Her heart was still racing wildly, her mind reeling from what she had seen.
She had been drawn to the rooftop observatory by what she had taken for a voice, and a compulsion she could not name. Around her, the wind had howled and the blackened sun hissed and crackled. A corvid the size of her lower arm was perched on the ledge before her. Naranpa had watched as the bird cocked its head and seemed to look at her, as if it was expecting her.
“Who…？” she had whispered, but before she could finish her thought, a shadow passed over her head. She had looked up as more shadows flew above her, and she realized the darkness was the flock. Their eerie cries filled the air, and the wind gusted with the beating of their wings as dozens and dozens, no, half a hundred, gathered on the tower. The light in her lantern danced and then was snuffed out. Some deep instinct had told her not to relight it and even more urgently screamed at her to run.
She had walked backward, eyes on the growing mass of birds that swarmed before her. The swarm had begun to take shape, and she had not known what it would reveal, but she’d been certain she did not want to be anywhere near when it did. She had dropped the useless lantern and run.
She had made it only as far as the stairs when light flared around her. Instincts had made her duck and throw herself against the wall, hands over her head. She had waited for something to strike her, but all she felt was heat… and the warmth of the sun.
The sun!
The shadow of the eclipse had diminished, and the sun had brightened, illuminating the top of the tower. Her power awoke, the heat in her chest flaring alive. Her palms burned. She had stared at her hands in wonder, the heat of the sun against her face like the kiss of a long-missed lover. Until she heard a voice where there were only corvids before. It did not sound human. It was the voice of a thousand wings, the voice of the killing field, the voice of a god.
“Sun Priest,” it had said.
And she knew who it was, who had called her to the rooftop. Trembling, she had turned to face her enemy.
Her memory shuddered, trying to make sense of what she had seen.
A man, young, sheathed in black, ebony hair wild. A face with eyes of midnight that wept black tears. He had called to her in a voice that shook the air like thunder. And then, impossibly, his arm had shattered into half a dozen crows, and the birds had come for her. And she had run.
But now she was safe, at least for the moment.
She leaned against the kitchen door, listening, but all was silence.
Were the crows gone? Was the Crow God Reborn even now stalking down the stairs in search of her? She was certain that if he found her, she would not survive their meeting. She looked around the kitchen, a place she had spent many hours as a servant before her promotion to dedicant. There was a back entrance here, one that led into the once neatly tended rows of corn, beans, and squash that fed the tower. It was her way out.
She dragged herself to her feet and quietly made her way to the back door. Tentatively, she opened it. She half expected to find a flock of crows waiting for her, ready to rend her limb from limb, but there was nothing. She looked up at an empty sky. She caught the edge of a black murmuration retreating east, and she let herself breathe again. He had not pursued her after all, and she could only be grateful that her fool’s luck had held.
She gathered her courage and ran toward the bridge to Tsay.
* * *
Naranpa opened the door of the Lupine a full nine hours after she had left. The guard who had so easily let her leave now took off running, shouting of her return.
She collapsed on the nearest bench, exhausted, and waited for her brother.
He arrived before she could kick the boots from her aching feet, his porcupine mantle flaring around him and his wooden cane beating a rhythm of displeasure that matched his stride. He was dressed for travel, boots laced to knees and hands gloved. His hair was freshly shaven on the sides, the rest slicked back in a knot. He trembled with the effort to suppress his rage.
“I thought you were dead,” he shouted, inches from her face.
Another time, she might have been shaken by his anger, but now, the memories of the Crow God Reborn fresh, she could only laugh. “Very close.”
Denaochi reared back, as if he had not expected such a glib dismissal of his hostility, but he recovered quickly, his tone shifting to sarcasm. “A brush with death is the only acceptable excuse for your behavior.” He sniffed, still annoyed, but his curiosity was clearly getting the best of him. “Where did you go?”
“The tower.”
“The celestial tower?”
“I know.” She ran a trembling hand across her face. “Perhaps not my best idea. But there was something there I needed.”