As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Robin Lythgoe

  “I haven’t used it since I woke up sick in the barn.” That, too, filled me with a sense of exultation. How long had it been? Five days? Six? And I was not getting worse as Duzayan had predicted. “Won’t the Baron be surprised?”

  “You just stopped taking it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t keep it down any more than I could keep real food down. Besides, it tasted terrible and I didn’t need it anymore.”

  He flexed his fingers and the Ancestors rustled apprehensively. “That’s it.” His voice didn’t raise like it ought if he were posing a question.

  “Truthfully? I don’t know. The magic from the cave was green, and I turned green when Melly and his friend attacked me. I think what they did triggered something about the Ancestor’s magic, which made me turn green all over again.” I paused to reflect on the poetry. “Literally and magically. And then there was the dragon. The big one.”

  He growled. “You could have died, you flaming idiot!”

  “I’m deeply touched that you care so much. I had no idea.” Hand to breast, I sucked in a breath of bracing air and let it out in a dramatic sigh, my aplomb restored. The world was a bright and wonderful place, and the gods truly did love me. Gathering up the reins, I turned Horse downriver. “You should know by now, Friend Tanris, that I have no intention of dying just yet. Even if I didn’t have some pressing unfinished business, there are things I still want to do, places to see, people to meet, coin and pretty baubles to liberate…“

  “You could have died,” he repeated, angrily stabbing the air. Incredulity accompanied every movement.

  “But I didn’t, did I?” I turned in my saddle as Horse walked on. Baron Duzayan’s rules had declared I would die without the stuff, but his poison was bound to me by magic. Whoever, whatever the Ancestors were, they had purged me of it, and Tanris—dear, dear Tanris—had reminded me who I was. “Aren’t you glad? I would kiss you, but you’d likely hit me again.”

  “From here all the way back to Hasiq jum’a Sahefal,” he said with startling fervor.

  It made me laugh.

  — 29 —

  First Things First

  “Are you listening?” I whispered. I felt silly. Tanris and Girl slept, I’d made sure, and I’d crept far enough away from camp that I wouldn’t disturb them. The sky was a blanket of deep velvet sprinkled with lovely stars. I loved stars. It had been far too long since I’d had a regular view of them, but admiring them was not what I’d come here to do. “Hello?”

  Nothing. Did ghosts sleep?

  “Hello!” I said a little bit louder. “Um... Friends? Ancestors?”

  Still nothing. That was a fine thing. Now what was I to do? Did it take a particular set of circumstances for them to hear me? I distinctly remembered them associating my ability to hear them with the pendant they’d made me rescue. Drawing it out from beneath my clothing, I examined it in the starlight. Shadows hid the etching. The spirits had called it a portal. A doorway. A doorway to what? Some sort of afterlife? A parallel world? My head ached with the swell of too many possibilities and with the knowledge that such things were too far-fetched to be real.

  “Do I have to be in danger to get your attention?” I asked.

  Still nothing. The only lives I could discern were those of my companions and the horses and the dragon. I chewed on my lip while I tried to recall the things the spirits had said to me during the course of our brief acquaintance. A confusing lot they were, and I wish they’d communicate things more clearly.

  “I am Crow,” I announced to the darkness, feeling more foolish and more helpless by the minute. “I am kin to Kalinamsin!” I had no idea if I really was or how that might be true, but that was the name the spirits had spoken and they had alluded to such a possibility.

  A little zephyr ran up my back and tangled my hair. I jumped in spite of myself. “Hello?”

  Crow... Crow! Friend Crow!

  “Yes,” I said, vastly relieved. “Where have you been?”

  Here. Always near. We angered you. We displeased you! Wanted only to defend you. Keep you safe, keep you near.

  “Always?” I suppressed a shiver.

  Always. Always. Always...

  Gods protect me—or did they? The gods work in mysterious ways, I knew, but it would certainly be nice if they’d just tell a person what they were up to, or possibly send them a letter now and then. Devout as I was, surely I’d earned such consideration?

  “Who are you?”

