Contents
Ravenlight
Copyright
Also available
Acknowledgments
Song of the Lost
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
Ravenlight
by
Melissa Riddell
Copyright © 2020 by Melissa Riddell
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.
Cover Art by Cover Affairs at www.coveraffairs.com
www.melissariddell.com
Savage Worlds Series:
The Descendant:Baltin Trilogy Book 1
The Betrayer:Baltin Trilogy Book 2
The Redeemer: Baltin Trilogy Book 3 (Winter 2020)
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Book 0 (December 2020)
Fallen Angels Series:
Cursed: Fallen Angels Book One (March 2021)
Fallen: Fallen Angels Book Two (Winter 2021)
Works written under Mina Raye:
Dark Nights Series:
Sacha Shepperd Ninnette and the Dark Night
The Last Dragon: Dark Nights Book 2 (July 2021)
First, I’d like to thank my editor, Brian Paone, for his suggestions and grammar corrections. Sorry for the flagrant paragraph abuse. Haha.
Second, I want to give a shout out to my Great Great Grandma Walker. She was Native American, and though I didn’t know her well growing up, her history always entranced me. My clearest memory is her sitting in a recliner, her two white braids resting over each shoulder and chewing tobacco.
A big thanks to my mom, Rose, for always reading my stories and telling me what she did or didn’t like, and offering little suggestions. The turquoise pendant stemmed from an idea she’d had.
Many, many thanks to Michelle, Karen, Iuliana, and Miranda. I’m sure I drove you crazy some days, but your suggestions were invaluable to the final, polished manuscript.
Last, I want to thank my readers. Without you, my worlds and characters would continue to languish in my head and die a slow death. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Lone and resolute, the warrior stands.
The moon shines down and fills his hands.
A mourning song whispers from distant past,
“Come see the proud, the brave, the last.”
His tears fall silently, he exists unknown.
Those lands once free, now turned to stone.
Cry for his people, remember the cost,
Sing their lament, a song of the lost.
-Imala
CHAPTER ONE
Sophie Brannigan
Ten years ago
“Daddy, come look at the bird.” I pointed toward the small patio door. Plastering my hands to the smudged glass, the tip of my nose smashed the barrier for a better view.
A large black bird roosted on the rusted metal railing, tilting its head to the side and inspecting me with a yellow-brown eye. The breeze ruffled its long feathers like an invisible wave.
“Shut up.” Gruff and coarse, Daddy’s tone indicated he was about to become the mean man. He lay sprawled across the couch, a beer bottle in one hand and a glowing, orange-tipped cigarette in the other, squinting one eye and watching television. The living room reeked of sweat, smoke, and alcohol.
My attention refocused on the beautiful creature. He tilted his head to the side and regarded me with a solemn stare. At this point, I decided he was a boy. Unsure how, I just didn’t think he looked like a girl.
I smiled and waved, knowing he could see the gap where my front tooth had been the day before until I’d wiggled it loose from its socket.
Last night, I’d tucked it under my pillow. When I’d awoken this morning, I’d been eager to see what the Tooth Fairy had brought, but nothing lay under except gray sheets and the tiny, white tooth in the exact spot from the night before.
She probably forgot, like Santa Claus sometimes forgets to come by our apartment. A couple of years ago, Mamma had explained sometimes Santa was too busy to stop at every house. She’d given me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek with a promise he’d make it next time.
Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t.
Thoughts of Mamma tightened my chest, like a big elephant sitting on top.
With a flap of his wings, the bird flew to the railing on the other side of the small patio.
My fingers yanked the lock, and I slid open the door. Stepping onto the windy platform, I quietly closed the sliding glass, not wanting to call Daddy’s attention since I was afraid he’d change into the mean man.
A low squawk sounded to my right.
“Hi.” I made my movements slow and steady, so I wouldn’t scare away the bird.
When I approached, his little taloned feet sidestepped to keep space between his body and mine.
“No, don’t go.” I stopped a foot from him. “You’re very beautiful.”
His head bobbed a couple of times.
Remembering the stashed cookie in my pocket, I slipped a hand inside, broke off a piece, and offered it to the animal.
He eyed it but remained rooted to the rusted railing.
“Do birds eat sweets?” My fingers stretched farther. “It’s sugar cookie. I’m sure you’d like it. Come on, birdie.”
Black-feathered wings outstretched and flapped once, as if testing the air.
He’s going to fly away. My shoulders sagged.
“Well.” Lowering my hand, I stepped backward. “It’s okay. It’s old anyway. It was in a trash can in the alley. All we got in the fridge is beer. Daddy said we ain’t got enough money to buy fancy sweets and lunch meat.”
