He knew he could not call the shadow from his god, but he thought he still might be able to do so through his blood. He had not thought of it at the monastery; his panic had been too acute. But now he remembered his old tutor’s words, and he was sure of it.
“Porosity is essential to sorcery as well, after a fashion.” He wiped the knife against his pants and tucked it into his waistband. With his other hand now free, he ran his fingers through the flow of his own blood. “The barrier between our world and the shadow world is porous and breeched by sacrifice.” He held up his bloodied hand. “Once it is crossed, magic is the sorcerer’s to control.” What had once been as natural as breathing now took concentration that brought wrinkles to his brow, but he felt the shadow come to him, wrap around his fingers, and caress his palm as it fed from his blood. “I am no ordinary stone.”
“Such magic has not been seen in Tova in an age.” Her voice was soft with awe.
“I bring a new age.”
He twisted his hand, willing the shadow to mold itself as he wished, and after a moment, he held a crow made of smoke in his palm. She laughed in delight, and he released the bird. It hovered momentarily above his hand before dissolving into the air.
“And the blood is gone.”
“The shadow must feed,” he said simply. He did not explain the cost of such magic, as he had never truly had to pay it. With the crow god as his unending source of pure shadow, it had always simply been a part of him. But now he felt drained, as if the magic had fed on his very essence, which he supposed it had.
“I admit you interest me.” She slipped her arm back around his as they continued down the hall. “But I am not sure how you benefit Carrion Crow, despite what the Odohaa think. Or my brother. If I were to find use in you, it would be for the benefit of my people. All of them. Not just the ones who think you are a god.”
“You do not?” he asked, amused.
“I believe you are a killer and an adept sorcerer. But a god? I have never been much for gods.”
“You are more like your brother than you know.”
They reached a stairwell and ascended. As they rose, the air chilled perceptibly.
“I have been groomed to be matron my whole life, in ways that you cannot understand. I love my people intimately, completely. I serve them, they do not serve me. It is a calling, and with my mother’s death, I fully embraced it.”
“Do you think I do not know what it is to be raised for a single purpose?”
They came to a stop.
“Then you must understand that I will not let anything or anyone who does not have the best interest of Carrion Crow settle in this Great House. You are impressive, and my brother seems willing to accept that you are what you say you are, enough to bring you into our halls. And the Odohaa certainly believe you are the savior they have prayed for come in the flesh. But I have seen no sign of godhead that cannot be accounted for with magic and skill, and I am not so sure your slaughter of the Watchers benefits Carrion Crow or if it paints a target on our backs. You may think you saved us, but the truth is you may have only endangered us further.”
She opened a door.
“Here is your room.”
“I asked to return to the aviary.”
“It is not far. Here there is a bed and a place to wash, and I’ll have food and clothes sent to you. I ask that you stay here for now, although I have a feeling that should you wish to leave, you could manage it. But if you truly do not want us to be at odds, you might prove that to me now.”
He inclined his head, willing to give her that which did not require much of him. He stepped through the door.
“There is another element for which stone must be tested before it can be used to build a Great House.”
“And what is that?”
“Cost. Often even worthy stone is not worth the price it would require to obtain it. In that case, it is best to rid yourself of the burden early, lest the endeavor ask more of you than you are willing to give.”
She shut the door between them. He waited, listening to her steps retreat down the hall. Once she was gone, he tested the latch. It did not move. She had locked him in. He tried the door once more to confirm his imprisonment, with the same result. Amused to find himself yet again confined, he explored his new jail. It was as she had said. A bed, a washbasin, and nothing else. Yes, very much a prison cell.
At the far end of the room, he found another door. It was solid wood, and heavy. He felt for a lock, and, finding only a latch, he pulled it open. Winter wind rushed in, knocking him back a step. The eclipsed sun flared light and shadow in his vision. Somewhere nearby, crows cried out.
“A door that leads to nowhere,” he murmured, although he was sure that was not entirely true. He suspected that if he listened closely, he would hear the rush of the Tovasheh River a dozen stories below. “I believe she wants me to consider flying.”
He started to close the door and paused, thinking. Instead, he threw his mind out, searching. She had said he was not far from the aviary, and he hoped she had not lied. Crows answered immediately. He called to one. A moment later, the bird was at his hand. He ran a finger across the crow’s head, the touch of his friend a comfort in this unfamiliar place.
“Go find Okoa,” he told the corvid. “Bring him here.” He was about to release the crow when he had another thought. “Find this Maaka, the leader of the Odohaa. Bring him, too. Let us make this interesting.”
The corvid took flight.
Serapio closed the sky door. He made his way to the bed and stretched out, tucking his newly acquired knife under the reed-filled mattress. The wound in his side pulled as he stretched out, but he ignored it. Pain was something he could endure, and tolerance for discomfort he possessed in rare amounts. So he settled in to wait for what came next.
Patient as stone.
CHAPTER 8
CITY OF TOVA (COYOTE’S MAW)
YEAR 1 OF THE CROW
Magic is chaos. Seek it out at your peril.
—Exhortations for a Happy Life
Naranpa walked the network of underground tunnels below the Lupine, looking for Zataya. Denaochi had assigned her a servant who helped her bathe and find clean clothes, so now she wore a simple white dress and a red and yellow string belt instead of a bloody, dirt-stained blanket. It was progress, albeit small progress. The servant, whose name was Baaya, had even managed to find her a cloak and a pair of warm, fur-lined boots. Thus attired, she set out, without her brother, to find the witch.