Malice of Crows: The Shadow, Book Three

by Lila Bowen

  “Don’t take it personal,” Rhett said, frowning at Notch and Beans as they squatted uneasily by the growing pile of kindling and pretended they hadn’t heard the discussion. “Dan’s a prickly feller when his sister’s involved, and I’ve pushed him past reason recently. You-all got any useful skills? Besides hunting?”

  “I can tan skin and dry meat,” Beans said.

  “I can shine shoes, tie a tie, and fold gloves,” Notch added.

  “Well, one set of skills is a bit more useful than the other around here. Cora, ain’t we got that buffalo’s hide somewhere?”

  Cora looked up from where she sorted leaves and sliced roots she’d brought up dripping wet from the creek after foraging all day. Frowning, she pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Rolled up in the back of the wagon.” She didn’t bother to get up and fetch it, though, so Rhett brought it out, along with the tools Winifred kept around for whatever magic she did to turn bloody skin into buttery soft leather. Beans went to work, and Notch edged away, looking disgusted.

  “Notch, you know anything about horses?”

  “I grew up in a town, Rhett. They scare me, if I’m honest. One stomped my brother’s foot once, and his toenails popped off like corn on the cob.”

  “Then he was dumb as a possum. C’mon. I’ll introduce you.”

  As Rhett soon learned, Notch was dumb as a possum, too. Being handsome must’ve been enough to get him through life, as he couldn’t make heads nor tails of the horses, literally. Rhett eventually set him to refilling the canteens hanging off the saddles as the ponies drank from the stream and Rhett went to hobbling them.

  It was getting toward that part of the day when it was almost barely night and everything felt dreamy. Rhett still wasn’t fully reaccustomed to life in the saddle, and his bowels hadn’t straightened out since the train, and all he wanted to do was eat something that wasn’t squirming or rock hard and curl up as close to Sam as felt safe with two new bodies around the campfire. The hunting party had good luck, what with all the local critters returning to their stomping grounds after the buffalo had passed, and Cora managed to cook up a stew of greasy bird and rabbit in the witch’s old cauldron. Rhett’s belly was soon hard and round, his lips slicked with fat and his smile sleepy.

  He placed his bedroll as close to Sam’s as seemed polite and settled down. Notch and Beans, as it turned out, had grown too used to the confinement of the train and dragged a saddle blanket under the wagon to sleep without the stars overhead. But Rhett stretched out on his back and stared up at the glittering mass of dots so like the holes torn in his old shirt at Mam and Pap’s. Things felt finer, tonight, for some reason. Dan had returned with his old smile, some of his iciness toward Rhett melted. Winifred had disappeared with Cora into the wagon, but even she had thawed a little with a bellyful of good food. Far as Rhett could figure, something must’ve happened, out there on the prairie, without him.

  “Hey, Sam,” he murmured, once it seemed like everyone else was settled down and Dan had finally fallen asleep.

  “Yeah, Rhett?”

  “What did you-all talk about while you were out hunting?”

  Sam rolled over looking thoughtful. “Lots of things, but I reckon most of it’s not mine to tell. I think we’ll be okay, though.”

  Rhett noticed he didn’t mention whether that we meant the entire posse or Sam and himself and whatever this was, their nightly saddle-talk session and that kiss in the wagon and the way their fingers brushed, softly, just once as Sam passed Rhett a tin cup of stew. They hadn’t mentioned it, either one, but there was a tentative sweetness around Sam’s face whenever their eyes locked.

  “You have never understood me so well, have you Rhett?”

  Rhett exhaled, annoyed that Dan was still awake and had overhead them and interrupted them during a time that Rhett considered special and private, even if it happened under the moon for all to see.

  “I reckon not, Coyote Dan,” he answered. “You’d think after this long on the trail together, I’d know when you were faking sleep to listen to me gossip.” His eye flitted to where Beans and Notch snored and farted under the wagon. “You reckon this’ll turn into a party now? We all gonna have a little pillow talk?”

