Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(45)

She had been wrong.

Serapio appeared just as the sun breached the horizon in full, and it was as if the sun, upon seeing him there, hesitated. Shadows fell across the ship without clouds to prompt them and the wind that had been barely a breeze moments ago picked up in earnest. It rattled the reed awning and sent chop against the hull violently enough that Xiala had to spread her feet to stay standing. Others were not so lucky. Poloc slid across the rowing bench, arms flailing. Baat, who was sitting between Poloc and the wall of the canoe, tilted seaward, hitting rough up against the rail, barely avoiding going overboard.

Then the world seemed to hiccup, and the sun found its course again and everything was as it had been—light, no shadows, no wind—except the waters still beat against the wooden panels starboard. Proof she had not imagined it.

Serapio had done as she had advised. He wore a thigh-length laborer’s skirt wrapped around his waist, held in place by a string belt. His hair, which had been hidden by the cowl last night, was the black of a starless night and fell to his spare shoulders in a windswept mass. He still wore the cloth over his eyes, as she had suggested. But she had not thought to ask what the rest of his body looked like.

Scarred, Balam had said. And she had conveniently forgotten, perhaps too charmed by his strange manner.

But scarred he was.

Someone none-too-skilled had taken a knife to his upper body and carved. On his bare chest was the bird she had seen last night, but in skeletal relief with gaping eyeholes and a sharp beak that pointed down toward his stomach. It was a crow’s skull that started at the dip in his throat and covered his chest. It had been recently outlined in red dye, which made it stand out even more. Arching across his back were great wings, the feathers painstakingly detailed. They, too, had been outlined with red dye. There were other scars, too, on his arms and legs, each of them suggesting flight in some way.

“Mother waters,” Xiala murmured. If she had had any doubts about seeing that great spectral crow above him last night, they died immediately. And then she remembered another crow, one that hovered above her with preternatural intelligence, and she knew his was the face she had seen on the pier before they set sail. He had something to do with that crow that had watched her, although she wasn’t sure how. She rubbed at her arms, suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the morning.

The crew had fallen silent. She didn’t know if they had seen the same vision that she had last night, but certainly this would not allay their superstitions. She stepped forward, unsure what she would say or do, but knowing she had to do something.

“Odo Sedoh.”

It was Loob who had spoken. Xiala turned to him. He was sitting on a row bench facing Serapio, his eyes wide.

“What?” she asked.

Loob looked to her and then around at the crew. “Odo Sedoh.” His voice was breathy with awe. “The grandfather crow.” He turned to Serapio. “You say you are Obregi, but this I recognize from Tova. My wife is from Tova. Not Crow clan.” He shook his head adamantly, as if such a thing was unthinkable. “But I know it. The Odo. The Crows. That’s you.” He pointed at Serapio.

Serapio had turned his head toward Loob when he started talking, listening but still standing just outside the small shack where he slept, as if ready to make a retreat should he need to.

“That is I,” he said.

Some of the men were muttering, words that sounded angry, but Loob cut them off.

“No, you don’t understand!” he said loudly, coming to his feet. “If the Odo Sedoh travels with us, if we are taking the Odo Sedoh to Tova”—he nodded vigorously as if the truth of their mission had just occurred to him—“then we are blessed. We travel with a god’s favor to the Holy City.”

“Not my god,” Patu said, and Xiala was surprised to hear him speak. She had never taken him for being a religious man, or even one of the more superstitious ones like Callo.

“Your only god is your stomach,” someone said. It was Baat, Loob’s friend. “What do you know of gods?”

Patu was staring at Serapio, arms crossed and chin jutting forward like a petulant child. “I give my offerings to the jaguar god. The Cuecolans do not know this crow god.”

“We aren’t in Cuecola,” Baat said, sounding exasperated. “Besides, your jaguar god has been dead three hundred years. It’s blasphemy to talk of jaguar gods these days.”

“Baat’s right,” Poloc said. “Cuecola pays tithe to the Sun Priest, does it not?”

“And not all of us are Cuecolan,” Loob added.

“What does it mean?” Callo asked. The others turned to him. He had walked up between the row benches from the bow of the ship. His eyes were fixed on Serapio, and his jaw was tight. “To worship this god. What does it mean? Blood? Fire? What does this crow desire?”

“It doesn’t matter what it desires,” Xiala said. The crew turned toward her. “What matters is that we take this man to Tova as we promised. As Lord Balam paid us to do. And then we are done.”

“Are you a Watcher?” someone asked.

Serapio visibly shuddered as if the suggestion offended him.

“He is a blessing,” Loob answered. “I tell you now. Between the Teek and the Odo Sedoh, we are surely favored!” He slapped Baat on the shoulder, laughing. Baat grunted good-naturedly and turned to his paddle, the matter settled for him.