Call of the Raven

by Shawn Reilly

  On the bed, Miss Ison sat, and what little she had on in the way of clothing, an oversized tee-shirt with a bear on the front was torn and falling down off one shoulder. Her mouth was bleeding, her eye swollen and red, and there were long red scrapes across her right shoulder.

  “Are you okay Miss Ison?”

  Gasping, she looked up at Mary, wild panic and fear causing her eyes to fly open in surprise. Mary thought she had pretty eyes, when they weren’t blackened and puffy. Her eyes were blue like the sky. When she was done up just right, Mary thought she looked a little like a movie actress. Miss Ison was definitely too pretty to be with someone like her thug of a boyfriend.

  “You…!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here…in my apartment?”

  “My name is Rosemary but my mom calls me Mary. I live downstairs.”

  Again, Miss Ison’s eyes widened. Her tongue flicked out to lick at the blood on her lip. “You…live…downstairs. Well…if that don’t beat all.”

  “I heard the fighting and since the door was open, I thought I would see if you were all right.”

  “Just great, that guy’s an idiot. I told him that I thought someone might have been following me home after work, so what does he do? He leaves the front door open so anyone can walk in.” She got up slowly as though every muscle in her body ached and Mary followed her to the living room.

  Miss Ison stepped over the broken lamp, stopped to pick up a book and proceeded to shut the door. Once all the locks were in place, she turned around and glared at her. Suddenly, Mary felt small and frightened.

  “So, if you live downstairs, why haven’t I seen you around before?”

  “My mother and I haven’t lived here long.”

  “Wait, is she the skinny bleach blonde with the Harley biker for a boyfriend?” she asked. Mary nodded. She knew what she thought. Mother looked bad. Whenever she was back on booze, she seldom stopped to eat or take care of herself. Her hair always looked uncombed, her clothes wrinkled and dirty. But she could be pretty when she wanted to be.

  “Yeah, the idiot likes to take Julio’s parking spot,” Miss Ison said. “And Julio just loves it when someone gives him a reason to use his blade.” She squatted down and shook her head at the shattered mirror. An odd expression took over her countenance as she picked up a sliver of glass. “This mirror belonged to my grandmother. Aah, what does it matter now? I don’t need a mirror to know that what Julio says is true. I am ugly.”

  “You’re not ugly Miss Ison.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think. After what Julio did…I feel ugly on the inside and that’s what counts.” For several long seconds, she stared at the sliver of mirrored glass—eyes traveling back and forth between the sharp point and her wrist.

  Mary cleared her throat to let her know she was still there. Snapping out of it, Miss Ison pulled down the tee-shirt and inspected the long red scratches, and what appeared to be teeth marks on her shoulder.

  “I can’t believe he clawed me like a girl. What a wimp,” she sniffed. “The good side of that is your mamma’s boyfriend might not have anything to worry about after all.”

  She stood and limped toward the kitchen, tossing the sliver of glass into a waste can by the door as she passed by. “I didn’t have a chance to eat my dinner, but of course that is ruined now thanks to Julio’s little outburst. I think I have some boloney and cheese left in the fridge though, if you want to join me?”

  Mary’s stomach lurched at the mention of food. She had eaten a chocolate Moon pie for dinner and a handful of dry Cheerio’s, the last few choices in the cupboard. A sandwich of any kind sounded good to her, even if she didn’t really like baloney.

  Conflicted Mary looked toward the door. She didn’t want to leave mother too long, especially since she had left the front door unlocked, but then again, why should she care. It wasn’t like mom cared about her anymore. Mary listened as Miss Ison slammed a few cabinets shut in the kitchen. Mary knew she was upset. Her thug of a boyfriend had really hurt her this time.

  “Oh come on in, have something to eat with me,” she called to her. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me about that guy at the library today, and hopefully when you’re through, I won’t feel so bad about getting fired.”

