The Reawakened Read online

  “I can’t deny that.” Something about his words made her glance toward the boulder field. In the bright sunshine she could no longer see the torch, if it still burned, and she definitely couldn’t see Dravek. Her lack of distance vision alone told her that she wasn’t an Eagle.

  “If you’re not my Guardian Spirit,” she said to the bird, “why are you here?”

  “Because I have something to teach you.”

  Sura waited. The eagle shifted his position to stare off into the distance toward the western horizon.

  Finally she grew impatient. “When do we begin?”

  He clicked his sharp yellow beak. “Oh, you want it in words?”

  Sura closed her mouth and thought hard about what Eagle represented. Seeing far, not just in space but time, as well. Third-phase Eagles had the power of prophecy, but their vision only encompassed details. An Eagle might receive a premonition as mundane as a piece of cloth lying in a basket. Understanding its context often required the logic of a Hawk or the intuition of a Swan—preferably both.

  Finally she said, “If I receive a vision, I should see it as an event that will really happen, and not just a symbol, no matter how strange it seems. Is that right?”

  “Hmm.” The eagle turned to her. “You don’t confuse as easily as most.”

  As he spread his wings, she couldn’t resist one last question. “Will Raven come soon and bestow Her Aspect?”

  “If I had a fresh rat for each time someone asked me that question.” The eagle shook his head. “Only She knows.”

  He took off and soared into the valley below, fading slowly, as if passing into an invisible mist.

  Sura watched the space where the eagle had disappeared, to see if another Spirit would emerge. She heard footsteps behind her, and turned to see two deer with expansive sets of antlers clop up the trail to the ridge where she sat. She scrambled to her feet.

  “Greetings,” she said, her voice rough with awe.

  The bucks halted, then angled their magnificent heads to look behind them. Sura followed their gazes and gasped. Two does tripped lightly toward her, nodding their heads with each step. A fawn cavorted behind each of them, noses up and ears twitching.

  The deer formed a semicircle around her, soft brown gazes roaming her face. Then, instead of speaking, they sang. Not in words, but notes with distinct characters, as if each deer were a separate instrument. The bucks sounded like bass fiddles, creating the undertones, while the does each played a different toned violin. The fawns leaped about, making cheery piping noises. They all tapped their feet to create a complex, infectious beat.

  Sura laughed louder than she had in years, then began to dance. Though her body was unaccustomed to moving in rhythm, it shook and writhed and bounced along with the sounds of the deer herd. She made up words to accompany their tune, words that made sense in a way that would seem crazy tomorrow.

  The deer joined her, dancing in pairs or alone or in small circles of flashing hooves and shining flanks. She laughed again. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t dance or sing. The deer didn’t care. All they wanted was to give her this gift.

  The song ended with a flourish, and Sura collapsed on the ground, panting. “Thank you.” She wiped the sweat from her brow.

  More suddenly then they had appeared, the deer were gone.

  “No…” Sura scrambled to her feet and peered over the edge of the ridge, then inside the cave.

  For a moment the loneliness threatened to tear open her heart, which felt as empty and shriveled now as it had been full to bursting a minute ago. She sank to her knees and covered her face with her arms.

  Forcing herself to breathe, she grasped the memory of the dance and pulled it inside herself, storing it deep within where nothing, including time, could ever touch it. From her core it spread out to warm her, as if she had swallowed a tiny sun.

  She sat back and hugged her knees, at peace once again.

  10

  Asermos

  Rhia opened her eyes into a dim, gooey fog. A single square light shone above her, to her left. She blinked at it, then rolled on her side, gagging and retching.

  “Keep it down over there,” a woman snapped. The voice was familiar and carried with it a taste more sour than what Rhia’s stomach was trying to expel.

  “Mali?”

  “In the flesh. What’s left of it, anyway.”

  “Are we in prison?”

  Her old nemesis sighed. “You’re not as smart as they say you are. We’re actually in a secret cave provided by my associates in the resistance, not far from where you were captured.”

