Nevermore: A Novel of Love, Loss, & Edgar Allan Poe

by David Niall Wilson

  Nettie was still staring at the crack, lost in thought.

  She turned to Edgar.

  "I think your bird will know," she said. "At least, I think he had a hand in…this."

  She bent and ran her hand over the crack, probing.

  "What about the princess?" Edgar asked. "The girl Grimm carried so far. Where is she?"

  "Gone," Nettie said.

  Edgar wanted to push her for details, but her humor seemed to be slipping, and he did not want to push his luck. He did not want to be on her bad side. He glanced up the shore and saw Tom climbing out from behind a log. The boy was rubbing the sleep from his eye, trying not to look directly into the sun rising over the treetops.

  "We can't just leave her," Anita said.

  Edgar's expression darkened, all humor draining from him in the span of an instant.

  "We cannot stay here," he said. "There is nothing we can do. We will try to find a way, but for now…"

  "You must leave." Nettie concluded. "There has been too much darkness here. The lake – the land – the swamp – we must all heal. She is safe," she laid a hand on a branch of the tree. "I, or one of mine, will come here daily. We will sit with her. She will feel our presence. I will not leave her alone."

  "I will come, as well," Anita said. "I can sense her as well. I will learn what I can — the drawing. If I cannot free her, there are others. So many…"

  Nettie stared at the girl, as if weighing her against some inner standard, then nodded. "You will be welcome," she said. "There are things I can teach, as well. There are other worlds than these and in some – the walls are thinner. Perhaps you and the one you call Lenore shall meet again on a different shore."

  Tom stumbled up to them in time to hear these last words. He looked at each of them in turn, confused. After a moment, Edgar smiled – though it was a thin, pallid attempt at it, and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair.

  "Did you sleep well, then?" he asked. "It seems a lot has happened since we tried to kill ourselves running through the swamp."

  Tom looked sheepish.

  "The last thing I remember is following you as you ran to the deer tree. Something happened then, like the earth just exploded. I turned tail and got out. Guess I fell, and … well… that's the last thing I remember."

  "I think," Edgar said, "that this one time you can be glad to have lost a few hours. They were not good ones for any of us. Well…not for most."

  He turned to where the deer still stood nearby. Tom followed his gaze and the boy's eyes widened. Amazed, he took a step toward the animal.

  "It's okay boy," Nettie said. "He won't hurt you. Fact is, I sense you've spent more than a few days in his company. He seems to know you."

  Tom walked slowly up to the deer and held out his hand. The animal leaned down and rested the side of its head on his palm. Tom shivered, and when he turned back to the group, his eyes danced with wonder.

  "I…I feel him… in my head. He's…"

  "Wonderful." Nettie said. "He has been my companion for so many years the world has lost count. He is – similar – to the raven. Older, I think, and a bit more powerful."

  "Lenore called them – familiars," Edgar said. "I had thought the term only applied to witches…"

  "And what are you then?" Nettie asked, turning to him and raising an eyebrow. "What would you call a man who dreams and then, when he records those dreams on paper, changes the world? What would you call a man who sees events so far away in time and miles that he unravels the secrets behind fairy tales? You are a writer – you have a magic of your own. Never forget that words, and names, have power."

  "I have never doubted the magic," Edgar said. "For all the good it has done me. I came to this place to write, to try and forget the world, where my wife lies dying, and instead of solace, I have lost another – perhaps two – and gained nothing but a new story, should I choose to write it. You'll forgive me, lady, if I am underwhelmed by my gifts that, while able to grant me peace in small quantity, seem absolutely unable to help those that matter to me."

  "You have helped me, Edgar Allan Poe," Nettie said. "It is a debt I will not soon forget, and worth more – I think – than the story. You must learn patience."

  "If I had the years to learn that lesson that you have had, lady," Edgar said, "I believe I would be quite mad. It was my pleasure, and my honor, to have helped in any small way."

  "Remember what I said about worlds," Nettie said, "and time. You have said it yourself – I heard it like a whisper on the wind. It is all dreams within dreams. That is the real secret. Time is not made up of one long string, but of layers."

  "You didn't say that," he said softly. "Lenore did. I pray that she was right. Of course, more than ever I'm uncertain in which direction to aim that prayer, or if I should expect an answer, or create my own."

  He turned to Tom. "I don't suppose you know where we dropped our bags? I'm suddenly quite hungry, and we will need to start on our way back soon. We'll have to have a story – they will want to know what happened to Lenore. They are unlikely to believe the truth."

  "One thing," Nettie said. "Before I go – there is something. Before the princess was taken, the girl heard the dark one say something. A single word. I believe it's a place, an old world place, but it may also be a clue. She said 'Rathburg.'"

  "Rathburg," Edgar repeated. "I'm not familiar with the name, but it sounds as though it might be a German name. For some reason – it makes me think of mountains."

  "It is all that I have," Nettie said. "Now, the sun is up, and I am very, very weary. I must go, and you must leave as well. If it will help, I can arrange for evidence to support an attack by a bear. There will not be much to go on, but if you tell the story well – and something tells me that is not a problem for one such as yourself – they will believe. They will want to believe, because it's a story that does not threaten their world. They may notice that the tree seems different – but they won't know in what way. I will regrow the deer tree, in my companion's honor. There will be nothing trapped within it, or in any other part of my domain as long as I can prevent it."

