Aerisian Refrain, page 33
part #1 of Beyond the Sunset Series
Thunder boomed, and I jumped, as much from the noise as from that awful thought. I was far enough into the woods that I couldn’t see the road, so I searched around for a large tree with thick branches and hunkered down. I knew the old tale that hiding under a tree during a lightning storm was a bad idea, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go. At the very least, the heavy foliage helped shield me from the rain.
But nothing could shield me from the Raven.
There was another flash of lightning, closer and more spectacular than the rest as it expanded across the sky, and out of the blinding glare stepped the Raven. He was fully fleshed now; nothing ephemeral or weak or pale about him. Like the female half of his kind, his features were entrancing. Unlike them, his naked upper torso was rounded with muscle. His black hair, grown into feathers on the back of his neck, was tossed by the same wind that his wings beat against as he hovered above the ground. Wings of full, thick, healthy black feathers. Wings that were taller than him. His violet eyes glowed in the storm-darkened forest.
“Why do you run, Annie?” he called out, and the smile on his lips was both exquisite and terrifying. It was hard to believe this was the same gaunt creature that I’d met in the strange clearing, with his broken arm, broken wing and dull, grey eyes.
Slowly, I rose from the crouched position I’d assumed to protect myself from the rain and stepped out from under the overhanging branches. When I stood, he towered over me, having grown in height as well as health. He might’ve been a full seven feet tall. I had to tip my head back to see his face.
“Why did you threaten Hannah? She hasn’t done anything to you.”
“She is the Artan,” he sneered. “She holds great power. Could I take it from her, I would. But there is no need of that, is there, Annie?”
I tried to blank my face like I didn’t know what he was hinting at. A sliver of my brain noted that not only was he taller and heavier with muscle, his wings fit and strong, but his former birdlike mannerisms had all but vanished. Overnight, he’d been fully healed and restored, had shattered the raven form. Had I somehow done it?
He saw right through me. “You are no fool. You saw those people tonight, and the power you held over them. When you entrance them, your power grows. When your power grows, I strengthen. We strengthen. Look at me—I am healed! And them…”
He waved an arm. There was a flash of light. At first, I thought it was lightning, but the glow lingered instead of fading. There were figures moving in the light. I squinted against the glare, and when my eyes adjusted I heard my own gasp. It was the same scene as before, at the Sanctuary, only instead of the curtains of fog peeled back so I could see the entrapped fairies it was a curtain of light. I was looking through time and space and dimension at the rest of the male fairies shouting and banging on the invisible shield that confined them. Only this time, most of them didn’t look angry. They were smiling.
That terrified me to my core.
The Raven lowered his arm, but his smile remained. So did the vision of his fellow fairies.
“You cannot run from us forever,” he told me. “Your power is my power. It is our power, and we will take it.”
I forced a bravery I wasn’t feeling.
“Go ahead, then,” I said coldly. “What’s stopping you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer.
“Nothing. Nothing is stopping me.”
There was a stiff blast of wind, one that tore at my clothing and shoved me sideways. I heard a bird’s cry, a raven’s cry, and looked up to see a fiery, indistinct shape spiraling through the air on the wings of the storm. It was headed towards us. There was almost something birdlike about it, and as it came closer it grew and stretched and elongated. The fire was burning so hotly I could feel the heat as it touched down next to the Raven. He didn’t move; his smile grew. The fire congealed, consolidated, and out of the flames stepped an old, stooped woman with long, white hair to her hips. Strands of it were braided, and the braids were adorned with tiny, colorful beads. Her clothing was loose and drapey, blowing in the wind. Bones and beads were attached to leather cords strung all across her body. Her dark eyes were piercing out of the withered skin of her face.
I felt my own eyes widen in horror as I stumbled backwards.
“It can’t be,” I breathed.
“Oh,” the Raven grinned, “but it can.”
He hadn’t had to confirm it. I’d already known I was seeing some version of the very stuff of nightmares to the Cherokee, my father’s people, my grandmother’s people. A Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï: a Raven Mocker.
