Roland blinked, the vision gone, replaced by a basement full of terrified people. There were several notification prompts blinking off the corner of his right eye, but he ignored them.
Bob was leaning off to one side, dry-heaving, his partially digested breakfast in a puddle in front of him. Barton and Dahlia were sobbing like children in each other’s arms. Wendy was no longer crying, but she was wiping her eyes furiously and shaking uncontrollably.
“It’s okay. It’s okay! Settle down,” Roland told them. “It’s over.”
The words seemed to snap them out of their funk.
Dahlia raised her head, realized that Barton was right in her face, and pushed him away. “Get off of me, you freak!”
Bob spat one last time and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was real. An actual supernatural event. And I didn’t get it on video!”
Roland had forced them to leave their phones upstairs. Trixie had warned him that Mana outbursts could fry unshielded electronics, so he had been doing them a favor.
“Tell an AI what you saw, and it will make you a video,” Roland told him. “Are you guys all right?”
“I’m okay,” Barton said, pushing his glasses back with one hand while glancing at Dahlia, a slight smile on his face despite the fact she had just called him a freak. Roland suspected the nerd had accidentally copped a feel during their mass hysteria episode.
“That was... That was pure Keanu Reeves ‘Wow.’ Turned to eleven.”
“I felt it flying toward us,” Dahlia said. “It was so freaking... big.”
“That’s what she said,” Barton blurted out.
Dahlia was not amused. “Shut the frell up, you tardo!”
“Hey, I’m high-functioning!”
“Shut up, both of you.”
That was Wendy, her sudden outburst shocking goth and nerd into silence.
“It’s here. You called it, and it’s here.”
Roland turned around, and in the weak light of the LED bulb on the ceiling, he saw it, perched on a metal shelf on the far side of the basement.
“Caw,” it crowed, raising and lowering its head in amusement. “Croak, caw, croak.”
“It’s a crow!” Bob shouted. “Just like in the movie!”
“Raven,” the bird said in a shockingly humanlike voice.
What a nitwit, the raven added telepathically, its deep voice echoing inside Roland’s head.
It wasn’t as loud as what he had heard at the end of the ritual, but it had that heaviness he’d heard before, a weight that Trixie’s mental voice lacked.
Can you hear it, Trixie? Roland asked before turning to the raven. Can you hear me?
I hear you just fine, Roland Webb. As to your Fae Guide, well, she saw me coming and ran away like a little girl.
The raven cawed and croaked a couple more times, its version of laughing like a loon.
“Is it smart?” Bob wondered. “Is it a talking crow?”
“Raven,” the bird repeated.
If that imbecile refers to me as a measly crow one more time, I’ll pluck out his left eye and leave him half-blind but far wiser.
“You heard the bird, Bob,” Roland said hurriedly. “It’s a raven.”
“Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore,’” Dahlia said. She looked a little faint, and tears had run through her mascara and left black streaks all over her face. But she was staring at the bird like an atheist who had come face to face with the Almighty.
“Nevermore,” the bird said, mimicking her voice almost perfectly. Dahlia covered her mouth with both hands and began to hyperventilate.
Ah, the angsty gal knows her classics, the Raven commented, walking along the top of the shelf. She has good hips and better Affinities. I smell a minor Bloodline in her, too. Bed her if you get a chance, Exemplar. Your offspring would be something fair and terrible.
Bro.
“Take it easy, Dahlia. It means no harm,” Roland said, glaring at the bird.
Am I offending you? Do you fancy the Seer, perhaps? She is comely enough, and her Fae blood has bred true in her. Not the worst match, either.
Maybe my sex life isn’t the right topic to start things off, Roland told the bird. How about you tell me your name?
The raven cawed three times. Why, so you can butcher it into a diminutive like you did to your Guide? Most Fae would have ripped the tongue right out of your head for doing that, you know. Trixie only forbore because she has bet much on your success.
“You’re speaking to it, aren’t you?” Wendy said. “It can talk a little bit, but it also uses its mind.”
Such eyes, that see so much, the raven said. Just call me Raven, Roland. As far as names go, it’s good enough.
“Okay,” Roland said out loud. “Yes, I’m talking to... him?” he asked, and Raven nodded at him, which for some reason sent a chill down his spine.
Hearing responses in his head could still be dismissed as delusions, but clear signs they were having a conversation made it feel more real.
“His name is Raven.”
“Like... Like the Raven?” Dahlia said in a tremorous voice.
“From The Teen Titans?” Barton asked.
The question earned him a tear-streaked glare from her. “No, you moron. Not from The Teen Titans. Like the Native American god, Raven.”
She can’t be serious, Roland thought, then watched Raven caw in laughter. Is she..? Are you..?
