Summer of Crows

by Hans Cummings

  “Nikki’s wrong.” An older girl with curly midnight hair, missing her two front teeth, offered an alternative. “She was a crone, all right, but she wouldn’t eat babies for favors. She’d feed them to her wolves.”

  A third girl, shorter than the other two, with stringy blond hair, held out her hands for pie. “Who’s the Crow Queen? Is she a giant bird?”

  Laughing, Tasha ran a hand down the edge of her feathered cloak. “I don’t think so.”

  “Here now, children. You shouldn’t bother Lady Ave…” The man blinked, realizing his mistake. He carried the tools of a mason. “You’re not Lady Aveline.”

  “I’m Tasha, the apothecary. Lady Aveline is kind enough to let me stay in her home since mine was ruined in the flood.”

  “Aw, bollocks. I was going to buy some wormroot from you this week.”

  Tasha offered him a piece of pie. “I’m sorry. All my stock was destroyed. I plan on heading out this afternoon to start restocking. I’ll try to find some for you.”

  “I’d be much obliged.” He accepted the pie with a nod of thanks. “The vermin’s been awful since the storm.”

  “I hope to be able to help with that again soon.” She peered into the man’s eyes. He seemed familiar to her, but she could not recall his name. “You know, in exchange for the pie, each child had to tell me something about the Crow Queen. I don’t suppose you have any stories you’d like to share?”

  Exhaling, the man sat on the stoop next to Tasha as he ate. “Probably everyone in town of a certain age, or, at least, with parents of a certain age, has a story about the Crow Queen.”

  “I was born in Cedar Ridge.” Tasha noticed by the man’s blank expression he did not recognize the name of her childhood home. “It’s near Almeria. I didn’t grow up with stories about the Crow Queen.”

  “Oh, well, my father would have died as a babe without her. They were lucky she was around here when my grandmother gave birth.”

  “What did she do?” In all the years Tasha served Curton as an apothecary, she had never performed midwifery. She supposed she could learn from one of the midwives in town, if necessary.

  The man scratched his head. “I’m not rightly sure. He was never clear on that. He came out wrong or something and was sick. She made sure he didn’t die those first few nights. She left for about a year after, but she would check back now and then when she visited the area to see how he was doing. She was from Curton, you know.”

  “I’ve heard.” Tasha regarded the children. “She doesn’t sound like a crone or a nasty old hag.”

  He laughed. “She could be downright nasty if someone crossed her. The Crow Queen is motherly like Cybele, tied to the world like Gaia, and temperamental like Artume.”

  “You’re quite knowledgeable.”

  He patted the tools on his belt. “I wasn’t always a carpenter. It was a hobby. Kept my hands busy when I was one of Mother Anya’s acolytes.” Finishing his pie, he nodded toward a woman sweeping a porch down the street. She waved at him. “Then I met Daciana there during a moment of weakness at Danica’s Den. We’ve been together ever since.”

  Tasha handed him the pie dish. “Take the rest of it to her and enjoy it with your family later, then.”

  “Thank you. She loves blueberries.” He tousled the hair of the blue-eyed girl. “Like mother like daughter, eh, Sorie?”

  “Can I take it to her, Papa?” The girl bounced on the balls of her feet while holding out her hands.

  “Here. Don’t drop it and don’t eat any. We’ll have the rest after supper.”

  Sorie bounded away, carrying the pie. Tasha smoothed her skirt before fluffing the bottom of her cloak. Glancing upward when the feathers caught his eye, the man noticed scores of crows perched on the rooftops. Twisting his head, he moved to get a closer look at the cloak.

  “Cybele’s tits… you’re her… I mean, no disrespect…”

  Smiling, Tasha clasped her hands in front of her. She felt her cloak pulse with warmth. “What is your name?”

  “Vali, son of Razvan.”

  “You may be right, Vali, son of Razvan.” Tasha bowed her head. “But I’m still finding my way, so don’t expect too much too soon.”

