A Conspiracy of Ravens: A Raven Saga Book 1

by Crymsyn R. Hart

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  Amira Press

  www.amirapress.com

  Copyright ©

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  A Conspiracy of Ravens:

  A Raven Saga

  Copyright © January 2008, Crymsyn R. Hart

  Cover art by Mariya Krusheva © January 2008

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Amira Press, LLC

  Baltimore, MD 21216

  www.amirapress.com

  A Conspiracy is used to define a flock of Ravens.

  Prologue

  "Cursed forever to fly the skies until summoned to right the wrongs of all mankind..."

  The words echoed in Tremain's mind. His arms still ached from holding his beloved Beatrice. They had it wrong. He would never have hurt her. Could never have done such a thing to her. But the priestess, her mother Genève, would not be swayed. No matter how much he begged. He had lived and feasted with the village, brought their children into the world, and now he was being called murderer.

  "Please—I couldn't. You know I loved her,” he shouted.

  No one listened. No one believed him. He had been tried and the Dark Goddess already summoned. Morrigain, their dark mother, ruler over the dead and fierce battle-tempered goddess.

  "Hear me, Great Dark Mother, our eternal watcher. Show him your justice. Let him know torment for all time as my heart and soul now suffer."

  "Please—” He cried again, reaching out to the other villagers and his brother Druids who had turned their backs on him, shunning him, cutting him off from their eternal bond. The energy surrounding him grew white hot. From the summons, the dawn-lit sky had become night black. Tremain's gaze darted across the twilight sky as not even a star met his gaze. A flash of silver shot down from the now full moon overhead. The power hit his left shoulder like a searing brand melting his flesh. The agony of the burn hit his throat, but the only sound which escaped his lips was the gravely squawk of a raven.

  Chapter One

  Midnight eyes detected a shapely form skipping down the dark alley. Her simple white dress lifted high enough to give any interested male a peek at what she was hiding. Tumbling brown hair framed an oval face with delicate features and cupid lips. Gray eyes marked her appearance as something from another world. Those eyes gazed at him as she climbed the concrete steps at the back of the theater leading to a door which read “Cast Only.” Her hand went to the door, but she stopped as if she sensed something stirring in the alleyway with her like she knew there was something, or someone, watching her.

  A raven had perched across the street from the Wang Theater along the perimeter of the tallest building, giving him a good view if anything materialized in the passageway below him. He was so used to his duty he had mastered the art of becoming a statue, appearing as if he were a gargoyle atop the structure. As the girl turned, she looked up and met his onyx eyes. He croaked and blinked as he heard the woman's voice in his mind.

  "Tell Mother I'm perfectly well. I don't need any of her accursed Warriors watching over me. Go do your duty somewhere else."

  Frustrated, he stretched his wings and fluffed his feathers before answering her. He was not happy keeping an eye on his charge. She was not happy having a caretaker. "Maili, you know I can't do that. I'm in enough trouble with your mother as it is. I am only doing what I'm told."

  Tremain heard and felt Maili sigh. The vibration shivered his feathers. His ward could shatter glass as she could shatter men's hearts with the timbre of her voice. The metal of the door handle creaked under her grip. She might have seemed mortal, but she possessed some of the attributes of her mother's side. Her mother was Betha, Banshee Queen, and the one who doled out the assignments for him and his cursed brethren. It was his punishment for eternity.

  Just as Maili loosened her grip on the door and grunted in annoyance at having a feathered bodyguard, he crooned in aggravation. He longed to feel the cool metal of the handle under his touch. The Druid's gaze traveled skyward. In two days, the moon would be full. It was another affliction of his duty. He was bound to his feathered body for most of the month until the three days of the full moon and on High Holidays, the days when the seasons changed and the those of the Ancient Religion festivals. All in all, he walked among humanity only forty-five days out of three hundred sixty-five. Besides those few blessed days, he was bound to be a raven soaring the skies with his twelve other brothers righting the wrongs of mankind, unless he was assigned to guard over someone. Many of his brothers were protectors of various magickal creatures or humans. Some did not know it.

