Before the Crow

by Aaron Bunce

  There was a host of things he wanted to say to her. They all sounded clear and concise in his head, but as soon as he tried to speak, they broke apart and scattered. None of it made any sense, and worse, he didn’t think any of it would make her feel any better. He wanted to take her pain onto himself. Take it all, no matter how badly it hurt.

  Finally, when the silence felt intolerable, Roman took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Are you alright?”

  He heard iron jingle and then scrape against something hollow. She moved, perhaps to get comfortable, or perhaps because his question made her uncomfortable. He heard her take a deep breath, but a loud scraping noise sounded just outside the door, and in the next moment the door flung in.

  A dark figure moved in, and Roman turned his head away as warm torch light filled their cell. When the burn subsided from his eyes Roman reopened them. He recognized the soldier, but didn’t know his name. He was the man who called Dennah a “harlot”. A pang of anger gripped Roman instantly.

  A young boy, perhaps no more than eight or nine winter thaws old, scurried in through the door and moved over to the far side of the day cell. The soldier followed, using his torch to provide light. The child worked in silence, stacking kindling and firewood in a large iron firebox.

  “Hurry up, Rat! We don’t got all night, now do we?” the ill-tempered guard spat.

  The boy finished stacking the wood, and stepped back, allowing the soldier to light the fire with his torch. The boy stepped right up to the cell, his face hovering between two of the heavy bars. He stood there for a long moment, watching Roman in silence, before the soldier grabbed him by the shoulder and scooted him out.

  “Bit of mercy really. Captain Teague didn’t want you lot to freeze tonight. Wants you very much alive in the morning to face what’s coming to ya,” the soldier said, his face illuminated by the orange firelight. Then he was gone, shutting the door tightly behind him. Chair legs scrapped against the floor just outside as their guard settled in.

  The fire took hold quickly, filling the desolate cage with warm light. Roman started to shiver, despite the fire. He wasn’t altogether sure if it was from the cold. The moments ticked by and the room eventually warmed, yet Roman wouldn’t stop shivering.

  Despite the painful bindings Roman grew sleepy. He jarred awake several times, terrified that the Ifrit would burst forth once he gave in to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, or felt sleep start to claim him, he started to see and feel things that were not altogether right. He saw the broiling lake of pitch, but also the chilling specter of shadow and bone. He remembered its icy, hungry embrace. He longed to never feel it again.

  Everything blurred and went quiet. Roman could feel the Ifrit’s fiery presence inside him. It drifted along lazily at first, moving like a fish intent to fight against an unruly current. But the stress bubbled up once again and threatened to best him, and the spirit became animated and explosive. The red iron chain responded, swelling and growing hot as it fought to suppress the accursed creature.

  Dennah shifted on the other side of the cell, her movements rustling and scraping against the straw covered floor, and snapping him from his exhausted stupor. Roman took in a startled breath, having not realized that he had drifted asleep. He picked up his head and realized that Dennah was looking at him.

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” Roman whispered, willfully breaking the silence and hoping to bolster his faltering nerve.

  Dennah drew in a steady breath and shifted her position against the bars, but the silence stretched into labored moments before she spoke.

  “I don’t think you are in a position to stop them,” she said finally. Her voice sounded hollow and flat. Her fire and emotion were gone.

  “I’ll tell them the truth,” Roman said, searching for an answer to their predicament. The chaos from the barn flashed through his thoughts over and over.

  “So, what…what happened? I saw them throw your body into the fire. I saw you dead, Roman,” Dennah asked quietly, seemingly conscious of the thoughts battering his mind.

  “I was…” Roman stopped, his throat closing off as he tried to continue. He took a deep breath, searching for the strength to describe his nightmare, but no words seemed to properly define any of it. Dennah coughed and cleared her throat, her eyes never leaving the straw between them.

  Finally, after a long pause, in which the only noise in the room was the crackling, sputtering fire, and the howling wind, Dennah spoke.