  He stumbled to his feet. “Anything you need, anything at all, don’t hesitate. I wouldn’t be here if not for you saving my father as a baby.”

  Tasha put her hands on Vali’s shoulders. “That was Annika, or her predecessor. I’m Tasha.”

  “The Crow Queen always has many names.” Vali dropped to his knees. “It’ll do this town good that you’ve come back.”

  She tugged at his shirt, pulling him to his feet. “That is not necessary, please.” She turned him around before giving him a gentle push toward his wife. “I’ll come see you when I’ve found some wormroot. Should be just a few days.”

  He staggered away, glancing over his shoulder at her after every few steps. After a moment, Tasha left the now-playing children behind and headed toward Miners’ Gate. As she walked beneath the blazing midday sun, she realized the cloak did not make her feel too warm. Maybe I can wear whatever I want under this if it’s going to keep me perfectly comfortable all the time.

  As she entered the forest, Tasha considered the foolishness of leaving town in the middle of the day to find a derelict hut in the middle of the woods almost a day away from the town gates.

  Pausing, she connected with her crows, learning they passed the workers from town who were traveling to help Aveline. The birds had found her well and alone in the camp. Tasha called them to her as she continued her journey.

  “The sooner I can figure all this out, the sooner I can help everyone.” She hoped the justification would prove true.

  Chapter 31

  After the draks left and Aveline finished piling all the foraged wood, she found herself with little to do. Venturing into the mines to search for additional supplies, equipment, and weapons proved fruitless. As she busied herself around camp, she spotted two dark birds circling overhead for a while, assuming Tasha sent the crows to check on her. At least, I hope those are hers because roasted fowl sounds incredibly good right now.

  Her stomach grumbled at the thought of another meal of cheese, bread, and tepid water. Yet, being all she had, Aveline made do and forced herself to eat only enough to quiet her gastric rumblings.

  This should serve as a lesson to be less impulsive, no matter how great an idea it seems at first. Aveline sat before the fire, polishing her armor, listening to the buzz of insects. Maybe the draks will come by again. Even they would be better company than no one at this time. I should carry a bow when I leave town, in case I need to hunt. The idea of chasing down an animal and beating it to death with her mace so she could eat seemed ridiculous to her.

  Whatever animals spied on her the night before did not return, and she nodded off in front of the fire before retiring to her tent for the remainder of the evening. When morning came, she awakened to the sounds of horses and loud voices.

  Pulling on her clothes, she then crawled out of the tent. Lieutenant Valon and at least two dozen townsfolk greeted her.

  “Please tell me you have food. Mead?” Aveline returned the Lieutenant’s salute with a half-hearted gesture.

  “We brought wine and ale.” He directed the people closest to him to unload the carts and set up a galley.

  “Anything’s better than water.” She scratched her head. “I probably should have had them help me bury Vasco and then come back to town. To be honest, I think I was afraid someone would stop me from returning here.”

  She watched as a group of constables from the city watch unloaded picks and shovels, then carried them over to the graves she’d plotted.

  “The Lord Mayor might have. He’s been in a state the last few days. But we’re here now, Lady Aveline. What would you have us do?”

  “I’ve already marked thirty graves.” She pointed toward the future site of the graveyard, then pointed at the mine. “I don’t know how many people are down there.
They’re all in a pile. Bringing them out is going to be… challenging.”

  “A pile?” Lieutenant Valon removed his helmet. Scratching his head, he glanced toward the mine entrance. “How many are there? There were only a handful noticed missing from town.”

  “The prisoners we freed, the faelixes and the caprikin, indicated the wizard was taking travelers too. There’s no telling how long he was down there, and I fear we may not be able to identify any of the bodies.”

  Valon nodded at the mention of the castaways. “I saw the three when Tasha came back to town. She looked different.”

  “Different?” Aveline accepted a tankard of ale from a woman who carried several toward a table someone from one of the taverns set up.

  “Not bad, mind you. But different. Like she wasn’t her anymore, but someone else, but still Tasha.” Valon shook his head. “I’m not making any sense.”

