Malice of Crows

by Lila Bowen

  Sam gave him a pained smile. “It’s not that I missed a shot, Rhett. It’s awful strange, how few animals there are around here. I ain’t seen anything edible in hours, not since that bird at lunch.”

  Rhett inclined his head to concede the point. It was true, now that he considered it. They hadn’t seen any game, much less the signs of anything big enough to fill them up or leave a trail. No deer, no scat, nothing bigger than a bluebird bursting from the bushes in surprise. And yet it was a lush place, as far as Durango went, with plenty of grass and little scrubby forests poking up around the creeks.

  “It’s right peculiar,” Rhett agreed.

  He stood and slowly spun in place. The Shadow didn’t feel anything out of order, no pull to put some horrible, game-murdering monster to dust. No, what the Shadow mostly wanted right now was to sit the hell down and eat some snake without getting attacked by anything or having further uncomfortable conversations. After a long day in the saddle following a fight to the death with a giant scorpion, no one seemed liable to argue the matter.

  The snake didn’t go far among six people, and that was after they’d dug out the remains of lunch. Rhett felt like his middle was a gaping hole that could never quite be filled. Back at Mam and Pap’s place, at least he hadn’t known he was mostly starving to death. But he’d gotten accustomed to living on proper vittles with the Double TK ranch hands and then the Rangers, and now one sixth of a snake and a cold potato wouldn’t cut it. He guzzled water just to feel full.

  He settled on down for the night, leaning against his saddle with Sam on one side and Dan on the other. Winifred and Cora were on the other side of the fire, and everyone was keeping mostly silent. It was like that, after a fight – folks tended to sink into their feelings, replaying the fight or worrying about the future or just enjoying a quiet moment after the flood of energy. It wasn’t much to slide his saddle back and tip his hat over his eyes, enjoying the soft flicker of firelight and the silence of a calm autumn night, not too hot and not too cool, broken only by the gentle wufflings of the horses nearby and Earl’s donkey snores. He heard the women murmuring, and then their footsteps retreating, probably toward the wagon.

  Good. They didn’t have expectations of him, neither one. One more weight off his mind.

  “Hey, Rhett?”

  Rhett rolled on over when he heard his favorite sound and curled on his side to grin at Sam Hennessy. The feller hadn’t shaved in a while, and his burly golden beard made Rhett’s heart do somersaults.

  “Yeah, Sam?”

  “Aren’t you going to the wagon with Cora?”

  Sam’s eyes were giving Rhett that puppy dog look, like he was hopeful but also afraid of being kicked. Rhett had to choose his words carefully, not only because the truth was a tricky thing, but also because he never wanted to cause Sam any pain.

  “I don’t reckon she wants me there,” he said, voice low, hoping Dan wasn’t listening in.

  “Seems right comfortable. You two did, I mean. And the wagon.”

  Even a few weeks ago, Rhett would’ve turned away from Sam’s plaintive look, from the torture of untangling his feelings. But Rhett had learned a lot about himself, and one thing he’d learned was that hard things were often worth doing and didn’t keep well if ignored.

  “It was comfortable, I guess. But the girls are the ones who need the wagon’s comfort. Not me. I… I’m accustomed to rough living. And I reckon it did Cora a fright today, facing off with that monster. She’s never faced anything like that, and it plum tuckered her out.”

  “But she knew Mister Trevisan personally?”

  “Well, it’s different, ain’t it? One man looking you in the eye, making you be obedient, but knowing that as long as you do what he says, you’ll survive. And then you’re free, and devils are rising up from the ground to claim you. I don’t think she’s ever been in a fight for her life before, and she told me herself she thought her fire would kill it, lickety-split. Must be quite a blow to a person, realizing that you’re not as dangerous as you thought you were.”

  Sam nodded as if tucking that wisdom away. “You-all sure seem to have a lot in common.”

  Rhett’s lips twisted. “Oh, because we ain’t white and we’ve been enslaved? Yeah, I guess her and me and half of the Federal goddamn Republic got that in common.” Sam flinched like he’d been slapped, and Rhett softened. “Sorry, Sam. Sore subject, I reckon.”