  "I don't want to get you in trouble, Tremain, but I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Mother has to stop worrying about me. Fly away, birdie, so I can get ready for the show. I don't need your prying eyes on me all the time."

  Don't shoot the messenger. Tremain groaned. If he went back with that message for Maili's mother he would find himself turned into a frog or something worse. He was on his last feather of tolerance with the queen. She had ordered him to keep an eye on her daughter since Maili was now attracting attention in the mortal world. Betha wanted to be sure her flesh and blood would not be harmed in any way or would not provide a hint to the real world there was another one walking behind it, veiled in shadows and reflections. Only a few humans sensed it. Those were the ones he and his brethren watched out for and defended if need be. Those were the ones who were linked to this world and the next. Because they were special, they needed unusual guardians. He had been assigned the chore of being caretaker for Maili after a dark sorcerer, who had wanted the witch's magic and family spells, had killed his last charge.

  Tremain had done as he was supposed to do. However, he could not take human form to rescue the fallen witch since the moon was only a sliver. He had cried out into the night for the queen's guards, but it was too late. Betha had blamed him, giving him a new assignment to protect her daughter. If anything went wrong, he would find his immortal soul in the depths of hell, like a fallen angel, suffering for eternity. Then his curse would seem like a blessing. The raven clapped his beak together in irritation. The queen didn't know he was already in hell. If she did, Betha didn't care.

  A small breeze stirred the dust on the street. The scent of rain and rotten Chinese food tainted the Boston air. The subway rumbled the building under his talons. Inside the theater, the orchestra was warming up for their performance. Pigeons were on a ledge below him, cooing at the people walking by, hoping for breadcrumbs or a delectable donut. Cars honked as pedestrians claimed the right of way and the lights turned green at the wrong time. Life vibrated all around him. A life he had not been part of for centuries. A tingle started in his tail feathers and spidered its way up his spine. He sensed something in the gloom.

  His eyes narrowed, scouring the darkness of the alleyway. The raven willed his vision to shift so he could peer between the worlds and look into the Gray, to see if anyone was hiding, but saw no one. Something was amiss even though no shadow was out of place. The door slammed shut, jarring him back to the present. When he looked back, he saw Maili in the arms of her mortal lover, Jason. Her boy toy played the
part of the Scarecrow opposite Maili's Dorothy in the little production at the Wang. He hissed at the sight.

  Love was futile.

  It broke hearts and tore apart souls. Tremain knew that firsthand. He had suffered through it centuries ago when his beloved had killed herself and he had been blamed for her demise. He ruffled his feathers as he pushed his mind away from Beatrice. Lingering in the past did no good, and he was not ready to have his ass kicked by the queen's guards. Smiling to himself, he jumped off the building and let his feathers catch the updraft. For a frozen moment, he hung in the air like a captured shadow. This was the only thing he cherished about his situation. The sense of freedom he had when he flew. Nothing could touch him. The ability to soar above the land, the people, the problems humans caused gave him the one slice of enjoyment he had in his long, drawn out eternity.

  The draft stopped, and he started to drop. He brought his wings close to his body to build speed. Aiming for the surfer wannabe, he extended his claws as the nest of blond hair called to him. Uttering a shrill scream, the boy looked up and covered his face with his hands to protect his plastic-surgery good looks. Tremain laughed, which came out as a cackle. He loved messing with mortals. He curbed his talons at the last moment, barely grazing the boy's arms. Nothing to worry about. However, as he settled on the dumpster across the way, Maili shot him a look. If it were her decision, he would be lunch for the queen's demonic hounds and stuffing for a pillow. He did nothing, but started preening his blue-black feathers and then looked at her innocently.

  "It's not my fault your boyfriend is an idiot. He's only using you to further his career. Have a great romp with him. Fuck him till his balls shrivel up, and then drop him. He does not love you," Tremain remarked.

  "And what do you know of love?"

  His gaze hardened as did his thoughts. "I know enough to avoid it. It's not worth wrapping your heart around someone to have it crushed. In the end, it's better to have an empty heart, because if you don't, you'll find yourself wishing you had. Toss him aside, girlie."

