Daughter of the Raven

by Cherime MacFarlane

  She reached out to pat his arm. "Not a productive night I take it?"

  Charles shook his head indicating her guess was correct as he used his fingers to roll up another slice of the meat. He bit off a large mouthful.

  Once it was briefly chewed and swallowed, he reached for a cookie. "They were ready for us. Forewarned, I would guess. Someone leaked information to them."

  Abigail sat with her arms crossed over the bosom of her robe. "Amazing how things can come full circle."

  Charles looked at his mother. "What do you mean by that?" He mumbled through the mouthful of cookie.

  "Your grandfather and grandmother Merriman were part of the underground railroad. They helped escaped slaves make their way to freedom."

  "Really?" He sat still, the last bite of cookie poised in front of his mouth. "Why did I never know that before?"

  Her mouth lifted in a tight smile. "Your father did not approve of their breaking the law, you see. So, I was not to mention that part of your family history."

  Charles popped the last of the cookie into his mouth and shook his head. "Father never ceases to amaze me with the things he feels are improper."

  "But, he is your father therefore, we do have to honor him."

  "I do honor him. I just find it difficult to agree with the things he feels are acceptable. After all, Mother, it does say the things belonging to God's are to come first. That is one reason I have not announced to the world my efforts on behalf of the mission, I know how much he would hate it."

  "You are a good son. Continue to do what you know to be right while continuing to honor your father and it will be well with you."

  He stood and stretched as he yawned widely. Walking around the table, Charles bent to kiss his mother's cheek.

  "The best thing Father ever did was to marry you! Go up to bed Mother, I will be right behind you."

  It was two evenings later when a messenger contacted Charles at his office. They were going to make another try to rescue the girls. Information had been obtained regarding a pending move of the women. The rescue attempt would take place as the wagon, which was to transport the girls, was moved into the street from the closed carriage house.

  Charles felt it would be better to stay away from home that evening until the raid was finished. He called his mother to let her know, but was careful to not give a specific reason for his absence. Charles was fairly sure she would guess what was keeping him out late.

  It was late. The waning moon played tag with mackerel clouds scuttling before the wind. The light of the moon shone fitfully in the dark alley where Charles was stationed. The gate began to open and he tensed. Now, they would have a chance!

  The horses sensed something. One of them shied, kicking its hind legs out. There was a harsh cry, which was quickly silenced. The other animal pawed the ground, as it shook its head. A dark clad figure eased past one of the excited horses. Grabbing hold of its bridle, the individual urged the animal out into the alley.

  As soon as the wagon left the safety of the yard, the police and rescuers attacked. Yelling, while waving guns and clubs, the raiders surrounded the wagon. Trapped in the alley by the rear end of the wagon, which cut him off from the others, Keetering was isolated from the main force.

  There was the sound of glass breaking above him. Glancing upward, Charles saw a figure plunge through a second floor window down into the alley.

  Startled, he stood trying to see who had come through the window. Raising the club, he gingerly tried to avoid the shards of glass as he turned to look behind him. A slight figure lay on the packed earth of the narrow alley, it was a girl.

  Holding one arm against her chest, the girl moaned in pain before falling silent. Charles could barely see her until the moon was free of the cloud cover again. Dropping the club, he reached down to lift her into his arms.

  He doubted she would understand him, but Charles tried to keep her calm by talking. "You are safe with me. I will get you to the mission house, they will take care of you."

  The frightened girl reached up and fastened her good arm around his neck. "No! Hide! Hide!"

  Charles waited until the wagon was in control of the rescuers and the others were beaten off. As he moved toward the wagon, Charles could see her face clearly in the glow of a lantern. Surprising him, she reached up, knocked his hat from his head and grabbed a handful of hair. "No! Must hide! Must hide!