  Tom had run off, and now returned dragging the two packs behind him. They were a bit worse for wear, and the bedrolls were gone completely, but for the most part they seemed intact. Edgar took his, opened it, and fished around inside. He came up with his flask, and he smiled. When he turned back to the others, Nettie and the deer were gone. Anita stood, staring back at the tree –now a prison for one they had both, in a very short time, come to love. Tom was fishing food from his own pack. None of them had seen the old woman go – but they were quite alone.

  He saw that the deer tree, or something very similar to the tree that had stood there before, had returned. All evidence of the blast of power, the fire, all of it had vanished. Anita walked over to the tree and knelt once more. She carefully gathered the pencils, the eraser, and all of Lenore's possessions. The bag that had held them still lay where Lenore had placed it, and she packed it all away carefully.

  "I will talk to Barnes," Edgar said. "I believe she would have wanted you to have what was hers. I doubt there is anything of too much value, but what there is…"

  Anita nodded, but could not bring herself to speak. She rose, and stood staring into the smooth, wooden features embedded so perfectly in the lines of the old tree.

  "I found this," Tom said.

  They turned and saw he held out slices of jerked meat. Each of them took one, chewing unenthusiastically.

  "There's not much water," he said, "but we can share what we have. We should start back."

  Edgar nodded. Anita looked, just for a moment, as if she might not follow. She stood close by the tree, her hand on a branch and her eyes closed. Then she stepped back, turned, and started for the trail leading back to the waterway, and the tavern beyond.

  None of them spoke, and it seemed even the creatures of the swamp remained silent as they passed into the shadows of the trees.

  Chapter Fifteen

>   In the end, their story wasn't questioned at all. Barnes gathered a party of hunters to return to the lake and try and track the bear. They found tracks, and they found what might have been human remains, though not enough to truly identify the body. No one doubted them. They were exhausted in mind, body, and spirit, and it was easy to modify their shock and loss into a story that made sense.

  Barnes was quick to agree to let Edgar take possession of Lenore's belongings. He was already spooked by the strange happenings in and around his roadhouse, and more than happy to be rid of anything that might remind him. He seemed relieved when Edgar said that he could only stay a few more days.

  "I have to tell you, Mr. Poe," he said, "things haven't been right since that woman came to stay, and they only got stranger on your arrival. I hope you won't think me rude when I say I'll be glad to see the south end of it all headed north, if you take my meaning."

  "I will be glad to be on the road as well," Edgar said. "I've been too long away from my home, and this tragedy has only made the separation more painful. I still have a bit of work to complete, but when that is done, I will take my leave."

  "There's a coach in three days," Barnes said. He didn't look up from where he was polishing the bar, but the message behind his words was clear enough.'

  "I will endeavor to be on it, then," Edgar said.

  Anita had waited in Edgar's room, resting on the bed as he discussed things with Barnes. She had not returned to work; she needed time to recover. She had also not gone home. Edgar walked with her to Lenore's quarters, and together they gathered up the few belongings left behind. Edgar took the portrait of Grimm and rolled it tightly. There were other drawings, but these he left with Anita.

  "You can study them," he said. "Perhaps you can sell a few – you will need supplies, if you intend to follow in her footsteps."

  "I don't know what I will be able to do," she said. "I know that I must try. And I will spend all the time that I can by her side – though it will be a while before they allow it. With a 'killer bear' on the loose they will be vigilant for a time. Also, I will have to convince my family – and Roberto. I don't know how I will explain this, but I know that I must find a way."

  "Will you do something for me?" Edgar asked.

  "Of course…"

  "The boy, Tom? Keep an eye on him? Make sure he finds time to learn – to read, to write – that he isn't forgotten? He has done me a great service – all of us, really. Without him I'd have been lost as surely as I breathe."

  Anita smiled.

  "That is an easy thing," she said. "He's a good boy, and so long as Mr. Barnes keeps us both employed, I should be able to find time to spend with him. None of us is quite the same now, you know? What happened – that kind of thing sticks with you. I believe he has ideas of slipping back into the swamp himself. He was very taken with the deer."

  Edgar thought about this.

  "I don't know if it is a good thing, or a bad thing, to seek out Nettie," he said. "I do know that if she had not been with us, we would likely all be dead."

  "If you had not knocked me to the ground when you did," Anita said, "I would be dead for certain – or worse, trapped in that very tree…"

  "So many things that might have been," Edgar said. "My life – I'm afraid – will be recorded as a series of things that are, and better things that might have been. My heart is sore, and I have never felt so weary."

  "I should go," Anita said.

  She gathered up Lenore's things, and they walked to the door. Edgar locked the room behind them and turned back toward the tavern.

  "I will return the key," he said. "You go on. Your family will have heard rumors by now of the bear, and the attack. They will be worried."

  Anita nodded. She stepped forward, then, impulsively, stood on her toes and kissed Edgar on the cheek.

