The Bone Cell

by Richard Futch

  Ian placed a hand on Connor's shoulder when they stepped into the Church proper. “Look at that,” he said quietly. On the floor, already blown into a pile of rubbish close by was a tuft of familiar and old, matted hair. Right next to it lay three black feathers.

  There was nothing more to indicate a struggle.

  The boys looked at one another fearfully, then turned their gazes to all the lost corners of the creepy Church, searching out anything slinking up unawares. They found nothing.

  “So let's finish this,” Ian said, grabbing hold of the root-net of bones.

  It took a lot of muscle and sweat because the ground was very knotty and full of foundation castoffs, roots, and rocks. Several times the crude shovel slipped from its groove, and the pick was more dangerous from the start, but as the sunlight diffused away toward night, the ragged hole in the old cemetery grew slowly big enough to accept its load.

  They gently lowered the root-net into the fresh hole in the previous cemetery of one. Now it would hold two more. Surely this hallowed ground had been the object of the magician's and little girl's spirits longing in the years since their deaths. Hopefully this escape from the bone cell would set them to rest, hopefully it would also be enough somehow to save the tree. The boys covered over the bizarre package with the same studied, respectful silence with which they'd dug the hole. Then they stood at the side of the slightly-raised mound.

  “I guess that's it,” Ian said.

  “Yeah. It's all we can do.”

  “Uh huh. But I do wish the crow was here...” They both glanced into the shadowy canopy above.

  “Well, let's get out of here,” Connor said.

  They trailed through the forest with the same uncanny purpose with which they'd escaped the catacombs. Only as they crossed the highway did the sun finally dip behind the tree line and the shadows really began to stretch themselves out. They separated at the hedge in the Thompson's yard (as filthy as pigs and scraped and scratched as roosters after a barnyard fight), both in a mad dash to beat the streetlights home.

  Chapter 27: From There To Here

  The rest of that summer passed away to fall. School started and slowly but surely the holidays came and ushered out the old year. There was an agonizing stretch between Mardi Gras and Easter Break and then (like a bird returning to the nest it made the previous year) summer was upon them again.

  Both a year older. A year wiser, perhaps.

  They'd not seen the crow, had not been back to the Church, had seldom even spoken of either. In fact, they very rarely spoke of anything anymore, at least when they were alone. There was really no need. The Glance was still with them, stronger than ever. They held long conversations without uttering a word. Thoughts, ideas, secrets passed between them unchanged.

  They found they had to be careful around other people. Even their parents. What others had merely been faintly aware of before was hard to miss now, and they did their level best to hide it from the world. It was a gift to be neither discussed nor examined, a reward of sorts for pulling off what they had done.

  Whatever that had been.

  Because ever since their discovery of the bone cell they had no knowledge of the crow. There had been no further visions, no requests. Their dreams had been empty of its presence. However, they still ventured out to the remains of the tree house every now and again.

  Such as today.

  Ian stood on the bank, plunking stones into the mirrored surface of the lake, savoring the rippled patterns that rolled away in those great circles. He turned around. Connor came creeping up around the dusty, beaten clearing near the copse of trees, a smile covering his face. “Thought I'd get away with it this time,” he said and laughed.

  Ian smiled back. “Close,” he admitted. “Very close.”

  Silently Ian turned back to the game of thrown stones and Connor joined him. They both spun around simultaneously a second later.

  The crow sat at the top of the pine. Its head was completely white now, but other than that it looked just fine. Its spread its wings and the boys saw the gap in the right wing, a gap that would have very neatly held three, long flight feathers. There was also a strange, discolored hump on its back. “You're alive!” both boys cried simultaneously. The bird cackled and glided down from the pine to land in a cloud of dust at their feet. Its yellow eyes were sparkling brightly.

  “Indeed I am! Thanks to both of you!” it replied. It hopped on its good claw a few bounds closer. “You've changed. I can see the makings of men in the both of you now!”

