Ravenfell Chronicles: Origins

by Brand J. Alexander

  It was doubtful it was grief, the raven mused. But regret certainly was a strong possibility. As he saw the shaman prepare for his passing from the world, the Peculiar Raven couldn’t help but watch on with regret for the knowledge and secrets which would be lost with the old man’s death.

  The old shaman prepared for his passing. He created a space with candles and a smoking brazier filled with pungent herbs. A ragged hide blanket softened the spot he intended to lay, scattered with the many precious objects he cherished throughout life. And for just a brief moment, the Peculiar Raven became the first raven to appreciate shiny objects for something other than its enticing gleam. This death seemed almost as peculiar to him as he must seem to all the other ravens, he couldn’t help but think.

  When the old man laid down surrounded by all his memories, he had a look of peace and contentment that the Peculiar Raven had never seen before on the face of a creature so close to death. He didn’t fear the loss of his light; he welcomed it. Although, the raven wondered if the shaman would be as accepting if he knew who was waiting above to eat his little light for the injustice of failing to teach him the secrets of death.

  When the younger pupil arrived, he found his mentor already passed, his rapidly cooling body awaiting the tending services he taught to the student in life.

  The Peculiar Raven saw a wave of emotions pass through the younger human’s eyes. He saw someone feel death more profoundly and more powerfully than even the slim understanding the Peculiar Raven had so recently experienced. The death meant more to this person, not just in the loss of some external want or desire, but as a wounding to the very core of who this person was, a wound that would likely hurt for the remainder of the man’s life, though it would never bleed or fester.

  There was something else in the student’s eyes as well, a personal failing. It was a feeling the Peculiar Raven felt akin to. For the student, like the raven, had also failed to learn his master’s teachings, it seemed. It was clear in his eyes. He knew he was the only one left who knew anything about the services required. But he didn’t have the knowledge or experience to perform the rituals properly for his mentor’s body. He thought he had all the time in the world to learn what the old man had to teach. And now all his time was gone. And the test of what he managed to learn in the time he had stood before him, as a judgment on the old man’s life and teaching.

  “He has no clue what to do,” An unexpected but familiar voice arose from just below the Peculiar Raven’s perch. The raven exploded in a frantic flurry of feathers and cawing chaos. The young man, so intent on trying to remember what he was supposed to do, didn’t even notice the flapping madness taking place within the nearby tree. “Thankfully, I presumed as much and took care of my own passing ahead of time.”

  The Peculiar Raven, fluffed twice his size in temperament, tilted his head to peer down at the source of the voice to assure himself he wasn’t going mad. But in fact, madness was a definite option as he found the translucent face of the shaman peering right back at him.

  “I know you can understand me now, little bird. More than you have in all the weeks you have watched me work. You’re a scavenger. You speak the language of death. And I well…” The shaman scanned his only partially visible form, purposefully. “Am quite dead, as you can see. We speak the same language now.”

  The Peculiar Raven wasn’t sure how to take this change of circumstances but was quite perturbed the spirit had scared him initially and continued to unsettle him so much still. All of it came out in sharp response. “You’re dead, old man. Dead is food. Not something to talk to.” He still wasn’t sure whether the old man could understand him or even if he was real, but he went along with the charade because it amused him for the moment, despite his irritation.

  “Hah! Have at it if your belly needs filled. It isn’t my body any longer. And it would be nice if it served some last purpose. Although, I think my son might protest if you tried.”

  “I could peck out an eye and slurp it down before he dared stop me,” the Peculiar Raven threatened boastfully as he prepared to glide down and do just that.

  “I understand for your kind that is the best part. But would such a morsel be worth losing the secret of death you seek?” The shaman’s words froze the bird where he perched.

  “Give it to me.” The ravenous hunger for the secret which had grown over the seemingly endless weeks suddenly exploded in a raucous caw, which even the sobbing son couldn’t ignore. The younger man’s eyes glared at the raven in the tree with a cold hatred as if blaming him for his father’s death. If he only knew the raven he falsely accused was about to jump down and taste the father’s spirit, the Peculiar Raven couldn’t help but consider delightfully. He hopped down a couple of branches lower towards the apparition to decide where best to bite first if the old man didn’t provide the answers he sought.

  “My time here is short, raven. I must begin moving on. The path I have prepared cannot last indefinitely. But I promise if you will but walk with me, I will teach you some of what you wish to know and perhaps make you a great offer if you will but accept.” He glanced back at his son, who was clumsily trying to prepare the ritual fires with a deep and growing sense of failure. “I would rather not watch how badly he desecrates the body I once called home in his desperation to honor me properly.”

  “You know I’m going to eat you, right?” the Peculiar Raven called down. “No matter what you teach me.”

  “You are a carrion bird, are you not?” the old shaman chuckled as he called up. “I don’t think I could respect you if you didn’t at least try.”

  The Peculiar Raven couldn’t help but cackle out a very ravenlike laugh. For a human, this shaman appeared to have a crude enough sense of humor and brusk enough grasp of decorum to be mildly amusing. And since the Peculiar Raven already lost the chance to learn from the man while living and the son showed no sign of being able to teach anything, he conceded he had nothing better to do and accepted.

