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So the Merry Sisters of Fate posted a prompt challenge for some of their books. As this was not but 3 days after I'd promised to start writing more short stories, I decided it was a sign! What was supposed to be about 500 words turned into 2200, but you know, that's me. I can't write anything short!
This story actually came about because in the novel I'm currently writing. There is an element of the backstory that I realized I was never going to get to explore because it doesn't intersect with anything in this time period. So... I put it here. :) Please keep in mind that not only is this not polished, as I wrote it just today, it's barely even spell checked. That being said, please enjoy!
Raven
Isabetta stood at her window, the cool comforting rock of the wall pressed against her side, and stared out into the fading twilight. From her view, she could see the invading force’s watch fires burn in ever brighter hues of red and orange. They dotted the barren hill and continued out of her view, surrounding the castle on the sides that weren’t exposed to the gray cold sea.
There had been reports of raids all along the coast that summer, but with the lord and most of his men answering the call of the king to war, there had been little in the way of retribution. Seeing an opportunity, the Northmen decided to set their sights on a more lucrative target and attacked the castle in the dead of night. Marcus, the lord’s brother and Isabetta’s husband, had managed to defend the castle with the remaining guard. They had not the strength to defeat the horde outright, and the raiders knew it. Since the initial press, the attacks had been halfhearted. Every night they’d send a few volleys of flaming arrows, just enough to make Marcus and his men ever alert, and never able to rest.
Marcus had never lied to her or tried to coddle her like a child. When she’d asked, he’d told her the harsh truth. They were too few in number to defend the castle for long. The Northmen would either pick them off with lucky shots or keep them trapped until another wave of raiders arrived. Eventually, they would make it over the walls and take the castle.
She turned from the window as Marcus came into the room. His brown eyes, haggard and rimmed with little dark half circles underneath, fell upon her. Before he could even speak, she found herself crossing the distance between them and burying her face into the red mud splattered brigandine that protected his chest. His arms were instantly around her, one strong hand pressing into her back, the other winding itself into her long red hair. He kissed the top of her head and then pressed his cheek against it. Neither one spoke, just held one another for what they both knew could be the last time.
“Will they attack tonight?” Isabetta pulled herself away just enough to look up to her husband’s face.
Marcus nodded. He hesitated, and then added, “I sent another runner out, to try and get word to the king. They captured him and presented his head to us on a pike outside the wall.”
“So no help will come to us then?” Isabetta’s voice, still holding the accent of her native tongue, wavered softly.
He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, and brushed his thumb across the heavy blue fabric of her dress. “We have to keep fighting. It’s possible someone from the countryside escaped and the king knows of our plight.”
“Marcus…” Isabetta’s green eyes held an amber tinge in the candlelight of the quickly darkening room. “I could go; I could change and fly--.”
“You know the moon is only just starting to return to us.” His voice was tinged with regret. Before Isabetta could speak he continued. “Even if the moon was full enough to give you the power of the raven, I could not risk you. If their bowmen managed to shoot you down I would go mad with grief.”
Isabetta reached up and brushed his furrowed brow with her fingertip as if to erase the painful image from his mind. “Oh love, would it not be better to die in the attempt than to sit passively by and wait for the raiders to butcher us all?”
He took her small hand in his and kissed her fingertips gently. “You cannot take the bird’s form, so this discussion is for not. Now where is my son? I wish to see him before I go back to the wall.”
“Dimiclus is sleeping with Ectarin and Lucius. He feels safe with them.” Isabetta motioned to the tapestry covered wall. Hidden behind it was a small room that was just big enough for a bed and the three small boys.
“I won’t wake him then.” Marcus sighed. He kissed Isabetta’s hand once more and then released his hold on her. “Try and get some rest yourself. I’ll come back when I can.”
After he was gone, Isabetta returned to the small window. She looked past the fires and up into the sky where she could see the sliver of moon breaking through the clouds. She closed her eyes and looked within herself, hunting for that ache and pull the moon would bring forth from her. Just when she was about to give up, when she had almost lost hope, she felt it. It was only a tiny faint fluttering, but it was there. She tried to coax it, to will it to fill her and transform her like it did when the moon was full.
But it didn’t come. She cried out in frustration, and then quickly looked at the tapestry, afraid that she’d woken her son in her outburst. When no small child toddled out to her, Isabetta turned her attention back to the moon.
Hours passed. Twice during the night the sky lit up with blazing arrows arching up and over the high wall. From her vantage point, she watched the scurrying of soldiers and the retaliatory volley that she hoped found targets. When the Northmen eventually made it over the walls, none of them would be safe, not even her son. She’d heard that the raiders sometimes took children as slaves, but even if Dimiclus survived the initial attack, when the moon called him, they’d know what he was, and she couldn’t bear the thought of what they might do to him then.
The sky turned from ink to indigo and still Isabetta stood at the window. A vague memory had come to her, a story from her childhood that her father had told her. A plan began to form in her mind and determination flared within her. She knew how to compel the raven from her, how to fly for help and save her family. She tried to push away the fear, then stopped herself and allowed it to wash over her. There it was, the ache. She could feel its fluttering in her chest just a little stronger now. Resolved, she embraced it and fled out into the dark corridor.
