The White Raven

by Carrie D. Miller

  I drift down slowly, alighting in front of the man to whom I promised allegiance, Captain Boe. He stands before the great wheel now, arms crossed over his chest, his dark beard nearly touching his arms, looking not a bit impressed by his flying witch.

  The image snaps back to the darkness behind my eyes. My head is throbbing, and I am faint. Dropping my hands, I grip my head, pushing at my temples.

  “I’m sorry,” I pant, “I can’t do any more.”

  “Here, drink this.” Jo’s voice is full of concern, her hand on my back.

  I peek through my eyes and take the glass of water. After I chug the whole of it, the pounding in my ears starts to subside.

  “Are you all right?” Cal has moved back to the coffee table, his hands on my knees. I nod and hand the glass to Sylvia, who’s reached for it to go refill it in the kitchen.

  I settle into the sofa and take deep breaths through my nose.

  “Oh, my Goddess, you were a pirate?” Sylvia exclaims too loudly for my pained head as she returns with the glass. Her mom shushes her.

  “No, no.” I wave her question away. “I only sailed with pirates. I wanted to see the world. So I agreed to help them in exchange for safe passage and to be otherwise left alone.”

  “That was incredible,” Jo breathes out, a hand on her chest.

  “I’d love to show you more, but I am so drained.” Cal’s hands are rubbing my upper arms and I relax into the soothing motions of it.

  Cal squeezes my shoulders. “Don’t worry about that. You need to rest.”

  “You believe me now?” I ask through a small smile.

  He grunts a laugh. “Yeah, you win.”

  Jo pats my leg. “Which lives were those?”

  “Pirates was number ten. Iona was in two.”

  “What did the captain want?” Sylvia’s eyes glimmer with anticipation.

  “Ha!” shoots from my lips. “Well…” I stretch out the word to give me some time to decide how to answer. “The ship we were on was a stolen man-of-war. As you can imagine, the English were not happy with that. And it seemed there were three ships in pursuit.” Sylvia is bouncing in her seat, staring at me with wide eyes. “No, I didn’t help them steal it. But I did help them get away. I brewed up a little storm behind us, allowing Captain Boe to get a great distance from them.”

  Cal shakes his head at me and Jo gives me a playful tsk.

  “That’s awesome,” Sylvia says, beaming. “You rock.” That makes me laugh aloud.

  “Pizza anyone?” Jo asks. “I’m starving.”

  “There’s one in the freezer,” I say, and Sylvia is up in an instant, heading for the kitchen.

  “I need a drink,” Jo says, pushing herself up from the sofa, and goes for the sideboard where I keep her favorite spirit.

  “Amen to that,” Cal says.

  Cal takes my hands and pulls me up into his arms. “It’s going to take me a while to process what…the things you said, what you, uh…showed me. I can’t wrap my brain around all of this right now, I’m sorry. But I do believe you.”

  I take his face in my hands and brush my lips against his. His arms move to my waist, his kisses tentative and light. I press my forehead to his chin. “You don’t have to apologize. The fact that you are still standing here means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

  One arm tightens around my waist, while the other hand moves up and down my back.

  “Can I stay tonight?” he asks. I nod, snuggling into his neck.

  Despite the pleasant memories I showed them, dinner is subdued. We sit at the small, round kitchen table, hunched over our plates of pizza. Cal eats heartily while Jo picks, muttering about how much she despises mushrooms. My slice gets cold before I can finish it. Few words are spoken and little eye contact is made. The eight-hundred-pound gorilla attending dinner eats no food and drinks nothing, but consumes the light and laughter from everyone instead.

  My skin itches under the uncomfortable tension that grips our little group. After a few sips of water, I put my glass down on the table with a thud, getting everyone’s attention.

  “You can’t let this get inside you.” It is difficult to look at anyone; the pity in their eyes is like a slap in the face. “Don’t pity me. I can’t take it. I do well enough to manage my own.”