  “I meant more like… how you’re both… I mean…” Sam turned red as an apple and looked like he was liable to choke. “You seem to like the same thing, I guess. Hellfire, Rhett. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  But suddenly Rhett did know what Sam was saying, and he felt a blush creep up his own cheeks. “Oh. Oh. Well. Sam. I reckon… I mean, I figure… well, some folks won’t eat snake, and some folks won’t eat squirrel. Some folks’ll eat both, and other folks prefer citified salt pork. But I reckon it depends more on how the meal is prepared, far as I’m concerned.”

  Sam’s face went through a series of changes then, confusion and surprise and understanding. “Oh, well, I reckon that makes plenty of sense,” he finally said, and then he gave Rhett a sweet and private smile.

  “And what I prefer is to sleep right here. By the fire,” Rhett said.

  “Well, I prefer that, too, Rhett.”

  And then they stared at each other so long that it got right peculiar, and Rhett ducked his head and said good night and lay on his back, trembling, until sleep claimed him.

  In the morning, they found no game and had to subsist on jerky they’d stored while waiting for Rhett to finish his business at the railroad camp. Poor Cora had never had jerky before and suffered a horrible stomachache after just a few hours on the trail. Winifred gathered what wild plants she could, but vegetables never filled a body up without some good, bloody meat to cling to.

  Racking his mind for reasons such edible creatures wouldn’t be around, Rhett let Puddin’ fall back behind the wagon to walk beside Dan’s latest forgettable chestnut, a mare with a wide blaze and one blue eye.

  “Dan, you got any idea why we can’t find supper?”

  Dan stared between his mare’s ears with his usual annoying calm. “Sometimes, there is no reason. Creatures move here and there.”

  “But I ain’t even seen a vulture. It’s unnatural.”

  “Wrong. Adversity is natural. Going hungry is natural. Ask me after ten days, and then I’ll look for something sinister.”

  “Well shit, Dan. It only takes one meal without food to make me curious.”

  The stare Dan gave him reminded Rhett how little he knew about his vexful friend’s past. “I’ve gone hungry much longer and for far more significant reasons.” Then the shade seemed to pass by like a cloud, and Dan’s smile was friendly again. “Ride ahead if you like, or become the bird and range farther. Perhaps such a large party and the wagon make them run. Perhaps they smell a dragon and flee.”

  “Fair enough. Watch my horse, will you?”

  Dan nodded, so Rhett pulled Puddin’ to a stop, dismounted, shucked his clothes, and tucked them into the saddlebag, all while keeping the pony between him and Dan, who had also obligingly halted his mount. Sam was ranging far ahead, on the lookout for game, and Rhett didn’t give a shit if either of the women saw him in his altogether. Soon the bird was flapping into the sky, sighing the sigh of the truly free and light of heart. He passed over a tiny bright dot, Sam on his palomino, and kept flying. The grasses spread out beneath him like an endless blanket, rippling in the wind. The sun was high and warm for fall, the sky blue and clear. After the rainy, miserable days in the train camp, Rhett would never take a sunny day for granted again. He turned off his people brain and let the bird take over, tasting the air for something good and dead.

  He managed to find an old deer, mostly rotten but meaty enough for his needs. After he’d plucked the carcass clean, he rubbed his face on some grass and took back to the sky, wheeling in ever wider circles. Below him, no creatures moved. Not
a deer, not a bird, not even a fanged rabbit, which were generally plentiful. And yet nothing else seemed off to him, nothing at all.

  Except…

  The bird wobbled in the air. Too close to human thoughts to stay aloft, he twitched his feathers and headed back toward his posse. He saw Sam first, then the others, all sitting around a campfire that didn’t smell delicious at all, thanks to a lack of cooking meat. Earl, still in donkey form, cropped a tiny patch of sparse grass, far off, his back to the group. Landing in his usual ungainly fashion behind the knot of horses, the bird transformed back into Rhett Walker, dressed, and considered his words carefully as he took his place at the fire.

  “No game?” Dan asked.

  Rhett shook his head and took the piece of jerky Sam held out. “Nothing. Nothing as far as I got. Only found one carcass, and it was ancient.” He put a fist over his burp, which reminded him exactly how old it had been. “Didn’t see anything unusual. The Shadow didn’t feel anything. And yet…”

  “And yet?” Winifred asked.

