The White Raven

by Carrie D. Miller

  There is another’s scream lofting up, impossibly high, but I don’t turn my head to see. I know it is the white raven. The love I felt for the bird when finally seeing her up close comes rushing back and catches in my throat.

  I let myself continue to fall, not caring what happens. I close my eyes and let the blackness take me.

  The peace does not last, and I am suddenly aware of the piercing cold. There is a harsh, stinging pain on my exposed skin, and the cold burns my lungs when I gasp. Fear rushes at me when I realize what I am doing. I try to turn my body, but the momentum is too great and my muscles are rigid from the freezing air. I am plummeting to the earth, and now I’m deathly afraid of what I wanted so dearly only seconds ago. I am trapped by the power of my descent, clutched in its grip like a vice. Reaching out with my mind, I pull in light around me, warmth and heat, to calm me. I must focus to project myself such a long distance. I picture the rooftop terrace where Jo now stands with eyes locked on the sky, and the roaring sound fades—as do I.

  The sudden change in velocity make my legs buckle, and I collapse to the floor of the terrace. I am vaguely aware of Jo rushing to me, wrapping her arms around me, as my vision narrows and the world around me goes black.

  23

  I hear faint voices, faraway whispers. A man’s deep voice sounds strange amidst the softness of the two women’s voices. I can’t make out what they are saying. Someone says my name and comes towards me. I can open my eyes only a little; everything is blurry and washed out. Then the blanket of darkness falls over me again.

  My dreams, nightmares rather, are filled with my tumultuous past. I hear pained howls and angry shouting, see faces caught in silent screams, their skin peeling and melting. I smell the burning of flesh, my own, but I am cold and rigid. Someone is drowning—is that me? I see thin, bony hands come up out of churning water, desperately clawing at the hands that hold her down. The scent of fetid blood replaces that of burning flesh and I gag, I can’t breathe from the stench of it. Icy winds blow at my face and the cold cuts into my skin. More screams fill my ears; I can’t shut them out. The screech of a bird overtakes the screams, and I am chasing it. The white bird trails blood as she flies. It splatters my face.

  I jolt awake, the taste of blood in my mouth. I have bitten my lip.

  “Aven!” Jo rushes to me from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

  Cal is behind her and Sylvia is peering around him. They share the same expression, that of unease and worry.

  I cover my mouth and Jo hands me a tissue. Embarrassment keeps me from meeting Cal’s eyes.

  “I called him. I couldn’t lift you.” Jo’s eyes plead for forgiveness.

  “She won’t tell me what happened to you.” Cal steps forward. His hands are in his front pockets, and he is looking uncomfortable despite the concern on his face.

  I find my voice. “How long have I been out? What time is it?” My throat is like sandpaper. I take several gulps of water from the glass on the nightstand.

  “Practically all day. It’s almost midnight.” Jo takes the empty glass from my hand.

  “Can I talk to Cal alone, please?”

  Jo closes the door behind her, and Cal sits on the end of the bed. “Jesus, Aven. Are you all right?” He moves to take my hand but stops himself.

  I shake my head in frustration. “You have had the worst introduction into my life, I have to say.” My attempt at levity fails, for he isn’t smiling. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking.” I sigh and cover my face with my hands.

  He sits quietly for a moment, then puts a hand on my leg and a gives it a gentle squeeze. I sit up, gazing at him with eyes that beg for understanding. He scoots forward and wraps his arms around me. This tender and loving gesture, the kindness in his eyes, opens a well I’ve kept capped for many years. My tears flood out in sobs and gasps, shudders and coughs, and he says nothing. He holds me gently, sometimes giving a firm squeeze, and rocks me from side to side.

  When the flow ebbs, I take several shaky breaths. He is stroking my hair.

  “Everything in my brain is telling me to run away from you,” he whispers in my ear, his head lying gently against mine. I tense at his words; his arms go tighter around me. “But my heart just won’t let me. You’ve probably put a spell on me.” He chuckles as he says this.

  “I would never do that,” I choke out. He kisses my hair in response.

