Voice Of Crow

01

In the torchlight surrounding the camp of a hundred Kalindons, Rhia could see the rope burns on Marek’s neck.

The man who would soon be her husband slept quietly for the first time in several nights. Perhaps exhaustion had stolen his nightmares, or at least his body’s ability to manifest them in twitches and starts.

The humid air draped over her like a second skin. Far above, the breeze murmured through the pines and spruces, but did not deign to descend to the ground.

She kicked off the covers of the bedroll, rolled her sleeves up to her shoulders and spread her limbs to dissipate the heat. To no avail. Summer’s strength had reached even the high mountain forest near Kalindos.

Whispers came. Rhia’s muscles jerked as if she’d been stabbed with a pin. Not again. She covered her ears, as if that would help. Please let me sleep.

But the voices of the dead would strengthen in her dreams, rumbles of discontent forming incoherent words. When she was awake they would whisper, or even silence when she spoke out loud or sang a distracting tune. Her traveling companions resented the latter, since her crooning voice was as melodic as that of her Guardian Spirit.

Crow.

Only a few months had passed since the Spirit had bestowed her with His Aspect. Yet she had borne these dark gifts for a decade—since she was eight—when she first heard Crow come to carry a soul to the Other Side.

The whispers changed, and Rhia realized with relief that these belonged to the living. She rolled onto her stomach to peer through the darkness.

Beyond the torchlight, a man and a woman patrolled together, carrying hunting bows so naturally, the weapons seemed part of their bodies. Everyone’s vigilance had heightened since the Descendants had invaded Rhia’s home village of Asermos ten days ago. With the help of the Kalindons she now traveled with, the Asermons had repelled the Descendant invasion, but at a precious cost.

Rhia shoved back a sweaty brown lock that had fallen into her eyes. Cut above her nape in mourning, her hair was now too short to tie back.

The voices in her head returned, louder. A wave of nausea swept over her.

Rhia sat up. A hand grabbed her arm, snapping shut like an iron-jawed trap. She stifled a yelp and looked down to see Marek’s blue-gray eyes staring up at her. He let go and blinked rapidly to rouse himself.

Sorry, he whispered. Where are you going?

She wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. I feel sick.

From the baby?

Too soon for that.

The voices again?

Feels like flies trapped inside my skull. She rubbed her ear, as if that would relieve the itch deep within. Coranna said it would be like this the first few months, but I don’t think I can stand another hour. She was only two weeks pregnant, with the voices the sole sign she had progressed to the second phase of her Aspect.

Her new powers required her to return to Kalindos to continue studying with her mentor. Right now she wished they were back at her father’s farm in Asermos, instead of spending another night in the mosquito-plagued forest. Normally the journey to Kalindos took only a few days by horseback, but conveying those with battle injuries tripled the travel time.

She pushed away the blanket. I’m going to the river to cool off.

He sat up. I’ll go with you.

You should rest. I’ll bring Alanka.

I need a bath, too. He drew his legs out of the bedroll, wincing.

You’ll get your bandage wet.

I’ll stand on one foot.

She grasped his hand to help him up, secretly glad he would accompany her. He slung his bow and arrows over his shoulder as automatically as most people would put on shoes. They tiptoed out of the camp together, two sets of footsteps but only one sound. Even Marek’s limp couldn’t undermine his Wolf stealth.

His palm pressed warm against hers. With his left hand, he wiped the shoulder-length, light brown hair from his stubbled cheeks where sweat had adhered it. The gesture revealed a pale face contorting with the effort to hide the pain of every other step. Rhia pretended not to notice, but slowed her pace nonetheless.

She fidgeted with the leather cord around her neck, from which a crow feather hung. When they returned to Kalindos tomorrow she would remove it. Each of that tiny village’s three hundred residents knew the others’ names and Guardian Spirits, so they saw no need to wear fetishes. In the much larger villages of Asermos, Velekos and Tiros, courtesy demanded one display which powers one possessed. As much as she loved the Spirit who had chosen her, Rhia sometimes wished she could hide her death-awareness. It tended to make people nervous.

Marek stopped short, throwing a glare to their right, where his Wolf-sister Alanka sat hunched in the dark on a fallen tree trunk with her former mate, Adrek. Rhia couldn’t hear their words, but obviously Marek could.

They’re supposed to be patrolling, he said.

Look. Rhia pointed to their left, where another scout—a Bobcat, she thought—circled the camp. Maybe Alanka and Adrek’s shift is over.

