Talisman

Ian Evelake had never really believed he would die at seventeen. The way the night was shaping up, dying had almost become an absolute. 

Idiot! Why had he come out here at night without telling anyone? His mother didn’t know, his cousins didn’t know. This was the one time he hadn’t gone to his regular haunt at Hatchery Bluff, the cliffs overlooking Summertide Bay. No.  Tonight he’d felt like walking the paths in the woods behind  Grayfall High. And tonight his lack of judgment would kill him. 

He had been running for longer than ever. His body screamed in protest. But now he couldn’t keep up his own pace. Ian took a quick look over his shoulder. A wolfpack of guys lead by the relentless Carter Banks chased him. They were armed with baseball bats while Ian had only his dimming wits. Groaning, Ian imagined what they had in mind for him. They’d beat on him until everything that could be broken, snapped like a twig. Would it hurt? Was he kidding? 

And why? Why? Carter Banks hated him, plain and simple. His band of jerks got off on torturing people. Bullies. Hadn’t Ian suffered enough? They’d already dragged him through thorns through all their years stuck together in school and in the town of Grayfall. He had almost no life to speak of, no socializing outside his family and a few friends. 

Carter Banks had already destroyed him. Did Carter have to destroy him again—this time, permanently? 

Ian thrust his left hand into his bouncing pocket to seize his last resort, the onyx talisman passed down to him from his grandparents. He’d been advised not to summon supernatural help too often. This qualified as an emergency! 

He fought to concentrate on the words of the ancient spell as he knew them.  

Londubh, londubh!  No matter how I've tried to shake him off, he still comes after me with the ferocity of a hunting carnivore--not the cunning of a carrion feeder. I close my eyes and I see the black bird, the same black bird who has been with me for all of this life and perhaps in other lives as well. For some reason I wanted to shake the bird but he's only come back thirteen times as powerful.  I realize now that I cannot run from my heritage--from the blood of my ancestors which now flows through me--and that the black bird, the Great Raven, will always seek me out no matter where I am.  My question to myself now is do I want to embrace him as forcefully as I have done before, do I want to have done with him and pursue my new existence, or can I possibly keep the Great Raven in my heart and continue to move forward?  I will ponder with care. 

“Evelake, you loser!” What was clearly Carter’s voice burst through the night air. “Give it up and try having a little dignity! You don’t need to go down as a coward!” 

Ian wasn’t going to sacrifice the air in his lungs to answer. He fought with every reserve of his strength to keep moving. But a fallen log lay hidden in the mists. By the time he could see it, he was already falling over it and onto the gravel.  

He looked up, his knee throbbing. He could see Carter now, flanked by his buddies. “Decided to make it easy for me?” Carter said, crossing his corded arms over his wide chest. 

“I kept you running long enough,” Ian managed to say, gathering what was left of his control. “I can’t be that much of a weakling, then, can I?” 

Carter gave a whistle. “Get him!” 

Ian curled up, offering his back and shoulders for their blows. He waited for the pain, waited for the end. But nothing happened. After a while Ian realized they weren’t touching him. Cautiously, he dared to rise a few inches and look. 

Carter’s mob was still there, still in formation. Between Ian and the mob was a figure. A woman’s figure. Either she wore head to toe black or she stood in the shadows.  Ian couldn’t tell. But she was there in the mist, holding her arms out to her sides. 

“Be gone from here, monsters!” 

No one in the mob moved. In a flash, a huge black bird, its feathers slick from the moisture, swooped in and landed on the woman’s arm.  Ian thought no one could be strong enough to support that bird. Yet she did not flinch. 

Ian almost cried in surprise when she turned to look at him. He couldn’t see her face, as much as he wanted to see her. All he could make out was her dark silhouette and her great bird. “Run, dear one,” she said to him. “Run!” 

She didn’t need to tell him twice. But he felt for her, he worried for her. He knew what an ass like Carter would do to her. But Ian had nothing left to fight with, and she had given him an order. He looked at her again and wished he could stand by her side. Even more, he wished he could fight this battle for her.  

Where had that little bit of chivalry come from? 

Battling to ignore the pain in his body, Ian scrambled to his feet and moved away in a run-stumble. He wanted to look back, to see what would happen. The angry voices of Carter and his mob carried on the air, roaring against Ian but somehow not daring to pursue him.  Ian forced himself to focus on escaping, though his mind longed to understand what had saved him, who she was. 

And why had she come to rescue him? 

As he ran, he could make no sense of any of it. Could he even believe what his own eyes had seen? Maybe the whole encounter had only happened in his imagination. But then why was the pain so real? Why did the sick dread still twist his stomach? 

Who was she? 

Emilie Conroy

ejconroy778@gmail.com