The White Raven

by Carrie D. Miller

  What’s happened to Jo? My mind races and finally the images from last night flood back. Jo on the ground, unresponsive; Sylvia panicked and screaming.

  “What happened?” My throat is dry, begging for water.

  Cal tightens his grip on me. “I don’t know, Aven. I really don’t know.” His voice cracks.

  I detect movement through my closed eyes. Sylvia is rousing, having slept beside her mother. “Aven!” She rushes towards me. Cal’s arm shoots out to keep her from barreling into me.

  “Aven! Are you okay? Can you please help Mom?” Her eyes are red and swollen.

  Her words come at me so fast, I cannot immediately process them. I ask for water. Cal offers a canteen from somewhere behind him, and I drink greedily. He pulls it away, telling me something about not overdoing it. The cold water is fresh from the stream; its crisp, clean taste is a tonic to my whole body. I ignore Cal, gripping the canteen. When my stomach tells me I’ve had enough, I hand it back to him. I shiver as the water travels through my limbs—the goodness of Nature reviving me from within. I raise my face to the sky for the sunlight, but there are only heavy gray clouds threatening rain.

  My strength is returning, the fog in my mind clearing. Happy sounds of morning songbirds, lapping water, and a crackling fire replace the pounding in my ears. I rise but Cal does more of the lifting than my legs do. Then I remember I am naked under the robe. Sylvia sees too much skin for her own liking and dashes into my tent for clothes.

  I dress in the open without shame. My eyes focus on my beloved friend, lying where she fell last night, now wrapped in blankets with pillows stuffed about her head.

  I walk on unsteady legs to Jo, Cal ensuring I don’t fall. I kneel beside Jo, inspecting her face, hands, and arms. Sylvia has wiped clean the symbols from her skin.

  “Sylvia,” I call roughly, but she is already at my side. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Oh, my Goddess, Aven,” she exhales. I lay a hand on her shoulder. “We saw everything!”

  “What?” My mouth falls open.

  “We saw what they did to you.” Her eyes fill with tears. She tries to look at me but turns away, putting her hands over her face as she lets her sobs free.

  I stare at Cal, astonished. His red eyes are rimmed with dark circles, and he nods solemnly. He takes one of my hands in both of his, holding firm.

  My skin flushes and tears blur my vision. I cannot face anyone. I am appalled and ashamed at what they’ve seen, ashamed that I didn’t think of what they would encounter. I had no idea that they would witness my life.

  “I am so sorry.” I stare at the ground. “Please forgive me. I should have blindfolded you all. I didn’t think…” I cannot speak now as tremors take over my body. Cal’s arms are around my shoulders, and Sylvia takes my hands. Their words of comfort fall on deaf ears.

  How stupid I was, how selfish! I thought only of my goal, of seeing my life, of knowing what binds me to the white raven. I never thought once about what they would experience. The protection symbols did their job but only for their bodies, not their minds. I am faint with the thought of what Jo experienced, being the strong empath she is.

  I gasp and look around me, heart racing. “Where is Ren?”

  “I don’t know,” Sylvia says, looking around also. “When the blast hit, I heard her scream and she flew off.”

  The blast. “You felt that?” I stare back and forth to each of them. My heart sinks at the thought of what that sweet creature experienced, witnessing a mirror image of herself murdered so brutally.

  Cal nods. “A little. Hit me in the chest but it wasn’t painful or anything. It was more like someone shoved me.”

  Sylvia nods, absently rubbing her chest. She looks down at her mother. “But it hit Mom hard. She flew backward.” She squeezes her eyes closed.

  Guilt cascades over me as I gaze at Jo. With my energy, I search her physical form for signs of injury. Thankfully, there are none. I look deeper, feeling her energy and her Spirit. Her Spirit is still within her but lies troubled and weak. Her energy lags and seems unable to renew itself. I ask Cal and Sylvia to leave me alone with Jo. Sylvia does not hesitate, but Cal lingers.

  “Are you okay, Aven? You really don’t look strong enough to lift your own head, let alone help someone.”

  I squeeze his hand but cannot meet his eye. “I’m fine, my love. This is my fault. I have to make it right.”

