Before the Crow

by Aaron Bunce

  With her hair pulled back and the warm light of the candles, Luca could finally see her face properly. The glow cast deep shadows of heavy wrinkles, yet as old as the woman looked, it was her eyes that made Luca jump. The whites of her eyes were bright and vibrant, yet the ringed irises were completely void of color.

  “I mean not to frighten you, little one,” the old woman said as she leaned back in the chair. “Go ahead and fetch your toy.”

  With difficulty, Luca pulled his gaze away from the old woman’s strange eyes and slid down to pick up the sword. When he straightened in his chair once again she was smiling.

  “I should probably go find Father Thurstan,” Luca said, still refusing to meet the old woman’s peculiar gaze, as he looked to the tent flap.

  “Nonsense, you stay here and keep warm. The good Father will be along soon,” the woman said softly.

  “But how do you know?” Luca asked, slightly panicked.

  “I know of these things!” she said, with a chuckle. “I have seen you before, you know? Limping about, struggling to simply walk while other little boys your age flit about like birds.”

  Luca felt uncomfortable under the old woman’s gaze. Not to mention she had been watching him.

  “It is not mere coincidence that you find yourself in my tent today, little one. For I believe that I can help you,” the old woman said, leaning forward.

  “The priests say that I will be better soon,” Luca lied, forcing a small smile. He fidgeted with the sword, casting his gaze to anything but the woman’s face. Her eyes looked oddly like mirrors.

  “Little one, I think you and I both know that is not the truth,” she replied quietly, shaking her head slightly as she sat back in the woven chair. “Your pain, the ache in your bones, and the fire in your muscles…I can feel it. It cries out to me with every movement in your broken little body. There are some wounds your body can’t heal by itself, just like there are some pains the priests and clerics can’t take away.”

  Luca reached up and rubbed the sore knot on his arm. The priests had mended the bone as best they could, but it still throbbed from time to time.

  “I can take your pain away, little one. Make you free to run, and jump, just like all the other little boys. Would you like that?” she asked.

  Luca tapped his pant leg with the wooden sword, fighting the urge to blurt out what his heart wanted to say. He clenched his jaw and looked up. The old woman had pulled a thin scarf from around her neck and began covering her hair and face.

  “Yes,” Luca said firmly, nodding his head.

  “Of course you would, little one. But there is something that I must ask of you. A chore. Just a small one, really. But I can’t tell you about it today. Not the time. Come back again, after the next snow falls, and I will tell you more,” she said, just as the flap of the tent was thrown aside and Father Thurstan, quite red-faced and disheveled, ran in.

  “There you are…Mani be praised. When the cart knocked us apart I got caught up in the crowd…I thought you fell into the water, or someone took you,” the young priest said breathlessly.

  “He is safe and sound. I brought him here to warm by my furnace. The wind has such a bite today,” the old woman said, her face, and peculiar eyes, now hidden behind the scarf.

  “Thank you. I am in your debt,” Father Thurstan said, handing Luca his crutch before leading him to the tent flap.

  “There is no debt in kindness,” the old woman said, rising with grace out of her chair. “You mind those carts from now on, Luca. Blessings go with you!”

  Luca smiled, and turned to follow Father Thurstan out into the sunshine. I never told her my name, he thought.

  * * * *

  Henri watched Hunter walk between the tables, a horrible hollow pit forming in his gut. He couldn’t stand the thought of him moving on without him.

  This is not right. Making me watch him move on…to Goddess knows what!?

  Herja walked just behind him. She didn’t have to speak for him to know that she was there. He could feel her presence. He knew men in Shale that could topple a healthy tree in but a few swings of an axe, but even they paled in comparison to the power she exuded. As he learned, she could topple a tree with a look.

  They moved quietly past the last row of tables in the dining hall. The large, arched doors eased open as Hunter approached, sliding open silently before them.

  Henri looked down the hall beyond, letting his eyes settle on the first door, and then the second, until his vision went fuzzy. In truth, there were too many doors to take in, to count, and to comprehend. The hall stretched into the distance, seemingly forever.

  Henri reached out and grasped Hunter by the shoulder as he walked by, spinning him around.

  “Hunter, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to go anywhere!” he said, holding tightly to his son’s arm.

  “Father, it’s going to be okay,” Hunter said, prying Henri’s hand free and holding it in his own, “but I do need to do this. I can feel it. I don’t know why, but I can’t stay here. I need to embrace what is waiting beyond my door.”

  Henri struggled for a moment, unwilling to relinquish the hold on his son, but as their eyes met, his fight melted away. He pulled his eldest son in and hugged him tight.

  “But how will you know? Look,” Henri said, turning his eldest son to look down the seemingly endless passageway. “What if you never find your door? What if you end up wandering that passage forever?” Henri did his best to keep his tone even and calm. In truth, he wanted to grab Hunter around the waist and never let go.

  “Have faith,” Hunter said, smiling.

  “How many times has your mother said that to me over the thaws,” Henri grumbled.

  Hunter pulled away from his father, their arms extending until it was just their fingers holding them together.

  “You can let go now, Father. I will see you again, soon.”