  “It killed them, burned him,” she paused, struggling to give the nightmare he bore into the world a name. He heard the chain jingle, and knew that she was shaking.

  A wave of guilt washed up inside. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was responsible for all the pain Banus and his lot inflicted on her. It was because of him that people were hurt, but even more troubling, people were dead.

  “Yes…I let the Ifrit kill them,” Roman admitted, unwilling to use the strange, dark magical creature streaming through his body as an excuse. He felt the skin on his face burn as he made the confession, and as much as he wanted to look away, he found that he couldn’t.

  Dennah slowly lifted her head and looked his way. Her face was shiny. She was crying. Her hazel eyes, which were usually so bright and alive, were reddened and glossed over. She took a deep shuddering breath, and exhaled, “Good!”

  Chapter 11

  Trapped inside

  Father Thurstan watched Luca limp his way carefully down the Chapterhouse stairs. “See. This isn’t so bad. Is it?” he asked.

  Luca grunted and nodded, hopping down another step. He stopped to shift the small crutch into a more comfortable position.

  “It is a beautiful day. The air is clear, the sun is bright, and the smell of pines is particularly pleasant today. It will do you good. You will see!” Father Thurstan said with a smile.

  “Okay. That sounds nice,” Luca said hopefully, but he couldn’t help but wish to be off his feet and back in bed.

  Slowly, painfully, as they had done every day for the past few moon cycles, Luca and Father Thurstan made their way out of the Chapterhouse.

  Luca didn’t share the young priest’s optimism. His legs didn’t feel any stronger, nor did his body hurt any less. He simply felt tired, and sore. Moving around had quickly become his least favorite thing. Period.

  “Where are we going today?” Luca asked, his ever-present anxiety creeping back in. It always did when he ventured more than a few steps away from the comfort of his bed.

  “I thought we would set a new landmark today. I thought we could take in the market,” Father Thurstan said, his voice trailing off as Luca’s crutch tapped a rhythmic dance against the ground.

  “That’s a long way there and back,” Luca said doubtfully, but the priest turned to him, a smile in place, and nodded.

  “Aye it is. But that is good. We need to push your body harder, else it might never heal. Plus, a nice walk in the sun can make marked improvements to a person’s mood!”

  Luca simply nodded and worked to keep pace. Some part of him believed that his body would never fully heal. That he was what he was. A cripple.

  They made their way down the gangway from the chapterhouse and onto the lane. Only a short stone wall separated them from the drop off to the next level below.

  Father Thurstan offered to lift Luca up so he could see, but he shook his head and limped on. He didn’t know why, but heights made his chest tighten and stomach flutter out of control.

  They followed the lane down to a gentle ramp and then a large, sweeping curve, until abruptly the road ended. Father Thurstan fished a single copper tribute out of a pocket and handed it to a man perched comfortably on a stool.

  “Not up to the stairs yet, little one?” The old man asked, casting a squinted-eye Luca’s way.

  “Oh, I think we’re working up to that. But I think we’ll enjoy the Skyway today,” Father Thurstan said, depositing the coin in the old man’s gnarled h
and.

  The old man dropped the copper into his shirt pocket and heaved himself from the stool. “Two to go down it is,” he said depositing his pipe into his pocket. He lifted the heavy iron-banded door and stepped aside to let them enter.

  Luca limped into the lift and leaned against the railing as the gate slid down behind them.

  “Mind your hands and feet,” the man said as he walked over to the wall. He relit his pipe with a stick, using the meager flame from a hanging lantern. As he stood, puffing white smoke eagerly, he grinned and pulled the large lever next to him on the wall.

  The lift shuddered beneath him as they started to sink. Luca wrapped his arm around the handrail and clutched it tightly to his body as the lift operator slid out of sight. The lift was pitched into darkness as they were surrounded by the rock of the cliff.

  Luca held his breath as the darkness enveloped him. He felt his heart skip a beat and his aching muscles tightened. The lift rattled and groaned, but there were other noises in the darkness. Noises he wasn’t sure the young priest next to him could hear.