  There came the slightest pause and a sense of amazement, then they all spoke at once. Keshava. Brystani. Xuchai. Cimara. Darinan. Mesuk. Galen.

  It took a moment to realize the gibberish was actually their names. Ghosts had names? I supposed they must, for they’d had names when they’d lived and while I was certainly no expert on the afterlife, there was no logical reason why they shouldn’t still have them after they’d passed. “That’s not what I mean.” I waved my hands in the air as though that might stop them. Much to my astonishment, it did. Anxious, unseen fingers tugged here and there at my clothing. It made me shiver. “What,” I asked, choosing my words cautiously, “beings are you? Are you… people?”

  People. Yes. Once. People like you.

  “What are you now?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.

  Guardians. Protectors. Advisors.

  I tried to imagine explaining to my associates how I talked to spiritual guardians. I found it a little disconcerting that they rarely spoke in sentences, and their words continually overlapped. It made them difficult to comprehend, particularly when the entire group got going.

  “How many of you are there?”

  Some. Several. Many. A few.

  They weren’t presenting a very convincing argument for their collective sanity, but I didn’t quite dare contradict them. Schooling myself to calm, I explored the backs of my teeth with my tongue and wondered just what the gods in their infinite wisdom and mercy had got me into.

  “Who,” I started, and my voice trembled unexpectedly. “Who am I?”

  Ours. Kin. Dear. Son of sons. Friend.

  An unexpected lump formed in my throat. “Are you saying that Kalinamsin is—was—a relative? A grandfather?”

  Grandfather! they exclaimed jubilantly.

  I had a grandfather? Silly question, of course I had a grandfather. I had to come from somewhere. “And Kalinamsin was—” What were the names of the tribes Kem had told us about? “He was of what tribe?”

  Mazhar. We are Mazhar. You are Mazhar. Ours. Son of sons. Friend.

  They kept using the word “friend” as if it had significant meaning. “What does it mean to be a friend? The Friend?”

  All of the little winds rushed at me and into me at once, prickling and eager and completely overwhelming. And by “overwhelming” I do not merely mean “amazing” or “spectacular.” I mean I was completely taken over to the extent that the physical world in which my body resided was lost to me. Images flashed through my mind, and a deafening roar in my ears eventually became words and sounds. The first few images were familiar scenes of domestic life in the mountains—hunting, working the land, exploring, creating tools and artwork. It was the very existence of an entire people encapsulated in heartbeats. Those images were swept away by a struggle to survive starvation, drought, monumental battles. There were layers and layers of history, learning, nuance—and then the caves in which hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people had died. My people...

  So very many, but not all. No, not all. Three groups of them had formed a protective magic—a magic to preserve and to defend—and these became the Guardians, dedicating themselves to the protection of those few who survived. Some of the Mazhar escaped the Ghost Walk, though I did not understand how, and some of the Mazhar had never entered that terrible place. Among those survivors were a few chosen receptacles, men and women with whom the Guardians could communicate in order to protect both the people themselves and their great heritage. Something
about the magic changed those chosen, and that change was passed down from generation to generation.

  It had been passed down to me.

  Gradually, I became aware again of the glitter of stars in the night sky, the ground beneath me. In the wake of such a powerful event, the world seemed a strange place. My entire life had changed in a matter of minutes or perhaps hours. I did not know how much time had passed.

  Is he dead? Is he hurt?

  “I’m not dead yet, though you might have warned me,” I complained. The vision—was it really true? If so, what did it mean and how would it affect me from this point forward? I did not especially want to be a Receptacle that had regular chats with long ago people, relatives or not.

  Not dead! He lives! He breathes! He knows! The Ancestors were utterly jubilant. I just had a headache. Perhaps my head had found a rock in its precipitous descent to the ground. Sitting up slowly, I rubbed the back of my head, reassured to find no sticky, warm evidence of damage.

  Do you see? Do you know? they inquired, happy and excited.

