When I come to, I panic immediately, but am forcible calmed down by the realization I don't have the energy to be panicked right now. That somehow makes it better.
There are three things I notice after that, in my forced state of calm. Number one, I haven't been caught yet. Number two: it's because I'm in a tree, very high off the ground, hidden by a tangle of branches that curl up like a rail, hidden by a curtain of dried leaves still attached to the tree. Number three: there is a boy in this tree with me, looking at me expectantly.
I'm beyond uneasy, and the seconds seem to drag into years. The boy is standing up calmly, as if standing in a tree on a windy evening is a perfectly normal thing to be doing on a Saturday. He seems unaffected by nearly being blown out every five seconds, and he's about half a head shorter than me, and he moves weightlessly into a better view, not shaded by the tree.
It's a boy, about my age, with the scruffiest, thickest, darkest hair I've ever seen, like a starless night, hiding most of his ears, curling at the ends. It's barely kept in check by a dark blue cap made of a thick material, with a slightly shiny, upturned brim casting a shadow on his face, clinging on desperately with a leather strap under his chin.
His skin is a few shades darker than mine, with a pale, almost bluish tint that makes him seem eerie, or unreal. He has dark, almost midnight eyes that glitter in the lowest of light, like a sea at night, forever moving, never still, and deeply powerful.
He is wearing a coat the same coulor as his cap, that reminds me of a policeman's or a bellhop, with double buttons, in gleaming gold, wrapping close to his slim, stick-like figure. It's a little bit too long for him, stopping midway above his knees, and there is a leather patch sewn into his shoulder.
He's wearing a pair of black trousers, and black boots with a gold trim. He seems almost dangerously overbalanced by an enormous leather messenger bag strapped tightly to his chest, dangling by his side. There are some nice blue velvet gloves with gold stitching on his hands, and one rests on the top of his bag. While he's standing in the tree.
He fidgets nervously as I say nothing, because I am staring at the three things that make him unusual. Number one, the cloak over his shoulders, is covered in neat rows of black feathers seemingly stitched into the fabric, though I can't see any stitches. Number two, the white raven gripping onto the leather patch on his shoulder, watching me with it's dark eyes. And the worst of all, number three, the golden badge on his coat and bag, a raven sitting inside a golden circle, the symbol of the postman. He is related to the post office. And therefore, the ravens.
"Are you quite alright? You have been staring." The boy speaks, and he has a very, very posh British accent, like he was raised watching historical dramas.
I blink. Quite a few times. The raven crows. I consider screaming, but I really don't have the energy, and something about that makes me feel strangely reckless. I know it's dangerous, but the electric energy is gone, and feeling sluggish is not helping.
"How did we get in this tree?" I say.
"I grew it around you, so it would pick you up. It has tired me though." The boy sits down on a thin branch, and pulls out a flask, unscrewing the lid, pouring some steaming golden liquid into it, resting the bottle next to him. I wonder how that branch hasn't snapped yet.
"What do you mean you grew it?" I try to sit up.
"Ah, do not sit up yet. I do not have the energy to catch you." The boy takes a sip of his drink, allowing the raven on his shoulder to take a beakful. He finishes his sip, and looks at me. "I have powers too."
I ignore him, and grab the branches weaved around me in a sort of nest, sitting up, and leaning to one side, my head pounding as I stare at the raven on his shoulder. "Why? How?"
The boy sighs. "I grew the tree to hide you because you asked for help. That was verbal consent from you to let me save you."
"Who are you?" I ask, as the boy takes another sip, the raven picking a leaf from his shoulder.
"I am Corvus, the postman's apprentice. This is Ren. We are ravens, he and I." Corvus rubs the bird affectionately behind the head.
My mind reels. The postman... Has an apprentice... This boy... This boy has a raven on his shoulder... A white raven... Named Ren... And Corvus thinks he is a raven too... When all the other ravens are gone... Just great.
"You're a boy." I tell him.
"No, I am a raven. I look human." Corvus re-affirms, finishing his drink.
I want to sigh, long and hard, at this delusional boy sitting in a tree like it's a bench, but I hold back.
"What are your powers, then?"
"I can talk to birds, transform into a raven and paper. Paper and ink. Trees, especially dry ones like this, can just be re-imagined as paper, so with enough effort, I can control them. Besides, I need that to control the Cherry Gate." Corvus says, placing a hand on the shoulder of his feathered cloak.
"Show me." I demand rudely.
"If that will make you believe me." Corvus stands up, and whispers something to Ren, who chirrups, and flutters to another branch of the tree, settling down with shiny eyes.
Corvus takes a deep breath, and removes the glove on his right hand. His hand sways, left-to right, before stopping on a branch above my head. He starts to whisper, quiet, rustling words, and the tree stirs. The branch stretches out, with a groan, leaves shivering in an invisible breeze.
Curls of brown-copper leaves pull themselves off the tree, stirring in a relaxed, indistinct pattern, reminding me of synchronized swimmers. They rise into the air, like shivering feathers, and Corvus is shaking with them, like he is possessed, staring into nothing. He blinks, and his hand falls to his side, and he replaces his glove, looking back at me, as the leaves go limp, and sway to the ground below.
A shiver flutters up and down my spine, buzzing in recognition of a power opposite to mine. He really could be the postman's apprentice. But mum never told me anything about the Postmaster having powers too, but I guess it makes sort of sense.
"Can you make stuff, like I can?" I question him.
"No, I can only manipulate what is there." Corvus said, looking at me expectantly. After a while he speaks. "I know you're the daughter of death, but I don't know your name."
I stare at him for a while, as I think, tired as I am. Something clicks. Daughter of death. That's how the person who write the notes dressed me. The Apprentice. Could that be short for The Postman's Apprentice? And the cap was the same style as the figure's.
"You're the person who's been putting the notes by my window!" I glare at him.
"Well, yes, because I need your help." Corvus starts, but I cut him off.
"You. You. What. The. Beyond. Have. You. Done. To. My. Mum." I hiss at him, and if I didn't feel like I had just run one hundred marathons, I would choke him.
"I have not done anything. The ravens told me. And the ravens do not lie." Corvus' dark eyes bear into me like steel, his gaze challenging for the first time. I shiver. He really is as creepy as those ravens.
"How could the ravens see the future?" I demand, trying to stand.
"They did not. They listened, and told me." Corvus looks down again.
"Why didn't you warn me!?" I snap.
"I did. But you did not believe me." He looks sadly at me, like a puppy that's been kicked.
I'm shaking, I'm furious. Even if he didn't do it, he let it happen. He relied on a useless kid, thinking I could do something. How could be be such an idiot. How could he blame me? How was I to know he was telling the truth... Intentionally or not, this boy. This boy. This boy! He has cursed the world.
YOU ARE READING
A Tale of: Ravens, Scythes and Cherry blossoms
General Fiction'All it takes to consult the dead is a pen, some paper, and a secret you've never told anyone else' Hana is the daughter of death, a hereditary position that has existed for as long as mankind has. She lives through each day with the caw of ravens i...