  Glowing lights danced within the darkness, just beyond his reach. The noise of the lift morphed. It started as a low growl, but rose in a crescendo, until it sounded like a horrifying beast snarling all around him. For a moment he struggled to catch his breath as the panic swallowed him up. He clutched desperately to the handrail, squeezing until his hands and arms hurt.

  He fought against the hollow pit in his mind, desperate for answers, but before he could muster another thought, a sliver of light appeared, quickly bathing the lift in bright sunshine.

  Blue sky opened up and Luca took in a deep breath. He felt the sunshine and fresh air on his face. The panic loosened, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the handrail.

  Next to them groaned a series of substantial ropes. Luca watched as a substantial cage of wood appeared from beneath them. Trapped within the cage were massive slabs of smooth white stone, lashed together by a net of heavy chain. The counterweight passed out of sight above them.

  Luca looked back to Father Thurstan a moment later, but the priest was too focused on the scenery before them. He looked out over the lake, taking in the massive bowl of rock that encompassed the blue water. Ships dotted the lake, people moving about on their decks like scurrying ants.

  By the time the lift came to rest at the bottom, Luca’s hands ached and his knuckles had gone white. Father Thurstan took a deep breath and shook his head, snapping out of his reverie. He looked down at Luca as if waking from a slumber, and knelt down.

  “You have to promise me something. Can you do that?”

  Luca nodded, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

  “Okay then. You have to promise me that if you feel overwhelmed, let me know right away. Let me know, and I will bring you back to your room straight away,” the young priest said.

  Luca took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay, deal,” he said. He stood and looked to the young priest. For some reason, his rumpled reddish-brown hair, and warm brown eyes felt familiar. Luca couldn’t help but wonder if he had family out there. Perhaps a brother that looked like his caretaker.

  Father Thurstan placed both hands on Luca’s shoulders and smiled, “Then we’re off.”

  They set off through the Fisherman’s Quarter first, picking through the crowds of crabbers and netters. Luca’s crutch thudded like a hollow drum against the salty planks of mountain pine. It was a solid, if not distant sensation that he had painfully become too familiar with lately.

  Father Thurstan hovered next to him. Close enough to be there if he needed him, but far enough away to force Luca to struggle and work. The crowds grew thicker once they approached the waterfront market.

  Luca limped slowly up a gentle ramp, passing three wheeled trollies rumbling in either direction. Most carried fish and crabs, while others rumbled back empty in the other direction, headed back to the ice shacks.

  “Welcome to Lakeside,” Father Thurstan said, gesturing to the bustling market as it opened up before them. “You won’t find another market like it in the five provinces…and you certainly won’t find better smoked crabs.”

  The idea of food raised Luca’s spirits a bit, but the churning, bustling crowds made his legs feel uneasy. Father Thurstan picked up on Luca’s reservations and draped an arm protectively over his shoulder.

  “Now, I brought you down to Lakeside so you can move about and stretch your legs, and to see a bit more of the city. But, I also wanted to bring you because I favored a bit of fresh fish cake. They are fantastic when they are piping hot,” the young priest admitted.

  Luca listened, but did not respond. In truth, he didn’t know what to say, so he just followed along as best he could. Father Thurstan led them out onto a long dock, and waited patiently as Luca had to stop and rest.

  They came to the end of a gangway. The clear, blue water lapped noisily all around them. Luca felt surrounded by the water, and it made uncomfortable ideas pop into his head. His knees wobbled a bit and the small crutch fell with a thunk to the ground.

  Father Thurstan came forward and braced him. “Luca, what’s wrong?”

  “I…I don’t know. The water, it’s scary.” Luca’s head drooped and he refused to pull his eyes away from the planks beneath his feet.

  “The water is wide and deep. It is only natural, Luca. But look here,” and the young priest stomped his foot down onto the pier. “Pinehall has been on this lake for a long time, and its people build the best lake boats and docks. You are perfectly safe right here, with me.”

