Free Wren (The Romany Epistles) by Rachel Rossano

over my little plot of ground, the only
place I still could call mine, and pretend my parents still lived.
    Staring out on the darkness, I asked Deus the question I had
been repeating since I returned to find my parents gone beyond my reach, my
sister grieving, and my people needing more from me than I could give. Deus,
what should I do? I leaned my forehead against the cold stone. I breathed
deeply of the ancient smells of earth and damp.
    The desire to follow Deus’ will burned in my soul. That same
desire led me to leave years ago to fight for my king. When the battle took all
I had, I returned home to even more destruction and devastation. Despite the
evidence in the world to the contrary, I knew that Deus was merciful and
loving. The training engrained into my memory, actions, and thoughts from youth
reassured me that He was, but I often struggled with that fact in the harsh
reality of the right now. It was hard to see the big picture and overarching
plan when the details hurt so much. Just when I thought I found peace, the past
would intrude into the present and the future would demand change. I
concentrated on the cold seeping into my body, cooling my anger-fevered skin.
    Please show me the way, Father. For right now I am blind and
liable to walk into a ditch and kill us all.
    A small whirlwind of flapping wings brought my attention to
the wooden framing next to me just in time to see a rather large bird alight.
Straightening her feathers, the dark-pigmented female falcon coldly fixed an
eye on me. Even in the darkness and dim moonlight, I could catch the
intelligent glint in its gaze. I remained completely still. After switching
eyes and shifting its weight a few times, it appeared to deem me harmless and
began preening its feathers.
    “She likes you.” Wren’s words slipped through the night as
though they belonged there. I turned my head to find her sitting cross-legged
on top of the parapet across from me. The bird’s head turned and she regarded
Wren with first one eye and then the other. The falcon made a sound in greeting
and returned to her preening.
    “She does?”
    She nodded. “Volante doesn’t take to people she doesn’t
know. The fact she was comfortable enough to let you out of her sight to preen
is a sign of trust.”
    I peered into the darkness at Wren. Her head was angled so
she could see both me and the bird, the moonlight at her back, caressing her
shoulders, outlining the angle of her cheek and hiding her expression. She used
all the habits of a woman who knew how to hide in plain sight.
    “How is Roulf?”
    “Well, as far as I could assess. I helped him with some
unwelcome company and in return he wishes to immortalize me as the Ghost of
Pavron Alley.”
    I smiled. “That sounds like Roulf.”
    “He also told me to give this back,” she said, holding out
the small bag of coins I gave her earlier. Once I focused on them, she tossed
them to me. “He also sent a warning. There are rumors that you are in the
valley. He predicts it is only a matter of time before the enforcer comes to
search this ruin to disprove the rumors.”
    My chest tightened as I lowered my head, hiding my face from
her view.
    Volante made a noise. With a swift bat of her wings, she was
airborne, flinging her small body at the woman, claws first. Wren raised her
arm, sheathed in a leather sleeve. Sharp talons caught the material and the
bird came to perch, razor beak inches from the smooth, moonlit outline of
Wren’s face. The bird then shifted her weight, lifting a leg up, offering a
small message tube.
    “Impatient to deliver her message,” Wren commented as she
accepted the gift and the bird retreated to the edge. Then with a final head
bob my way, Volante was gone.
    “Oh, that life was as simple as hers,” I whispered.
    “It isn’t simple. Hers is a complicated journey every day,
seeking out my siblings, and returning. Falcons are not as welcome other places
as they are here. In many lands, they become