6

the bird with the broken wing

When Raven came to, she was lying on someplace comfortable, a bed most likely, though in her muzzy awakening she wasn’t quite sure. All she knew was that she was here, and the memory of her inevitable blackout was still fresh in her mind.

Seconds… ago… I….

Her head rested on a pillow; that much she was sure of. It was as if she were back home, wrapped up in a blanket, the sound of the city dulling as the night went on, only she could hear other things, voices, and bubbling liquid.

There was no blanket either. All around her were large containers made of glass swimming with fresh colourful goo: blue and red and green and all sorts of wondrous shades of pinks. There was that smell of acetone again, coming back to her in an eye-tearing waft. And there was the bleach. She could almost taste it in the air.

This was the back office of the apothecary; she was sure of that, too. That meant Heather and that lady…. What was her name? Lyrielle, yes. That meant Heather and Lyrielle were outside waiting for her, but what about her arm? Her shoulder?

Raven looked down at her injury, expecting to see her scarf knotted in blood, but not only found that it was missing, but also that she had been completely stripped of her cloaked cardigan and was now dressed in her sleeveless, buttoned-up leather corset and tunic.

Applied to her shoulder was the pink ooze from the bottle, only it wasn’t as bright or majestical and was instead mute and lifeless. Despite that, it created a firm seal over the entry hole of the arrowshot. Curiously, she tapped the ooze and watched as the vibrancy returned. Not only that, but it began moving, swirling, sloshing. She’d never seen anything of the like, and especially not on her own body. It was like an alien had dug inside her flesh and was now clearing out her innards, like in those old horror stories, but surprisingly she felt refreshed, all things considered.

“Try not to touch it too much,” a voice from behind said softly, though not softly enough to stop Raven from jerking in a fright.

The pain wasn’t as bad as it once was, but she could feel it all the same. She relaxed her shoulders, sat upright, and twisted her body as far as her pain tolerance would allow. Behind her, sitting in an armless, wooden chair was Heather, her hands clasped together, and her eyes fixed upon Raven’s harrowing gaze.

A surreal quiet settled between them, broken only by the distant clop of horse hooves and the murmur of a passing carriage.

Raven sighed. “Did I hit my head?”

“I caught you,” Heather said, rubbing her nose and sniffling.

“Where’s Dr. Dewphial?”

Just then, footsteps sounded from behind her, and Raven turned to face the front of the back-office again, where trinkets of unknown purpose and wonder lined the doorway upon a rimming shelf. Lyrielle, of course. She approached the bed with a wooden mug of what Raven hoped to be tea, or at least something hot, but what turned out to be tap-water.

Nevertheless, Raven was thankful, because her mouth was as dry as dust, and her lips were chapped to flakes. She took a sip, cleared her throat, and laid the mug on her lap while thumbing the handle. “How long was I… out?”

Lyrielle walked past the bed—hurried past the bed, even—and Raven realised she had been holding on to the bottle of pink ooze. She handed it to Heather, who then stood and gave thanks of her own.

“Not long,” Lyrielle finally answered. “Between now and the time you blacked out, the customers during your visit only left.”

Raven didn’t know what to think of that. “So…?”

Heather smiled. “Not even fifteen minutes.”

That took Raven by surprise, though only momentarily, because she considered that if she were out for much longer, she might have had some serious brain problems. “I see.” Slowly, Raven slid a leg off the bed, and then another.

Heather took a step forward, raising her hands to catch her again. “Careful.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

Raven nodded, and Heather’s hands receded back to her sides.

With a breath, she stepped off the mattress, feeling a slight twinge, but nothing more. Her head, at the very least, had been clear, and her eyes no longer incurred such burdensome weight. “I must get home to my family. I’ve been gone a while and they might be worried.”

Especially Mira, who had grown more attached than she perhaps should have over the years. Raven had at one point considered not telling her family about upcoming heists, raids, expeditions, and so forth, but she had good reasons for doing so. For one, she didn’t want her sister or mother or father thinking she wasn’t capable of great things. It was selfish, but true. Second to that, she couldn’t allow them to wonder where she could have been; she didn’t want them issuing a missing-witch report because she hadn’t returned for supper after only ‘heading to the market’, or to a ‘meeting’ with the rest of her guild. That wasn’t the sort of attention she desired. And thirdly, perhaps the crudest reason of all, if the mission was dangerous enough and proved unsuccessful, she wanted them to know that she more than likely died in glory, rather than in shame, sitting and letting the weeds whisk her away. Only, of course, if it was true.

