The Queen of Crows

by Myke Cole

  “Maybe we can and maybe we can’t.” Heloise forced a smile. “But it will be easier with a band of Sindi knife-dancers at our backs.”

  7

  TURNED OUT

  There is no place so safe as the road in company, and no place so unforgiving, when it is taken alone.

  —Kipti proverb

  The Mothers deliberated inside Leahlabel’s wagon, sending the villagers out of the camp to wait for their word. Heloise watched in silence as the Sindi finished their preparations and climbed into the drovers’ chairs behind the teams of horses.

  “We cannot take Lyse,” Sigir said. “The Mothers are right about that.”

  Barnard said nothing, but his eyes burned, and Heloise knew he believed they could do anything, so long as she was with them.

  “Then what do we do?” Heloise asked. “Do we run through the woods until the Order finds us? Do we go to another village and hope they take us in? Do we run all the way to the Gold Coast and pray that Ludhuige the Red’s old bannermen will protect us?”

  Sigir looked stricken. “We pray to the Sacred Throne that the Mothers do not turn us out. I wish you’d let the Order keep me.”

  Heloise sucked in her breath. “How can you say that?”

  “It would have been bad for me, but maybe if the Kipti hadn’t lost four of their own in the rescue, they’d let you stay. That would have been something.”

  “They didn’t go out to rescue you,” Samson said, “they went out to stop the Black-and-Grays from reporting back to the rest of the column.”

  Sigir said nothing, only stared at the rapidly dwindling traces of the Sindi camp, his face pale and drawn.

  Onas finally appeared, coming so quietly it was as if he had emerged from thin air. Barnard jumped and Sigir choked on the heel of bread he was gnawing. Onas moved straight to the war-machine’s empty metal fist, reaching inside the frame.

  “What are you doing?” Barnard took a step toward him. “Get away from that.”

  Onas probed the controls where the strap connected, before standing back and nodding. “This will work.” He looked up at Heloise.

  Barnard drew up to his full height, towering over the boy. “You’re not touching that…”

  If Onas was cowed, he didn’t show it. “It’s not for the machine, it’s for Heloise.” He held up a small metal collar, with a broad blade emerging from the center, long enough to straddle the line between knife and sword.

  “You brought me a knife?” she asked. “I can’t hold it.”

  “You said you wanted to learn our dance,” Onas said, “and you don’t have to hold it. Your machine will do it for you. Let me see your hand.”

  The thought of letting a part of her peek outside the machine made her stomach twist, but the sight of the knife and Onas’s easy smile comforted her, and she slowly loosed her hand from its grip on the control strap behind the shield.

  “No,” Onas said, “the wounded one.”

  Heloise’s stomach clenched harder at that, and Barnard stiffened, only holding back at a sharp look from Heloise, but she eased her stump back and out through the metal frame. The light reflected off the shining, pink scars.

  Onas slipped the metal collar over the stump, worrying at a pair of buckles until it cinched down tight.

  “That won’t hold no matter how tight you make it,” Barnard snorted.

  “The machine will hold it.” Onas didn’t look at Barnard, gesturing to Heloise instead. “Go on, try it.”

  Heloise’s arm felt heavy with all that metal dangling off the end. It took some wriggling to get the long blade back inside the arm’s frame, but once she did, the blade slid neatly through the fist’s slot, protruding a slight distance beyond.

  “There,” Onas said. “Heloise, Knife-Handed.”

  “She can’t use the strap that way,” Barnard complained, but Heloise could see the curiosity in his eyes.

  “She doesn’t need to,” Onas said. “The strap pulls the controls. She can push them with the blade now. She’ll have to make the movements backward, but she can do it. And now she’ll always have a weapon, in or out of the machine.”

  Heloise tried, pushing instead of pulling. The machine’s metal fist rotated at her command, the shining metal blade refracting the light and sending rainbow patterns shimmering off the shield. “It works.”

  “Of course it does,” Onas said. “Every ‘Kipti’ is at least half-tinker.”

  Barnard grunted, leaning in to inspect where the collar and blade slid into the fist. “This is … fine work, Master Kipti.”