A blur of darkness shot toward me, and a puff of wind blew next to my ear. Soft weight settled onto my shoulder.
Something tickled inside my belly—a happiness I hadn’t felt since before Mamma had died.
Keeping my body stiff so I didn’t dislodge the bird, I lifted a palm and held the cookie near his head.
His beak pressed against my cheek for a second, then his neck twisted. With a quick scoop, a piece of the food slid into his mouth, and he swallowed.
“That’s right. There you go.” I raised my other hand, giving him plenty of time to see what I was doing.
He cawed gently.
My trembling fingertips stroked his feathery wings, which were silky and smooth, like delicate, fine cat fur. “What’s your name?” I asked, still caressing his shiny plumage.
A soft squ
awk sounded, and he nipped another area of the cookie.
“What kind of bird are you?” My brain searched for the word. “Revan? Yeah, I think that’s right. You’re a revan, so that’s what I’ll call you.”
His head twisted toward me, and his eyes seemed to stare into mine. He blinked.
“Do you like that name?”
A wing stretched, and he dipped his head. With short, quick strokes, he cleaned the intricate, tiny feathers underneath the longer exterior ones.
“I wish I could fly.” Glancing between the bars of the railing, I wondered what it would feel like to soar between the buildings, free and happy. “It must be nice being able to fly away if you get in trouble.”
Revan’s attention focused on me again. With a soft squawk, he twisted and dived out of my view.
“Wait. Come back.” I wanted to grab ahold of the railing and watch his path, but the rusty metal made me nervous.
Guess he doesn’t want to be my friend.
I turned toward the patio door, dreading what waited inside.
A tiny pinch on my shoulder stilled my feet.
“Caw.” Revan perched on me again. Something blue and lumpy shone in his beak.
Unable to help myself, I clapped with elation. “You came back.” I stroked his head.
He nudged a wing against my skin.
“What’s that in your mouth?”
With force, he pushed the blue rock against my palm.
“Is this for me?”
With careful movements, the rock plopped into my cupped hand.
“Caw caw.” His little eyes stared into mine, and I could’ve sworn he tried to talk.
“Is this a present?” My thumb rubbed the lumpy stone. It wasn’t very large, maybe an inch or so. Interesting patterns of brown and black ran across its surface. “It’s so pretty. I’ll keep it forever.”
He squawked again and fluttered his wings.
I stuffed it into a pocket, enjoying the glow of happiness spreading in my chest. When was the last time anyone gave me a present? A year ago, when Mamma had still been alive and had baked a cake for my birthday.
Behind me, the door slammed open and I jumped, clutching the cookie in my fist.
Revan flapped into the air.
“What’re you doing out here?” Daddy’s eyes were red and glassy. He no longer held the cigarette, but he still cradled the beer bottle. “I asked you a question, you little—”
“I was feeding the bird.” My eyes scanned the area for my new friend. Now sitting on the patio next door, Revan seemed to follow our conversation.
“You’re giving our precious food to an animal?” His roaring voice barreled through the late afternoon air and echoed against the outer walls of the other units.
The wind whipped pieces of my black hair against my face and into my eyes, but I paid it no mind. My bladder shook, begging for release. Maybe if I explain it’s not ours, he won’t get mad.
“But it isn’t even our food, Daddy. We ain’t got none.” My hand offered the tiny remnant of hard, stale cookie toward my much bigger father. A few crumbs broke away. “I got hungry and found it in the alley on the way home from school.”
“If you found it, then yes, it is ours.” He stumbled forward, a scowl on his face and anger in his eyes.
Oh no, the mean man’s inside him now. Need to hide.
As I put distance between his body and mine, the cold, hard railing pressed into my back.
I should’ve gone straight to my room after school. He would’ve passed out, and I could’ve eaten the cookie on my mattress.
Daddy jerked his free arm toward his chest, the veins on the back of his hand blue and prominent.
My eyes refused to look away from that hand I knew so well. I could already feel the burn of his knuckles as they struck my cheekbone.
“No, Daddy. Please?” Cringing, I threw myself into a ball, trying to make my body as small a target as possible.
From the corner of my vision, a dark shape fluttered closer, his squawk a deafening scream.
As the heavy blow landed against the side of my face, causing the familiar ache to throb, the pressure at my spine disappeared. In seemingly slow motion, I tumbled backward. Cool autumn air rushed at my face. My hands stretched toward my father, as if expecting him to reach out and stop my plunge to the ground.
His hard eyes narrowed. He shrugged, then turned his back and walked away.
The four stories between my apartment and the parking lot rushed past in a blur. I screamed, clutching at nothing but air.
Something soft brushed the back of my head, and for a brief moment, I could’ve sworn a black-winged angel caught me before I hit the ground.
