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>Disappointing others is never easy, huh?
>You hate disappointing people
>You’ve only come this far by running away — literally — from this painful inevitability
>You run away to protect yourself. That’s what you do. That’s who you are
>And maybe you run to another fortress city of your kin, and you blend in for a few months
>You live, smiling, like one of them
>But…
>It always comes crashing down on you, like a house without a frame
>They almost discovered your ‘gift’ while you were living in Ohm
>You should thank the Ancestors they didn’t
>Because failure means more than shame in this flock… and to you
>It was your failure that saw your family cast out from Solemn
>You can still remember the rifles aimed at you and your family….
>…the things the guards yelled that rainy night at the gates of that titanous city
>’Haasin!’
>’Freak!’
>All because of you
>Because your best is just a little worse than everyone else’s average
>It’s the consequences of your inadequacy and burden, reminding you over and over with a hammer’s delicacy that
>Who you are:
>Elia Longfeather
>Is not enough
>Gullen touches on this with a modicum of delicacy, though he knows nothing of your history beyond arriving at Ciril a few months ago
>He’s only aware of the consequences of working with you — no doubt related to him by other ravens in the flock on duty
>So why did he choose to go on this scouting mission with you?
>You’re the one with the ultimatum above her head, not him
>”A shadow grows in my heart,” Gullen remarks as he tears himself away from the jagged, blown-out window. “The sun draws closer to the mountains every second.”
>Gullen’s tall stature and surly frame force him to bend as he approaches the small alcove housing your desk
>Gullen’s feet click off the dirty floor like an organic metronome, keeping rhythm to your pen scratching on old, skin-like parchment
>“We can ill afford to remain idle. Darkness gathers like flies on a corpse. Are you finished translating the demon’s maps yet?”
>Whatever anxiety Gullen feels, you feel it almost double
>Hey little crow, how long until the raven takes charge and leaves you behind?
>It wouldn’t be the first time
>You’re… practically ready for it at any moment
>Giving pause, you hold your gloved hands up to the weak everflame lamp set on the desk
>Your talons tremble like you’re trying to grip the cinders from this morning’s cooking fire
>Noticing Gullen’s incredulous stare, you chirp in embarrassment and hunch over the desk
“I… I am nearly finished with the demon’s maps, brother. Maybe five, six more pages to go ov-” you stammer in quick reply
>Impatient, Gullen interjects in
>”Are you finished, or ‘nearly finished enough’ for us to leave while there is still some light left in the sky? As I said, darkness will soon be upon us.”
>You tell yourself he’s just eager to get back to the flock
>Not that he’s sick of you, like so many others before him
“A few more minutes, brother, and we will be on our way. By the Ancestors I swear it.”
>Lies
>All lies
>This map is a tangled mess, and there’s a lot left to translate
>A fact lost on your impatient comrade, whose sole purpose in life is to fight
>”Each second we waste looking at these demon scribbles is another second the humans have on us,” Gullen returns to the window and takes another anxious glance outside
>”Other ravens in the flock say that Vulcada hunt during the night now — just a few of them, but enough to threaten our exit.”
“You are more alert than I am. Ease your heart — I am just finishing the route we must take according to what the demon wrote.”
>Night?
>It was high afternoon a few minutes ago! You thought you had the sun at your back-
>A quick glance over your shoulder reveals the room bathed in the blue light of dusk, its hue deepening by the second
>The small everflame lamp on your desk casts the flicker of Gullen’s brawny shadow against the room’s eastern wall, covering up its faded yellow wallpaper
>Ah feathers, you lost track of time again
>You turn your beak down towards the maps, notes, and journals you picked off the dead demon — your sole task for the past few hours
>Your gloved hands tremble with the coming rejection
>A heart that always skips at the first sign of trouble
>A voice that lies
>Thoughts of failure and inadequacy that haunt your mind
>How do you tell this raven — whose life depends on your ability to read human writing and interpret their human thinking — that you’ve no feathering idea what this part of the map says!?
>It’s not even your fault this time! The demon who you got these journals and maps off of must have had her mind scorched by something before you came across her body
>But you’re not in a position to give excuses right now. Just answers. That’s your job as a crow
>So you do what you always do to get by:
>You tell half of the truth
“The demon’s journal says there is a passage beneath the city. I-If these maps are not decoys of some kind, then this map lines up with what the journal describes. I think it will take us out of the city, at least,” your words extend like an olive branch towards your doubting comrade
>That first part about there being a passage underground is no lie — in fact, the translation is almost a miracle itself
>It’s a near-mirror of your kin’s word for ‘underground walk’
>’Sewer’
>”Then why do we hesitate?” Gullen says as he bends his lanky body over your shoulder, his eyes as yellow as gold coin. “Do we linger out of cowardice? Or is this passage not safe?”
>Your little heart speeds in your chest at the question
>See, the other half of the truth in this scenario is:
>You have no feathering idea if it’s safe to go into the sewers, and you can’t give him a definitive answer
>Not one that he wants to hear, at least
>Because there’s something about the map that you can’t figure out: an important word in demon-speak that slips your grasp of church field jargon, at the most crucial of times
>This word is written in crimson ink on the map in some places, scratched down in a panic
>’Anomaly!’
>You’ve heard the other scouts use that word before, that crucial word…
>You swear, you know what it means, but that knowledge is inaccessible to you now while being blitzed by anxiety
>Gullen flashes another panicked look over his shoulder, his narrowed gaze piercing out of the hotel room window
>He tries to make sense of the outskirts of the city, draped in shadow and dusk
>”If this passage provides safety, we must take it. Surely the demon’s map has left clues for us you can read,” he inquires, tone shifting just a touch towards blame
>You think… you think his patience has at last worn thin, like the light wore thin against the dark
>Like now
>Anxiety coils itself around your heart like a python coils around a field mouse
>Thoughts that rattle around your body and settle in the space between the heart and the synapse
>You try to motivate yourself out of panic-paralysis
>Self-medicating with positive thinking can sometimes work, right?