Lyrielle walked over to the doorway again and grabbed a piece of clothing from a peg in the wall. Raven hadn’t noticed it hanging there initially; it was her cardigan and scarf, smattered with dry blood.

“And so they would.” Lyrielle handed the clothing to her.

Raven swiftly slid her strong arm into one sleeve and carefully eased her frail arm into the other. “I hope I didn’t disturb your business, Dr. Dewphial.”

She dismissed her with a wave. “Not at all. I won’t even ask how it happened. It’s common practice that hunters show up in my store, some multiple times a week, a day even. I haven’t seen you since you brought your sister, Mira. How are those nightmares, by the by?”

Raven wrapped the scarf around her neck, delighted in her strength. “Recurrent, doctor. She hasn’t been sleeping well. The Dark Man prevails.”

Lyrielle lifted her head and smiled. “Why, I might have something for that now. Though I must admit, it’s a very recent invention of mine. Would you like a look?”

Raven’s eyes flew wide. “Absolutely.” And then, more enthusiastically: “Most definitely, Doctor Lyrielle. It will be a lovely surprise for her!”

Lyrielle moved away from the bed and over towards Heather again, where all the drawers were kept. “Oh, would your sister like to stay?”

“Oh, she’s not—” began Raven.

“I don’t mind.” Heather chuckled, shaking her head. “Sister…. She’s my sister in war, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh,” said Lyrielle, pulling a key from her cardigan pocket and opening one of the drawers with it. “You just look so alike. I suppose my old age is catching up with me when it comes to differentiating youths nowadays, though. You all remind me of my daughters.”

Heather leaned against one of the wooden counters, her arms folded. “You’re old?” she said, confused.

“Yes, you couldn’t tell?” Lyrielle laughed and ran her hand through what sounded like several small vials, pulling one out. “There we are.”

“She uses youth potions,” said Raven, and immediately regretted it. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

Lyrielle dismissed her with a hand again, smiling. “Nonsense. I know there’s no hiding my deceptive nature in this case. But for that I’ll have to charge you extra.”

That made Raven laugh herself, and this time she didn’t have to fake it. She wasn’t playing the seductive townswoman in Bogdonrail anymore. She was relieved of that burden for the time being, and hopefully for a while longer, if all worked out in the end.

Lyrielle handed Raven a vial of dark-blue liquid. It didn’t have a glow or any sort of magical essence that she could detect. It looked… plain.

“This will rid her of those blasted nightmares?” Raven asked.

Lyrielle made a fifty-fifty gesture with her hands, humming with uncertainty. “It may. Ever since that little girl came in here and I saw how drowsy and ill-off she had been, I worked hard to see if I could come up with something. I read a lot of books, but I couldn’t find much. Dreams by themselves are… well, they’re complicated. Biologically speaking, we don’t truly understand what their purpose or meaning is just yet. But I have done one thing. I've treated this potion as a cure for hallucinations, treating dreams as variations.

“So, I combined ingredients known to ground the mind and enhance clarity. Moonlit sage, clearmind moss, echolight as a catalyst…. Apologies, I know it might sound a bit complicated. But I am nearly certain it will work. If not completely, it should at least alleviate some of these symptoms and help Mira get a good night’s rest. I call it Miracle Dreamclear, named after her, of course.”

That sounded good enough to Raven. “Thank you, Dr. Dewphial,” she said earnestly, a grin cracking from her lips. “I don’t know how to repay you. How much would you like?”

Lyrielle shook her head and hands in protest. “No, no, no. This is my gift to you, your sister. And stop calling me Dr. Dewphial. You’re making me feel old.”

“I have to ask,” said Heather sweetly. “What made you want to put so much effort into this? Is it a thing where, if you don’t know how to solve a customer’s problem, you spend time trying to figure it out? Even if you never see them again? Not to prod, I’m just curious.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Not at all,” said Lyrielle, sounding like a scratchy record player. She cleared her throat. “I suppose I do it for the same reason you asked that question: curiosity. It truly is what makes the world go round.”