  Henri released his grip on Hunter’s hand, his arm hanging longingly in the air as tears filled his eyes.

  “Blessings go with you, son,” Henri croaked, watching his eldest walk slowly down the never-ending passageway, considering every door before moving on to the next.

  “How can we be sure that one will open for him? How can I know that it will lead him to where he needs to go?” he asked as Herja stepped up to stand next to him.

  “Everyone has a door and every door a path. It is the way it has been, and will be. J’ohaven spins the fates of all. Your son believes this with all his heart. His faith will guide him.”

  “I just can’t stand the thought of his path being out of my control,” Henri said honestly.

  Herja turned to him, her auburn braids swaying gently. She looked down on him, her expression softening, and for the first time, she didn’t look wholly intimidating.

  “That is why you are a good father,” she said.

  Henri watched Hunter continue down the long passageway, passing flickering torches as he grew smaller and smaller. But then a light split the darkness.

  Henri watched as a pair of doors slid apart, bathing Hunter in a brilliant light. His chest tightened as the light grew more intense, and then Hunter was gone. The doors eased closed silently, and the passageway grew dark once again.

  “This is not goodbye, Henri,” Herja said.

  Henri turned, clearing his throat. “Alright, now tell me what happens now. What lies in store for me?”

  “You are not ready for your door, not just yet,” Herja said softly.

  “So, am I to sit here and partake in the hospitality of his hall until I am?” Henri asked, turning and noticing a small group of people enter from the distant entrance.

  “No. First you must see to your son, Luca.”

  Chapter 12

  The Lord Constable

  Dennah watched Roman’s face flush red, and that told her more than words ever could. There was a monumental pile of things she didn’t understand. Fortunately, his response clarified one small thing for her, that he wasn�
�t the monster in all of this. Not a monster, but still something unknown and slightly frightening. Dennah had her secrets too, but it appeared that Roman’s were the kind that would change everything, or worse, get them both killed.

  She didn’t know what was going to happen to them when the sun rose in the morning, or how the soldiers would react to her story, especially when every fiber of her being rejected the horrible truth of it all.

  If she struggled to believe it all, how could she convince someone else? Why would they believe her, a pledge from a poor family with no standing, when it was only her word against all others?

  Dennah longed to show them the horrid truth of Banus and his buddies. She wanted them to relive every moment of his foul violations, or to hold Tusk as he breathed his last desperate breath, and be the one who found kind-hearted Frenin, forever locked in the gruesome moment of his death.

  Dennah watched Roman avoid her gaze. She knew he felt guilty, and for a part, responsible, but she also knew that he was confused, and scared, just like her.

  Part of her resented him, and believed that he was liable for everything that happened, while another slightly louder voice inside of her believed the opposite. She wanted to speak out, to tell him that she didn’t blame him, but she wasn’t sure she could find her voice just yet. She shook her head, trying to jar her thoughts loose.

  Better to let them spill out of my head and soak into the straw than to endure their ceaseless confusing dance, she thought.

  If she let them continue on unchecked, they were likely to split her in half. There were but a few things that she was sure of anymore, that she was scared, angry, and irreversibly twisted about.

  The chain clinked and rattled against the black bars of the cage as she let her head fall forward. Her eyes burned, so she let them drift closed.

  How long has it been since I slept?

  The wind howled against the building behind her, its woeful keen splitting the wooden slats and drifting across her neck. The drafts pricked her skin like tiny knives, and she jerked her head up, flipping her hair back to block the icy drafts.

  Roman’s head sagged toward the ground and his eyelids fluttered shut. He was losing his battle with sleep. A short while later the confined space was filled with the sound of his deep, rhythmic breathing. Dennah felt a momentary stab of jealousy and resentment.

  How can he sleep now, when everything is crashing down around us? Dennah clenched her jaw and pushed those thoughts away. She instantly felt shame for thinking it, especially when the ropes and chains binding her body reminded her of how they left him, battered and bloodied, shackled in the dark. He wasn’t just fighting against the demons of abuse and violence like her. Somewhere inside of him, lurking just beneath the surface, was a real monster.

  Dennah grimaced as thoughts of the barn resurfaced. The creature’s name eluded her, but not the horrible noise and smells it left behind. As if on cue she caught a whiff of something hot. It could have been the hot coals glowing in the iron grate.

  Something popped within the fire, sending ash and radiant embers into the air. But when Roman groaned and started to rustle she swore that she smelled charred skin and burning hair

  It took great focus, but Dennah was finally able to settle her nerves. For a time she watched Roman sleep, fighting tooth and nail against her own urges to drift off. As much as she longed for rest and the release it would bring, she feared what she would see in her dreams. Also, the idea of anyone approaching her unaware made her skin crawl, and without consciously summoning it, Banus’ face flashed through her mind. Her mouth started to water and she thought she would be sick.

  From that moment, until she finally heard footfalls outside the door, Dennah struggled to maintain some small semblance of calm. She felt like she was trapped on a narrow bridge, surrounded by bottomless black. If she leaned or drifted too far either way she would fall.

