Baker's Dozen

by Cutter, Leah

  That time Pedrek knew the boy spoke the truth. “Did she ever make plans for you? Arrangements to go into the guard?”

  “No, why would she?”

  “It’s tradition,” Pedrek replied. “And you need it—you need the teachings of Ravens’ Hall for your raven soul.”

  “But I’d have to leave here!” Corin exclaimed.

  “Don’t you want to?” Pedrek asked, looking around. The river offered some open air, but there were still too many buildings, too many people. He was already longing for clear skies.

  The boy shook his head, puzzled.

  Pedrek suddenly was struck by how the boy might have been cursed: The Lowen witch hadn’t stolen his arm or left him halfway between states. It wasn’t anything as obvious as that.

  No, she’d stolen the boy’s raven soul, and left merely a wing in its place.

  * * *

  Pedrek had been born in a town far to the south and west. His father had been a well-known warrior, lost in a battle just after Pedrek had been born. Mama sold the lamps she and her sisters made out of pottery. Pedrek helped dab designs into the soft clay, his tiny fingers making patterns around the pouring hole. He loved making his own shapes, and if he hadn’t been born so blond and tan, maybe he would have become a potter, too.

  On one particular day, when Pedrek was maybe four or five, he’d been playing in the back of the market stall all morning. He was too little to help Mama, but too big to be strapped to her back all day. He’d found a line of ants to play with. He used a stick to divert the line, making them march around the obstacle. Then he got two sticks and tried to make them march down between them, but they kept crawling over the sticks, keeping to their line.

  When one crawled over Pedrek’s fingers, he brought it closer so he could see it better. Its antenna waved a lot and it marched across his hand, looking for something to eat, Pedrek assumed.

  Pedrek was suddenly hungry as well. He looked at Mama, busy with a temple buyer, haggling over a sack of lamps. Then he looked at the ant.

  Something Pedrek had never felt before pushed at him. Do it, it whispered.

  Peter flicked out his tongue and easily picked up the ant, swallowing it whole.

  More, said that quiet voice.

  By the time Mama looked over, Pedrek had eaten a dozen ants or more.

  “What are you doing?” Mama squawked, grabbing Pedrek by the arm, lifting him off the ground and shaking him. “You’re not supposed to eat ants!”

  Pedrek, ashamed, looked down at his chubby fingers, at the ant bodies crushed between them, a few ants still blazing trails across his palms. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

  “Ma’am.” A stranger called to them from the stall counter. He was a blond as Pedrek. “Is he raven-get?”

  “Oh, lord, yes,” Mama said, brushing the remaining ants from Pedrek’s hands with an edge of her skirt.

  “He’s ready for the training,” the man continued.

  “He’s—he’s young,” Mama said, kneeling and looking Pedrek in the eye. She pushed the hair off his forehead, then cupped his cheek. Pedrek leaned into the contact, comforted that while Mama was still mad, she didn’t seem to be that angry.

  Pedrek wanted Mama to keep looking at him, like he was all she saw, because when she turned away she looked both frightened and sad.

  “No younger than I was,” the stranger said. “You must send him to the guard. Before he hurts himself.”

  Mama nodded then crushed Pedrek to her, holding him tight. She didn’t let go all the rest of the day, holding his hand or cradling him close. That night, though he had his own pile of blankets, Mama let him crawl up into her big bed.

  The next morning, the guard came, and it was a year before Pedrek saw Mama again.

  * * *

  “Can you help me?” Corin demanded.

  Pedrek slowly nodded. “Yes. But we’ll have to go see the old Lowen.”

  “Why?” Corin looked wary.

  “I think she stole something from you,” Pedrek admitted. “We need to get it back.” He didn’t want to admit exactly what just yet.

  “Really?” Corin asked, suspicious and skeptical. “Why would she listen to you when she wouldn’t even talk with anyone else?”

  “Did any of them accuse her of stealing something specific of yours?” Pedrek countered.

  Corin shook his head. His human hand reached across his chest and he slowly stroked the feathers of his raven arm, thinking.

