In the Land of Tea and Ravens

by R. K. Ryals

  “No,” Lyric murmured. The tea kettle whistled, and she poured two cups before offering him her hand again. “I want you to trust me.”

  He stared at her hand. The steaming cups sitting on the floor between them emptied steam into the small space, heating the already hot air and reddening their faces. One of the cups was small and white, the other was brown, ugly, and bigger than the first. It looked more like a coffee mug than a tea cup and was chipped on the top. He recognized the mug.

  He nodded at it. “You were holding that cup the day I met you.”

  Lyric didn’t respond, although her hand remained out, her palm up. “Trust me,” she repeated.

  His gaze captured hers. “Has anyone ever told you that you speak like an old woman?”

  She threw him a small smile. “Too much tea does that to a person.”

  His grin answered hers. “You’re a mystery, Lyric.”

  Her fingers spread, her palm widening. “Then solve it.”

  He accepted her hand, his fingers damp against hers in the heat.

  “This tea was made for communicating with my family,” Lyric explained. Using her free hand, she handed him the brown mug while keeping the white one for herself. “Don’t drop the cup. Whatever you do, Grayson, do not drop the cup.”

  There was something unsettling about her words, the way her eyes searched his. In that moment, he wasn’t just holding a cup. He felt like he was holding her life in his hands, as if he could destroy her with a single flick of his wrist.

  Then she said the three words that would destroy him. “I trust you,” she whispered. “I want the freedom of letting go.”

  The mug found its way to Grayson’s lips, a woodsy cinnamon scent tickling his nose. He knew this smell, and his fingers tightened on the mug, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Lyric followed suit, her hand tightening on his.

  Somewhere above them, a door slammed. The ravens went wild, their black wings fluttering, their screams deafening. A strong wind blew through the house and pictures fell in the living room, glass shattering.

  “What have you done?” a female voice exclaimed. “You’re going to destroy him!”

  Lyric gripped Grayson’s hand so tight, his fingers tingled.

  “Aunt Ginger,” Lyric introduced, her head nodding at a raven perched along the kitchen’s old cupboard. The bird glared.

  The room tilted and Grayson’s fingers loosened on the mug he held.

  Lyric tugged on him. “Don’t!” she begged. “Don’t drop it!”

  The ravens screamed. There was fear in the caws, terror in the way they cried out.

  Grayson stared down at the mug. “What is this?” he asked.

  Lyric inhaled. “You drop that cup and you kill us all.”

  Grayson froze, his heart rate climbing. “It’s a cup,” he breathed.

  Lyric laughed, the sound harsh. “It’s our lives,” she corrected, her hands sweeping the room. “All of our lives. Even women who aren’t here with us now are tied to that mug. If it breaks, we die.”

  Grayson shook his head. “It’s a fucking cup.”

  Laying her cup down, Lyric reached for Grayson’s chin, using her fingers to lift his face. “It’s our lives. A beautifully sad story really.”

  The feeling of her fingers on his skin felt better than it should. “Tell me,” he whispered.

  She took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, in a land quite similar to our own, there lived a poor merchant …”

  ~14~

  Jealousy is a vicious beast with a voracious appetite. It ate the hearts of the merchant’s eldest daughters. They envied their sister. They not only envied the love they saw in the king’s eyes, they envied the power they knew their sister would have. She was going to be a queen. Jealousy bred hate. In jealousy, the sisters took the tea Mercy carried to her betrothed every morning, and they poisoned it ...

  ~The Tea Girl~

  Lyric’s voice was enthralling, the story of a young unnamed woman living by the sea unfurling off of her tongue as smoothly as honey. The sound lessened the bleakness of their surroundings and muted the banging doors and screaming birds. Her words almost drowned out the voices.

  “The tea girl,” a female spat.

  “Greed,” another murmured.

  “We’ve suffered enough,” yet another groused.

  The last strains of the story filtered through the room, Lyric’s voice trailing off.

  Grayson cradled the cup in his hands. It was empty now other than the wet tea leaves scattered within. “And so you’re all trapped?” he asked.

