The Feverbird's Claw Read Online Free PDF Page A

Someone or something was grunting a kind of throaty chant.
    â€œCora Linga. Why are you here and not in the temple?”
    Low and soft, a liquid voice seemed to say, “Who speaks my Delagua name?”
    Moralin crouched, jostling a few of the toads out of the way. “Are you testing me? I thought you were my … well … my special guardian. You know me.”
    She peered at the shapes, but she heard no answer. She was faint and floating. A little way off, dancers began to circle as if someone were stirring them with a spoon. Around and around they went, their barbaric song rising and falling like the ripples of a stone-gray river.
    She swallowed. Her head swirled with the circling dance. A Great One visiting a dirty Arkera camp? Something in the meat she ate was giving her waking dreams. “Cora Linga,” she whispered. “Is this a vision of you? Help me get home.”
    Huh. Huh. Toad voices croaked in rhythm. “Who,” a faint voice seemed to sing, “who, who can escape the spinner’s web?”
    Moralin heard the sound of her own panting. “I’ll die if I stay here. Even a fly caught in a web may escape with the Great One’s help.”
    For a long time she heard nothing but the music and the sound of feet. As the fire dropped down, the camp grew darker and colder. She could no longer see the toads. Her thighs began to ache. There. Was that quavering sound a voice? Cora Linga’s voice, low and rumbling?
    â€œWhere, where are the sons of the earth? When travelers quake, they alone remain unafraid. He will open your ears, the son of the earth.”
    â€œSon of the earth?” She put her fingers on her lips. Had she said those words or just thought them?
    â€œWhere, where is the daughter of the sky? Caught on a thread under the ground. Free her and carry her. Beware, beware of her. Use her not, the daughter of the sky.”
    â€œWhat—”
    â€œWhere, where is the daughter of the night? Kneeling in the bloodred web. Go to the web when a sword is at your throat. She will save you, daughter of the night.”
    â€œCora Linga …”
    Huh. Huh. The voice, if it was a voice, began to fade. It seemed as if the fire had died low, and the toads were swaying toward the embers and then away in their solemn dance.

C HAPTER
FOUR
    S OMETHING WAS TRICKLING DOWN M ORALIN’S neck. She groaned and opened her eyes. The animal panted happily and licked her face. “Get out of here,” she said fiercely. “How dare you drool on me?”
    Figt loomed over her. She said something in Arkera and then reached down and patted the creature’s skinny side.
    It was morning. Moralin sat up, clenching and unclenching her fists as if readying for a fight. Someone had covered her with a blanket and let her lie where she fell asleep in the dirt. Smoke from the almost dead fire made her cough. A long gray finger trickled out of the pile of burned logs. The whole camp looked sooty.
    She rubbed her forehead. Toads! What had seemed real enough last night was absurd in the morning air. Grandmother had talked of food that gave hallucinations. The lingering taste of the toad dream made her mouth feel sour.
    Never mind. She was used to depending on herself. Today she must figure out a plan for getting herself and Salla to safety when the Delagua soldiers descended on the camp. The Arkera would think nothing of running a spear through them rather than let the Delagua take them back.
    Figt knelt and rolled her blanket up tightly. She motioned for Moralin to do the same. “What’s happening?” Moralin asked.
    Figt muttered something impatient and unfriendly.
    Moralin pushed the animal out of the way, hardly bothering to brush the dirt off the blanket. It would only get dirty again. She looked down at her dress. How long did Delagua cloth last when it was worn day and night and never washed?
    In her room, shining dresses hung in rows. Her mother might be