  Chapter 3:

  The Bargain

  The shaman’s spirit began walking down a path through the surrounding forest, which the Peculiar Raven was certain wasn’t there before. But then it wasn’t as if anything this day was normal, so the raven simply took up hopping from branch to branch a short distance above the specter’s head as they traveled.

  “If you’re wondering, this is the path I prepared so I might find my way to the afterlife. My son’s chances of sending me over are quite hopeless.” the shaman answered without being asked. “It’s quite a feat to prepare such a path for oneself.”

  “And you’ll teach me this?” the Peculiar Raven cawed down. “This path to the afterlife?” He wasn’t quite sure why he would need the man to teach him when he could just follow him now and watch where he goes. But the Peculiar Raven humored the old ghost.

  “I may teach you some of it. And more if I deem the price is right,” the spirit replied.

  “Price?” The Raven paused and cocked his head, not understanding.

  “I would give you something under the understanding that you would give me something in return.”

  The bird thought it over for a moment as this new concept was broken down for the avian mind to understand better. The spirit looked up questioningly in response.

  “I believe I get it,” the Peculiar Raven answered the look. “If you will teach me these secrets, I will only eat you a little bit. Just the extra parts you don’t need.” If a raven could smile with triumph, this one would have now. The shaman spirit could only chuckle.

  “I imagine that would be difficult to do as a creature of the living world. Spirits like myself cannot be harmed by mortal flesh or bone. Not while that flesh is alive, at least. We have been stricken from life already, and thus, life can do us no more harm.” The spirit was just finishing his statement as the midnight black bird dove from the branches overhead with piercing beak to strike at the shaman’s eyes and prove the spirit wasn’t invincible. Nothing but an icy chill marked the
meeting of bird and spirit. There was no resistance against the assault. Beak and bird passed through the spirit’s insubstantial head as if passing through a cloud, without any damage inflicted at all.

  The Peculiar Raven just barely righted himself before he struck the ground. Angered by his failure, he alighted upon a branch just within pecking distance of the specter’s head and glared balefully at it while he tried to work out what went wrong.

  “Calm yourself, raven. You will do yourself injury. You cannot harm a spirit’s body unless you yourself are a spirit or spirit-blessed. All this struggle will earn you nothing. But accepting my bargain could earn you much.”

  “Spirit-blessed? I’m guessing that’s an option where I don’t have to be a dead thing like you,” the raven surmised. He tried to make the accusation of death a wounding one, but the ghost merely smiled at the attempt. “And this secret of spirit-blessed is part of this bargain?”

  The Peculiar Raven wasn’t sure if he wanted any of what the shaman was offering. While he wanted secrets, this talk of bargains and prices made him feel uneasy. The Peculiar Raven was always a creature of vapid allegiance. Even his flock was abandoned easily enough when the right motivation came around. But this shaman’s bargain hinted at harder chains than even familial bonds to break. Could he take such a chance?

  “Since the concept is new to you, dear conflicted raven,” the shaman began in response to the bird’s hesitance. “Let me make it simpler for you. Let us begin with a simple bargain. I will teach you a little of what it is to be spirit-blessed if you will but walk with me along my path and listen to an old man’s ramblings. If after that you don’t wish my company anymore, you’re free to leave. But if the first bargain pleases you, then perhaps we could strike something more beneficial to both of us.”

  The Peculiar Raven couldn’t find anything displeasing in the old ghost’s offer, although he certainly put a great deal of effort in, with his small avian brain, to find something to object to. But the fact remained, his bird mind was a curious one, and what the shaman offered had piqued that curiosity beyond the point from which the Peculiar Raven could resist.

  “I will fly along while you walk, dead thing,” the raven answered, at last, still gnashing his beak at the failure to get a bite of the spirit. “But should your secrets bore me, I will not stick around for any more of these bargains.”

  “I should expect not,” the dead thing replied. “You appear a rather bright bird. I doubt you would stick around for anything less than something truly worthy of your station.”

  It was perhaps the first flattery the Peculiar Raven had ever received, and it struck just where it was intended, the bird’s pride. Whether the shaman knew of the peculiar life the raven lived before this even more peculiar circumstance wasn’t certain. But his words manipulated the bird in ways that suggested he at least sensed some of the raven’s motivations.

  “How do I become spirit-blessed so that I might eat you?” the raven asked with not even a hint of equivocation. The spirit glanced up with a look of stunned shock at such betrayal, though there was a smirk just at the edges of his translucent lips. “Your bargain only said I must come along and that you would teach me. It did not say how I had to use the lessons you teach.”

  The ghost shaman shrugged and threw up his hands in a show of defeat. “You are quite right; the bargain was extremely vague and left many points for abuse. I guess it is fortunate I am already dead then, isn’t it.”

  “Spirit-blessed,” the raven coaxed with a harsh caw.

  “Yes, I did promise that, did I not?” The spirit turned down the narrow wooded path and began walking as the raven followed along, hopping through the branches. The path had darkened since they started out, as night beyond the canopy of branches surely must be falling. But still, the way appeared clear, with very little underbrush or fallen branches to impede the trek.