Heather made an approving noise. “I suppose I need to adopt more of this curiosity then.”

“It will change your life, darling,” said Lyrielle, emphasising her words. With that, she intertwined her fingers and smiled, asking only one more question: “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

It almost made Raven chuckle again, because Dr. Dewphial had already done much more than she could have ever imagined. It went to show that there were still some good witches down in the Litch. It issued her with a sense of hope that was otherwise lost from the unfolding of today’s events, particularly to do with Braum and his corruption, and to a lesser extent, everything Nautilus had explained, about rivalling guildmembers lurking in the shadows, spreading word about their goals, hauls, earnings, and so on.

The one part that Raven couldn’t quite wrap her head around was how none of these supposed shadowmen heard of the Meedan’s Gemstone travelling through Bogdonrail. Perhaps they had gotten lucky, or perhaps Nautilus believed everyone was out to get him. A bit on edge, but that came with the territory of starting your own guild/business with not many opportunities on your front doorstep.

Regardless, Raven pushed this thought to back of her mind, precisely where it came from, and tucked the Miracle Dreamclear into her front pocket, zipping it shut. She and Heather thanked her again, then made their way back into the city. Along the way, Raven remembered the pouch of gold she had brought with her, and thinking she forgot it, began to panic. But Heather had been holding on to it all this time, keeping it secure in the fanny pack adorned to her belted tunic. She gave it to Raven, along with the bottle of pink ooze that neither of them hadn’t quite got the name of. The bottle, upon examination, read Muscle Disorifice.

Raven took the time to thank Heather for everything she had done today. Everything from keeping the guards at bay while they were still securing the carriage, to escorting her to the apothecary, to acting as a shoulder to lean on. It was all unexpected for someone who, at first glance, didn’t seem to care much at all about anything outside of business. Although it might technically have been related to business in a sense, to the degree that she was caring for her fellow guildmember, there was no denying that it was a heartwarming and exceptional act of professionalism.

Vox, on the other hand, had gone to a pub on the other side of the city, where he often spent most afternoons and early evenings. They served good grub, so he told, and the taste of cowboil paired well with the pour of a finely grained whiskey. A guilty pleasure, no doubt, though his soulless self would likely never admit it.

Raven and Heather broke off not too long after, heading their separate ways. A part of Raven disliked that Heather would be heading back to an empty home where she could talk with no one. With your family gone, what was there to do other than cook, clean, read until the city lanterns turn in for the night? She wished her circumstances weren’t so poor, but she was a strong woman; she would make it through these dark times until she found a lovely gentleman with whom she could share true love—and cigars, lots of cigars.

When Raven returned home, Mira was sitting at the kitchen table with Mother and Father, spooning hot, steaming soup into her mouth, dragging out her boredom by propping her chin in the palm of her hand. This boredom, however, was short-lived, because within moments she leapt off her chair and ran towards Raven, wrapping her in a tight, waist-high hug. For someone who lacked sleep, she sure didn’t lack spirit.

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Mira. Especially when Raven was gone a long while. She took pride in being the favourite sister of hers.

“I thought you were in trouble!” Mira said.

“So did we,” said Father, his mouth full. He swallowed, clanking his fork on the plate. He was a man who neglected the use of alchemised brews, which meant that the wrinkles across his angry-looking brow hadn’t receded, but instead thickened and flooded down across his cheek bones, giving him a rugged mush. “Any longer and we were thinking of sending your brother after you. Bogdonrail, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Raven. “And you mean that big oaf? I wouldn’t put it past him to show up to the scene of the crime and take all the gold for himself.”

Father laughed. “He’s a bit of a sour spot for you, that’s for sure. But that’s what brothers are for. To sour you up. Put yourself in a dangerous situation with another man and he’ll come to your side like a phoenix to a pyre.”

Mira let go. “Do you wanna play Brooms?”

Raven might have considered doing so had she not been so tired and hurt. The fact that Mira still had energy after school was surprising, too. “Don’t you have homework?”

