Raven's Edge

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “Raven.”

  The one called Zhao laughed and clapped his hands. “You see what I mean?” Once again his question was greeted with blank expressions. “Rook... Raven... birds of a feather flock together, as they say.”

  At a word from the blonde woman, the others grudgingly shuffled around to make room for Raven to sit before the fire. She was offered a bowl of food, but waved it away, her hunger still sated by the broth at the inn. The players didn’t seem offended; it meant more for them. Etiquette may cost nothing in the halls of fancy nobles, but on the road it might be the difference between a full belly and an empty one.

  She looked around at the group, most of whom had resumed their conversations. Most she recognised most from the performance that evening, though in some cases it was harder than might be expected. Figures that had seemed so flamboyant and larger than life during the show had become drab and somehow smaller now that their stage personas and costumes had been set aside. The fire-eater, round of belly and bald of head, sat swathed in blankets, given away only by a long, drooping moustache. The blonde woman’s dancing partner Raven at first had taken for a man, dressed as she was in breeches and tunic, her long hair tied up behind her head.

  Others were easier. The three dwarves, whose tumbling she’d found tiresome, sat clustered together, occasionally giving her a belligerent stare as if daring her to pass comment. Their oversized partner, meanwhile, sat opposite her, long arms stretched around knees drawn up to a chin at least a head higher than any other. It was as if he was at pains to make his considerable frame as small as he possibly could. She found her eyes drawn to the willowy figure, but only once did he meet her gaze with large, soulful eyes, before looking shyly away.

  “May I see your sword?”

  Raven blinked as if snapping out of a trance, and turned to see Zhao regarding her with interest. “Pardon?”

  “Your sword,” he said again, indicating the weapon still hanging from her belt. “May I see it?” He held out his hand, waiting.

  There was a palpable change in the atmosphere. She glanced around and saw the eyes of each player upon her, glittering in the firelight.

  Raven hesitated. Is it a test, she wondered, or something else? They’d been friendly until now, but was that intended to lull her into willingly disarming herself? Her fingers drifted down to the handle of her blade, stalling. Perhaps it was a test of trust, but to fail it would mean what? And did she trust them, come to that? Perhaps the request was an innocent one, and her reaction was all that interested them.

  She looked again at Zhao, whose hand was still outstretched. He smiled, and she suddenly felt as if he’d been able to read all her thoughts as easily as if they were written on her forehead. She reached a decision.

  Holding his gaze steady, Raven slowly drew the sword from its sheath, and placed it on his palm. She tensed as Zhao took hold of the blade’s grip, watching for any sudden movements. She was not the only one; an air of expectancy hung over the players’ camp.

  Zhao weighed her sword thoughtfully, then held it closer to the fire, examining it this way and that in the flickering light. Finally he passed it back to her, and at last she sensed their audience relax. “A fine weapon,” he said, as she slid it back inside its scabbard. “It has a keener edge than the iron planks than the peasants use when they take to the road, and lacks the filigreed pomposity of a noble’s blade. A fighter’s weapon, then, forged for one purpose alone.” He stared at her, and Raven felt herself being examined as minutely as her sword had been moments before. He nodded. “But, unless I am mistaken, that deadly purpose remains as yet unfulfilled.”

  She looked at him sharply. “How can you know that?”

  He smiled. “You reveal yourself a hundred times over. How you move, how you sit, how you tense like a little mouse, ready to flee, when a stranger takes your sword.” Raven’s face reddened. “It is clear you are not new to this life. So tell us, child of the night, how it is you have yet to wet your blade.”

  Raven hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m looking for someone,” she said. He looked at her wordlessly, eyes glittering. Something about his watchful silence seemed to coax the words from her. “When I find him, my sword will serve its purpose. I want him to be my first.”

  “This man you seek must have done something great indeed to deserve such an honour!”

  She knew he was trying to goad her into revealing more, but she ignored him. Instead she turned and addressed the rest of the players. “In your travels, have you seen a man, tall but not exceptionally so, with eyes so green they seem almost to glow from within?”

  One by one the players shook their heads, and while she’d expected little else she was still disappointed. “We have travelled far and wide, it’s true, but we haven’t seen someone of such singular appearance,” Zhao replied. “If such a one does attend one of our humble shows, have you a message for them?”

  Raven smiled grimly. “Tell him I’ll be seeing him soon.”

  A hush fell over the camp. Then, as one, Zhao and the other players burst out laughing, and Raven was so surprised she joined them, the sound of their merriment echoing out and away into the night sky.

  * * *

  It was later. The players had cleared away the remains of their supper and now lounged around the fire. Some chatted quietly among themselves, while a couple had brought out musical instruments and sat plucking at them absently.

  Raven still sat in the same place, staring into the flames. For much of the past half-hour she’d told herself that any minute she would get up, bid her farewells and head to the woods to make her own camp, but for some reason found her legs were unwilling to make the necessary effort. The players were easy company, which helped. Only Zhao had shown any curiosity about her, and even he had receded after the conversation about her sword. He now lay a few feet away, head resting on his hands as he stared up at the stars.