  “There are several ways to become spirit-blessed. There are some spells a few practitioners claim can do the job. A spirit can bless you if it is powerful enough, I suppose. But that usually requires possession or something more horrible. Or the simplest way is just to cross over and step into the Netherworld. It is a world of spirit. Anything there is spirit touched from that point on.”

  “That’s it? I just follow you where you’re going, and I become spirit touched?” The Peculiar Raven couldn’t believe it was so simple. And certainly, he couldn’t believe the shaman would be so stupid as to give up all of this with the knowledge that the raven fully intended to eat him the moment he was able.

  “That’s pretty much the basis of it, yes,” the shaman answered. He had taken on a somewhat bluish glow as the dark of night descended. The shadows were growing so deep that all the color appeared to have washed out of the forest around them, all but the glimmering haze swirling around the old dead man.

  “That is quite the secret and certainly worth a walk no matter the distance,” the raven began after considering it for a bit. “How much further? If that is all for your secrets, I suspect I will grow quickly bored, and I already grow hungry.”

  “No further, dear feathered friend.” The spirit stopped in the center of a crossroads of sorts in what appeared to be the very heart of the woods. “We are here. Can you not feel the essence of death all around you?”

  The Peculiar Raven cocked his head and peered at the muted greyed out color and the strange haziness to everything around them. He was so caught up in the shaman’s lesson that he assumed the growing darkness was the coming of night, when in fact, it was so much more. So, this is where all the dead things go when they flee their tasty meat bags, the raven thought, clearly intrigued. But then another notion struck him, and he cawed triumphantly, breaking the strange subdued silence of the Netherworld.

  “Thank you, dead thing,” the raven cried with a cackling croak. “You have taught me great things indeed. And I will use those lessons and eat you now that I can. It might seem harsh since you’ve taught me much, but you have also annoyed me greatly. And I hunger to know what you taste like.”

  “But how will you get back?” The spirit’s words froze the raven just before he dove from the branch. “Your power gained here means little if you cannot return with it, I dare say.”

  “Foolish spirit,” the Peculiar Raven replied as he leaned back, reassessing the dead thing with his gleaming black eyes, trying to gauge the level of threat. The human was clever for certain. But how clever? “You showed me the path here. I will simply follow it back. Or, as you fail to notice, I am, in fact, a bird. If the path proves strange, I can merely fly above the canopy.” He spoke the words with confidence, but doubt suddenly plagued him.

  “What canopy? What path?” the shaman asked curiously. Every man’s path here, or bird’s for that matter, is their own. I invited you along my path to this place. But when you leave here without me, that path will no longer be available to you. Only your own, if you can find it.” The spirit gave a subdued chuckle.

  “You tricked me,” the Peculiar Raven screamed furiously. He looked around, trying to prove the shaman’s words false. But from where he perched near the center of the crossroads, he could ’t make out the path upon which they arrived. He looked up, seeking an escape, but instead of the interlocking canopy of branches, the raven saw only a swirling haze of darkness and something much worse stirring within. There was nowhere he could fly. He was truly trapped.

  “Is it any worse than what you intended to do to me?” the spirit asked. “You did, in fact, wish to use what I taught you to eat me, did you not?” The shaman, in reflection of the bird’s earlier triumph, smiled up at the greatly ruffled and angered raven.

  “I only wanted to taste a bit of you,” the raven grumbled. “Now, it appears if I am stuck here, I will simply have to eat all of you. Maybe if you and your spirit friends are tasty enough, I will like it here. Perhaps you have done me a service, dead thing.” There was very little conviction to the raven’s words, at least not about liking it in the Netherwor
ld. Although, he was now more certain than ever that he was going to eat the ghost whole and possibly regurgitate him up to eat him again, just for good measure.

  “Or we could speak about that bargain I mentioned earlier.”

  “Do I have a choice?” the Peculiar Raven growled, still on the verge of lunging.

  “Well, there was that whole eating me thing you were just talking about.”

  “While I still wish to eat you more than ever, vile dead thing,” the raven growled. “Do I have any choice, which includes me going home again?” he asked the last in final defeat. He may be fascinated by this world of the dead at the moment, but he doubted it was a very friendly place for a raven, especially one like himself, to take up permanent residence.

  “I suppose not,” the shaman answered with barely suppressed mirth. “But I promise you I will be fair. I offer you great powers over death in return for what I ask of you.”

  “Just get on with it. I tire of your blathering, dead thing.”

  “What is your name, bird?” the shaman asked as if giving an offering.

  “I am a raven,” he croaked venomously. “A peculiar raven but a raven, nonetheless. Do I truly need more?” He wanted to be crueler, but there was a gentleness to the shaman’s tone now, which soothed his raging fury just a bit.

  “What would you be? If you had your dream, little raven? What would you aspire to be if your wings could carry your fate skyward as freely as they carry your body? What would you do if you could gain the power to change something in this world?”

  For a moment, the concept, which the ghost asked, seemed so ridiculous, the Peculiar Raven couldn’t even conceive of an answer. But then, he remembered how all this madness began so long ago.