House of Vultures by Maggie Claire (read my book TXT) 📕

Wolf raises the meat pouches off theroots, slinging them onto his back. He drops his coin pouch betweenmy feet. “Hide this somewhere. There should be enough money to keepyour boy out of trouble with the guards when it comes time for himto escape.” Wolf’s voice is gruff as he walks away from me. “Gocheck on him. I will get the food back to your House.”

Wolf is long gone by the time my tearsfall, when I grieve over all that I have witnessed in Omphalos. Iforce the image of Lion’s broken body out of my thoughts, deepinside myself where no one will know the truth.

Lion was my uncle. I see it all soclearly in my memory now. He was my father’s brother, and he spentone weekend a month at my house before the windstorm. “Come here,Little Bird,” he used to beckon me after supper, calling me over tohis lap to tell me his adventure stories. He worked as a tradernear the edge of the Devil’s Spine Mountains, so his tales werealways fanciful. I remember that he always smelled like cinnamonand leather. My mother would have to pry me away from his side whenmy bedtime came. She always hated his visits, but I neverunderstood why.

That is the man that Iremember, not the monster who harmed so many women. I had justwitnessed his pleadings for mercy. His cries for help still seem toecho around me. I stood mute while he wasripped apart by his own people. How could I dothat? Now, I am the only one left of myfamily line.

No…Lynx’s child will be myrelative too.

The thought fills me with a sense offoreboding. If I tell anyone that I know I am related to thatchild, I will be condemning him or her before birth. Knowledge offamilial identity brings death, even to a child. It is differentwhen you are born from masked parents—they know their parents bytheir masks, but not their biological identities. Children ofmasked parents cover their faces with masks that detail theirlineage until they choose their own house. Once they are about tenyears old, they are taken from their house of birth, forced toleave those who know their parents. That’s when the true naming andmasking rituals are done. The children choose their real names,keeping the knowledge to themselves. Then they decide which housethey will join and pick a corresponding mask to match. At least ifI keep my knowledge to myself, Lynx’s child has a fightingchance.

A death for a new lifecreated. The irony is not lost on me as Iforce my body to rise and return to Antero’s hidingplace.

Chapter 4

“What do youwant?”

Antero’s strange eyes watch me as Ienter the hiding place. He scuttles deeper into the cave, a clubpointing at me from his clenched fist. His fever has broken, butthe burns still ooze with raw skin exposed. Even my ability tocontrol him isn’t enough to heal all his ailments. Some thingsstill require time.

I hold out my hands before me as anoffering of peace. “I need to put medicine on the burns again, soyou won’t get an infection.”

Antero curls his lip. “How do I knowyou’re telling the truth?” He raises the club high as I reach intomy pocket for the tin containing the ointment.

I unscrew the lid and hold out themedicine for his inspection. “It’s an herbal treatment I traded forwith a house that dwells near the ocean. I cannot tell you what’sin it because I do not know. However, the healer I spoke to fromthe House of Piranhas swears it will speed recovery fromburns.”

Antero sniffs at it doubtfully.However, something in the stuff must look familiar. He lowers tothe ground and stretches out his leg with the cauterized wounds.“I’m only letting you do this because you caused it.”

“It has nothing to do withsaving your own life, hmmm? Oh, how thoughtful!” I retort as Iinvade his space and work on his leg. The smell of sweat and putridflesh mixes with his fear, and I struggle not to heave. A too widesmile appears on my face to keep from gagging.

“You think this is funny?”Antero barks, his body quaking with shock.

I cannot answer for fear that I willvomit if my mouth opens. So, I make quick work of theministrations, my hands rough on his skin. By the time I amfinished, Antero looks as green as new grass in thespringtime.

“How old are you, Antero?”I wonder as I push myself as far away from him as possible, tryingto keep his mind off the pain and mine off the stench.

No response comes from mypatient.

“You know what the lawsays. No mask means public banishment and beating,” I lie,inspecting his face for any hint of understanding. Nothing. Everysign points to the idea that he has come from Déchets, and it makesmy blood run cold. “How did you make it across the mountains?” Imutter, and still he does not respond. “Are you hungry?”

I can will him to answer me, but I donot know if he will be able to recognize that he is being forced.The prudent choice is to save that skill until it is a last resort,so he will grow to trust me. While Antero doesn’t reply with words,his stomach betrays him with a grumble. “We have deer, rabbits, andbirds in these parts. What should I aim for?”

Antero shakes his head emphatically,and I almost shout for joy. It is interaction. I’ll take any formof communication, even a silent one. “No meat at all?”

Antero nods that I am correct, and Ihold a swear on my tongue. Good—fresh vegetables and fruits aredifficult to find in this part of the land, and I am not going backto the city ever again if I have my way. “Well, that limits youroptions considerably. There are a few dandelions outside, maybesome wild berries along the stream. But most of the vegetation inthese parts isn’t good for eating.”

“No meat,” he repeatsaloud, eyes bright with feeling.

“Wait here.” I grumble,pulling a small, empty sack out of my pants pocket.It’s never easy, is it?I muse as I hurry out of the cave to