Mira’s smile softened and her eyes donned adorable, persuasive glints. She most certainly did have homework. “Not a lot,” the white-haired girl said. “It won’t take ten minutes.”

“Then it should be no problem.” Raven walked past her, heading for the stairs to her room.

“What’s that?” Soroya stood from the table, a look of concern on her face. She pointed to Raven’s side, to the glowing Muscle Disorifice attached to her ringbelt.

Raven knew better than to lie. It was one thing she would never do, especially to her own flesh and blood. “I’ve been injured.”

“What happened?”

“I knew it,” said Father. “The hunter’s life will be the death of you.”

It reminded Raven of something important. She realised that her parents hadn’t noticed the pouch of gold hanging by her ringbelt even though it was right next to the bottle of ooze. She unpinned the top of the drawstring, held it in the air, and shook it, making sure they could hear the coin-laden rattle within. It felt nice to finally bring home profit of her own, and it felt even better knowing this barely scratched the surface of what she would—or should—receive.

“Is that all?” said Father.

“For the moment,” Raven said, struck by his words. It mightn’t have been a lot compared to what her brother brought in, but it was something. A start. That was all that mattered. “The rest will come soon.”

“I’d hope so. Putting your life on the line like that…. I can’t believe my daughter fell into this sort of life. Darian? Yes. But you? I care too much.”

Raven eyed her father with something close to hatred, staved off only by her love. “What can he do that I can’t?”

“He’s big, strong. Plus, he has a powerful stone, darling. Yours is… well, look at it.” He gestured to the Heart-Bend gemstone hanging by her necklace.

She fingered it up towards her chin, then let it fall back into place. “I might not have his size or his stone, but I get along just fine with what I—”

Father made a cutting motion with his hand. “Where is your injury? Where? Is it your arm? Your left? Because with the way you’re holding it limp, I’d imagine it is. Your brother doesn’t bring these ailments home. On your first proper mission, at least from what you tell us, you did. That stone won’t protect you, Raven. It’s dangerous. I’d wish you’d stop.”

A sick-knot formed in Raven’s stomach. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He seemed so supportive of his decision to join a guild not so long ago. What happened?

Soroya grabbed the empty plates off the table and began carrying them over to the kitchen sink. “If I can interrupt, I think Raven’s old enough to know what she wants to do with her life, Alfred.”

“I know, but—”

“There are no buts in this household,” she said sternly. “She is your daughter, and she has made the decision to join the Shadowhood. And as it turns out, she’s making profit off of it.”

“No amount of gold will ever make up for her loss,” said Father, standing and staring Soroya in the eye.

That struck an emotional chord with Raven, but she assured him. “I’ll be okay… Dad. In fact, I might not have to head aboveground for another while longer. We got the stone.”

Alfred turned to her daughter, his expression softening. Mira climbed back into her seat, open-mouthed, and then took a sip of water from her wooden mug.

“I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” he said. “When you first joined a guild, I was happy. Yes. I thought you were going to be heading out into the real world, but only collecting materials for our city…. Not full-blasted heists. Those should be reserved for the best of the best, the top thieves. I’ve always said it.”

A moment of silence impressed itself upon them.

“I must head out.” He made his way to the coatrack and grabbed his brown trench coat and hat. “Darian has my horse. I need it back.”

“What are you using it for?” asked Soroya quickly.

He opened the door, and a cold draught wafted in. “I have some goods to transport tomorrow morning. It’s best I grab Angel now before Darian takes off on another one of his murderous journeys.”

“Be…” began Soroya.

Father shut the door behind him. The room fell silent again.

“… safe….”

Raven’s body grew hot, perhaps with embarrassment. This wasn’t at all how she had expected things to go. Where was the pride? Where was the “great job” and “you’ll make it far in this life” that Alfred often told her brother? So what if she got an injury? It wasn’t as though Darian had never brought home scars. In fact, that was what he had become known for among his guildmates.

This is unrightly.

Soroya took a deep breath and patted Mira on the shoulder. “Go to your room.”

Mira looked up at her. “But I’m not finished.”

“Then take your bowl with you,” Soroya said. “I need to talk with your sister.”

Mira didn’t argue. Anyone who grew up long enough in this household knew that was never a good idea. She grabbed a tissue, placed it under the bowl, and brought it upstairs.