  Rhia ran her hand along the cold stone beneath her. “We are?”

  “Idiot. Of course we’re in prison.”

  Rhia let her forehead drop to the floor. Its coolness eased her nausea and the overwhelming desire to throttle her brother’s former mate.

  She rubbed the back of her head, feeling for a lump or a sticky spot of blood that would indicate a hard blow, and found nothing. “They must have drugged me.”

  “I don’t know why they thought they needed to. A runt like you should be easy to tuck under one’s arm and place anywhere one wants. Like a basket of fruit.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “Arrested, obviously. I didn’t exactly stop in for tea.”

  “Where’s Sura?”

  Mali’s voice lost its edge. “I sent her to Kalindos. You haven’t heard from her?”

  “No, but the weather’s been bad for the homing pigeons.”

  The Wasp woman sighed. “Still no third-phase Hawk in Kalindos, I suppose.”

  Rhia pushed herself to a sitting position, her head reeling. Her vision slowly cleared so that she could see the bars now, and Mali’s long, thin figure. She blinked hard. Her own cell had a bed, such as it was, and enough room to walk about. The Wasp’s, on the other hand, wasn’t even large enough to lie down in.

  “Have they hurt you?”

  Mali snorted. “They tried. They can’t, not by beating me or peeling off my skin or hanging me by my heels, any of those tiresome methods. Once they figured that out, they tried other things, like this tiny cell. When they feed me, once a day, it’s rancid meat, moldy bread—”

  Rhia’s stomach lurched. “Stop.”

  “It’s not too bad. Maggots are nice and chewy when they’re not overcooked.”

  Rhia gulped deep breaths to keep from vomiting. When the wooziness receded, she said, “If we’re going to get out of here, we’ll have to learn to get along.”

  Mali gave a harsh sigh. “You ran away when things got bad in Asermos.”

  “I had to protect my family. We’ve all been helping you from Tiros.”

  “I had a family. I could’ve run. But I stayed to protect our homeland.” The Wasp sniffed. “You ran because you thought one of your children was the Raven baby. You thought that made you special.”

  “You’ll be happy to know they’ve both been claimed by other Spirits.”

  Mali was silent for a moment. “What are they?” she asked in a muted voice.

  “Nilik’s a Wolverine.”

  “Like his uncle. What a plague. And Jula?”

  “A Mockingbird.”

  Mali cackled. “I bet she makes you crazy.”

  “The last three years have been one long argument. I can’t say anything without her contradicting or belittling me. It’s exhausting.”

  “That’s the way they are at that age.”

  “I was never that bad,” Rhia said.

  “Me, neither.”

  “You were horrible.”

  “To you. Not to my parents.”

  “Jula worships her father.” Rhia swallowed the lump in her throat at the thought of Marek. She hoped he would return to safety in Tiros rather than follow her to Asermos alone.

  “Sounds familiar,” Mali said. “Sura thinks her father’s a god.”

  “Lycas, a god? That’s because she’s never known him.”

  Mali laughed. “I d
on’t know how you lived with him all those years.”

  “Nilo was even worse, in a way, because his torment was stealthy. He’d plan elaborate tricks to scare me, then act completely innocent. There was no justice, because my brothers would punish me if I tattled.”

  “Brutes.” Mali’s tone indicated the word was a compliment. “I miss the way Lycas was before Nilo died.”

  Rhia uttered the next thought only because the bars protected her from the Wasp’s wrath. “I think you’d like him the way he is now.”

  “Shut up,” Mali growled. “He made his choice eighteen years ago, to leave me and Sura.”

  “He left to rescue my son and my husband.”

  “Which I eventually understood. He had to protect his family. But afterward, he went right back to Ilios to rescue a bunch of Kalindons he didn’t even know.”

  “Most of whom were children,” Rhia said.

  “What about his own child? Didn’t she deserve a father instead of a distant hero?”

  “Are you proud of the way she turned out?”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “Are you proud of Sura?”

  Mali’s voice crackled. “Yes. She’s strong and smart and everything else I could have wished for.”