  I push back enough so I can see his eyes. They look darker blue in this light, flecked with bits of gold and black, and contain nothing but sincerity.

  He brushes a few strands of hair away from my wet cheeks. “When I first saw you that day I brought Will, I thought ‘Wooow, this chick is hot.’” He puts a palm on my blushing cheek. I lean into his hand. “Then when we had that talk about magic in the restaurant, I was like ‘okay, crazy but still hot.’ I didn’t want to believe what I’d seen with my own eyes, and felt, during that mirror-tornado business. God, that was some crazy shit.” He shakes his head, still holding on to some disbelief. “And I tried to stay away from you. I tried hard. I thought getting mad at you would help, and it did, but not for very long. I can’t stay away from you.” He wipes a tear away with his thumb. “If you have bewitched me, Aven Dovenelle, I think I’m okay with that.” His lips are soft on mine. My head is spinning; I must still be dreaming. Never, never would I have imagined a man would be this strong, this gentle, and say those words to me.

  “Are you real?” I ask, tightening my arms around him and burying my head in his neck. He holds me tight and we are quite for some time.

  I regretfully pull away. “I have to pee.”

  He guffaws and lets me go. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  I close the bathroom door and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I am a fright. My eyes are red and puffed like someone punched me. My cheeks are splotchy, and my hair could have a family of birds living in it and I wouldn’t know. I call out to Cal that I’m going to take a shower. He is silent for a moment, probably weighing whether he should ask to join me or not, and finally says that he’ll leave me to it but to shout if I need anything.

  The hot water stings my raw skin. I must have raked off several layers descending as fast as I did. The water swirling around the drain is pink, so I inspect myself. My knees are scraped up nicely and bruises mark the center of each like a bullseye. It seems I hit the floor pretty hard. Sitting under the shower, I let the water rain on me. My hair is a dark curtain around my face, hiding me within. I watch the water flow down the drain, taking with it my hope for a reprieve from this curse.

  Jo’s voice startles me. “Aven? You all right? You’ve been in there a while.”

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, my throat raw.

  Every muscle aches as I dress. Not the pleasant ache that a night of good sex brings, but the ache from piano-wire tension and stressed muscles. I pull on my comfiest yoga pants and a plain white T-shirt. I brush out my damp hair and tuck it behind my ears.

  The three are sitting in what serves as my living room, the open loft area between the kitchen and the railing overlooking the shop, talking in whispers. They stop at once and stare at me, and it feels as if I’ve just walked out on stage.

  Under normal circumstances, Jo would greet me with a quip about my clothing, or not having any makeup on, or how lazy I am with my hair. But now, she sits quietly, looking small…and old.

  I don’t know what to say, and I stare at them as they stare at me. I hope someone says something soon; this is very uncomfortable. Sylvia looks at her mom, then at Cal, and decides to be the brave one.

  “So, the falling to earth thing. Not cool.” Sylvia crosses her arms over her chest, looking more concerned than her words let on. Jo’s head snaps up at her and Cal turns, confused.

  “I didn’t tell Cal any of that,” Jo says to her daughter through clenched teeth. Sylvia’s square shoulders slump, and she sheepishly slides down into the high-back chair.

  I look at Cal. “I had some pretty bad
news this morning, and I did not take it well.”

  The confusion morphs into trepidation. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  I shrug and pad over to the sofa to sit beside Jo. She scoots sideways so I can face Cal, who’s perched on the edge of the coffee table.

  “I meant to tell you in there, but all I could do was cry.” Jo puts a shaky hand on my knee and squeezes. I put my hand over hers and look at her. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. Seems I do that a lot to you lately.”

  “Well,” she snorts, shaking her head, “can’t blame you. Either time. You have every right to yell.” She squeezes my knee again. “And I’m sorry, too.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. I should thank you. Without you, I would still be hoping. Now, I can put that behind me.” Her eyes gloss with new tears.

  “Okay, what is going on?” Cal is staring back and forth between me and Jo.

  I inhale deeply and let it out as if I’m readying for a grand speech.

  “I am cursed.”

  His forehead wrinkles but he says nothing.