  “Sindi.” Onas’s smile vanished. It was one thing when he said it, but another in the mouth of a villager.

  “Forgive us,” Heloise said. “It takes some getting used to.”

  Onas turned back to her. “Come on, then. Let’s see you dance.”

  Heloise looked down at him, so tiny in the shadow of the towering machine. “I’ll … I’ll hurt you.”

  “You have to hit me to hurt me,” Onas said, “and you can’t hit me.”

  And in spite of everything, the mad dash through the woods, Sigir’s capture and rescue, all the death and the terror, Heloise smiled. She made a half-hearted stab with the knife, and Onas sprang aside, rolling into a crouch and slashing out with one of his knives, drawing sparks from the machine’s leg.

  “Heloise!” Samson shouted. “Stop it!”

  But Heloise ignored him, taking another swipe with the knife, forcing Onas to somersault backward, springing first onto his hands and then back onto his feet again. Samson was on his feet and shouting as Onas sprang off a rock, grasped the side of the shield, and swung his way up it, narrowly avoiding Barnard’s grasping hand. He reached the reliquary box on the machine’s shoulder and perched there, grinning down at the men who circled beneath him, red-faced and shouting.

  Heloise laughed. “Your knife will be dull now.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Onas asked. “The Traveling People are a fair hand at sharpening knives.”

  “I do want to learn to knife-dance,” she said.

  “I want to teach you,” Onas said.

  But she looked up at him, and she knew why he had come. It’s a farewell gift.

  “Will the Mothers let us stay?”

  “They will if they are wise,” he answered. “I think you stumbled into our camp for a reason. I think the Great Wheel is turning, and the Sindi are on the rising spoke, the arc that will carry us to the top. It has spun you to us to lift us up.”

  The thought pricked at her, a strange sensation that she realized was hope.

  “Will you speak for us?” she asked.

  Onas shook his head. “You do not know Sindi Mothers. A young knife-dancer’s word counts for about as much as a lame horse’s, but what you said to the Mothers. About running. You spoke true. We … all the Traveling People, are tale-spinners, you know. Some of us make coin that way.”

  “I know.” Heloise nodded. “I used to love it when you would come on market days. Though I never had the money to come into the story circle.”

  “We are good at telling stories. We are so good that sometimes we believe our own tales, and then it takes someone from outside the band to remind us that that is all they are.”

  Heloise felt her throat tighten. “I am just trying to make my people safe. We just … we won’t last long on our own.”

  “I know,” Onas said, “but that’s the way of the Wheel, it turns whether you like it or not, and sometimes it takes you places you didn’t intend to go.”

  “Even if … even if you join us, taking Lyse will be … it will be hard, Onas. People will die.”

  “Then why are you set on taking it?” Onas asked.

  “Because,” Sigir sighed, “she is right. Lyse has the only high walls in range of a foot march. And without walls, we are finished. There is no place in this valley or beyond where we can run from the Order, not forever. If we are to live, then we must stand.”

  Onas nodded to the Maior. “My peopl
e are travelers. I don’t think we’ve ever known how to stand, but,” he looked back to Heloise, “maybe it’s time we learned.” They were the words Heloise longed to hear, but a part of her knew they were a platitude. Onas knew what was coming.

  Barnard leaned back from the arm, shaking his head and sighing. “I should have thought to do this. I was so focused on getting the tang to attach from the front.”

  He looked up at Onas. “Ah, the young. Your minds are so open. Age closes a man up.”

  Onas sketched a bow. “Does that mean I can come down now?”

  “Age is coming for you too, young master,” Samson said.

  Onas laughed and inspected his knife’s dulled edge before sheathing it. He was still smiling as he looked up.

  Heloise followed his gaze to the approaching Mothers. Giorgi was behind Leahlabel, a string of Kipti men with him.

  “Heloise Factor,” Leahlabel said. “I see you have a weapon now.”

  “Onas made it for me,” Heloise said, “and thanks to you too, to all of you, not just for the gift, but for having us with you. No matter what happens now my people will always be friends to the Sindi band.”

