The White Raven

by Carrie D. Miller

  “That would mean you are cursed also,” I say, looking at my empty plate. If she is my sister and she is cursed too, perhaps my whole family is cursed. The thought sours in my belly.

  Jo sighs. “I don’t really know what I think.”

  The way she fidgets with her fork and shifts in her seat tells me she is still lying. Maybe not lying exactly but withholding something she knows will upset me. Given the things she’s revealed to me recently, she can hold on to those thoughts as long as she wants.

  Ren chatters on, undaunted by what she might discover from the ritual—unlike me, who’s fretting about the very notion of the thing. As I regard her and Jo exchanging ideas, it becomes apparent how utterly positive this bird is. I guess you’d have to stay upbeat being an immortal, having to push aside the negativity and terror you experience in all that time. Otherwise, I’d think you’d go mad. What must she have gone through—always wanting to be with me but unable to get close, watching the terrible events that have happened to me, powerless to defend me, and then the endless waiting, waiting. Not knowing where or when I’d come back. I close my eyes as if the darkness could hide me against those thoughts. Ren has fared amazingly, and I envy her. I would not have done so well by any means.

  “Aven, what’s wrong?” Jo leans over.

  Her voice snaps me back, feeling only now the warm trail of tears down my cheeks. I wipe my face and wave off her concern.

  “Oh, gosh.” I try a laugh. “Nothing. Lost in thought.”

  Ren is leaning in, peering at me with a glittering eye.

  What sadness is in you? What are your thoughts? She lifts up her chest and ruffles her feathers, slightly alarmed.

  “I’m fine, really.” I pull one leg up in the seat and lean forward for my water, trying my best to appear casual and calm.

  “You’re worried about the ritual?” Jo asks, watching my hand.

  “What did I experience that was so horrific, so vile, so terrible that I cannot remember it?” The question slips from my lips without my permission.

  Jo’s eyes fall from mine, and Ren emits a soft croak, head bowed.

  Jo pushes a tiny piece of sausage around on her plate with her fork. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it immediately.

  Ren’s sweet and calm voice fills my head. What has happened is past. It is gone, long ago gone. What you will see are sights only, they cannot hurt you.

  Such wisdom can only come from someone long alive in this world and much experienced in pain and suffering. I utter an agreement and put an unwanted forkful of food in my mouth, hoping the heat from the spice will distract my belly from making any more knots.

  29

  When Cal is back, I invite him over for dinner. The evening brings with it a pleasant chill. As we eat under the pergola and the careful watch of the white raven, I catch myself chattering aimlessly, nervous about what I need to tell him. Ren rests at the edge of the roof behind us awaiting my signal to present herself.

  “Have you decided what you are wearing to the Halloween party?”

  “Like a costume? Uh, no. I like a good party as much as the next man, but I’m not wearing a costume,” Cal scoffs before popping a piece of bread into his mouth.

  I purse my lips at him. “No boyfriend of mine is coming to a Halloween party not in costume.”

  He stares at me for a few seconds, and a grin curls the edges of his mouth. “So I’m your boyfriend?”

  My cheeks flush hotly, and I look away. I can’t believe I’ve just said that! I search for words to redeem myself but nothing comes.

  He laughs, cupping my red face in his hands. “I’m proud to be your boyfriend, Aven.” His kiss is passionate and one arm reaches around me, pulling me to him.

  I melt into his embrace, forgetting everything I wanted to tell him. It takes all my strength to release my lips from his. I rest my forehead against his, allowing me time to catch my breath.

  “I need to tell you some things,” I whisper, not wanting the harshness of speech to kill this tender moment.

  He is kissing my neck, a little nibble on my ear lobe, and my already warm body increases in temperature. “Can’t you tell me later?” he murmurs against my ear. I desperately want to; I want to push my real life aside once again and bathe in this blissful sea, ignoring everything around me.

  Against what my body wants, I push him back slightly at the shoulders. He doesn’t resist but groans with disappointment. He leans back against the chaise with a wary eye.

  How many more of my secrets can this man take?

  He answers my unspoken question. “Don’t worry, I can take it.” He takes my hand and entwines his fingers with mine.

  This small gesture sends a wave of relief over me. It’s quickly overshadowed by thoughts of what his limits truly are, of how far I can push his grip on reality until he breaks.

  I search for where to start and how. It takes me several minutes to compose my racing thoughts. I reposition myself to better face him.

  “You’ve seen the white raven, yes?”

  “Yeah,” he chuffs. “I see it every time I come over. It was pretty aggressive towards me the night of the tornado.” He looks away. He then shakes his head and returns his gaze to mine.

  “She has been with me in every life.”

  His brow furrows with skepticism.

  I continue undaunted. “In every life I can remember, a white raven has been present. However, I’d never actually seen it. I could hear its wings flap and its cries, but every time I looked, it would be gone; when I would chase, it would flee. It was frustrating, to say the least. But something amazing has happened recently, thanks to Jo. The white raven, she, has finally been able to show herself, to approach me.” I lift my free hand into the air.

  Sounds of scraping claws and flapping wings fill the air. Ren coasts overhead and angles downward to alight gracefully on the back of the lounger across from us.

