Page 6 of Corvus and the Broken God

I will tell you everything you need to know. How to survive, what motivates the monster, and how to possibly get us turned back into humans.

You will?

Yes. All I ask is one favor.

The feathers at the base of my neck began to tingle, and I looked up at the sky, searching for a clear place to take flight, but he spoke again.

No, nothing like what you fear. All I ask is that you come meet me here again tomorrow. So I will have someone to talk to. I’ve been so lonely.

I couldn’t afford to believe him, the still wolf looking too innocent below me, but it didn’t sound like too big a request. As long as I didn’t fall, I would be safe.

Agreed, I said.

Good. His mouth opened into a wide grin. Today, I will tell you the basics of what you want to know. Tomorrow you’ll get the nuances, and you can ask questions.

I bobbed my head. Seemed fair enough.

First, you need to understand that if he can catch you, he will eat you. Because he can sense our emotions, those of us with enough brains to fear dying make the best meal. That way, he can feed off our agony as well as our flesh. You must stay away from him, especially at night, since he sleeps most of the day. If you see him coming, stay calm. He won’t be able to pick you out from the flock by eyesight. You must pretend you’re a crow. Convince yourself, and he won’t be able to distinguish you from the rest. The second thing you need to know is this: If you find a way to survive for one year, the curse will be lifted, and you will be human again. Now, it may sound easy to do, especially for you. You could just fly away, and he’ll never be able to find you. That was exactly what I was thinking, fly back to my home and wait out the year. But if you cross over the boundary of his territory, then you will lose all your humanity. You will be a crow forever and never know the difference. The curse will take permanent effect.

Where is the boundary?

It’s a few miles away from here. So stay close, and I will see you tomorrow.

And after dropping that on my head, he melted into the forest underbrush. Upset and craving companionship, I flew off to find my fellow crows and to raid the blackberry bushes for some supper.

The crows congregated in three large sycamore trees near the edge of the Monster’s wall, loudly discussing the minutiae of their day as the afternoon light faded to dusk. I searched high and low before finally choosing a spot near the wide trunk, where a creature of his size would have a hard time reaching me, but I could still keep an eye out for him. The crows all around me would kick up a fuss if he disturbed them. He had resumed his rock-form, looking exactly like a piece of the mountain. Even knowing what he was, I couldn’t make out his head, horns, or shoulders.

What type of creature was he? A demon? Was his kind the basis for most of our contemporary religions? What did he do at night besides feed on unsuspecting animals? Never having been overly invested before in animals' daily lives, I was filled with a burst of compassion for them, for the constant danger in which they lived from morning to night. If he targeted an animal, they’d be helpless against him.

One by one, the crows quieted, settling into feathery shapes perfectly balanced on their chosen branches high off the ground. Their large size, compared to my own, which threw me off in the beginning for obvious reasons, now comforted me. My feet gripped my own branch, though I worried about relaxing my grip in my sleep, should it ever come.

Why couldn’t I understand them? It all sounded the same to me. Caw, caw, caw. Sure, there were differences of sound, some shorter, some longer, some deeper, some louder, but what did any of it mean? They were certainly a social bunch, and seeing them up close, I was beginning to tell them apart. Maybe I should treat this as an opportunity. How many bird scientists—crap, I didn’t even know what they were called—would kill for an opportunity like this? To study the crows for a year, to get the inside scoop.

One year. Staying alive for twelve months couldn’t be that hard. It was early summer, and food was everywhere, but I was capable of rational thought. Surely, I could make it through the winter. Or did the crows leave for warmer climates? A worry for another day, still far away. The crow next to me ruffled its feathers and settled in to sleep, a dark, comforting presence. I drifted in thought, worries of my old life still in the forefront of my brain, but when I looked back to check on the boulder, he was gone.