  Dan’s soft, easy chuckle took Rhett back to the days before he’d bedded the man’s sister and things between them got particularly strained. “No, they’re asleep. I was waiting to speak to you, actually. This is important. Sam helped me understand something today. The thing is, Rhett, you are a lustful man, a hungry man. Like a boy first feeling his thews, you long to taste everything, and you seem to like everything you taste. You are driven and possessed, sometimes unwisely, by your body’s urges. But me? I hunger for nothing. I don’t even wish to taste.”

  Rhett sat up on his elbows to stare at Dan. “You saying what I think you’re saying? Because that ain’t natural.”

  Dan barked a laugh. “It’s as natural as you are. As natural as Sam is. As natural as Winifred or Cora or Jiddy. Only townfolk would see two wild boy dogs humping in the forest and call it unnatural. Is it so hard to grasp, that I might be your opposite? That I might grow frustrated when you can’t control yourself and focus?”

  Rhett’s sleepy brain considered. It was true enough that he’d never seen Dan’s eyes trail after a woman, a man, a cowpoke, a whore. He’d taken it for a preacher-like fussiness, but Dan was laying it out for him, right here.

  “So you think what I am is wrong?” Rhett asked.

  “No, fool,” Dan said, like he was chiding a child. “I think you’re acting like a tomcat, and instead you should focus on your goal and spend your energy on purer tasks. I was angry, once, that you changed your mind so quickly from this to that. Now I see that… well, you never actually changed your mind at all.”

  Rhett swallowed and looked anywhere but at Sam. “No, I reckon I didn’t.”

  Because he’d felt the same damn way about Sam since that summer at the Double TK, and he’d even felt the same way since that day in the river when Sam had learned the truth of him, and Rhett had learned the truth of Sam.

  All those… things he’d tasted, as Dan had said? Well, he wasn’t settling into a meal, wasn’t even looking for a full belly, as far as that went. He was just trying things thus far unknown. Just taking comfort where comfort came in a cold, hard world. But when it came to his heart, he knew what he craved, and it was more than a willing partner in the dark.

  “So we’re all good, then, Coyote Dan?”

  For a moment, the only noise was the crackle of the fire. And then he heard Dan settle back down and sigh.

  “We’re good, Rhett Walker. Just stop it with the goddamn Coyote. My name is Dan.”

  “Goodnight, Dan.”

  “Goodnight, you ridiculous son of a bitch.”

  Rhett settled on his side and stared into Sam’s eyes, seeing something there like a promise, like permission.

  “Good night, Sam.”

  Quick as a blink, he reached out his knuckles and stroked ever so gently along Sam’s bearded jaw. Sam’s eyes closed briefly like a cat in the sun.

  “Good night, Rhett.”

  The next day was about the same, and the day after that, and the day after that. Despite a few mornings of hard, pounding rain, they made good time, headed southwesterly across the prairie, toward the jagged mountains that made Rhett feel safe. Well, as safe as he could, in his skin and in his world. It used to be because he told himself as a child that if Pap ever did something truly horrible, he could run and hide in the nooks and crannies and arroyos filled with rockfalls and scorpions and vipers, the sort of things that a half-blind, drunk white feller would just naturally stumble up on and succumb to, having never moved through the world in fear. But these days, it was because he knew that he could conquer those mountains, whether as a man or as the bird. There was no crag too high, no cliff too steep. It was his domain now, and as he was fairly certain there wasn’t a single bird in Durango bigger than him, it would stay that way.

&
nbsp; The closer they were to the mountains, the closer they were to Las Moras and the Captain and getting rid of Earl and Notch and Beans and getting the hell back to killing Trevisan. And the closer he was to getting rid of the ball of dread that suggested something horrible might have happened back at the Ranger outpost. Just because Rhett wasn’t with Cora didn’t lessen his resolve to wrestle Meimei away from the monster and throttle whatever was left of the old alchemist. At least, for once, the Shadow’s destiny was mostly aligned with what Rhett would’ve chosen on his own – although Rhett would’ve gone after Trevisan first, given the choice.

