Might and wisdom are like two ravens. They always come as a pair. If you fail to exert one with caution, the other one will teach you restraint. That’s what her uncle always used to tell her before he passed away. His ring weighed heavy in her hands as steady eyes fled across the waves, chasing after those small dinghies. Hastily rowing as much distance as possible between themselves and the giant ship, they soon shrunk to tiny little dots on the liquid horizon. Sun was setting them ablaze; a golden pearl slowly falling down into the ocean, diving deep and erasing all traces of light above. It would become a restless night for all of them.
Cold winds raced around the rear of the monstrous vessel. Tides were moaning, casting a foreshadow on events about to unfold. Smouldering for centuries, a rupture in the temporal fabric was written all over the tracks she had been following, leading her aboard this cruiser she now called her own. Observation and guidance; she was ordered to escort this uncommon crew. Unfortunately, standing by in modesty while fate was in full swing, she never counted among her virtues. Uncle would’ve not approved.
Her elder had reminded her about the law of the veil, before she left. Two ravens were allowed to cross the borders, not more. The balance of the worlds had to be sustained, or else chaos would reign—on each side of the gates. Surely, she did not intend to cause more dissonance, but to preserve both timeline and bloodline, it would take more than just be witness.
A clunky beak infiltrated her perception. Abraxis could sense when his companion was plotting. Soothing strokes to his chin kept the coal one calm enough to not croak and disturb her final thoughts about decisions that had to be made against decrees given. Carefully, her thumb rubbed on the outside of the silver ring. Such legendary piece of accessory, crafted by the finest blacksmith of Transylvania and passed on from a father to his son. I. H.—her grandfather’s initials on the inside were not simply carved into the steel. They were engraved with some sort of acid, saltpetre maybe, and then burnished into the ring with remarkable expertise. Its cunning capture by a raven became the blueprint for a family’s coat of arms. How long has it been since it last flaunted on a war banner? When was the last time it stood guard in a great hall filled with lords and ladies of old? No more cheerful praises for brave knights, who defended a kingdom entire against a threat from the East. No bedtime stories told in children’s chambers anymore, about the last voivods of the Carpathians. Except for one.
Throaty moaning tickled her ear. Abraxis was restless, just as the tides on which some freed prisoners were about to make their escape. Far away their yawls had rowed now—almost far enough for their passengers to not recognise the pulsing purple glow atop the wheelhouse, opening a portal to the otherside. Too small for greater transfers yet, but a modestly sized messenger would easily make its way through. One last time, she closed her fist around the ring, as if she meant to store a tiny portion of her life energy within the metal. Then she took her dagger and cut a strand of her black hair loose. Braiding it around the jewellery, Abraxis didn’t seem amused by her decision. Delivering it to Baba, he would, nonetheless. Wide, he spread his dark wings to leave her shoulder. Her expression frozen, she bid him farewell with a brief nod into the air then watched him glide up to the purple crystal which had led the ship across more than seven seas.
On a hunt through time and space, it had been for weeks. Her prey was close, though she was not meant to claim it. Only two were allowed to set foot on land at mortal shores, and it wasn’t her call. No, she was supposed to stay on deck. Doubtful if she could comply with her elder’s regulation. The young rebels had become so dear to her that she’d support their cause no matter what. After all, they reminded her so much of herself at their age. Leaving her countless years aside, one might easily have mistaken her for one of their peers. Centuries barely left their mark upon her face, yet her mind and mentality were more that of a crone than her appearance suggested. Who would’ve thought that immortality had such wondrous ways? Closer to eternity than any human being yet living death with every breath expelled into the open. Anyhow, it might have been the secret ace up her sleeves in this conflict. Trouble was nigh. She could smell the rotten stench of betrayal against the breeze that blew the sails. No need to turn around and scan the danger afront the bow. Vividly, the image of ghostly horrors built up in her mind completely on its own. A massacre was ahead. Blood and guts were to be spilled.
Shivering heat suddenly took hold of her—irritated her icy mimic. Her dark gift let her feel deep passion of two crew members on the deck below her. Two dedicated assassins, whose hunger for revenge was just surpassed by their hunger for another. Barely noticeable was her smile about such untamed desires. She felt everything at once—all their love and hate and dreams and fears. Some rare minutes of privacy they well deserved. But fate was less patient and understanding than their warden. Bassy vibrations of a war horn soon disrupted her thoughts, right when sudden purple lightning swallowed Abraxis mid-flight, pulling him to the realms beyond the portal sphere. Hope remained that she’d see him again when all this treason had been laid to rest with cold steel in even colder waves of a world that once was her home. For now, though, hopes and wishes would not suffice. Blades, magic and determination were the only things capable of winning the upper hand in this war of houses. The enemy had become too bold and reckless. One could only get away with insolence for so long. There was no greater mistake they could have made than to question her ancestry. Despite all rumours, her lineage was far from dead. Even if she were to lose her life tonight, she’d die peacefully, knowing the raven’s coat of arms would fly again way after she was gone. Her own descendant would make sure of it with unbribable willpower.
