Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(87)

He felt dizzy, untethered from the earth and out of control, falling upward as everything he knew shrank below him. His breaths came short, panicked, and he hurried to the door, stumbling past Maaka.

“Are you unwell, Odo Sedoh?” Maaka’s concern trailed him as the man made rushed apologies to the mother and caught up with him halfway across the courtyard.

“Is there a bench here?” Serapio gasped, remembering the kitchen. “Somewhere to sit?”

“Over here.” He pulled at Serapio’s arm.

He shook him off, annoyed. “Just tell me! I don’t need your help!”

“Apologies,” Maaka said, chastened. “Four paces forward and to your right.”

Serapio used his staff to find the bench and collapsed, trembling. Memories poured over him, none of them good, and he hunched into himself. He turned to Maaka abruptly. “Do you know my name?”

“I…” The man sounded flustered. Unsure. “You are the Odo Sedoh.”

“I mean the name I was given at birth. The one my mother and father chose.”

“To me you are the Odo Sedoh. It is the highest honor.”

“I have a favorite food I enjoy. Did you know that?”

“I…” The Odohaa sounded almost frightened, clearly at a loss.

“I very much like chocolate. I had it once when I was a boy, a present from my tutor on my birthday.”

“If the Odo Sedoh wishes chocolate…”

“No, I do not wish chocolate.”

“Then why…?”

“The kind I had was very spicy. I had something like it on the solstice, too. Here, in Titidi.”

“Shall I find the chocolate vendor, Lord?”

“No, Maaka. I only wanted you to know that I like chocolate.” He tried again. “Do you know any stories?”

“What kind of stories does the Odo Sedoh wish to hear?”

“Something from your childhood. Something of this place, of Odo.”

“My stories are not worthy of the Odo Sedoh.”

“Nonsense. I am asking.”

“Please!” Maaka choked out a half sob.

Serapio closed his eyes. He understood that to push more would only be a cruelty. He had proven his point. “Forget that I asked.”

He had only wanted to be seen for a moment. Recognized as a man, not a god. But he understood he had asked too much of Maaka, perhaps even of Okoa and the rest of Carrion Crow. Sometimes he felt as if he were two people. One was the Odo Sedoh, a man molded into a vengeful god and honed to a single purpose. Blessed with a destiny above all others.

The other was a lonely boy constantly seeking connection, trying desperately to find his footing in a world that had no place for him. He hated the boy and his weakness, his foolish desire to find friends and family. It had been the boy who had contemplated a life with Xiala, the boy who wished to be Okoa’s cousin and not the Odo Sedoh, the boy who wanted chocolate and stories like a child.

He understood now that when his mother had warned him that everyone was his enemy, she had meant he was his own enemy, too. He knew he could drive this frailty from his consciousness, embrace only the pain, the purpose. Become fully the weapon that he had told Okoa that he was. It only took courage… and a letting go.

He willed his fingers to become talons and drove them into the flesh of his hand.

“My lord!” Maaka cried out.

“I thought I might sense something of my mother in this place,” he said, the pain making the words crawl from between his teeth. “But there is nothing for me here.” Nothing for me anywhere… unless I make it.

“You’re bleeding! Skies, your hand!”

“Come. Kneel before me, Maaka.”

He heard the man shuffle forward and fall to his knees. “Have I failed you?” His voice shook. “If you only tell me what I can do, what you need.”

“You have not failed me,” he assured him. “I will call on you soon, Maaka. You and the Odohaa. Can you answer when I do?”

“With our blood.”

“Yes, you will answer with blood.” He pressed his bloody palm to Odohaa’s cheek. “We both will.”

He could hear the man weeping. Serapio breathed one last breath in, and when he exhaled, he shattered and took to the sky.





CHAPTER 27


CITY OF HOKAIA

YEAR 1 OF THE CROW

The hubris of divinity is but one more gift that is yours!

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



Balam was pleased that Captain Keol had been correct and their voyage across the eastern isles of the Crescent Sea had been a generally uneventful one. The islands were never more than a day’s journey between them, which meant they slumbered on land every night. The fresh water was plentiful and the food along the shore abundant, particularly fish and crabs and the other creatures that called the shallow waters their home. Fruit was harder to find, but Keol explained that it was out of season and on their return voyage, the trees would be heavy with their bounty.

They saw no Teek, which was both relief and disappointment. Lord Tuun sat across from the fire each night, her slate eyes fixed on him. He brushed her off with disarming smiles and clever words that made her shoulders rock with laughter. But her humor was always short-lived, and by the end of the evening, he could feel her demand for the very islands around them weighing on him like the thick seaweed that washed up along the island’s rocky shore.