  Taking a deep breath, I push out more words. “Look, this is my lot and that’s that. We have to get back to the way we were; I can’t have you all reminding me of it every time you look at me. I have to accept this and do what I do best—put it in the back of my mind and forget about it.” But I don’t believe these words. I will never accept this curse and will never put it aside. Every moment of every day will remind me that I am doomed to repeat this cycle for an unimaginable amount of time. I remember everyone I’ve killed, be it purposefully or accidentally; their faces are etched in my memory. There is no light at the end of my tunnel—it’s walled up with two hundred and twenty-six bricks.

  In the middle of an agreeable nod, Jo stops short and looks at me. “But you don’t have to carry this all on your own, you know.”

  “That’s right,” Sylvia chimes in, “you have us.”

  The swelling of my heart threatens to choke me. I inhale deeply to stave off the sobs that well up. “Thank you for that.” I reach out on both sides of me and grasp their outstretched hands. I squeeze my eyes closed. “But you can’t help me.”

  “That may be true,” Jo says, “but you can take our love and support and not shut us out. I can see you doing that and I’m not going to allow it.” She gives my hand a little shake. “We witches have to stick together.”

  I can’t meet her loving gaze. I squeeze their hands and nod. The negative part of me feels that I don’t deserve their friendship after all I’ve done. The positive part rails against this thinking. I absolutely deserve their friendship, this life, and the happiness I have right now. I will never accept that what I’ve done was wrong.

  The moment of uncomfortable silence is thankfully broken when the cat leaps onto the table, walking directly across to the tiny pile of mushroom pieces on Jo’s plate. I silently thank Arial for the welcome interruption, and she flicks her tail as she digs into the mushrooms. Cal eyes the cat questioningly.

  “She’s real,” Sylvia says, mouth full of pizza.

  “Phew,” Cal looks relieved and reaches up to stroke Arial’s back.

  That night, he makes love to me, slowly and gently. Not an inch of my skin is left untouched or un-kissed. As I shudder underneath his lips, tears well up and overflow. I cover my face, embarrassed for crying yet again but unable to quell the tide. My body is racked with sobs from deep within, and Cal holds me tight. He doesn’t speak; he caresses my hair and back until I am quiet.

  Suddenly, fear stabs into my heart like a cold penknife. I’m afraid this will end, that something awful will happen and I will die, ending this wonderful life. I’d once again be without friends and without love, having to start over again in a strange place in a strange time. The closet where I stash this kind of thinking is too full to contain any more. This fear makes me gasp, and I cling to Cal once more, using him to distract me from myself. I don’t think he minds too much.

  24

  For several days, Cal stays at my home, forcing me to rest and taking care of my every need. It’s wonderful to have him here—the perfect distraction from reflecting on my fate. But an urgent call from his sister about a troublesome client forces him to go. We walk to the front gate arm-in-arm. He gives me one last tight squeeze and nibbles my neck with an evil grin, knowing what that does to me. I smack him playfully on the chest and push him away. He turns, grinning smugly, and waves as he rounds the corner.

  Turning back to the gate, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Jo is asking to meet me on the rooftop; she has something to show me. The spark of excitement is quickly overshadowed by trepidation. Something inside me prickles at Jo’s words.

  “What’s your mother been up to?” I ask Sylvia as I pass through the shop.
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  “Nothing like what you’ve been up to.” She leers at me, then waggles an eyebrow.

  I throw her a look of feigned shock.

  I pace when I reach the rooftop, anxious for Jo to leave the curse alone; there’s nothing she can do. The truth is that I don’t want to talk about it anymore, don’t want to think about it anymore, don’t want it to have any power over my life. I wring my clammy hands, getting more anxious as the moments tick by.

  Jo’s footsteps sound on the stairs and a second pair is in tow close behind her. I pull open the screen door for them.

  “Well, don’t you look like you’re going to come out of your skin.” She barely glances at me as she walks past. She’s looking around the rooftop. Sylvia follows her gaze.

  “Can you blame me? Your last news wasn’t that great.”

  Jo turns with genuine hurt on her face.

  “I’m sorry.” I go to her, placing my hands on her upper arms. “Too soon to joke about it?”

  She pats one of my hands and nods.

  I squeeze her arms and let go. “Okay, so what’s up? I’m kind of afraid to know.”

