There They Go

Once a big black crow thought he was the king. His eye glistened with its own universe, dark as the night, as if the Dew Maker had not created the Sun at all but had set one tiny glistening star in the firmament of the Crow’s eye. The light in the eye was tiny, but it shone brightly – the tiniest light of hope ever. It was a shame the Crow could not see it.

He flew high over the trees calling out to the wary world below. Caw-caw-caw. The words meant nothing to him but a jubilant declaration, as if he rejoiced in being Crow, as if he sang Me-Me-Me. He’d sweep an arc of black across the sky and cry out his song. Then the terrible sound filled the ears of creatures below so their hearts shuddered and their minds filled with visions from the Legend of Ruptured Fur. He’d watch the scurrying creatures their tiny hearts rising to a crescendo in their utter fear. The mice, the frogs, the vole and smaller rabbits fled in terror. He’d look at the direction they ran, assess their strides, their pace and he flared the feathers of his wing to calculate the moment when he’d drop. Then closing his two-bladed bill, he would stab and stab and stab!

He was the Great Black Dagger of Death. He saw the panic-fury of all as he cawed, and swooped, watching his own shadow pass over the ground. It grew darker as he descended, the vague grey threat became a sharp black decision alighting on some chosen victim. A gush of blood was his reward.

If they could dig, wise animals heard his cries and hid. They told each other stories of the end of the world; it would come when you saw the star shine in the Eye of Crow. They sheltered in hollows at the roots of trees older than the First Acorn; they spoke of the Black Shadow Swoop that claimed the weakest. It took their eyes so the dead passed into Sightless Eternity.

Then Crow would descend and march up to the ancient, frail or fallen one and strip its flesh, removing the life of Muscle Moment so that the Eternal Bones turned white. In time all became dust and fed the Great Acorn of the Underworld. If any ignored the great cawing chorus of the Crow, he simply cried mightily, swooped down and struck Truth into their folly.

From his throne, nestled in The Great Beech at the centre of Wood, the Black Crow looked down and surveyed his realm. He watched each coming and going, and cawed magnificently, filling the heaven with cacophonic discordance.

But one evening he looked down and swallowed his daily squawk.

He was silenced.

Sitting on the branch and tilting his head, he turned his eye to alight on movement in the undergrowth. There on that small patch of grass, some new creature appeared. It crawled on two legs into the open space surrounding the Tree.

It was a woman.

She was cloaked in black darker than feather, its hood mockingly preened with the plumage of the dead. Her striding gait was unsteady, as if, like Crow, she faltered on the ground. She seemed feeble but still moved with focused determination into the clearing. Then raising her head, she scanned the trees and smiled.

She stepped slowly, pacing a wide circle. Six times to the right, then six times to the left, and six more right, each step growing stronger than the last. And with each step the air thickened, the wind dropped and every creature who heard her foot touching the grass was hushed. Finally, she moved into the centre of the circle and placed two white egg-shaped stones upon the ground. They gleamed in the moonlight as she bowed her head as if in silent prayer.

Then she breathed deeply, wielding her stick at arm’s length, and uttering the sound of unknown simmering syllables that grew to a boiling intensity. They echoed unfathomably in the trees but in her own heart she called to the children, lost in the fear a drowned night, or immersed in some smoking shudder of hell, to come to her, draw near to her who only sought the succulence of life. And deeper in her mind she thought: ‘Let not a whiff of holiness scent the slightest doubt that I may catch the joy within, even on the edge of a blade.’

 Her alien words rose in the trees, stirred by her breath. Carried aloft, they flew to the horizon where they rebounded like thunder upon the distant hills. The bright splintering of lightning came too, a distant rumbling grew, building quickly so the winds returned, flying over the trees in a sudden fervent, angry howl. 

The sky grew hands and dug its fingers deep into Crow’s feathers so he squatted lower on his branch until fearfully, he hopped from the branch into his nest and cowered, burying his head deep below his wing. Afraid, for the first time, he hid his own eyes. Something strange and unnatural was coming.

Standing over the stones, the woman below raised her stick and cried out in her own unfathomable words: ‘Darkness blacker than the Crow, Fall and Split the heaven so!’

Her words ruptured the gravity of the Wood and the sky dropped lower to a heavy crow-black wing-smothering. After a breath, steady now and inexorable as a wave, her voice rose breaking with a crashing cascade. Each cawing syllable spoke her new power in the Wood: caw-caw-caw-caw on and on she crowed and did not stop until the lightning hit her stick and she glowed as if she were fire itself.

High up at the top of the Tree, balanced in the bundle of his sticks Crow shivered. He felt Fear run its invisible beak down his own spine as if it might stab him if he moved even the slightest feather. He knew the Time of Crow had passed, the Days of Black Bird Doom were done and The Days of Wild Woman Scaring had begun.

