Jemma and the Raven, page 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B. D. Reeves is a Melbourne-based writer. His first novel Jemma and the Raven was published in 2023. When he is not reading and writing, B. D. Reeves teaches philosophy and literature. Loving to travel, he once camped in an old shepherd’s hut on a remote Greek island where he discovered the remnants of ancient frescos, the secrets of bees, and the friendship of a goat who followed him wherever he went. He has since adored the concept of animals in fiction. He lives with his family, two cats and beloved dog, Juno.
www.bdreeves.com
‘Jemma and the Raven is a massive feat of storytelling, a work of fabulous imagination, a fantasy inspired by historical realities. It will convey its readers on an epic journey that will both captivate and exhilarate them.’
ARNOLD ZABLE
JEMMA AND THE RAVEN
B. D. REEVES
Junedog Press
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2023 by B.D. Reeves
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First paperback edition August 2023
Cover art by Andrei Bat
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-6456346-1-7
EBook ISBN: 978-0-6456346-0-0
Published by Junedog Press
www.bdreeves.com
For my Family,
Sarah, Asher and Raphaelle.
CONTENTS
I. The Scarp
1. Something Big This Time
2. A Shadow City
3. Run
4. The Wharf
5. Face of a Seal
6. Sorenstar
7. Besh and Daria
8. I Give You This to Keep
II. The Shadow City
9. Betrayal
10. The Erigena
11. New Alchemy
12. Dark Keepers
13. The Shadows or the Fog?
14. The Raven Spy
III. Delphin Caves
15. Sigilli
16. This is How a Raven Sleeps
17. The Harpooners
18. A Great Discontent
19. The Last Plateau
IV. The Collector’s Empyrean
20. A Constant Presence
21. Sir Francis Gilbert
22. Another Visitor
23. Specimens
24. Peacock’s Plume
25. A Chance to Talk
26. Living Doll
27. Enthralled
28. Magden
29. Submerged
30. Confession
31. Halogaic
32. The Gilded Cage
33. A Creature in the Dark
34. The White Moth
35. I Give You My Name
V. White Night
36. The Delphin Prince
37. Who You Are
38. The Memory Seed
39. The Weapons Inside
40. To Walk The Path of Sorrow
41. White Night
42. When the Shadows Rise Again
43. Another Way
44. The Memory of the Sea
45. Return
Contact
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
PART I
THE SCARP
CHAPTER 1
SOMETHING BIG THIS TIME
‘You mustn’t climb any further,’ Edgar pleaded, ‘it’s going to be dark soon.’
‘We aren’t stopping now, not until we’ve seen what’s over that rise. Then we’ll turn back, I promise.’
Even Jemma knew this was a lie. She’d had a feeling, ever since they left the road – something was pulling her this way. Normally they wouldn’t have taken a route this far to the East where the ruins were too scant, the pass too steep. They had never climbed this high into the Scarp.
From here they could see the road below, where an endless line of Caravanassi wagons was snaking into the valley. In the distance, the lights of Adocentyn glowed as a golden crown beyond the furthest hills, where a searchlight circled, pulsing and winking in the sky.
Jemma kept her eyes fixed on the highest peak. When the cliffs were this crumbly, she knew Edgar didn’t like to fly ahead in case she lost her hold. The mere thought of her tumbling off a precipice was enough to keep him hovering just above, calling out instructions about where to place a hand, now a foot, when to slide left or right, to reach for a gap in the rock.
‘You’ll be late for the fight,’ he urged again, ‘Sharmenai will scold you like a boiling pot.’
‘If we find something this time,’ she shot back, ‘I’ll never have to work in that stinking pit again.’
By night Jemma worked in the wrestling dens, in the precinct of the old Wharf. By day she hunted ruins in the Scarp for the treasure that would buy her a passage to the great city of Adocentyn.
Now her arms ached and she was thirsty and needed to catch her breath. She grew dizzy looking down the sheer face of the cliff where she had spent the last hour bruising knees and scratching skin on thistle-weed. But nothing was going to stop her from reaching the top. Not when she’d already come this far.
From up here, the Wharf looked so small, jutting into the scanty harbour on the edges of the lands of Adocentyn. She could see the glow of the Caravanassi roasting fires and the lanterns of the trade ships blinking on the docks, and the white sails of the wrestling tents. And if she squinted, she could even see her own tiny room, stuck like a barnacle on the end of the Walrus shacks.
Already, the chinking sounds of hammers hitting the iron spikes echoed in the valley. They were securing the sides of the wrestling tents. She didn’t have long.
She felt a prickling on her skin, the shiver of the biting Scarp-winds. She turned away from the valley and kept on climbing the rocky cliff, ignoring the sting of her cuts and bruises. Something was up there. She knew it. Something big this time.