  “Tasha thinks she has some connection to the Crow Queen. She found a body at the bottom of a shaft and a feathered cloak that looked almost new. It must’ve been down there for ages.”

  “The Crow Queen had a cloak like that. Birds would follow her around, and she’d come to town in a hut that walked on legs. She’d set it down outside Mudders’ Gate and help people that came to her, favors and such.” Staring at his feet, Valon kicked a pebble away. “At least, that’s what my mother used to tell me.”

  Aveline sighed. “Well, that’s nothing we need to be concerned with right now. Tasha wants us to retrieve the bones, though, give them a proper burial.”

  “Right. I’ll start sending lads down into the mine to haul bodies up. How do we find them?”

  Aveline drained her ale. “I’ll lead them down there.” She held up her mug. “We’re going to need a lot of this by the time we’re finished.”

  * * *

  Despite the forest canopy obscuring the dim light of Calliome’s waxing moons, Tasha navigated the trails without difficulty. Not only did she feel an instinctive sense of where to go, but she also noticed a sort of faint light infused everything around her. She heard deer bedding down for the night, even though she could not see them. She heard and smelled a wolf pack hunting. The dirt beneath her feet pulsed with the life of the Earth Mother.

  A quick experiment of removing the cloak, plunged her into the pitch black of night, confirming her suspicion the feathered mantle itself facilitated her passage in the dark. Her connection with Gaia remained strong without the cloak, and she basked for a moment in that connection for reassurance. When she pulled the cloak around her shoulders once again, she immediately felt oriented and confident in the direction she needed to travel. She continued her trek.

  Knowing where to go shortened her search, although she sensed dawn was still several hours away by the time she approached the clearing where she first found the hut. This time, however, no bones jutted from the ground. Instead, a pair of legs, giant avian legs, stood in the clearing. On top, she found the hut she last saw lying on its side. Smoke rose from its lone chimney, and a dim amber light shone through its windows.

  Tasha stared at the hut for what seemed like minutes before stairs rose from the earth, creaking and cracking with the sound of churning rocks, soil, and wood. After they met the entrance, the door opened.

  Accepting the invitation, Tasha climbed the stairs. With each step closer to the top, she felt the world’s life-force flow through the stairs and into the hut through her connection with Gaia.

  Once inside, Tasha dropped her pack near the door and examined the furniture arranged along the walls. A carved stump in the center of the floor served as the focal point in the room. The sides of the stump featured relief carvings of birds surrounding the Tree of Gaia, the Sacred Cow of Cybele, and a depiction of the Huntress Artume; the same iconography on the altar she saw before, although she didn’t see it anywhere. The top sloped inward, creating a natural, carved bowl in which Tasha saw clear water. A low fire burned in the hearth, and she smelled smoldering sage and rosemary coming from bundles tied above the flames. A ladder positioned between the hearth and the bed led to a hatch in the roof. Next to the bed, there was another door, which Tasha assumed led outside.

  She circled the central stump, stopping at a cabinet opposite the bed. Upon opening it, drawers upon drawers of reagents, shelves of papers and books, and drawers containing dozens of vials revealed themselves. A red, leather-bound diary, protruding from the rest, beckoned to her.

  Tasha opened the book. Strokes made with a bold hand indicated the diary belonged to Annika. Carrying it over to a chair, she settled in to read. A mundane journal at first, it chronicled day-to-day oddities of a woman who relished using the power of the Crow Queen to heal sick livestock, help with difficult births, bless new crops, and encourage favorable weather when droughts or precipitation tarried.

  As she flipped through the pages, a single line drawn with a shaky hand caught her eye: My daughter is dead.

  Stains marred the next few blank pages. Once the writing resumed, the bold hand included a noticeable tremble. Tasha read on.

  The plague took half the city before I could stop it. Nika blames me for the death of Dimos. She doesn’t know. No one knows, though Anya suspects. I used my own life to stop the plague.

  It was worth it.

