Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(36)

“I learned all I could from him,” he said. “He said he would not come again.” It was a lie, but he did not trust her enough to tell her the truth.

She was quiet, and his hand tightened on his chisel, ready.

Finally, she spoke. “Good. It is best you do not get attached to any of us, crow son. We are here to teach you the things you will need, but we are not your friends.”

“Paadeh said pain was my only friend.”

“He would,” she said, and he could almost see her eye roll. “But it’s overkill, isn’t it? There’s nothing good in the fate Saaya set for you. No friends, either, but the rest is… well, Paadeh always did like to turn philosophical.”

“I have a higher purpose.”

“Paadeh told you, eh?”

“The crows did. And my mother.”

Quiet, and then, “Paadeh sent a letter saying that you were a strange one. You talk to the birds? I don’t remember that being part of Saaya’s workings.”

They are my friends. “Do you come from Odo, like Paadeh did?”

“Did?” She held on to that past tense, and Serapio realized his mistake, but she continued smoothly. “Is that what he told you? Odo? No, boy, neither of us is from Odo, although he’s closer. He was from Tova city, at least, although somewhere called Coyote’s Maw. You know it?”

He shook his head.

“I hail from the war college at Hokaia. Surely you know it.” She sounded proud, but there was a hint of something else there, too. Bitterness, perhaps.

He had heard of Hokaia, but only in stories, tales of the city on the mighty river a thousand miles north, the place where the peoples of the continent signed their peace treaty, the place where the Meridian continent sent its children to train in the arts of war in hopes that one never happened again. And he knew what that likely made her. “You’re a spearmaiden.”

“I used to be a spearmaiden,” the woman said, that bitterness he detected before blossoming to resentment. “Now I am the trainer of spearmaidens. And blind boys, it seems.”

He thought perhaps she was trying to anger him, but he was long past rising to every provocation, especially ones that were the truth. Besides, she interested him. “If you are from Hokaia, how can you be here to serve me, a crow son?”

“Ah,” she said. “The reach of your god is long, and some of us chafe against the Sun Priest’s influence. Your people and mine are united in purpose if not blood, and for that, I have pledged my life. Plus, your mother was a persuasive bitch.” She laughed fondly.

“Did you love her?” he asked suddenly. A hunch, but something about the spearmaiden’s voice made him think it.

“We all loved her,” she said, sounding startled, “and hated her, too. But mostly, we admired her.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Let’s just say that there are those in Hokaia who wish Tova and the celestial tower reformed.”

The way she said the last word sounded like she meant an entirely different word from reformed. “Reformation is your purpose?”

She made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Clever, crow son, but just as Paadeh could not reveal your true purpose, neither can I. It is not our place and not your time. But patience. When Powageh comes all will be told.”

“I know my true purpose already,” he said automatically. “Who is Powageh?”

“Did I not just say to be patient?”

“Will he be the one to return me to Tova?”

He remembered enough from what his mother had told him and learned enough from his two years with Paadeh to know that whatever purpose they meant for him, it would happen in Tova, in the seat of Carrion Crow. And now this woman had linked it to the celestial tower.

He filed every bit of knowledge away, willing himself to the patience that Eedi exhorted. Paadeh had taught him that, too. Taught him to trust in this process of becoming, knowing just as he shaped the wood, so his tutors would shape him. But for what?

“Are you ready to begin?” she asked.

He thought of what she had said about being there to teach him to use the staff but also not. “Begin what?”

Something struck him in the arm, hard. He cried out in surprise. It hit him again, and he realized it was the thing she had been tapping on the floor—staff, spear, or something else. He felt the small rush of air as she moved to strike him a third time. He whipped his hand out, shoving the shaft away before it could hit him again.

“Good,” she said, her voice evaluating. “Your reaction time is slow, but reflexes are good once you get started. Your sense of space is excellent. Now, what about your instincts?”

Five long strides, and she was across the room. Something crashed to the floor.

Serapio stood immediately. “What are you doing?”

Another crash, and Serapio knew Eedi was razing his shelf, knocking his carefully carved animals to the ground.

“Stop!” he cried. He took two steps forward and rammed his knee into his workbench. In his haste he had forgotten it was there. He cursed, a word he’d learned from Paadeh.

Eedi laughed. “Well, you swear like a soldier. Let’s see if we can make you fight like one.”

Another crash, wood dropped against stone to splinter apart. His stomach lurched. He had to stop her. He felt his way around the bench, leg throbbing, and took the nineteen remaining strides to the shelf. Ignoring her, he reached out and ran a hand along the place where his forest creations normally sat. It was empty. He cursed again and went to his knees, feeling the stone floor. His hand closed on an object, and after a moment of exploration, he recognized it as his crow. It was still whole. The first object he’d ever carved. He slipped it into the pocket opposite his chisel. He felt for more objects and retrieved a rabbit, a squirrel, and a fox. Six in all that he clutched against his chest as he rose. One by one he placed them back on the shelf, except for the crow, which he left in his pocket. He could feel Eedi behind him, watching, weighing.