>You are crow, are you not? Who are you to ignore your own skills and prowess?
>You’re capable, you’re smart
>You still can’t answer Gullen
>How about this? Here’s some better motivation:
>You’re already out of chances with Artemis
>Your flock leader’s words haunted you this entire mission
>‘Returning empty-handed would be a mistake.’
>Are captured maps of this part of purgatory good enough for Artemis?
>Fuck it, they have to be good enough
>Your life might depend on it
>You feel your beak unhinge, your dry tongue flick in your mouth as you speak
“Yes, yes, it is safe, brother. I believe the demon intended to use the tunnel to escape the city and report the location of these artifacts that she wrote of in her journal,” you say
>Another half-truth — the ‘sewer’ route does lead indeed lead out of the city to depending on which route you take underground
>Some of these tunnels end in neighborhoods, villages, others end in a waste processing plant — and that plant has a big red ‘X’ on it
>It might… be safe to leave from the neighborhoods and go east?
>But it doesn’t matter if it’s safe — you need to get back to Ciril with these maps before Gullen kills you out of frustration
>Harvesters, cross builders, wildlife, anaree aside
>As if he read your mind, Gullen’s already gathered his things into his backpack
>”Then we make for the underground passage. Collect your notes and let us be off,” Gullen says as he turns his attention towards the deadbolt on the door to the room
>He swings his chemical rifle into his grasp as his nimble talon work at the locks
>One by one the heavy locks thunk open and shake their rust
>The door parts just a feather’s-width
>Your comrade pokes his beak out into the hallway for a brief look
>It’s silent, minus the slight breeze that flows in from the shattered window at your back
>”The air is heavy in this hallway,” he reports back. “You should look, sister — the Ancestors will reveal to you more than me.”
“Yes, yes, I will be there in a moment,” you say in an anxious breath, already in the process of packing
>Moving as fast as you can, you cram everything from the desk into your bag, leaving only the map and the human’s journal to carry by hand
>You stand up and sling the messenger bag around your chest, satisfied with your hasty work
>And yet again, you are wrong about your conduct and instincts
>As you sling your bag around your shoulders, everything falls apart
>Literally
>In a beige hurricane your little world flutters out into the open as your bag spills its contents
>Loose notes crammed in a hurry; a few pens; small journals; your own private dream journal; sketches; and every bit of paper the demon was carrying that you didn’t get to go over all flutters in a useless hurricane onto the floor
>You realize you forgot to belt the top of your bag closed
>You squawk in surprise, embarrassment, and something bordering of frustration
>”Sister,” Gullen sighs. “Why must you bring a library with you on missions into dangerous places? What is all this, anyway?”
>He snatches a leaf of drifting paper out of the air and studies it
>Your stomach drops, and a horror so deep, so primal overcomes you, that you have no choice but to surrender
>Gullen squints
>”Is this a map? This is a very old map if it is one.”
“Give me that!” you snap the paper from his grasp, clutching it close to your body like a frightened newborn. “Th-these are just my notes! A-and I remember my n-notes better if I write them like this.”
>You briefly examine the old, faded parchment map in your hands
>Mom and dad’s map of Purgatory, your mother’s handwriting still clinging to the barely-faded page
>You stop and stare at it for a bit
>Gullen rolls his eyes and groans. “Be swift about cleaning up. We need to leave.”
“This will take just one second, I promise.” you squeak as you then speed around the room
>You hurry and snap papers off the ground and the ruined furniture, shoving them without order into your bag
>Gullen just watches, tapping his anxious talons against the wall like a metronome
“As you said, let us be off brother-” you say as you cram the last of the last of your notes into your bag
>You spin on your heels, a blush scouring your face, and storm towards the door, ready to leave
>You’re so embarrassed, and moving so quickly, that you gasp in shock when Gullen moves to block you from the door
>”Sister,” Gullen crosses his arms across his chest
>His young — almost handsome features — narrow into an annoyed scowl
>”Your rifle, sister,” he says as he points behind you
>You let out a surprised cheep and spin
>Your own chemical rifle leans against the wrought-iron bed-frame, looking forgotten and alone in the burgeoning darkness
>Oops
>Color rises to your cheeks
>…Why are you like this?
>…Why can’t you do anything right?
“T-thank you, brother. I would not have heard the end from Artemis if I left my weapon behind,” you say with a nervous chuckle, putting up your collars on your shirt to hide your blush
>”A talking to is the least you’d get, sister. If I showed up without my weapon, I’d be doing more than hard labor,” he says, drawing attention to his rank above you
>Definitely on purpose
“Understood,” is your reply, dry and tired
>You gather yourself with a deep breath, filling your lungs with as much courage and dusty air as possible
>Okay, mental checklist time:
>Weapon slung across your back now?
>Check
>Ammo
>…You think you have some alchemical rounds left in your jacket or ammo pouch somewhere…
>Besides, Gullen should have extras, so he can always give you some
>So, ammo, check
>Scout’s bag?
>Check
>Gloves?
>BIG check
>flare pistol?
>Around your hips, on your belt
>Always loaded?
>You flick the pistol open
>A packed shell sits inside, ready for you to fire
>Always loaded
>Map of your route?
>Uhhhhh
>You panic for a second, and then remember you’re holding the map in your hands
>Check
>Gullen pushes the door open for you with one arm, a gesture for you to get going
>You slip underneath the crook of his arms and take your position in your marching orders:
>The front, with all of your senses wide open
“Ready to move,” you say
Oliver Hart
Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.
Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall