The Blind Raven eSampler



  THE

  BLIND RAVEN

  REGINA DEL MADRIGAL

  All rights reserved. Except in the use of a review, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2016 Regina Del Madrigal

  Cover Art © 2016 by Omri Koresh, omrikoresh.com

  Chapter

  1

  The Raven carried a bracelet of black pearls in its beak as it soared against a desolate breeze, over the desert wasteland and the travelers who held their cloaks to their faces as they traveled with the gust.

  It flew toward the mountains, descending for a little burrow nearly hidden amongst the rocks and boulders. Its cave was littered with the treasures It’d scavenged on Its many ventures; coins of silver and gold and bronze, several candles, beads of every color, seashells of every shape, a jeweled comb It had thieved from a palace far south, a fancy hat It had lifted from a traveling peddler’s head, as well as a few small books.

  The Raven set down Its latest asset, then fluttered across the cave to land on an open tome spread across the ground. It used Its beak to flip the page, then lowered its feathery face and studied the words therein with the dying sunlight. Letters fascinated It, the way they were shaped to form words the Humans spoke. Though the Raven didn’t speak the language in the book, the other of Itself did.

  It read until the sun disappeared behind the faraway dunes, then nestled in Its nest of wheat and twigs– which was too large to be filled by Its tiny body alone. But one day the Raven would share it with the other body its soul occupied.

  Enfolding Itself in Its dark wings, the Raven decided that It would commence Its search on the morrow.

  It tried to rest, but Its other body was fidgeting.

  The Raven hopped outside Its hole, and lifted Itself into the air once more.

  Tribes were dancing wildly around bonfires below, their howls were carried on the wind.

  The Raven felt Its other self struggling – someone was trying to feed her, but she wanted to taste the succulent meats that were being roasted on a spit.

  The Raven landed on a wicker basket and lowered Its beak into the prunes. A shaman sitting cross-legged mumbled something while he lifted his hands to shoo It away.

  “Scaduwee!” he hissed.

  It lifted into the air, and the flat, barren earth formed into a rolling sea. The waters stretched for miles, the monstrous Irys veiled every passage. The darkness shredded with lightening, thunder cracked in the sky and whirlwinds swirled on the thrashing ocean surface.

  In a massive forest It perched, finding some rest amid the buzzing and croaking creatures. But the voices in Its head would not be subdued. Hands grabbed Its half-soul, and she whipped and swung, battling with her arms and legs, hearing the familiar complaints in her ears as they struggled with her. She was dumped in water, and the Raven dove to hammer on the head of a passing merchant. They lathered her body and she screamed, swinging her fists, splashing water everywhere.

  By the time they dried her and put her to sleep, she was too exhausted to move, and yet she soared; over wild terrains, higher and higher as she sunk into her bed. Though her body was warm under the blanket, her eyes were blistered against the chill of snowcapped peaks.

  The land formed into a murky swamp, a fog floated on its surface. Stench inhabited the entire city of Phaeton, as steam rose from the hundreds of chimneys, covering the sky in a black mist. A riot filled streets below; people shouting at each other, casting stones at windows, rampaging through the halls of mansions.

  The rabble cleared and the air grew fresh, and the sun began to rise on the horizon. Flowering valleys appeared in the distance. The Marketplace was full of moving carriages, of gypsies and exotic caravans.

  An old manor house stood on a hilltop in the outskirts. It was a ghostly place. All the doors were shut up, all the windows were dark as if no one lived there.

  A window was open on the second story; it led into a spacious and shadowy bedroom. A brocade carpet covered the floor, while piles of garments hung on the cushioned chair by the muddled vanity.

  The sole order in the room was the array of unsettling glass dolls that sat on the shelf. They were dressed in exquisite tiny silk dresses and fine lace stockings and wore huge colorful bows in their curls. Their blank faces and marble black eyes stared motionless at the raven-haired child lying asleep in the bed.

  A voice inside her head was calling Daphne, Daphne…

  Croak!

  The Raven watched from the windowsill as the girl stirred awake, her blind eyes blinking open. She had a little round face, ivory skin, heavy-lidded eyes framed by thick eyelashes, and puffy black hair on top of her head.

  “Hello,” the blind girl greeted it. “I’m Daphne.” She giggled. “Is your name Daphne too?”

  The blind girl, Daphne, lifted her hands to her cheeks, then pinched her tiny button nose. She giggled again, then shuddered at the Raven’s grating croak. It flew through the open window, and a gust of air swiped Daphne’s cheek, to land in front of the mirror on the vanity, its head twitched from side to side as it studied the blind girl slipping out of the bed from behind it. Daphne’s bare feet touched the embroidered carpet covering the cool marble floor, her body was tiptoeing closer.

  The Raven croaked at her through the mirror, the feathers of its chin puffing out, before it glided to the bedroom door.

  With Daphne following, the Raven inched the door open and slipped through to sweep down a series of dark corridors. Daphne had never seen this place, but she knew the smell and the nippy air inhabiting it, the forlorn cries resonating from somewhere in her memories. She’d often felt her way through these same rooms even as her Sight was elsewhere, far away, drifting in the heavens.

  The Raven backtracked and found the blind girl shuffling along, feeling her way down the walls. Its croak was urgent, beckoning her along.

  Daphne’s hand clasped tight to the railing of the stairs, the Raven came to hover over her head while they listened to the tumult of disquieting screams echoing in the distant rooms, of doors slamming and of footsteps scattering in the chambers above.

  Everything grew silent again, save for the ticking of the big clock in the corner and the fluttering of wings. The Raven moved onward, and Daphne’s feet tumbled to keep up. She was coming closer to muffled music and laughter. The Raven perched above a pair of diamond-shaped glass doors, while Daphne pressed her ear to them and listened to the sounds on the other side. She’d never heard such gaiety before. She pulled the doors open excitedly, and the Raven soared into a darkened ballroom. Translucent figures floated in circles inches above the floor while they danced. The Raven zigzagged around them, before they vanished with the faint music.

  Daphne entered a dark compartment with a stairwell entangled in spider-webs; there were over fifty rooms in the manor house, and all of the rooms above the second floor had been long abandoned. Daphne’s aunt and mistress of the house, Lady Valerie Mandrake, had forbidden her to go wandering about.

  The stairwell creaked beneath Daphne’s toes as she tiptoed up its steps. She pushed back a door and pigeons scattered. Before her was a long, narrow hallway with an alignment of portraits hanging on either side of the walls, stretching all the way down to the other end.

  Daphne meandered through, while the Raven perched itself upon the different frames, and proceeded to study the webbed and dust laden portraits.

  One depicted a lady with long, curly white hair in a ruffled pale pink gown. Daphne thought she was the most beautiful woman she’d
ever seen, but she appeared sad, her smile seemed half-hearted. The man beside her looked grave, his hair was long and dark, pulled back away from his face. He was dressed all in black, from his silk waistcoat to his frock coat to the scarf tied tight around his neck.

  There was something else too, something in the background of the painting; a spectral figure standing directly behind the man. Daphne almost mistook it for his own shadow.

  She read the names at the bottom: Lord Mordric & Lady Lillis Mandrake.

  More pictures followed, and in the midst of the myriads of faces, her vision faltered on a name Daphne could scarcely discern by the ware: Lord Mortimer & Lady Melina Mandrake. She recognized that name, she’d often heard her nurse talk of her Grandmother Melina. The picture portrayed a pale, gaunt man with long, straight white hair and gleaming black eyes that seemed to pierce through the very picture. A sneer curled his upper lip. His long, elegant pale hand was rested upon the shoulder of a young woman with long deep brown hair and crystal blue eyes, the ghost of a smile curved her red lips.

  That same eerie presence Daphne had noticed in the earlier picture of Mordric was in the background of this one, too.

  The portraits continued all the way down the narrow hallway. The paint was so worn on some they were hardly distinguishable.

  The Raven glanced from the paintings to find the blind girl standing stiff, staring blankly into space. She started, as if woken from a dream, when it beckoned to her with a croak. It fluttered to land on the knob of a small wooden door at the end of the hall. It creaked on its hinges as Daphne opened it, and the Raven flew inside the attic, glimpsing a large bed in the right corner, covered in dust and torn red tapestries hanging around the canopy. To Daphne’s left was a tiny lit fireplace, and kneeling by the hearth was a young woman in a cowl robe, with coiled black hair around her shoulders. She faded into the light outside, pouring through the falcate window.

  The sunrays hit the Raven, and Daphne shielded her head in terror, stumbling. Visions of the sky had returned, the wind blew in her ears, and Daphne lost her sense of direction. She didn’t know whether she was soaring in the rose gardens or stuck in an abandoned hallway.

  She curled up in a ball on the floor, crying.

  "There, there, child," she heard the voice of her old nurse, Harriett, reassure her.

  Daphne wrapped her arms around the warm figure, comforted that she had been found. Her visions swept her through the clouds. She was weightless, even as her feet were planted to the floor. A wrinkled hand took hers, and she gripped tightly to it, growing dizzy as she was led away.

  “What were you doing up there, Child? You could have had an accident,” Harriett said as she guided Daphne down the stairs, one careful step at a time.

  "I met a girl up there,” Daphne explained with excitement. “Can she be my friend, Harriett?”

  "What is this nonsense you are talking about now?" Harriett reproved. She was used to this sort of behavior from her, rambling about things that weren’t there.