Chapter 44
Thunder Beings
I would’ve run, but where could I go? There were probably still people on the road, people to whom I couldn’t risk leading the Raven Mocker, a creature so powerful that, according to the Cherokee legends I’d heard, other witches flee before their kind. The raven-like cry of a Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï, which is where the Raven Mocker earns it name, means someone is going to die—much like banshees in Irish folklore. Often, they appear when a person is dying to steal and consume the liver or the heart. Sometimes they torture and kill their victim by cutting open the head, then eating the heart. A year is added to their life for every year their victim would have lived, making a Raven Mocker almost immortal, and accounting for their appearance as an old, wizened man or woman when in human form. They can fly through the air in fiery bird shape, trailing sparks while in the sky, which is what confirmed the identity of the woman standing in front of me. They are usually invisible, except to the most powerful of magic workers. Like me. Only a medicine man or woman of much training and strength can stand against them, which meant I was in serious danger.
I didn’t know the exact purpose of the Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï: if she was there to kill me and feast on my organs, or just to kill me. After all, this was Aerisia, not Earth, and Hannah had told me that folklore and legends on Earth weren’t always exact copies of Aerisian reality, but sometimes memories that could be somewhat distorted with time. Nevertheless, whatever she had in mind couldn’t bode well since she was there with my ancestor, the Raven. He was grinning madly, the whites of his teeth flashing brilliant in the lightning, like the white of the Raven Mocker’s hair.
He settled a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “There is your prey,” he said. “Consume her.”
I retreated as she crept forward, her hands outstretched like claws.
“Why are you doing this?” I begged—not to her, but to the Raven himself.
“Because you have no intention of freeing us, have you? You’ve been poisoned by them. Especially the Simathe.” Turning his head to the side, he spat. “I could wait. I could let your power grow, let you call on it inadvertently as you’ve been doing. Let you unknowingly find your voice and sing us free. But how long would it take? I cannot risk Braisley and her forces moving against me before I move against her. So the Raven Mocker will take your power before you learn to wield it. She’ll take it and share it with us because we gave her to you. My ravens will be free. And you will be dead.”
“Why don’t you just take it then?” I snarled. “Coward!”
“Can I harm my own flesh and blood?”
“I don’t think you have enough honor to stop you.”
“No,” he agreed. “But because your magic is so close to mine, and you are a descendant of my body, I cannot steal it from you anymore than I could steal my own magic from myself. She will be my medium—she who your song tonight gave me the power to call.”
Fear had turned my mouth dry, yet I fought to think. He’d claimed I hadn’t learned to wield my power. Maybe I hadn’t learned to purposefully summon it, but I’d used it unconsciously, hadn’t I? I’d made myself invisible. I’d walked through transporting doors with Aureeyah. I’d communed with animals: Sunshield and the Restless.
Sunshield! The idea leapt into my brain and I called out for him. If anyone could defeat a Raven Mocker, it would be a dragon.
Sunshield!
I put all of my fear and energy into the mental cry as the creature advanced through the slashing rain. Maybe we were too far apart, though. Maybe he couldn’t hear me. We weren’t bonded, like he was with Princess Vashti. I had to think of something else. Quickly. I was pressed up against a tree, and the Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï was upon me now. She opened her mouth wide, and I could see her long, pointed black teeth. She hissed at me like a snake preparing to strike. My back was against the tree, but I ducked. Her curled hands caught the back of my blouse as I spun away, ripping it. I felt raindrops hit my bare back. Pain flared between my shoulder blades, and I screamed.
Not this! Not now!
I couldn’t fight the Raven Mocker, the Raven himself, and this crippling back pain. I was stumbling to run, but was almost down on my knees from the blinding agony. I heard the Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï approaching from the rear, even as footsteps signaled someone else approaching from the front. My head was down; I couldn’t see to dodge them. A hand snagged my hair, the grip vicious and shockingly strong. The Raven jerked me to a stop, spun me about, and wrenched me down on my knees, tugging my head back so he could see into my face.
