He had given the Odo Sedoh his feathered cloak, and he wore it still. It was the only protection the man had from the cold, and Okoa did not begrudge it. But the fact that it looked right on him, made him appear regal even in bloodstained and tattered pants, his hair unkempt and his eyes pools of shadow, that did bother him. For a reason he could not quite name—envy, admiration, curiosity—he found himself staring, a knot in his stomach.
“Are you still worrying, Okoa?” His voice was light, teasing. They had formed a kind of wary friendship over the past day, and the jest was not unwelcome.
“No,” he lied, matching his tone. “I trust Benundah to save your reckless hide should you fall.”
That earned him a grin, and Okoa found himself pleased by their small moment of camaraderie.
Serapio cocked his head, as if listening. “Benundah said you are worse than a hen with a newly hatched chick. I won’t break.”
Okoa thought to remind him of the wound in his side and the fact that he seemed quite capable of breaking, particularly if he fell from the back of a crow in flight. “I would not be so sure.”
Serapio twisted in his seat, as if trying to find something. “Where is the sun?” he asked. “I cannot feel it against my skin.”
“It sits low on the horizon, still swallowed by shadow.”
“Good.”
There was something sinister in his tone that made Okoa shiver, the small warmth of a shared joke not enough to reassure. He wondered, again, if he were doing the right thing. He had meant the words he said earlier as they sat by the fire, about the Odo Sedoh having an obligation to help Carrion Crow, about how if he claimed to be their god, then he must not only be a warrior but a protector as well. But there was something untamed about the man, something unsettling that he could not quite trust, and now that the moment of return was upon them, Okoa worried about who, or what, he was bringing back to Tova.
The Odo Sedoh grasped the feathers at Benundah’s neck, wrapping his hands deep in her ruff. “How long do you think the journey will take?”
The mountains around them were snowcapped, jutting pillars of dark stone with little foliage or growth. Their beauty was stark and deadly. It would be impossible for a person to climb to the rookery, but to fly back to Tova?
“Not long. A few hours.”
Okoa threw a leg over Kutssah’s back and climbed on, settling on the rug saddle and taking up the reins. Kutssah had arrived shortly after the Convergence, as if she had known the Odo Sedoh were here. It occurred to Okoa that the crows likely all knew. Skies, the Odo Sedoh probably spoke to them all. That thought made the knot in his stomach tighten. What he wouldn’t give to speak to crows, even once. But would you pay the price he has paid for it? He flexed his fingers inside his gloves. Would you want that blood on your hands?
He pressed a hand to the nondescript sack he had attached to the saddle. It held the Sun Priest’s mask. He had taken it from Sun Rock in secret, and kept it secret now. He had meant to throw it away, toss it off a high cliff to be forever lost in this empty place, but here he was, ready to return to Tova, and it was still in his possession. I’ll keep it just a little longer, he told himself. Once I know more. Once I understand. And he almost believed it.
“Remember to fly as low as is safe,” he said, last-minute instructions. “The air is thin and freezes skin too far up.”
“The cold doesn’t bother me.”
“Must be your Obregi blood.” The Obregi Mountains were known for the long winters and impassable peaks, and he had discerned that Obregi must be the other half of his heritage.
Serapio’s expression darkened.
Okoa had only meant to tease, but he could tell it had landed poorly. He cleared his throat. “I would ask a favor, Odo Sedoh.”
“Ask it,” he said stiffly.
“Speak to the flock. Tell them to come back with us. All of them, or at least the great ones. I need us to make an impression.”
He relaxed, whatever offense Okoa had committed seemingly forgiven. “So you decided to take my advice after all. Then let us make it a sight that Tova will not soon forget.” He leaned in and whispered words to Benundah.
The great corvid cried out, and the mass of crows answered.
She launched herself upward. The entire flock rose behind them, Kutssah included. They left the rookery as one great body of beating black wings, ascending skyward.
* * *
Okoa’s estimation proved correct, and they arrived in the air over Tova in a matter of hours. They flew in low, coming in from the northwest, crossing over Tsay. He scanned the sky for eagles, knowing that Golden Eagle could have put patrols out, but he saw no riders, only people below in the streets gaping up as the mass of crows passed overhead. He smiled grimly. Word would travel quickly to the Golden Eagle matron that they had returned.