Edgar left the window open and stepped back slightly, but he did not break eye contact with his old friend.
Lenore brushed the tip of her pencil across the paper a final time. Two lines joined, and suddenly, the entire image began to shimmer. Edgar stifled a cry. Beyond the window, in the grass beyond, Grimm stood as if transfixed. The creature’s eyes were wide, and its wings thrown back. The hopping motion had stopped – all movement had ceased – and the light around it brightened like the heat of a searing brand, or the glowing tip of a bit of kindling in a fire.
Grimm cried out, and Lenore pulled back in the same instant. She nearly toppled her chair in the effort to distance herself from the table. Edgar heard her and moved to catch her, thinking very briefly that it was becoming a habit. He lifted her to her feet, and they stood together and watched as the bit of paper rose from the table. It hovered, glowing as if on fire, about eight inches above the table top.
Outside, Grimm rose as well. Not in flight, but slowly as if drawn by some odd force none of them could see. Edgar sent a silent wish that no one would walk out the back door of the tavern at that moment, or glance out one of the windows. Whatever was about to happen could not be stopped, and there was no way they could explain it if asked.
There was a blinding flash of light. Edgar staggered back, but held his balance. Lenore toppled into his arms, and he held her, supporting them both. There was no sound. It was as if the world had melted away in an instant, and they could only wait for it to pass. Edgar wrapped his hands around Lenore tightly, pulled her against him protectively, and cried out.
“Grimm!”
There was a distant, answering cry, and then the light faded…and died. Slowly, still clutching one another tightly, the two made their way to the window and looked out.
It was then that someone knocked loudly on the door.
Lenore spun, startled. She could see nothing at first. The flash of light strobed and filled her vision. She nearly stumbled, then regained her balance and took a step forward. She didn't know what to do. She wanted desperately to turn back to the window – to know what had happened – but if someone was to burst in through the door they might not be able to explain what was happening.
The knock repeated, and with a worried glance over her shoulder, Lenore crossed the room and leaned against the frame.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"Tom, Ma'am, and Anita."
Lenore thought fast. If she just said they were busy, the boy might get – and spread – the wrong idea. Edgar was a married man, and she still intended to stay and fulfill her original purpose. She didn't want to give the wrong impression, but at the same time, the girl – Anita – had a part to play in whatever drama was unolding. She gritted her teeth and tried to buy time.
"I will tell him to come and find you," she said. "He is telling a story, and I don't want to interrupt him."
"I think he's gonna need to hear this," Tom said. "With all due respect ma'am, and this won't make any sense but – could you tell him it's about his bird?"
That stopped her cold. The bird? What did the boy know about the bird? What had Edgar told him? And if the boy was here about the bird, and the bird was outside the back window, who else was involved? She took a deep breath, opened the door in a rush, and dragged Tom through. Anita followed, and when they were safely inside, she closed the door behind them with a quick snap.
"Hey…" Tom said. He tried to pull away, but she held him tightly by the shoulder.
"Wait!" she said.
Tom must have caught something in her gaze because he fell silent, and he stopped struggling. When she sensed him calming, she released him and backed away. She turned to the window.
Anita stood back to one side. Her hand was pressed tightly to her lips, either in dismay, or to stifle a cry. Edgar stood at the window, very still. The sunlight shining in around him gave him the aspect of a silhouette. His stance gave away absolutely nothing.
Lenore moved forward very slowly. She stepped up behind him silently and glanced over his shoulder. In the grass, just outside the window, a small dark heap lay prone on the grass. It was very still, and though she knew that it must be Grimm, it did not look like a crow. It was smaller, and glossier.
"Is she…"
"He," Edgar said. He still didn't move, but he spoke softly.
"Grimm…is a he. He is not a crow, but a raven. It was a glamour, a safeguard we have tossed aside."
Tom had moved up beside them. When he saw the bird lying still in the grass, he didn't hesitate. He pushed the window open wider, and slipped through, nearly spilling everything from the tabletop. He was out before they could stop him, or call out, kneeling in the soft grass and cradling Grimm in gentle hands. He stared at the bird for a long moment, and then rose, very carefully, and carried him back to the window.
"He's alive," the boy said. "I don't know what to do – but he's alive."
Edgar reached out, and Tom laid Grimm gently in his hands. Edgar cradled his companion, stepped back, and Tom slid back over the window sill. Lenore reached up and closed the window, and with Anita's help, drew the curtains across it. There was no way to know who might have seen Tom, or what happened before he climbed out the window, but it was too late to worry about that. They gathered around Edgar, and he glanced up. He caught Lenore's gaze, his own a wash of pain.
"It is leaking from him," he said. "The power – the energy. I feel it slipping away, and though I can feel it, and share it, I cannot make it stop."
Then he seemed to wake, suddenly, and his eyes glittered.
"The drawing!" He cried. "You didn't finish the drawing. You set her free, she is gone, but there is a hole in the chest. A hole in the heart."
Lenore lurched for the table. She knew, even as he spoke, that he was right. She'd gotten so caught up in what was happening, in what might happen, that she'd forgotten her duty.