  Leahlabel’s face twisted, and Heloise’s stomach with it. “You are kind,” Leahlabel said, “and my people will look forward to sharing your friendship when next we meet. But, for now, it is time to part ways, for the Sindi will move on, and where we go, your people cannot follow.”

  She’d known it was coming, but the words still hit Heloise hard. “Mothers…” the Maior began.

  Leahlabel raised a hand. “Women are speaking.”

  “We will die out there.” Sigir ignored her. “Make no mistake, you are sending us to our deaths.”

  “We will not leave you empty-handed.” Leahlabel stepped aside, revealing two horses pulling a cart piled high with supplies, wrapped in two giant canvas tents. “There is enough food here to keep you for days, tools and clothing, too.”

  “At least we’ll have full bellies when the Pilgrims cut them open!” Barnard snarled. “I shouldn’t have expected heretics to—”

  “Enough,” Heloise spoke over him. She felt neither grief nor fear, just a tired numbness. “Thank you for your hospitality, and your gifts. We’ll go.”

  “What?” Sigir spun on her. “At least—”

  “They’ve made up their minds,” Heloise said, ignoring her churning gut. “What do you want us to do? Fight them? We’re lucky to have been given this much. What does the Writ say of those who grasp at joy?”

  Barnard exhaled, some of the tension going out of him. “That it is as grasping the sea. Our joy is the Emperor and His will.”

  “And it is His will that we carry on alone,” Heloise said. “He will not forsake us in it. Thank you, Mothers.”

  Leahlabel gave a short dip of her head. “You are wise beyond your years, Heloise Factor. With you at their head, your village can only survive and prosper.”

  “She isn’t at our head!” Poch shouted. “We’ll follow you! Those of us that want to live!”

  “Villagers? On foot?” Analetta laughed. “Good luck to you. The Emperor’s own Coursers on fast horses can’t keep pace with Traveling People what don’t want to be kept pace with.”

  Poch would have said more, but Barnard silenced him with a sharp cuff on his ear. “Get the Throne-damned cart,” he swore, and Poch scurried to do his will. Sald joined him, grunting as they hauled it behind them, glaring up at Heloise with hate in their eyes.

  “Onas, come along,” Leahlabel said, gesturing to the Sindi boy, still perched on the machine’s shoulder. Onas hesitated, looking down at Heloise, his mouth working silently.

  “Go with your people, Onas,” Heloise said, reaching up with the corner of her shield, giving him a step down toward the ground.

  “This isn’t right,” Onas said, locking eyes with his mother.

  “The Mothers are the judges of what is right,” Leahlabel answered, “we who have borne children and lost them. You are just a boy, who has never known a hard day in his life. Listen to your friend. She has lost too. Come down.”

  Onas jumped down to the shield’s edge and then down to the ground below. “I’m sorry,” he said. “If I can find a way to…”

  “I know,” Heloise said, feeling more alone than she had since she had told Basina she loved her, and fled her home in disgrace. Onas returned to Leahlabel’s side, paused long enough to look up at her, his eyes furious, before disappearing into the crowd of Sindi men.

  “The road is—” Leahlabel began.

  “We can find it well enough, thank you,” Sigir cut her off with a wave, turned.

  Heloise joined him, and the rest of the village came reluctantly, whispering. At last, even Poch and Sald followed, dragging the cart behind them.

  They made their way through the woods in a daze, the silence broken only by Poch’s and Sald’s grunts as they helped the horses, muscling the cart over rocks and roots. Behind them, the sounds of the Sindi camp faded quickly, as if the forest had swallowed it.

  Heloise knew she needed to plan, needed to figure out what to do next. She thought Sigir might speak, or stop. If not him, then her father, Barnard, someone. But they only kept walking, faces bleak. Samson stayed at her side, and she could feel his eyes on her, so intent it was as if he believed that if he just looked hard enough, he would see through to the girl she’d once been.

  It was Poch who finally pierced the quiet, grunting his words as he wrestled the cart out of a divot. “Where to now, eh? We just going to wander the woods until we eat what’s in here and starve?”

  “At least this damned cart will be lighter, then,” Sald added.