A pallid Sun rose feebly and spread unhallowed light over the green earth. After the Storm, Crow hopped up in his nest, wanting to voice defiance to the Wood, but was silenced.

In the clearing, covering the circle where the white stones had lain was a house. Strangely comforting, its easy look nestled beneath the Tree. The light seemed to reflect from the solid walls as if they shimmered on water, as if, when the sun dimmed, the walls might simply disappear.

Yet it was a cosy home with rounded windows, wide like eyes and a door that looked like a gaping mouth. There were flowers growing around it that looked like solid fingers of sunshine. Crow cawed cynically and it seemed to catch like dust in his throat.

He flapped his wings and flew over the house eyeing the ground for something he might call food. There was none. He cawed, waiting to hear the terror of scurrying. Then he snapped his beak shut and dropped lower into the branches where he flew through The Great Wood like an afterthought. He could see nothing to eat.

He was drawn to the house, even as he tried to move away, so he glided down once more, searching for any furred flurry on the ground nearby. It was in vain. Nothing stirred.

All morning, he searched. It was as if the house had driven animal life far away. Reluctantly, he flew further afield into the darker shadows of the forest. There he still heard sinister howls and harsh screeches ending suddenly with a bite or a snap.

Soon he heard and smelt the taste of life upon the air. He was in luck. There were mice scurrying in dry leaves. The dry crackling had startled them as they moved, making them forget the Dangers of Falling Sky. They did not see Crow until its beak snapped shut.

In the time it took for Crow to claim the tiny eyes, the place was quiet. All that could be heard was the soft pressure of Crow’s wings lifting. Up he flew to the highest branches where he ruffled and fluffed to a standstill. Then crow perched, large, black and joyful. The relief was a sudden a mouse-back breaking. It snapped like chocolate. But up here he could see once more that the house was still there and his heart groaned.

As Crow gulped down the last delicacy of the mouse head, he heard voices that rose and fell as in a human herd.

‘Come child, it is not far. Then we shall see what we shall see. Your father has sent me with you to gather truth berries from the Wood.’

‘What do they look like, stepmother?’ the innocent child asked.

‘Oh, you will know them when you find them,’ the woman replied. ‘The taste of truth enlightens.’

‘But what will I discover?’ the child cried.

‘You will see what you will see,’ the woman answered and pressed on.

As the woman and the child moved along the darkest path of the wood, Crow flew up and cawed a caustic greeting. The girl grimaced and shuddered, raising her head and scanning the sky for the source of the terrible screech. The woman, hidden in a shawl pinned the fabric around her with a large, jewelled brooch that resembled a white egg. She dragged the small nervous child. Her skinny legs were dressed in a ragged gown. A good meal would serve her well, thought the Crow, considering the slight limbs whose muscles should have been dense with sweet meat.

‘How much further?’ the child asked.

‘Only a little further,’ the woman replied, stepping ahead into a clearing.

‘Here, at last,’ the stepmother said, ‘let us rest now.’ She sat down heavily as the child looked around.

‘Look what I have found,’ the girl said, picking up a white egg-shaped stone. ‘What is it?’

‘Let it alone, child,’ the woman commanded. ‘It is nothing for you. Here,’ she said and handed over a cloth covered package. ‘Take this instead. It will sustain you. Now I must leave you for a while. Eat up while I am away.’

With the woman gone, the child opened the napkin to find a small bunch of deep blue berries. They looked plump, filled with sweetness of the finest fruit. She bit into one. It was delicious. The dark red juice sat like a rubied sphere upon her lip so that she had to catch it with her tongue and suck it in. She ate one. Then slowly, she ate one after the other.

When she had eaten seven, she bit into the next one and it seemed drier, disappointing, and sour. She took each one and tasted, biting the skins, hoping once more for the sweet sensation. But they grew tougher and with each bite the bitterness grew. By the time the last berry was placed upon her tongue, the sky was grey and her heart saddened.

Her stepmother had not returned.

Crow stood up in the tree and watched the girl who now looked around and called out for her stepmother, but no voice was returned. Nothing stirred so she sat down.

There were the white stones. She picked them up and held them looking closely as she smoothed her fingers over them. Then quickly, as if someone might see, she kissed one. It was so smooth and cool upon her lips. She smiled. Then, when the stones in her hands began to warm, she placed them in the pocket of her apron in her lap.