  Without even realizing it, Mary had moved to the entrance of the kitchen. The woman she only knew as Miss Ison was standing at the counter pulling a loaf of bread from a cabinet. Wherever she walked, she left a bloody toe print on the dingy white tile. There were bruises in an assortment of colors ranging from black to brown to yellow on the backs of her thighs and calves. On her bicep, there was the red imprint of a hand. Suddenly, Mary’s heart felt sad. Miss Ison didn’t look very old and even though she didn’t truly know her, Mary knew she didn’t deserve to be treated so unkindly.

  No one deserved to be treated so unkindly.

  On the tabletop, next to a paper plate, was a book much like the one that she had read earlier that day to the kids in the ‘I Read’ book club. Miss Ison liked to read at home on the fire escape during the warmer nights when her boyfriend wasn’t home. One night he had showed up unexpectedly, and Miss Ison had left the book she was reading behind and Mary had taken it.

  For the last year, ever since Mary had first shifted, she had been both frightened and ashamed. She knew no others like herself until she read about them in the pages of a book. And for that, Mary had subconsciously reached out to Miss Ison. The last thing Mary wanted was for Miss Ison to lose her job on the account of her. When Miss Ison turned around and looked at her, she met her gaze.

  “I don’t know that man, Miss Ison, and I’m sorry if I got you fired.”

  Miss Ison nodded. “Don’t worry about the job, it wasn’t your fault. I just said that to get you to talk. Did you tell your mom about what happened?”

  “I tried to but she’s…” Mary trailed off. She didn’t want to talk bad about her mom.

  “I see,” Miss Ison sadly smiled, “then maybe you should tell me what happened, you know, just in case he comes back again.” She set the bread and the baloney down in the center of the table, and then gestured to the seat opposite. “Have a seat, and by the way,” Miss Ison said, “my name is Elle like the magazine.”

  “You mean like the letter L?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, like the letter L.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Restitution

  Climbing higher the grey raced for the ridge above, each step, each stride taking him closer and closer to the round orb suspended above him in the sky. Once there he stopped as white puffs of breath exploded from his partially opened snout. Tilting his head upwards, the grey howled. His lonely cries echoed throughout the valley and as his eyes fell sadly on the dwelling below, he noticed the shadow of a man standing in the garden.

  Yes, he knew what it was, a garden that once filled the night with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. Instinctively, he squatted down, but then something strange happened. The man changed shapes and suddenly took the form of a wolf. He recalled him then, the black with the glaring orange eyes. He couldn’t remember how he knew him anymore then he could remember how he knew about the garden.

  The black started for the ridge slowly at first then began to run at a much faster lope. He remained his ground as the black disappeared into the trees below, and even seconds later when he heard a low growl behind him. Turning around he saw the orange eyes first as the black emerged through the trees. The black wondered if he could trust him. Lowering his head submissively to the ground, the grey waited.

  Shifting back Asher stood panting, eyes fixed on the grey wolf. He took a deep breath but he couldn’t detect anything in his human form either. Dropping down to his knees, Asher reached up and removed the hood of his parka so the wolf could get a better look. Maybe if he could just see him.

  As guilt, anger and fear washed over him, Asher began to cry. He felt the cold brittle wind as his icy tears spilled down his face, but he could not stop them from coming. He looked up at
the wolf, begging to be seen.

  “Grant!” he screamed just as he had in the church “Please tell me what I’m supposed to do!” With his words echoing on the quiet night, Asher knew that he had startled the wolf. It was standing up now acting as though it would dart past him toward the woods or jump off the ridge in fear of him.

  “Please don’t go. I know it’s you. I was afraid, that’s why I didn’t go after you that night. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to bring you back. I don’t know what anyone wants from me. I tried to tell you that I wasn’t ready.” The more he talked the more the wolf relaxed.

  Lowering down again, the wolf began to crawl forward on its belly. Little by little the wolf scooted near him until its snout was just inches from his face. Asher leaned forward. He felt its cold nose as it brushed against his neck and its warm breath against his hair. Suddenly the wolf pulled back so he could search his face. When his gaze made contact with Asher’s, a sharp pain stabbed through his eyes.