  Jo is still looking around and finds the object of her search behind me. I hear wings and talons on roof shingles but I don’t bother turning. My body stiffens, instantly angry at that damn bird. This death stalker that duped me into liking it, watching over me when I was down. For what purpose? She is an unwelcome voyeur of my life, my lives.

  Jo raises an eyebrow at my response, confused. She studies my face.

  “The raven’s just doing what she’s supposed to do.” She looks anxious now, as if she’s made a mistake.

  I close my eyes and unclench my fists. “I know.”

  “Hey, look!” Sylvia says behind me. What’s the point of me turning around? She will only fly away. Jo motions for me to turn.

  “What’s that around his neck? Sorry, her neck?” Sylvia asks, squinting.

  The rustle of feathers is followed by a soft warbling sound. I turn slowly, not sure now of what to expect. What’s Jo done?

  But there, perched on the tip of the main tower peak is the white raven—my view of her not obstructed by warped window glass or curtains. The heat that had been coursing through my body, the angry flames that licked at my heart, vanish at the sight of her. She seems bigger than when I saw her through the window. Set against the stark white of her silky feathers, her amethyst eyes glisten like small jewels, holding inside them an immeasurable amount of intelligence and wisdom.

  I inhale sharply and the bird staggers back, losing her grip. She croaks loudly, clawing back to the top, wings out for balance, and looks down, one eye cocked at me, studying me intently. Her wings twitch as she looks me up and down. Around her neck is a thin black chain. It holds a polished gray stone against her quivering chest. The stone appears to pulse, flashing with bits of iridescent blue and green in the sunlight.

  I can only stare at the bird, my weakening knees threatening to send me to the floor. My mouth has gone dry, and I doubt I could speak now if I tried. The bird nervously readjusts her grip on the steep peak and scrutinizes the ledge below her, closer to me, gauging whether she should take the leap or not. My stomach jumps when she does, flutteringly madly with her proximity. She looks at Jo, who gives her nods of encouragement, and then leaps once more down to the edge of a tall vase by the screen door. She is now only a few feet from me. My breathing quickens and blood pounds in my ears. I barely hear Jo ask me if I’m all right.

  My anger has vanished, replaced by a sense of fulfillment as if I’ve just been reunited with a long-lost friend. Tears fill my eyes, and I tell myself not again, I will not cry anymore. But these tears aren’t born of sadness but rather of a pure joy that I cannot explain. Still, I refuse to cry anymore.

  Without taking my eyes from the white raven, I whisper to Jo, “What did you do? Is that one of your charms?”

  She comes to my side. “When we talked, the raven and I, she told me that she could never come near you.” I pull my gaze away from the bird and look questioningly at Jo. “Your energy is too strong; it pushes her away. It physically hurts her to be near you.” My mouth shapes an “oh” but no sound comes out as I stand there dumb and deeply sad. “So I made something that I thought would shield her from your energy, deflect it, so you two could meet.”

  Realization blooms through me. “That’s why she was able to come near me when I was in bed. I was very weak.”

  Jo nods.

  “But as I got better, my energy returned; hence, she flew away.”

  Jo nods again and the raven croaks repeatedly as if to agree. “Labradorite seemed to be the best stone to use. I’ve found it shields energy better than anything I’ve used before. And I added my special touches, of course.” She eyes her creation with pride.

  I feel a sudden desire to rush at the bird, scoop her up in my arms, kiss her, and snuggle her, but I’m sure that will only frighten her. I take a small step forward, inclining my head. “Hi,” is all I can come up with.

  She bows her head. I extend a trembling hand. She pulls back slightly so I withdraw it.

  Jo leans into me and whispers, “Why don’t you go have a seat? Let her come to you when she’s ready.”

  I nod and turn away, slowly so as to not alarm the bird. Jo motions to Sylvia to go downstairs, and she moves tentatively to the door, skirting around the jumpy creature. She holds the screen door so it doesn’t slam.

  Jo joins me on the chaise, and we are now in audience with the white raven, still perched on the vase. She bobs her head and ruffles her feathers, gurgling softly. I jump a little when she leaps up. She lands roughly on the back of the lounger, facing us, her balance somewhat off.