  Charles felt his heart melt at the sight of her face. Clearly in pain, she still insisted she must hide. He felt her urgency and would do as she asked. He did not place her in the wagon, but used it as a shield. The office was the best possible place to take her for the time being. He did not know how he would get her medical help, but he would do so and he would keep her safe.

  Anya was glad to be free of the disguise. She was on the Ilim portage and hoped to get to the Lena within a day, or two. There was a decided chill to the evening now. Very soon, the weather would become colder.

  She stopped to camp a bit earlier than usual. It would take time to fashion arrows for the bow she had made. Anya was closer to a small village than she would have liked, but the site was a good one.

  At some point many, many years ago this was all a beaver pond. There was a small brook for water and the area was covered in soft moss. A tree, recently blown over, made a good bench near the root end. Toward the middle was a depression she had almost fallen into.

  Anya determined to be more careful in mossy spots such as this one. Turning an ankle would have made it impossible to travel for some time.

  The depression may have been a burrow which washed out. Carefully she probed it. Not feeling any give, Anya decided it was uninhabited.

  She had been surprised to discover Siberia had snakes. One particular snake was actually venomous. Since there were no snakes in Alaska, Anya was not used to dealing with snakes and the dangers they proposed.

  Naum had imparted that particular piece of information to her at one point in their conversations regarding the differences between Siberia and Alaska. While probing the old den hole, Anya discovered her spear had dislodged a large patch of the springy moss. She would add a chunk of it to her store of herbs. Sphagnum moss was good for many things including packing wounds.

  Content that she would not need to deal with a miserable snake, Anya began to set up camp. Before making a fire she wanted to cut willow wands for arrows. They would need to be straightened and hardened. Therefore, willow branches were first priority. She would work with the willow while tending to the fire.

  She had just finished unrolling her pack and was preparing to start a fire when she heard shouting. Men were calling to each other as they loudly tramped through the forest.

  Holding one hand close to his chest, a young boy darted into the small clearing. Anya made a sharp exclamation. For a moment both of them stood, staring at each other. It was the boy from her dream.

  Anya was the first to move. "Here!" She called softly to him in Russian.

  Without a word, he scuttled in her direction. Face chalk white, the boy hurried over. Anya quickly flipped up the covering of moss and pointed to the hole.

  "Get in and curl up!"

  The boy did as she instructed. Anya put the hunk of moss back over him. From the other side of the log, she thrust her hand and arm under the log, pushing the moss down to form a breathing hole where it could not be easily seen. Her fingers encountered his face and she grunted in satisfaction. Hurriedly, Anya unrolled the blankets and put them down on top of the boy. Flopping the goatskin onto the log, she sat down on top of it. Anya pulled out her knife and began pealing the cut willow wands.

  The noise from the boy's pursuers grew louder until they emerged from the forest into the small clearing. The one appearing to be the leader halted, as he gaped at the woman sitting quietly on the log.

  "Woman! What are you doing here?" The large man demanded.

  "Working on making arrows, obviously. I cannot hunt as all the noise you have been making scared off
the game." She calmly pealed another strip of bark from the branch she was working on.

  "Have you seen a Jew boy run past here?" Dark eyes watched her carefully.

  The curl of bark slipped away from her knife and landed on the ground. "I only see you three. What are you hunting a boy for?"

  "That is none of your business, woman. I still want to know what you are doing out here, alone." He stressed the word "alone". Anya sensed the violence in him and his fellow man hunters.

  "What makes you think I am alone?" Keeping all expression from her face, Anya glanced at each man.

  "We see no man." The leader stated.

  Anya smiled. She made it a slow smile, one which did not reach her eyes. "No shaman is ever alone. I am the daughter of the raven. Go your way. Do not bother one on a vision quest."

  One of the other men tugged on his coat. "Let us hunt the boy on the other side over there." The man pointed back the way they had come.

  "Wise idea." Anya nodded her head.

  The leader shook off his friend's hand. "It is not a good idea for a woman to be alone in this country." He laughed. "There are bears as well as other predators. You should come with us."

