Page 2 of House of the Raven
Likely, he’s after some man or woman or another. With his dirty blond hair, honey-colored eyes, and cheerful mood, he’s popular among the single people of Castellina.
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He points a finger at the sky. “Cuervo will keep you safe.” He leaves with a hop in his step, whistling a happy tune.
I’m sweating under my cloak, so I hurry my step. It’s the peak of summer. Assaulted by an odd feeling, I halt as the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. Frowning, I look over my shoulder. The cobbled path is lined by a few businesses and official buildings. People mill about, immersed in their own affairs. No one is worried about me.
I keep going, but this time, my eyes dart in every direction. I wait for the uneasy feeling to pass, but it remains. Something is familiar about it. I’ve felt this way before, but when?
As I reach one of the nearby plazas, my eyes are drawn to the source of music and rhythmic clapping. Two men sit on low stools, one playing the guitar, the other one singing and keeping an intricate clapping pace—something known aspalmas.A few members of the audience have joined him, their hands moving with practice. What is most enthralling, however, is the singer’s voice, so full of longing and pain. The duo is good, only missing a dancer tapping her heels and twirling in a red dress.
Despite the light atmosphere, my entire body is on edge. The area is busy with street vendors, people sitting outside crowded cafés, and denizens going in and out of the adjacent buildings, conducting business. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, so why do I feel this way?
A little girl runs toward the fountain in the center of the plaza. The performers finish their act, and cicada calls in the distance replace their song.
My ears begin to ring, and my mouth goes dry. I take several deep breaths. My heart pounds, and people walk past me, oblivious to my state of alarm.
Oh, gods!What’s wrong with me? Am I sick?
A deafening explosion sends me flying backward. I land flat on my back with bone-crushing force. Dust chokes the air along with the panicked screams from people.
“Veilfallen!” someone shouts.
Coughing and disoriented, I sit up. My back protests in pain. Someone steps on my hand as they run past me.
“Ow.” I yank it back and shake it, then pull my shirt over my nose, blinking at the floating debris.
“Saints and feathers!” I mutter as I peer through the dust and contemplate the madness: splintered wood fragments, brick chunks, overturned carts, the severed head of a statue, the severed arm of a person.
I look away, nausea tearing through my gut.
Cuervo’s desperate croaks sound above my head, well past the thick cloud of dust that hangs above, choking the sky.
“Call for help, Cuervo,” I shout, unsure of whether or not he can hear me over the screams and anguished cries.
A man stumbles by me, his eyes wide within a mask of caked dirt. His right arm is a stump dripping with blood.
I recoil, stand, and clamber toward a nearby wall, wiping muck off my face. Through the settling dust, I see the little girl by the fountain. She’s curled up on the ground, a woman lying broken next to her. People run in every direction, and the girl doesn’t dare move.
Without thinking, I rush to her, crouching low until I reach her. Wet streaks cut through the dust on her face.
“Are you hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head and looks down at the woman, whose eyes stare blankly at the heavens. One side of her head is bashed in, probably due to a flying piece of stone.
“Is that your… ? Do you… ?” I don’t know how to ask her if the dead woman is her mother, but the girl understands.
She shakes her head and sobs, “I don’t know her.”
I nod, relieved. The woman might still be someone’s mother, but at least her kid didn’t have to see her die so horribly. Not the way I saw my mother die.
“Let’s get you out of here.” I put my arms out, and the girl jumps up and hugs my neck tightly.
I’m about to run the way I came when I hear the organized marching steps of what must be Castellina’s Guardia. Cuervo did as I instructed, I presume. As they round the corner, the neat lines of uniformed guards break apart and disperse through the plaza.
Thank the gods!Help is here.
However, my relief dies suddenly as arrows fly, making targets out of the helping guards.