Isabetta crossed the courtyard with quick light steps. The sky was quickly brightening and she could make out the slim feathered arrows of the enemy lodged in the dirt. She glanced up at the wall where silhouettes of men could be seen and wondered if one of them was Marcus. She felt a spasm of intense guilt. She knew she should tell him her plan, but she also knew he would try and stop her. With one last look at the parapets, she ducked inside the door that led to the highest of the turrets.
Tendrils of the red hair that escaped her braid swirled about her, caught by the wind that snuck in from the archer’s arrow slit windows. It was a testament to how few able men were in the castle in that she had met no one since she’d begun ascending the stairs that led to the top. She’d almost made it when she heard footfalls quickly scrambling up the stairs.
“Isa?” Marcus’s confused voice called up from the darkness below.
She turned just as Marcus appeared at the edge of the darkness. His dark brows were raised in a question. “What are you doing up here? Barimus said that he saw you…”
“I’m going to go for help.” Isabetta explained. Her head was held high and her voice was sure. “The moon isn’t the only way to call forth the raven.”
“No.” Marcus shook his head.
“I just have to be scared enough, more scared than I’ve ever been in my life.” She rushed on. “It’s possible; the old stories say that it is.”
“So you’re going to what? Throw yourself out the window and hope that you can change before you smash against the rocks below? You’re mad!” He cried furiously. He grabbed at her arm to pull her back down the stairs, but she resisted.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She tried in vain to loose herself of him. “This is the highest window of the tower and my best chance. If you don’t let me go now, I’ll just jump from someplace lower.”
“I’ll lock you in the dungeon.” Marcus snapped.
“Then I’d bash my head against the wall or the floor. Horrible pain can bring on the change as well. Would you prefer that?” Her voice was strained in the desperate lie. If childbirth couldn’t bring on the raven, she doubted an injury could trigger it at all.
Marcus pounded his fist into the hard rock wall and growled. “Woman, you’re mad! Say you did manage to change, what about the archers?”
“I’ll fly low along the water in the shadow of the cliffs. They won’t see me in the dawn’s light.” Isabetta said.
“Even if you do survive and change and manage to make it to the king, it’ll be after the full moon before you can become human and warn him of our plight.” Marcus looked back at her.
Isabetta dropped her eyes. “I wasn’t going to go to the king. I was going to the Wolfgren.”
“The Wolfgren?” Marcus echoed in a surprised tone. “They won’t help us.”
Her eyes were fierce as she raised her gaze to meet her husband’s. “They will help me. We are kin.”
“Distant kin.” He reminded her.
“But still oath bound to protect each other. They will have to come and fight the Northmen if for no other reason than to save Dimiclus.” She could only hope that the Wolfgren still held by the old stories. They were the only ones that would be able to understand her in raven form.
Isabetta could tell Marcus was fighting against inevitability. She could see the desperation in his eyes, and could no longer look at him for fear of her resolve wavering. She turned to take the steps once more, but felt Marcus’s strong fingers grip her sleeve. Sighing, she laid her free hand and forehead against the chill stone wall. “Marcus…”
“Isa… I won’t try and stop you.” His resigned voice was choked as he laid his cheek against her arm and kissed it. “If you make it, at least then you’ll be safe.”
He didn’t have to say the rest. Death on the cliffs was better than death at the hands of the raiders. A sudden thought struck her, and she forced the words out of her mouth. “Marcus, if I make it… or don’t. If the Northmen breach the wall, you must bring Dimiclus here and give him the chance to escape. Don’t let them cage our son.”
She turned back to her husband and saw that his cheeks were wet and his eyes were filled with pain. Isabetta didn’t give him a chance to speak again. She knew if she stayed any longer she would fall into his arms and promise not to leave him. As it was, it took everything she had to pull her arm free of his now limp hands and race up the rest of the twisting stairwell.
Blood rushed in her ears and blocked out every sound as she reached the top. The windows here weren’t narrow slits like below, but they weren’t large enough to step out of either. As she looked out she saw soft pink lines racing across the sky until they disappeared into the gray of the sea’s horizon. Looking down, her breath caught in her throat. The black jagged rocks were clearly visible, despite the mist the crashing of the waves created.
Isabetta hiked up her long dress and climbed into the window where she hunched, frozen in fear and gripping both sides of the window. Her head whirled back inside as she heard Marcus’s heavy steps on the stone. His jaw was set and determined but when she looked in his eyes, she saw a hollow defeat that grabbed at her.
She was suddenly quite sure that her entire idea was complete lunacy. If she jumped, she would die. “Marcus, I can’t do this…”
Her husband’s hands were on her then, but instead of helping her back into the safety of the turret, he was peeling her fingers off the rock and pressing her roughly out into the empty air.
Isabetta screamed as she felt her body smack into the side of the turret wall. She looked up to see him leaning out the window, one hand gripping hers. She gasped, too scared and panicked to form words.
Marcus looked down at his wife with those same hollow eyes, “I love you.”
He let go.
Isabetta screamed for a second time, and this scream was that of a woman who knew she was going to die. The scream transformed to a screeching caw and where there were once flailing arms, coal black wings beat fast and strong out across the water.
