The blazing sun felt like needles on Kitanda’s back. It had been six days now, and his father made no sign of being close to their destination. Their pace was definitely slower than when they set out, but more constant. At least Ilem seemed more accustomed to carrying him now.

The dry air felt like sandpaper down his throat. They had run out of water two days ago. Neither of them held much hope, but they knew better than to turn back. The chances of survival were slim if they kept going, but it was better than nothing.

Kitanda fought to stay awake. It was the morning, and they had rested the night before. He knew what was taking him wasn’t sleep—it was thirst. His body was shutting down.

His grip slipped. He met the ground with a heavy thud. His father turned around and took a second to focus on him. Once he realized what was going on, he crouched and started to desperately try to wake him.

“Hold on, Kitanda! The Raven is close, I know it!” He would cry, but his body couldn’t spare the tears.

“Wait here. I saw some flood plants before. Plants mean water, Kitanda! There must be a river close by.”

He propped him up under a tree away from the desiccating sunlight and took off as fast as he could, which was only a bit faster than walking.

Kitanda was barely aware of his surroundings. He could feel the tree against his back and could hear the rustling of dry leaves. He wanted to open his eyes, but it wasn’t happening. He knew death was coming to him soon. Any time now he would breathe out and wouldn’t have the strength to breathe in again.

He wasn’t angry—or afraid, for that matter. He knew his was a cursed existence. The gods didn’t want him to live, and there wasn’t much one could do against the gods. His death would’ve come sooner or later, and he was glad it was such a calm one.

The rustling of the leaves intensified. It was only then that Kitanda realized he couldn’t feel wind on his skin. Something else was making the branches move.

A grating croak interrupted his thoughts. It drilled deep into his head. Another rustle and a flutter of wings later, something landed next to him. It sounded much too big for a bird.

A rough hand cupped his face. “I don’t much like being followed, you know.” The voice was more like a screech than a regular voice, as if something that wasn’t human was pretending to be.

“Let’s see what’s wrong with this one… Most urgently, I would say water. His spirit is halfway out of his body already.” A popping sound and sloshing of water were heard.

“Drink up, boy. You’re not dying yet.”

Water filled his mouth. It healed him as it went down and eventually reached his stomach. Every gulp filled him with energy. He drank for what felt like minutes. The water bottle showed no signs of letting up.

Once he couldn’t drink anymore, the hand started turning his head and feeling his neck. Finally, it forced open one of his eyes.

Kitanda took a while to focus on the black mass that sat in front of him. His savior didn’t seem bothered by his surprise.

It was a man. Black like coal, and taller than any man he had ever seen. He was crouching in front of him, and yet he would still be a full head taller than a regular man. And, speaking of heads, Kitanda didn’t believe what sat on the man’s shoulders.

It was a raven’s head, but it was bigger than a whole raven. It was even bigger than most birds he knew. It had the blackest feathers he had ever seen—as if light shied away from them—and his beady eyes, big like fists, stared at him curiously. The head also twitched in a manner characteristic of birds, as if he couldn’t help but give in to his avian side.

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“Ah, there you go, child.” His beak opened and closed like a pair of lips, chattering whenever they came together. “What’s your name?”

Kitanda took a while to answer. This gigantic beast surely couldn’t be talking to him. But, then again, who else would it be talking to?

“Kitanda, mister.”

“Save your misters for the village chief, son. Call me Raven.” The man was obviously trying to be friendly, but his grating voice and the lack of facial expression stacked up against him.

“Why did you save me?”

“I’m the Raven. It’s what I do. The fire consumes, the wind whispers, the Raven heals.” The Raven seemed almost surprised by the question, as if someone had asked him why water was wet.

Kitanda looked around nervously. His father wasn’t anywhere he could see. “Did you see my father? He said he was going to a river some time ago. He may need help.”

“That I did. He certainly is in dire straits. If he’s extremely lucky, he’ll make it to the water. It doesn’t look too good, though.”

“Help him then!” Kitanda didn’t seem to care that he was yelling orders at a ten-feet-tall mystical creature. His father was there because of him.

“Now, now. You remember the song, don’t you?” The bird-headed giant started to sing. “It goes ‘every kid here likes to play and run; one gets lost, gets hurt and cries,’ doesn’t it? That there is not a hurt, lost kid. Only you are.”

“But he’s my father! You have to—” Before he could finish the sentence, the man’s hands grabbed onto his shoulders with a strong grip. As he looked, they became thinner and the nails longer, until a bird’s talons were digging into him. It hurt.

The transformation didn’t stop there. From the arms up and from the head down, black feathers started sprouting on the man. His legs became a tail, and wings sprouted from his shoulders. He started to flap them, raising dust and rolling pebbles until he took off with a last, powerful thrust.

“Now I have to take you away. It’s part of the contract, see?”

Kitanda protested in vain. His words were drowned by the wind, and any flailing only made the talons scratch him deeper.

They flew for three days and three nights, at a speed faster than the wind. The clouds came and went almost before he could register them, until eventually they slowed down on the fourth morning. The Raven descended until Kitanda’s feet barely touched the ground and let him go.

Kitanda looked around. He was at the shore of a lake full of crystal-clear water. Fish of all colors and sizes danced inside, apparently unbothered by the titanic bird that was still creating ripples over their heads. All throughout the lake’s rim, many plants grew—canes, grass, some healthy trees, and even some flowers he recognized as traditional medicinal plants. The lake flowed out into a river that went as far as the eye could see down the elevated terrain. It was beautiful.

The Raven landed beside him and turned back into his (mostly) human form. “This is where I live, and where I take all the children who disappear.”

Kitanda couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of children. “What do you do with them?”

“Oh, they mostly decide to stay, but eventually they want to go back. I can never say no to them, so I tell them to follow the river back home.” He gestured towards the flowing stream. “They always complain it’s too long a journey, so I try to help them make it speedier.”

He crouched down and twiddled a finger in the water, playing with the fish. “Isn’t that right, my boys?” He got up. “They usually forget about going away after that. It’s a problem with most fish, really. They have surprisingly little memory.”

“I-I don’t want that!” Kitanda shuffled backward, dragging himself away from the pond.

The Raven shrugged. “It doesn’t have to happen, you know. You can always stay.”

“No! I want to go back! My father must be missing me already! He went through all this trouble so you would heal my legs, and now he must think he killed me!”

“Ah, yes. Your legs. I wanted to look at those. Come here.” He sat down cross-legged and pulled him by the ankle. “I see. You have the cold in your bones, kid. No wonder they’re all shriveled up. I can solve this, however. But only if you stay.” His head twitched to the side, almost appearing inquisitive.

“I cannot do that. I must return home.” Kitanda didn’t hesitate.

“As the Raven, I cannot let a child go by unhealed.”

“Then heal me and let me go.”

The Raven once again turned to look at the lake. “But what would they think if I did that? They would surely be angry. I can only do that if you suffer hardships equal to what you stand to gain.” He put his hand on his chin, on a thinking position that looked almost comical on a bird. “Here’s what I propose. If you can make it back to your village alive, I will heal you. How does that sound?”

Kitanda looked horrified for a second. He would have to drag himself back all the distance the Raven had flown him as well as the length of six days of continuous travel with his father. It was impossible. But his other option was to stay here forever and never see his father again.

He was about to comment on the difficulty of the task, but looked at the fishes in the water swimming without purpose and shut his mouth.

“I will do it.”