  “Then we will go see her in the morning,” Pedrek announced. “Now—you need to help me. Which inn should I stay at tonight?”

  Corin led Pedrek a few blocks off the piers, walking along the high boardwalks to avoid the mud and muck of the street. The town was prosperous; Pedrek could tell by the number of specialty stores, not just a general mercantile but cloth, leather, and lamp vendors. The buildings were all wood, no brick or stone, with high, steep roofs and murals of folktales painted on the walls.

  Pedrek booked a bed for two nights. Brae the innkeeper only charged him for one. “You do well for our Corin there and maybe I’ll drop a few more coins off.”

  “Thank you,” Pedrek said, surprised. The room was a dorm with six cots. The wooden floors were clear of mud and the mattress smelled clean. It wasn’t as clean as any room in Ravens’ Hall, but Pedrek was used to that. He dropped his pack and spread the raven cloak over it. Most wouldn’t dare touch his belongings, afraid of spells that didn’t exist. All Pedrek did was smooth his palm over the feathers, leaving some of his raven’s awareness behind. If anyone did bother his things, he’d at least have a clear impression of him, her, or it.

  Satisfied, Pedrek went back to the common room. A fireplace dominated the shorter wall, with a working hearth. A pole ran from the floor to the roof of the firebox, holding several iron arms that could swing over the fire for cooking, then back into the room for serving. Long tables with benches filled the floor. When he’d been younger, Pedrek had often just slept in the common room of whatever inn he stayed at. Now, his older bones appreciated a mattress. A tall bar stood in the other corner, next to the door. Pedrek put in his order for dinner as well as a pint of a local beer before sitting down at the main table.

  Pedrek didn’t have to wait long until other patrons started to file in. Loud conversation filled the room and the scents of a spicy fish stew wafted from the hearth. Pedrek primarily listened to his companions, trying to spot ones who would talk with him. After he’d eaten, he went up to the bar, ordered three pints, then sat down next to the two best candidates. They both thanked him with a grunt, a silent toast, and a long drink.

  “Here for Corin?” asked the older man with silver hair. He had a rough, scrubbed face, as if the wind had scoured it and left it ruddy and pale.

  “Yes,” Pedrek said. “Was looking to hear any tales of his da.” He knew Corin’s mother had been a local, and knew better than to ask about her, especially since she was dead.

  “Not much to tell,” said the other. He was darker, with dirty blond hair and hazel eyes. “He wasn’t here long, two or three weeks maybe.”

  “Really?” Pedrek asked, surprised. Most members of the raven clan mated once, and for life. “What happened?”

  The men shifted and the quiet grew between them, until the first man spoke again. “Some say Morna’s father ran him off. Others claim it was the old Lowen, the same as cursed the boy.”

  “He wasn’t driven off,” Pedrek said with certainty. None of the raven clan would have left his mate behind, no matter how hastily the match had been made. He wondered if it had just been a boy passing through, practicing his mating techniques and not expecting to be answered so quickly.

  Pedrek took a deep draught when he had another thought: Had the Lowen stolen that young man’s soul as well? “What can you tell me of the Lowen?”

  “She lives up Red Peak, near the pass. Some of the women in town use her as a healer.” Both men took large drinks, as if washing the taste from their mouths.

&n
bsp; “Could she have had an earlier incident with Morna?” Pedrek asked finally, hoping the men wouldn’t take it wrong.

  “She swore she only went up there once, to confront the Lowen after what happened to Corin. Came back more pale than a three-day frost. Wouldn’t hear of anyone else going back up,” the first man confided, nodding seriously.

  The darker man scoffed. “Of course that didn’t stop some fools. Marched up the hill and got lost for days before they made their way back. Men born here,” he emphasized. “Lowen can’t be found if she doesn’t want to be.”

  “Think she’ll see me?”

  The two men considered the question so long Pedrek feared they wouldn’t actually answer. Finally, as one, both men drained their pints and stood.

  “Aye. She’ll be curious enough to see you,” said the first.

  “Just make sure you see her, too,” said the other. Then the pair of them turned and walked out the inn, leaving Pedrek to ponder their words alone for the rest of the night.