  The pain was intense and caused him to fall forward and press his face into the iciness of the snow. The night Grant had gone to meet his fate, the very night the mysterious rings had appeared in his eyes; Asher had felt the same intense burning as he lay in his bed crying.

  “You’ll be all right Asher. The pain will soon pass,” a voice said. Asher cried out as he sat back on his haunches. Wiping the snow from his face, he looked up at the man standing before him with the moonlight glistening upon his smiling face. Dropping down before him, Grant Lake reached out and pulled Asher into his embrace. “Don’t be frightened. It really is me.”

  Asher relaxed against him taking in the smell of leather and the familiar scent of his aftershave, both acting as assurances that he was real and right in front of him. Everything about Grant was the same as the day he left. Not one day had he aged.

  “I knew it was you,” Asher said

  “You’re no longer the puny boy I remember,” Grant said. “You’re a man now.”

  “I came for you Grant every year since you were called just like you told me to, but you never came.”

  “I was never far.” Grant pushed him back and touched his eyelid. “The rings are part of the spell, it binds us together.”

  “Then I’ve failed you.” Asher lowered his head guiltily from Grant.

  Sighing, Grant put a hand on Asher’s shoulder and he cringed as Grant gave his neck muscle a firm squeeze. Many times when he was growing up under Grant’s supervision, he had done the same and usually it was when Grant was trying to get him to see something from his point of view.

  “You’ve been stubborn and selfish,” he said, “only concentrating on your own pain and I could do nothing. Your magic was too strong for me to penetrate except for in your dreams. In order for you to hear me our wolf natures had to be in touch. That said, there’s no point blaming yourself Asher, time is as it should be. It’s taken this long for things to line up with your destiny. I knew the night I cast the spell that it would be a long wait. Everything else you need is right in front of you and has been all along. Asher…”

  Grant stopped him just as he opened his mouth. There were so many more questions Asher wanted—needed to ask but he could feel it, Grant slipping away. “My wolf form doesn’t remember anymore who I am and I can’t stay like this too long. Each day the spell holds me I’m lost even more to the wolf. Eventually, I will lose all memory of who you were to me…who all of you were to me. You have to right your wrongs. It’s time for restitution.”

  Grant stepped away from him and again he smiled.” Don’t forget this time Asher. You’re time has come. And if you really want to help me, then you need to call the Raven or nothing will ever end.”

  “The last few pages—Grant!” Asher jumped to his feet just as the last traces of him dissipated into the cold night air. “Don’t leave me to do this alone.” Asher walked over to the edge of the ridge. Below the grey ran across the snow covered valley. “I’m not like you. I don’t know how to…love.”

  ***

  Ari lay in the back seat of the truck, eyes staring upward. Above him the lights of oncoming vehicles flashed across the ceiling and Kennedy’s soft breathing let him know that she was sleeping in the front seat. The dream seemed so real it left him feeling confused. Turning over he tried for a more comfortable position on the seat but he knew it was a lost cause.

  “You ok back there buddy?” Nixon yawned. “I heard you doing a lot of moaning. Hopefully you weren’t dreaming about Trisha.”

  Ari sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. He saw that they were heading into downtown Indianapolis. He had called the last known residence in Illinois of Grant’s ex-girlfriend, but relatives said she had moved back to the city a long time ago.

  “We’ll be at the Plaza soon,” Ari said. “Maybe we can have some coffee and breakfast sent up. I’m starving.” He pressed his temple against the cold glass and saw Nixon look at him in the rearview. The flash of his eyes turning a yellowish color told him that he was looking at him with his owl eyes. “It’s good to know that you use those scopers for something other than girls,” he said.

  “You’re worrying about Asher aren’t you?” Nixon asked.

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “You said his name, and that was about the time I definitely knew you weren’t dreaming about Trisha.”

  “I had a strange dream. It was almost as though I was seeing him through Grant’s eyes. I was standing on a cliff and looking down on him and Asher was crying.”

  “Boy, you really were dreaming,” Nixon laughed.

  “It seemed so real, like my mind was somehow linked with Grant. The sight of him crying like that—”

  Kennedy suddenly turned his way, her eyes glowing cat-like in the light of the semi following closely behind the four-wheel drive.

