Crow Of Thorns

by Richard Mosses

I nod. “You can go and have a look yourself. Let me know. He also has a ceramic knee cap, pins in his hip and a ceramic plate in his head. Or it was all just a dream.”

  Corbie looks at me. Maybe he's trying to see if I'm bullshitting him. He turns and walks behind my tent to where Stevie is sleeping. I grab my washbag and go to freshen up. When I'm finished Corbie is gliding over the Tent City towards me, a dark shadow over the snow. I cover my face when he swoops up to land on my shoulder.

  “Still worried I'd ruin your pretty features?”

  “What did you find out?” I say.

  “I hate to admit it, but I think you're right,” Corbie says. “About the tumour in his head anyway. I could smell cancer on his breath. I'm not able to detect the prosthetic parts.”

  “Can we do anything about it?”

  “We're healers. Shaman. We can't guarantee a result. Sometimes it's just someone's time. We can try though. If he wants us to.”

  “That's going to be an interesting chat. He's difficult enough to talk to as it is. Sometimes he looks at me like a man trapped inside a prison. Like he knows he's saying things he doesn't mean but there's nothing he can do about it.”

  “It's all part of the job. You gotta learn some time.”

  “You talking to yourself again?” Janice's breath steams out from her tent before I see her face peeking out.

  “No. My invisible crow familiar,” I say.

  “No need to be sarcastic.” She climbs out of the tent. “God it's cold this morning.”

  “It's pretty snug in the tunnel.”

  “I bet your WiFi access sucks though.”

  “Seems alright to me, but it probably tails off deeper inside. I'm sure we could set up a solar powered relay box.”

  “There's people here to look out for my stuff too.”

  “I'm just saying.”

  “I bet you've got to get off to work,” Janice says. “And Brutus needs his walk.”

  “See you later.”

  I continue back to my tent, following my original trail through the snow. Janice is right it is freezing today.

  “How do I cure him?” I say.

  “Of cancer, in his head? Jeez Niki, start with an easy one, why don't you?”

  “Well how do I cure anything? I'm not a doctor.”

  “No, but you can visit the spirit world. Maybe someone there knows somethin?”

  “Are there particular healing spirits?”

  “I wouldn't have said so. Plants know some of the effect they can have. Animals may know a few tricks, but they mainly help with your work, improve its effectiveness. There are teachers in the upper world you can ask. And obviously if it's somethin missin that's causin the problem, you kinda know what to do.”

  “I better get started then.”

  “Need a hand?”

  “Of course. I still barely know what I'm doing.”

  Half way up the Tree of Life, I stop for a rest. Stevie wasn't in the tunnel when I got back, but a bag of things was still there, so I'm confident he'll return. At least this way I might have options for him, when I tell him. Should I even bother? I don't know if I'd want to know. But the headaches, nausea, loss of muscle control, or whatever would tell me something was wrong eventually. I keep seeing his eyes pleading at me for help.

  I start climbing again moving from branch to branch. Corbie swoops past flapping himself higher along with me. No sign of the giant squirrel so far. “It would be so much simpler if we could just get the lift or something,” I say. “I'm all for the scenic entrance for first time visitors, but isn't there a back door we can use?”

  “Exercise is good for you,” Corbie says. “Think of it as a meditation, a physical preparation for enterin the hallowed Upper World.”

  “You don't sound like you believe that yourself.”

  “Don't get me wrong, some of these guys are alright, but many of them are so far up their own asses they can see daylight.”

  I laugh. “Tell me what you really think.”

  “You could try risin up higher as smoke, if you like. It's a long way down though.”

  So if I overcome my own instincts I can move up more easily. Otherwise I have to do it the hard way. I make the mistake of looking down. The hard way it is.

  My head butts up against the membrane and this time I keep pushing upward. It's like trying to burst a thick rubber sheet. The strain on my neck and shoulders is almost too much, then it breaks and I feel the membrane slide over my face like spider silk.

  Pulling myself into the Upper World I feel the air change. It is light, fresh, and slightly damp, like being on top of a Munro on a spring morning. The sun is warming. It seems to shine all the time here. Two hawks circle each other. I don't know if they're fighting or courting.

