Two Crows Watch from the Gallows Tree (part 15)

Gaius was watching her instead of reading at this point. She was reading a bit like Tomhas, though he read faster and happier. But he fidgeted just like she was now.

The book also detailed the three most common faces, which often shared a physical form rather than one at a time.
The first was the face of a dead child, eyes glassy and lips blue.
The second was the face of a weeping elderly woman, though this face was more prone to shift to other images of grief.
The third was the face of a raging warrior, teeth bared and beard wild.

“What the fuck?” She murmured under her breath in Rhaebakian, brow furrowed, forgetting where she was and entirely unaware of Ash watching her. That sounded creepy as fuck — and confusing. How could you be both a dead child and an angry warrior at the same time? She didn’t understand so she kept reading.

Strithr represented both the the rush of battle and the aftermath, acting as a source of brevity for the warriors and a source of comfort and often frustration for those grieving the loss of family members who were innocent casualties or dead soldiers.
They often wore the tattered robes of a jarl, or Northern chieftain. Underneath, their many arms were emaciated sticks but their stomachs were bloated with rot--or simply skin and bone, as if mummified. They had many names--The Decayed One, The Red God, The Weeping God, Grieving Mother, and others along those lines.

Jerica might be biting off more than she could chew, getting involved with someone like this. She chewed on a callus on her thumb as she kept reading.

The book went on to list their names and other aspects and faces, which were in the dozens.

It was dizzying. She read through this list quickly. How was she supposed to represent someone who was both everything and nothing? Why couldn’t they just herald themself if they were a shapeshifter?

At the back was the story of their creation and some other important stories concerning Strithr.

Jerica decided she should get that part copied. She was too tired to try to read it all now.

Gaius went back to his book.

She should probably talk to Derik about this, at some point. But she didn’t know how she was going to get him alone to do so. And she didn’t want Sera eavesdropping on a conversation like this. Hmm. She flipped through the book to see if there was anything else relevant.

There were a few stylized illustrations that looked like they were copied from stone carvings, which showed Srtithr's three faces in multiple positions, usually walking a desolate battleground or wandering the wreckage of a village.

Jerica studied each carefully. Pictures usually stuck in her brain better than words did.

The artist had taken pains to show every detail the original carving had offered, from the stick arms to the tear-streaked woman's face, with a round belly and three torsos that branched from one neck. In two of their hands they carried a rusted sword and a bolt of shroud cloth.

Jerica traced her fingers across the image. Was Strithr tangible? Did they look like this all the time or was it fluid? What would it be like to work for them?

In another image of death and destruction, two people walked alongside Strithr. One was an impossibly tall man with a skeletal frame and long, straight black hair and beard. His eyes were dark pits and he wore a white cloak. He held a wooden flute in his hands.
The other was an austere-looking man with two identical faces jutting out from his skull, both with long curly beards and flowing hair. He was dressed in gray, and in one hand he carried a runestick and in the other a hefty axe.