  “I think we are all a little unhinged.” Jo chuckles softly, acknowledging the bird’s lack of grace.

  I give Jo a passing smile, but my attention is on the raven. Her glossy feathers reflect the bright sunlight, giving her a glow that shimmers when she moves. She blinks at me, the violet of her eyes deep and rich. Being so close, seeing her in such detail, takes my breath away.

  “Can I speak to you now?” I ask the raven. I turn to Jo. “Will your charm help with that?” She looks confused. “I tried to speak into her mind when she was at my window but that seemed to hurt her.”

  “Hmm,” Jo says, cocking her head at the bird. “I don’t know, honestly.”

  You may speak now.

  The sound of the sweet, lilting voice in my head makes me gasp and cover my mouth with my hands. I stare at the white raven, eyes welling with tears once again. That voice! A laugh escapes my lips as do a few tears from my eyes. Jo brings her hands together on her chest, rejoicing in this new development. She must have heard her also.

  I have wanted to talk to you for so long! Now, I have no idea what to say. I take several deep breaths to calm myself. My skin tingles with goosebumps, happy goosebumps.

  Me too, me too. I asked your friend to help me. I am happy now. The bird inclines her head to Jo. Jo bows back, her eyes glistening.

  Guilt washes over me. I know now why you’ve come and gone; why you’d run when I chased you. I’m so sorry for hurting you. Please know it wasn’t intentional.

  I know, I do know that. At first, I did not, long ago, but after a time, I understood what was happening. She shakes her body and ruffles her feathers as if to push away painful memories.

  I touch Jo’s arm. “How long will the charm last?”

  “I don’t know that either. This is new territory for me. I’m damn proud of myself right now, though.” Jo’s expression is one of relief and great satisfaction.

  “You should be!” I grab her hand and hold it. “I can never repay you for this, my friend.”

  “Oh, hush.” She waves me off and looks at the bird. “You two have a lot of catching up to do.” She stands slowly, surveying the bird for signs of fright at her movements. “I’ll leave you alone.” She gives me a warm, loving smile and bows again to the bird, who returns her gesture.

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nbsp; Jo watches us as she walks away. When she reaches the door, her face has changed. Her mouth is hanging open in surprise and something else, revelation maybe, as she studies us for a long moment. I open my mouth to ask what is wrong, but she shakes her head, waving me off, and ducks through the door.

  Jo’s strange reaction puzzles me, but I quickly put that out of my mind. I’m talking to the white raven!

  Please, tell me of your life. You have always been with me, but I know nothing about you. What is your name? This comes out in a rush.

  The white raven is quiet for a few moments, and I wonder if she can no longer hear me.

  I do not have a name. No one has given me a name. She looks almost sad as she says this.

  Would you like a name?

  What would you call me? What would be my name?

  Ren, I blurt out without thinking. Where did that come from? But it fits her. Pure.

  Ren. Ren? The bird mulls the name over, her head tilting. Yes. My name is Ren.

  Well, Ren, tell me of your life. I like the sound of her name in my head. It feels natural to say it.

  I follow you. When you are gone, I am sad. Alone again. I get mad at what happens to you. Mad, mad! I try to help. Sometimes, I can. I dive, I peck eyes, I claw hair and face. But other times, I cannot. I can only scream and flash my wings. When you are here, I follow, I watch, all the time. When you are gone, I wander.

  Her voice is like a song. Though her words make my heart ache for her, her voice in my head is comforting and fills me with joy.

  I know when you come back so I search for you. No matter where, I find you.

  Of all she has just said, one question comes immediately forward. Why?

  I do not know. Her words are laced with sadness.

  I am so sorry you have suffered for me. I truly am. I wish I knew why. Thank you for helping me. And thank you for being here. Though I never saw you, knowing you were there gave me a certain sense of comfort. Not until I spoke those words did I realize it. This elusive creature—always there but not, with me always but not—never let me feel alone because I wasn’t. I realize that now and my throat tightens. Thank you.