  The servers at work will be fine without me. Everything was green when I checked online. No one missed me when I was sick. They'll be fine. This is important.

  Corbie comes at me from out of the sun like a Kamikaze heading for an aircraft carrier. He pulls up at the last minute leaving me his phlegmy laugh. I shouldn't have told him about my dream. He comes in for another pass and I grab him out of the air, his thorns prick my skin.

  “What the hell?”

  “You thought I was going to let you keep doing that?” I let him go like I'm freeing a pigeon. He flaps away and circles round. “Where do we go from here? You said before that I would need to think myself to places in the Upper World. Is there somewhere the great medical minds hang out?”

  Corbie shrugs. “You seem to be good at findin things for yourself.”

  Of course. “Computer, where will I find teachers for curing medical problems?”

  A window appears in front of me. Like before there's a list of search engine results. This search must scrape the bottom of my memories. There's Stanford, John Hopkins, medical courses at Bristol, a book, links to entries about Hippocrates and Asclepius, and the image of a single snake wrapped around a stick. Asclepius was a mythical healer, the snake and stick his symbol. Maybe I need to speak to a snake. But they would be in the Lower World, surely? Unless this snake is more than an animal spirit.

  “Where would I find a snake who could teach me?” I say. “Is that someone from Lower World or the Upper?”

  “Good idea, and a good question. I still woulda said the Upper World is the place.”

  “So I need the Well of Souls.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It's in Tanis, in a film. Raiders of the Lost Ark. Lots of snakes.”

  “You're overthinkin this.”

  “Okay so let's go to a temple of healing or something. The Platonic ideal of a hospital.”

  “Why didn't you say so in the first place?”

  “Because it was too obvious. I couldn't see it for looking at it. I still don't know how to get there.”

  “Just think yourself there. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  I sigh and control the urge to throttle the bird. I close my eyes and imagine a cool marble Parthenon. Fluted columns and a triangular apex. Briefly I see the folly on Carlton Hill. Great minds are discussing perplexing ailments. Complex drawings of anatomy made on blackboards are indicated by wooden pointers.

  Hearing the scuff of feet on stone I'm distracted. I open my eyes. I'm there. I can't believe it. I stand in a colonnade, a series of steps leads down to a large square where groups of people are in conversation. All of this is perched on the summit of a hill. More hills rise up in the distance, rocky and unforgiving. Turning round I see empty doorways leading deeper into the massive temple. I've never been to the actual Parthenon, which was a temple to Athena anyway, but this is much larger.

  “Well that's the first step. I guess we need to find a consultant oncologist now.”

  Corbie looks around. “Take your pick.”

  “I'm going to go inside. Maybe someone there knows who the right person to speak to is. Otherwise we could be here a while.”

  I turn to head inside the temple and a figu
re emerges from the doorway nearest us. It has a male body, with a white skirt, and leather sandals, but the head is that of a bird. It is still proportional to a human head, but it has a long curving beak. It looks like an Egyptian god or something out of a nightmare.

  It notices me and starts walking over. I don't know what to do. My instinct is to avoid it. I might be used to birds made of thorns now, but this is actually unnerving. Looking at hieroglyphs and pictures in books when you're a kid is one thing. This is approaching and unsettles me. Why this is wrong, but a naked woman made from plants is okay, I'll have to think about later.

  “Hello.” The bird-headed monster offers me its hand. “I don't think we've met before.” Its voice is deep and resonant, not how a bird should sound. I hesitate too long. “All still new to you, isn't it? I'm Djuha.”

  “Sorry. I'm Nik.”

  “Are you just on the grand tour or are you looking for someone?”

  “Corbie brought me here before.” I indicate the raven which is shrinking out of sight behind my legs. “I'm hoping to cure someone of brain cancer.”

  “Corbie? Ah, Corbin McLean,” Djuha says. “I didn't recognise you like that.”

  “Corbin? Corbin McLean?” I laugh. “You sound like a serial killer or a thriller writer.”