Marek’s mouth snapped into a taut frown, and she knew what bothered him. None of my business. He squeezed her hand and led her toward the river again. But I hate to see her make the same mistake twice.

For the first time, Alanka felt true sympathy for the deer she hunted. Not just gratitude for their sacrifice, or respect for the life they had given. Now she knew how it felt to sense the stalk of a Cougar in the night.

I miss you. Adrek shifted to face her on the tree trunk. Fighting in that battle, almost dying, I realized what was important in life.

I’ve never been important in your life. The catch in her voice betrayed her resentment. And last I heard, sprained ankles weren’t lethal.

He fidgeted with the hunting bow between his knees, eyebrows pinched. She almost regretted her retort. The battle for Asermos had been hard on everyone—even Adrek, who hadn’t lost family. She turned away from his pout, knowing the effect it still had on her even after two years.

I’m sorry, he said quietly. I’ve done this all wrong. I just thought we could talk.

Alanka crumbled a shard of bark that had come loose in her hand. She needed to talk about the killing, too, with someone who had done the same, with someone else called by the Spirits to take the lives of animals, not people.

But not until she was ready.

You never told me how you got hurt during the battle. She tried not to smirk—one of the Bobcats had told her what had happened, but she wondered if Adrek would invent a cover story to save face.

He slapped a mosquito on his arm. I stepped in a hole.

A hole.

His green eyes flashed at her. I was too busy shooting arrows into Descendants to watch where I was going.

There it was again, the thing that turned her stomach and kept her awake no matter how tired she was. She pushed it away.

Something snapped when I fell, he continued. Next thing I know, someone loads me onto a skid and I’m in the healers’ tent, covered in another soldier’s blood. A corner of Adrek’s mouth turned down. But nothing compared to what you went through. He reached for her hand. She moved it away, pretending to test the tension on her bowstring.

Adrek’s spurned hand scratched the back of his head. Is this because of Pirrik?

Her shoulders tensed at the name of her most recent mate. You know I’m not with him anymore. She held her voice low, in case Pirrik lay awake in the camp.

He should have been more understanding.

My father killed his father. What’s to understand?

That wasn’t your fault. No one should blame you for anything your father did—that murder, starting the war with the Descendants. You’re not him.

Her fingers trembled, vibrating the bowstring at the farthest depths of her hearing range. The sound made the memories flare in her mind, like wind over a campfire. She thrust the bow away. It toppled onto the needle-covered ground. Adrek gasped and lunged to pick it up.

Are you two guarding the camp or reminiscing?

Alanka looked behind her to see Endrus and Morran approach. Bobcat Morran had been her second mate, and the brown-haired Cougar, Endrus, who had just spoken, had followed soon after. She had loved neither man—Adrek had shown her that Cats were good for only one thing besides hunting—and had therefore remained friends with both.

Morran vaulted over the fallen tree trunk to land lightly beside her. Good thing we weren’t Descendants, or you’d be dead by now.

If you were Descendants, she told him, "I’d have heard you before you saw me, and you’d be dead by now."

They are loud, aren’t they? Maybe they carry bricks in their shoes. Endrus perched on the trunk behind her and surrounded her with his legs, his left knee blocking Adrek. He squeezed her shoulders, and she groaned at the sudden release of tension. Ooh, Morran, I made her purr.

But can you make her scream? The lanky Bobcat reached for her waist, his hand forming a tickling claw. By reflex, her foot shot out and swiped his legs from under him. Morran sprawled in the dirt with an Oof! Endrus pointed at him and stifled cackles that quaked his body.

Boys, Adrek said, we were trying to have a serious conversation.

Endrus snorted. And we were seriously trying to keep her out of your clutches.

I can take care of myself, Alanka snapped at him, with more annoyance than she felt. Her friends’ interruption had broken the morose spell Adrek had begun to cast.

It’s our turn to keep watch. Morran rolled to his feet and pulled a dead leaf out of his long blond hair. So you two can get some sleep.

"Yes, sleep," Endrus directed at Adrek.

Alanka patted Endrus’s knee and slid out of his grasp. Good night.

Adrek followed her toward the camp. So, back to my original question.

And my original answer, which is no, you can’t sleep next to me. She quieted her voice as they approached the slumbering Kalindons. I need to be alone.

What can you do alone that you can’t do with me?

Think. Breathe.

