As they moved farther into camp, she saw more people who looked to be Odohaa. Many displayed bare arms and backs despite the cold, skin wreathed in haahan. She had only ever seen Serapio’s, and while they told a story of who he was, a story she had come to respect and find the beauty in, many of the haahan here were works of art. Delicately carved crows, their wings rendered in loving detail, sigils that she guessed were prayers, and of course, the ubiquitous crow skull. Many were freshly limned in red dye, as were the teeth she glimpsed in prayerful mouths.
“Are they all Odohaa here?” she asked Uncle Kuy.
She had never gotten along with religious types, at least until Serapio, and this many at once made her itch. Experience told her they would not like a Teek, particularly one who might take their precious Odo Sedoh from them. She hadn’t shared her plans with Uncle Kuy and decided then and there that silence on the matter was the wiser course. Let him think she simply wanted to see a friend again, not that she wanted to rescue Serapio from this fanatics’ den.
“Most are Odohaa,” Uncle Kuy acknowledged. “But not all. There are some like me with Carrion Crow blood but no home in Odo. Others who may have homes here but have come to see the Odo Sedoh when he is revealed. And then there are those who read the skies and see the shadowed sun as a sign of what’s to come and have chosen sides.”
“There are so many.”
“And more to come.”
“Why?
“They have waited generations for this moment, Xiala. How could they not?”
That sounded too much like something Serapio might say, and it left her uneasy.
“Let’s sit there.” Uncle Kuy pointed to a nearby fire where three people sat talking. Two women and a third person wrapped in a black cloak, hood up, gender not immediately known. None of the group flaunted haahan or red teeth, and she relaxed at that. She wasn’t sure she would know what to say to an Odohaa, and the idea of praying to Serapio was so absurd that it made her laugh. She hoped he would think it was absurd, too, but she suspected he might not.
“May we join you, friends?”
Uncle Kuy’s question was directed at the eldest of the group, a woman in a black dress and red cloak with a hem of beads and feathers. Her dark hair was threaded with white and cut into a blunt bang. The woman next to her was dressed much the same and looked enough like her companion that Xiala guessed them to be relations, likely mother and daughter.
“All are welcome,” the older woman said genially. Uncle Kuy looked to the other companions, and they both nodded in agreement.
“Our thanks,” he replied, and Xiala murmured a thanks as well.
Uncle Kuy sat next to the daughter, and Xiala took the place next to him, the cloaked stranger on her left. She dropped to the ground, grateful to be off her feet. The walk through Titidi earlier and the trek across the sky bridge and through Kun had taken a toll. Before the day she had spent walking with Serapio, she’d been twenty days at sea, and her legs did not adjust to land easily. She was paying the price for it now. The stranger next to her poked at the fire to rouse it, and she nodded, grateful, before leaning forward to catch the warmth against her hands and face.
“Do you come from far?” the older woman asked politely. Her eyes took in their blue cloaks just as the guard’s had.
“Not so far,” Uncle Kuy said. “My grandfather was Carrion Crow.”
“Ah,” the woman said, reassured. “And you?” She looked to Xiala.
“His niece,” she grumbled, keeping her head down. The woman’s smile was not as wide or as friendly for her. So be it.
The person next to her prodded the fire and whispered, voice low and musical, “A niece with an interesting accent. Careful with your words, then, Water Strider.”
Xiala tensed, but no one else appeared to have heard. She didn’t know if she should ignore the threat, if it was a threat, or respond.
“Peace, friend,” the stranger said before she could decide. “It is only an observation. I make it now, or others make it later.”
She glanced at Uncle Kuy, but he was caught up in conversation with the Carrion Crow woman and had not noticed their exchange.
“Is there something you want?” Xiala hissed.
“Only to enjoy the fire.”
“When did she say there would be food provided, Xiala? Xiala!” Uncle Kuy was staring at her, his face expectant.
“Hmm?” she said, trying her best to mimic Aishe.
Tovan was not a language Xiala knew well, but she had a natural affinity for languages, and time with Aishe and her brothers had helped her vocabulary, but her accent was apparently deficient. She wanted desperately to ask everyone to simply speak Trade, but then her ruse would assuredly be over.