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CHAPTER

Thirty-Three

N EEMA HAD COLLAPSED ON THE CANVAS . She was not moving. Time had slowed—not for any magical reason, just the way it does when you think you are about to die.

The fight had been going quite well, she thought, up to this point. There were a couple of humiliating moments when Tala sat on her, and that bit when she got tangled up in the ropes. Still, she was doing better than expected. She was lucky with today’s opponent: Tala was capable with her fists, but she lacked the full martial training of her rivals.

Today was the Day of the Raven, and Neema was determined to honour it. Just once she would like to earn the respect of the Flock. She knew she had no chance of beating Tala. She wasn’t deluded. But there was a small possibility they could draw.

So when Tala had come at her with an axe, instead of yelling “Stop!,” she had stood her ground. Well, to be precise, she had run around the platform while Tala chased her, much to everyone’s amusement. But then she had rallied and fought back. And won.

She had won the weapons round.

But now this.

A cloud scudded overhead. She couldn’t move. She was stunned, the air knocked from her lungs. Dimly, she could hear Kindry and Tala arguing a few feet away. The High Justice was overseeing the day’s fights on behalf of the Ravens.

The problem was she’d put so much effort into winning it had almost destroyed her. Whereas Tala, with her limitless energy, had bounced into the third round with a massive grin on her face, showing off her gold front tooth. “Come on Neema!” she’d said, half-taunt, half-encouragement.

Drawing on the dregs of her reserves, Neema had done her best. She’d lasted about thirty seconds before Tala caught her with a left hook. She slammed so hard into the canvas, the air whooshed from her lungs like a pair of bellows.

She tried to breathe. A thin stream of air made it through. Everything hurt.

Slowly, the cloud drifted.

“Stop the round,” Tala said to Kindry.

Kindry was checking his pocket watch. “You want to stop? You’ll lose half a point.”

“Not for me, for her! Neema!” Tala’s voice floated down to Neema, winded on the canvas. “Tell him you want to stop.”

“ Hnnrrhhhh .”

Tala turned back to Kindry. “That was a yes.”

Kindry disagreed. Hnnrrhhhh could be a yes, it could be a no. Maybe he was being pedantic, maybe he was being vindictive. Maybe he thought Tala’s compassion would get the better of her, and she’d withdraw on Neema’s behalf. Whatever his reason, he was implacable: “Continue, Ox contender.”

“But—”

Kindry lifted his finger. “ Continue. ”

Neema had to move, before Tala trampled her into a pulp. She tried to roll on to her side, but it was no use. She lacked the strength.

Eight help me.

A heavy wing beat. A rush of cool, thin air. A feeling, as though her bones were hollow. As if she could lift herself up from the canvas. And keep lifting, feet leaving the ground. A feeling that she could fly. If she chose.

Tala was walking towards her. The canvas reverberated with each step, strong and steady.

Firmly the Ox plants its hooves in the earth. But we rise.

Neema!

We rise.

Neema felt as if she had been expecting this moment—that it was familiar to her. Like déjà vu, or a half-remembered dream. Something was calling her name. If she wanted to, she could answer, and it would lift her back on her feet. She would win the fight. She would be… magnificent. All she had to do was Let us in.

She reached, to the very edges of herself. There. Something was pressing up against the borders, trying to break through. The brush of feathers. The scrape of a claw. A dense, peppery smell. Something animal, something not. Close. So close. And very persistent.

Let us in, Neema.

We will join you.

We will save you.

We are the—

She drew back, as if stung. Mind and spirit recoiling. She did not want to know what it was. She did not want to believe.

No , she thought, and with that defiance came a surge of fresh energy. She rolled on to her side, and up on to her feet. The presence, the dream, whatever it was, dissolved and faded away. She was on her own—and that was fine. She raised her hands to guard position, spat the blood from her mouth. She was ready.