  “But it’s true!” Daphne insisted. “She told me to follow her.”

  “Child, you’ve no business wandering around upstairs.”

  “Why not, Harriett?” Daphne complained.

  The old nurse didn’t want to frighten her, but she knew only one way her words would sink in.

  “I’ll tell you why, dear.”

  Daphne lurched forward when they came to an abrupt halt. Harriett bide her sit down on the steps with her.

  “Remember what I told you about the witches?” the old nurse asked.

  “Yes,” Daphne uttered apprehensively.

  “Not twenty years ago, Child, there was a witch who lived in the attic upstairs." Harriett’s gaze ascended stairwell, to the deep shadows hovering above. "She possessed your aunt and drove her mad. One day poor little Juliet disappeared and we never saw her again. The witch will possess you as well, Child, if you are foolish to step into her territory.”

  A shiver crawled up Daphne’s spine at her narrative. She had seen something up there, she was sure of it.

  “Now, be a delight for your old nurse and promise you shall never go up there again,” said Harriett.

  “I promise, Harriett,” Daphne assured, and felt her nurse’s lips touch her forehead.

  “Come now." With a light tug on her hand, Daphne gathered to her feet and followed her outside into the warm and sunny morning – it was such a contrast from the frigid, musky air that inhabited the manor.

  Harriett helped her settle onto a cushioned wicker chair.

  "Good that you get some sun in you, dear,” she said while settling into her own seat in front of her clay spinner beside Annett. “It’s a downright shame all the windows inside have barred it out."

  “Harriett,” Daphne said.

  "Shame indeed," Annett sighed. "How I miss the days when Lady Melina was around."

  "Don't let her ladyship hear you say that," Harriett reproved the young woman in a low mutter.

  Harriett, like all the servants in the household, had serviced the Mandrake Family for years. Harriett often told Daphne how she'd once nursed all of her grandmother's – the good Lady Melina, as she was often referred to – children.

  There were four servants in all; Barnaby, the old butler, Harriett, Daphne's beloved nurse, Annett, and old Vincent who once tended to the rose garden before it became swallowed up by weeds. He was charged with looking after the stables now and made certain the horses had plenty of hay and oats to eat.

  Daphne fidgeted to sit up straight, her feet felt a mile from the ground, soaring above the estate. She patiently waited with her hands folded on her lap, listening as the old nurse and Annett went on chattering, forgetful that she was still there.

  "Harriett," she said once more.

  "Yes dear?" asked Harriett.

  "Can I tame a raven?"

  Harriett and Annett cast each other a wary look.

  "You will do no such thing, Child," Harriett reproved, her voice grew stern. "Should any of those kinds of creatures ever come near you, you invoke the name of Brigid.” The old nurse kissed a medal hanging around her neck, then returned to her pottery, muttering to herself. “Bad luck, I tell you, playing with strange animals. Tear out your eyes, it will!”

  "I haven’t any eyes to worry about, Nurse," Daphne countered in a matter-of-fact tone. She’d heard the term ‘blindness’ spewed constantly by Harriett and the others, but could never comprehend its meaning.

  Harriett gazed pitifully at her. Only eight years old and she sounded like a grown woman. It made the old nurse sad that her youth wasn’t being spent with other children her own age.

  "It's dreadful bad luck, dear, if those sort of birds come about,” she went on, her voice had grown soft again.

  "Why?" asked Daphne, tilting her head in wonder.

  "Those kinds of birds carry the souls of the dead across the black waters of the Netherworld. They carry them to Her, The Morrigan, they do. And they can bring vengeful spirits about with them. Doubt it not, love, and be wary of."

  Harriett shortly returned to her spinning.

  Daphne sighed, and hopped out of the wicker chair. She strolled away disappointed, hearing the sympathetic murmurs of ‘the poor little dear' behind her.

  She couldn't understand it. Harriett was always feeding her stories of witches and ravens by the mouthful, and now she was ineffectively trying to douse her curiosity. They all wanted her to stay away, yet Daphne could feel herself being drawn to the raven like a magnet. It was as if her soul was withering in a kind of darkness, and she’d never felt truly complete until she heard the raven’s call by her bedroom window.

  

  Harriett had helped her into a black button-up blouse and a black skirt with black stockings and black little shoes. She combed out her long black hair and tied it back with a bright yellow bow, then guided Daphne downstairs to her lessons.

  The hours rolled slowly by, and Daphne remained alert, in c
ase the raven would come back.

  She imagined the sun being swallowed by rainclouds, she could hear the faraway roar of thunder. She loved the rain, she loved splashing in its puddles on the pavement.

  She hit the wrong note on the piano, and her tutor tapped her wrist with his infernal ruler.