  Lyric watched him. “When I was a child, my mother used to sing me a song,” she said. “Sung to the women in my family for generations, it’s meant to remind us where we came from and why we ended up this way.”

  Grayson stared at the cup. It was a strange feeling knowing he was holding the lives of generations of women in his hands. It was even stranger knowing that he could kill them all simply by breaking it. The feeling was powerful, heady, and disturbing.

  “Why?” he asked, his gaze catching hers. “Why trust me?”

  Her lips twitched. “Because you understand loss.”

  He set the cup carefully on the floor, and the raucous ravens suddenly calmed, their relief evident. “You don’t know me,” Grayson murmured. “I could have just as easily broken the cup.”

  Lyric frowned. “You could have just as easily walked away. You could have not believed me. Yet you kept coming back. You kept making promises, and you haven’t scoffed at my story.” Her gaze held his. “You could have left me alone in the dark, but instead you keep coming here. You stand at your window at night, watching this house, and you keep me company. Why do you do it?”

  Grayson shifted uneasily. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth. “I don’t know why I do it.”

  Lyric smiled, shrugging. “It’s enough.”

  For a long moment, they simply sat in silence, the ravens fluttering and the doors of the house creaking open before slamming closed. They shifted on the floor, their eyes skirting each other before scooting away. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, it was the healing kind, the type that introduced people to each other without words. It was the kind of silence that said, “I’m here and that’s enough.” It was the kind of silence that fed the soul.

  “The song,” Grayson said abruptly, his hoarse voice breaking the solitude, “can you sing it to me?”

  Lyric glanced at him, her lips parting. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, her eyes a deep green now, the color so dark they were almost brown. Her hair was a crazy halo around her head. Her entire body thrummed with life. It seemed wrong that it could all disappear simply by breaking a cup.

  “Sing it to me,” Grayson repeated.

  Lyric sang.

  Sing to me, called the maid.

  Smile for me, replied the raven.

  But I cannot smile, the maid wept.

  Then I cannot sing, the raven replied.

  To the sky, to the mountain, to the sea.

  The bird flew.

  To the planes, to the future, to the past.

  The maid withdrew

  A cup, a cup, a cup.

  A cup of tea, the raven called.

  A cup of tea, my maiden dear.

  A cup, a cup, a cup.

  A cup of tea. A cup of fear.

  Sing to me, called the maid.

  Smile for me, replied the raven.

  But I cannot smile, the maid wept.

  Then I cannot sing, the raven replied.

  A cup, a cup, a cup,

  A cup of tea, the raven called.

  I have no tea,” the maiden bawled.

  It’s been poisoned by greed.

  ~15~

  Greed took the king’s life. As she did every morning, the tea girl brought tea to her betrothed. Unbeknownst to her, the brew was laced with poison. The Messenger King drank deeply, trusting her. Abruptly, he coughed, his hands going to his thr
oat as he struggled for air. “What have you done?” he sputtered, his eyes wide with horror. Terror gripped Mercy. “Nothing, my love!” she cried. “I have done nothing.” His lips turning blue, his gaze glassy, the king murmured, “I loved you.” In death, his hands released the cup that poisoned him. It rolled to the floor and came to rest against the boots of the king’s advisor. Grief overwhelmed Caelin, for there was nothing the druid could do against death. In anger, Caelin took the cup, his gaze going to the tea girl. “You’ve been tricked,” he said. Mercy felt broken. “My heart hurts,” she sobbed. “Bring him back.” Caelin’s tears joined hers. “I cannot,” he said, “but I can punish those who did this.” Lifting the cup, he drew on the spirits of nature. “Forevermore, the women of your family shall be tied to this cup. Should it ever break, all of you shall die. Even in death, the cup will keep you, your spirits returning to it in the guise of a raven.” Caelin’s gaze found the tea girl, and he took pity on her. “It shall be the tea women in your family who protect the cup.” They were damning words …

  ~The Tea Girl~

  “It seems wrong,” Grayson mumbled when the song was finished. He looked at Lyric. “It’s a fairytale.”