  “I am cursed with reincarnation. When the body dies, my Spirit is forced to come back into a new one and I remember everything. I never knew why I was cursed until Jo discovered the reason. I will continue this cycle—living, dying, repeat, remember—until I’ve lived a life for each one that I have taken. That is the bad news I got this morning.”

  I take a deep breath. “I never thought this would be an endless thing; I didn’t allow myself to give up hope that one day I’d find a way to break this curse. I just needed more knowledge, more information, more time, and then maybe I’d figure it out.”

  Jo stiffens, and I give her a reassuring smile.

  A dubious expression distorts his face. “Oh, come on. Even that’s a little much for me to swallow, despite what I’ve seen.”

  “I really need you to believe me.” My eyes beseech him.

  “It’s true.” Jo’s voice is small and distant.

  Cal huffs and rakes a hand through his hair. “You can’t expect me to believe this.”

  “I don’t expect anything from you. This doesn’t affect you, any of you, so we can drop the subject altogether. Let’s just forget today happened.” I want to very much.

  Jo seems hurt, and Sylvia looks at the floor.

  “Oh no, huh-uh. I didn’t rush over here, scoop you off the floor for the second time and wait patiently,” he side glares at Jo, “to be told what is going on and then have it swept under the rug like that.”

  I study his face. His jaw is set, and he doesn’t flinch at my scrutinizing gaze.

  “All right. How much can you take?”

  Cal moves to the other chair and sits straight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do your worst,” he says with a slight smirk.

  Jo snorts at his arrogance and lets go of my hands, pushing herself back into the sofa. Sylvia pulls her knees to her chest.

  I resist the urge to pummel him with visions of my lives, reminding myself how new and crazy this is to him. He doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but he soon will.

  I ponder for a long moment where to start.

  “When a body dies, the Spirit leaves it and travels to the Veil, the transition point to the other realms. Most Spirits have a choice: move on to another plane, or reincarnate, losing most if not all memory of their previous life and their time in the Veil. They come back with a clean slate. Some Spirits—those that are misguided, evil, or simply too afraid—will drift in and out of the Veil aimlessly. The more malevolent ones wreak havoc and play nasty games. My Spirit does not have these choices. While I can drift around in the Veil for a good amount of time—although time means nothing there—I am inexorably pushed out, for lack of a better term. I remember everything about my previous lives and the time spent in the Veil. When I died in 1886, it seemed as if only a few days had gone by before I was made to leave.”

  Cal’s mouth opens, and I raise my hand. “Just listen, okay?” He nods grudgingly.

  “In the first memory I have of the Veil, I was scared out of my wits. It was very dark and there was not a single sound. No smells, no tactile sensations at all. The wave of Spirits ebbed and flowed, and I begged for help from each of them. Not a single Spirit offered any help or guidance. After a time, I felt a tug, like I was treading water in the ocean and something pulled at my leg. Then it became a push, from the Veil itself. It closed around me, as if becoming a solid wall, and I couldn’t get back through it. The first time was terrifying. I clawed and scraped at the solid dark curtain, screaming and begging to be let back in. While I had been afraid of the Veil when inside it, I was more terrified by what was behind me—a new world, a new place, a new time. I had no clue where I was or when.

  “Without another option, I wandered around, my Spirit drifting with the wind. The land was deep green with low rolling hills. I came across a small hamlet. I heard crying from one of the cottages, a woman sobbing in between screams of pain. She was giving birth, but she knew her baby was dying, or already dead. The husband and midwife were there, giving words of encouragement and prayers to God. I was drawn to the baby for she was indeed dying. When she came out, she struggled for breath. The woman begged to hold her baby before she died, but the midwife was trying to save her. The husband was praying, crying out to God for mercy. When I saw the baby’s Spirit rise from her, some part of me instinctively knew that I could now occupy the body. So I did.”

  I look at Cal, Jo, and Sylvia. Their faces show a mixture of revulsion and awe. I ignore them.