He took her arm. Alanka—

Remember what I did to Morran. You’ll get worse.

Adrek dropped his hand. Who taught you that move you used on him?

My brothers. Lycas, I mean. Her throat clutched her other brother’s name, as if releasing it would kill him all over again.

Adrek’s face softened at the sight of her grief—she had never been good at hiding her emotions. You sure you want to be alone?

"I didn’t say I wanted to be alone. I said I needed to. Good night."

Alanka turned away, relieved that he didn’t follow and not caring that he still held her bow. She never wanted to look at it again.

She found her bedroll where she had left it next to Rhia and Marek’s. After clearing stones from a space on the ground, she spread the blanket and wrapped herself inside, using the next day’s clothing as a pillow.

She stared at the shadows glimmering on the mossy gray boulder to her left, knowing that when her eyes closed, the same scene would dance on the back of her lids.

Her brother Nilo, sprawled in the mud and blood of the battlefield, giving his life to save hers.

She owed it to him to be brave, to be proud of what she’d done to defend his village. But her mind still flickered with the vacant faces of the dead.

Marek blanked his expression as he walked, showing far less pain than he felt. If Rhia knew how much it hurt, she would insist he stay behind at the camp. He would refuse, and they would have the same argument for the eleventh time.

He didn’t understand how, after all the dangers they’d faced, she could call him overprotective. Protective, yes, but the over part was impossible.

Let’s slow down, she said. I’m tired.

Marek knew she was shortening their strides to give his injured leg relief. It hadn’t taken Rhia long to learn how to pacify his pride, and for that he loved her. That and approximately seven hundred and forty-nine other reasons.

He longed to tear the bandage off his calf and scratch the sword wound with a sharp stick. The salve Elora applied every morning was helping it heal, so that now the itching nearly outweighed the pain. He knew he was lucky to have a leg to itch.

Through the thinning trees, he could see the river’s wide, calm surface glisten in the muted moonlight. The haze seemed to stretch from the dank ground all the way to the moon itself. Marek’s skin yearned for the cool mountain water.

The bank sloped down, studded with tree roots. He let go of Rhia’s hand and took her elbow. Watch your step.

She glared at him. I’m pregnant, not blind. Ack! She stumbled on a root, waving her other arm to regain balance.

He helped her down the hill, then faced away from her as she undressed. Seeing her naked would torture him, since they had to abstain from lovemaking during her month of mourning. It was nearly all he could think about. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t twitch his leg without agony, or that his skin cracked from sun poisoning. He had survived, and he wanted to fill every moment with the woman he had almost lost.

A splash and a gasp came from behind him. He turned to see Rhia submerged up to the neck. C-cold, she said, her jaw quivering. Whose idea was this?

He smiled as he took off his shoes, socks and trousers. Bandages covered the upper third of his right calf; in the dim light he was relieved to see the white strips free of fresh bloodstains.

A series of large rocks jutted out into the water to his left. He picked his way over these, carrying his bow and arrows, until he was near Rhia. This vantage point gave him a good view up and down the river, which he scanned for intruders. Seeing nothing unusual, he sat on the edge of the rough rock, extending his wounded right leg along its length and dipping his left leg into the cold water.

Rhia swam over, dark hair plastered against her scalp. Want some help?

I’m fine.

She blew out a wet breath. Stop it, Marek. You’re not fine.

Am I annoying you?

Yes. Now, take off your shirt and lie down.

He chuckled. I should annoy you more often. He handed her his shirt and stretched out on his back. Rhia dipped the cloth in the water, then squeezed it over his chest. He hissed at the cool relief. She repeated the action, then gently wiped his skin.

Close your eyes, she whispered.

A moment later, water cascaded over his face and ran through his hair, soothing his nerves and washing away three days’ worth of sweat and grime.

He dropped his arm to dangle in the river next to Rhia. The back of his hand brushed her warm, smooth belly. That doesn’t tickle? he murmured.

I’m too tired to be ticklish. She squeezed the cloth over his hair again. And at the moment, too content.

Marek eased his lips into a smile. It was odd to feel happy, after so many days of conflict and sorrow. Tomorrow he would return home, battered but victorious.

A scarce breeze blew over his body, cooling him and bearing a thousand scents of the forest he knew so well.

He sat up. One of those scents didn’t belong here. One of those scents should have been a week’s journey away from Asermos in the other direction by now.

He peered upriver. Nothing.