  She brought her knees to her chest, her long, tiered skirt dusting the floor. “Like I said, it’s a beautifully sad story. Full of love and betrayal.”

  Grayson’s gaze fell once more to the cup, to the small chip on the top. “It’s already broken,” he pointed out.

  Lyric froze. “No,” she whispered. “It’s chipped. Not broken.”

  Grayson stared at the small area missing the fragment, a sudden understanding dawning on him. He glanced at Lyric, his gaze falling on her face. Her chest was rising and falling swiftly, as if she was fighting back tears.

  Grayson swallowed. “Your mother.”

  It was all he said.

  One of Lyric’s hands dropped to the floor, her fingers trailing the dust that coated it. She drew in the grime. “I had always been told never to touch the cup. The warnings and reprimands started as soon as I was old enough to walk and to get into trouble.”

  A heart appeared below her fingers. “There was always the song, lectures about how the cup should never be played with or broken.” Lyric inhaled, the sound shaky. “The cup was so important to her. It was so damned important!” Her gaze slid up to Grayson’s face. “I thought she loved the cup more than me. She coddled the cup, paid it attention, and guarded it. I was tired of getting in trouble if I went near it.”

  Her gaze fell back to the floor, to the heart she’d drawn into the dirt. “My grandmother was sick. She was fighting a cold, and I just wanted to help. So, one day, I tried to make tea on my own. My mother found me in the kitchen with the cup. Instead of being proud that I’d wanted to help, she yelled. ‘Get away from the cup,’ she told me. I was so angry. I’d only wanted to help.” Lyric’s finger drew a ragged line down the middle of the heart. “I didn’t know …”

  Grayson’s hand reached for hers.

  She pulled away. “I didn’t know dropping the cup would kill her.”

  Grayson exhaled. “Lyric—”

  Her gaze found his. “I understand what it’s like to hurt someone you love,” she said.

  Some moments breed words. Other moments breed silence. Grayson said nothing, his gaze searching Lyric’s face. She avoided his eyes, her hand smearing the drawing in the dirt. She’d just confessed to unknowingly killing her mother.

  After a moment, Grayson asked, “Why your mother? Why did the piece that broke off kill her and not someone else?”

  Lyric sighed, her hands capturing her knees, her drawing forgotten. “I asked my grandmother that once. There are so many things about the cup that have been lost to us. She believes it took my mother because I’m the one who chipped it. Out of a selfish need for attention, I broke it.”

  Grayson’s hands found Lyric’s skirt, his fingers closing around the material. “We’re all selfish. It’s an ingrained human behavior. You didn’t know.”

  Lyric stared at his hands, at his work roughened skin against her colorful skirt. “Maybe,” she answered, “but I still killed her.”

  It was a heavy burden to bear.

  The sudden droning sound of a four-wheeler broke their silence. Lyric’s gaze found Grayson’s. “You’ve been missed.”

  He released her and stood, his eyes finding the kitchen door.

  “Go,” Lyric told him. “You can go through the woods from the back of the house. No need to worry about me. No one dares enter this place.”

  Grayson peered down at her bent head and shaking shoulders. She was suddenly more than just a pretty young woman. She was a wounded old soul, alluring and tempting, her gypsy skirts and wild hair hiding secrets that had driven men insane. It made sense that people went crazy. Her story, her history, was so surreal that it blurred the lines between reality and fiction. If people like Merlin really existed, how many legends in history was actually fact?

  Lyric glanced up at him, and his lips parted.

  “Don’t say it,” she warned.

  He smiled. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

  “Damn you,” she muttered.

  His smile grew. “Have a little faith, Lyric.”

  She stared. “In you?”

  His smile slipped. He’d had a brother once who’d trusted him, and he’d failed him. Now, here was a stranger, an unassuming temptress who was doing something no one else had done since he’d been released from prison. She was giving him a second chance. She’d placed a cup in his hands, one that as crazy as it seemed, could destroy her. She’d placed it in his hands and trusted him not to break it.