  “Lycas may not have been there to hear her first word, or see her first step. But everything he’s done out there has shaped her.”

  “Shut up,” Mali said again, more feebly.

  A door opened at the end of the hall, letting in more light that pierced Rhia’s throbbing temple. Two soldiers entered, each carrying a tray.

  “Good, you’re awake,” the taller soldier said. “Breakfast time.”

  “Breakfast?” Mali said with a sneer. “It’s past noon already.”

  “And how would you know that?” he said. “Give the new one that meal,” he told the other soldier.

  The other man slid a wooden tray through a small opening in the bottom of Rhia’s cell door. She waited until he had backed away, then slid forward and grabbed it quickly. She lifted the lid, wrinkling her nose in anticipation of the rotting smell.

  To her surprise, the meal wasn’t spoiled. In fact, the baked chicken was steaming hot, its skin dotted with minced herbs. She squeezed the chunk of bread, which was soft instead of stale. The vegetables looked overboiled, but the water in her cup smelled fresh. Her stomach growled.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The taller soldier nodded. “And for you,” he said, turning to Mali, “the usual.” He shoved his tray through the hole in the door, then latched it shut.

  Mali looked at Rhia’s plate, then lifted her own lid. “Ugh!” She cursed and shoved the tray and its contents through the bars. Some of the meat fell just outside the cell, and Rhia swore she saw small things crawling over it. The shorter soldier bent to pick up the food.

  “Leave it,” his superior said. “She’ll eat it later. She always does.”

  When the door shut, Rhia tore her chicken and bread in half. “Here, take some of mine.”

  “I don’t want your pity,” Mali snapped.

  “They’re trying to turn us against each other. That way we won’t cooperate to escape.” She placed a plate on Mali’s side of the bars and put half her food on it. “Let’s show them it won’t work.”

  “I won’t eat anything until they serve me something decent.”

  “They won’t. They’ll be happy to let you starve.”

  “Then I’ll starve.”

  “Suit yourself.” Rhia carried her tray to the bundled up lump of straw that passed for a bed. She began eating, not bothering to mute her smacking lips. “It’s quite good.”

  Mali said nothing, just sat in her cell and stared out through the bars.

  Rhia sighed and kept eating. She was determined to get out of this place. Alive.

  11

  Sangian Hills

  Lycas loved the rain. It blurred the weak human vision of the Ilion soldiers and made the terrain too slick for their horses to gain footing. It obscured his fighters’ footprints and made them impossible to track.

  Rain had been all too rare this summer, but tonight, as his troupe neared the camp in the low hills outside Velekos, it drenched the land as if making up for lost time.

  Soon the torches of the base camp appeared, visible only from the north, hidden from Velekos by high rock walls. His stomach grumbled at the thought of the meal awaiting him, and he smacked his lips in anticipation of the accompanying ale.

  Just past the sentries, Damen was the first to greet them. Lycas was surprised to see Rhia’s Crow-brother, as he usually stayed in Velekos unless there was urgent news. The lines on his face seemed deeper than ever, or maybe it was just the shadows cast by the sputtering torches.

  “Glad to see you back,” Damen said. “Any troubles?”

  Lycas shrugged. “Another day, another platoon of dead Ilions. Nothing we couldn’t handle, with Sirin’s help. He’s back at headquarters now.”

  Damen nodded, giving a glance toward the north, where the guerrilla command center lay deep in the hills.

  Lycas put a hand on his shoulder. “How’s the family?”

  Damen rubbed his forehead, ruffling short strands of gray hair that now outnumbered the black. “I’m a Crow. You’d think I’d know what to say after Lania’s murder, how to make it better.”

  “Nothing will ever make it better.”

  “I know. But Nathas is my mate. I should be able to take his pain away. Diminish it somehow, heh? But I can’t.”