For a moment, the clouds darkened. A flock of Sparrows passed swiftly overhead and formed a black hand sweeping across the sky.
Edgar swooped beside her.
‘Hide. Quick!’
Jemma ducked beneath a ledge as Edgar flew into a hollow. She had seen these Sparrows before, changing into their human forms and swarming all over the Caravanassi camps, searching rooms, asking questions.
‘Where have they come from?’ Jemma said.
‘The city. There’s no one around here who could afford to pay for a Sparrow swarm.’
‘What are they looking for?’
‘I don’t know,’ Edgar said, watching the hand pass over them once again and then sweep down towards the forest. ‘But they are almost certainly scouting ahead for Poachers. And if they’re anywhere nearby, we don’t want to be left out on the road.’
When Jemma finally reached the top, on the far side of the ridge, she could see something through the shifting mist. A shape arising from the ruins in the oncoming night. At first, she had to look very hard against the darkened sky. Now it was unmistakeable. It was the tower of a palace rising up above a ring of grey rocks at the end of the plateau.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. The idea of ancient castles had always sparked wonder in her mind, but she had only ever seen them in her wild imaginings from the stories an old sea-trader had told her. Never had she dreamed that she would find an actual palace in the ruins.
‘Didn’t I tell you, Edgar – didn’t I say we’d find something big this time?’
‘I don’t like this. I don’t like it one little bit. We mustn’t go anywhere near it.’
Jemma took off at once down the slope, running through the mountain grass swishing in the fierce gusts of wind funnelling through the Western gully. Edgar beat his wings to follow her.
‘We don’t know where it’s come from. Who made it. Why it’s here.’
‘Just hurry up, Edgar.’
Didn’t he know by now? This was her Scarp. These were her ruins. And if anyone was foolish enough to make a palace appear out of nowhere, then anything she found inside belonged to her. By right.
Already a plan swirled in her mind. She would raid every room, take every jewel, every golden goblet, every trinket she could find and carry it down to the trade ships of the Wharf. Then she would glory at the astonished faces of the Trade Masters when they saw their ‘little Scarp rat’ seated in the finest berth to Adocentyn!
‘This is reckless,’ Edgar implored, flying ahead of her.
The tower of the palace loomed up before them, made of the same grey stone as the Scarp.
‘At least let’s come back tomorrow. If we’re caught up here in the dark...’
‘Stop worrying,’ Jemma said, feeling her way around the perimeter of the great stone wall, until she came to a thick wooden door with huge iron hinges.
‘And help me find the latch. If you weren’t a Raven, you’d be worse than an Arctic Gull.’
‘Better a Gull than a prisoner. Trust me, we don’t want to end up in a dungeon. You’ve heard the stories – there’s magic in the Scarp. The mists can shift and change with your desires, only to trap you forever. What if we never come out again?’
‘I’d rather be locked in a Scarp dungeon than spend the rest of my life in that fish-stinking Wharf. This is our ticket, Edgar, once and for all. Our ticket to Adocentyn.’
She found the latch and slowly opened the door.
&
Edgar flew inside and Jemma followed. Never before had her feet glided over such smooth shining white marble. She looked up and all around her at the panelled wooden walls with candles set in alcoves, disappearing like little stars into an astonishing vaulted ceiling.
Delicious aromas came drifting, rich and sweet, from somewhere in the palace.
Edgar landed on her shoulder. She could feel his trembling feathers tickling her cheek. Jemma’s heart was thumping, more with a kind of thrilled desire than with fear.
‘I hope you know where you’re going,’ Edgar whispered, ‘and fast. What if someone’s here?’
Jemma followed the enticing smells through a hallway veering off to the side, then curving sharply to the left. Up ahead they could see a crack of light beneath a wooden door.
‘This must be the kitchen,’ Jemma mused, ‘and I’m starving.’
‘Be careful,’ Edgar said. ‘That can only mean there must be a cook.’
She eased open the door and crept down an oak staircase. Lines of copper pots were gleaming above the kitchen fire. The hearth was made of stone and the ceiling was raised with smoother vaulted arches. In the centre was a long wooden table with two glass lamps hanging suspended from the turrets of the vaults. Over to the right there was a pantry built into the stone, containing bags of flour and potato sacks and jars of currants and spices.
The smells of cooling pies and loaves of bread filled their nostrils. A pot of ragout bubbled gently on the stove.
Jemma helped herself to a ladleful while Edgar scolded her. Apart from the hearty cooking, she was disappointed. There was nothing here to sell. They might get something for those copper pots.