The drawing sat where she'd left it. She had to gather her pencils from the floor, and the chair, where Tom had accidentally knocked them climbing back into the room. She smoothed the drawing and focused. She did not have the time she would usually take to drop back into the trance-like state she had grown accustomed to. She pressed the tip of the pencil to the paper, and began to draw. The image was fresh in her mind, and she knew she would get no help with it.
Grimm had changed. She knew that she could not draw the raven; she had to recreate the crow. She had to drop back under the control of a broken glamour and bring back what she'd helped to shatter. She tried to relax, but her fingers gripped the pencil so tightly her knuckles whitened and she feared the shaft of the pencil would break, sending the tip skittering across the page. She controlled it.
No one in the room made a sound. Anita stood back, breathless. Edgar waited, the silent bird held in the open palms of his hand, as if offering a benediction. Tom just stared, wide-eyed, uncertain what he'd been drawn into but aware enough to play his part and do nothing to spoil the moment.
The world grew still. It is possible that it was simply the gravity of the moment and the depth of their concentration, joined in a single wish – a single work – but all four would swear to the end of their days that something closed around them, something that prevented the world from realizing something remarkable was happening, while at the same time helping them hold onto the spirit they fought for, the inexplicably intelligent and powerful spirit of a bird – a single small, dark bird.
Lenore worked quickly and with abandon. She spent no time staring at the page, or worrying at details. She knew them, or she did not, but it was a race against time, her gift against entropy and the slowly leaking energy she had to contain. The feathers returned. The glistening quality, darkening where strong, avian legs began, the shape of the woman's face, blanked from the center of the original image, disappeared. She thought about the morning. She though how happy she'd been, drawing the bird for the sheer joy of drawing, drawing it so she could show what she'd done to Edgar – possibly even to Gri
mm – who knew what the bird saw, or felt, or appreciated?
She remembered how the sun had wound through the trees and played across the window. She let the memory of the scent of hot coffee, bacon, and hot bread return to her. She heard voices, though no one around her spoke, and she drew. Her hand flew across the page, returning lines, shading, highlights and subtle background shading. As she worked she forgot, even, to breathe. There was not much to do. It was such a small yet complicated task, a one-shot succeed or fail moment in time.
It seemed to her that it took an age to complete the work. She threw the pencil over her shoulder to distance it from the page. She pushed away from the table and stood, staring down at what she'd recreated. The image of the bird and the girl stood, staring at her from the windowsill with beady, knowing eyes. Just for an instant she was certain she saw herself reflected in those dark, glossy surfaces.
And then it was gone. All of it. The energy drained from the room. The walls seemed to draw in on them, shrinking the space where they stood. The light returned to that of late morning. She looked around the room. The others blinked and stared, as if waking from a shared dream.
It took only seconds to re-focus on Edgar. She walked over slowly and raised her hands beneath his. He stared down at the bird he held intently. There was no emotion in that gaze, no animation at all. His concentration was intense. Moments later, Anita and Tom both stepped close as well, joining their hands beneath the still body. They held their thoughts and kept their voices silent.
And then, with a shudder that nearly stopped their hearts, the bird grew stiff, stretched its wings, and very suddenly opened its eyes. They stared, and Grimm stared back. Then, with a shift so quick they could barely follow the motion the raven stood in the center of Edgar's palm. It turned so that it met each of their gazes in turn, then spun slowly and glanced up at Edgar. Without warning, or ceremony, it let out a raucous cry and shook, sending a cloud of feathers and fluff into the air to float around them like a cloud.
Edgar's expression, so taut and unreadable seconds before, melted to a bright, delighted smile.
"Is he…" Lenore asked.
She knew Edgar would understand what she meant. It was one thing that the bird lived, but the question remained whether or not the two of them would retain their connection. None of them understood that bond – not really. Even Edgar, who was a part of it, had stumbled into it. Only the bird seemed unperturbed. It squawked again and hopped from Edgar's hand to perch on his shoulder, turning to face the room. Then, without warning, and very clearly, the bird bowed.
Edgar laughed.
"I could not have put it more eloquently, old friend," he said. "It's going to take some getting used to, this new look of yours, but I think it suits you."
Grimm ruffled his wings and began preening. Edgar turned to Lenore.
"Thank you. I don't know what I would have done…"
"There is no need for thanks," she said. "I can no more turn from the tasks appointed to me, I think, than you."
"I don't mean to speak out of turn," Anita said, "but – the girl? The princess, if that is who was trapped – where did she go?"
"Princess?" Tom said. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Poe, but I sure would like to know what's going on here, and what kind of trouble I've gotten into. I'll already be late getting back to the tavern, but…"
Edgar turned to him.
"Why did you come?" he asked. "I mean, if you didn't know that Grimm was in trouble, but you came about 'my bird,' what drew you here?"
"He saved me," Tom said. "I mean, the bigger bird, the other…"
"It is one and the same," Edgar said. "I don't believe you have time now for the entire story, but possibly soon. What do you mean he saved you?"
"There was snake. I had gone out back of the tavern to dump my morning sweepings. I wasn't watching where I was going. We have a pile of wood, and just past that is where we dump the trash. Once a week, I bring the mule and the wagon and carry it off.