Terrible pain shot through my ankle, then my eyelids closed.
CHAPTER TWO
Pecos “Revan” Chogan
Ten years ago
What kind of father turns his back while his little girl plummets to her death?
Swiftly, I swooped toward the ground, flying faster than her falling form, and screamed to the rest of my tribe for help.
Like a black cloud, they soared under her body now twenty feet from the ground.
Her arms stretched skyward, and her deafening high-pitched scream filled the air with despair and surprise.
Our bodies glided between her and the ground, cushioning some of the fall.
She lay there, unconscious but alive. Her left foot hung at an odd angle, but as far as I could tell, she’d been spared any other major damage.
Landing on her shoulder, I used my beak to swipe a long dark tendril of hair from her closed eyes.
So pale.
Since seeing her slight form at her aunt’s house in the country, every afternoon for the past month, I’d land on her patio and wait for her to come home from school. Today was the first day she’d noticed my presence.
Why did I feel an urge to watch her through the window? Something within her tiny soul called to mine, driving a need to assure myself she was safe, since her father didn’t seem to be interested in anything but his poisons—beer and cigarettes.
After observing the blow his hand had landed to her face, I wanted to peck out his eyes and offer them as a gift to the Great Spirit. If I had my human form, I would kill him—slowly and painfully.
But no, neither me or my brothers and sisters would ever be free from the old shaman’s spell thrown upon our tribe generations ago. Doomed to fly the winds in our bird forms, his curse allowed us our true selves one day a month during the full moon. Those twenty-four hours were sacred. My tribe named this time of the month Ravenlight, and it was the only day we truly lived, free from our bird-forms. We reveled in our human bodies for that moment in time.
One of my brother’s wings flapped, drawing me from my thoughts.
I am fading, brother. Did we succeed in saving your little human?
My gaze drifted to her small frame. Her chest expanded to take in air.
Yes, she is safe, Kono.
From a ground-level apartment, a woman’s shrill cry cut through the hushed silence. She leaned from a doorway, eyes wide, and grabbed her cellphone, speaking rapidly.
I hopped to Kono’s broken body and lowered my head. Thank you for this sacrifice. We will sing your praises as you rise into the spirit realm.
The winged body shuttered, and his eyes rolled to stare into the sky, the light leaving their depths.
Several other family members nudged his body and wailed their farewells, either in birdsong or mind-speak.
The older gray-haired woman rushed out her front door. “Oh, Mija.” A red flowery dress billowed around her small, short frame. She bent to the little girl and laid her liver-spotted hands on the child’s face. “The ambulance is on the way. Hold on, little one.” A silvery sheen of tears flooded her gaze, and she stroked Sophie’s face. Seeming to notice my tribe, she swatted a hand in our direction. “Shoo, get out of here, you nasty birds. She’s not dead, so you leave this little one alone.”
Si
rens wailed from the distance.
It’s time for us to depart.
My flock lifted into the air as one.
I gave one last glance at the pale little girl lying on the dirty asphalt—alone and broken.
You will never be alone or broken again if I can help it.
CHAPTER THREE
Sophie Brannigan
Present Day
I shoved myself through the door of the small house I shared with Aunt Merle.
“I’m home,” I called, heading straight to the fridge for an ice-cold bottle of water.
The smell of roasting meat scented the air. A whiff of something sweet followed.
Ding. A small, white timer chimed from the kitchen counter.
“Oh, dear.” Aunt Merle rushed down the narrow stairs and wiped her hands on an apron draping her bony body. “Sophie, grab that potholder, honey.”
Doing as commanded, I dropped my backpack to the floor and handed over an oven mitt instead.
Jamming it onto her hand, she bent to the stove, opened the door, and retrieved a glass dish.
A puff of flour wafted in the air, drawing me to peek over her shoulder. “Yum. Is that a chocolate cake?”
Her hip nudged the oven closed. “This”—she swung around, and the movement pushed me backward—“is not just a cake. It’s a celebration.”
“Of what?” I knew what day it was, but I enjoyed pretending I’d forgotten. It’s hard to believe someone loves me enough to bake a cake in my honor. Spying an opened can of dark chocolate frosting, I stuck my finger inside and scooped some of the thick, sugary substance into my mouth. I groaned in delight. Sugar was my weakness.
“The anniversary of our new life.” Her forehead furrowed, and she snatched the plastic tub from my fingers. “Sophie, that’s disgusting. How many times have I told you not to use your fingers? You live in a civilization, so try to act civilized.”
Unable to hide my grin, I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pulled away before she could return the gesture. “I remembered, Aunt Merle.”
Ravenlight (The Ravenlight Cycles Book 1) Page 1