What is it? Rhia whispered.

He put a finger to his lips and closed his eyes. The human in him wanted to see to be sure, but the Wolf knew better. Truth lay in sounds and scents. The humid air hung heavy with the latter, carried by the fading wind. As the leaves on the trees hushed, the noise came to him.

A rhythmic slapping against the water, too precise and regular to be a leaping fish or frog.

He opened his eyes to check the riverbank beside them. No time to reach it without being spotted. He hid his bow and arrows behind a bulge in the rock, then slid soundlessly into the water.

Rhia gasped. Marek, your bandage—

Shh. Hold still.

He stood behind her and wrapped his arms tight around her body.

Then he turned invisible, and Rhia with him.

The ship appeared around the bend upriver, near the middle of the waterway. It was long and low, its sails sagging in the dead air. Rows of oars protruded from the side like the legs of a centipede, but these limbs moved as one, back and forth, pushing the vessel through the calm waters. It floated past, for a moment blotting out the dim, distant view of the river’s opposite shore.

Another ship appeared, identical to the first, then another. Nine Descendant crafts floated past as Marek and Rhia stood, unseen and unbelieving.

The enemy was leaving a place it never should have been.

Kalindos.

His home.

02

Marek clutched Rhia’s waist and struggled to stay on the mare’s back as they careened through the dark woods. Dripping branches hung low over the trail, making him dodge and duck at each turn.

Ahead of them, Alanka rode with Adrek, the Cougar’s night vision leading them all. Elora hurried behind them on her own pony, and behind her rode two Wolverines, two Bobcats and a Bear on the other three horses. At their current pace, they would reach Kalindos by daybreak—less than an hour—but it couldn’t be soon enough for Marek.

The rest of the Kalindons were following on foot, in two groups: one who could hurry and would reach the village by late the next morning, and one consisting of the wounded and their caretakers.

Soon the hill steepened, and they slowed their pace to an urgent walk, the ponies huffing from the effort. In the predawn glow Marek recognized the southernmost boundary of his hunting grounds. He knew each branch and rock as well as he knew the corners of his own tree house. The thought of Descendant swords polluting his peaceful forest home made his chest burn with rage.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent he dreaded.

Blood.

Hurry! he shouted.

They urged on their exhausted ponies. The path to Kalindos widened, then opened into the outskirts of the village as the sun’s first scarlet rays oozed over the mountains.

They rounded a large boulder and pulled up short.

Shreds of tree houses lay like kindling, covering so much ground that it seemed as though the forest itself had fallen. The walls of nearly every house bore gashes and gaps, making the homes look like mouths with missing teeth.

No one peered from behind the busted walls. No one hurried down ladders to greet them. No one shouted or moaned.

No one lived here anymore.

Let’s go, Rhia said.

She and Marek took the lead, Adrek and Alanka following. Though Marek no longer had immediate family in Kalindos—his parents had died over a decade ago, when he was ten—his gut twisted in fear for his mentor, Kerza. The invaders wouldn’t spare an old woman like her. Though they worshiped human-made gods instead of the Spirits, the Descendants understood how magic worked among people of the villages, how it peaked with grandparenthood.

The riders picked their way around the village’s rubble, shouting names of their loved ones. The fog swallowed their voices and muted all sounds except the muffled thump of hooves on pine needles. Not so much as a sparrow’s twitter or a woodpecker’s rattle responded to their calls.

Elora rode up beside them. Maybe everyone escaped.

No, Rhia whispered.

The Otter pushed back a damp strand of ash-blond hair and turned to face the village before them. She shrieked her sons’ names again, her voice echoing against the hills and bouncing back, unheard.

Wait. Rhia halted the horse and motioned for Marek to dismount. As soon as he did, she slid off and hurried into the trees. Marek handed the reins to Elora and followed as fast as his injury would allow. With a rush of scent, he understood what Rhia sought.

About a hundred paces off the path, a Descendant soldier lay pitched back in a clump of mountain laurel, as if he had decided to sit and rest awhile. The fingers of his left hand looped around the arrow protruding from his windpipe. He stared unseeing at the forest canopy, which dripped a steady stream of dew onto his forehead.

Rhia knelt beside the dead soldier. Marek wanted to yank out the arrow and plunge it again and again into the man’s lifeless form.

With a steady hand, she shut the Descendant’s eyes. Marek bit back a rebuke for her humane treatment of the enemy. They wouldn’t have done the same for her. But she couldn’t turn away from the dead any more than she could stop breathing.