Do you think an F-Grade ritual, Legendary or not, can call a god down from his Realm and bring him into your service?
I notice you didn’t answer the question.
Did you? Good. We’ll get along famously.
Come on, bird. Give me something to wrap my brain around.
Maybe I’m just a very minor manifestation of some collective-unconscious entity that might or might not be related to the being known as ‘the’ Raven. Or maybe I’m just a tired old bird spirit that’s been hovering, for quite some time, over a promising young man with Death in his soul. A promising young man who needs a lot of help in the times to come.
Roland remembered what he had seen at the end of the ritual. Half-remembered, actually. His memories of it were hazy; much of it was like a dream that wakes you up only to fade away as you open your eyes. But enough remained to convince him that this Raven was a lot more than a bird familiar.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He Analyzed it, eliciting another spate of croaks:
Raven (Great Spirit, ????)
F-Grade Greater Familiar
Health 185 Mana 230 Endurance 195
That tickles, Raven said, and took wing.
Dahlia, who had gotten to her feet, was startled by the bird flying over her head and fell on the lap of the still-sitting Barton.
“Keep your hands off me!”
“You sat on me!”
Raven soared over goth and nerd and settled down on top of Roland’s head. He resisted the urge to swat the bird away and let him stay there.
What are you doing?
Just trying you on for size, Raven said, his talons resting lightly on Roland’s scalp. Nah, I don’t think the bird-on-head look suits you. But you’ve got a nice helmet, and I might know a way to trick it out even more.
Raven took off and ended up on another shelf, cawing some more.
“Raven. Not crow. Raven,” the bird told Bob in Bob’s voice.
Roland’s cousin shuddered. “Yessir, Mister Raven, sir.”
Roland spoke up before things got even weirder. “I’m sorry things got scary. And thank you for helping me. Let me buy you all lunch, if you feel up for it.”
“I could eat,” Barton said, casting sidelong glances at Dahlia, who was heading upstairs.
“Get some KFC!” she called on her way out.
“Chicken? I could eat chicken,” Wendy agreed.
Barbarians. Talking about eating birds and me just standing here, Raven commented. Oh, who am I kidding? I love chicken.
* * *
Trixie came back a little after lunch.
They got a big order of chicken, biscuits and assorted sides Door-Dashed to them, and the big late lunch helped steady everyone’s nerves. Josh, the only party member who hadn’t participated in the basement shenanigans, was only mildly curious about the black bird now hanging out in Bob’s living room.
Raven flew back and forth between people and begged for food, everything from bits of chicken to an entire biscuit, which he ‘liberated’ right out of Barton’s hand and devoured to the amusement of all.
After everyone ate, Dahlia went off to have a nap in Bob’s office. Wendy headed to the guest room to do the same, and Bob took Barton and Josh on a final gun run at his father’s place.
“I’m just buying the guns off of him, with your gold coins,” he told Roland. “When we are done with the Dungeon, you and I can go talk to him and put all our cards on the table.”
“Uh, guys,” Barton said. “I’m scared.”
“It is a scary situation,” Roland said.
“Not just the Dungeon. I’m scared of guns, and of going somewhere to buy guns that are, you know, illegal.”
“It’s fine, man,” Bob told him. “It’s just my old man. He won’t bite.”
“And, uh, I don’t think I can use a gun,” Barton said. “It’s one thing when it’s Call of Duty, you know? I don’t think I can do it for real.”
“Just get a little gun,” Josh told him. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”
“Get him a Taser,” Roland told Bob. “And maybe a staff or a walking stick. At least that way he can push critters away..”
“Don’t Tase me, bro,” Raven said.
Everyone laughed, even if Barton’s laughter had a bit of a hysterical edge. Barton went along, still looking nervous.
They were taking the talking bird in their midst surprisingly well. Roland gauged their mood as they left the living room. Barton wasn’t the only one who was afraid.
Dahlia was wrung out and still teary even after a healthy dose of junk food and normalcy; hopefully the nap would help. Wendy looked haunted, but she had been that way since Roland had met her the day before.
Josh didn’t seem too worried; Roland suspected Josh still didn’t believe what was happening, not in his guts. Roland hadn’t fully believed, either, not until the first rat man had cut him. He hoped it wouldn’t take the weaselly guy that long.
They left Roland and Raven alone in the living room. The silence felt blessed to him, for the fifteen seconds or so it lasted.
And here she comes, Raven announced just as Trixie popped up.
Greetings, Tryxannatollassna. A fancy moniker. Fancier than your real name.
Nobody loves a narc.
Then it is fortunate that I’m not interfering but merely participating, isn’t it? In any case, the System will decide if what I do or do not pleases it.