  Maili ignored his remarks and consoled her distraught lover, who was frantically checking his face for any blemish. The two finally entered the theater to get ready for the show. Tremain had heard her boyfriend croon as badly as a sick cat in his role. Whatever his charge saw in Jason, he did not know. Finally, the druid decided to resume his perch on the building across the street. Once he settled against the concrete exterior, he became a gargoyle once again, blending in with the darkness. His coal eyes searched the night, looking for the disturbance he had sensed earlier, but he found nothing save the growing smog-covered moon and the humans walking the street below.

  Chapter Two

  Linnea stared at the tiny silver hands on her watch. They moved slowly toward eight o'clock. The gold metallic band had started to turn green on the bottom, its elastic weakening after years of use. Her grandmother had given it to her before she died, along with the house, everything in it, and all the family secrets. So far, she had not been able to unlock any of those. Her grandmother had told her one day she would be able to. For years, her grandmother had woven stories about the powers inherited down the line of their ancestors and about her parents, who had died in a freak car crash when she was a child.

  "Shit.” She clutched the metal bar inside the subway. The digital sign above the door showed she had one more stop before the theater. The train was running behind schedule. She had left her house a half hour early to catch the right train. No matter how early she seemed to leave these days, she was always late. Joshua, the conductor, was not happy with her as it was. She couldn't help it if the universe was against her getting to work on time. Checking her watch one more time, she wished there was a way for her to magically transport herself to the Wang. At least then she would not have to worry about being late for a rehearsal or the show. Tonight was opening night for the second run of the Wizard of Oz. Her best friend was Dorothy, and most beautiful singer anyone had ever heard. Maili had the voice of an angel. Something about it always vibrated deep inside of Linnea like the reverberation of a bell after it was rung. Even when she hummed there was something so hypnotic about it, Linnea had to be careful not to lose herself to it. Maili had so much power over people. When she opened her mouth, her best friend had no idea, and Linnea envied that. One day Maili would make it big, leaving her behind in the dust of high notes. She expected that, though. There was nothing special about Linnea. What was a witch without her powers?

  A dud. That's what! she thought. Linnea sighed and tried not to think about her heritage. That was a migraine waiting to happen.

  Clutching the flute case in her hand, Linnea focused all of her energy into making the subway train go a little bit faster. Maybe she could slip into the theater without Joshua noticing she was late again. The train stopped. The doors slid halfway open. She went to exit, but they closed again. They were playing a joke on her. Without thinking, she kicked her pointed shoe against the door. That was a mistake. A bolt of pain shot up her leg. Linnea was left hobbling on one foot as the doors finally yawned open to let her free of the sardine can. For years, she said she was going to get a car and stop relying on public transportation. As time went by, she kept letting the idea and cost of a car go out of her mind as she was perfectly at home in the city. She was happy. Everything she wanted was around Boston. If need be, she could take the train up to Salem and visit her grandmother's coven. She laughed at the thought of the Old Cronies, three old women who had been her family and her grandmother's friends since before she could remember. They had taught her everything they knew about herb lore, about the legends of her Celtic past, when was a good day to bake bread, and which star was the right one to wish upon when she needed to cast a spell. They possessed so much knowledge. All of them had hoped to pass it on to her.

  Fat chance at that!

  Henrietta, her grandmother's best friend said she had a great future ahead of her. The old witch had sensed a great power hidden underneath the surface of Linnea. Where was it when she needed it? Right now, I need to be Samantha and wiggle my nose. If I do that, I'll look like a deranged rabbit.

  Linnea hopped up the stairs to street level. Her watch now read eight-fifteen. She had fifteen minutes to get her instrument warmed up and be in her seat before the curtain rose.

  "Shit."

