Baker's Dozen

by Cutter, Leah

  “Why did you take his raven soul?” Pedrek asked, determined to be as polite as he could be. He knew he could still escape if she grew nasty, but he’d never get the boy away unharmed.

  “So those eyes see more than just worms,” the old woman muttered. “He didn’t know how to control it,” she accused, indicating Corin with her chin. “Came up here and caused mischief most every day. Wouldn’t stay away.”

  “He was just a boy, not even a teen,” Pedrek pointed out reasonably. “No one had trained him yet.”

  “Because you always care for your own, right?” the Lowen said, pointing her cane at Pedrek. “None of you even knew he was here.”

  “If his father had lived until he’d been born, we would have known. And someone would have come,” Pedrek insisted.

  “’Twasn’t me who shot the fool,” the Lowen growled. “Idiot hunters from the other side of the pass had done it for sport, then come running to me when the bird turned into a man on the ground.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything to his wife?” Pedrek demanded.

  “Weren’t married now, were they?” the woman asked slyly. “They’d just been playing house. Didn’t know about it for years, until his young’un come to pester me.”

  “He needs to be whole,” Pedrek insisted.

  “Not gonna give it back,” the Lowen said, crossing her arms across her chest and staring hard at him.

  “Why not?” Pedrek asked into the growing stillness on the hill. Even the birdsong from the nearby trees had died. “What happened? What did he do?”

  “He won’t tell you?” the Lowen asked.

  Pedrek shook his head.

  Corin turned his back on both of them.

  “Got hungry while him and his friends were playing, didn’t he? Had a knight here, proper warrior of the king. Had done what I could to save him, but he’d been brought to me too late.”

  Pedrek had to swallow hard against the sudden dryness in his throat. “Go on,” he directed her, though he didn’t want to hear the rest.

  “This one and his two friends decided to snack on the body. By the time I came back the other two had snagged his eyeballs, and this one his tongue.”

  Pedrek held himself very still, reminding himself that Corin hadn’t been taught his letters or his recitations, hadn’t been schooled about his raven soul, didn’t know how to placate it.

  Corin wasn’t a half-breed.

  “Now, I don’t blame critters for doing what they’re born to do, but he knew better,” the Lowen finished, pointing at Corin.

  “I did not!” Corin said hotly, turning around. “I thought it was fine when I was a raven!”

  “He was never trained,” Pedrek said. “His human soul knew better, but couldn’t share that.”

  The old Lowen shook her head. “He knew. He sat and laughed at me, daring me to do something after I chased his friends away.”

  “He didn’t know,” Pedrek maintained, unsure if he spoke the truth.

  It was possible Corin’s raven soul had known, but just not cared.

  * * *

  The first time Pedrek saw battle, neither his human or his raven soul rejoiced. There was too much fear, too much nervous exhilaration, too much boredom, and then, finally, too much dirt and blood. It was impossible to know who’d won the first skirmish. After the violent clash, both sides were allowed to treat their wounded and carry away their dead.

  Everyone had looked strangely at Pedrek when he’d volunteered to help clear the field. He’d been paired with an older man named Reece, who had bright copper curls and white skin covered in freckles. They carried corpses between them on a stretcher, stacked two and three high.

  “He working all right?” people asked every time they came back with a full load. To which Reece always cheerfully replied that he’d only thrown up once, which was kind, because Pedrek had had to stop a few times to settle his stomach.

  “Why do they keep asking that?” Pedrek said after the third time.

  “Your kind tend to stay away after the fighting,” Reece told him with a grin. “Seeing the state of your stomach, I can see why.”

  Pedrek nodded, not bothering to tell Reece the truth. The recitations had been drilled into him, into every person in the raven clan. He didn’t fear breaking those laws: his human and raven selves were better aligned than that. The reason he’d volunteered was because he’d still had to know what it felt like to be so close to the newly dead. His raven soul had awakened hungry, but Pedrek had soothed it with visions of clear skies, promising a good long flight the next day, as well as digging out the shiny glass beads hidden at the bottom of his pack and keeping those under his pillow that night.