  “It’s a lot to take in.” The ground was as hard as memory said ground ought to be, and my body ached as though I’d been struck by lightning. Not that I’ve ever actually been struck by lightning, but I have heard stories and I possess a marvelous imagination. Look what it has got me. I desperately wanted to lie back down again, but it would probably be better to make my way back to the camp and thus avoid upsetting Tanris and Girl, who would be full of questions I could not answer without them further doubting my sanity, particularly if they found me gone in the morning and had to go looking for me, only to find me sleeping in a ditch somewhere.

  Tanris! I had very nearly forgotten what I had set out to ask the Ancestors! “So.” I rubbed my abused noggin and licked dry lips. My mouth tasted curiously, unpleasantly of sulphur. “If you are here to guide and advise, can you help me?”

  We will advise… share… aid… reunite… A sense of eagerness filled the air.

  “Can you find someone? Can you find Tanris’s wife, Aehana?”

  Who? Who? Who? asked my flock of invisible owls.

  “Tanris. My traveling companion. The man with the dark hair and the perpetual frown.”

  Tanris Grimfist! Wicked! Hurt Friend Crow! Not one of us. Cannot see! Cannot hear! In no time at all their voices pitched into a jumble of papery whispers.

  “Quiet!” Much to my surprise, the Voices fell immediately silent, eagerness replaced by a sense of skin-prickling apprehension. I rubbed my arms in an attempt to dismiss it, and the pendant bumped against my chest. A hiss brushed against one cheek. “Can you find his wife?” I asked as gently as I could manage, profoundly glad no one else lurked about to watch me talking to the air. See the crazy man? He talks to himself, but he’s mostly harmless.

  There came a rustling and a murmuring as they consulted among themselves. Tanris wife? Who? Where? … do not know of her… do not know of him. Who is he? Grimfist! Why? More, tell us more.

  “She is Tanris’s wife.” Nothing like restating the obvious. What had she looked like? “From the city of Marketh. An average-looking woman.” Very average. Average height, average looks (what I could recall of them through tears and bruises).

  Average, average… the voices whispered back in some confusion, and I could not blame them. Whose daughter? Whose claim?

  “The wizard hurt her!” I cried. “She was there in his house. I saw her!”

  Show us! Who? A wizard? Black wizard! Stay away! Danger!

  “You are not helping!” I had no idea how to show them things I held in my own head, but after what they’d done to me, I thought it might be possible. “Go to Marketh. Wait.” I didn’t want all of them taking off at once. “Some of you go to Marketh. Find the house of the wizard, Duzayan. Can he hurt you?”

  Hurt us! Wizard!

  In typical fashion their answer neither affirmed or negated. “You can sneak in, can’t you? If I can’t see you, then he can’t hurt you, right?”

  Sneak! Stealthy and sly we can be! Furtive. Quiet.

  “Yes, good. You can sneak quietly. Search all through his house and—and use your talents to find her. Get the servants to talk. You can do that, can’t you? Make them see things and feel things?”

  Visions. Tales. Stories! Sing to them, we will. Persuade them… Beguile them…

  I shivered. “Find Aehana, Tanris’s wife.”

  Tanris wife… wife… wife…

  Something touched my leg and I nearly leaped out of my skin. I whirled about, knife in one hand and the talisman clutched in the other. The sudden motion made my head reel and pound. “Who’s there?” I challenged. My heart beat so loudly it drowned out everything else.

  A creak encouraged me to look down, where slitted eyes of gold looked up at me. Not-An-Egg voiced an uncertain greeting, gently flapping his wings.

  I nearly collapsed in relief. “Don’t do that!” I reprimanded severely, pointing my knife at him in warning. “Don’t ever, ever, ever sneak up on me again, do you hear me?”

  Were those tears welling in his eyes? Unbelievable. Head and wings drooped and a dismal fog of misery surrounded him.

  “Don’t do that, either,” I said gruffly, sheathing my knife and dropping down to one knee to rub his knobby little head.

  “Crow? Is everything all right?” Tanris’s voice made me jump again.