  A few days on, his courses returned, spotty and brown but annoying enough. He hadn’t missed the painful reminder of his body’s stubborn femininity while he’d been starving near to death in the train camp; hell, it was one of the only good things about the experience. When he veered Ragdoll away from the others and toward some rocks, yanking out his rags and cussing like hell, Cora called him over and gave him some goddamn piece of stick to chew, swearing it would ease the pain, which it probably did, a little.

  They were past lunch and headed into the longest, hottest, dullest part of the afternoon. It was October, and it was cooler than it had been, but when the sky was empty of clouds and the sun wanted to burn down some punishment, Rhett felt it in every bone of his body. Hot and dry, his belly crunching in pain, he was called back to the days he’d wandered in the desert, dying of guilt and a mesquite thorn both, back before he’d met and been saved by the then-mysterious nekkid feller he now called Dan.

  What had happened then – Dan had called it a vision quest. Said it made Rhett a man. Said it named him the Shadow. Because that was what he’d seen, thrown harsh and dark against the orange canyon walls. Rhett could almost see it now, wavering on the hot, baked earth: a shadow too big to be any bird he’d ever seen, soaring overhead, wings wide enough to blot out the harsh sun.

  A brief moment of coolness passed, and he squinted. And then he knew.

  He was seeing it. A shadow.

  When he looked up, he was pretty sure he was having one of those famous oasis dreams rumor had it madmen got in the desert, when they’d had too much sun and not enough water or sense. Sure enough, it was a bird, and like no bird he’d ever seen. Was it another vision? Was that what he looked like when he flew overhead as the lammergeier, the lambhawk? Even from this far away, he could see that it was clearly like a vulture, with a pinkish-orange belly and throat and broader wingspan than the local carrion birds and harpies both. It soared over him and his posse in a leisurely, intelligent fashion, then circled a little lower.

  That’s when Rhett realized he wasn’t hallucinating. Dreams don’t get suspicious and come in for a closer look.

  Quick as a lick, Rhett was off Ragdoll and stuffing his clothes in his saddlebags, rags and all, not even caring that the others could see his body.

  “What’re you doing, Rhett?” Sam asked.

  Rhett pointed up. “That about what I look like when I’m a bird?”

  Sam followed his finger. “Aw, that’s just a vul – Wait. Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what you look like.”

  By then, Rhett had shucked off his boots and was taking a running leap.

  “Be careful!” Sam shouted in his wake.

  Not that Rhett had any plans to do so.

  In midair, the gawky girl’s body he hated so much turned inside out, felt like, and became the bird. He’d finally got it down so he didn’t have to land and lollop around before taking flight, just started pumping his wide wings toward the hard blue sky. The feathers around his face lifted, a strange mixture of excitement and something that tasted halfway between rage and fear.

  What was this… this… thing? In his space, in his sky? He was the only one of his kind, and this interloper was unwelcome. His belly wobbled as his will solidified. He would take the bird down.

  A human thought poked through. What if it was a friend?

  Maybe, dare he say it?

  Family?

  The bird shook off that nonsense.

  Interloper, the bird said.

  Attack, the bird said.

  A scream, and now he knew that it saw him, and that it felt the same way about him. The other bird streaked toward him in a dive, pulling up at the last minute, talons outstretched. Rhett spun around and slung up his own claws, and they locked into a raging ball of feathers that spiraled down toward the ground as they screeched. At the last minute, the other bird pulled away and pumped back upward, and Rhett found his air, mere feet above the ground, and laughed as he gave chase.

  It was smaller than him, this bird, by just a little. Even if it had been the aggressor, it was no longer in power. Rhett would’ve fallen to the ground, taking the little bastard with him. Still would, if things shook out that way.

  Although Rhett had driven off other vultures and attacked hawks in flight and eaten his fair share of ravens and crows, he’d never faced a feathered foe anywhere close to his size. Far as he was concerned, he still hadn’t faced one with his drive. The smaller lammergeier was flapping hard now, not riding the thermals or anything so relaxing. It was flying for its life, giving short cries that sounded less like screams of rage and more like a lost child.

  Cheek-acheek! the other bird cried.

  I’ll get you, cheeky critter, Rhett thought.

