Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(34)

Maaka’s eyes softened, but his arms stayed crossed, his face cold. “Do not ask a question whose answer you will not like, Okoa.” He said his name with compassion, as if he knew him better than he did, and Okoa found it unsettling.

“It is treason,” he warned.

“Careful, Lord, that you do not confuse fealty to the Odo Sedoh with faithlessness to your family. Your father would not make the same mistake.”

Okoa opened his mouth, shocked. Twice he had mentioned his father. “How do you know—?”

“Maaka?”

Both men turned. It was Feyou.

“Now.”

Maaka grunted and strode back to join his wife, leaving Okoa staggered. He had a sudden memory of riding a great crow for the first time. He had been twelve, still at odds with his adolescent body, awkward and gangling. Chaiya had taken him out to a blue lake beyond the city where the riders trained. The earth was vast and flat, the horizon stretching forever, blue water against a summer blue sky. When he had urged Benundah into the sky for the first time, the world had fallen away all at once. He had spun, unable to tell the heavens from the earth. His stomach had heaved as he tried to find something steady to focus on, but it had been too much, and he had fallen into the water below.

It was the same feeling he had now, unable to get his bearings, to tell up from down, destined to fall into the cold waters below.

He heard Maaka and Feyou talking and made his way back to the door. He did not enter the room but stood next to the Shield by the entrance. The other Odohaa had unwrapped his bundle. The gifts, Okoa remembered now. The first was a white staff, ornately carved with the wings of crows. He recognized its like from his time at the war college; it was a spearmaiden’s traditional weapon.

“We looked for your knives, Odo Sedoh.” Feyou pressed the staff into his hands. “But could not find them.”

The Odo Sedoh was sitting on the bed, his torso bandaged, his hand folded around the staff, his expression reverent. “The knives were likely shattered. This is gift enough, and irreplaceable.”

“When word came back of your victory, some of us dared to go to Sun Rock to see for ourselves. We retrieved this, knowing it must be yours, before Golden Eagle or any of the clans could claim it or try to destroy it.”

“I thought it lost.”

Maaka spoke. “Then it is all the more our honor.”

“And what did you think of what you saw? There on the Rock?” He addressed the Odohaa kneeling before him, but his head was cocked slightly toward Okoa.

“Justice.” Feyou spoke first. “Our ancestors’ honor paid back in blood.”

“Freedom,” Maaka intoned, voice like the clarion affirmation of a bell. “Never again will Carrion Crow bow to anyone.”

“If you have started a war, as some in the clans say you have,” the Odohaa who had brough the staff said, voice eager, “then know that we are ready to fight.”

Feyou pressed her face to Serapio’s feet, and when she raised her head, Okoa saw tears streaking her cheeks. He shifted, uneasy at the display.

“We are ready to die for you, Odo Sedoh,” Maaka said. “You need only ask, and we will answer with our blood.”

Okoa watched helplessly, unable to stop the feeling of free-fall.





CHAPTER 11


CITY OF CUECOLA

YEAR 1 OF THE CROW

Some have called me a fool for seeking to master the wild magics. But they have called me a fool only once, and the plaints of the dead matter not.

—From The Manual of the Dreamwalkers, by Seuq, a spearmaiden



“We have a problem,” Balam said as Powageh entered the office he kept on the lower floor of his estate. He would have preferred to receive his cousin in his private rooms, if only to spare himself the labor of dragging his body downstairs. He was a man in his prime, physically fit and without injury, but his muscles ached from sitting still too long, and his head felt like it had been stuffed with the honey of dreams, sticky and thick. The Manual warned that dreamwalking taxed the body, but he hadn’t quite understood how. It was, after all, a practice that only required one to sit. But Balam felt like he had been beaten by a very large man with rocks for fists, and he stifled a groan as his lower back spasmed.

Despite the tolls on both body and mind, he would gladly still be traveling the dreamworld if his servant had not interrupted him with an urgent missive from his man in Tova. At first, he had railed, as he had left explicit orders not to be disturbed. But once he had read the letter, he was glad his servant had the sense to disobey his commands when the occasion demanded it. It was news that could not wait.

“Hello, Cousin,” Powageh greeted him. “You look like something the dog shit out today.”

Balam’s look was baleful. He ran a hand self-consciously through his hair, now loose instead of properly tied up. The movement pulled at his shoulder, and he winced. “Is this your small talk?”

“No. Small talk is full of pleasantries. This is my anger. I have been trying to see you for days, but your damnable servants won’t so much as let me past the door. I’ve even left written messages.”

“Have you.” Balam tried not to let his eyes drift to the small pile of unread missives on the corner of his desk.

Powageh noticed, of course, and grimaced. “And then you summon me here in the middle of the night, as if I have nothing better to do than come at your call.”