  If you’re reading this, you’ve found my hut and my mantle. I don’t know where you found it, and it doesn’t matter. It has accepted you, although it was meant for my daughter.

  You’re Crow Queen now.

  Tasha dropped the book. It remained open to the last page she’d read. The words, written decades ago for her eyes, burned into her mind. Drawing a shaky breath, Tasha leaned forward and picked up the journal.

  I don’t know what challenges you’ll face. I don’t know what kind of person you are. But you’ll read no more of my life in these pages. Instead, I will tell you everything I’ve discovered about the mantle, the hut, and what it means to be Crow Queen.

  This is what I meant to teach my daughter. Stories you hear from others will be full of half-truths and embellishments. You’re not a queen (unless you actually were born into nobility and have a title, of course), you’re not a goddess. People will say you’re a witch. Maybe you are. I was; it’s not a bad thing necessarily. People will say you’re supposed to be a vile old hag. You can be if you so desire. Depending on how long I’ve been dead before you read this, you may have an entirely blank slate to work with. If I have faded into legend or obscurity by the time the mantle finds a new bearer, then you have an opportunity to create a new myth.

  One last personal note, and then every page henceforth will be instructional: I encourage you to be good. Help others. The feathers on the mantle were gathered by Artume, woven into flax grown by Cybele in the soil of Gaia herself. You could be as tempestuous and uncaring as the natural world. But, you will have a happier life if you choose to be more selfless than that. Perhaps you will have a family, as I tried to have. You will find the hut will accommodate you. It can change, grow, and it can take you places you never imagined existed.

  Your journey begins on the next page, Crow Queen.

  Tasha closed the journal, rocking back in the chair. She stared, wide-eyed, at the flames in the hearth as a swirling torrent of thoughts raged in her mind. What have I gotten myself into?

  “Caw!” Revan flew through the open door. He perched on the edge of the stump, followed by Korbin. After a moment of preening, they huddled together.

  “I guess we’re on this journey together.” Tasha tossed the diary on the bed. She approached the door through which she’d entered. At the bottom of the stairs, the forest floor appeared dangerously distant. She shut the door, taking a moment to appreciate the intricacy of the carved wooden handle, before moving to the window. The stairs collapsed, disappearing into the earth as though they’d never existed.

  “Well, that’s handy for keeping unwanted visitors away.” Tasha circled the stump, making her way to the other door. Between the window and the cabinet
was a fully stocked larder. Wondering where the provisions had come from, she continued to the other door. Unlike the entry door, this one featured no knob or handle. Her eyes scanned the frame and the door itself.

  “How odd.” She moved to stroke the moss-covered wood. “How does a door with no handle…”

  The door vanished, and a shimmering cascade of rainbow light took its place. Recoiling, Tasha shielded her eyes with her hands. “It’s a portal, not a door.”

  After taking a few steps backward, the light vanished, and the door reappeared. Tasha returned to the bed and sat. Korbin and Revan remained perched on the stump, appearing to be asleep. Tasha stifled a yawn.

  “I guess with no stairs and the doors all the way up here, no one is going to break in if I rest a bit.” She made herself comfortable on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Thick wooden beams separated panels of thatch, much as the roof appeared from the outside. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she allowed sleep to overcome her.

  Chapter 32

  Two days of digging graves and hauling putrid bodies followed by nights sleeping on the ground spared no part of Aveline’s anatomy from aches and fatigue. Plastering her tight curls to her scalp, sweat poured down her face as the relentless heat of the sun baked the foothills. Aveline passed her shovel to a fresh worker before making her way toward the encampment.

  Since Valon arrived with help from the town, the site took on an entirely different appearance. Tents for sleeping were pitched to one side of the mine entrance, around the area near Aveline’s. A straight path, or as straight as it could be considering the terrain, led from the mine entrance to the grave plots she’d mapped over the last several days. Behind the tents for sleeping, other workers from town had built tables from scrap wood, as well as from trees they felled for that purpose. They built two cooking fires there, then kept them running day and night. Finally, behind a small field of boulders, they’d dug the latrines.