  “Anyway, that’s how I re-enter this world—through the body of someone who has just died. I’ve come back as a newborn—which I will never do again—a toddler, a teenager, and an adult. I’ve experimented with what works best and coming back as a young child is not ideal. I picked a male body once. That is also something else I will never do again.” I pucker my face at the memory of being inside a man’s body. I instantly feel dirty. Cal shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

  “As it turned out, my second life was in Scotland around the turn of the twelfth century.” A soft grunt emanates from Cal’s direction.

  I sigh and close my eyes. “Okay, I can see I’ll have to take more drastic measures.”

  “Oh, hell, now you’ve done it,” Jo quips to Cal. He purses his lips at her.

  “I have an idea.” Scooting forward, I extend my hands to Cal. “I will show you. Here, take my hands.” I motion to the ladies also.

  “Another vision walk?” Jo’s eyes glint with excitement.

  “Not quite—I couldn’t take you all through such a journey, but I can show you some parts of my lives. You will see it, feel it, through my eyes—you will be me.” I raise my brows at Cal, the only one who’s not taken one of my hands. He is studying my face with trepidation.

  “Come on, Mr. Do Your Worst,” Jo tells him, returning his earlier smirk. Cal harrumphs and scoots forward, laying a hand atop mine.

  The lights in the room dim slowly. “Close your eyes.” My voice resonates around the four of us. “Open your minds. Do not fight what you see.” Chill bumps rise on my skin as mist fills my vision, silvery white and swirling, replacing the darkness behind my closed eyes.

  Cal gasps and I feel a lick of fear from Sylvia. “There is nothing to fear. You will come to no harm.” I wait for her to calm before I continue. The white mist slowly dissipates, revealing a cloudless, sunny day.

  Rolling green hills spread out before me. The breeze is warm and soft on my face; the sky is clear and bright blue. I hear the lilt of childish laughter and a little girl with fiery red hair springs up from within a cluster of wild heather, sending out a burst of woodsy floral scent. Iona. Her face lights up when she sees my feigned surprise. My heart fills with joy at the sight of my little sister.

  “You won’t catch me, dragon!” She grabs her skirts and runs from me, shrieking merrily as she leaps over mounds of heather.

  With a burst of laughter of my own and then a long growl, I give chase,
for I am a fierce dragon and she a helpless maid—a game we played a great deal, one she insisted on playing whenever I looked glum. My little legs are only slightly longer than hers, but I have to run fast to catch up with her. When I am close I slow down, delighting in her giggling shrieks at the prospect of being caught by the dragon. I let her get ahead of me again and then rush at her. With an immense roar, I leap forward and we tumble, rolling and laughing down the grassy hillside.

  “Girls!” The wind carries our mother’s weary voice. “Lilias! Iona! There is still work to be done. Your silly games can wait.”

  I let out a groan and rise, pulling Iona up with me. Her face is splotched red from excitement, and strands of hair stick to her sweaty cheeks. Her gap-toothed smile makes me laugh.

  “Come on, then,” I say, pulling bits of heather and grass from her wild hair. She takes my hand and skips up the hill, tugging me along.

  The green and purple of the landscape is whisked away by the silvery white mist, quickly revealing a vast ocean.

  I marvel at the water from my perch high above. Innumerable shades of blue stretch all around me, filled with low, dancing waves sometimes tipped with white froth. The expanse stretches to the horizon, which is yet another wondrous shade of blue. The warm, salty air leaves its taste on my lips. I laugh aloud, throwing my arms out into the headwinds. The sound of thick sails flapping is accompanied by the crashing of the massive ship as it cuts through the water at great speed.

  I look down from the crow’s nest to the busy crew, each looking like an ant scurrying to perform the tasks shouted out by the large man standing at the base of the mizzen mast. His coat tails flap in the wind as does the red plume in his cocked hat.

  He looks up at me then. “Witch! Come! You are needed.”

  I glare down at the arrogant man. He snarls at me and huffs, turning away haughtily, knowing I will obey him. Yes, I will obey but on my terms only. I lift my arms and my body rises. Those who see me cry out to God or cross themselves, turning their backs to the devil in their sight. I hide my grin.