  Rhett stared at her hard. “And yet I got this feeling.” Nobody interrupted him for once, so he chewed his jerky and considered. “Like the world’s holding its breath. Like something’s coming, but all the critters had plenty of time to clear the way. Like they know something we don’t.”

  Dan cocked his head. “I’ve felt the earth move. I’ve seen tornadoes. I’ve stood under the sky raining frogs. The animals sometimes sense such things before the humans do.”

  Rhett looked up at the clear sky. “Don’t seem like tornado weather. And I didn’t see a single frog-colored cloud.”

  “The earth moves often, where I’m from,” Cora said, looking up as well. “There is never any warning. In the city, we shrug and rebuild and move on. The animals don’t appear to notice.” She seemed, to Rhett, more quiet and demure than she’d been before, as if she were holding part of herself back. It made his heart ache, to see her dimmed, but it wasn’t so much his business anymore, was it? Far as he understood relationships, she was done with him. There was some color in her cheeks, at least, so Rhett figured she was recovering from the fight.

  “Anybody have any particular feelings about frogs?” he asked, just to take the spotlight away from someone who obviously felt uncomfortable in it just then.

  Sam chuckled, but no one said anything. It felt as if they, much like the larger world, were all waiting for something, but damn if Rhett knew what it was.

  “Then I reckon we go to sleep in shifts so there’s always someone awake, should something happen. I’ll take first shift.”

  “I’ll take second,” Sam said, and Rhett rewarded him with a smile.

  Nothing happened on Rhett’s watch, except that Sam gave him a sleepy grin and clutched his shoulder tight as they traded places. Nothing happened on Sam’s watch, either.

  In fact, nothing happened all night.

  The next day, though?

  That brought a hell of a surprise.

  Breakfast was a dim affair. They sat around the fire they didn’t need, the orange flames doing very little to brighten a dull gray morning. Nobody said much. The clouds seemed heavy as lead, oppressive and suffocating. Rhett was anxious to be on the road and out from under the looming dread. Even the horses were spooky. Ragdoll nipped at Rhett’s hand when he went to tighten her girth, and since he understood exactly why she felt twitchy, he didn’t blame her much.

  His belly grumbled something awful as they doggedly forged a path through heavy scrub. Rhett was out front on Ragdoll, the Shadow pulling him west like it had him on a string. Sam trotted by his side on his blue roan, the whites of the gelding’s eyes showing as he blew against his bit and frothed.

  “Sure do wish you’d choose a peaceable horse,” Rhett muttered to his friend as Sam again had to tighten reins on the dancing critter.

  “It would appear I rarely choose what’s easy, Rhett,” Sam said, giving him a look that said a lot of things that Rhett couldn’t quite decipher but that gave him goose bumps nevertheless.

  The prairie was headed uphill, with a range of mountains far off. Rhett knew that up close, the rock formations were probably orange and rounded and that they were a good sign in regards to getting close to their goal of the craggy range surrounding the Ranger outpost, but from here, they looked black and sharp as rotten teeth. Thunder roiled, and the pressure in the air made Rhett wince. A dull ache started up behind his eye. The ground trembled under Ragdoll’s hooves, and she sidestepped and planted her legs more firmly, snorting as if to tell the world all was not well.

  “Earthquake?” Sam asked.

  Rhett looked back to where Dan rode, closer to Winifred’s place by Cora’s wagon.

  “This is not an earthquake,” Cora called, struggling to hold Samson’s reins as the usually calm gelding danced backward. “It’s something else.”

  The thunder was louder, and it wasn’t stopping, and the ground was shaking so hard that the horses looked like they were standing on a hot cast-iron pan. A great funk rose up, a cloud of orange-brown dust that smelled like…

  “Oh, shit,” Rhett yelled. “Run!”

  Because something was coming, and whatever it was, it was big.

  Earl was already galloping back the way they’d come as fast as his little donkey trotters would carry him. The horses were more than glad to spin and gallop in his wake, but Cora was having trouble with Samson. He was big, and the wagon didn’t allow him much room to maneuver, but he wanted to follow the other horses and kept getting tangled up.

  “Goddammit,” Rhett muttered, cantering over and skidding off Ragdoll to take Samson’s bridle in hand and laboriously turn the terrified critter in the other direction.

  “Rhett, look.”