  As the night grew longer and fewer men moved about the field, scavengers came. Reece and Pedrek worked as quickly as they could, but they were always shooing them away.

  More than once Pedrek recognized the birds.

  The next day Pedrek went to the chief of his line. “I volunteered last night to help clear the dead.”

  “I heard. Good man,” the chief exclaimed. Then he paused. “Ah. You’re curious about the ones who visited the dead, and not to mourn.”

  Pedrek nodded, angry and afraid.

  “You’ll see. We always take care of our own, son.”

  Before the last battle, Pedrek noticed that only one of those who’d eaten the dead was still alive. He didn’t know if it was fate or the chief’s hand directing the others into the heart of battle. Pedrek searched out the one who remained, finding him looking out over the field as if he were already dead. “Why did you do it? Break the recitation?” Pedrek hissed at him quietly.

  The man shrugged and looked at him with all yellow eyes. “Don’t care,” he squawked.

  A welcoming nod came from Pedrek’s own raven’s soul. It didn’t care, either. However, it let itself be consoled with smaller things because it did care for Pedrek in its own, small way.

  * * *

  “The boy is my responsibility now,” Pedrek told the Lowen. The beautiful summer day had grown cold and clouds now covered the once-clear sky. Wind coursed through the trees surrounding them, tossing the heads of the pines.

  The old Lowen’s eyes grew crafty. “You’ll take him with you?”

  “I will,” Pedrek vowed. “I swear by my raven’s soul.”

  “So you do take care of your own.”

  “You’d take me with you?” Corin asked.

  “To Ravens’ Hall. You must be trained,” Pedrek said, intending to get the boy the help he needed. Belatedly, he remembered Corin only had a single soul. “You might be able to come back later.”

  “I don’t want to leave,” Corin said. “But if she gives me my raven’s soul again, I can learn to be a warrior like you?”

  The Lowen snorted, but Pedrek nodded solemnly. “Yes, most of the raven clan earn their keep by hiring out as warriors for a while.”

  “Then yes, I’ll go with you,” Corin said. He finally turned and addressed the old Lowen. “Please.”

  “Ah, didn’t think you knew that word,” she said. She lifted one side of her quilt, reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a raven-black egg. A golden web of strings bound it tightly. “Here,” she said, tossing it to the boy. “Swallow it.”

  Corin glanced wide-eyed at Pedrek, who nodded. He suspected the Lowen wouldn’t hurt the boy now that Pedrek had promised to take him away. The boy was now his responsibility, and the raven clan did take care of their own.

  “Do as she says,” Pedrek told Corin as he continued to hesitate.

  With one last shudder, Corin closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and shoved the egg inside.

  The egg collapsed as soon as it touched his tongue, flowing dark and pure out of the eggshell, down Corin’s throat as well as out of his mouth. It dribbled down his chin and across his shoulder to the one raven’s wing. The droplets sucked the darkness into themselves as they rolled down, leaving a pale boy’s arm behind.

  Corin’s hair also grew pale, and
when he opened his eyes, they’d changed to the color of morning mist. After his raven’s soul had settled, only a shock of black hair remained, dripping over Corin’s eyes.

  “Thank you,” Pedrek told the old Lowen, heartfelt and warm. It was good to see the boy whole.

  Corin lifted first one arm then the other, staring at all ten fingers.

  “Don’t be thanking me yet,” the Lowen cackled. A cloud quickly gathered around her. The next moment, she was gone.

  “Where did she go?” Corin asked, looking around, seeming frightened.

  “Away,” Pedrek assured him.

  “I’m glad you chased her away,” the boy told him before taking a running leap into the air and changing into his raven form.

  “I didn’t chase her anywhere,” Pedrek muttered. “And I’m not chasing you, either,” he added loudly as he walked back to the trees.

  By the time Pedrek reached the road, Corin had joined him in human form. The natural grace of the raven clan had returned and Corin walked more lightly on his feet. When he started shivering, Pedrek had him walk closer beside him so they could share the warmth of his cloak.