  * * *

  The first prevailing thing young Pedrek noticed when he came to Ravens’ Hall was the warmth: Each walkway and room had either a fireplace or a stove. Window wells and walls wore blankets so drafts couldn’t get in. Candle stands stood beside each desk in the classroom so no one took a chill.

  Pedrek’s raven soul basked in the tropical, sheltering heat. Though the youngest students were frequently seated farthest from the flames, Pedrek never really felt cold.

  The next omnipresent thing about the hall was the writing. Every student, no matter what age they entered, learned their letters. Not just to read but to write as well, diligently marking up clay tablets or using chalk on freshly cleaned slates. Day after day they learned until all in Pedrek’s class could be called literate.

  The third thing, which Pedrek never mentioned to another soul even decades after he’d left the hall, were the recitations. They’d started simply enough: Every student had to write down the verse their tutor said, quickly and correctly. When they’d reached a certain accuracy, their tutor announced a guest visitor.

  Old prefect Aderyn stomped her way to the head of the classroom, leaning heavily on a cane. One eye stared at them, clear as morning skies. The other was merely a hole, empty and scarred with black skin and red veins. She wore a misshapen gown, and it was whispered it hid other deformities.

  Aderyn thumped her cane to make sure everyone in the class was paying attention. She announced the recitation and waited a moment while students got ready.

  Into the poised still air, Aderyn began a different recitation, one the children had never heard before but would hear many times afterward.

  “I will not eat bugs or insects.”

  A couple of boys sniggered. Aderyn silenced them with a thump of her cane. “I will not eat bugs or insects,” she repeated.

  Pedrek felt nauseated suddenly, but he wrote out all the words.

  “I will not eat the dead mice in the yard,” Aderyn recited next.

  The older student at the end of the bench shifted nervously in his seat. Pedrek exchanged glances with his friend beside him. They’d both heard the rumor, of course, but none of the younger ones had dared ask what had actually happened.

  “I will not eat animals rotting in fields or forests,” Aderyn instructed.

  Pedrek wrinkled his nose. He found this one easier than the first two. He’d never do such a thing, he was certain.

  “I will not eat the dead.”

  The words rang ominously through the hall.

  “I will not haunt the battlefield or feast on human flesh.”

  Pedrek shivered and tried to write the words down, though his raven soul stirred now, needling him for attention.

  “I will not pluck out a corpse’s eyes,” Aderyn announced to the now silent classroom. She stared at them, her one remaining eye unblinking. “Because that corpse might rise up to slaughter me like the half-breed I am.” No one even pretended to keep writing, the words ringing terrible and true.

  Half-breed was the worst insult the children could fling at one another. It meant someone who wasn’t fully human or raven, someone who had their human and raven souls misaligned: half here, half there, and never truly whole.

  “I will not suffer the half-breed.”

  * * *

  The morning brought winds that promised snow before night. The cold made Pedrek walk more quickly, trying to warm himself as they started up Red Peak. Corin didn’t seem to notice the bite in the air: either he was too used to the cold or too excited. Possibly both.

  They followed rutted dirt roads out of town, passing from the boardwalks to the ground, detouring around wide frozen puddles. The lands stayed fairly even as they passed the fall fields, barren but fringed with trees still holding their colors.

  Pedrek tried to talk with Corin, but the boy had lost much of his brashness from the day before. As they took their first break from walking steadily up the hill, Pedrek asked, “So what really happened with the Lowen?”

  Corin’s scowl returned. “She cursed me. What else do you need to know?”

  Pedrek shook his head. “She stole something. And I still don’t know why. Or why your mother didn’t fight harder to get it back.”

  “What do you mean?” Corin asked, worried. “She fought. She fought really hard.”

  The uncertainty of Corin’s claims echoed around them. “No, she didn’t, and you know why,” Pedrek accused the boy.

  Corin pressed his lips together and mulishly raised his chin. After treating Pedrek to a few moments of silent glaring, Corin finally muttered, “Doesn’t matter. You’ll likely find out soon enough.” He refused to say anything more, but marched away, back up the hill.