She tiptoed to the adjoining room and saw a beautiful dining table made of a dark shining wood with a fine grain. It must have been twelve feet long, but there were only two chairs, one at either end, which made the other spaces look both empty and quite absurd. Hanging above the table was a glittering three-tiered crystal chandelier that wasn’t alight. Opposite the door was a mantlepiece of the same fine wood, supported by carved and gilded columns. To the right, there stood a cedar sideboard with brass handles and cutlery drawers.
On the dining table, Jemma spied two silver candelabras that splayed their polished wealth. She opened her bag.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Panic rose in Edgar’s voice.
‘Imagine how much we’ll get for one of these in the city?’
‘It’s too risky. If they see they’re missing, they’ll know for certain someone’s here.’
‘Well, you can keep a look out while I search these drawers,’ Jemma said.
‘And what if someone sees me?’ Edgar hopped along the dining table after her.
‘They won’t, because you’re such a clever Raven aren’t you.’
‘Quite the opposite I can assure you,’ Edgar said. ‘Just don’t take anything obvious. And listen out for my warning call.’
‘I’ve never heard that before.’
‘It goes like this,’ Edgar said, as he flew towards the kitchen. ‘Kraa, kra, ah, ah.’
Edgar saw another door beside the pantry and landed firmly against the handle, releasing the latch. A cold silence emanated from the dark, and the smell of damp. He flew to the end of a hallway where several other corridors ran off in different directions. Along the winding passages were candle-lamps set into the walls.
The whispers of a draft made his feathers shiver. He could hear a faint murmuring from one of the passages ahead.
I wonder what that is? he thought. Now he was the one being reckless.
As he came closer, Edgar heard the low hum of chanting. He saw three hooded figures in long black robes sitting in meditation, each in front of a chamber door.
Edgar flew closer in the shadows. The doors were thick and made of a dark heavy wood, cladded at the hinges and around the lock and the peepholes with iron plates. From behind one of the door’s grates he saw a bright flickering white. The chants grew louder, the incantations rising intensely as if they battled against whatever was inside, and then the flicker was gone.
Just then, the lamps blew out and the chamber went black. He heard the sound of walking on the marble floor above. Edgar took off down the passage. Someone was talking. He cursed himself for letting his curiosity get the better of him.
He turned right, but this only took him in a winding loop. He’d forgotten the scheme of the passages, and it was only a matter of luck that he saw a crack of light ahead.
He sped down the corridor and back through the kitchen, sweeping into the dining room with a Kraa, kra, ah, ah.
Jemma shut the drawer she was pilfering from and dashed towards Edgar, catching him on her arm.
‘Voices. Coming right this way.’
She ducked into a servant passage, feeling claws grip her skin.
Edgar heard the jingle in her bag. ‘What did you take?’
‘Silver spoons – for my collection.’
‘And what if they need them for dinner?’
Now she could hear the sound of a match striking light into the chandelier, followed by the clattering of dishes and cutlery, and the tinkling of a wine bottle on the tip of a glass. A deep, urgent voice sounded in the corridor and then the room.
‘Did you see the Sparrows? It is only a matter of time now before they find us. You are sure she is safe?’
‘She is. I watch her every day. And the Terns would never let a hair be harmed on her head. I’ll not leave you either, Master.’
‘I cannot risk taking you with me. Piera, I insist you leave first thing tomorrow. You must go and hide in the valley.’
‘I’ll do no such thing.’
‘And if they find you? I’ll not have you thrown into the dungeons of Adocentyn.’
‘What do you think they’re talking about?’ Jemma whispered.
‘I have no idea, and I don’t like this at all. It sounds like big things they’re speaking of. We need to get out of here, now.’
If only she’d been able to nab just one of those silver candelabras. ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ Jemma said, ‘until I’ve had a look upstairs.’
They tiptoed through the servant’s door and back to the ground floor. A grand staircase led them to a long, curving corridor, eventually reaching the door to a study.
Jemma had never seen so many books. It was as if the walls themselves were leather spines etched with golden words reaching to the ceiling. A ladder to the highest shelves hung on a polished brass track. A fire burned in a grate opposite the door, filling Jemma with warmth.
In the centre, a luscious Persian rug was circled by divans and cushions. Jemma threw herself into the soft cocoon where a silver tray was set with fresh steaming tea and almond cakes.
Edgar landed on the mantelpiece. His feathers gleaming like oil in the firelight.
Jemma sank into the cushions and helped herself to some tea and cakes. She was starving after all that climbing.
‘We mustn’t stay long,’ Edgar said, ‘and don’t even think about eating all of those cakes.’
Despite his warnings, Edgar seemed to be drawn by the surrounding comfort and warmth. He swooped to the other side of the room, where a book lay open on a reading table and began flicking through its pages.