  Corbie edges back round from behind me, now his cover has been blown. “Screw the both of you.” Corbie stretches and stretches, growing taller and his wings become arms, his legs more human. Blonde hair sprouts from his head down to his shoulders. A man stands in Corbie's place. He is still formed from a tangle of sharp thorns. His feathers have become a dark kaftan. He looks forty years old with the start of a beer belly.

  “That looks more like you.” Djuha shakes hands with Corbie. He doesn't seem to notice his palm pressing against the prickles. “How have you been?”

  “I'm doin' alright,” Corbie says. “Yourself?”

  “I'm well. So this is your protégé?”

  “I'm showin him the ropes. He's a good kid.”

  Djuha turns back to me. “Brain tumour? You didn't want to start with something easy, like a yeast infection or a weeping sore.”

  “A man comes to me for help – he maybe doesn't know that's why he's come to me – but who am I to turn him away? It's what I'm supposed to do, right? I don't get to choose my clients.”

  The bird-man seems to smile. Not easy to do with a beak. His expression turns serious. “We can only teach you medicine for the spirit, not the body. It isn't a matter of saying 'here take this pill' or doing surgery on a limb. Herbs may help the spirit and the body, but we cure the soul and hope that the body follows.”

  “I need to understand why, or how, his spirit is injured. Then look to fix that.”

  “Indeed. Each ailment will not be the same, as each patient is different. Each time you treat the same patient they too will be different,” Djuha says. “How did you get on with Abel?”

  “Abel?” Killed by Cain. The first person to die. “Ah. The President and CEO of the Underworld. We got on fine.”

  “So you understand that often there needs to be a sacrifice by the shaman to help heal the patient?”

  Corbie laughs.

  “What is so funny?”

  “Nik didn't give him anythin. Told him he was there for what was his and walked out without payin any tribute.”

  “Really?” Djuha tilts his head at me the way Corbie does in his usual form. “It must have been his birthday.” He claps me on the shoulder. “How extraordinary. Nevertheless sometimes we make sacrifices on behalf of those who seek us, whether it is to spirits or the gods.”

  That doesn't sound good. If I have no currency I need to trade with something. Favours, tasks, services, in advance or owed. Abel certainly wanted prohibitions, taboos or some kind of sacrifice. Too many clients and I would have nothing to give. Midori talked about power structures, building up a network. Being a successful shaman starts to sound like being a Mafia Don more and more.

  “I have two questions then. How do I avoid giving myself away in bans, taboos and promises? And how much do I owe you for this advice?”

  “Don't worry about owing me anything. As in the Living World, not everyone wants something for information. Some of us help out for the greater benefit that comes from it. I was taught by Chiron and all that was asked from me was to do the housework.”

  That name is familiar. “The Centaur who taught Theseus, Achilles and just about anyone else who was a demigod worth knowing?”

  “The one and the same. It was a great honour. Perhaps one day you may meet him. The only away to avoid giving away too much is to be frugal with what you have, and only barter it in desperate need. But if you can escape without owing Abel your arm then I think you drive a hard bargain and have nothing to worry about. Besides, I can teach you some things, and I'm sure Corbin hasn't begun to show you what he knows. A brain tumour though.” Djuha shakes his head. “I don't know. That is a lot to ask of a shaman. You could try spirit surgery. But we should find you that expert.”

  “Spirit surgery? I thought that was for cult leaders and charlatans.”

  Djuha shrugs. “In the wrong hands, used to manipulate people, all of a shaman's tools can be discredited and mocked. Faith and belief help the spirit. The mind is the master of all it surveys. Usually this is forgotten.”

  “Maybe I should focus on finding the root of the problem. Perhaps he's mentally ill and this has become physical? Maybe his spirit has been affected by some adversity in his life.”

  “These are all possibilities. It is rather rare that mental illness becomes physical. A mental illness is also not always a spiritual one. It doesn't always come down to shamanism and psychology. Sometimes people are just sick, and sometimes, many times, we can't help.”