  Luca swallowed down the icky taste that had formed in his mouth and peeled his eyes away from boards. He managed to look up into the young priest’s eyes. He could do it, just as long as he didn’t stare into the water. The water, the dark part of the water, scared him.

  “Would you like to hold onto me? Would that help?”

  Luca nodded, taking a healthy fistful of the priest’s brown robe into his fist.

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll stay right at your side the whole time,” he added and together they set off into the crowd. Luca’s head whipped left and right as they went, taking in the assortment of shops, each with its own unique and colorful awning in front. Some merchants stood in the lane before their wares, shouting singsong the quality and value of their goods. While others mingled in the crowd, carrying platters of samples or lengths of fabric to entice buyers.

  They passed a blacksmith shop, where shiny swords and quality axes hung just out of reach. Other shops sold trinkets, baubles and charms. A large man stopped before Luca, blocking his view of the shop directly before him, and when the man moved, something caught Luca’s eye. He approached, his good arm held high to shield his eyes from the bright sun.

  “Look…I think,” he cried out, spinning around towards Father Thurstan, but as he did a man pushing a small cart appeared out of nowhere and painfully knocked him to the ground. Luca landed on his bad side, and instinctively curled up in a ball to protect himself. Feet stomped all about him as people stepped over him, too intent on their hurried tasks to give him notice, or to come to his aid.

  He heard his crutch rattle as someone in the crowd kicked it. Then someone was hovering over him. He was in their shadow and could hear them talking.

  “Father…” Luca started to say, but the voice he heard next was not the young priest, but a woman. She scooped him up in her arms, gently cradling him beneath his armpits, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. He clung to her, taking comfort in her strength.

  The woman carried him out of the crowd and between two merchant tents. He looked up, squinting through the bright morning sun, but her face fell in the shadow of a curtain of unruly silver hair.

  She whispered something under her breath, but Luca couldn’t understand her. It wasn’t the noise, but the words she spoke. He found them odd.

  She set him down and knelt before him, allowing him to lean on her for support.

  “Are you okay, little one?” she
asked, in a most peculiar accent.

  He looked up into her face again, but the sun was directly behind her and he couldn’t make out her face.

  “I think so. I was with…where is Father Thurstan?” he asked, casting his head about. But he was back in an alleyway between merchant stalls. He couldn’t see the docks, or the water.

  “Yes, yes. The priest, he is known to me. Come with me to my tent. You can warm your hands and wait for him,” she offered and pulled him along.

  “I don’t think I should,” Luca stammered a bit. He felt a tickle of unease settle into his belly, like he had a butterfly caught in his tummy.

  “Never you worry, little one, I’ll keep you safe. Here, I saw you looking at this,” she said and held something out to him. It was a small wooden sword, crafted from a swirly hardwood. The old woman dropped the small wooden sword into Luca’s hands, and then guided him through the flap and into the tent.

  The tent’s interior smelled heavily of dried herbs and oils, and was pleasantly warm. The old woman walked Luca to the back of the tent, past a round iron furnace radiating a gentle glow. Luca turned the small wooden sword over in his hands, before wrapping his fingers around the wrapped handle. He let the toy bounce several times and then slowly cut through the air sideways.

  “See. It looks at home in your hand,” the old woman said with a small chuckle.

  “Yeah, I…” Luca said, trailing off.

  “You what, little dear?” the woman asked.

  “I don’t know. I was going to say something. But the words just kind of floated away, before I could speak.” He didn’t know why, but the sword felt strange. No, not strange. It felt familiar.

  “Here, you sit here,” the old woman said and helped him into a tall chair perched before a round table. Once he was seated she walked around and deposited her old frame into a chair on the opposite side. A smooth gold plate sat in the middle of the table, reflecting back the light of half a dozen flickering candles.

  When the old woman leaned forward the light fell upon her face and Luca couldn’t stifle a cry. He jumped and in the process almost fell sideways out of his chair. He caught himself at the last moment however, and let the small wooden sword fall to the ground.