  Dan’s voice was calm, but the kind of calm that spoke volumes. Rhett did look, and what he saw chilled him to the bone. He slapped Samson’s rump to urge the beast away and just stood there, frozen, staring at the mass of woolly brown careening down the far hill.

  “Buffalo,” he murmured. “Never thought I’d see ’em.”

  “You’re going to see them very close up if you don’t get moving,” Dan barked, his voice barely carrying over the oncoming roar.

  But Ragdoll had had enough, and she knew her limits. The mare squealed and galloped away, leaving Rhett to stand there alone. Pounding hoofbeats approached, and Rhett spun around to find Samuel Hennessy holding out his hand.

  “I reckon you don’t mind riding double on a prancey horse?”

  Sam’s grin said everything, and Rhett put his foot in Sam’s stirrup and took the hand up, landing on the roan’s rump. Sam kicked the horse, and Rhett wrapped his arms around his best friend’s waist and dug his face into Sam’s shoulder, holding on for dear life. Even after weeks on the trail, living wild, Sam still smelled better than anything Rhett had ever encountered, and he figured he’d maybe thank a buffalo one day for this spare moment, should he and Sam live long enough to see it.

  Oh, goddammit.

  Sam.

  “Head for the wagon,” Rhett hollered in Sam’s ear.

  “Why?”

  “Because we can’t outrun the buffalo, and you’re human.”

  “So?”

  “So they’ll trample you to death, fool! Now git!”

  It was easy enough for the leggy gelding to overtake big ol’ Samson and the wagon, even with two rangy cowpokes on his back. Cora was yelling at Samson in her own language, shaking the traces, but Samson was a smart horse and wouldn’t go any faster. He knew, even if Cora didn’t, that going too fast on uneven ground with a top-heavy wagon would kill them both. Rhett looked over his shoulder and saw miles and miles of buffalo, dirty brown fleece and sparking black eyes. East, west, south: there was no way to avoid them, to outrun them, to skitter past them.

  Rhett jumped down from Sam’s horse and grabbed Cora’s arm, but gentle enough. “Turn into a dragon and get into the air. Now.”

  “But what about you?” she asked, already untying the strings
that held her shirt together.

  “I got to protect Sam. Wait, when you’re a dragon, can you —”

  She shucked her pants and stood there in her altogether, pretty and defiant. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t carry anyone when I fly. Too heavy. I’ve tried.”

  He nodded. “Go on, then. If I don’t make it through, whoever’s left will help you. The Rangers will help you. You’ll get Meimei back.”

  Pain crossed over her face, followed by a sweetness that hurt Rhett’s heart. “I’ll see you again, Rhett Walker. The wheel isn’t done turning.”

  She stepped away, bent her neck, and rippled into the magnificent, scaled beast. Shaking out her mane, she waggle-galloped and leaped into the sky, where she circled once and hovered, wide wings beating, watching the scene below keenly. Rhett looked around but couldn’t find Dan or Winifred or Earl. It was just him and Sam now, and the buffalo were close enough that he could hear their collective snorting and smell their wet, hot breath. Sam stood by the wagon, holding his panicking horse’s reins, waiting for Rhett’s word.

  “Let him loose and get in the wagon, Sam!”

  Sam slid the roan’s bridle over his ears and smacked the gelding’s rump before dutifully climbing into the wagon. Rhett cut Samson out of his traces and urged the horse away, then ran around to where the second string horses and mules were ponied. They were all tangled up and yanking, so he slipped their halters off their ears one by one and sent them all running in Samson’s wake. Even loyal old Blue the mule galloped off without a second thought. When they were well out of the way, he went to the little door in the back of the wagon, the one he’d entered himself a time or two for a night of pleasantries with Winifred. Opening it, he followed Sam into the muted light of the canvas-roofed caravan car.

  When he’d taken it from Prospera’s camp after freeing all her magical beasts, it had still smelled like the old witch, sharp and green with herbs and age and black dirt. Now it smelled like Winifred, like flowers drying in the sun and that little ball of rose soap the dwarves had given the girl what now seemed like a lifetime ago. Rhett reached around Sam to close the door and fix it with a piece of leather they’d rigged up for privacy, him and Winifred. Better not to see the millions of buffalo bearing down on them. Dead was dead, but a feller didn’t need to watch it happen outright.