  The sight of the striking bird so close makes Cal jump. The moonlight intensifies her white feathers and creates a shimmering aura around her. Cal takes in a sharp breath as Ren bows her head to him.

  “Cal, meet Ren.”

  An exaggerated ‘wow’ escapes from his lips.

  “We have a connection that neither of us understands. Jo has been endeavoring to find out what that is.”

  Cal tears his eyes away from the bird. “Connection?”

  “It’s difficult to explain, the feeling, the bond, we have between us. She is compelled to follow me through my life and to seek me out each time I return. I have always looked for her, whether I realized it or not, and knew when she was there. She told me…”

  “Told you?”

  “She speaks to me in my mind as I’m sure she tried to do with you. But most non-magickal people aren’t very open to such communication.”

  Cal’s eyes widen. “So I did hear her talk!” He recounts their first meeting and the bird yelling at him to not leave.

  Ren puffs up her chest feathers, proud of her efforts to speak to him. “Need practice. Not made words in long time.” While her voice is scratchy, her words are clearly understood.

  Cal is aghast. I laugh lightly at him. “To be fair, all ravens can talk, some better than parrots. They are extremely intelligent birds.” I gaze at her with the pride of a mother. “She is in no way like other ravens, though.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s immortal.”

  “Of course she is!” Cal says. “I’d expect nothing less at this point.”

  The edges of my lips turn down. “Are you mocking me?”

  “No, no,” he laughs, taking my other hand. “It’s just…nothing about you is normal, nothing. Which is not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong. So I kind of expected something extra to come out of this little introduction—and I was right.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way because I have one more thing.” I look at him expectantly.

  “Lay it on me,” he says, full of confidence in his ability to acce
pt anything I say now.

  I take a deep breath. “Jo thinks that we can discover what this connection is from events in my first life. I don’t remember much of it at all, which is odd, so she wants to perform a past life ritual. This will, hopefully, show us a vision, enough to discern what that connection might be or where it comes from.”

  Cal nods, waiting for more.

  “I want you to be a part of that.”

  His face does not falter, nor do his eyes leave mine. I feel compelled to continue.

  “You are very important to me. She is very important to me. I want to share this with you because…” I choke. How do I say because if you can withstand that, you’ll be able to withstand anything and stay with me?

  “Because if I can take it, I’ll be able to take anything,” he says matter-of-factly. I’m surprised by his level of understanding. “This is a test.”

  “No, no, no!” I scoot closer to him. “Please don’t think of it like that. It’s not—” His loving expression stops my words.

  “I’m kidding, silly woman.” He pulls our hands to his lips and kisses them. His jovial grin fades, and he exhales heavily through his nose. “What I’ve seen already is enough to make a believer out of anyone, or make one run away screaming, calling for the nearest priest. But there is something about you. I feel things with you, for you, that I’ve never felt with any other woman. I don’t want to run, I don’t think I could run. I’m almost morbidly curious about this life of yours. I want to see everything you have to show me.”

  Ren makes a soft gurgling sound deep in her chest, and she sways to the side as if dancing. My heart threatens to cut off my oxygen.

  A laugh bubbles up instead. “Where have you been all my lives?” I ask dramatically, pulling my hands from his and leaping at him, pinning him to the back of the chaise.

  With a cry that sounds like a laugh, the white raven launches herself from the chair and soars away—knowing, it seems, that it’s a good time to leave the humans to themselves.

  30

  “The next full moon is a week and a half from now. Perfect,” Jo mutters as she flips through the fifth book she’s pulled off her overly stocked shelves.

  We’ve been in her sacred space the entire morning, working out the details for the past life ritual. Jo doesn’t have access to her mother’s Book of Shadows, having been denied it when her mother died. By rights it goes to the coven leader, and Claudia is loath to let Jo borrow it even for a short time.

  Jo’s own grimoire is fat and heavy, growing more so with each passing year. Its dark purple leather is worn black in places, and its brass hinges are tarnished with age and use. Some of what she needs is in there, but this particular ritual is new territory for her and she must consult every book. She frets about the right ingredients and penning just the right incantation with all the proper steps. Jo’s house may be a mess but her sacred space and her mind are not when it comes to magick.

  I sit idly by after several attempts to offer help and finally being told to shush. Her space is cozy and comfortable. I almost doze off, reclining on a pile of pillows in the corner. I rouse myself as my eyes droop.

  “So where will we be having this?” I ask, too loudly for the quiet room.

  The sudden interruption jolts Jo from her examination of the first book she pulled from the shelf, having laid it out on the floor, lining up the others as they are removed. She sits cross-legged and looks uncomfortable in that position, but she must not be since she’s not moved for the last ten minutes.

  “Huh?” She looks at me blinking as if she had forgotten I was there. Her brain processes my question slowly. “Oh, yeah, um…” She scans the open books and runs her fingers over the page of one that looks particularly old and weathered.

  “At night, of course, under the full moon, obviously. Outside.” Her fingers dance through the tiny, condensed crowd of words on the page. “It needs to be high up, preferably in a natural setting. Next to water is ideal.”

