Chapter 6. The Ravens

Sand, warm and wet with blood, stuck to his bare feet. He walked alone across the beach between rows of bodies lying under rags and blankets. An unknown force pushed him forward, to the last corpse; a little white hand poked out from under the patchy rug. He reached for it against his will, grasped the material and gave it a tug.

Maya's dead face resembled a porcelain doll, broken and empty. Her lifeless eyes gazed at him: large, brown and filled with terror -

A thump made Jules jump on the bed. A wave of piercing coldness went through his body despite the warm blankets. Dark shadows swirled on the ceiling above his bed, danced and puffed on the walls. A cacophony of croaking shook the castle's fundaments.

"What's going on!?" Jules scrambled and ran to the window. The world outside was blurred through the thick glass; the boy opened the window to see hundreds of ravens flying around the castle like a dark cloud, croaking and circling. The dawn was grey and grim with heavy, storm clouds hanging low above the town.

"Step back!" Ravin grasped Jules' arm and pushed him away. He slammed the window shut, slamming it into a raven that was about to fly into the room. The glass shattered, sharp pieces scattered around and the bird fell between them, dead. "Get away from the windows!"

Jules stared, his feet rooted to the ground. Many other panes broke in a cacophony of clicking and yells. The croaking combined with screams into one, terrifying uproar.

"It's her?" he turned toward his master. "Can a ghost even -?" he froze up when the hunter grabbed him in half, lifted and dropped him onto his bed like a bag of potatoes.

"Get your boots on, quickly. The glass is everywhere."

Jules nodded sharply, only now realising the man had been already fully dressed and the door of their room was open. The boy reached under the bed to get his shoes; he pulled them on bare feet and ran after the man.

The corridor was empty, but screams and yells echoed between the walls. The hunter and his apprentice left the tower, entering the castle's residential wing.

People panicked. A woman in a nightgown stormed out of one room - pressing her palm to a bleeding cheek - and into another. She slammed the door; just then a raven hit it and fell to the ground. A guardsman dashed down the corridor and stepped on the bird, squashing it under his foot. He barely took another step before a servant hurtled around the corner and crashed into him.

"Quickly!" Ravin grasped Jules' arm and steered him toward the staircase.

They ran past sir Arver's office and climbed the stairs. The floor seemed empty; all door closed, no living soul - or dead, for that matter - and the croaking mixed with the weeping of a little child.

The hunter pulled his rod out of his pocket, pushed the door of the Lord's chamber open and walked inside. Jules followed him closely. The windows were all broken - shards scattered around the room - and despite the wind, the air stank of decay.

"Ravin!" the healeress cried desperately. Jules caught a glimpse of her kneeling by the Lord's bed, gripping a blanket with which she tried to shield both herself and the old man against the glass and the crazed birds.

The hunter ran toward the windows - to close the shutter, Jules realised. Then, a high-pitched shriek caught his attention. In the corner of the room, the blonde apprentice healeress cringed on the floor. He ran toward her - then a wave of ravens erupted through the windows. He threw his hands forward, his eyes sparkled with gold, and the nearest birds were thrown back.

Jules grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her under the heavy, oak table. She flattened against the floor and the boy curled next to her, his head by hers, trying to protect both her faces while the raves were flying and falling, rampaging around the chamber, thrashing and desperately waving their wings until their bodies become motionless.

Then, it ended. The odour of rottenness yielded to the fresh smell of storm. The sky opened and rain poured over the castle grounds.

The last raven ceased moving and a dead silence replaced the cawing.

"Everybody's alright?" Ravin's voice disturbed the silence.

Jules opened his eyes and saw the girl's face right before his - their noses almost touching, her grey, watery eyes gazing into his. Her breath was warm on his cheeks as she breathed with relief.

He froze for a second, then jumped up, away from the girl, and bumped his head against the tabletop.

"Oh, crap!" he groaned, falling back - he felt something warm and soft under his hand. A dead raven. He cringed. "Ew!"

Somebody took him under his armpits and pulled him up. A strong hand pulled his fist from where he pressed it against his sore head, then ran through his messy hair.

"No blood, but you've made yourself a nice, big bump here," Ravin let go of him only when he was sure his apprentice stood firmly on his legs. "Lara, Evionel? Are you both well?"

"For goddess' sake!" the healeress threw the blanket away and looked around. A dead raven lay by her feet. She pushed it away with the tip of her shoe. "Evi? Are you all right? I couldn't reach you when it all started?"

"I'm fine," the girl's voice trembled as she crawled from under the table. She straightened, flicked her dress clean on dust and cast Jules a quick, sky glance. "Thank you. I should have hidden sooner, but -" her eyes rested on the Lord's bed. "Lara? Is he... I don't see him breathing!"

The healer looked at the old man, wide-eyed, and leaned over him. She pressed her fingers to the Lord's neck, just below the jaw.

"No, no, no," she searched for the pulse. "Not now, you've been doing so much better..."

"Lara," Ravin approached her. He posed a hand on her shoulder as she looked frantically for her rod. "He's gone. It all must have ended when he died."

The woman nodded slowly. She took the blanket and spread it over the Lord, covering his face.