I’m sure you’ll report whatever serves your interests best, and not a whit more. Now are you done posturing? We have a lot to do if you want Roland to return the top of the leaderboard. Assuming you haven’t given up on him altogether.
How important is being on the leaderboard? Roland asked, hoping to break the ice a little.
Sponsors... Roland had a sudden vision of himself wearing a suit of armor covered in assorted corporate logos like a NASCAR driver.
It couldn’t be that ridiculous, could it?
Most sponsors don’t care about publicity, at least not in that way, Raven explained when Roland shared his thoughts. They want promising Ascendants to join or serve their factions.
True, Raven conceded. Now that I’m here, I can see what we’re dealing with. I will need to examine you, Roland. May I have your permission to do so?
Sure, why not?
Roland felt a cold current pass into his body and run through his Meridians. The coldness did a quick run through the less-damaged areas of his Pattern and his Class Core before arriving at the problem area, the mangled Dantian and the Meridians around it. A small tendril of the same chilling force slowly reached out and touched the Dantian.
It felt like someone had driven a knife into his guts and then twisted it savagely. He folded and fell off the couch, unable even to scream.
Dim Mak, Raven said. Or some version thereof. It’s not good. It takes a lot of power and precision to break a Dantian without killing the target, but someone knew just how to do it.
We both know the Chapel is infested with ringers from other Factions. It’s the only way they can get their foot in the door. Infiltrate one of the few institutions with permission to enter a Crucible World. One of them did a number on Roland.
The dispassionate diagnosis hit Roland almost as hard as the pain from the broken Dantian. He struggled back to the couch, glad nobody was around to watch him fold like a pup tent. Other than his spirit guides, that was, but they didn’t count.
No hope, eh? Roland asked. Might as well accept reality and roll with it.
I didn’t say that.
Why am I not surprised? After the self-righteous tirade about looking after your ward?
Roland was too busy waiting for the pain to go away to get mad at Trixie. She hadn’t quite sold him out, or so she claimed, but she was clearly only interested in helping herself.
As long as Roland was useful, she would do what she could to help him out. Which, at this point, would last only until other Ascendants started getting out of F-Grade or Tin Rank and left him in the dust.
Luckily, Roland had learned early in life that life wasn’t just unfair, it was grossly, openly, blatantly unfair. And the sooner you accepted that, the sooner you could do whatever was in your power to balance the scales a little.
If he got through this hurdle, said power would be considerable.
I’m going to fix this, and then I’m going to sweep the leaderboards. And sooner or later, me, Hao and Marcus are going to have a little reckoning.
You have accepted a Quest: Revenge Makes a Good Meal at Any Temperature.
Wu Hao and Yang Marcus have tried to harm you multiple times during your stay at the Ecumenical Enlightenment Chapel. You believe one or both are responsible for the attack that destroyed your Cultivator’s Dantian, and you wish to avenge yourself. How you gain that revenge is up to you. The System will judge how successful you are.
Rewards: Vary depending on the results but will include Unbound Essence, items and knowledge.
Penalties: Failing to gain revenge within a year and a day – measured in baseline world time – will result in System penalties ranging from Essence losses to gaining negative Titles.
“Great, now I have to get those two bastards, or the System will get me,” Roland said before sharing his Quest with his spirit helpers.
You were never one to suffer certain debts to remain unpaid, Raven said in the same serious tone he had used when talking about Roland’s injuries. Why start now?
You were there, weren’t you?
Roland remembered the night when he repaid one particular debt.
The pouring rain. The sudden charge toward the stumbling figure by the swimming pool, the struggle in the water. Holding on to the bastard, keeping his head submerged. The cold rage that only ended when the struggles stopped and he held the limp body under the water until he was sure it wasn’t faking.
He didn’t feel the same way about Hao and Marcus, but they had tried to kill him, and that was enough to put them on that list.
I was there, Raven said. And at other important times. The day you were born, for one.
This time the flashes were not something Roland remembered or could have remembered.
Doctors and nurses crowding above somebody on an operating table, speaking in the flat, clipped tones of professionals dealing with an emergency. “BP is dropping fast.” “We’re losing her. Them.”
A voice on a PA system echoed: “Code Blue. OB. Code Blue. OB.”
More voices.
“They’re gone, both gone.”
“Stow it, Peters.”
“Clear.”
A loud noise.
“Got her going. Baby?”
“Still flatlined.”
“Okay, clear.”
There was a jolt. He felt it through the memory. Felt his heart start again. Felt himself take his first breath.
Deadborn. The joke name Mandy had given her after they’d heard the story.
That was the day your Bloodline first spoke to me, Raven said.