  For lack of comforting sentiments, Lycas said, “We’ll give those bastards justice. It won’t bring Lania back, but…”

  Lycas trailed off, out of words. He couldn’t imagine what the girl’s parents, Reni and Nathas, must be going through, not to mention Damen’s son Corek, Lania’s half brother. Long ago, Reni had agreed to bear Nathas and Damen a child each, partly so that they might progress to the second phase, but also because they all wanted children. The fact that the five of them created a loving though unconventional family must have kept the Spirits from punishing them for becoming parents for the sake of power.

  Lycas thought again of Sura, and wondered if she were alive. What had the world come to when a father couldn’t take his own children’s survival for granted?

  His hand passed briefly over the sheath of his oldest blade, the one inside his coat, next to his heart. Deep within its hilt, wrapped around the base of the steel itself, lay a lock of hair from his infant daughter’s head.

  “You should have seen Lania’s funeral.” Damen walked with him toward the camp’s main tent. “Hundreds of people. The Ilion police was out in full force to prevent rioting. No eulogies were allowed, because they feared it would rile up the crowd. I was only permitted the bare ritual, which had to be submitted and approved in advance.” Damen shook his head. “Of course no calling of the crow, because that would be magic.” In response to Lycas’s sharp look, he said, “Don’t worry, I called one later.”

  “Good.” As they reached the tent’s door, he heard the rustle of tired, familiar feet behind him, trotting to catch up. “Damen, I almost forgot. Nilik came with me.”

  The Crow man turned and broke into a smile, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners, accentuating the age lines. He moved forward to embrace the approaching Nilik, then suddenly stopped. His smile faded. “What are you doing here?”

  Nilik blanched. “I came to fight.” He took a step forward. “I’m sorry about Lania.” His voice almost cracked speaking her name.

  Damen shook his head slowly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Lycas’s chest turned oddly cold, his dread returning. “Rhia said he could come.”

  Damen gave him an incredulous look. “She couldn’t have.”

  “Why not?” Nilik’s voice was urgent.

  The Crow wiped a hand over his face and blinked hard. “Nothing. It’s just dangerous here for a newcomer. Be very, very careful.” He came forward and put a hand on Nilik’s arm. “Pro
mise me. Your mother would have my head if anything happened to you.”

  Lycas scoffed. “She’d have mine first.” He went inside the commander’s tent, holding the flap open for them to follow. “Damen, tell me there’s fresh meat left from dinner.”

  “I’ll send over meals for both of you.” Damen’s voice came low, to Nilik. “Did you have your Bestowing?”

  “Yes. I’m a Wolverine.”

  Lycas smiled at the pride he heard in Nilik’s voice. Not a hint of whining for not being the Raven child. Lania’s death had given his nephew a cause, a focus away from the prophecy’s lifelong burden. Perhaps Wolverine had bestowed His Aspect on Nilik so he could avenge her death.

  “Jula’s a Mockingbird,” Lycas added.

  “Ah,” Damen said. “Interesting.”

  “For once, I don’t believe your stoicism.” Lycas set his pack in the corner where he usually slept, noting that the tent floor had remained dry despite the rain. “Go on, say it. If one of Rhia’s children isn’t the Raven, it must be your son. The prophecy said it would be someone born of a Crow.”

  “In a hard and dangerous labor, I know, and Corek’s birth certainly wasn’t easy.”

  Lycas sat and tugged off his left boot, suppressing a groan of relief. “You should send him to Tiros for his Bestowing. It’s not safe here anymore.”

  “I know that.” Damen gritted his teeth around the words, and they all shared a moment of grieved silence for Lania’s fate. Then the Crow said, “It’s not worth the risk when he hasn’t felt a calling. Getting in and out of the village now is treacherous. I thought for sure the Ilions would detain me this time, but they know I’m a Crow. My powers are no threat to them. They also know the Raven rumors about Corek.”

  “All the more reason to get him out of Velekos. Bring him here while you still can.” Lycas pulled off his other boot. “I’ll lend you a couple of my men to help sneak him out.”

  “His mother won’t want to let him go, especially after—” He cut himself off and glanced at Nilik.

  Lycas turned to his nephew. “Go find a spot in the barracks. I’ll see you in the morning.”