Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(52)

He had not confessed his suspicions to Esa, not even to Chaiya, who Okoa would have sworn was the most trustworthy of them all before Hokaia. Instead he had kept his secret near his heart and nurtured it with distrust and rage for the past three days. And then he had taken it out on his sister like a spoiled child.

Servants and relatives alike scattered before him as he made his way up the wide stone steps to the aviary. It was an open-air stable at the highest point in Odo, accessible only through the Great House and separated from the land surrounding Tova by a narrow crevasse that promised a drop too deep to measure into the darkness below. He had always loved the aviary, and since he had returned from Hokaia, it had become his refuge.

Unlike some of the other Sky Made clans, Carrion Crow did not cage their beasts. Confinement went against some unassailable principle that was never articulated but well understood by the clan, and more important, the crows wouldn’t have tolerated it. Theirs was a partnership between human and corvid, a willing agreement to serve each other. Okoa liked it that way. He would no more try to control Benundah than his own heart.

As if sensing his thought, his mount let out a bright staccato greeting at his arrival. Immediately his mind eased, and he felt a deep abiding calm take the place of his anger. He grinned, his first smile of the day, and he returned her salutation with a gentle ruffle of her glossy head. He reached into a bag he kept at his waist and pulled out a handful of grubs.

Benundah pecked the wriggling creatures from his hand to swallow them whole.

“You’re the only sane one here, Benundah,” he murmured, threading gloved fingers through her wings. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this day.” He considered saddling the great bird, climbing on her back, and flying far away. Forget the funeral and his obligations. He would go back to Hokaia, or to the far north where there were no cities, or perhaps even to one of the great port cities of the Crescent Sea. What a sight he would be on Benundah’s back. The thought made him happy, if only temporarily.

In truth, he would go nowhere. Tova was his home and Carrion Crow his responsibility. He had a duty to his people, and he would not run from it, no matter how tempting the idea was on a day like today. They had suffered so much, lost so many. The Night of Knives still haunted the families of the Crow, including his own. His mother had lost her grandmother and most of the family of that generation to it, and she wasn’t unique. Whole generations gone in one night’s massacre.

He shivered at the memories and thought of the haahan carved into his arms and back, hidden under a layer of clothing.

“We will have our justice,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure how or when, but the Sky Made would answer for the complicity, and the celestial tower would be made to bend. Maybe not by him, but surely his children or their children. He had no doubt that it would happen. It was justice, and justice always prevailed.

“Lord?”

Okoa turned. One of the stablemen, a stocky older man in a loose shirt and pants and carrying a rake, approached him.

“Ashk,” he greeted the man. Ashk he knew well. He had been a stable hand since he was a child, tended to two generations of great crows born to the clan.

Ashk dipped his head. “I thought that was you, Lord Okoa.”

Okoa embraced the man. “It is me. I wish I was returning in happier times…”

“Yes, yes.” The older man sighed. “It is a terrible thing.”

Okoa pressed a hand to Ashk’s upper arm and squeezed. “How are you managing? And the other stable hands?”

“Oh, we are fine, my lord. Sad, of course. Heartbroken. Your mother was always kind. Bringing us into the household, treating us like family.”

Okoa knew many of the Sky Made hired servants from the Dry Earth districts but did not allow them to live in their districts, even when it made sense. The birds in the aviary needed constant care, particularly since they came and went at their leisure. It was practical for the stable hands to live within the Great House, close to the birds. Tovan society was strictly hierarchical, but an allowance had been made for the crows.

“How has Benundah fared in my absence?” he asked.

“Oh, she missed you,” Ashk assured him, “but she’s an independent sort. Will you ride her today to the funeral?”

“No. It is expected to snow, and the wind currents through the canyon are unpredictable when storms roll in. I wouldn’t want to endanger her.”

“So everyone is grounded?”

“That’s right.”

Benundah nudged Okoa with her black beak, and he laughed. “I have her favorite treat, but I hope you brought her a meal.”

“Aye,” Ashk said, lifting the handled pot he held with both hands. He walked to the trough that ran the length of the open stall and emptied its contents. Okoa caught sight of insects, chopped-up fruits that must have been taken from the dry storage this time of year, and a rainbow of corn kernels.

“A feast,” he remarked.

“She deserves it. But…” The old man hesitated. “I came for another reason, Lord.” He dipped his head again.

Okoa tensed, his senses on alert again.

“Go on,” he said warily. Did Ashk know something about his mother’s death? Something he could only approach Okoa about now?

“You’ve heard of the Odohaa?”

Okoa grimaced. “The cultists?” he asked, deflated. He was a fool to have gotten his hopes up, if only for a moment.