Raven (28 page)

“
She’s weak. She can’t seem to keep any food down. I just hope she didn’t eat anything before I found her that was poisonous.”

I felt Scott’s arms wrap around me even tighter, inspecting my face closely. “We need to get her inside. We’ll see what we can do. Heather, take the horses to the barn.”

I had never heard Scott respond with such direction, and I knew he had found his calling.

“
Elle, darling, you’ll be alright.” I felt him begin to walk, jostling me as he went. Though I was too sick to talk, I prayed he wouldn’t trip.

SAM

I felt warm wool against my cheek as my eyelids fluttered open. My body felt relaxed, the warm light of a fire flickering across my vision. I moved slightly in my attempt to see if anyone was nearby to notice. I heard nothing. Slowly, I sat up, feeling as my greasy hair stuck to my brow, coated with a thin layer of sweat.

I looked down at my clothes, seeing that someone had changed me into something that resembled a potato bag and I cringed. I swallowed some spit down my swollen throat, mucus slicing its way down my esophagus like knives.

“
Hel—”
I tried to say something but the words came out like a croak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello?”

No one answered. I was alone.

The fire crackled as I pushed the blanket that covered me to the side. I twisted and sat up, pulling my legs around and placing them on the floor. I felt the soft dirt under my feet, and the warmth of the earth. I inspected the space, seeing it was a built into a perfect square. It had respectable construction, each beam placed perfectly atop the other. The fire was set into a crude pile of stone that stacked up and out the top of the cabin, guiding the smoke out and away from the room. The space was no more than a couple hundred square feet. It was windowless, the doorway covered by an old green door that didn’t quite seal the entire opening.

The bed on which I had been laying was set up on large chunks of wood and then covered with dead grasses and a blanket. I slowly stood, wavering for a moment before catching my balance. I shuffled to a basin that sat on a coil of rusted steel cable in the corner. I looked down into it, bracing my body on it. The water there looked fresh and cold. I cupped my hands inside it, splashing it on my face as I let it drip down my neck and into my potato sack gown.

I wiped away the water as my vision began to clear. Next to the basin sat a broken brush, a razor, and a gritty looking toothbrush. I felt nauseated at the sight, looking away and back to the fire as I breathed through my mouth. Why did I feel so weak? Why wasn’t I like Scott? I looked down at my injured leg, seeing it was just beginning to heal, a salve of some kind sparkling in the light of the fire.

I looked back at the basin, grabbing the razor with a shaky hand and making my way back to the bed where I sat down. A bowl of boiled grains and oats sat on a small table beside the bed that I hadn’t noticed before. I did not feel like eating it. I looked at my bare knees as they protruded before me, thinner now than I had ever seen before. I swallowed and continued to breathe through my mouth, hoping to avoid smelling anything that could make me nauseous.

I lifted the razor in my hand, looking at it and allowing the thought on my mind to manifest. I lifted my other hand, turning it and exposing the veins on my wrist. I held my two hands before me, a few inches apart, looking from my wrist to the razor and then back again.

Slowly, I brought my hand with the razor to my other, pressing the sharp tip against the soft skin and pressing lightly. I held my breath, judging the sensation and finding it didn’t hurt as much as I had expected. Pressing harder, I then felt as the razor broke the skin, a small bead of warm blood oozing from the cut and staining the razor’s tip.

I took a deep breath and dragged the razor back, blood oozing faster now as it trailed from the cut down and over my skin. I felt it pool on the underside of my wrist where it released from my skin and dripped to the dirt. I watched it, seeing as the brown dirt coated the small pool of crimson. I licked my lips, pulling back once more as the dripping became more frequent, and then a steady stream. I dropped the razor to the ground, watching as the warm crimson stained my pale wrist. I blinked slowly, the blood dripping into my palm and through my fingers. It was warm and thick, like the way I would imagine honey would feel.

I began to feel weak as my eyes fluttered. I lay back against the straw bedding, closing my eyes to wait. My breath dragged in and out of my mouth, becoming more laborious with each drip of blood. I listened to the sound, like a ticking clock.

I felt myself slipping away.
Where are you?
I grew frightened then, wondering if he would ever come, wondering if—

“
You think a little cut is going kill you? If you know anything about medicine, than you know that eventually the blood will clot.”

I wanted to smile but I couldn’t. My body felt paralyzed by weakness.

“
What are you doing, Elle? No wait, don’t answer that. I get it.
You missed me.”

That time I managed a laugh. Opening my eyes ever so slowly, I saw the whole cabin spin around one central figure. Sam’s wings were at his sides, yellowed from the light of the fire.

“
You’ll get better, Elle. And I’m not referring to the cut. You, the way you feel, it will pass. Unfortunate side effect, I’m afraid.”

I tried to understand what he was saying. For the first time since I’d known him, I was glad he could read my mind. This way, I didn’t have to talk.

“
I remember that first day in the meadow, do you remember that? You were so rebellious then—naive.” He chuckled. “Yeah, you remember. I remember that you thought I was a cute.
Ha!
Good thing I never told Edgar.” He paused as though hoping I’d fear his warning, but I didn’t. “I won’t tell him about this, either. I promise,” he added, still hoping to bug me.

The stream of blood was slowing now, reminding me that I had little time left to be with him before the blood would clot the wound.

“
You really want to know what’s wrong with you? Are you sure?”

My breathing shook, my lips trembling.