  He opens his mouth to protest, but I shake my head. “Please.” I pull my hand from his. He gets up reluctantly.

  When they have both disappeared into their respective tents, I slump over Jo’s still form, begging her forgiveness.

  I have no energy to help restore this poor woman, so I lift my arms out and call on Nature. The sun is not visible but there nonetheless, and I pull down its warmth and strength to fill her. The gentle breeze intensifies around us, and the water laps more heartily at the bank. Sounds of the forest erupt around me. The cry of a hawk peals overhead, and the tree trunks sway with pops and cracks. All manner of birds rise from the trees in blankets of color and song. My body tenses as I direct this willingly given energy into my friend. Her body remains unmoving as the intense white light surrounds her and holds her. Within a moment, her form begins to absorb the light, and the cacophony of sound and movement quiets.

  Where there should be silence is the pounding of blood in my head. I kept none of the energy for myself although I am in need of it. I lower myself beside my friend, with a hand on her shoulder, and I sleep.

  34

  What has happened, what has happened?!

  I must get away. I am so frightened. I scream, I cry, I shriek with each breath I take. Something hurt me. Someone has hurt me. It hurts so much! But I have to get away. I must run away, far away!

  I do not stop until I see the hint of sunrise upon the water’s gray surface. In the distance, a black mound gets bigger the faster I go towards it. I fly faster, fast as I can. I must keep going, I must get away!

  I am flying? I can fly? How is it that I am flying!? What am I? What was I? What has happened to me? My head pains sharply and the blossoming sun hurts my tender eyes. My arms, my wings, are so tired, so very tired. What do I do? Where am I going? Where did I come from?

  What is this pain!? I scream as loud as my lungs let me to cast this pain from me. I cannot bear it!

  The black mound is a mountain in the water and that is where I will go. I must rest. I cannot run, fly, any longer. My head is spinning. The memory of the smells of blood and burning flesh will not leave me. Is that all I know? The smell of charred flesh? This cannot be. I cannot bear it!

  The nearest tree is not near enough. I can push my wings no more and I fall. When I hit the water, I will die, and I welcome it. Release me from what I am feeling, let me forget the smell of death and agony, let me be free of this fear and pain!

  A strong wind carries me so that I strike the mossy bank rather than the harsh glass roof of the still water. It hurts nonetheless, but this new pain is welcomed to drive out the old. I lie on my side, gasping. I cannot stop my cries of grief and torment. Nor do I know from where they come. Soon, I am too exhausted and I can cry no more. I try to pull myself up, to find shelter in a tree, but I cannot fly. I will be eaten by some animal to be sure. There is a log, just there, not far. I can walk. I can.

  My wings drag beside me, hindering me, as I try to walk, hop. I struggle to the safety of the log on unsteady, untried legs. My senses are alive to the world around me. The forest teems with those that would find me an easy meal. I must hide before I am seen.

  The log is deep and filled with moss and slime. It is cold. I burrow in as far as I can go. My head falls against the rotted wood. I can hold it up no more. Sleep takes hold of me, and I welcome its peace.

  35

  The sound of footsteps on dry leaves rouses me. I am covered with a blanket and I pull it tight across my shoulders as I sit up.

  Sylvia is coming from the woods, and Cal is tending the fire—eac
h eyes me as I rise. Cal is quickly at my side, his arm around my waist, and I lean against him. Sylvia runs at me, face anxious and hopeful.

  “Jo will be all right. Her energy and Spirit were greatly depleted. All she needs now is rest.”

  Sylvia lets out a relieved breath. She kneels and takes her mother’s hand, holding it to her heart.

  “I don’t mean this to sound harsh, but how long?” Cal asks, looking at the darkening sky. “Those are definitely storm clouds.”

  I need not look up; I sense the storm coming. Its energy is most welcome but in Jo’s physically weakened state, cold rain would not do her any good.

  “We should go,” I say, taking Cal’s hand. His brow furrows but I smile. “Don’t worry about Jo, I’ll manage her.” He studies my face for a moment and shrugs.

