“Who…?” she had whispered, but before she could finish her thought, a shadow passed over her head. She had looked up as more shadows flew above her, and she realized the darkness was the flock. Their eerie cries filled the air, and the wind gusted with the beating of their wings as dozens and dozens, no, half a hundred, gathered on the tower. The light in her lantern danced and then was snuffed out. Some deep instinct had told her not to relight it and even more urgently screamed at her to run.
She had walked backward, eyes on the growing mass of birds that swarmed before her. The swarm had begun to take shape, and she had not known what it would reveal, but she’d been certain she did not want to be anywhere near when it did. She had dropped the useless lantern and run.
She had made it only as far as the stairs when light flared around her. Instincts had made her duck and throw herself against the wall, hands over her head. She had waited for something to strike her, but all she felt was heat… and the warmth of the sun.
The sun!
The shadow of the eclipse had diminished, and the sun had brightened, illuminating the top of the tower. Her power awoke, the heat in her chest flaring alive. Her palms burned. She had stared at her hands in wonder, the heat of the sun against her face like the kiss of a long-missed lover. Until she heard a voice where there were only corvids before. It did not sound human. It was the voice of a thousand wings, the voice of the killing field, the voice of a god.
“Sun Priest,” it had said.
And she knew who it was, who had called her to the rooftop. Trembling, she had turned to face her enemy.
Her memory shuddered, trying to make sense of what she had seen.
A man, young, sheathed in black, ebony hair wild. A face with eyes of midnight that wept black tears. He had called to her in a voice that shook the air like thunder. And then, impossibly, his arm had shattered into half a dozen crows, and the birds had come for her. And she had run.
But now she was safe, at least for the moment.
She leaned against the kitchen door, listening, but all was silence.
Were the crows gone? Was the Crow God Reborn even now stalking down the stairs in search of her? She was certain that if he found her, she would not survive their meeting. She looked around the kitchen, a place she had spent many hours as a servant before her promotion to dedicant. There was a back entrance here, one that led into the once neatly tended rows of corn, beans, and squash that fed the tower. It was her way out.
She dragged herself to her feet and quietly made her way to the back door. Tentatively, she opened it. She half expected to find a flock of crows waiting for her, ready to rend her limb from limb, but there was nothing. She looked up at an empty sky. She caught the edge of a black murmuration retreating east, and she let herself breathe again. He had not pursued her after all, and she could only be grateful that her fool’s luck had held.
She gathered her courage and ran toward the bridge to Tsay.
* * *
Naranpa opened the door of the Lupine a full nine hours after she had left. The guard who had so easily let her leave now took off running, shouting of her return.
She collapsed on the nearest bench, exhausted, and waited for her brother.
He arrived before she could kick the boots from her aching feet, his porcupine mantle flaring around him and his wooden cane beating a rhythm of displeasure that matched his stride. He was dressed for travel, boots laced to knees and hands gloved. His hair was freshly shaven on the sides, the rest slicked back in a knot. He trembled with the effort to suppress his rage.
“I thought you were dead,” he shouted, inches from her face.
Another time, she might have been shaken by his anger, but now, the memories of the Crow God Reborn fresh, she could only laugh. “Very close.”
Denaochi reared back, as if he had not expected such a glib dismissal of his hostility, but he recovered quickly, his tone shifting to sarcasm. “A brush with death is the only acceptable excuse for your behavior.” He sniffed, still annoyed, but his curiosity was clearly getting the best of him. “Where did you go?”
“The tower.”
“The celestial tower?”
“I know.” She ran a trembling hand across her face. “Perhaps not my best idea. But there was something there I needed.”
His eyes narrowed. “And did you find it?”
“And more.” Her smile was small and fraught. “I saw the Crow God Reborn.”
“And yet you live,” he murmured, intrigued.
“As I said, it was a close thing. If he had not been injured already, I do not think I would be standing here.”
“You hurt him? You were able to fight him?”
How could she explain what she had seen? How the birds seemed a part of him, his arm pulsing human one moment and corvid the next?
“A weakness,” Denaochi said eagerly. “The first weakness we have seen.”
She shook her head. “Not one we can count on should our paths cross again.” All her looking for some hidden power felt suddenly futile. Even if she did possess some remnant of the sun god within her, what she had seen was something beyond her. She could not fight the Crow God Reborn and win. She understood her folly acutely.
“I cannot,” she confessed.
“Cannot what?” His question held an edge of his earlier anger.
“He is a god, Ochi. I am not. I cannot win against him.”
“You must!” He thumped his cane emphatically. “I have already promised his defeat to the bosses.”
“Tell them we know better now.” She slumped, the adrenaline that had sustained her flight from the tower ebbed, leaving her exhausted. “Tell them it might be best to cede Tova to Carrion Crow.”
His hands on her shoulders surprised her, and he shook her hard enough that her teeth rattled. “You are not giving up! We are not giving up! Even now, the bosses await us, and we must answer to them, Nara. They are not your Sky Made matrons you can reason with. They follow the old ways, the ways of blood, and once a promise is made, there is no recision.”
“Then perhaps you should not have bound me to action without my consultation!” Her own anger was roused now, and she pushed his hands aside.
Thin cracks formed around his eyes. “You crawled back to life! You said you were with me! Why, if you are only a coward in the end?”
“I…”
She lowered her head. Was she simply craven, afraid of death at the hands of what she had seen on top of the tower? She had faced death before and jumped into its embrace. And Denaochi was right that she had refused to accept that tomb as her final place of rest. But this was different.
“We should run while we can,” she said finally. “Tova is a lost cause.”
He stepped back, his dark eyes raking over her, and his judgment flayed her like no other could.
“I have an appointment to keep,” he said stiffly. “Gather yourself and join me at the Agave as soon as you can.” He hesitated, and Naranpa saw the unspoken please in the shape of his lips, but it remained there, unsaid. And then he was up the stairs and out the door.
Naranpa bent over, head in her hands, and let the tears come.
“He goes to his death,” Zataya said.
She looked up to find the witch standing before her. She held a weathered scroll in her hand and tapped it lightly against her thigh, her eyes on Naranpa.
“You do not understand the bosses,” Zataya said, “but I do. And once a boss gives his word, it must be done. He risked everything on you.”
“A foolish gamble,” Naranpa countered, wiping her eyes. “One he made without even consulting me.”
“What consultation was needed when his way is faith?” She shoved the scroll toward Naranpa, and she reflexively grasped it in her hands. “He had faith in you. I told him he should not, that you were fickle and spoiled by that tower, but he insisted you were still his sister.”
Naranpa gaped. Denaochi had faith in her? “What are you talking about? He barely tolerates me. He is always testing me to see if I am worthy.”
“Is that what you think? Is that the wisdom of a Watcher? Foolish woman. He is not testing you to see if you are worthy, he’s testing you to see if he is worthy of you staying.”
Skies, was that why he pushed her so hard? To see what it would take to finally drive her away? And had she not proven him right again and again? Shame curdled her insides.