  “Fine.” I offered his dark bulk a fake, reassuring smile hidden by the dim light, which was just as well.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Bringing Not-An-Egg back to camp.” Gathering the little dragon up in my arms, I proceeded to do exactly that.

  “What was he doing out here? Are you going to keep calling him that?”

  I ignored the first question in favor of the second. “Why not? He’s not an egg, is he?”

  “It’s a stupid name.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “What’s wrong with my name?” he asked indignantly.

  “Do you know the Corunni tongue?” I asked, naming a country along the coastline, north of the empire.

  “No.” He told the truth, edged with the usual sense of doubt and distrust.

  “In Corunn, your name means flatulence.” It was true. I would not lie about such a thing, no matter how tempting. Except under special circumstances.

  “It does not.”

  “Ha.”

  :-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

  Soaking in the view of the city, I took a sip of my delightful, civilized Taharri Red wine in its beautiful, sophisticated crystal goblet. It was good to be home. I could not remember Marketh ever looking so beautiful. The afternoon sun shone sweetly, new leaves on the trees gleamed green as they reached for the sky, the first flowers bloomed, and marvelous life filled the streets. There was so much to absorb, so much to appreciate. Such was the contrast to what I’d suffered that I could not help feeling philosophical, feeling hopeful.

  I had brought Tanris and Girl to the apartment I kept in the Sunhar District, a very nice place with a lovely view of the palace. I would regret having to let it go, but now that they knew of it the move was inevitable. We’d reached the capital in the middle of the night, hungry and tired but blessedly not cold or wet—for which I deeply thanked the gods—and none of us had been in the mood to expend another hour looking for someplace to stay the night. Apartments rate among the disposable things of life. We had wanted little more than to clean up and rest (in real beds!) after our ordeal. In another life I would have stayed in bed until at least noon, but the rigors of the road had imbedded new habits, and necessity compelled action. The day after our return, and most of the next, had been spent gathering information and filling in details. Tanris, forced to wait on my decisions, chafed.

  “Do we know what day it is?” I asked.

  “Three days past your expiration date.” He could have said Three days past when we were due to report, but Tanris was out of sorts, and with good reason. He’d grown more tense
with every day we neared the city and, now that we’d at last arrived, every delay keeping him from his wife frustrated him further. Arms folded, face set in a firm glower, he stood on the balcony next to me and stewed.

  Remembering his wife, I remembered lovely, lying Tarsha. The two of them with their teary countenances always appeared in my imagination together, for I only met Aehana once—if the term “meet” can be stretched to describe our brief encounter.

  “Are you ready yet?” he asked.

  “Nearly so.”

  “It’s been two days already, not to mention the entire four months before that.” He looked much more like his old self now, clean and with head and chin shaved. I could not imagine deliberately choosing bald-headedness, but it was a good look for him. It gave him a forthright and uncompromising appearance without giving away his semi-noble streak.

  “More than half that time was spent trying to figure out what we were actually looking for and how to acquire it, surviving weather, bandits, bad luck and—and so on. And for a considerable time afterward I was not in my right mind,” I said with some asperity. Magic did that; it robbed one of his senses. Clearly the reason wizards were known for their dementia.

  “You never had a right mind,” he shot back.

  Unkind! “I agreed to help save your wife.” If she still lived, which had yet to be established. “Is this the way you’re going to treat me?”

  His hands curled tight. “I saved your life!”

  “My life wouldn’t have turned out this way if not for you.” I had him there and he knew it. “Why, if not for you, Grimfist, I—”

  Girl—who cleaned up quite nicely, though I found her too thin and too straight up and down for my tastes—appeared out of nowhere and gently pressed a hand over my mouth. I immediately pulled it away to protest both her treatment and Tanris’s unappreciative attitude, but she gave me a quelling look. She’d been practicing it for weeks.

  “Ha,” Tanris said, promptly earning a quelling look of his own. He responded with an unexpectedly sheepish expression, and I merely pursed my mouth and waited for Girl to go on. At least she wouldn’t raise her shrewish voice at us as was typical among women who believed, without knowing or understanding all the facts, that men were misbehaving.