  He was chasing it at top speed, away from his posse, but he could find them easily enough. He had to know the truth of this bird, of the human body he knew it hid. He could’ve attacked it at this point; he was bigger and faster. But even as the bird, Rhett wanted answers more than he wanted blood, so he slowed and let it fly, following it up over the jagged rocks and north a bit, felt like. When it finally angled down toward the ground, Rhett scanned the area for signs of a tribe but found only a strange little shelter of poles and skin with meat drying on racks outside and a buffalo robe spread out in the sun. A rough-looking coydog rose from sleeping and took up barking furiously, leaping toward the sky.

  Cheek-acheek! the bird called again, frantic, and an older woman stepped out of the dwelling, knife in hand and shielding her eyes against the sun. The bird tumbled to the ground, lolloped behind the woman, and disappeared into the dwelling. The woman slashed threateningly at the air with her knife and shouted at Rhett in a language of sharp sounds, proud and confident.

  Rhett circled low. Not low enough for her to throw the knife, but low enough to see her face, warm brown and fierce. Her hair was ink black with just a few sparks of silver, cut short and parted down the middle. Her dress was a simple leather tunic to her knees with soft leggings and moccasins. The man might’ve seen more, but that was all that the bird saw.

  Not food, the bird thought.

  His aggressor had fled, his scent gone. He was human again, hiding in the tent. The bird knew well enough that there was nothing here for a creature like him, no juicy bones full of marrow. He circled higher, as thoughtful as a bird could be, and flapped toward his posse on strong wings. A few times, he dared to think human thoughts, wobbled, and let the bird take over again. Some time later, he landed near Ragdoll, who was being ponied off Sam’s horse, and stumbled to his dusty human feet.

  “What happened?” Sam asked, reining in to give Rhett access to his kit. “You okay?”

  Rhett was careful to keep the mare between him and Sam as he bound his chest, tied on his rags, and dressed. Now was not the time to be thinking about bodies, and he was shy, anyway, still worried about scaring Sam off, if Sam had too much cause to remember what sort of parts he actually had and hid.

  “Followed him to his camp. Just him and an older lady and a coydog, looked like. He hid from me, though. I reckon he’s younger, maybe, so he doesn’t have as much control. After that first tangle, he hightailed.”

  “So who was he?” Dan had ridden up now, with Winifred not far behind.

  Rhett shook his head and hopped on his horse. “I don’t rightly, but I aim to find out. There’s a pass up ahead. We’re going north.” />
  Dan cocked his head in that irritating way he had that meant maybe Rhett was wrong and was about to rush into something stupid and get everybody killed. “Is that what the Shadow tells you to do?”

  “Fuck the Shadow, Dan. This is personal.”

  He gave Dan a significant look, turned his horse’s head, and aimed for the pass. They could follow or not. That wasn’t his business. Finding out about that other lammergeier – that was his business.

  They followed, though.

  They always did.

  It was only a couple of miles before they came close enough to the small camp that Rhett could feel his stomach wobble. Dan and Winifred felt it, too, judging by how they both perked up and subtly checked their weapons. Maybe Earl and Notch and Beans did – Rhett didn’t ask and didn’t much care. Sam rode by his side, and as the tent came into view, he had his hand on his pistol.

  Rhett turned to face his posse. “I’m going in. Cora, Notch, Beans, you-all stay behind. Dan, if you’d consider having your bow ready, I’d be obliged. Winifred, I’d never dream of telling you what to do with yourself, but please stay safe enough that Dan won’t holler at me. Sam —”

  “I’m coming with you, fool,” Sam said with affection.

  Looking down, Rhett flushed with shame. “I was actually hoping you might hold back and cover me, should I need gunfire. The woman I saw looked pure Injun, shouted in a language I didn’t understand. You might make her nervous.”

  “You trying to keep me safe again?”

  “Let’s say that, sure.”

  Sam nodded and made a show of settling into his saddle.

  “So you’re going in alone?” Winifred asked.

  “It makes sense. Nobody else needs to get hurt on my fool errand.”

  She snorted. “Fool indeed. I’ll go with you. A woman will make her feel safer.”

  Rhett gave her a real smile. “I’d appreciate that, if your brother don’t mind.”