  “You were dreaming about Grant, just now?” she asked.

  “I just said that.”

  Ever since their discussion about the thing he had seen in the studio window, Kennedy had been trying to talk to him, but Ari didn’t want to listen to her. Deep inside he hoped that Grant was alive, but to believe it was another thing.

  “My necklace,” she said. “It was doing it again.”

  She held up the glowing jewel as though to make a point.

  “Guys,” Nixon interrupted, “now’s probably not the time to go starting up another argument.” He looked in the rearview. “Either of you notice how that truck is riding my tail?”

  Ari turned around in the seat and the lights were bright enough they momentarily blinded him. Nixon sped up, but the truck matched his speed.

  “Get over Nixon, no one’s coming.” Ari watched as the truck followed them over to the next lane, and then got even closer to their bumper than before.

  “Nixon, did you do something to tick him off?” Kennedy asked.

  “No! Why would you even think that? Why are you always so quick to lay the blame on me?”

  “Stop you two,” Ari commanded. Cautiously, he put the seat belt around his waist. When the buckle clicked in place, Kennedy noticed.

  “Nixon, do you have your seat belt on?” she asked. When she saw that he didn’t, she leaned across him and put it in place. The truck swayed to the right as she got in his line of vision. Finally sitting back, Kennedy followed suit. “What are we in for Ari?”

  Ari shook his head thinking it best he didn’t answer her. He gave Nixon directions instead.

  “There’s a police station on the corner right?” Nixon asked.

  Ari nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s gonna matter much. They just want us to know they’re there.”

  Nixon drove the truck up over the curb in front of the police station, and behind them the semi slowed and came to a stop in the middle of the road. Ari wasn’t a big movie watcher, but he did however see the movie Joyride about the crazy nut case truck driver, who pursued and tormented two brothers over a practical joke concerning a CB radio.

  Wincing at the thought, with his hear
t pounding, Ari opened the truck door against Kennedy’s protest and stepped out onto the curb. The driver of the semi revved the engine and Ari took in a lung full of diesel exhaust. Nixon joined him and together they walked toward the vehicle. Just a few steps off the curb, the door of the semi opened so Ari stopped in anticipation of what would come next. At his side Nixon tensely breathed. Instead of an irate truck driver climbing out to greet them with a ball bat, a flock of blackbirds flew out and headed straight for them. Not knowing what else to do, Ari turned tail and raced back to Grant’s truck. With Nixon on his heels, he jumped in the front seat and Nixon got in the back. Slamming and locking the doors they both let out a shiver at the exact same time.

  “The Blackbirds, I should have known they would have a part in this,” Ari moaned.

  Landing on the hood of the truck a blackbird shifted into a man. Ari took in the trademark leather jacket, the lifeless blue eyes and the blonde head of Steve Barton. Lowering down and looking in the window, he leered at them. Ari had noticed it before, Steve’s odd resemblance to the actor Kieffer Sutherland.

  “Ari, you see him?”

  “Hard not to Nix,” he answered.

  Shifting back, Steve flew away.

  Kennedy sucked in a breath. “You want to explain what that was all about?”

  “That was Steve Barton. His inborn is a blackbird but he’s a fowler, the leader of the Blackbirds.”

  “Well, it looked like Steve, the leader of the Blackbirds, wanted to send some sort of message, any ideas?” Kennedy’s eyes darted between him and Nixon as though she wasn’t sure which one should explain. Ari could see Nixon in the side mirror looking out the window, and knew that he at least didn’t have any plans to answer.

  “The Blackbirds were outcasted,” Ari replied, “for their constant rebellion. They don’t believe that one such person, such as a wolf, should be in control of the Union. The Gothi believe that too, but they’re a bunch of cultic freaks that rely on religion and forbidden magic apparently to get their point across. The Blackbirds don’t exactly oppose the Union, they just think others should have a chance to lead based on democracy. I can’t say I blame them none for that but what’s a man gonna do when he lives under a curse, and is told what to do by ancient outdated archives and spirits.”