“Here,” he said kindly, still smiling. “I will end this quicker for you. I will hold you down so she can do her work. No need to fight, Annie. Relax, let it end the sooner.”
The movie cliché, “You won’t get away with this,” sprang to my lips, but I pressed them together just in time. Sadly, he would. They would kill me, and the Raven Mocker would steal whatever powers lay deep in my soul. She’d share them with the Raven, who would use them to free the rest of the male fairies. The female fairies would find out. They and the Simathe would react, maybe dragging in more allies this time. Aerisia would be at war, and all because of me.
I’ve got to stop them.
This wasn’t merely about saving my life. This was about preventing a war that could tear Aerisia apart, just like the female fairies and the Simathe had warned.
The Raven Mocker was kneeling over me. Strands of her wet hair, her beaded braids, slapped me in the face. She snarled unintelligible words. Thunder cracked as she reached for me. Battling the pain between my shoulders, I thrust myself backward with all my might. Her talons tore the front of my blouse, but I struck the Raven in the knees and he stumbled, his grip loosening. Seizing that slight advantage, I wrenched my head to the side. My hair ripped; strands of it were left in his hands as I tore free. In the same motion, I rolled, lashing out with my feet. I didn’t manage a great kick on the Raven Mocker, but it was solid enough to knock her off balance. Before she could react, I gained my feet, looked about wildly for an escape route.
The Raven and the Raven Mocker had already recovered and were coming at me again. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed.
An idea struck.
If Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï exist, maybe other Cherokee legends are real too. Maybe—maybe…
I stopped backing away and held my ground. Both of my enemies were advancing, but I threw up a hand.
“Stop!” I shouted.
I imbued that command with every ounce of whatever was inside me, whatever leaked out when I sang, whatever sprang forth when I danced, whatever it was that made my voice my voice. My energy, my passion—hopefully my magic.
“Stop!” I ordered again.
Both of them tried to take a step forward. Both halted. They looked at each other, puzzled. I knew I didn’t have much time. I didn’t think I was strong enough right now to block these two mighty beings for very long, but I really only needed to buy myself a few seconds.
Closing my eyes, my hand still up, I blanked out awareness of my assailants and the pain in my back while I listened to the storm around me. The music of rain pelting leaves, both living and fallen, tree bark, grass, dirt. The staccato sizzle of the lightning. The kettledrum rhythm of the thunder. I listened until I heard the melody of the storm. Raising my face, I loosed my own melody, pouring it into that one. We were one, the storm and I, creating music and magic together. And into that combined force, I called out.
Thunderers. Thunderers, if you’re there, hear me. Help me.
Were they there? Was anything there? Any beings in the storm or the sky? Did they exist?
I tried again, calling out for them mentally, this time using my people’s names.
Aniyvtiqualosgi! Aniyvtiqualosgi!
The Cherokee believed powerful spirits lived in the storms, creating the thunder and the lightning. The legends differed somewhat, but my grandmother had always told me the Thunderers could take a human shape and were generally kind to people. I didn’t know if it was true. I didn’t know if there were spirits in the sky, or maybe creatures like fairies, comprised of nature and spirit and magic, or maybe elementals of some sort. I didn’t know if any of it existed, but I was banking on the fact that maybe the Cherokee had had it right, or were close to the truth.
Thunderers!
I tried again even as the Raven Mocker raised both hands. Her lip curled in anger, she began waving her arms, chanting powerful words. I physically felt the block I’d thrown up weakening. The Raven took a running leap and dove forward, shoulder first. I felt him burst through like someone might bust down a door, and then he and the Raven Mocker were charging me. I gave ground, still pleading mentally for help, but the forest was against my back. I whirled to run. Thorns snagged my hair and a wet branch slapped me in the face.
