The Feverbird's Claw Read Online Free PDF Page B

shouted, shaking a snakestick. Figt pulled Moralin into the long line that was forming. So many Arkera and only one of her. She made herself calm and strong. Cora Linga, speak to me. Long before the temple was built for the Great Ones to live in, they moved from place to place with the Delagua. Maybe something of their spirits still lingered here.
    Speak to me in a way I can understand. The Great Ones usually spoke in riddles. They also planted tests to make sure people were worthy.
    Would she be worthy? She looked around. Could she remember this place if she found her way back to it, and did she know for sure which direction to go from here to home? Even the skeletons of the hump houses were gone.
    Some warrior women loped by, waving their snakesticks, chanting softly. Moralin shuddered, but they didn’t glance at her. Though her legs were stiff and sore, she did her best to match Figt’s stride. Block the pain. That’s what Old Tamlin would say. She concentrated on the wind stirring the leaves. Make a plan. She focused on Lan, sitting by the fire, holding up her embroidery for Grandmother to see, holding up her face for Grandmother to kiss.
    Now they were walking beside fields the Arkera must have cultivated during the little rains. This was something she would recognize if she could get away soon. Beans and gourds had been harvested, leaving twisted vines and leggy stalks. A twig caught in her sandal, and she stooped to pull it out. When she straightened, she almost bumped heads with the person bending toward her, a person who seemed to have been suddenly woven out of the wind that whirled around them making her velee flutter.
    â€œI was sent to speak to you.” It was a boy. About her own height. Amazingly, using her language. With an accent, yes, but her own lovely language.
    â€œWho sent you?” Cora Linga, her heart cried triumphantly.
    â€œUp there.” He pointed with his chin to the front of the line. He leaned in closer so the wind wouldn’t carry his words away. “You can call me Song-maker. They do.” He waved his arm in a gesture that said, “All of them.”
    She couldn’t stop gaping. “An Arkera with Delagua words?”
    â€œMe?” He laughed and lifted a flute to his mouth. Blew three haunting notes. “I’m not one of The People. I worked for them this rainy season as a translator when they needed to trade for things. The iron for their spears and knives. Feathers. Beads, if they’re to be found. Delicacies like the fruits my people grow.” His eyebrows pulled together in a slight frown. “Now that the rains have ended, I was to be allowed to return home, until they ordered me to speak to you.”
    She gave him several sideways glances. He was dressed in the Arkera way and had two stripes of paint on his cheeks, but his hair was long and pulled back, and his eyes were not that strange Arkera color.
    â€œI’ve learned to speak both Arkera and Delagua.” Pride flickered over his face like sunlight. “Luckily, the two are sister languages.”
    â€œWhat a lie.” Moralin spoke with such force that Figt turned around to give her a quick look.
    â€œNot at all.” Song-maker played one long, high note. “They descended from the same mother tongue.”
    She spit.
    He grinned at her. “Many words are different by now. The Arkera word for ‘old’ is hadde. But can you guess the Arkera word for ‘young’?”
    The fields had ended. She looked around trying to find some landmark to memorize.
    â€œ Yon. Some words are exactly the same. I can’t think of one right now.” He laughed again. “Such a look you are giving me. Listen for yourself.”
    Along the line a chant had begun. The boy translated.
    Brother forest, sister forest,
    Place where we have grown food, found food,
    We must leave thee for a time.
    Before the dry winds gather.
    Before the time of silent