  As they walked farther away from the trees crowding the road and back into true hills with craggy rocks, Pedrek longed to take wing. He wanted to float up and see the cliffs from afar. His legs ached from constantly climbing and the silence of the boy chafed him. However, he dared not leave Corin, and he wasn’t sure how the old Lowen would react to his raven form.

  Just before midday, the road veered to the right. Corin picked the trail to the left, across the face of the peak. It was clear and flat, a welcome change from the winding road they’d been following.

  When the trail suddenly ran into a large grove of trees, Pedrek saw a glimmer and stopped Corin with a hand on his arm. “I should go first now,” Pedrek said, drawing Corin behind him. He took a few steps, then realized the boy wasn’t following. He turned to look.

  Corin stood in the center of the trail with his human arm akimbo and his head tilted to the side.

  Pedrek’s soul lifted. It was the first birdlike gesture Corin had made.

  “Why are you all fluffed up like that?” Corin finally asked, his human hand gesturing toward Pedrek’s cloak.

  “There’s some sort of magic there,” Pedrek said, indicating the trees.

  “Where?” Corin said, staying where he was but staring hard at the trees.

  “You’re young yet,” Pedrek lied. “Too young to see.” Corin’s raven soul should have detected the charm in the trees, though it wouldn’t have been trained to identify it: a simple spell to make the location seem darker and more ominous.

  Corin looked a bit more, then shook his head, crestfallen. “Her place is just through there,” he said, indicating the trees.

  “Are you frightened of the woods?” Pedrek asked.

  “Of course not,” Corin claimed boldly.

  “If you think they’re dark while we’re walking through them, you should touch my cloak,” Pedrek told him. It didn’t contain a lot of magic, but it might have enough to clear the boy’s vision.

  Midway through the trees, Pedrek felt cautious fingers along his back.

  “This is better,” Corin admitted softly after a few more steps.

  Pedrek merely nodded and kept walking.

  The trail opened up into a fair meadow. The grass maintained its summer green, the blustering winter wind calmed, a
nd the sun shone clear in the bright blue sky. Conifers circled the meadow, dark prickly guardians. A tiny creek burbled across the center, and on the far side stood a picturesque white cottage.

  Charms twinkled here, too. Pedrek recognized the ones to increase the beauty and bring peace, but the others were too advanced for him. He would have little recourse if it came to a battle of magic.

  As they walked across, a figure exited the cottage and started toward them. Pedrek knew it had to be the Lowen, but she appeared to be a young girl. Given the warnings from the night before, Pedrek stopped and asked his raven soul to help. The squawked reply came so quickly and loudly it startled him, causing him to shake once from head to toe.

  When Pedrek’s vision had cleared, he looked around again. Most of the color had bled out of the day. The charms lost their sparkle, and instead seemed to be dull dolls made out of hair, yarn, and twigs. The woman approaching them now looked stooped and ancient. Pedrek stared at her. She met his gaze from across the meadow and gave him a death’s-head grin.

  A tug on his cloak made Pedrek swing around. It was merely Corin, though.

  “Your eyes are gold,” Corin exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Pedrek replied, the word coming out in a birdlike croak. He cleared his throat and pushed back. He needed his human voice. “Yes,” he said again, stronger this time. “Let’s go meet the Lowen and find out where’s she’s hidden your raven soul.”

  The boy looked startled by Pedrek’s declaration, then threw his shoulders back, determined, marching across the field, raising first a human arm, then a raven’s wing, in time with his feet.

  Pedrek threw a quick prayer to both Wynne, goddess of the ravens, and Tamsin, god of lost causes.

  * * *

  “I know why you’ve come,” the old Lowen cackled from her side of the creek. “And I’m not changing him back.” She wore a patchwork quilt as a cloak, spells woven into each section. A bright blue wimple captured most of her iron gray hair, but long wisps still hung down beside her face. Her eyes matched the blue of the wimple, as piercing as a summer sky. She leaned heavily on a stout cane, the head gnarled and rubbed smooth with age.