  After she doesn’t speak for several minutes, I suggest Mount Greylock as a potential place.

  Her head whips up with an accusatory look. “How do you know about Mount Greylock?”

  “It’s not a secret. Isn’t it a state park or something like that? I don’t think there’s anything high along the coast. We’d have to go west.”

  Jo’s face changes and she laughs at herself. “Sorry. The Berkshire Hills is where we have our little speck of land, not far from Greylock.”

  “You own land in a state park?”

  “Well…nobody really owns land.” She looks away sheepishly. I give her a raised eyebrow. “No, we don’t have a deed to any land out there. It’s a spot my great-great-grandmother found, hidden away in a secluded valley, and we’ve been using it ever since. It’s so remote, though—and a pretty good hike. That’s why we only use it for very special rituals or when we really need to speak to the dead.

  “But you are on to something,” she continues. “There are tons of creeks running through there. I think being by water is more important than being high.” She consults a different book. “It may be height is recommended simply to ensure an unobstructed view of the full moon…and privacy.”

  The lightbulb goes off in my head. “Maybe Ren could fly over and find a good spot.”

  Jo lights up. “Yes!” She flips the book closed with certainty. “Excellent idea.”

  We retire to the bistro table and chairs under the ancient white ash tree in Jo’s garden. The white raven joins us soon after, perching on the back of the third chair, preening after her morning repast. She loves the idea of scouting for the perfect location and will leave as soon as she’s properly clean.

  Jo continues to mutter to herself about what she’ll need for the ritual—what sigils must be used, what stones and oil blends are needed to increase the power of the incantation, the precise hour of night it should start. Her face is lined with worry, when it first had been glowing with excitement.

  “Jo.” I put my hand over hers. “It doesn’t have to be so complicated. I know you love creating rituals and all of the preparation that’s involved, but really, you are stressing yourself way too much.”

  “Aven, it has to be perfect. If I forget anything, it won’t work!” Her cheeks are red, and the lines between her eyes deepen. She stares at me pointedly. “You put a block on that life for a reason; I have to do battle with your magick.”

  “You think I did this?” My skin prickles, followed by a twinge of aggravation.

  Her eyes are hard. “It’s your life…”

  I straighten in the chair, partially offended by her accusation and partially worried that she is right. Ren has stopped her meticulous preening and looks at me also. My mouth falls open under the weight of their stares and the truth of Jo’s words coming to light.

  “I…” I try to speak, to make a defense and to exclaim how ridiculous this is, but no words come. I stare at the weathered candle stub in the middle of the table.

  Jo’s face softens. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. But really, who else, or what else, would have the power to put such a powerful spell on you, on your life, other than you?”

  My heart sinks with growing realization. For all this time, it has been me who has been blocking me. I hardly ever gave a thought to my first life, to why I remember nothing but scant bits and pieces. Perhaps that is part of the spell I wove—making myself unconcerned about it so that I would never look, making myself believe it was such a boring and uneventful life that it was not worth delving into.

  My thoughts must be revealed on my face. Jo leans back in her chair, feeling vindicated at the level of detail she’s gone into for this ritual. “See why I’ve been stressing?”

  I reluctantly nod in agreement. This does change things.

  “I still stand by what I said, though. What’s needed is your magick. You are more powerful than you realize, Jo. All the trappings of the ritual are niceties; what is required is razor-sharp, focused intent. And not
just from you, but from me. If I did this, then I must work against myself also.”

  I help? I help too? Ren looks back and forth from me to Jo, hopping on the back of the chair. Her exuberance makes me smile. Nothing daunts this lovely creature.

  “Possibly,” Jo says, the gears in her mind starting up again.

  Ren bows low to Jo. Jo tilts her head in response. The bird ruffles her feathers, shaking her whole body and stretching out her wings to their fullest extent. Seeing her like this, it’s no wonder that white ravens have been worshiped, and feared, throughout time.

  She hops to turn around and face the yard. She bends her strong legs and leaps up. Her wings lift her easily, and she is aloft without much effort. Jo and I watch her fly away, in awe of her beauty and grace, in the direction of Mount Greylock.

  31

  “Okay, ladies, let’s go!” Cal shouts at Jo’s house. From the driveway, we hear slamming doors and Jo and Sylvia bickering.

  The bed of Cal’s truck is packed to the brim with everything we need for a couple of days of hiking and camping, all of it strapped down with more bungee cords than I think are necessary. But Cal took charge of our little expedition, boasting a crew cab truck with four-wheel drive and years of backpacking experience. Jo was happy to hand the duties of trail master over to him.

  After Ren found the ideal spot atop a lower peak near Mount Greylock, the wheels of organizing the outing were set in motion. Jo spent several days writing the ritual, secluded in her sacred space and taking only liquids as nourishment, emerging yesterday with something she was truly proud of.

  I’ve not done anything to prepare for this ritual; I can’t even think where to start. Somehow, I’ve put a spell on myself to bury, or perhaps even erase, the memories of an entire life. There’s nothing I can do to prepare to battle myself. I will simply have to follow the energy as it flows during the ritual and be ready to counter the spell when, and if, it presents itself. This alone makes me very nervous.