  “Where have you been?” Ian asked, barely able to conceal his own excitement. They'd both believed the bird dead. And then because he could no longer contain himself. “What has happened since then?”

  The bird squawked and fanned the air with its wings. “It's been a year and seven days exactly! You were brilliant, simply brilliant!” As it exclaimed the lump on its back began to take on shape. “But before all that,” the bird said, “I must introduce a friend of mine,” and what turned out to be a tiny head lifted away from the black feathers. The mouse looked at them with unblinking eyes.

  “The Tree lives, boys!” the crow cawed triumphantly. “The barren limbs have sprouted again! The air inside the Church is once more alive! Animals have returned to the clearing! Oh it was a wonderful job, my boys!” and the crow danced a clumsy circle in the dust, the mirth in its eyes echoed in the mouse's too as she hung on tightly. Ian cut the merriment short with an abrupt question.

  “It's time you told us the truth,” he said. “Who are you? The both of you? Who are you really?

  The crow stopped its dance. Its yellow eyes gleamed. “The gift has been substantial, I see. This Glance of yours has become almost visible. It hangs about you like a ghost.” It stopped speaking and looked at the ground. “Of course you already suspect much of it...” it admitted.

  “The magician,” Connor deadpanned. “The magician and his little girl. What's left of them is in you...somehow.” Ian reached over and touched his friend's shoulder.

  The crow looked into their eyes and this time its humanity was undeniable. It said humbly, “I hope you will use this thing wisely.”

  “Tell us,” Ian implored. “We did what you asked. We've waited long enough.”

  “Indeed. I do owe you this explanation. But the truth is, I don't truly know myself.”

  “What did the magician do to you?” Connor whispered.

  “Like you guessed. He saved a fragment of his daughter and himself in the mouse and me. Sometimes I seem to have a wisp of him in the deepest parts of my mind, but it appears he is still very wily. And mysterious. But what's left of him is well and even more nimble now that you two have saved the tree. The mouse says the same about the girl, and, as you can see, we are still very much alive. In fact I can't say that I've ever felt better.”

  “But your wing, you're all white...” Ian began.

  “Nothing but old age and a fight,” the bird cut in.

  “It was the cat, wasn't it?” Connor said. “When we lost the green mist in the tunnels...you were fighting the cat.”

  The crow tipped its beak. “Yes,” it said. “I couldn't be sure what the creature was up to, and I could feel you two on the verge of success. I brought it to that loathsome creature with everything I had.” The crow visibly shook at the memory. “And thankfully I have not seen him again, but I don't believe it's gone for good. The thing bides its time, for what I do not know.”

  Ian snapped his fingers, recalling the vision they'd experienced in the bone cell. “The clutch of seeds! The one the magician asked you to bring him! Somehow the roots searched out the bones! And when the Tree learned the truth it began to die!”

  “That's how I see it too,” the bird agreed. “But the Church is once more ours. The Tree is alive and healthy. The spirits are now at peace, and the mouse and I have just to wait for whatever purpose these many years have led us to.” It paused and looked with love upon the two boys standing before it. “But first
we have to thank you, the mouse and I, and the spirit of the little girl and the magician. We stand at your mercy because everything would be over had not you saved the day.” And with that the crow bowed deeply.

  Connor could not let the opportunity pass. “What about the treasure? Is it still out there?”

  The crow cocked one yellow eye their way. “I have no clue, but sometimes the magician seems to think so.”

  “And what about the time you went back inside the Church after the hurricane? What about--?” but the crow cut him short with a loud caw and a wink.

  “You two never forget anything, do you?”

  They admitted nothing.

  “Ummm huh, well that, by boys, is a tale for another day. Perhaps when you're a bit older because lives get long and complicated, and this fact alone places the same burden on such stories. And if you couldn't already tell,” the crow finished, “It's a long way from there to here.”

  the end

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  Richard Futch