No, Nero, no! I call. Go!

He sails to the tattered tent next to the platform an lands on top. He opens his wings wide an screams. Unease crackles through the crowd. Crows bring death. That’s what a lot of folk think.

The Angel of Death an her crow. At Hopetown, everybody feared Nero. When I fought in the Cage, he used to watch from a nearby light tower. Wouldn’t leave till I’d won. People believed I got my powers from him.

Another bunch of men wrestle Lugh, Emmi an Tommo up to the front. Their hands is already tied. A few heavy whacks from a stick an the boys kneel, like me.

Saba! says Lugh. Are y’okay?

Yeah! I says. Em’s beside me. Don’t be skeered, Em, I says.

I ain’t skeered of these cowards, says she.

The wind shrieks. A thump of thunder. A crack of lightnin as the storm draws near.

There she is! cries Emmi.

There’s a boy, Emmi’s age, comin outta the tattered little tent next to the platform. He’s leadin a girl by the hand, helpin her up the steps.

She’s got a length of dark cloth tied around her eyes, a blindfold. She’s small, fine-boned as a bird, with maybe sixteen year on her. She wears a long white robe. Bare feet, bare arms, bare legs. With skin as white as a white winter moon. Hair of palest fire. It hangs to her waist, loose an alive, threaded with feathers an beads. There’s a small skinbox slung around her waist.

The boy ducks to the side, leaves her alone in the middle of the platform. She starts to drum on the skinbox, beatin out a rhythm with her hands. The wind whips her robe around her legs. Flings her hair into a wild dance.

Emmi shouts to be heard. It’s the Sky Speaker! She’s gonna help you, Saba, I know it! That’s why Tracker brought us here.

Jest then, there’s the most almighty thunder crash. The boy pulls the blindfold from the Sky Speaker’s eyes. She drums ever more frantic, a look of fierce ecstasy on her face. Lightnin slashes at the ground, not thirty paces off. The world lights up. A brilliant flash of blue-white.

The Sky Speaker’s shakin, head to foot. Her eyes roll back an she waves her hands wildly. She starts to babble, a endless stream of sounds, no words I can make out, maybe some lingo I ain’t never heard before.

Suddenly, her body gives one massive, powerful jerk that slams her upright. She lifts her face to the storm-ripped sky.

The man holdin my hair lets go. She’s gonna speak! he yells. He raises his arms, holds ’em high.

The kneelin crowd’s all got their arms raised. They look at the Sky Speaker, hope twistin their faces.

Her robe billows. Rain begins to lash. Her head snaps towards me. Her eyes fix on me, here at the front in plain view. She’s got eyes like Tracker’s. The lightest, palest blue. Wolfdog eyes. Chills runnel my skin.

The boy who helped her to the platform rushes to her side. He follows her gaze an points at me.

It’s her! he cries. The Sky Speaker’s choosed her! Bring her up!

There’s a boom of thunder. My captor yelps an fumbles to untie my hands, shoutin, Here! Help me! Before I know it, him an two other men’s boosted me on to the platform.

Then I’m standin there, three foot away from the Sky Speaker. Starin at her as she’s starin at me. Lightnin crackles around us.

She starts to speak, but I cain’t hear nuthin over the wild noise of the storm. So I move in, closer an closer till I’m standin right in front of her. She grabs my hands. Grips ’em tight. Her eyes, her strange pale eyes hold me, but I don’t think she’s seein me. Her pupils is tiny black dots. She speaks quick, in little gasps.

The dead, the dead, they walk in yer footsteps. I see ’em. All around you. I see ’em. So many. Inside you. The shadow. It rises. It’s strong in you. It’ll take, it’ll have you, mind an body an . . . mind an spirit, it’ll take you, it’ll have you, it’ll—

Help me, I whisper. Please.

Jest then, she staggers. I catch her in my arms. Her body starts to shake, uncontrollable. Her eyes roll back.

An she goes limp in my arms.

I’m on my knees, holdin her. She’s light as a child. Fer a moment, I fear the savage blast of power through her body might of killed her. I feel fer a neck pulse. She’s alive.

The boy’s already beside me. Helpin me lay her down.

Turn her on her side, he tells me. He shoves a grubby finger into her mouth an clears her tongue. Then he crams in a filthy cloth. He seems to know what he’s doin. Help me lift her, he says. Take her in the tent.

I glance at Lugh an Tommo an Emmi, their hands still bound. They’re tense. Wide-eyed. Everybody in the crowd’s watchin. This could be my only chance.

Let my friends go, I says.

His foxy face hardens. It’ll cost you, he says.

The red hot surges. I grab him. Twist the neck of his shirt. Quick an hard, to cut off his breath. I says, I am the Angel of Death, little man.

As Nero swoops around us, screechin, the boy claws at me, eyes poppin with panic. I let go. He falls back, gaspin in air, then yells to the men holdin Lugh an th’others. Let ’em go! She wants to speak to all of ’em! Now!

They hurry to free them.

The wind wails on, the thunder rolls, but the storm’s movin away. You can see the whipcrack of lightnin as it sweeps its way west along the river valley.

I look out on the crowd. At those who so lately would of beat us to death. The Sky Speaker’s word holds power over these people. They’re startin to go, to disappear into the rainy murk. One or two hold up their charms in my direction. Water drips offa my hair. I’m shiverin.

Lugh an Tommo scramble onto the platform. Tommo hauls up Emmi.

We lift the girl. Lugh an Em take her legs, me an Tommo her arms. Not that we need all of us, she’s so light. As we start to move, as the boy leads the way down the stairs, Lugh mutters, Now what?

Now, says Em, we confer with the Sky Speaker.

Inside the tent it’s dim. The boy scurries to light the fat lamps an we lay the girl on a cot by the firepit. He pokes at the banked fire, gits it goin agin.

I stare hard at him. He cain’t git away fast enough. As he dives outta the tent, I’m suddenly done. My legs give way an Tommo helps me to a stool. Nero perches on a chest, sets about puttin his damp feathers in order.

Em fusses around the Sky Speaker, gently takin the filthy rag from her mouth. She goes to take the little drum from around her waist.

Don’t touch it, the girl says quickly.

Em snatches her hands away like she’s bin burnt.

You mustn’t ever touch a shaman’s drum, the Sky Speaker tells her. Where’s Zek?

That little rat? says Lugh. He’s gone.

He helps me, she says. Would you give me a hand to sit up?

Her voice is light. Cool. A mountain stream after a long ride. A dawn breeze, before the heat takes hold of the day.

Em helps her sit. The girl unstraps her drum an lays it on a little table beside her. Em drapes a blanket around her thin shoulders. There’s a water bucket next to the fire. Lugh fills the dipper an gives her some to drink.

Thank you kindly, she says. My name is Auriel Tai.

She’s even more strange lookin, here in the everyday closeness of the shabby little tent. Like nobody on earth, with her wolfdog eyes an moon white skin an hair of palest fire.

Yer beautiful, breathes Emmi, jest like a star.

Auriel hands the dipper back to Lugh. Then she looks at us. One by one. Jest restin her eyes lightly fer a moment. It’s a deceptive lightness. I’m last.