The Court of Crows

From the view of the iron cage, the colour blanched from me as the crows of this ghastly court bickered and threw their fine silverware at one another. Among this despicable judicature was the eldest crow, the Magistrate, old in age and immortal in knowledge. Unamused, the formidable crow tapped his iron claws, until he came to his breaking point, where he let out a caw that deadened the disorder of his court. Not long after, the door opened and in came a servitor with a charred man fastened in his cart. The manservant dropped the cargo and waited for the crows to have at him. They slung the blackened man onto the table and held him down whilst the Magistrate drew a wicked, black blade and sunk it into his chest. He carved down into the trunk of the man until his cries for help allayed as the firstborn crow prised his heart and crushed it under his boot.

Once the head was severed, and the eyeballs eaten, they thanked their leader for such an excellent feast. After supper, they tossed the leavings to the manservant. With the severed head in his mangled claws, the Magistrate made a mockery of humanity's place in the cosmos. Upward from his hands, bespeckled with the innocent's blood, I looked into the heinous eyes of the sovereign crow. He pranced toward me with his bloodied dagger in hand. At my cell, he swung the head back and forth, and then set it on the ground as he got closer. The crow narrowed his vision and studied every bit of me. He grabbed and brought me to the bars, and ran his cold, metal talons through my hair. Before leaving, he shoved me and shook the cage, satisfied that he left me shaken. Shortly after preening and downing several carafes of wine, they sat back and waited for the janitors to pick up what wasn't disposed of.

Ready, the Magistrate clapped and in came another dreaded fish monstrosity. It held a piece of parchment in its misshapen hands, which he gave to the fattest crow at the far end of the table. The corpulent crow opened the weathered scroll, thus beginning the hearing. "Seeker, known to kin as Ospeus Sarstotzki, you are charged with the crimes of delirium and mass murder of an entire province. How do you plead, pagan?"

For the life of me, I could not form the words to evince what I felt. There is someone controlling my strings. He controls what I say and do. There's nothing I can do about it. He's taken my speech, my conscience—I'm living in the skin of another man. This isn't me. Now a mute, I shook my head, and accepted my predestination to whatever lower hell they would send me to. The bald, fat crow slammed his mangled fist against the table, outraged by my lack of reciprocation. Are you hard of hearing or just stupid? Speak forever, or forever hold your peace, Seeker."

"Maybe he just has no tongue," added another crow. "... Or maybe his lengthy stay in Amnyr has torn him down to the point of nothing."

The Magistrate shook his head in heavy refusal. He sat back in his chair smugly, knowing that he had me figured out. "No, once again, you have misread him. This is the Seeker. The prospect of omnipotence would only allure a boob like him. In his twisted mind, there is something going on—something that led him down this rutted road of ruin. Whether he realises it, he has always been under the mastery of a god that never gave back. He has bedevilled and taken away humanity's last chance of salvation. The blood of millions is on his hands. He cannot run from dream to dream escaping from his eternal torment because that god will always be there. Haunting him."

From the far right end of the table, another crow spoke and broke the deathly silence. "We'll grant him a dishonourable death, Oribole. Nothing more."

"That won't suffice," said the eldest crow. "There must be something he really fears… Something that cripples him to his core." Oribole, known by this assembly as the Magistrate, left me in disquiet and looked to me with his unnatural eyes. He stood up confidently and uttered his verdict. "To serve for his affronts, he will spend the rest of his incorporeal life in the Loneliness, to atone for what he has done. In the Loneliness, he will watch from the deepest, darkest part of the underworld as we destroy what we left of the Khiviok valley. Only then, may we hope that he finds comfort in the darkness?"

"This is inane!" yelled the crow from the far right. "Where in your scattered brain did you come to the conclusion that we should war them again? Why, we'd lose what little we have left, do you really want that?"

Enamoured by the thought of revenge, Oribole did not back down as his brother refuted each and of his arguments for a second war with mankind. The other two lords sat timid, not wanting to get into another feud. The other crow would say something, and the Magistrate would rebut with twice as much voice. Furious that he would not shut up, the Magistrate pounded his fist over and over. "You understate what the Shadow Kin and Skragels are capable of. Maybe ignorance comes with your young age, Seytar, but I for one think we have a better chance to take Khiviok before the Creator's renascence."

"You really have lost your mind, Oribole," said his brother, Seytar, flabbergasted. "We are meant to govern; that is our purpose in Amnyr. What mettle do we have to prove to those pissants?"

"Mind you, this isn't a matter of vengeance," Oribole retorted. "This is about restoring our dignity and seizing back what we once had before they damned us. We killed their fabled chancellor and left one of their cities in ruin. We will make them bleed; we will make them cry. Mark my words, Seytar, they will suffer for what they've done to Cymhurron. You say you want me to govern, so I'm governing and have made an affirmative decision. Put more trust in me, would you?"

Torn by the inner battle of his mind, Seytar sighed and looked to the other two crow lords for their acumen. After some time, the portly crow sat up and adjusted his glasses, and then said, "In the better discernment of the Corvid Chancery, we agree with the Magistrate's decision to send the Seeker to the bottomless nightmare known as Loneliness. From where he will watch as we tear his world to nothing but granules of sand, three decades preceding this one. Is there anything you would like to add before your descent into the abyss, Seeker?"

"No," I said with a gut-wrenching feeling on my side.

"Then I have spoken," concluded the rump crow.

"Court is over, you may now leave, if you wish," said the Magistrate, then slamming down the arm bone of a previous victim that he called a gavel. Shortly before my departure, Oribole came to the cage to say his goodbye. "May you find providence in the gorge, Seeker, I've heard it's a spirit-changing experience. Think of me when you're in the nothing; wishing for the company of another human being."

As they waved goodbye, the platform ascended to the top floor of the Spire. Left with only the impression of their malign countenance, I did not know what to think. I'm torn by the voices that run aimlessly in my head. I doomed the world; they will seize what was once theirs. At the top of the citadel, I heard a resonant screech followed by the boom of a four-winged hell. I stumbled and there was the beast—a Skragel. His red slit of an eye locked onto me, and I felt the hatred that dripped from his malicious gaze. The creature let out an earth-shaking, shuddering roar that sent a terrified chill down my spine. I stood back as the beast grabbed the cage by its immense talons and lifted the enclosure and departed from the tower, at last. With an overview of practically everything, I stared below as the creature flew me to the Loneliness where gods are born and men are driven mad.

I didn't know what was to come, but I was not expecting the thought of it. Like me and all the creatures in this veritable hell, the Skragel was a beast only motivated by bloodlust. My mind feeble, I imagined myself in a happier place with my wife and son—the only people that have ever mattered to me. I chased them away, like I did everyone else. I have hurt them. I have hurt everyone. They've suspected my madness from the start and knew that I would follow the path of a lunatic. There is something so recursive about this entire experience, I'm not phased by the dead anymore. I've seen and done it all. I left not a bit of empathy in me. Now above the abyss where the monster was supposed to drop me off, I looked down into the chasm of nothing. But there was nothing to see. It was dark beyond description. The beast let out another shuddering roar and released the cage from its iron grip.