  “Ow!” Daphne frowned, wringing her hand.

  “No, no, no. You’re doing it wrong, again,” her tutor said, exasperated. “This finger goes here-,” he directed her pinky to one key, “and this one goes here.” He set her index finger on another. “You hit the key of this one first, and then the other-”

  What on Pansphere was he babbling on about?

  The large cloak in the hallway donged.

  Daphne’s fingers slammed on the keys, and her tutor shuddered.

  She was finally allowed her pastime, and she felt her way to the foyer, to the oaken doors leading outside, when Harriett stopped her on the porch.

  “Sun’s been swallowed up by rainclouds,” the old nurse stated.

  “Can’t I go outside to play?” Daphne asked.

  “Child, you’ll do no such thing. I’ll not have you ruining your clothes.”

  Daphne sighed in discontent. She loved the rain, and couldn’t understand why everyone else was afraid of it.

  Lunch was served in the huge dining hall – laid out with fruits, warm breads and roasted ham. Daphne followed the scent of baked pastries and, after feeling out a seat, hopped on top. She had to reach over the elongated mahogany table to gather some food onto her plate.

  Usually Harriett was the one to feed her her meals, but she had gone outside with Annett to gather the laundry before the downpour came.

  Daphne ate in silence, listening to Barnaby humming in the pantry just on the other side of the hall. The strawberry pastry had always been her favorite, and Daphne savored each bite.

  Thunder rumbled outside, and she perked up, feeling raindrops hit her head and blur her Sight while she flew through the rain, searching for a way inside the manor.

  She stepped up on her chair to reach over for a second serving, when the Raven bolted down the hall and landed atop of the table.

  “Croak!” Its feathers ruffled, water droplets struck Daphne’s face.

  She grew excited at the sight of the blind, raven-haired girl again, half-reaching over a table for food. She set down her knife and fork and slid out of her seat.

  “Follow me!” the blind girl called as the Raven flew off.

  It ascended a staircase to her bedroom. Daphne wrapped her fingers around the railing and climbed the steps.

  The blind girl appeared in the bedroom doorway. She shuddered as the Raven swooped down upon her, screeching. She glimpsed It through the mirror on the vanity, perched on the windowsill by the withered rose wreathes.

  Daphne calmed her breath. "Come to me," she told It, extending her arm toward It.

  "Croak!" the Raven replied, and then It lifted on Its dark wings and glided to her arm.

  Daphne gasped as It climbed over her sleeve like It would a tree branch, Its claws biting into her skin.

  "Croak!" the Raven grated, and she winced.

  She strived not to make any sudden movements, her heart beat wildly with excitement in her chest as she turned her face to the Raven’s, and was met with the blank face of the blind girl. They frowned at each other.

  The Raven tilted Its feathery head as It gawked at the mirror. The blind girl stood within it, with the Raven perched beside her head. It was the most beautiful bird Daphne had ever seen, with feathers as dark as the blind girl’s curls. She lifted her other hand to stroke Its fine black wings, watching the blind girl through the looking glass while she mimicked her.

  "Croak!"

  The Raven startled her with Its abrupt departure. Daphne chased after It down the stairs, through a door in the pantry that led outside. A drizzle touch Its eyes and she blinked. The Raven swerved through a maze of mermaid statues scattered around the lawn. Daphne slipped, landing in a rose bush. Moist leaves swiped her cheeks. She followed the Raven’s croaks and beating wings through the plants, out into the open field again. It had latched Itself onto ivy that covered the enormous gate surrounding the estate – Daphne wasn’t allowed on the other side of it.

  The Raven gazed down at the blind girl; her black dress was damp, her black stockings were torn and muddy, her black hair was tangled with leafy twigs.

  "Come to me,” Daphne beckoned, reaching out her hand to It.

  The Raven hopped along the grassy twines, then flew for her. Its claws dug into the flesh on her thin shoulder where It marked Its territory. Daphne reached her hand to feel its wings again, Its feathers were moist from the rain.

  "Rayne..." Daphne whispered, tipping her head back, giggling as the droplets trickle onto her face.

  She snuck back into the house, holding the Raven close to her belly. Its eyes guided her as she tiptoed to her bedroom and gently closed the door. She placed Rayne on the cushioned seat by the vanity and dried Its feathers off with a towel. She dried her own hair afterward, then settled on the chair beside the Raven. Rayne hopped on top of the armrest, then fluttered to the vanity to peck at the cluster of fine jewels and pearls and hair brushes crammed atop it.

  Daphne looked into the mirror again, the glass was shaded with ware.

  "That's me..." she said, the blind girl pointed to the Raven through the mirror. "Rayne."

  The Raven croaked with excitement, as if acknowledging Its name.

  "That's me." She pointed to the blind girl next. “Daphne…”