t stop it. She was alone, and the vision of the crow king, if it was a vision, she still wasn’t sure, was a cruel joke played on her by someone.

  She was so intent on her ill-use that when Balafray came around the corner of the building, her jaw dropped and she was speechless. The scarred crow was as well, and then they shouted in unison.

  “Balafray!”

  “She’s here!”

  She dropped the rein and ran at him, hugging him fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her and she grunted with pain, and said, “Ow. Ribs... hurt.” He released a little, but then Arlef, Ivar, and
Ossen came out, and she was enveloped among the crows and the pain didn’t matter. Kate let herself be held, eyes closed, breathing deep the scent of family.

  When they broke apart, she looked around at them. “I thought you weren’t here,” she said, and her voice broke.

  “We promised,” Balafray said.

  “A few nights ago, we knew you were on your way,” Ossen said. Pain had drawn lines around her mouth, aging her beyond her youth, but she was upright and smiling. “The crow god told us.”

  Kate squeezed her hands, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “How’s your back?”

  “Better. Arlef said he watched you clean it, and he took care of it.”

  Arlef grinned sheepishly. Kate pushed his shoulder. “You were sick, as I remember.”

  “I saw enough.”

  “Ivar,” she said. The long-legged runner was thin and spare, but he grinned at her.

  “Letter delivered, and you’ll like the answer too.”

  So the merchant had come through. She grinned back at him and then reached up and gave him a kiss.

  “You’re injured too,” Balafray rasped. “What did they do to you?”

  They would have all night to discuss what had happened in Salt and what it meant for Temia. For now, Kate looked around, her brow furrowed.

  “Where’s Grigar?”

  The crows looked at each other. “He went to look for you, after we made it here safely,” Ossen said at last. “He was worried.”

  And their paths had not crossed. Had he run into trouble?

  “He comes and goes,” Balafray said. “Don’t worry about my brother, half crow though he is.”

  Too late. She tried to hide her worry and her disappointment.

  “He’ll come back,” Ossen said staunchly.

  “Come. We’ve been making the House ready for your return, Lady Temia,” Balafray said, and he took her arm to lead her inside.

  “Wait!” Kate said. They all looked at her, surprised at her sudden vehemence. “Let’s put the horse in the stable.”

  It was right and proper that the once fine stable should have its first resident after generations of falling into disuse. Kate led the horse into a box and poured some grain in the manger. Arlef fetched water from the cistern in the kitchen, and when the horse was unsaddled and rubbed down and ate with concentration, Kate allowed herself to be led to the House.

  They had been busy. The crows had patched up the kitchen and the central hall, cleaning out the rubbish and detritus. A merry fire burned on a simple hearth, and the hall was almost homey. The biggest surprise was one of the chambers, up a rubbled flight of stairs and down a short hall. They had found an abandoned bed, a mighty four-poster, and the room smelled sweet, as they had swept and washed it to clean out the musty odor of decay. The mattress had been refilled with sweet grasses from the plains, and the bed was laid out with a blanket. It was her old bedroll of course, but it looked like a bed. At the foot were her few things–her old clothes, her suit of finery, cleaned once more, and the small drawstring bag that held the remaining freshwater pearls. Temia’s only fortune, right there, at the foot of her bed. And the other treasure that she thought she had lost forever, her journal, neatly tied up in string.

  “We know how you hate to sleep outdoors,” Ossen said. “You’re not like a real crow. So we tried to make the House ready for you.”

  Kate started to cry again. She had to stop that–she was Lady Temia, even if she wasn’t a real crow who didn’t like to camp–but for now she just let the tears flow.

  “I was so alone,” she managed to croak out. “I hate being on the road, and I didn’t have you guys. And that’s when the crow god came and helped me go to sleep, so I could rest. But all I want is just to stay in one place.”

  Ossen put her arms around her and Kate sobbed. She was home.

  Late that night, they sat in the kitchen by the fire and talked. The crows filled her in on their journey north. They traveled at night and holed up by day, changing Ossen’s bandages and keeping on the run. They asked Captain Varenn to keep a look out for Kate, and the river captain had agreed. They met few crows on the way. “We go to ground,” explained Balafray. “It’s best this way when House folk are ready for war, and angry. No one will find crows if they are not meant to be found.”

  Kate nodded, holding onto a small cup of vesh. She stared into the fire. The Council ended with two lords dead, and the Houses would have no compunction about taking their discontent out on the crows.