We should move on, he said. There must be others.

There are. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes—for the prayer of passage, no doubt.

A howl of anguish erupted from the far side of the village.

Adrek.

Go. Rhia kept her eyes shut. I need to finish here.

Marek forced his injured leg to run. His bow and quiver of arrows slapped against his shoulder blades, and he wondered if he should be ready to fire, if danger yet lurked in Kalindos. Then Morran joined Adrek’s cry, clearly not a warning, but a lament.

Marek’s feet flew over the rocky terrain, and his hands fought back the underbrush that tore at his shirt. He followed the sound of the multiplying cries, and soon he burst into the small clearing that held the ponies’ paddock.

He stopped and stared, his eyes trying to convince his mind that what lay before him was real. The morning mist shrouded everything but the three bodies in front of him.

Two men and a woman were tied to the paddock posts, throats slit, shirts blushed with the dull brown of dried blood. The hairs rose on the back of Marek’s neck.

At the corner of the paddock, Adrek knelt at the feet of a fourth body, with a wide gash across its abdomen. His father.

Marek forced his ice-cold feet to move, circling the fence. The mist revealed more bodies tied to more posts. Zilus the Hawk, the village Council leader—dead, his throat slit. His wife, Dori, dead. Two more Council members, dead. All of the slaughtered were old.

Elora stumbled past Marek, perhaps searching for a spark of life she could fan into a flame. He scanned his neighbors’ corpses for the long white hair of Kerza.

The Descendants had dispatched the most powerful villagers first. But where were the young people his own age? Where were the children?

A fury grew in him as he saw the grisly results of each death. These people had raised him, taught him how to survive in the unforgiving mountain forest. He had sworn to defend them. Instead he had abandoned them, and convinced the best Kalindon warriors to follow him to Asermos to fight in someone else’s war.

A war that had come home.

Rhia ignored the stitch in her right side as she ran through the village. Shrieks of anguish filled the air ahead of her, but they all belonged to the living. Crow’s wings were silent in Rhia’s mind. He had passed Kalindos hours ago, taken what was His, and returned to His realm on the Other Side.

She forced her feet not to slow as she neared the paddock.

Elora stepped toward her out of the mist. There’s nothing left. Nothing for me to do. The healer’s knees bent until she sat on the ground, head in her hands.

Rhia moved on, sealing herself into the same shell that had protected her during the battle. After so many had died in front of her, how could this be any worse?

It was worse.

The Kalindon elders dangled pale and purple from the tall paddock stakes. With cold hands she pushed the hair out of her eyes and examined the body of Zilus. His throat had been cut, but no blood pooled at his feet, which meant he’d been killed somewhere else and dragged here to be mounted like a trophy. The sight curdled her guts.

Her last moments with the old Hawk had been rancorous, for he had refused to send aid to her village of Asermos when they needed it. In a bitter twist of irony, those Kalindons who had defied Zilus’s decree and fought the Descendants were the only ones left alive.

After speaking the prayer of passage, Rhia moved to the next body, another male elder. She wondered how her own mind could handle such a spectacle without shattering. Another of Crow’s blessings. With a few whispered words and an unflinching touch to the man’s slick forehead, she released another soul to the winged Spirit.

Beneath the keening calls of the newly orphaned, someone spoke her name. She jerked her awareness back to this world. Marek stood at her side. He reached to touch her arm. She flinched, and he changed his mind.

Adrek’s father, he said. Morran’s, too. Twelve in all. Every third-phase Kalindon except Kerza, and she’s not here.

Where are the rest? she whispered, dreading the answer.

Gone. Maybe they escaped, or—wait. He drew a deep inhale through his nose. Someone’s alive.

They looked at the stable inside the empty paddock. It was large enough to shelter the seven Kalindon ponies, six of whom had gone to Asermos. A rope was tied to each of the paddock’s four corner poles. The ropes led to the stable, disappearing under the door. Suddenly one of the ropes shifted in the dirt.

Rhia and Marek shouted, then hurried to open the paddock gate. Alanka followed. The two Wolves shot ahead of Rhia into the darkness of the stable. She stopped inside the door and waited for her eyes to adjust.

It’s Thera, Marek called from the middle stall.

Rhia stepped forward. The young Hawk woman’s neck, wrists and ankles were bound by the ropes leading to the paddock posts. The Descendants had tied her up like a wild beast.

