Samhain: The Otherworld Awaits

Prologue - Wings

Wings as stark as midnight flex beneath the Earth, fighting the currents of soil. Roots shudder and part to make way for them. Beating the boggy mists aside, dark feathers cut through the air and sail above ancient, gnarled branches which flex their fingers for prey they can't ensnare. The way ahead is clear.

With obsidian, marble eyes, the bird can see the tangled gleam of electric lights and luminous spirits beyond the far horizon. Idly, it flaps once and carries itself across a cool current, an invisible, enveloping stream.

Even the most foolish bird of prey retreats from the whispery sound and sight of it. This creature is no kin. Below, if a hunter were to raise his rifle, they would find themselves struck blind by the shimmer of its sleek and greasy shape. None could interrupt its trek, even if they dared.

Soon, the mired mosses and frozen forests give way to low stone walls and colorful fields ready for harvest. Cattle hold their next step as the crow passes overhead, ancient fears kindled for just a moment before they are forgotten in the silken grasses.

Past the fields and towns, jeweled towers flicker against the hazy blue. Glassy pinnacles and belching spikes challenge the sky. Effortlessly, the crow weaves through the darkened arteries that carry the vehicles of man and others. Curving, ethereal branches meld and reflect stone and metal. Swooping in a wide arc over a busy street, the crow settles upon a barren patch of overturned dirt.

"Hey! Shove off!"

The words, shouted scoldingly by a stout figure with a dense, ruddy beard and clad in a uniform with stark, reflective orange strips, don't even stir the bird to lift its wings. Stomping over in muddy, brown boots, the figure raises a stubby hand to flick in the bird's direction before it turns to stare him down. The gloss of its gaze makes him move to shield his eyes and squint.

Like those who sighted the crow before, the small figure knows deep inside, like a lesson leftover from unknown ancestors, that no hand or voice should be raised before this creature. But the melodious, hypnotic hum of the city has dulled this acuity. Even then, he turns away and grumbles, "Pests..." as a cacophony lures his attention away to declare, "Hey! Watch out for the electrical!" The rattle of a jackhammer recedes to murmurs, laughs, and coughs.

Hopping down from a gradual slope, the bird hustles to the edge of the construction area. Beside an excavation for a sewer line, it soon sights its quarry: a distressed, tangled batch of twine in the shape of weathered, sallow locks. Pecking furiously at the cracked and crumbly dirt, the crow clears away several layers.

Sinking its talons into the exposed section, the creature beats its wings with the fury of a tempest, knocking off hardhats and toppling equipment across the site. No one blames the bird. With a second wave, the gravel and dirt slough off and tumble into the waiting hole. Fluttering several times more, the crow flies free with its reward.

Resting upon the roof of a nearby building, the crow inspects its find. Wrapped three times over on each side in triple-dense bands of twine, is a dun, leather parcel. Once, the material may have been a sharp shade of tan and the twine a rich tapestry in miniature. But the claws of the Earth have long, silently toiled away at it like a scratching post. Despite eons of pressure, heat, and wear, the package easily settles in the crow's vice-like grip.

Rising aloft effortlessly despite its cargo, the crow pays no heed to the distant flare of light within the bitter haze above. When a tickle of rain grazes an ankle, it simply stretches its wings to better shield its load. Even a swirling breath of wind simply brings it to the shelter of human stone and faerie branches.

At the edge of downtown, the patience of the storm quits for a burning claw across the twine. The light and heat slice and unravel the frayed, outermost band. Stunned and disoriented, the bird scrambles on a nearby awning as waves of popcorn chuckles swallow all other sounds.

Bitterly raking the metal beneath its feet, the crow blasts a single, unanswered cry to the leaden sky. Fighting through the sudden downpour, it traces circles through the air till settling near where the package fell. Discovering just a single, broken length of twine, it peers in all directions. Creatures and humans amble between densely packed buildings as its glassy eyes settle on the nearest one.

Wrapped in bands of old and new brick, a space above a high, dusty window reflects the golden words, "Silver Oak Ave Public Library - Maysra". Spying a slot with the weight and shape of a coal chute, it narrows its eyes on the emblazoned word, "RETURNS".

Its talons are sharp to the task, but it knows they would be futile here. No, patience was all it ever needs, and patience was all that will be required. Still, the faint, digging amusement blasting from the skies above make it trace jagged lines in the pavement before it swoops onto a stone ledge above the sign.

It has waited all this time, it can wait a little longer...