  "Goodbye, Edgar Allan Poe," she said. "I will watch the magazines and books that come through the tavern for your name, and your stories."

  "And I will watch for all of you," he said, "in my dreams."

  Then she turned and hurried off down the road into North Carolina, and Edgar turned away. He returned Lenore's key to Barnes, and then locked himself in his own room, pulled the shade, and without even stripping off his clothing, lay back on the bed and fell into a deep, dark sleep.

  In his dream, he sat in a chamber overlooking a shadowed valley. The room was a library, heavy leather bound tomes lining dark oak shelves, tapestries strung on the walls, and in one corner, an immense desk with a brass lamp. He walked along the shelves, pulling out one book, and then another, fascinated by the titles, though they slipped from his mind as soon as he placed them back on the shelf.

  The room felt comfortable, and that was strange, because though he knew every inch of it, he also knew that he'd never been there before. The details came to him as he needed them, but then, as each moment passed – they slipped away. There was a sound, like someone rapping gently on the door. He crossed the room and opened the door. There was no one on the other side, and he was about to close it, when something dark and fast flew at his face. There was a flutter of wings, and a loud squawk. Edgar stepped back, surprised, but when he turned, it was Grimm he faced, standing on the edge of the great desk.

  The bird held something in his beak, and Edgar crossed over to pull it free. He held it up, and his heart nearly stopped. It was a drawing, possibly the finest drawing he'd ever seen. It was Lenore, the way she'd been when he saw her last, blending to the lines of the tree. At the base of the drawing, there was a tear.

  Edgar glanced up, measured it quickly against Grimm's beak, and he knew.

  "She isn't getting out of that tree, old friend," he said. "She's trapped. You made a crack in the armor, but it held. The old woman will try, but…"

  He stared at the drawing, and was surprised at the tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. He remembered how Lenore had preserved the other drawing, the one of Grimm, and he did as she had done, and then rolling it carefully until it was a tight tube. He walked to the desk and opened the center drawer, knowing there would be a ribbon there, and again, not knowing how he knew.

  There was a coat tree by the door, and on it a floor-length black jacket hung. Above it, on another hook, was a black felt hat. Edgar took the jacket and swung it on over his shoulders. He tucked the drawing into an inner pocket, and – almost as an afterthought – he grabbed that hat and settled it on his head. Both jacket and hat were a perfect fit. He glanced over his shoulder.

  "It's never going to be the same again, is it?" he said.

  The bird regarded him gravely, and then, in a voice somewhere between gravel grinding together and leaves rustling over the ground, he spoke.

  "Nevermore," he said. "Nevermore."

  As Grimm lifted off from the desk, gliding to his shoulder, Edgar turned and opened the door. They stepped into perfect darkness and – with a start – he woke.

  He sat up in the bed, still dressed, and looked at the window. It was dark. He rose and crossed to the table. After a moment, he had the lantern lit. He turned up the wick so the glow spread over the table and out toward the corners of the room. He turned, and then he stood very, very still.

  On a hook by the door, a long, dark coat hung. On top of it, perched at a jaunty angle, the hat. He turned, and glanced up to the mantel. Grimm watched him so intently he would have sworn the old raven was getting ready to fly to safety if he reacted incorrectly.

  "What have we done?" he said softly. "My God."

  He crossed quickly to the jacket and slid his hand in around to the inside pocket. He felt the rolled drawing. He did not pull it out. Instead, he returned to the table, reached beneath, pulled free his bag, and brought out the flask, his sheaf of blank pages – and his pens. Grimm glided down to rest on the back of the one other chair in the room and watched him closely.

  Edgar unscrewed the lid on the flask, took a long pull of the liquor, then capped it and set it aside. He opened his ink, dipped his pen,
and turned to the first blank sheet of paper. His mind slipped back to the swamp and to that room – the library he'd never visited – where he now belonged. He pressed the quill to the paper, and began to write:

  "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

  Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore –

  While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

  As of someone gently rapping – rapping at my chamber door…

  "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-

  Only this, and nothing more…"

  He wrote on into the night, as the candle burned slowly through its well of oil and the moon made her nightly crossing of the heavens. Grimm did not speak, but Edgar heard the voice in his head.

  Over the next few days, he wrote the verses several more times, changing them, erasing bits and pieces of what was true, and replacing them with images he thought others might relate to. It helped to ease the pain, diluting the story and reworking the rhymes. It reminded him of the Brothers Grimm, and their fairy tales, obscuring truth in clever turns of phrase. He ate in the tavern, sitting at the same table he'd so recently shared with Lenore.

  Once or twice, Anita or Tom joined him. Anita had taken to carrying a small pad of paper with her everywhere she went. He'd seen some of the sketches she was working on, and while they lacked the technical surety of Lenore's work, they were very good and getting better.

  Tom was quiet. He'd spent a good deal of time across the water in the swamp. He'd guided a couple of parties trying to find the bear that had 'killed' Lenore, but Edgar knew the truth. He was watching for Nettie, or the deer. He was thinking about the girl with her bow. Edgar suspected that when the time came to choose this year's Harvest Lord, Tom would be doing anything he could to be their first choice.