Still the girl waited patiently, watching the heavy seeded grasses nearby. She reached out and plucked a strand, passing the spike through her hands, shedding the seeds and collecting them in her fingers. Then she took these and blew them into space. Finding this amusing, she plucked each stem of grass and shredded the seeds one after the other, until she saw there were no more seeds to spread. With every breath of seeds she blew, the darkness came. Then she yawned and lay down to sleep.

Crow turned his head. The wood was clear with no woman to interfere.

Spreading his wings wide, he glided silently to the child’s feet, then stepped cautiously forward. One. Two. Two more steps. Then two more, closer and closer, his head moving back and forth. The jewels of her eyes were closed but he could already taste the delicacy of each orb. The anticipation of each succulent stab made his stomach yearn. Oh for that soft bright flesh and the thrill of her underbelly, he thought. But she was a larger child than he had anticipated. He hopped onto the girl’s breast, stepping over the bodice of her dress, closer to those tempting eyes.

At last he stood, poised, imagining the eye shrouded in the thinnest wrapping of an eyelid. Crow twitched his head ready to strike, and then suddenly his whole being was struck, removed by a wooden stick swung through space. He was thrust aside with a devastating blow. A single black feather rose mournfully into the air where he had been.

The Woman had appeared. She had struck out violently and was standing ready to strike again. She stood as if to defend the child, her feet apart, her staff held aloft like a weapon.

Crow flapped to his senses and watched enviously as the Woman gained the prize.

‘There, there, my dear,’ said the woman, placing her gnarled fingers gently on the child’s head. ‘Are you lost? Where is your mother?’

‘My mother is dead. My stepmother – ’

‘Did you actually touch the stones, child?’ she said then. ‘They must lie there. Come, put them back and you may stay with me. I will show you.’

‘But my stepmother, my stepmother…’ said the child.

‘Well, come, come and we will see what we will see. The stones...’

‘Here?’ said the child taking them from her pocket and returning them.

As soon as the stones were returned to the ground, a stab of darkness closed over them. The walls of the House solidified and the child quickly saw all truth. She looked up but was blinded by the solid stone walls that surrounded her. In the blackness she only heard the blade. She cried out but there was no one to hear. The darkness inside the house was total. It had wrapped itself around her completely, closing over her like the stab of doom.

When she screamed, no one heard. When the first cut was made, no one saw the life of her flow out. And when the warm blood flowed from her throat, only one person tasted that delight. The first mouthful of her succulent flesh was swallowed and tasted by only one.

Outside, Crow had seen the walls fall into place and heard the deep thud of fate turning a key. He had flown off, cawing in surprise at the sudden disappearance of those delicious eyes. He waited in a tree, to see what he would see.

 As the sun rose once more it clothed the house with fresh flowers, hiding its rancid stones. Crow hopped up and unruffled his sleepy feathers. Now when the light fell upon the roses, they were a deeper red, a brighter yellow.

The door opened and a figure strode forth. It was a beautiful young woman. Her arms and skin glowed in the light and her hair shone, thick and glamorous; it had been plaited and held back by a golden thread. The Woman, stepped forward, holding her staff now, not for support, but as something she would wield freely. She looked up and her eye caught the crow.

‘Here,’ she called. And threw something to the ground. It shone bright and lay sparkling on the grass at the edge of the path.

Crow flew down. He stepped closer. One. Two. He cawed tentatively and his beak tapped twice. There on the path were the girl’s eyes, bright and juicy.

‘Bring me more,’ said the woman. Then she turned aside and closed the door.

Crow watched the starving family for a few days. He sensed that something was about to unfold, some unfathomable unravelling of the ways of menfolk. An unusual stepping-out in the midnight hour was beginning. He watched as the children moved into the arms of the moon’s glow. He watched the boy take bread and brake off pieces, snatching his sister’s too before she ate any more. They moved slowly off into the forest, stepping into the darker pathway of the night, leaving the thin trail of crumbs that were blessed by the moon’s kiss. They scattered each piece with hope as if it were a living creature. But the things did not run. They lay scattered and visible in the moon’s revelation.

And so the Crow flew down cautiously to the white crumbs. He pecked a morsel. It was soft and white and fragrant. Crow pecked again, threw a morsel up, but it dropped to the ground. It was not a creature. It did not run. It had no eyes. Yet it invited him to taste; the fragrance was desirable. The next morsel he threw up fell into his gullet. One. Two. Three. Off he went stepping from morsel to morsel, swallowing the last hopes of the children.

The Crow emptied the path.

Darkness fell as if the sky had yawned and closed over the moon, whose face was saddened and dimmed. If he could have smiled, the Crow would have done so. He watched the children step deeper into the forest. They would struggle to find a way home now, he thought. They will walk until they find the dim glow of morning that kisses the white stones. And he dreamed once more of the delicious fruits of their faces.

There they go, he thought.