  Anya made a sound deep in her throat. The call of the raven her uncle had taught her vibrated across the clearing. There was an answering call from several ravens that flew into the trees behind her. Anya heard the birds' response and called again.

  More ravens answered. They squawked as they settled in the trees directly behind the men.

  "Shall I call more?" Anya again smiled a twisted little smile. It caused the last man of the trio to catch his breath sharply.

  The men looked around them at the dark shapes in the trees. The man who had urged the leader to leave, began to back away.

  They all knew nothing could prevent the birds from pecking their eyes out, if they decided to do so. A determined raven could peck through anything. The size of the flock they faced could easily kill them all.

  "No! We are leaving shaman." The second man moved in front of the leader. With both hands on his shoulders, he pushed his companion back in the direction they had come.

  "Move! Leave her be. The boy will die out here. We are done with it." The second man shouted.

  Anya looked about her in amazement. She did not think the birds would come. She had called, hoping one or two would answer. Never had she imagined a flock of this size would come to her aid.

  One large bird flew down to stand before her, spraddle legged. He turned his head first one way then the other, regarding her carefully. Hopping from side to side, it spread its large wings. With a powerful thrust, the bird launched itself into the air and flew off. There was a rushing sound as the birds all took flight.

  Standing, she watched as the flock disbursed in various directions. Why did they come? Anya asked herself as she shaded her eyes from the lowering sun with one hand. The birds vanished into the trees.

  Anya shook herself and bent down to pick up the willow stick she had been pealing. As she pretended to grope for the stick, she spoke quietly to the boy hidden in the old burrow. "They are gone. Rest where you are for a while. I will see to your injury later."

  He made no sound. Sitting on the log again, Anya continued to remove bark from the willow shoots. When it became dark, Anya helped the boy from the pit.

  "You speak Russian?" Anya asked.

  Watching her cautiously, he simply nodded.

  "I saw you in my dream. You told me to worship the creator and not the creation."

  He nodded again without speaking.

  "What is your name?" Anya felt he must speak to her now. His voice cracked as he started to say something. Then he cleared his throat. "Petyr, in Russian it is Petyr,"

  "Why were those men hunting you?" She reached out to touch his hand.

  Petyr pulled back before she could touch him. "You are a strange woman. I am not to allow you to touch me." The boy explained.

  Anya glared at him in the firelight. "If I do not look at it, then you will not be able to keep up with me. Even if they do not find you, you will die out here without my help."

  "Die?" Petyr asked.

  Hands on her hips, Anya stared him down, but did not say more.

  "If it is a matter of life and death," He held out his hand to her. "then look at it."

  Anya took his hand. He winced as she manipulated the fingers first, then his whole hand.

  When she moved his wrist Petyr nearly pulled his arm from her grasp. "One of them hit me quite hard with a stick." He hissed out.

  Anya tugged on his fingers. "Come closer to the fire, let me have a better look."

  Petyr did as she requested. "What is your name?" The boy asked as he watched her intently.

  "Anya." She replied while studying his wrist by the light of the fire. "You have several bruises, but I do not think your wrist is broken. Hold a moment." She reached into her bundle and pulled out the length of wool.

  "At this rate, I will have to make socks from rabbit fur." Anya mumbled as she tore a wide strip from the yardage. She took a full wrap around his wrist. After bringing the ends of the cloth around behind his neck she tied them together.

  "That will provide some support while your injury heals." Anya explained to Petyr.

  His dark eyes stared at her. "Anya, what happened while I was in the hole? What made those men go away?"

  Anya put the larger kettle on to heat. Tossing the last of her dried fish into it, Anya added a wild onion she had quartered and other herbs.

  "Come and sit." She patted the goatskin. "I am not sure myself what happened. There is a great deal to tell. I do not think we should bother tonight. We may as well wait until tomorrow. I do want to know why those men were chasing you."