Even as my ancestor seized me, ripping my already torn blouse at the shoulder seam, tearing one sleeve nearly off, something changed. The sounds of the storm, the thunder itself, slowly took on a longer, distinct roll. The Raven froze and so did I. Both of us turned our heads upwards, the rain spilling down our cheeks like tears, dripping from our chins. The thunder rolled again, lazy and sonorous, the tones solidifying. And this time, into the rolls and booms, I heard a name.
My name.
I wasn’t the only one. The Raven stared down at me, awe on his face.
“The storm is speaking to you,” he said.
My mouth fell open in absolute shock that my cries had been heard by whoever, whatever, dwelt in the sky or the storm.
“Thunderers, help me!” This time I screamed it aloud, screamed into the storm. “They’re going to steal my power and use it against Aerisia. Don’t let them. Don’t let them harm Aerisia. Help me, Thunderers! Help me!”
With a snarl, the Raven jerked me into his arms, crushing me against his chest, his grip so fierce it pressed the air from my lungs.
“Stop it,” he snarled, crushing my throat with one hand to keep me from breathing, much less speaking. “They can’t help you now.” He glanced at the Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï, who was tottering towards us. Her ghostly clothing was plastered to her rail thin body by the driving rain, and her beads tinkled in the wind. “Finish this,” he cried out over the sound of the storms. “End it now. Free them.”
I looked up. The vision of the fairies behind the invisible wall hadn’t changed. If anything, they’d drawn closer. I could see individuals now, see the lines on their faces, the markings of their feathers. Some were tattooed with sprawling vines or beasts or birds across their bare torsos, their arms, even their faces. Their long hair, like their leader’s, flowed into feathers on the backs of their necks. In their own way, each of them was as arresting as their female counterparts, albeit they reeked of malice.
The fairy’s left arm was tight around my waist and his right hand on my throat. I was already struggling from lack of air, my chest hurting and my vision darkening at the corners. Still, I held onto the song of the storm in my mind, singing out to the Thunderers, begging for help. I tried to stomp on the Raven’s foot, to kick behind me, to do anything to free myself, but I was caught and weakening. Then the old woman was there, thrusting her face into mine.
Over another peal of thunder, fading, but in which I was certain I heard my name, she wheezed, “Struggle all you want, child. I will feast on your flesh and them on your power.”
As she drew back her arm, I twisted to the side a final time, but the Raven wrenched me right back. The Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï thrust her hand forward, her talons sinking up to her knuckles in my flesh, my stomach.
My head fell back, and I screamed. Or maybe I only screamed in my mind. I didn’t have enough air to scream aloud. Pain exploded in my back, matching the pain where I’d been stabbed. I could feel her talons digging, scraping at my entrails. Even worse than that, I could feel something flowing out of me. I rolled my head so I could look down. I was expecting to see blood. There was blood, but barely more than a trickle. Her hand was blocking the flow. What was flowing out of me was power, magic. Whatever magic I’d inherited from my father and mother, through the Raven as my ancestor, was draining out of me. The Raven Mocker’s other hand gripped my captor’s shoulder, so the three of us were connected. As she twisted in my flesh, scooping her hand upwards, towards my heart, she tipped her head back, muttering strange, foul words to the sky.
Weak. I was so weak, but I lifted my chin and saw the other fairies drifting closer and closer. Splinters appeared across the invisible barrier, like cracks in glass. They pushed against it, harder and harder, beating their wings like birds trying to escape a cage. Some ran and leapt at the wall. It groaned and creaked. The splinters were broadening into spider webs. They were going to break free. They were going to drain me of my power and break free. The Raven Mocker would devour my organs, stealing whatever years of life I should’ve had left for herself. Aerisia would be plunged into war.
My fault, all my fault, I groaned. I didn’t even fight the pain. There was no strength left with which to fight. I sagged to my knees, the Raven and the Raven Mocker kneeling with me, neither losing their grip.
Help me Thunderers, I implored a final time.
My chin drooped onto my chest. My eyes closed.
Chapter 45