Let’s get her out of here. Marek spoke gently. Thera, can you stand up?

Rhia checked the other stalls and found nothing but the remaining pony, who snorted and shifted its feet, looking frightened but otherwise unharmed. Marek carried Thera out of the stable and lowered her onto the ground of the paddock. The young woman’s hazel eyes stared into the distance without seeing, and her slack face seemed almost dead. Yet Crow’s wings beat nowhere near—her life’s essence was strong.

Thera! One of the other riders, a blond Bear man named Ladek, rushed into the paddock with Elora. They knelt beside Thera. Elora lifted a water skin to the girl’s lips, but the liquid dribbled down her trembling chin.

Ladek took Thera into his arms. Rhia remembered, as if from another lifetime, that he was the father of Thera’s three-month-old son, who was nowhere to be seen. She hoped the Hawk had answers, and would be able to speak them.

The young woman seemed not to notice their presence, but sat limp in her mate’s arms while Marek cut the ropes that bound her. Elora stroked Thera’s shoulder-length dark red hair.

Can you tell us what happened? the healer whispered. Where is everyone?

Thera nodded, her gaze distant and blank. The others had gathered outside the paddock, waiting to hear her story, but Thera just kept nodding, with short pauses. Rhia realized the Hawk was listening to voices in her own head.

Give her time to come back to us, Rhia said.

We don’t have time, Adrek snapped. He gripped the fence post beside his father’s body. She might know where we can find the others, if they escaped, or if they were taken. We need to start searching.

He’s right. Ladek cupped Thera’s chin in his thick fingers and turned her face to his. Where’s Etarek? he asked her in a soft but urgent tone. Where’s our son?

Thera didn’t speak. A tear rolled from the corner of her eye, down her cheek and onto his fingers.

No … He pulled her closer, though she seemed as oblivious as a rag doll. I never should have left you.

Rhia turned to Marek. They shared a look of remorse, then his shoulders stiffened. He moved to the edge of the paddock, his eyes gaining a faraway look.

He took a quick, deep breath. Kerza!

A baby’s cry cut the air. A moment later, a white-haired figure appeared from the surrounding trees. Thera’s aunt Kerza stumbled into the clearing, clutching an infant to her chest.

Etarek! Thera tried to stand, wild eyes fixed on her son.

Ladek leaped to his feet and dashed out of the paddock, nearly knocking the gate off its hinges. He took the squealing baby from Kerza and pulled him close, then delivered him to Thera’s arms. She moaned as she laid the child’s head against her shoulder, tears flooding her face.

Marek helped Kerza sit on a tree stump outside the paddock. Rhia moved toward them, listening for the rush of Crow’s wings, which never arrived. The old woman was exhausted but strong.

They came, Kerza said with a gasp, in the dead of night. Our scouts called the alarm, useless against so many.

How many? Marek asked.

At least a thousand. Almost ten of them for each one of us. She took a grateful gulp of the water Rhia offered. Knew I couldn’t fight, could only carry and cloak one person. No time to get food or water or put him in a sling. I came back hoping the soldiers would be gone. Couldn’t watch him starve in the wilderness.

You saved his life, Marek said.

What about the others? Kerza sat up straight. Her thin skin flushed, then paled when she saw the ghastly display. Oh, no. She rose on unsteady legs and took a step toward the paddock. This can’t be happening. In all my years—

Get away from me!

Rhia turned to see Thera scowling at Alanka, who stumbled back and put a hand to her paling cheek as if she’d been slapped. No doubt she was reaping the fruit of her father’s treachery. Rhia entered the paddock and put her arm around Alanka’s waist to comfort her and show her loyalty. The Wolf’s chin trembled, and she rubbed it hard.

Elora stroked Thera’s hair. Your baby’s safe now, and he’ll be fine, a little dehydrated, that’s all. She paused. Can you tell us what happened? Start wherever you need, but we must know if we can save them.

Thera shuddered, then took a deep breath and wiped her face dry. In a few moments, her demeanor calmed as she went into a memory trance. As a Hawk, she could recall everything she had seen and heard, whether she wanted to or not.

They came at midnight, she said matter-of-factly. "Our scouts sent out the alarm. Cougars and Bobcats shot a few, but there were too many. We surrendered. They gathered us all in the big clearing, where we have our celebration bonfires. They brought out the elders and slit their throats. The ones who struggled were