Soroya made her way over to the kitchen sink and poured a packet of Naga Nectar dust into the metal teapot. “Tea, Raven?”

“I really must head to bed—”

“Two sugars?”

Raven looked at her carefully, not speaking for a moment. Then she said, “All right.” She pulled out her father’s seat, hearing it screech across the floorboard—it was always the damned heaviest—and sat on it, opening the pouch of gold and watching the coins glisten under the chandelier light. She pulled one out and held it in the air. King Abundus’ face, with his moon-shaped moustache and well-pointed crown, was emblazoned on the surface. Even through this small, inanimate object, she could sense his ever-looming presence, the evil that had spawned such massacres across her people, the man who controlled Arvandor and convinced the other kingdoms to play along with his oppressing surface game.

One day he would see the error of his ways. One day someone would change the world forever. She was sure of it, though not sure if for better or for worse.

“You must forgive him,” said Soroya, and Raven reverted her gaze to the metal teapot, which was now sitting comfortably in the fireplace, the flames crackling at its underbelly. “Your father. He gets like that.”

Raven shook her head. “It makes no sense. How can he praise Darian for doing such little things with much greater help and chastise me for succeeding at anything threatening?”

“He has always been like that, Raven.” Soroya grabbed Mira’s empty wooden mug and brought it over to the kitchen sink, where she would begin washing it with soapy water. “Even when you were a little girl. Not just with you, with your brother, too. But especially with you.”

“But why?”

“You don’t know this either, but when Darian first started, Alfred was precisely the same.” Soroya nodded. “Ever since he snuck out of the Litch and got attacked by a berrosk, he’s been anxious of the dangers out there. Why, if it weren’t for that old farmer who happened to be carrying fresh vegetables through the forest, Darian might not be here anymore. It’s very easy to die. Very difficult to live.”

“Well, I’m alive,” Raven said.

Soroya turned to her and smiled. “I know. But surely you must understand the message behind his words.”

Raven thought it over. “All right,” she said. “So, he’ll be happy once I’ve come back alive multiple times? Is that it?”

Soroya chuckled. “Darling, the only way to keep your father happy is if you live the rest of your days underground.”

This almost outraged Raven. “But—”

“Which he understands is not your intention, nor is it applicable for you,” said Soroya. “But when you ask me if he’ll be happy… the answer is no. He’ll get used to it, but there always be that nervousness. That worry that today will be the day my daughter doesn’t come home with a prideful grin and a bag of gold. The day a member of the guild will show up to our door with your gemstone in hand, and the other on their chest. Why, even I fear that sometimes. But that’s the risk. There’s always a risk.”

Raven stared with awe. The thought had crossed her mind before but hearing someone else put it into words—her mother—made her think of it in a different light. Perhaps she hadn’t understood completely because she hadn’t yet raised a child of her own. It made sense now. More sense than before.

Raven nodded.

Soroya didn’t even have to look at her to recognise her agreement. “Make sense?” she said enthusiastically.

“I suppose it does,” Raven said.

“Did you go to an apothecary for that potion?”

Raven said, “Yes.”

“How much did it cost you?”

Raven let out a slight laugh, one neither humorous nor sarcastic. She put the king’s coin back into the pouch and pulled the drawstring until the hole squeezed shut. “I’m unsure. I passed out before I could pay. If I remember correctly, Lyrielle said fifteen gold?”

“Lyrielle?” said Soroya. “I remember when she was only a young woman.”

“Mhm.” Raven attached the pouch to her ringbelt, next to the glowing Muscle Disorifice bottle. Then, suddenly remembering, she pulled out the dark-blue vial. “I almost forgot. She gave me a potion to help with Mira’s nightmares.”

The kettle over the fireplace began to squeal, slowly rising in pitch as the flames wrapped around the bottom and just barely nestled beneath the iron handle. Soroya, stuffing her hands in mittens, grabbed the kettle from the fireplace and brought it over to the kitchen table. “That’s delightful. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that.” She spooned two scoops of sugar into Raven’s cup, and then poured the Naga Nectar in gently. “Milk?”

“Please,” said Raven, stirring the cup herself.