Teller of Tales

At the edge of a shallow brook, Jasper was on his haunches scrubbing blood, scales, and dragon innards from battle gear. It was a good day for it. The sun was hot on his head and the water choppy enough over the slippery rocks. After strategically hauling a couple of smooth stones, he used a pool for soaking and let the current washed away the worst filth. Still the sharp water soon left his fingers wrinkle raw. In childhood tales dragon slaying sounded fascinating, but the reality was a bloody mess.

Rubbing his hands to warm them, Jasper watched the murk float between the rocks and get lost in the tumble of the rapids. Something moved in the trees. He stopped humming and stared through the thick silver birch branches. Bears were attracted to running water. If there was one, he’d have to get up to scare it off. But a more dangerous creature stepped from the woods – a beautiful woman. Too beautiful.

Jasper dropped to sit on a rock but landed lopsided, lucky to keep from falling in the froth.

Like icy water in the sun, her hair and cloak glistened as she skipped across the rocky shore. She seemed as silver as the birch, but with her every shift and every tumble of wind, she shimmered, like a fairy creature, making colours hard to distinguish. About her, heavy magic rippled. In shoes, that looked made of bone, she glided across the stones until perched at his feet. “I need your help.”

Jasper nodded, “Fair enough. Tell me your name.” People were always seeking help from the Gold Raven.

Blinking amber eyes, she answered, “Whatever you wish to call me.”

Having enough without needing riddles added to his work, Jasper scowled, “You must have a name you go by.”

“I have many. Each new assigner gives me a new name.”

“I have to give the master the name of who seeks his help. What did your parents call you?”

She shook causing ruffles of colour to puff from where her silvery blond hair arched on each side of her head. Coils of stripped birch bark gave her butterfly like points over each ear. Down her back, the shine feathered in long waves blending into the ruffles of her tawny cloak.

Jasper reached for a quill. “Are you able to write?” If she could, he’d let her use his ink while he banged crud from the linen.

“Oh no. I don’t want you to bring your master a message.”

Slanting his head, Jasper studied her pretty face. There was something wild and predatorial in her wide eyes, narrow pointy nose, and full pouty lips. Under his scrutiny, she blinked and bobbed her head.

“Didn’t you say you wanted the master’s help?” Jasper asked.

But she hadn’t said she needed the Gold Raven’s help. She’d said ‘your help.’  Wondering if she mistook him for more than a wizard’s apprentice, Jasper straightened and cleared his throat. “If you want your request known, you’ll have to write it out or have me write the message for you.” All Jasper knew was how little he knew.

Over folds in her cloak, her fingers flexed, and he saw wide copper rings circled the thumb and index finger of her left hand and middle finger of her right. All were different sizes.

“If you can’t write, I can scribe the message for you,” Jasper tried to reassure.

Her fingers curled, digging into her tawny cloak. Ruffling it to her ankles. “I don’t want a message taken,” she answered, “I must tell the story.”

If she wanted to speak with the Gold Raven, why was she at his feet rather than upstream bringing her message. “Go to him then. He is no more than thirty feet up river.” Jasper pointed expecting her to jump up and scamper off.

Instead, she answered, “It is a story I must tell to all of you,” and sat on a rock beside him.

Jasper pursed my lips and frowned at her. Unruffled, she folded her hands on her knees and looked at him expectantly.

But Jasper had work. Grimy cloth tumbled against smooth stones. “When I have these cleaned, I can show you to my master,” he told her.

Jasper dragged a wool undershirt from the pool and started scrubbing. Though hidden in the darkness of the cloth, dragon blood, feeling like oily wax, had to come out. If not, its poison would burn the wearer’s skin. Good day or not, it was grubby work. His fingers soon pained from dipping in the icy waves. Jasper dropped the wool and let it sink before reaching for another tattered piece. Removing scales and innards was worse.

Beside him, her shimmering drew his eyes. Her full lips twitched, and she stretched a delicate hand above the glistening waves. As though stirred, the water twirled. It might have been a trick of the reflecting sun shining off the rapids. But when Jasper picked up the next piece, he found no sticky patches or pricks of tough scales. Beneath his fingers, the rough worn wool felt as smooth as new silk. After running his fingers over the cloth a second time, he wrung it out and dropped it in a basket. The next piece was the same, but on the third, his fingers touched grit. Knowing witchcraft could be dangerous, Jasper didn’t dare ask. Still his eyes raised to the fairy woman when he dipped the fabric back into the froth. Again, she danced her fingers and the water twirled. This time he saw fog dissipate before finding the cloth clean.

Jasper always hated having to bring two baskets. Thought it needless extra toil. But the Gold Raven always insisted, “Take an extra in case you have to bring someone back you’re not sure of. Make that person carry a basket. That way their hands will be occupied. Occupied hands can’t raise up and bring curses down on our heads.”

Really. An enemy would agree to carry a wash basket.

But that day, Jasper divided the clothes. As happy as he was for her help, he couldn’t understand why she’d sit with him when she could have found the Gold Raven around the next bend. Their camp wasn’t more than five minutes upstream.

Even with his wringing, the clothes were water heavy. Jasper made sure her basket wasn’t too heavy, but weighty enough that she’d need two hands to balance it in front of her. Setting the basket in her hands, he told her to follow. She bobbed her head agreeing.

As they made our way through the trees, a soaring songbird called above our heads. It would not have been a long walk. In the shade wouldn’t have been hot. Except that they carried heavy baskets. The burden forced Jasper to plod along. Sweat ran from his hair and down the back of his neck. His tunic grew sticky and clung to his skin. Down his face stinging my eyes.