  The door swung open, filling the space all around her with a radiant, white light. They were at the door to the cell, and she heard the heavy lock spring open. The next thing she knew they were above her, next to her, and all around, their boots crunching loudly, smashing the straw.

  One of the men was quite gentle with her as he fumbled with the chain wrapped around her neck. The other man was another story. As soon as the chain was free he wrenched her to her feet, without bothering to untie or even loosen the ropes around her wrists and ankles. She cried out as the fibrous bindings bit and ground into her already damaged flesh. Her pain was met by annoyed impatience.

  “Shut yer mouth if you know what’s good for ya!” the surly man growled.

  Dennah swung her head around to argue, and caught his eyes. He was close to her height, but considerably thicker throughout the chest and shoulders. His face was long and his cheekbones well defined. He wore his dark-brown hair longer than most, and kept it out of his face with a single tie in the back. In any other light Dennah would think him an attractive young man, but now, she found that his demeanor made him rather ugly.

  “Where…are? Where are you taking me?” Dennah spit out the words, despite the thick, sour taste creeping into her mouth.

  “Tis time, Miss.” It was the other man that spoke, the one who used care to remove the chain from around her neck. He was taller than his counterpart, but a great deal thinner. His light colored hair was rather rumpled, and a small tuft covered his chin. His blue eyes sparkled in the light from the doorway.

  “My time?” Dennah asked, her voice shaking.

  The young man nodded his head before hooking his hand under her arm. Together the two men lifted her bodily from the ground and carried her out of the cage.

  “Why don’t you just cut the ropes? I can walk!” Dennah protested angrily.

  “Captain Teague’s orders, Miss,” the taller of the two men explained. “Small bit of advice…the less you say now…the better.”

  Dennah nodded and the young man smiled. He had a kind face and a genuine smile. His small act of kindness seemed a momentous thing to her in that moment.

  “Thank you…” she whispered nervously.

  “Sayer,” the soldier offered, but then went quiet as his counterpart cast him an angry glower.

  Dennah closed her eyes as they emerged from the dark cell. She listened intently to every sound around her as she waited for her eyes to adjust. She could hear the crunch of the men’s boots, and their labored breathing as they pulled her along. She could also hear men talking. It sounded like they were working.

  The wind still blew harshly, cutting around them in icy currents, but it was not nearly as strong as she remembered. Dennah pried her eyes open, accepting the bright light. Her eyes instantly started to water, but she refused to close them again. Her nerves, which had been winding tighter and tighter overnight, felt like they were ready to snap at any moment. Singularly she was on the verge of tears, but also lingered so closely to rage that it scared her. Something would have to give, or she would break.

  Sayer held Dennah while his surly counterpart grabbed a strange chair sitting in the snow. She’d never seen anything like it. It had forged, metal wheels. They sat her down and cinched a rope around her waist, before pushing her through the snow.

  The courtyard of Fort Falksgraad clarified, materializing from the blur of tears. What was a heavily shadowed and mysterious place the night before looked like an altogether different place in the light.

  Young boys and older men bustled about, shoveling piles of snow into carts with wide, wooden shovels. They hoisted the full carts out through the gate, reappearing moments later with their carts emptied. Dennah watched them walk openly through the gate, wishing for the freedom to walk beside them. She would walk home, without stopping, or freeze to death trying.

  A group of soldiers clustered in one corner of the sheltered yard where the snow was already cleared away. They looked sullen and cold as they watched a troop of boys toss fresh straw over the frozen ground. A few of them looked up and caught sight of her. They elbowe
d those around them, until the entire group was looking. She didn’t need to hear what they were saying. Their dark, angry expressions said enough.

  They cut through a small grouping of open shacks. The first was a rather well-appointed forge. A smith stood with his face down, staring absently into the glowing coals as a sword-length piece of iron heated. A young apprentice ducked around the corner, a look of shock drawing his eyes wide as they passed. He quickly scurried back around the large worktable where he watched them from the shadows.

  They passed through another small structure, enclosed on two sides. Turkeys, pheasant, and several large deer hung overhead. They wound through a narrow path in the building’s interior, navigating around barrels of salted and cured foodstuff.

  Dennah reemerged from the small buildings as a gust of wind rolled in, swirling the harsh particles of snow and ice into her eyes. When she opened them again she looked up and beheld the fort. From outside in the dark and snow the towering wall and imposing battlements were an intimidating sight, but the keep located within was an altogether different spectacle.

  Constructed of smooth cut stone, the keep towered a fair distance overhead. It spread in width and depth and contained numerous towers, all topped with fortified ramparts. Two massive soldiers in heavy plate stood abreast the massive door located at its center, bladed pole arms clutched tightly at their sides.

  Dennah looked up blearily at the two armored men, flipping between their imposing iron skin and the glistening blades. She half expected them to drop the weapons down suddenly and bar her path, or to strike her down. She wasn’t sure which one terrified her more in that moment. They passed between the men, but they did not move, not even to look down at her.

  The keep was dark compared to the gray glow of the snow-filled air outside. The two soldiers dragged Dennah off to the left and down a corridor. The darkness was broken occasionally by half moon-shaped braziers set in the wall.