His memories of his father were hazy at best, a smear of images from his early childhood. But they were good memories, until they were not. Hours spent in the library, where his father had taught him to read. Long nights hiding under a bench, listening to his father speak of grand philosophies and debate history with his glamorous friends. He remembered the momentous feel of those times, if not the words or the faces of the people.
It must have happened then, he thought. Sometime when conversation became dangerous and someone his father had considered his friend was in fact his enemy. He had no idea what had truly happened, and he suspected he might never know, but it made his stomach knot to think of it.
He was not proud that he had abandoned his father’s legacy so completely, but traitor was a heavy burden for a boy to carry, and his mother had not tolerated any mention of her late husband. She must have feared that people would remember her part in his rebellion and how she had escaped his fate and reconsider. No wonder she was so sad, even to the end. And no wonder she had sent him away to war college as soon as he was old enough.
He sensed someone waiting in the shadows, just down the steps, and half expected it to be the Odo Sedoh. “Who’s there?”
Ituya stepped forward, looking sheepish. “Apologies, Lord. I did not want to disturb you. You looked to be in thought.”
Okoa’s mouth creased with a small smile. “When am I not in thought, Ituya? Is there news?”
“A letter, Lord.” The Shield held out a folded paper.
“Any news of the Odo Sedoh?” He took the letter in hand.
“No, Lord. Nothing new.”
“No sightings? Nothing?”
“No, Lord.”
“What is this?” He held up the letter he had not yet bothered to look at. “Another demand from the clans? Why not take it to Esa?”
“It is addressed to you.”
“Who is it from?” He paused, eyes raking over the letter for the first time.
Ituya hesitated. “It is marked with the sigil of the Sun Priest.”
Okoa examined the seal. It was indeed the Tovan sun. His brows knit in suspicion. “Who brought this?”
“A runner, Lord. We stopped her at the gate. She was no more than a Maw brat.”
“The Maw…” He remembered another letter that had come from the Maw and the Sun Priest. But surely even she was not so bold.
“My thanks.” He waved Ituya away. “And find me when Chaiya returns, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. It’s important.”
“Of course, Lord.”
Once his man was out of sight, Okoa slipped off his gloves, tucked them in his belt, broke the seal, and read. He recognized the style of the script, the shape of the glyphs. They were written by the same hand that had penned him a letter before the Convergence. That message had read, Storm, Betrayal, Friendship.
He looked again at the new message in his hand, so similar, only now it said, Storm, Friendship, Survival, and there was a curving line like a rounded roof and, under that roof, the sigils of the Sky Made clans. He understood what it meant—together, the Sky Made as allies survive the storm.
The note ended with the insignia of a place in the Maw, a column of flowers on a single stalk, and a note that the runner would return to fetch him should he wish to come.
He leaned against the wall, bewildered and intrigued.
Was this the same Sun Priest? Had she somehow outlived all her counterparts and was now in the Maw? And even more surprising, did she think he, a son of Carrion Crow, would be her ally against the Odo Sedoh? It was bold. And foolish.
Because now he knew where to find her.
He grimaced, uncomfortable with the idea of hunting her down. He had liked the Sun Priest he met on the day of his mother’s funeral, thought her different and promising. That was when he had dreamed of peace between the clans. Only now that the Odo Sedoh had come, his dreams were those of war.
Not war, he told himself, independence.
The aviary was quiet, all the patrols in for the evening and the birds roosting.
He grabbed a clay bowl from a nearby shelf and filled it from the water barrel. He dug into the bag he always wore at his belt and retrieved a handful of grubs. He offered them to Benundah.
“I am sorry I ever doubted you.”
She cawed once, a reprimand, but took his peace offering. Using his fingers, he dribbled water from his bowl onto her wings and began to groom her. He plucked the loose feathers and set them aside for the new mantle he was making, having gifted his old one to the Odo Sedoh. Once he had removed all the loose quills, he ran fingers across her lustrous plumage, smoothing the water across her feathers. It was more a bonding exercise than necessity, as the crows groomed themselves, but both man and beast found it soothing.