  “Let’s break camp then. Come on.” He motions for us to get moving.

  As he douses the fire, Sylvia and I dismantle the tents. She quickly gets frustrated with folding her tent.

  “Ugh! This damn thing is never going to fit back in the bag.”

  Cal laughs at her frustration and takes the tangled canvas from her.

  The small amount of physical exertion takes the wind out of me, and I wobble on my feet, feeling the earth shift underneath me. I sink to the ground. Cal chucks the half-folded tent and rushes to my side. The concern in his eyes fills my heart. I put a hand on his cheek and assure him I am fine, I just need a minute. His face flashes an expression of deep sadness, and he quickly masks it with a manufactured smile. I don’t think I could love him any more than I do at this moment. I kiss his lips and he presses against mine.

  A rumble of thunder gives us the prodding we need. It takes twice as long to get everything packed up, with Cal taking the lion’s share. I’ve instructed Sylvia to bundle Jo and she’s cocooned her mother into a sleeping bag, the opening cinched snugly around her face. Cal has a pack strapped to his front with another on his back. Sylvia leans forward, her hands gripping the straps of her overloaded pack. Mine contains minimal weight as Cal insisted I take a light load. I am silently grateful. What I need to do with Jo will take much more strength than I have within me.

  He looks at me expectantly when we are ready to set off. I face Jo and inhale deeply. I focus on her form and lift my hands. The sleeping bag rises from the ground, prompting gasps from Sylvia and Cal. Jo’s shape hovers above the ground about waist high, and I turn to Cal. “Ready,” I say, hiding the strain that I feel already.

  Cal blinks a few times at the sight, then gives me an impressed smile. Sylvia reaches out to touch Jo, but I grunt negatively and her hand falls with a meek apology. I wave her forward to follow Cal.

  With my energy, I push Jo’s form in front of me, and we fall in line as the first spits of rain come. I look around me for the hundredth time, searching the sky once again for my little feathered friend. Worry twists its knife in my gut. I don’t want to leave without her, but we cannot wait any longer.

  Within minutes, the clouds have opened and we are soaked to the skin. I have turned Jo over so she isn’t drowned by the onslaught. The rain is loud against the leaf-covered ground, but I still hear Sylvia grumbling at how much this sucks.

  I struggle to keep Jo aloft. I have to stop several times to pull energy from the storm. Cal is desperate to help me, but he knows he cannot. I love him for trying, though.

  We rest under the ledge provided by a large outcropping of boulders. I gladly set Jo on the driest part of the ground, and I fight the desire to fall to the ground myself. I wipe the blood from my nose before anyone sees. We wait for a break in the downpour, but it doesn’t appear there will be one. Sylvia’s teeth are chattering and she is quite pale. Cal looks at me reluctantly when I insist we get moving.

  What was a pleasant hike the day before is now wet, muddy drudgery. With heads bowed, we follow the trail Cal cut when we first came through. He consults his map several times, and I’m certain there is an “I told you so” coming in my future. After at least another two hours, we break through the clearing into the camp site. It is a relief that no one has come to camp and that our little decoy site is unmolested. I glide Jo into the tent out of the rain while the three of us pack up the truck.

  When Cal declares that the bed is loaded well enough, I pull Jo from the tent to let him break it down. Sylvia peels off the saturated sleeping bag from around her mother, and I glide Jo into the back seat of the truck. Sylvia bends her into a sitting position and puts a pillow against the window for her to lean on.

  We strip off the outer layers of our drenched clothing and stuff them into the truck bed. We climb into the cab, and Cal gets the engine going to produce some much-needed heat. Our underclothes are just as saturated as the outer ones were.

  Cal puts the truck in reverse and, after several attempts to back up, proclaims that we are stuck. Anger fills me. I’ve had enough! With several expletives aimed at the tires and mud, I assure him we are not and tell him to try again. The tires obey him this time, and he hoots as he maneuvers the big truck out of the deep ruts.