  When it was her turn, she said, “We’re in pretty dire straits. The Council is in disarray for this year, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they get it together enough to send an army north to Temia to finish me off.” She explained about Lord Terrick and they nodded solemnly.

  “The merchant gave me a letter,” Ivar said, and he handed it over to her. It was wrinkled and stained. Kate opened it and began to read.

  Lady Temia, I’m honored that you have remembered our brief friendship and further honored that you sought me out with your proposal. I am indeed interested. I will send an emissary to discuss your proposition further, a month hence.

  “What do we want with a merchant?” Balafray rasped suspiciously.

  “It’s because Temia is rich,” Ossen said. “Kett wants the merchants to run the mines and we get the money.”

  “The merchants get some of the money, but Temia gets the rest,” Kate explained. Balafray still looked skeptical. “Temia is the richest country in Aeritan. We have the mines in the mountains bordering Red Gold Bridge, and we might even have oil, if some of what I’ve heard is correct. The Council wants to go to war with us, and I think we can find allies elsewhere. We need to start thinking about Brythern.”

  She waited for protests but Ossen only said, “How can Brythern help us?”

  “What’s so important about oil?” Arlef said at the same time.

  “Brythern’s mercenaries can fight for us. We repay the companies in output from the mines. And oil is going to be very important, although it isn’t yet. Brythern can help us with that too.” Brythern universities were centers of knowledge and innovation. If she could explain the principles of an internal combustion engine and the use of refined oil as fuel, she could jumpstart an industrial revolution.

  They were silent for a long time. When Balafray spoke his voice rasped more than ever.

  “You speak of great riches in Temia but you also talk about merchants and mercenaries, and even Brythern,” he said. “I hear nothing of crows in all of these plans. Temia is our House, girl. Why are you giving it to merchants and mercenaries?”

  “But I’m not, Balafray,” she said, fumbling over her words. “No, it’s that the crows can’t fight by themselves. We’ll be killed. The whole Council is coming after us, and there’s no way we can survive this alone. We need the help of mercenaries, just the way the armies of Aeritan have been relying on the crows for generations to fill out their ranks. Only, we have to pay, and that’s where the merchants come in. I’m not giving up the riches of Temia. The merchants will pay Temia for the right to its mines. Once Temia is great again, we won’t need outsiders.”

  He was silent, considering her plan, and she waited anxiously. He nodded finally, his grotesque scar in shadow, making him look almost like his handsome brother in the firelight.

  “The crows will fight for Temia, and we will fight alongside these mercenaries. Better these soldiers than Aeritan soldiers, who want us only to die in their place.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Exactly. This time Temia will hire the fighters.”

  “It’s a good plan.”

  It was a terrible plan, virtually impossible. But for Temia to survive, she needed an army and she needed money. She was sitting on the biggest fortune in natural resources that Aeritan had. It would all go to waste, unless she managed to exploit it.

  She had a vision of Aeritan, the green land with its uncanny forest and its pastoral countryside, reeking with industry, the great river polluted with wa
ste. She almost had to laugh–what would her parents and her friends think of her, giving up all of her environmental principles so easily?

  I haven’t been that person in a long time, she thought, so in the end, it didn’t matter. She had a country to build.

  Over the next few days the crows trickled in, though there was no sign of Grigar and no one had word of him. The crow king came in with the others, observing his usual silence. He gave no indication that he had met Kate on the road to Temia. She could not spare too much time for him; there were so many crows still hurt or wounded. Kate tended them as best she could with her shrinking supply of salves and tinctures, and tried to make do with boiled water and bandages.

  The crows were stoic, but there were tears at night, and keening for lost family. Tamra had survived, but her husband and her daughters and their families had not. The matriarch was thin and terrible, her proud and wrinkled face full of sorrow and anger. She and Kate worked together to save who they could. She was a comfort and an accusation both. Asking for her forgiveness would only make Kate feel better, so instead she asked her if she knew how to make soap. Tamra nodded, and so at least they could clean the wounds better.

  Kate wrote painstakingly at the small writing desk she had rigged up from a broken board laid across some squarish stones. A stub of a candle barely gave her enough light to see by, but she ignored the discomfort, choosing her words with care. Hiring a mercenary army didn’t come easy. Her eyes were getting tired and she squeezed them tight and rubbed at them. This would be trickier than asking Mitain for money. This was a job for Balafray, she had to admit, except she wasn’t sure she could trust him not to go malcra. Maybe I should go, she thought, but there were difficulties with that approach. What mercenary general would take her seriously?