"I need to check on Lady Guinevere," she squeezed Ravin's hand before he withdrew it. "And talk to Kedmon... Evi, go to the infirmary. Help the wounded."

"Go with her, Jules," Ravin motioned at his apprentice.

They left the chamber in gloomy silence. As they walked toward the staircase, one of the doors opened and Arthur peeked out at the corridor. He sneered as his and Jules' eyes met, and only now did the boy realise he still wore the worn trousers and Raimont's old shirt he used as sleepwear. He couldn't care less - the sneer would disappear from Arthur's face soon enough at the news of his grandfather's death.

"Is a disaster," Evionel whispered, making her way through the shatters, careful not to step onto them. The thin soles of her court shoes wouldn't protect her feet against the glass. "I've never seen anything like this in my life! All those birds! I thought I would die of terror!"

"I'm sorry for the ravens," Jules reached for his badge and brushed his fingers against the carving. "Dozens of them are dead. And for what?"

He had no idea a ghost could possess an unkindness of ravens, all of them at once. He had seen different ghosts ever since he could remember: the lost ones, the malevolent, some harmless and some nasty. They could throw a plate across a room and smash it against the wall, or make the farm animal sick so that cows would give less milk. Sometimes, they helped the ones they loved, sometimes they had a message to pass or just wanted to be remembered.

They reached the infirmary to find a crowd already pressed against its door. A young maid cried, pressing a bleeding hand to her chest. A man with a badly scratched face was half-conscious against the wall. Somebody limped, leaving a bloody trail.

It was blood and glass, everywhere, blood seeping, gushing, people crying and suffering in silence.

Evionel took a deep breath. She flicked back her blonde plaits, and her lost expression was replaced with one of determination. She walked through the crowd, opened the heavy door and urged the hesitant people inside.

"Good goddess!" she froze on the doorstep when she looked inside. Shards of glass were everywhere - on the floor and the rows of beds that stood under the windows. Only those at the other side of the chamber seemed clean; but there were dead ravens, everywhere, stiff and bloody among the glass. "How am I going to work here?"

Jules grabbed the broom that stood against the wall by the door. While the wounded moved toward the clean beds, he brushed the shards and dead birds out of their way. He found a basket and started putting the ravens into it when the girl called from him.

She stood by a table in the corner of the infirmary, by several cabinets. Jules watched her taking out rolls of bandages and clean cloths and uncorking bottles.

"Show me your hands," she poured some sharp-smelling liquid onto his palms and fingers, then motioned at the bottles arranged into a row on the table. "There's an extract to clean wounds in the green bottles. Take one, and the cloths..." she put in his hands hurriedly. "You'll take care of the ones with scratches and superficial wounds. Use a new cloth with every patient, and make sure to check for glass shards before you start rubbing. Go!"

Jules gave her a puzzled look, but she already dashed toward the maid that bled most profusely. The boy looked around, biting at his lower lip. He walked down the aisle between beds; he decided to leave the patient with an injured foot for Evionel to take care of, as he had no idea how to remove the glass the man must have stepped on.

"I'm a hunter, not a nurse," he muttered to himself, then stopped by a young woman. Many little wounds were bleeding on her hands, but it seemed to be nothing serious. He could manage that. "Um, hello," he muttered while pouring some of the watery substance onto the cloth. "Well, let me take a look?"

The young woman smiled gratefully and extended her hands toward him, trembling slightly. He would clean and bandage them - nothing complicated - but as he put the cloth against her skin, she gave out a strangled yell and cringed back.

"Sorry!" Jules withdrew his hand. "Does it hurt or-?"

"Go away from me, you devil's offspring!" she waved her hand in a circular gesture, tracing the symbol of the goddess Liva in the air, then spat over her shoulder. She looked at the other servants, pointing at Jules' accusatively. "The rumours are true! Can't you see his eyes? The blue one must be a demon's mark!"

"Oh don't be silly, Mary," the man with wounded foot gave out an exasperated sigh. "I still remember old times when there were hunters in Arvene, and believe me, those times were better."

"You think so, old man?" she whipped the cloth from Jules' hands. Pressing it against the scratches, she stood up and walked toward the door. "Then why don't you let the impure boy treat you?"

Jules bit hard on his bottom lip. The impure - the word evoked so many bad memories he felt like he had just got smacked. All the faces turned from the young woman toward him; some with animosity, some with pity. Evionel didn't look up from the stitches she was putting on the injured girl's hand, but her willowy figure was tense.

"It all has gotten worse since that boy is here," the young woman added. Then she left, and the door closed behind her with a bang.

"She's right," a quiet voice murmured. "It all worsened."

"I heard Lord Harald got really ill," somebody whispered.

"A guardsman tried to kill himself," an angry whisper came from the back of the infirmary. "And it's that boy who found him."

Jules gulped nervously. The air grew tenser with suspicion and spite, and he didn't even need his Sixth Sense to feel it. He walked up the aisle with his head down, the curly fringe falling over his bicolour eyes. He put the bottle and cloths on the table and turned toward the door.

"Jules?" Evionel's quiet voice stopped him with one hand on the door handle. "I really need... I mean I'm sorry, I -"

"I wish I could help you, but... I'd just better leave," he left the infirmary while people whispered behind his back.