I couldn’t fall back asleep, too restless since I could no longer keep an eye on him. Also, I wasn’t as confident as my fellows that I wouldn’t lose my balance in my sleep and fall to the ground. I scoured the place he had once sat, still as a rock. The space was now flat and vacant. The moon had risen, illuminating the courtyard in the distance. My memories of the night before were crystal clear until he transformed me, and everything about our encounter seemed so loud. How had he snuck away without me hearing him? Now that I knew he fed off my emotions and he could find me if I panicked, it was impossible not to do exactly that. How was I supposed to pretend I was just another crow when the fear inside me became unmanageable?

I shuffled closer to the trunk of the tree, its massive branches reaching out in all directions to protect me. Except they couldn’t. The Monster could fly too. He was massive and powerful, so it wouldn’t be difficult for him to shred his way through the branches to reach me.

I hopped from one foot to the next in agony. The crow nearest me flew off to a lower branch. I was disgusted by my anxiety, but what to do?

Unwilling to disturb the sleep of the kind birds who had helped me, I risked a night flight up to the ruins. If he were out searching for me, this would be the last place he’d look. Hopefully.

The moon shone brighter than I had ever seen it, illuminating the ground far below me. I caught an updraft and threw myself at the sky, enjoying the freedom for a few brief seconds until fear of falling curbed my excitement. It could be glorious to be a bird.

I flew as low as I dared, unsure if I would be easier to spot up high or down low. Not too low, the wall was twenty feet below me, but not high enough to attract any large, winged beasts on the prowl. With his dark skin and black wings, he could be anywhere. Just watching and waiting. I looked for a place to land, toes spread, wings raised, causing me to plunge. I was starting to get the hang of this flying thing.

I had gotten too cocky, aiming for a small alcove under the front roof overhang. But the ledge was narrow, and my toes scrabbled as they tried to grab purchase. I almost fell to the ground, barely catching the air at the last moment and climbing back up into the sky. The roof would be easier and would give me space where I could watch and wait. For I, too, was black. Much smaller than him, I could melt into a small space where his giant fist couldn’t reach.

The exhilaration of the successful flight wore off, and I began to look for a way to get into the building. I looked for a flat portion of the roof, since those tend to deteriorate first without the slope to wash away the weather, but didn’t see any. Considering the age of the building, centuries at the youngest, the roof was in good shape. The front of the building rose up two stories like the cathedral part of a monastery, the bell tower still in relatively good shape, while the back wings, two leading off each end and another wing connecting them at the back, were a tall one-story. There in the corner under the ridge line was a spot darker than the tar of the roof. Was that a hole? I hopped toward it but then paused. What did he look like flying? I quirked my head at the thought and caught movement from the right. A huge bird headed toward me. The damned owl again.

I rushed to the hole, hoping that’s what it really was. It looked too tight as I got closer, but I flung myself at it, out of options. Headfirst, I pushed my small body into a smaller space, thinking only of escaping those nasty talons. He could’ve changed me into any animal, a wolf even, but why a crow? My father hated crows with a passion, going so far as buying a BB gun to chase them away when they got close to our fruit trees, and he had hated firearms. How many nights had I spent listening to him complain about the damn crows?

The jagged edges of the roof gripped me, scraping a couple feathers loose, but I squeezed my body forward until my head popped out into the room below me. One final lunge and I was through.

I flapped my wings in time not to crash into the stone floor, sitting still for a moment to catch my breath. I stretched my wings, gently rustling my feathers back into place. One wing feather was bent, and I picked at it with my beak. Hopefully, I would still be able to fly. The damn thing wouldn’t lie flat, and the base of the feather poked into my wing as I folded it up.

The sound of deep voices nearby had my heart racing again. Should I escape and face my chances with the owl or see who it was? My muscles ached from all the flying and, frankly, I didn’t stand a chance on my own against the owl. I hopped slowly in the direction of the voices. If there were people here, could I warn them? I moved cautiously, Matthew’s reaction to my crow self still fresh and grating, like too much garlic in my alfredo.