"Most days I watch pretty careful around there, being so close to the water and all, but today I wasn't payin' attention. One more step, and I'd have stepped on that thing – water moccasin as big around as a rake handle. It reared up to go for me, and there was a flash – faster than I would have believed possible. That crow grabbed the snake, lifted it up and dropped it back in the trees. Scared the soul out of me."
They all turned to Grimm, but the bird paid no attention to them. It was lost in a fit of grooming, and apparently unconcerned with praise.
"I just came to thank you," Tom said. He fidgeted from one foot to the other, and it was hard to tell if he spoke to Edgar, or to the bird.
"Grimm is a brave and loyal friend," Edgar said solemnly. "He must have taken to you. Possibly it was the corn. In any case, I must ask you a favor, for me, for the ladies, and for Grimm – for that is his name. I don't believe you've been properly introduced. I must ask that you say absolutely nothing of what you've seen and heard here to anyone. You may talk freely to those of us who are present, when you are in private, but no one must know that strange things happened here. They would not understand, and it could go badly for us all."
Tom nodded. "You can count on me sir. I'd best be going. They'll already wonder where I got off to. If you don't mind, though, I'd sure like to hear the story of the princess, if there really is one."
Edgar leaned forward and rumpled the boy's hair.
"You can count on it," he said. "Anyone who knows me will tell you that there is nothing I like better than to share a good story."
Tom shook his head, and ran for the door. He was out and gone seconds later, and they heard the heavy pounding of his feet as he tore up the porch toward the tavern.
"I will be missed, as well," Anita said. "I told them I was going to take my lunch and go for a walk."
"I am willing to bet," Lenore said softly, "you have traveled farther than you intended, even if it was just a story for idle ears. Run on. You can return tonight if you want. We may all have more to talk about – assuming the story has yet to reach its end."
"I sense that it has not," Edgar said. "I believe rest is in order. I could do with a nap, and I am sensing my friend here feels the same. I have no idea how to proceed from this point, but I am now convinced that the proper path will stretch itself out before us. Despite my intentions of coming here to finish up some writing, and yours – whatever they originally entailed – we have been anything but in control of our fates since meeting."
Lenore glanced at her drawing kit, and the drawing of Grimm and at the scattered utensils that had fallen from the table. She nodded.
"You are right, of course." she said. "But you must take this."
She carefully lifted the portrait of the crow from the table. She wrapped it deftly around two fingers and rolled with her thumbs until the portrait was a tube. She reached into her open drawing kit and produced a bit of ribbon, which she wound around the paper and tied in a quick bow. She held it out.
Edgar hesitated, and then took it with a nod.
"Perhaps it is safer this way," he said. "There is power in your art, and no way to truly know how much of it remains in the lines of this image. I will cherish it."
Grimm let out a soft caw and, once again, bowed.
Edgar turned and studied him a moment, then shook his head.
"New roads await," he said. "Another reminder for the weary of heart."
Lenore laughed.
"Will you dine with me this evening?" she said. "I'd like to tell you a story. I want you to know why I'm here, and what it is I hope to do. It's been a long time since I had anyone I could confide in without being considered a witch or a crazy woman."
"I'd be delighted," Edgar said. Then, with a quick flourish, he matched Grimm's bow, nearly unseating the bird in the process. "Until this evening."
A moment later, he was gone. Lenore stared at the closed door, and turned her head at a quizzical angle for just a moment, as if trying to figure something out.
Then she turned and gathered up her things, packing them carefully away. Whatever might come of the evening, she'd not be drawing again this day.
When her room was straightened she lay back across her bed and put her arm over her eyes to block the late afternoon sun trickling in around the curtains.
As she drifted off to sleep, Anita's words returned to her.
"The princess – if that's who was trapped – where did she go?"
Darkness found her before any answers, and she dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Six
Edgar woke to the sound of men shouting. He sat up quickly and tried to orient himself. The sun had nearly disappeared from the sky, tipping the trees beyond his window in deep gold, but supplying little light. The voices sounded again, and he heard a commotion out in back of the building. He rose quickly, straightened his clothing and hair as best he could, and turned toward the door. Then he stopped.
A quick search located Grimm on top of one end of the curtain rod.
"Are you well enough to fly, old friend?" Edgar said. "I could leave you here."
Grimm landed on the table with a thump and glanced at the window.
"No, the door," Edgar said. "Something is going on in back, you might be seen."
With a soft squawk, the raven leapt into the air and glided across the room to land on Edgar's shoulder. Edgar smiled, opened the door, and stepped cautiously out onto the long porch. He glanced both ways, but there was no one in sight. Grimm took off with a loud flap of his wings and soared out over the trees. Edgar watched him go, then turned to Lenore's door.
He reached to knock, but before his knuckles struck the wood the door swung inward and Lenore appeared. Her eyes were wide, and she stepped quickly out beside him.
"What is it?" she said.
"Not sure. There is something going on down by the docks out back. I think we have to find out what it is. I don't know why, but I have the sense that it might have something to do with us. If there is any danger, we should know up front what we are dealing with."
Nevermore: A Novel of Love, Loss, & Edgar Allan Poe Page 6