  “You know I think it's like being a psychic plumber.” Corbie says. “It's our job to unblock the toilet and sometimes it means gettin up to our elbows in other people's shit. And sometimes we have to go into the sewer and fix the problem there.”

  I have the image of my hands gripping a plunger sucking someone's exposed brain. “Maybe we can meet up again tomorrow, later though.” I'm feeling guilty about not being in the office. “If Stevie comes back tonight I'll see what I can find from him.”

  “Later?” Djuha looks confused.

  “I have work to go to. I shouldn't be there now…”

  “Work? Other than shamanism?” His tone conveys such dismay, like how can I not be one hundred and ten per cent twenty four seven committed to my calling.

  “Some of us need to eat. The High Heed Yuns may have taken away my family life, but they're not taking my income. Of course if they rain down manna every day, and a cup that never empties, then I might be able to change that.”

  “I understand. I will be here, later, tomorrow.”

  We shake hands and Djuha heads off to greet a nearby discussion group.

  “How long have you known him?” I say.

  “Only a few years, I guess,” Corbie says. “He's an alright guy. Can be a bit stuffy.”

  When we get back to the Living World, Corbie has returned to being a raven, Stevie is still gone, but it's only ten o'clock. I know it'll bug me all day if I don't do it, so I head off to work.

  I'm surprised that Stevie is still gone when I return. I am not my brother's keeper, but for some reason I do feel some responsibility for him. I'm even more surprised when Janice comes to visit with Brutus. The dog starts yapping until Janice threatens to kick him. Perhaps it would be better if she didn't move down here after all. They both have a good sniff around the platform and a nosy in the tunnels. The snow beneath the air vent slowly builds up while I brew us a cup of tea.

  “What the fuck do you do down here? I keep hearing dull booming sounds for a few minutes each night and now in the morning too.” Janice takes her cup.

  “I'm practising to be a shaman.”

  “You're what? A shaman? Mr C an all that. I remember them when I was a student.”

&
nbsp; “No, not dance music. Although there is some dancing. I'm sure that's not the correct term anymore, but it's what my mum called it. Someone who travels to the spirit world and returns with knowledge and power to help their people. I'm sure hunting and planting was once as important a part of the job as healing.”

  “Right.” Janice says. “How did you start learning that?”

  “I've had terrible dreams since my childhood.” I sip my tea. “My mum thought I was being called by the spirits. My dad had other ideas. Anyway, you know I was sick and that sickness, and curing it, was part of the hazing process after being chosen to be a shaman. Now I'm being taught to travel to the spirit worlds. The booming is me drumming away until I fall into a trance.”

  “You really was talking to an invisible crow this morning?” Suspicion still clouds Janice's eyes.

  I nod. “How are you keeping? One downside of being down here is I don't see people about so much.”

  “I think you're a wee bit mental, pal, but who isn't round here?” She shrugs. “My chest feels tight when I breathe. I can't cough although I want too. It's just stuck in there.”

  “I'm not a doctor, please bear that in mind.”

  She smiles. “Half the time they can't fucking help anyway.”

  “I'll see what I can do for you, but you're probably as well getting some expectorant from the chemist. Have you tried giving up the fags?”

  “Aw, Nik. Smoking's all I've got.”

  I can't help but sympathise. “I don't know how you can afford it.”

  “I know a guy who sees me right.”

  I hold the mug between both my hands to warm them. “Isn't that dangerous? You could be inhaling floor sweepings and rat droppings.”

  “That's my problem no yours.”

  “It becomes mine if you're asking me to help you.”

  “I didn't fucking ask you for anything. Come on Brutus.” She puts down the mug and marches along the platform. She scrapes a fag out of a packet and lights up before climbing the steps.

  I shake my head. You can't help those who won't help themselves.

  Corbie is still absent. I guess I've done my homework already. I'm intrigued by the difference in the Otherworld I experience through man-made or technological materials and the one where I use more natural resources. How can a drum skin make so much difference? I want to learn more, and my guide is not so much sceptical as in denial. It appears to be easier to pass over on an empty stomach, so I finish my tea and collect my bucket drum then put on my leather jeans and iron coat.