  “I’m not as fragile as I seem,” Lyric said suddenly.

  Grayson’s gaze fell to the cup. No, she wasn’t fragile. Even in the short time he’d known her, he’d seen enough resilience in her character to know she was stronger than most. She wasn’t fragile, but her life was.

  “There comes a time,” Lyric whispered, her words breaking into his thoughts. “There comes a time when you’ve cried so much, it’s either sink in the flood left behind or swim.”

  For the first time in a long time, Grayson felt the stir of something he’d thought he’d lost in his gut. Recovery.

  “I’ve heard about what happened to you,” Lyric continued. She swallowed. “You didn’t ask your brother to follow you. He did that on his own. You made a mistake, and he got caught up in it. Mistakes don’t define us,” she stared at him, “what we do about them does.”

  The sound of the four-wheeler was loud now, the droning insistent.

  “Have a little faith,” Grayson repeated, his feet carrying him to the gaping hole at the back of the kitchen, his gaze sliding from the woods beyond to the kitchen and back again. “In me,” he added.

  If he’d glanced behind him, he would have seen her stand, her hands clutching the empty, brown mug, her gaze on the tea leaves within. He would have seen her lips twitch. He would have seen her whisper the words, “No, you have a little faith in me.”

  She’d taken him to a tea party that would never end. A door in the house’s second level slammed closed. It was a tea party of spirits imprisoned by a tea cup, the tea girl their jailer. They were all on death row for eternity, their trust in one person. Women in her family, both still alive and others now embodied by the ravens, depended on her to keep them alive.

  She held a lot of lives in her hand, and she’d handed them to him. Because in the end, she’d seen what no one else had: that sometimes having unparalleled responsibility is the first step to starting over.

  People were willing to revel in his infamy, to taste danger.

  Lyric knew Danger. She held his hand every day. By sharing tea with Grayson, she’d given Danger a purpose.

  People need purpose.

  ~16~

  In time, the tea cup changed, the generations following having altered it by adding layers of glass. It went from being a fragile porcelain cup to being a thick mug. It didn’t le
ssen the danger. No matter how much it was altered, Caelin’s words held unending power. It wasn’t a curse that bound the women to the cup, it was a promise. Promises are stronger than curses. Promises strengthen over time. There are many ways to break a curse. There are few ways to break a promise, and promises when broken, always come with consequences.

  ~The Tea Girl~

  He never left her alone at night.

  While searching bug-infested hallways and moldy rooms for Old Ma’am’s tea book, Lyric often paused to stand at one of the windows of the house, her gaze finding the lit Kramer home across the way. Her kerosene lantern threw shadows everywhere, the constant cawing of the ravens digging itself under her skin. Every day she stayed, she risked herself. She risked her health in a house falling apart around her, and she risked the community’s animosity.

  And yet, he never left her alone at night.

  While standing at the window, the darkness a blanket over the earth, she watched his silhouette in a second story casement, his frame leaning casually. Watching and waiting. Keeping her company from a distance.

  Three days passed. Three days of searching. Three nights of standing in windows.

  The fourth night was no different. He watched her even now from his room on the second floor.

  Taking a sip from a water bottle filled with tea, Lyric lowered her lantern, her gaze searching the contents of an ancient trunk in her mother’s old bedroom. It had been hidden under a pile of rubble she’d leafed through the day before.

  You’re foolish to trust him, a bird said.

  Men are nothing but trouble, another raven added.

  “Ye of little faith,” Lyric mumbled.

  A raven fluttered down to the trunk. She was a small raven but spunky. Lyric’s Aunt Violet. I was killed by a man, the bird retorted.

  Lyric snorted. “Because your insanity rubbed off on him.”

  Violet’s feathers shook, and she preened herself in annoyance. Insanity? Aren’t we all insane?

  Lyric’s brows rose. “We’re connected to the tea cup, not ruled by it. You had a mental illness you should have gotten help for.”