  Before they reached the town, Corin had started listing every city in the kingdom that he just had to see.

  “Won’t you miss here?” Pedrek asked softly.

  Corin looked up toward the darkening sky. “I—we—don’t belong here.”

  “Then let’s go tomorrow,” Pedrek replied, getting a bright smile in return.

  That night, under not just piles of blankets but his cloak as well, Pedrek slept deeply, dreaming of open blue skies and easy meat.

  * * *

  They left town quickly, both of them anxious to get on the road. More than one of the locals shook Pedrek’s hand as a thank-you for taking care of their Corin.

  Corin promised to visit when he could, though Pedrek made certain that he gave no such vows. He knew Corin meant well, and maybe he’d fulfill them.

  Pedrek remembered how awkward it was every time he’d visited Mama after he’d gone into the guard. How little she knew of the world while the ravens shared news from all the different kingdoms, even those across the sea. Their old house was so cold compared to Ravens’ Hall, and dirty as well. Growing up he’d never been aware of how many bugs shared their quarters; after the recitations, he couldn’t think of anything else.

  Both Pedrek’s and the boy’s packs were fully loaded with dried meat, bread, and cheese, and their flasks were full when they started their journey. As they walked, Pedrek encouraged Corin to regain his raven form, fly, and save his feet. Pedrek even carried Corin sometimes, a squawking bird on his shoulder or nestled under his cloak.

  Every night, by the light of the fire, Pedrek made Corin draw letters in the soft dirt. He knew he had to rush things for Corin, so he also started with the simplest of the recitations as well. He could never be as impressive as Aderyn, but he did his best to make sure Corin understood how important it was not to eat human flesh. He made the boy repeat the lessons until he’d memorized every line. As a reward, he answered Corin’s questions about being a warrior, cleaning up some of his battle stories. There were a few that had been more exciting than terrifying.

  As they reached the rolling hills that spread out into the flatlands, the wind carried the scent of lime, decay, and dark spells.

  When Corin asked about it, Pedrek didn’t think to lie. “It’s the smell of battle. At least a few days old.”

  “Can we go? Can we see? I’ve never seen a battle before.”

  “All right,” Pedrek said, pushing down on his anxiety, telling himself that it was merely the thrill of the battle, not the lure of the corpses that was drawing Corin.

  On the far side of a scorched field, workers still buried their dead in a long trench. Healing tents sat not too far off, with only a few soldiers remaining behind. Pedrek hadn’t been asking the local birds for the news; he vowed to do so in the morning, see if there were roads or lands ahead that weren’t safe for him and a boy.

  That night, the sound of wings woke Pedrek. Corin had changed form and gone.

  It was easy enough for Pedrek to get to the battlefield quicker than Corin, a touch of magic aiding his flight. He waited in human form for Corin to arrive, hoping he’d been wrong. He had to breathe out harshly as the raven delightedly tore into the waiting flesh, playing with entrails and flapping skin.

  When Pedrek could finally control himself, after he’d quieted his raven’s soul enough, he stepped into the opening. “Come here, Corin,” he called softly.

  The boy was young. He didn’t recognize the glimmer in Pedrek’s hand as the enticing magic it was. He hopped his way over to Pedrek, then looked at him, tilting his head one way, then the other.

  Pedrek kept his movements steady and gentle, bending down to give the bird a lift up, stroking its body tenderly, whispering to it, “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

  Before he suddenly snapped the raven’s neck.

  The next morning another grave had joined the others on the battlefield, and Pedrek continued his journey by himself.

  The raven clan always took care of their own.

  Author’s Note

  When I was searching for the next story, I decided I wanted to retell a fairy tale. I went looking through my books on fairy tales, hoping something would inspire me. In the way these things go, I ran across something about ravens, which got me looking online, which led me to reading the Wikipedia entry about two ancient songs, “The Three Ravens” and “The Twa Corbies.” Which led to this story. Obviously.

