His cousin, who had once been called Tiniz but had kept the honorific Powageh as xir name since returning from Obregi, had been haunting his doorstep. Balam was not interested in what his cousin had to say, what case xe wished to plead on Saaya’s son’s behalf. Frankly, he thought his cousin compromised, addled by age and sentiment. Powageh had always loved Saaya to unhealthy extremes, and it seemed now xe had transferred xir affections to her son. Understandable, he supposed, if a bit shortsighted. Powageh had waxed on about guilt, of all things. How the boy didn’t deserve his fate, how in the end Powageh had had second thoughts.
Balam had listened to his cousin that day as long as he could before exasperation forced his tongue. “Have you forgotten what we do here? We are breaking worlds, realigning the very course of the heavens. We manipulate powers not seen in three hundred years, no, a thousand. Against all odds, all reason, Saaya rebirthed a god, and now you wish to insult him with your mawkishness?”
“We raised him up only to die for our schemes.”
“Would that the whole of humankind had such divine purpose!”
“But we did not even ask if it was what he wanted.”
Balam had scoffed. “We made him a god, Cousin. He is not a maiden deciding which dress best suits her eyes. He was a weapon, and a fine one at that.” And by now, he would have slain the Watchers, thrown the sun from its course over Tova, and ushered in a new era.
Yes, Serapio had done his part. Now it was time for Balam to do his.
He opened the book and began to read.
The dreaming minds of all human beings are open to you, but the dreams of the creatures—furred, finned, and feathered—will remain closed. They dream in a different world from ours.
“Well enough,” he murmured. He had not thought to manipulate birds and beasts, anyway.
You may eat the godflesh whole, but it is better to make a tea of it. One cup may keep you in the dreamworld half the day and will exhaust you upon your return. It is best only to Walk when another spearmaiden can watch over your corporeal form.
Ah, yes. The spearmaidens who practiced this forbidden magic had always been paired. Well, that was not an option now. He read on.
It is best to begin with inquiry into the victim’s mind. Once you are confident, you may begin to plant thoughts and desires and return again and again to cultivate their growth. You cannot kill outright in a dream, but you may convince the victim to harm themselves or others because their dream demands it. Beware! It is a delicate thing to manipulate minds. Do not get entangled.
He read all day and well into the night, not eating or sleeping, and his household did as instructed and did not disturb him. So many warnings of death and madness coupled with promises of power beyond imagining. Balam suspected the author had been quite mad herself by the time she committed the magic to writing. But the text was all that was left of the practice; no dreamwalkers were known to have survived the purge that came after the signing of the Treaty of Hokaia.
He would be the first in an era, and he was ready.
He lit the copal and fanned it until it burned steadily, filling the room with sacred smoke. He donned the regalia of his station, similar to what he had worn to the temple, but now his cloak was rare white jaguar skin, and he wore white shell around his neck and in his ears and nose. He extinguished the lanterns, leaving the room in semidarkness, the moon through high windows the only light.
He took the godflesh from the small wooden box he had set on the table. He ate a piece the size of his fingernail and settled himself onto the cushions to wait. He did not wait long. The dreamworld opened to him. He marveled at its beauty, and at its terror.
And Balam went hunting.
CHAPTER 2
CITY OF TOVA （THE CROW ROOKERY） YEAR 1 OF THE CROW
Within even the smallest act of love lives the potential for a miracle.
—The Obregi Book of Flowers
The Odo Sedoh dreamed, and in his dreams, he was legion.
He was black-winged murder flying over a vast sea. He was the bloodthirsty havoc of beak and talon. He was the stately flock that wheeled over a city stained by injustice.
He became the shout of a thousand prayers on a thousand lips. He became a prophecy of revenge. He became the blossoming shadow that engulfed a sun.
He was Crow who then became the slaughter.
Serapio screamed and screamed and screamed and—
Gentle hands shook him, and his eyelids involuntarily fluttered open. But all was shadow, as it had been since he was twelve. His nose filled with the scent of crows. He felt the rough scratch of quills against his back. A voice called out concern for the Odo Sedoh.