E.R. COOK

Chapter 1

A raven’s cry broke the silence of her reverie. Asha jerked awake from her meditation, her breath coming hard and fast as adrenalin coursed through her body.

The elderly shaman raised her head, peering with slitted eyes at the young girl with the hair like moonlight. “What did you see?”

“I saw. . .I saw. . .” Her mind whirled with the jumbled visions, her breath coming faster as she fought to make sense of the swirling emotions she had felt, trying to please her teacher. What had she felt? Finally, a numbing cold settled in her bones with a finality that drew a tear to her eye.

Just then, a booming thud sounded far outside the small hut. Boom. Then another. Boom. Then another and another.

Asha turned winter crystal eyes to her mentor, her voice a whisper. “Nothing good.”

“Go.” Chalese nodded toward the entrance. “He should know.”

Another chill born not of the vision but of fear skittled down her spine. “You want me to tell him?”

“He is the Chieftain, he should know.”

“But. . .You’re the shaman! I’m just. . .”

“You are my apprentice and the future shaman of this tribe. They will need to learn how to respect you, one way or another. Besides,” she cackled. “My old bones do not move so fast anymore. Go, before I come cross.”

Asha took a deep breath and obeyed, blinking as she stepped out into the early dawn’s light. Already the village was stirring with warriors standing outside tents tightening the lashes on their armor or putting a final hone on their axe. Women and children dashed to and fro gathering wood for fires or stuffing packs with dried meat and fruit. Many were already heading for the central meeting hall, where the Chieftain stood, the drums of war calling his host.

Where her father stood. Waiting for the shaman’s blessing that would not come.

Asha pushed out her chin, pulling the hood of her white robe over her head. The robe opened enough to show the yellow stone with a black center that Chalese had given her when she had been chosen. The stone that marked her as the Raven’s Eye.

Despite her trembling legs, she fought to gain the stride of power as she walked over the ground. Many turned a side-eye to her passing, murmurs following in her wake, then throwing a questioning eye to Chalese’s hut. But Asha shut her ears, walking forward. Chalese was right. If she was going to be the voice of the spirits, she had better start getting some backbone when it came to the tribe.

The crowd parted as she drew nearer to the Hall, allowing her to pass inside. Some bowed to her as was her right, but many more just stared in neutral defiance of the fifteen moon girl that stood before them. She ignored them, the Hall falling into a hush as she entered the doorway.

Her father stood on the dais, decked out in his black and red armor, the crested helmet of the Chieftain already perched upon his head. To each side, twin drummers stood beside the gigantic war drums that called the tribe. Asha’s breath caught in her throat as she struggled to stand tall.

Chief Galag turned, a snort of displeasure like that of a bull escaping his nostrils as he took in the sight of her. His tone was neutral. “Daughter.”

It was a simple word but might as well have been a punch to her gut. Asha stiffened against the blow, anger rising from her stomach at the insult. When she had become akira, the shaman’s apprentice, she was due all the respect of the shaman. Yet the little girl within her quavered, once more cowering before her father. She saw the rest of the tribesman sneer and smirk.

Something. . .warm. . .welled within her. Anger and fear and hatred at her father dismissing her. A sudden yearning flashed into her vision, her standing over him, the war cudgel in her hand, his head splayed open, gore running out to soak into the earth. Her stealing his last breath, claiming his power. Lording it over the tribe and beating them into submission until they gave her due. Until they all bowed before her!

Asha blinked to clear the vision, horrified at the gore and lust that had welled within her. She snorted back. “Father.”

That too was an insult, but not as much one as he had given. Still, she saw his jaw tense. A point to her, if only a small one.

But she wasn’t here to gather points in their ever-raging war. She was here to give him news on the upcoming battle. She lifted her chin, straightening her shoulders. Walking down the aisle, she came to a stop in front of the dais. Suddenly, Chalese’s words rang in her mind. They will need to learn to respect you. She fought to give him her iciest glare. “Is that how you greet your shaman?”

“Future shaman.” He said, a slight snarl in the undertone. But even he would not risk Chalese’s wrath at outright refusing her. “What tidings do you bring, o shaman?”

Her tongue thickened as she tried to push out the words. A part of her chided the other for her reluctance. Normally you’d revel in bringing your father down with bad news. But a shaman who foretold darkness was not always well received and the immature part of her longed for acceptance. But that is our duty, the other part of her mind reminded her. Somewhere far in the background of her mind, the raven called again, the distance sound steeling her nerves.

Am I the Raven’s Eye or not? “I come with dark tidings, my Chief.”

Grumbles rose around her, the sounds of shifting feet sifting into her ears, though she held her ground and had eyes only for her father. She could see his teeth grinding, the anger flashing in his eyes. “What darkness do they foretell?”

“The battle will not go your way. The raven’s will feast on many of our dead and few of theirs.” Asha did not know where the words were coming from, they merely flowed from her lips. Perhaps this is what Chalese had meant by the raven would speak through her. “They lie in wait within the Pass and know we come.”

“Well then.” Her father mused. But then instead of backing down, he glared at her and threw the challenge. “If we know they know, then we can still win the day.”

Lighting ran through her body, a flash of anger that slammed into her with the force of a thunderstorm. She bit her lip to keep it back. He is denying the shaman’s vision?!? It was unheard of. It was true she was young, but the raven’s did not lie. No Chieftain would go against a shaman’s vision. It was how their kind stayed alive in this ruthless, wild world.

