The Secret Of The Raven

Chapter One - Through The Gates

It must have been the winter of 1494, though it was quite possibly '93 or '95. Unfortunately, the events throughout my life that followed have wearied my mind, and I cannot quite recall exactly when it happened. I was sitting in my mother's arms, and she twirled a shaky finger around one of my ringlets of chestnut hair. Vaguely, I recall looking up at her face, and seeing her smile, though she was very pale with tears in her eyes and her hair, once, I believe, a shade of blonde like gold, seemed to be slightly sprinkled with grey. However, her smile convinced my young self that she was happy, so I thought nothing of the rest of her features. I had looked away from her, and glanced back at the Raven as he lead his twelve disciples, among them my father, to the large table at which we were already sitting.

The walls were adorned with windows made of stained glass, creating images that told stories of knights, of bravery and courage, of God and peace. The men each lit a candle that in front of them on the table, one for each disciple. Though all thirteen men were cloaked in black velvet lined with black feathers, I noticed a russet coloured beard on one of them, and grinned mindlessly as I knew him as my father.

"Papa!" I whispered, when my mother almost violently clamped her hand over my mouth, and glared at me. What had I done wrong?

The Raven then recited a passage from the Bible in Latin, and as an infant child I hardly expected myself to understand what he was saying, so I tried to understand what was happening through other clues. The disciples were tense in their posture, and all had curled fists with white knuckles. They treated the Raven as if he was a living Jesus; they seemed to worship him and listen to him like the twelve disciples had done with Jesus. The Raven looked at my mother, and her hands gently made their way to mine, and she squeezed them tight. She looked down at me, and brought her lips to my ear.

"Listen, Emeline. You are my daughter, and my only child, and I will always love you, you understand?" she said, still smiling. I grinned back and nodded, though inside I was confused. My mother let go of one of my hands for a moment to wipe a tear away, but then brought it back. "Good. Now, I'll be away for a few days, so you'll live with Papa," she continued, and she gave my father a wary sideways glance. I could barely see his face, but I noticed that under the shadow of the hood that hid his face, his teeth were barred, like a hungry wolf preparing to go for the kill. "Your are my daughter Emeline. Don't forget that." Why would I forget that? At the time, it seemed the most absurd request.

She then stood up, took the Raven by the hand, and he led her away to another room, and the clinking sound of the bolts fastening behind them. One by one, eleven of the disciples blew out the candles they held, leaving us in almost complete blackness except for the lone candle that remained, and I heard footsteps enter the hall. A group of cloaked men carried a casket into the room, and set it upon the table.

The Raven then emerged from the room, but my mother didn't follow. He opened the lid of the coffin, and looked at the body inside, which I couldn't see from where I was sitting.

"Young man," the Raven said, "I'm telling you to come back to life!"

Nothing happened.

"He has not accepted the new form we have supplied for him," a disciple said.

"Shut up!" screeched the Raven, lifting his wings as if he was about to take flight. "Damn the body! Damn the soul! What more can we do, unless God has told us lies?"

"Master-" a disciple protested.

"No!" shouted the Raven. "God has lied! He always has! Unless..." he chuckled. "Find another!"

My father was next to speak. "Master, this has been going on for twelve years! Surely we can't go on like this forever?"

"We will," whispered the Raven hoarsely. "We will, and when we die, our sons will continue our work."