  One of the unusual things about this story: About halfway through, I realized that I could easily set a novel in this world. Not necessarily that I would, but this world is so developed in my head. It’s more complete than most of the other places I’ve written about recently. If I’d written this story earlier in the challenge—say, week three or four—I probably would have planned on writing another short story in this world. However, this was the twelfth story and I already had the next one planned. Still, I may revisit this world in the future.

  Additional note from 2013: This short story has spawned three novels: The Raven and the Dancing Tiger, The Guardian Hound, and a third that will be released in 2014, War Among the Crocodiles.

  Hell For The Holidays

  A black cloud followed me out of my room and into the bright Seattle sunshine. It had started small enough, the size of a darkened fist too ready to strike. As I walked down the street, washed out by the light, it grew larger, as big as a baby’s head, misshapen and black. Then it grew bigger than a nasty dog, pestering me as I hurried along past deserted houses and dried-out gardens.

  I couldn’t shake the cloud no matter how many empty buses I boarded. When I walked into the cemetery, it grew larger as well as more bold. Instead of merely trailing me now, it began to actively pursue me, drawing nearer. The cloud started to churn and boil like the clouds of Hell, and suddenly I knew that if I let it touch me, I would get sucked straight to there. There was no way for me to destroy it—fire would bounce off it and burn my ectoplasmic flesh.

  Since I was still a ghost, I could streak across the earth much faster than a human. Or I could go underground, travel through the roots and loam. The damned thing followed me regardless, drawing closer all the time.

  I found myself next to the water, hoping that maybe it couldn’t follow me there. I sprang onto a Fixed ferry, one that had shining artifacts lining the bow so that both the living and the dead could interact with it.

  For a while I seemed to have lost it. I tried to enjoy the ride. If I could have breathed, I would have filled my lungs with the fresh air. I remembered how cool the wind felt on the water from when I’d been alive, despite the bright sunlight.

  A sudden bang behind me made me whirl around. The cloud was almost upon me. I could see the Hell it promised me, a bleak nothingness for my soul, where there was no order or understanding, merely chaos and fear.

  I backed up, hitting the ra
il. I couldn’t run and I couldn’t swim.

  The banging came again. The cloud thinned as it spread, big as a blanket, ready to engulf me.

  As it swooped toward me, the banging noise sounded all around me and I finally opened my eyes. I was safe, in my room, with only my thoughts to consume me. “Come in!” I called as the banging continued. Might as well see whoever had just saved me from my latest nightmare. I glanced at the clock: only 1 PM. Far too early for a ghost to be rising.

  I lay flat on my back, staring up at the formerly white ceiling, tracing the spiderwebs of decay and disuse. Almost every day I woke up and thought I should hire someone to clean it.

  Almost every day I told myself not to bother.

  The knocking came again. “It’s open.” As a ghost, I had very little that anyone would want, outside of my camera, Betsy. She sat on my desk, the only warm spot in the whole room. When I left her behind, I locked and charmed the door to make sure she was safe.

  While I was there…well, only a fool would bother a ghost in his lair.

  A youngish woman poked her head into the room. She had dark curls that had been popular in the ’50s and were again now. Her clear gray eyes shone with a knife-like intelligence, sweeping the room and doing ten thousand little deductions about my life that were all probably accurate. She had the healthy pink skin of the living, though it held the pallor of an office worker. If I’d been alive, I might have called the peacoat she wore Kelly green, but the haze cast over all colors muted it to a mere pastel, with dark pants and leather boots.

  “Andrew Collin?” she asked, looking straight at me as I sat up, leaning against the hard iron frame of my bed.

  I nodded.

  “Uncle Andy? I’m Susan.” At my blank look, she continued. “My dad, Billy, was your nephew.”

  “Grandnephew,” I corrected. “Or is it great-nephew? I forget.” I pulled out the desk chair—the only other place to sit other than the bed—and pushed it toward her. She remained standing.

  Billy had been one of my older brother’s second wife’s kids. I hadn’t seen him, or any of the family, since I’d died.