He laughed. “You’ve got a bun in the oven, Elle. You’re pregnant. So, I guess what I’m saying is, you’re
not
dying.” He snorted as though embarrassed. “It seems as though Edgar was good for something after all. He
finally
got the guts to take the dive and now you’re knocked up.”

I felt my body weaken as the blood drained. My mind was not clear, but I was certain of the words he had said.
I’m pregnant?

Sam laughed at my thought response. “Buck up, girl. You finally got what you wanted.”

It was hardly what I
wanted.
How could I do this here? How could I do this
alone?
I felt the warmth of blood begin to return to my toes.

“
It seems it’s time for me to go.” I felt a cold hand on my cheek. “This time, Elle, it’s goodbye for real. Till death.” I felt him kiss me on the forehead, leaving me chilled. I blinked a few times but he was already gone when my focus finally returned. The door to the cabin creaked open and I heard a woman gasp.

“
Oh, Elle.” It was Sarah’s voice.

I heard her feet shuffle across the dirt and to my side where her hand grabbed my wrist, squeezing it to stop the bleeding, though it already had. I heard her rip a piece of wool from the blanket at my feet and take it to the basin where she dipped it in the water and came back to me.

“
Why did you do this, Elle?” She pressed the cold rag against the wound, cleaning the blood from my hand.

“
Sam,” I murmured, watching her. “Sam was here.”

I saw her shocked eyes relax at the utter of his name, seeing why I had done what I did. “You are one crazy girl. You know that?”

I tried to smile. “Sarah,” I whispered. I waited while she continued to tend to my arm. “Sarah.”

She finally looked at me, seeing I was smiling.

I smiled back.
“I’m pregnant.”

Part III

EVER AFTER

August, 2091

Many years have passed since then, and our small village grew. I gave birth to my little girl in the afternoon the following spring. I named her Margriete, unable to completely forget the days I spent with my dear friend.

I reluctantly brought her into a world of change, afraid of what it would do to her. Soon, people flocked to our small village, brought by the passing tale of the tree and the white raven.

Over the years, we managed to rebuild, moving back into the cities and rebuilding civilization. But things were different. The departure of dreaming had left us hollow. Though our independence was great, it came at a steep price.

Eventually the world grew used to things, and only the elders that were there could still recall what dreaming was even like. Legends were born in their place, and stories like dreams themselves.

Smarter forms of conservation were finally put into use and everything changed. The world was now self sustaining. Seeing us now, you would never have believed that anything had happened at all, except for the few telltale signs.

I aged and my life prospered, but I never could forget the way Edgar’s blue eyes would watch me as I fell asleep.

At times I tried to dream of him, but it was useless. I was no longer welcome in that world.

When we migrated back to the cities and the lush shores of the Puget Sound, we left the tree behind in the forest. There, it lived as it should in the place where it truly belonged. I was no longer stitched to nature as I once was, and though it fought with me, I learned to eventually cooperate with it.

In my older years, I finally saw the beauty in humanity. I had never understood it growing up, the feeling void from my life. Emotion was a powerful thing: to cry, to laugh, even hate. But above all that, it was love that truly mattered. All I wanted was the love of a man and the love of family. In the end, it was the most powerful weapon we could ever possess against evil.

Now in my true eighties, I had found the gift of living. I’ve learned that it’s one thing to fear life, but another thing to allow it to happen and be happy along the way. When I was so lost and empty, I did not see things outside of my own world. In that darkness, I only saw the hurt. But now, I understood. Now, I could finally go.

WAKING

“
Hello.”

I was playing with my doll on the stoop of our house when the voice interrupted me. I looked up, my eyes meeting that of a man I did not know. His hands were clasped behind him, his leather coat dangling from his broad shoulders. I looked away and back at my doll.

“
Well, aren’t you going to say hello in return?” the man asked.

I began to hum, ignoring him.

“
Samantha?”
The man said my name.

I stopped humming, looking back up at him. I frowned at the strange man. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” I said frankly, tucking my black hair behind my ears. I heard the front door open behind me.

“
Sam?” My mother’s voice echoed in my ears as she called my name. I turned to look at her. She took one step down the stoop before noticing the man as he stood half hidden behind the brick wall and mailbox. She froze as her eyes met his. My mother held the door in one hand and I watched as her grip on it tightened. She swallowed.

“
Yes?”
the man replied.

I turned and gave him a nasty glare. “She was talking to me,
mister.”

The man laughed. “Maybe, but I think that now you’re mommy is thinking that it was meant for
me.”

“
I—”
My mom could not speak.

The man rocked onto his toes. “Margriete, it’s great to see you again.” He addressed my mother in a way that seemed old fashioned, giving her a small bow.

I looked back at the strange man, seeing his face was twisted into a smile, like a clown. He did not look at me, so I continued to observe.

“
Sam—”
my mother’s voice cracked.

I turned back to face her, but the man was right. This time she was not referring to me. Their eyes were locked in a stare, neither one blinking.

The man let his hands fall to his sides. “Margriete, you were, well, not much the last time I visited. You’re mother was just a few weeks along at the time. But, I heard you in there.”

My neck was getting sore as I kept looking between my mother and the man.

The man tapped his head with one finger.
“I heard you,”
he repeated.

My mother laughed as her face suddenly became bashful. I did not understand what was happening, now completely forgetting the game I was playing with my doll. I watched my mother’s grip on the door relax, her hair catching in a bit of fall wind.

Since I was very young, I had begged my grandmother to tell me the stories of her youth. For ten years now, she had filled my head with fairy tales of angels and living forests, magical birds and dreaming. I never believed her, but something about this strange man made me want to, something about it made me believe.