He had simply been her friend and, for one night, her lover. His presence had felt like the home she never had, the acceptance she craved so desperately, the forgiveness she feared she could never earn. She wanted that feeling back; she wanted him.
I’ll take him away from here, she thought to herself. Now that he has fulfilled his obligations to his crow god, he is free. He can leave this cold place and run away with me. We can find a ship somewhere and sail to the far edges of the Crescent Sea. Find an island of our own, raid merchant ships like proper pirates, live a life unbound from this world and its expectations.
She wouldn’t let herself think of the impracticality of it. How childish the fantasy, how impossible. How, despite their deep connection, there was so much she did not know about him, or he about her. Instead, she stubbornly clung to her dream like the last hope for land in the throes of a shipkiller and prayed that, against all odds, they would reach the nonexistent shore together.
But as she and Uncle Kuy crossed the border into Odo, her hopes sank like an anchor, dashed before the waves even closed above her head.
“Well, fuck me,” she remarked quietly.
The district of Odo was shades of shadow, black and gray volcanic rock with red-painted doors like blood-filled gashes in the stone. Charred wood beams made lintels and fences. Even the roads were marked with gray rock. And everywhere, on banners and painted on walls, the crowsign. She didn’t let it show, but her heart felt like it was cracking.
“What’s that?” Uncle Kuy asked.
“Nothing.”
She had hoped to take Serapio from here, but now that she had seen Odo, she could not imagine a place where he belonged more. Would she really take him away from this? If she asked, would he even come?
She was of the sea, born and bred. Could she ever live in a place like this cold and forbidding city? Would Serapio even want her to stay?
Doubt thickened heavy and cold in her gut, but she braced herself.
“Only one way to find out.”
* * *
As they approached what looked to be a hastily erected gate just across a small bridge that marked the border between Kun and Odo, a guard raised a hand to stop them. She was dressed in black, clearly Carrion Crow, and held a wicked-looking mallet lined with bits of obsidian over her shoulder. She took in their blue cloaks with suspicious eyes, and her mouth drew down in a frown.
“Ho, Water Strider,” she said, stopping them. “What is your business here?”
“Not Water Strider,” Uncle Kuy said. “Carrion Crow.” He unfastened his cloak to pull his shirt aside and expose his chest. Xiala caught a glimpse of haahan. The carving looked new, still irritated on his skin. It was the familiar crowsign, the wings and skull that marked his door and all the doors and walls around them.
The guard peered suspiciously at the marking before reaching out and running a finger across the skin. “Fresh,” she accused.
“I come late to my heritage,” Uncle Kuy confessed, “but I do come. Talk to Lord Okoa, the captain of the Shield. He knows me. He will vouch for me.”
The guard pinched thin lips together. “And her?”
“My niece,” Uncle Kuy lied. “I’m the only family she has. I couldn’t leave her behind when the crow god called us. She is true.”
Xiala dipped her head, mimicking what she thought an obedient niece might do, and made sure her hair and eyes were well covered.
“And your business?” the guard asked.
“We answer the call of the Odo Sedoh.” Uncle Kuy swept an arm around, encompassing the camp just beyond the makeshift wall and the club-wielding guard. His eyes shone, and Xiala thought perhaps some was theater but suspected most was genuine. “We join with our brethren to pledge our lives to—”
“Move on,” the guard said, cutting him off. She stepped to the side to usher them through. “Find a fire, a place to rest,” she intoned, as if speaking from rote. “Food will come around, latrines are on the northern edge of the camp, no weapons, no fighting, or you’re out. No exceptions.”
“Praise to Odo Sedoh,” Uncle Kuy said, head bobbing.
Xiala was sure she saw the guard roll her eyes skyward. If she had to guess, the woman had heard the same speech and the same fervent farewell a dozen times, and it had ceased to impress. She made note that not every Crow was quite so devout as the ones she’d met before now.
The camp was busy but not so crowded that they couldn’t make their way through. She guessed at most two hundred people were gathered in a yard that likely accommodated a thousand if they stood shoulder to shoulder. Most of the people near the gate were families, mothers and fathers with infants and children underfoot. They had already set up small pit fires and looked to be settled in to wait. For what, Xiala was unsure.