  Poch let go of the cart edge and wiped his forehead. “We should head back to the village. It’s our home, and maybe the Order won’t think we’ll go back.”

  “You’re as thick as that cart,” Barnard snarled. “That’s the first place they’ll think to look for us. We can’t go back.”

  “Never?” Sald asked. “Then what are we to do? Ply the road forever? We’re not Kipti.”

  “Neither are they,” Heloise said. “They call themselves Sindi, or the Traveling People.”

  “We could try for the Gold Coast.” Sald rolled his eyes, ignoring her. “Old Ludhuige’s men still fly the red banners. They’re no friends of the Emperor.”

  “Aye,” Barnard said, “and we are, no matter what we may think of the Order. We’ll not truck with the likes of them.”

  “It’s too far,” Sigir said, “we’d be caught long before we reached the border. Which leaves us with Lyse. Else, we’ll have to find another village to take us in, one far enough away to give some hope that the Order will not find us there.”

  “What village will take us in?” Poch rolled his eyes. “We’ve just as much chance going home as we do—”

  “No,” Heloise cut him off. “We can’t. We can’t go to anyone.”

  “And why not, your eminence?” Heloise was almost grateful for the contempt in the drover’s voice. It was better than the reverence with which Barnard spoke to her. “You said it yourself. There’s no blight. We can’t infect anyone else.”

  “No,” she agreed, “we can’t. But Sigir is right that the Order will chase us wherever we go. They will show us no mercy, and even less to those who shelter us. I can choose death for myself, but I will not choose it for anyone else.”

  “Won’t you?” asked Poch. “Aren’t you already choosing it for all of us? Like you did when you trucked with that wizard? Like you did when you led us out to ambush the Order?”

  “That’s enough!” Barnard shouted, but this time many of the villagers shouted back, and many of them stood with Poch and Sald. Ingomer, who had bowed and tugged his forelock when Heloise had awakened after fighting the demon, stood in silence, speaking neither for nor against her.

  “Why are we following her?” Danad added his voice to the chorus. “She’s brought nothing but trouble, even if she did kill a devil.”

  “Blas
phemy!” Barnard shouted, grabbing Danad and shaking him like a child’s toy.

  Poch grabbed his arm, trying to wrench it free, but he might as well have grabbed an iron bar. Barnard lifted his arm, and both Poch and Danad dangled in the air, kicking feebly. “Put ’em down!” Sald said, kicking Barnard in the shin. The huge tinker didn’t notice, and Poch began pounding on his shoulder.

  Heloise leaned the machine in, pressing the shield’s corner against Barnard’s forearm. The tinker’s arms were nearly as big around as her father’s thighs, but even he was not equal to the machine’s relentless strength. He grunted as his arm was pushed down, until finally Danad’s feet were on the ground and Barnard shoved him away, before spinning on Heloise. “Why do you let them…”

  “Because they are not fools, Barnard. And because, while I love you like my own family, you are not one either. I killed a devil, yes. I want to keep us safe, yes. But I have never claimed to be a Palantine. There is no blasphemy here, only men who want to speak their piece and have it heard, and I have heard them.”

  Danad pulled on his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles out and nodding. Poch and Sald smiled at Heloise’s words, crossing their arms.

  “But,” Heloise turned to them, “they will follow me anyway, and together we will take Lyse.”

  Poch snorted. “You’re mad. It is a town, walled and garrisoned. Even if the Kipti had agreed to help us, we would still be too few to take it. Why would we follow you to certain death?”

  Heloise grinned at him, feeling the scarred flesh of her cheek and eye socket stretch. It must have looked horrible, judging by the reaction on Poch’s face. “Because Lyse is our only hope to survive a fortnight,” Heloise said. “Because difficult is not impossible, and most of all, because I have a plan.”

  “Like your plan to ambush the Order? I suppose this one will work about as well as that one did.”

  “Poch,” Leuba said.

  “No.” Poch had the bit in his teeth now. “I have had enough. If you are all mad enough to follow a little girl and lay siege to a town, then I will go my own way, and those of us in our right minds will come with me, I know it, and we will—”