Jasper did glance back a few times to see if the woman was alright. Each time she walked easy, as though gliding through the trees.

When a breeze carried the scent of burning herbs, Jasper knew they were close. Smoke drifted from the campfire where the Gold Raven sat smoking his pipe. Fowyn and Alsner sat with poles in the stream and buckets of fish by their feet.

Seeing them, the Gold Raven added protective herbs to the fire. Jasper nodded, but needing to get the baskets to his drying line, didn’t dare stop.

After dropping and arranging the baskets, Jasper drew in a breath. It was good to be in the camp’s peaceful circle. Tea boiled over the fire. Inside the Raven’s circle, the woman looked more ordinary and less magical. Still beautiful, but she’d lost some of her shimmering hue.

“I have to introduce you as something. Why do you want to speak with the master?”

The Gold Raven seemed to stare into the fire, but he’d turned his chair so they were in his sightline. As though relaxed, he sucked his pipe, but his arms were crossed and his wand dangled from the fingers of his right hand.

The woman’s brow crinkled and her eyelashes fluttered down, “I have a tale to tell.”

Fine then. Jasper had too much to do to waste any more time pleading with her. Going to the master’s feet, he introduced, “This is teller of tales. She has story for you.”

Raven tapped ashes from his pipe and set it aside. Turning to the woman, his black eyes pierced into her aura. Usually, people crumbled. Soldiers babbled about war horrors and hard-eyed widows sobbed under his stare that read beyond past and future. Shifted through layers of soul until no secrets were left.

The silver woman stood still. Waiting.

Tapping his wand against his fingertips, Raven said, “I know Prue.”

Prue.

While anyone normal would have acknowledged or denied the name, Prue kept her head humble and was quiet.

It didn’t matter. Jasper’s worrying was drying clothes, not a fairy woman’s name. With a jerky nod, he turned back.

“My story is one everyone must hear.” Behind him the resolve in her soft voice was a chilled tickle up the back of his neck.

Her passing him wet pieces quickened his work. An easy rhythm flowed between them, and more than once, at a wave of her fingers, water dripped from a garment like rain. Maybe she needed a job.

Fish fried over the fire when we returned. Breathing in the savory flavour, Japrey’s stomach grumbled, but as he was of the lowest rank, he had to wait for everyone to take a portion before allowed his. If Prue’s tale delayed the master’s eating, hungry or not, he’d have to wait.

“Are you ready now, teller of tales, to speak your story?” Jasper asked her.

Raven held his wand delicately in his fingers as though it was a quill, and he about to write her story. Kowyn shook the fish pot and Alsner wiped mud from his boots. We all looked at her.

In front of us, Prue pointed at the fish. “Do labourers not deserve their wages?”

At Raven’s agreeing nod, plates were passed around. As Kowyn and Alsner had done well, Jasper was able to fill a plate and leave a good portion for Prue. He had noticed she was thin, but had thought her delicate. A dainty fairy. Maybe she was hungry.

The fried fish was tender and juicy. Easy to gobble down until his belly was full, and Jasper relaxed, letting tiredness seep into his flesh. Heat drifted from the day and a cool breeze swirled the fire’s warm floral scented smoke over us.

Prue had only filled a small clay bowl from which she nibbled with effort. Jasper gathered up the finished plates, threw the leftover bones in the fire, and passed around mugs of tea. Raven added fresh tobacco to his pipe.

Normally Jasper did the dishes straight away as he liked having the last of his work done. But that night there was heaviness in the air.

“Did you want me to get rid of the rest?” Jasper asked Prue offering her a hot cup.

“No, I hate wasting,” she answered taking the mug.

It was a quiet sort of camaraderie sitting round the fire sipping tea with full bellies. Maybe she sought work.

When she finished her last morsel, chewing the crust as though it were tough, Jasper set her bowl with the other dishes and filled everyone’s mug but hers.

They watched her expectantly until she had no choice but to stand before them and tell her tale. She had come seeking help.

In front of the fire, she tugged at her collar, fidgeting, before sinking her fingers beneath the smooth fabric and bringing out a silver crescent. It looked like a pendant until she threw it in the fire. The deafening crack sounded like a lightening strike.

Jasper woke on his back in the dirt staring up at blackness.

Raven was laughing. A cold mocking laugh. “Poor sparrow.” There was tussling.

Above Jasper the darkness lightened to gray.

“It’s mine,” Prue cried. More scuffling.

When the gray cleared to blue, Jasper realised he looked at the sky and sat up.

Kowyn and Alsner were on each side of Prue holding her back as she lunged for Raven’s throat.

Fighting dizziness, Jasper staggered to my feet. The sun seemed too bright, the ground wobbly, and the wind tasted of smoky herbs. The Gold Raven’s heavy magic was like burning ash at the back of his throat.

“How fool is a frail robin thinking she might challenge power of a gold raven.” Raven stroked the gold wings he wore at his neck.

Prue hissed and stretched sharp fingers trying to seize the gold wings. “It’s mine. Give me back what belongs to me.”

Raven rocked back on his heels and spun his wand about his fingers. “Did you think I’d let you come into my circle and steal what you think gives me power.”

“It’s mine. From root of my ancestors.”

“Take her out.”

Prue howled. As they dragged her, she dug in heels, scrapping tracks in the earth.

“What happened?” Jasper stared at Raven disbelieving.

“When you have power, there is always someone wanting to steal it,” Raven answered. After looking at Jasper another moment, he pointed his wand at the basin of dirty dishes.

It was not the first time since working for the Gold Raven that Jasper was glad he had no worse work.