  This was a time when she wished her grandmother's stories were true. She needed to be able to make herself disappear and reappear inside the theater. Her grandmother and the Old Cronies had powers. No matter how the flautist tried, she couldn't make a grain of rice rise off the table even an inch. Everything her grandmother touched had magic in it. The woman had been the last true witch of their line. She could light candles with a wave of her hand, make it rain with a few choice words, summon the wind with a thought, and whisper spells which always came to pass. Linnea had none of that power even though she had witnessed it firsthand. When the coven gathered, the Old Cronies raised a cone of power. The cone could fuel the entire city of Boston for a month if the witches wanted it to. If the Old Cronies desired, they could use the power and break into another dimension. However, they never conjured anything unsafe.

  Checking her watch again, Linnea stopped in the alley next to the theater and rubbed her toe as she leaned against the staircase leading into the backstage. It throbbed from where she had kicked the subway door. Hobbling the block down Tremont Street to the theater hadn't helped either. Nor did getting her heel stuck in the sidewalk stream grate. Taking her shoe off, she noticed there was gum on the bottom of her spiked heel. Great. Just freakin’ wonderful.

  Gazing at her toe, she wiggled it slowly and realized it was not broken, but it was close. It was all she needed considering her now injured foot was the one she kept beat with while she was playing. At this rate, it would be hurting all night. A nasty bruise had already started forming under the nail.

  "Better late than never."

  Linnea looked up to see Maili staring down at her. She was alr
eady in Oz garb. Unlike some of the other Dorthys Linnea had seen sing their way through the theater, Maili didn't need a wig. Her hair was naturally ebony dark. Linnea eyed a strand of her dull brown hair and wished she was half as pretty as her best friend.

  The flautist gazed at her chewed nails with the chipped purple polish on them. She had tried to stop biting them and let them grow, but with playing the flute so much, long nails would hinder her playing, so she reverted back to her habit of gnawing. It didn't matter if she had fake nails on either. She bit into those, too. Linnea shook her head and stared up at her friend, who was inhaling a drag from a cigarette. Linnea waved her hand to move the smoke away. She didn't know how many times she had told her friend to quit sucking on those things. Eventually it would ruin her beautiful voice.

  "You should stop that you know. Some of us need our lungs to make a living. Besides, you don't want to damage those pipes of yours.” Linnea struggled to get her foot back into her shoe since her big toe had swollen to the size of a golf ball. A regiment of soaking in Epsom salts and lavender followed by a bag of ice was what she was up for when she got home. Hopefully then she could walk on it without looking like a crooked monkey.

  Maili chuckled. It sounded like the tinkling of breaking glass. “I'm down to three a day. That won't kill me. Then again I still have one after sex. I guess my habit is about seven a day."

  Linnea blushed at the mention of her friend's sex life. The whole cast knew she was fucking the scarecrow. Whatever Maili saw in Jason, she did not know. He was as bad a singer as he was an actor. He might be sleeping with Maili, but that doesn't mean any of her talent is going to rub off on him. He's an idiot. Why can't he get a clue? Why can't Maili just get rid of him? He's got no brains, just like his character. Jason was so concerned about his looks, the whole show stopped if he had a pimple. Linnea knew he was cute. Blond hair, tan, blue eyes and a six pack for a stomach. He might not have been so bad, if he didn't think everyone around him was there to wait on him hand and foot. No matter. Linnea knew her friend would get tired of her boy toy sooner of later and move onto someone else. She had seen it before. The flautist doubted Maili ever really loved anyone. If Linnea brought it up over their late night sessions of rocky road ice cream and orange vodka, Maili laughed it off and changed the subject. The singer had confided in Linnea once that she was not going to get married. Her mother had already arranged one for her. How many flings she had didn't matter just as long as she knew when it was time to get married, that was it. Linnea didn't press the issue further as she had heard the resentment in her best friend's voice. She didn't understand the whole idea of an arranged marriage, but it was obvious Maili was from a different kind of family and society. She didn't need to worry about money and always treated when they went out. Linnea had never met her best friend's mother. That Maili had a mother who didn't interact with her made Linnea feel bad. She would have killed for that. She didn't remember her parents, just the photographs her grandmother had of them at their wedding when they seemed to be happy. How happy she would never know.