The warriors around her mumbled their uneasiness as well. The Vorkan were raised to believe in the shaman’s vision, and that battle was everything to them. To die well was a badge of honor, to run was seen as a curse upon you and your blood. Many would gladly run to the sword to die, knowing that the tribe would carry the day. But to throw your life away, to go against a bad vision, was seen as stupid and useless. For their Chieftain to suggest. . .

“I know, my warriors.” Galag switched his attention to the muttering crowd. “The raven’s do not lie. But I had my own vision last night. Where the wise and cunning wolf came to me. He told me of our enemies, how they revile in the mud like pigs and bleat like sheep. They do not have claws, but soft fingers. They have no horns. We will pierce them and rout them with the strength of the pack.”

“I know our shaman,” the word rolling off his tongue like he had eaten a rancid piece of meat, “has come to us with bad tidings. But I say they are good tidings. We are forewarned. We know they lie in wait for us, like the skulking dogs they are. With this knowledge, we will find them out first and ambush THEM!”

One of the warriors cheered, followed by another. One by one, all their voices raised until the whole hall rang with their praises. Galag stared down at her, triumphant. “We will win this day.”

Asha merely stared, trembling in both outrage and fear. She had known she was heading into a fight, but with one fell swoop he had destroyed her. No one in the tribe would listen to her now. It took all her might not to clutch at the stone at her throat, to run from there with her own tail between her legs.

The cheering would not die down, growing and rolling like thunder. Finally, Galag motioned for silence. “What say you, shaman?”

She glared for a moment, unsure of what to say. But the raven called deep within her, and she sighed. “As you wish, my chief.”

Her heart heavy, she turned, more than one anonymous voice in the crowd hurling an insult at her back. She walked out into the open air, ignoring the muttered taunts and jeers of the crowd, quiet enough that no one person could place the perpetrator but loud enough for all to hear. She did not stop at Chalese’s tent but walked out past the village, deep into the forest. Following the creek, she walked up to her favorite rock that overlooked the valley.

“Damn him.” She whispered.

The floodgates opened. Tears welled in her eyes, falling down her cheeks as a primal scream of frustration and anger ripped from her throat. It echoed down the valley, answered in the distance by the war cry of a hawk. She collapsed on the ground, all dignity and position forgotten. Who am I kidding?

Far in the distance, the drums began again. She could see the thin line of warriors as they started out of the village, heading for their battle. Her father would be among them somewhere, perched on the back of his favorite horse. “Fool.”

“I take it he did not listen to you?”

Asha didn’t even startle. Of course Chalese would have known. “You sent me into the wolf’s den.”

The old woman cackled from where she was sitting on a log. Asha had given up wondering how someone so ancient could move so fast and agile when she wanted. A part of her wondered if the old woman knew the magics to just transport where she wanted. But right now her broken heart didn’t care. “He didn’t listen. You knew he wouldn’t.”

“I had hoped he would see past his anger.”

Asha snorted. “His anger. First off, I wasn’t a son. Then he can’t even marry me off. Not even becoming a shaman was good enough for him. All I am is an insult. A reminder of what he did to my mother.”

“It is the Chieftain’s right to marry many.”

“But not his right to murder because the spirits did not bless him in the way he believed was his right.” Asha grimaced, trying to shake the dark thoughts and memories out of her head that had come unbidden.

Chalese tsked deep in her throat. “If you are to truly become the Raven’s Eye, you will need to learn to see past your darkness.”

Asha watched the line of ants far below marching to their death. For a moment, the visions raged before her mind, first of the raven’s feasting after the battle, then of her standing over her father. Over all of them.

She knew she should resist the dark thought, but for a moment she reviled in it. In the feeling of once, for once, beating recognition and respect out of her father. Somewhere deep within her, the raven called, the sharp sound grating against the emotions of the vision.

Chalese sighed. “You have a long way to go, young one. And many paths to chose.”

The words bit deep into her soul, feeding the anger. Feeding the monster she felt growing within her. “Chose? When have I ever had a choice?”

“Bitterness does not become you.” Chalese bit back. “You are not the Raven’s eye yet, child.“

“You sent me to my father knowing what would happen. A child to the wolves.”

“I sent my apprentice to talk to the Chieftain. You chose to be a child.” Chalese swept her cane out to indicate the line of warriors. “And now most of our people march to their deaths. What choice did they have?”

“I did my duty. I told him the omen.”

“Someday you might understand the difference between duty and responsibility.” Chalese sighed. “When you are done with your pity party, come back to the camp. There will be many spirits needing guidance to the afterlife when this is over.”

Asha turned her head, but Chalese was gone.

A wave of shame washed over her. She was a child for the way she had spoken to Chalese. It was not the woman’s fault that the god’s had not blessed Asha’s mother with a firstborn son, or that the ravens had chosen Asha. Yet her father’s words and actions, that same charade played a million times over in her fifteen seasons, burned like an ember in her soul.

She watched as the line of warriors faded over the horizon. They were marching on a neighboring village over the mountain pass. She knew from the vision that death awaited them in that pass. For a moment, she hoped her father’s brave words were right, that their tribe could ambush the waiting ones, now that they knew where they waited.

But the weighted pit in her stomach told her the truth. The ravens never lied.

She rose to her feet and started walking slowly to the village, reciting the prayers for the dead in her head. Chalese was right. There would be many to help once night fell.