  Petyr looked at his good hand, flexing his fingers. "You heard them. I am a Jew. They wish to kill me, as they did my father and grandfather."

  "For what reason?" She asked.

  "They need no other reason. I am a Jew."

  "That makes no sense to me." Anya exclaimed.

  Picking up her tools, the young woman went back to work on straightening her arrows as she waited for the soup to cook.

  Taking a debarked willow stick in hand, she wound a strip of the thick moss around it. After drenching the wrapped stick with water, she suspended it above the fire on two forked sticks she had pushed into the ground. When she judged the willow had steamed sufficiently, Anya removed the moss.

  Sighting down the stick, Anya forced the wood upward to counteract a downward curve. Holding it in place as it dried, inch by inch, she straightened each branch. In order to be a good arrow, one which would bring down game, they must be straight.

  "You speak Russian but I do not think you are Russian." The boy picked up her stirring stick to give the stew pot a swirl.

  "Correct. I am not. I am American." She watched him stir their dinner then nodded. "Continue to stir it once in a while. If you stir the food, I will not have to stop working on these. We will need them to eat tomorrow."

  "How does an American come to be here in the middle of Siberia?" He jumped to another subject. "What are you making?"

  "First" Anya wrapped another arrow with wet moss and placed it on the rack to steam. "Where are the rest of your family?"

  Petyr lowered his head and she barely caught his words. "Dead. All dead."

  "Then you and I will leave here together. I am going home to Alaska. You will be going with me. As we journey tomorrow, I will tell you the entire horrid tale."

  His dark eyes stared at her in the firelight. "That is a very great distance from here. It will take a long time to travel that far."

  Anya stared into the glow of the fire. When she looked up at Petyr, her gray eyes reflected the flames. "I am going home, Petyr, or I will die in the attempt. It may take years. Will you travel with me or not?" The flames lit her face.

  Petyr shook his head slightly. "I saw you. I dreamed you as well. I think for the time being, you are my purpose."


  "Your purpose?" She asked with a look of confusion.

  Petyr nodded. "God gives us all a purpose in life. I think for now, you are mine."

  As she dished out the food, Anya silently thought about his statement. His stayed in the kettle, hers went into the tankard. She did not understand him, but did not question him further. They would have many miles and many long days in which to discuss the matter.

  After they ate, she allotted the blankets. Tired, they quietly went to bed. Anya lay awake a long time. She wondered if Petyr was awake, but did not ask. She had enough to ponder, Petyr, the ravens and the journey.

  Rising early, Anya surveyed the small meadow they had camped in. On the far side to the west, was a large stand of thorny bushes. Anya had seen them the day before. She suspected rabbits lurked in the tangle of thorny canes.

  Carefully, she carved a sliver of wood from the butt end of one of the arrows. As she had no feathers for fletching, she would use a shaving. Raising three from the wood, she curved them a bit around the butt end of the sharpened stick. Now, she could try one of her arrows if anything were to come her way.

  As Anya watched the edge of the clearing she thought of Petyr's statement. Purpose! Well, her purpose this foggy morning was to feed herself and the boy. As she watched, a ptarmigan, no, a family of ptarmigan with plumage just beginning to change to winter white, fed under the thorny bushes.

  Let this arrow fly true! Anya prayed silently. She knocked the arrow and sighted in on the fattest bird in the flock. The arrow did not hit quite where she aimed, but the bird fell over. The other birds noisily disappeared into the undergrowth again. Anya collected her kill. Now she had fletching. The feathers from this bird would go toward making arrows. With decent shafts, she would indeed be able to feed them.

  "Petyr! Come, wake now. I wish us to be miles from here quickly."

  The boy winced as he untangled his arm from the bedding. "Oh," On seeing the dead bird, he looked up at her with a smile. "It worked!"

  "Of course it worked. The arrow did not fly quite true as I did not have proper fletching."