  I lose all sense of time staring out the window, contemplating what has transpired and what I’ve discovered. The anger welling within me for what those bastards did to me, what they did to my parents and the poor, innocent white raven, is impossible to keep at bay. She was my only friend, the sweetest and most loving creature. Now I know why she follows me and how I knew her name. Her Spirit was wrenched from her. While Maggie has a choice to stay with me, Ren does not. She is cursed herself—to forever be in my shadow, never able to come near, but always there.

  My clothes dry quickly from the heat radiating from me. Cal reaches for the heater to turn it down and discovers to his amazement that the heat is coming from me. He lays his hand on mine, and I start, jerked back from picking through my first memories. I stare at his hand and turn back to the window. He asks me what’s wrong, and I can’t help but snort derisively. He apologizes for such a stupid question, and I grip his hand.

  “Tell me everything that happened.” I direct the demand to no one in particular. Both remain silent for several minutes. Cal exchanges glances with Sylvia in the rearview mirror. “Don’t make me pull it out of you.”

  Sylvia clears her throat. “Well, everything was fine until you broke through into your first life. Man, what a light show that was! I don’t know what you were doing, but you were radiating amazing light. Your aura was lit up, like it was on fire—white, silver, and gold. It looked pretty freaking cool. Then there was a big flash and then nothing. It was totally black and silent as a tomb. I started to freak out a little, I’m not gonna lie. I couldn’t even hear my own breathing! But then after a few seconds, bam! I could see again, but what I was looking at wasn’t our circle. This young girl, a young you, tied to a tree and—” She chokes and clears her throat again. I lift a hand to indicate that she need not continue.

  “And you saw the same thing?” I ask of Cal. He straightens and swallows hard, then nods.

  “And at the end, when…the explosion. What happened?”

  Cal takes his turn to talk. “Something shoved me backward a little, and I heard Jo scream, and Ren, too. When I saw Jo, she was landing on the ground hard. I looked where you were, but I didn’t see you. I ran to the water and finally saw you way over on the other side. You looked like you were drowning. I ran to you and Sylvia went to Jo.”

  “I thought all those symbols were supposed to protect us,” Sylvia mumbles.

  “They did,” I say. “It could have been much worse.”

  Sylvia’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open. I close my eyes and lay my head back on the seat. “I am so, so sorry.”

  The chorus of ‘it’s not your fault’ and ‘don’t worry about it’ sound half-hearted to me, and I don’t blame them.

  We ride in silence for many miles. I sense Sylvia’s anxiety growing in the back seat as she stares at her mother. “Sylvia, Jo will be fine. I promise. She just needs rest.” I’m not really sure I believe thos
e words, but hopefully I sound convincing.

  I search out the window for the white raven. What did that poor little creature experience? I assume her experience was the same as the others. My heart aches to see her, to make sure she’s all right; I hope the blast did not hurt her.

  Sadness, anger, and confusion war inside me. I want to be out of this truck, away from everyone so that I can scream obscenities to the sky. I think back to the explosion; did I cause that? It came from my body, so I must have. My curse is now never-ending, made so by the countless lives taken in the blast.

  Sylvia, Cal, and I sit in Jo’s living room. It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since we got home, stripped Jo of her wet clothes, and put her into a warm bed. She has not moved. I have drawn energy into her twice since we’ve returned, and it has had no effect.

  There has been no sign of Ren. If she lost the charm Jo made, she would at least be in the vicinity, and Sylvia or Cal would have seen her. I’ve thought about taking flight to search for her, but where do I start? I know nothing of where she goes when she leaves, nor where or if she keeps a nest. Having spoken to the resident ravens and other birds in the area, not one has seen a white raven recently. The aster fairies have offered their help, and I heartily accepted it. They will pass the word along to other clans and carry it as far as the message will go. Not much escapes the eyes of fairies. It is not a good idea to be indebted to fairies; however, I have run out of options. The queen’s offer of help seemed genuine and without guile; they played often with the white raven and have become fond of her, so perhaps I will not owe a debt—or too much of one.

  Maggie tends to Jo now, lying beside her bed, while we discuss what to do next.

  “I really don’t understand what is wrong with her.” Sylvia stares at me expectantly, her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep. Guilt washes over me, and I’m at a loss for how to respond. I look at my hands, unable to hold her gaze.