  Even as Raven’s mind wandered, before her eyes the dancing flames assumed familiar shapes... shadows from her past. She found herself falling backwards, transported by the acrid smell of smoke and the crackle of burning wood. The fires had burned brightly then as well; the night her long hunt had begun. In the black, twisting space beneath the flames she saw the figure of a man, broad-shouldered and with a stalking menace approach another form, even larger in stature. The shapes created by the tongues of fire ducked and wove around one another until the larger was dashed to the ground, the other standing over it, triumphant.

  Raven was so caught up in her vision, she barely registered Zhao standing and disappearing in the direction of one of the carts, nor when he returned a few moments later. It was only when he cast something into the fire, which roared with a bright blue flare, that her trance was broken. A wreath of thick smoke followed the flash of blue, and she fell back coughing. “What was that?” she managed, her eyes watering.

  “Just a little something to make our evening more, ah... interesting,” he replied, grinning.

  “About time!” yelled Rook, jumping to his feet. The bearded player thrust his face so close to the flames Raven was certain the hairs on his chin would catch alight, though his fellows simply laughed and clapped at his antics. He breathed deeply three times, sucking the smoke in through his nose and mouth, then holding it within before puffing it back out in a light-grey cloud.

  At last he staggered back from the fire, shook his head as if to clear it, then tipped it back and let out a great, wolf-like howl towards the night sky. He fumbled at his belt, drew out a vicious-looking axe and then, without a word, charged off into the darkness.

  “Should we go after him?” asked Raven, alarmed.

  But the others just laughed. “He’ll turn up,” Zhao said. He thought a moment. “Eventually.”

  “Remember the time we found him stuck up a tree?” said the fair-haired dancer, whose name, Raven had learned, was Leana.

  The fire-eater shuddered. “How could you forget? Clinging to the trunk, stark bollock naked and wailing l
ike a newborn babe.”

  Raven smiled at the mental image. “But what if he hurts himself?”

  “The only thing he ever injures is his pride, and by now there’s little enough of that left,” said Zhao.

  “In the north, they say that there’s a special god who looks after fools and drunkards,” said Leana. There was a dreamy quality to her voice. She sat close to the fire, eyes closed.

  “If that’s true then he’s twice as safe,” the fire-eater replied, eliciting another ripple of laughter.

  Zhao clicked his fingers and those holding instruments began to play together. Before, there had been a melancholy edge to their absent plucking, but no longer. The tune they played was lively and energetic, and Raven soon found her foot tapping along to the beat.

  One by one the remaining players rose to their feet and began to dance around the fire. The three dwarves performed a dizzying jig, two at a time linking arms, spinning around and then one linking arms with the third and repeating the move, while the one left out clapped and stamped his foot in time to the music. Even the bashful giant had joined in, standing awkwardly at the edge of the group, swaying self-consciously.

  A hand reached down towards her. Raven looked up and was surprised. She’d expected it to be Zhao, but standing above her was Leana. Raven was neither a skilled nor enthusiastic dancer, and tried to politely decline with a small shake of her head.

  But the fair-haired woman just laughed. “Come,” she said, beckoning with her hand, “there is nothing to be afraid of here. I don’t bite.” Raven hesitated, then took Leana’s hand, grudgingly allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. The dancer leaned closer and murmured into her ear, “Unless you want me to.”

  Raven’s eyes widened and she stumbled a step back. It was only when she moved that she realised how light-headed she was. “That’s not...” she began. “I don’t... I mean...”

  The fair-haired woman’s laughter was a tinkling melody. “Relax, child, it was a joke, nothing more.” Though there was a note of disappointment in her voice, it didn’t seem as if she’d taken offence. “Now dance. It is a night of celebration.”

  “Celebrating what?”

  “Why, that we are alive. That we are free. That we have witnessed the close of another day and, Divine willing, will see another dawn.” Her arms and hips began to undulate. She moved like water, not bouncing in time to the music like the others, but flowing around it.

  Raven watched, mesmerised. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “What is there to know?” Leana smiled at her. “Close your eyes. Listen to the music. Hear it. Let it flow through you and wash away your cares. Ride the crest of its wave, and let your body move to wherever it carries you.”

  Raven closed her eyes as directed. Her mind felt cloudy – not bad, precisely, but as though it had been packed with spun wool, soft and yielding. She opened her ears to the music, trying as best she could to block out the sounds of the players themselves. After a few moments, the world around her melted away, leaving only the music. It was a living thing, she realised. Then, as she listened further, she realised that was wrong. It was multiple living things, intertwined and yet distinct. There was the melody, the sound of the flutes high and lilting, and below them the strings, dancing and twisting around them, complementary yet separate.

  Then she was no longer only hearing the music, she was seeing it as well. Flutes and strings writhed across her mind’s eye, a pair of serpents; one yellow, the other blue. They surrounded her, hemming her in on all sides, seeming almost to pulse as they squeezed tighter. Raven felt her panic rising. Is this what it was to be carried by the wave? This didn’t feel like the ocean. It felt like death, lulling her, beguiling her with its false glamour and then choking the life from her.

