Read Online The Burning Shadow by Michelle Paver - Free Book Online

he’d told her once:
Before anything
,
sort your day’s food and water
.
    Well, she had, but that didn’t help much. How was she going to survive on this strange, fiery island ruled by Crows?
    The hut was sturdily built of basalt and pumice, with a door that faced south, to avoid the strong north wind. It was also fugged with the smells of unwashed people and the smoky dung fire.
    On the other side of the wall, Pirra heard a pig snuffling for scraps. Her belly growled. On the shore she’d seen men gutting tuna fish bigger than dolphins, but the Islanders had only offered them a porridge of chickpeas and mackerel, and sour wine mixed with terebinth that tasted like tar.
    â€œThe Crows take everything,” they’d apologized. “If we protest, they send us down the mines.”
    Despite their poverty, they were friendly. Hekabi’s mother had shyly welcomed Pirra—“All strangers are honored guests”—then scolded her daughter for being too thin, and bustled off to make the porridge.
    Merops, the village headman and Hekabi’s father, had politely shown Pirra how to bow to the fire and ask its permission to sleep in the hut. Even Hekabi had unbent a little. She was younger than Pirra had thought, maybe thirty summers or so, and she seemed actually to
like
her mother. Pirra found this intriguing, as she hated hers.
    The Islanders reminded her of Keftian peasants, with sunburned limbs and horny feet—although unlike Keftians, the men had beards, and their amulets weren’t seashells, but beads of black obsidian and yellow sulfur. Everyone had burn scars on their arms, and they admired Pirra’s scar, which they said brought good luck.
    On the other side of the wall, the pig stopped snuffling. Pirra turned over. No use. She couldn’t sleep.
    At the doorway, she nearly trod on a small snake drinking milk from a little pottery dish. Murmuring an apology, she waited for it to finish and slither away.
    It was cooler outside because of the wind, but a sulfurous whiff from the Mountain made her head ache.
    Thalakrea puzzled her. So far, she’d seen no Crows—the village was on the north coast, the mines to the south—and the island was beautiful. Their ship had entered a bay of emerald and amethyst water enclosed by white cliffs banded with yellow and orange, like a sunset turned to stone. The village was set amid silver olive trees and feathery green tamarisks, and in the distance rose a great black Mountain with smoke seeping down its flanks.
    A few paces from the hut, Merops sat by a fire, sharpening an obsidian blade. “Can’t sleep?” he said, motioning to Pirra to sit.
    He had a leather pad on one knee, and was carefully pressing a piece of antler against the blade’s edge, to remove tiny flakes of stone. His face had the same strong planes as Hekabi’s, although unlike his daughter, he looked as if he laughed more than he frowned.
    â€œYou were good with that snake,” he remarked.
    â€œI like snakes,” said Pirra. “I made friends with one once. It used to coil around my wrist and rest its head in my palm.”
    He blew away stone-dust and examined the blade. “Do you regret leaving Keftiu?”
    She tensed. Had Hekabi told him who she was? “No,” she said warily. “But I miss Userref. He’s my sl—a friend. I’m worried he’ll be punished because I left.”
    Merops nodded. “We too fear the wrath of High Priestess Yassassara.”
    So he knew. “If she sends people after me,” said Pirra, “will you give me up?”
    He looked horrified. “Of course not! You’re a stranger here, we have to shelter you, it’s the law of the gods.”
    â€œI didn’t mean to offend you.”
    He chuckled. “You didn’t. But you need to learn our ways. You Keftians worship the Sea, we worship the Lady of Fire.” He bowed to the Mountain. “So we, er,