  But beneath the writhing, hissing serpents was another sound. The rhythmic beat of drums, a steady thud that beat at the core of all living things, a primal throb that roots us to our most distant past. She sensed the serpents strain against it, and then she knew the truth: they were constrained by this primordial sound. They caught the eye, these gaudy creatures, but they were no less beholden to the beat than any other creature upon the earth, were slaves to it.

  The drumming grew louder, and in Raven’s mind they became hoofbeats. The serpents let out an angry hiss as a powerful stallion, black as sin, leapt over their heads. She grabbed hold, swung herself onto its back while still airborne and then they were away, leaving all else behind. When the stallion’s feet touched the ground it broke into a gallop. She clung on, exhilarated, the wind slapping at her face. It tugged at her clothes, and the heavy cloak she wore was pulled away and flew flapping into the darkness. It was not important, she felt lighter without it, freer. Beneath her, she felt the beast’s motions, its thick muscles moving rhythmically as they strained to maintain its speed. She moved with them, swaying gently, allowing herself to be guided. A slow smile spread across her face as she felt the joy of it ignite a flame in her heart. Why did I let it grow so cold? she wondered.

  When she opened her eyes, she found that Leana was still smiling, watching her. She was dancing, swaying gently just as she had done upon the stallion’s back, and she reached for it again, this time allowing the movements to spread across her body.

  She had no idea how long they danced. It might have been minutes, perhaps hours. The music seemed to stretch on into forever, and a part of her wished it would never end. She knew that when it did the cares and worries she had set aside for now would come rushing back. But that was for tomorrow. And if tomorrow never came, then so be it.

  At times she felt herself floating above her body. She could glance down and see a figure wearing her clothes, her face, twisting and dancing. At others, she looked across the flames and saw the players, but as she stared their faces began to warp and change...

  A hand grasped her shoulder and span her gently around. “Come,” said Zhao, a look of concern on his face. “Let us leave the fire awhile.”

  Raven let herself be led across the grass, away from the flickering glow. The others did not seem to notice them leave; even Leana, who by now was dancing with her partner on the stage. And off it, Raven judged, from the way they danced so closely, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

  Zhao took her by the hand, which she was grateful for. The fire had robbed her of her night-vision, leaving her near-blind. She was not the only one. Before they’d ventured too far, Zhao’s foot snagged against something, probably one of the many tussocks sprouting from the ground in these parts, and with a cry of surprise he went flying headlong into the darkness.

  The sound he made was so comical, the manner of his disappearance so undignified, that she began to laugh. But a moment later she took another step, stubbed her foot against the same obstruction and tumbled after him, her merriment becoming a high-pitched squeak of surprise.

  She landed on top of him with a thump, their faces almost touching. The laughter bubbled up once more and she was helpless to hold it back. Then it stopped abruptly as his head tilted up and he planted his lips on hers. Raven’s eyes flew wide in the darkness, then fell closed again as she pressed herself into the kiss.

  Her head still swam and having been filled most of the evening with visions of her past, she felt herself being transported to another time and place. This was her first embrace, her first kiss since that night far away across the mountains. The last time she’d seen Him. She still remembered his smell and the way it comforted her, the feel of his skin... soft and yet already defaced with the scars of his battles against the fearsome beasts of the Spiritwood. Night after night she’d brushed her fingertips along those scars, tracing their lines as if by doing so she could relive the stories of their origin.

  But what she remembered most was the pain she’d felt deep inside as she left, slipping out of the bed they shared in the dead of night, casting a last, lingering look at his golden locks resting on the pillow, before leaving, never to return. The pain was still there, not
as sharp, perhaps, but always waiting to prick her whenever she ventured near. It would have been so easy to stay, the easiest thing in the world, but that wasn’t her path. She couldn’t be what he wanted her to be, and so she’d left. Why is it the regret of a right decision taken can hurt so much more than a wrong one?

  A great melancholy swept over her then. She pushed away from Zhao. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t...”

  He smiled sadly. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I understand.”

  Raven rolled away from him, and for a time they simply lay side by side on the grass staring up at the stars.

  “Who was he?” Zhao asked, breaking the silence.

  “Who?” Still light-headed, she watched with detached fascination as the stars span round and around. It was a more elegant dance that those performed by the players around the fire.

  “The one who wounded you so. It must have been a great love.”

  “It was,” she said. “Or at least, we both thought it was.” She thought back to that year of her life. Though it had spanned all four seasons, in her memories it was always summer. A time of light and laughter. Long days spent riding on horseback over the countryside. Being chased through the tall grass, being caught and rolling among the long, waving stalks. The way his golden hair shone when the sunlight caught it just so. “Perhaps it’s the same thing, perhaps not,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter now.”

  “He was your first, was he not?” He must have sensed Raven bridle, as he went on, “You don’t have to answer, for in a way you already have. Nothing in life can match the intensity of a heart’s first love... nor the first time it is broken.”