Raven's Eye
Jay Caselberg

Iliana knew she was being watched. She couldn’t quite tell from where, but that slight tightening between her shoulders alerted her. She let her hand stray towards the hilt of the small dagger at her waist, while she continued to poke at the remnants of the poorly made fire before her. The ashes were cold now, but she could still catch the smell of them over the scent of old pine needles that littered the small clearing where she crouched. There was a larger blade strapped slantwise across her back, the hilt extending above her right shoulder, but she didn’t want to make any move toward it yet. Those she followed had left this clearing some time ago, but they could still be somewhere nearby, concealed within the surrounding trees.

Across the other side of the open space stood a bird, a large black, bird, its head cocked slightly to one side as if listening. Iliana narrowed her eyes at it, then glanced up at the sky. The light was starting to fade. Yet still she could not shake the feeling she was being observed. She flexed one shoulder, as if to shrug off the feeling, and glanced around the clearing edges, scanning the tall conifers for movement. The bird hopped a few steps, stopped, then tilted its head again. No, it couldn’t be the bird, could it? But Iliana had heard of such things, of birds and other creatures being more than they seemed.

She reached for a small lump of fire-blackened wood and tossed it in the bird’s direction. It flapped, rising briefly into the air, then settled, turning its head to peer at her, as if affronted.

“Well, what are you looking at?” she said.

Almost as if in response, it gave a rasping cry and took off into the air. It flapped around the clearing once, then disappeared among the treetops, leaving her alone with the noises of the forest. For a moment, she regretted her action. The bird had almost been company. Two days now, she had tracked through the hills, seeking her quarry with none but her self and the noises of the forest around her. She had seen signs of those she tracked, but that was hardly the same. Had it truly been two full days?

That afternoon, two days past, when she left the Old Mother’s cottage, Iliana had been filled with anger. Now it had mellowed somewhat, but she still felt the desire to mete out some sort of proper punishment to the ruffians who had done what they had to the old woman. She could still see the image of the old woman lying on the floor, half in, half out of her doorway, her leg strangely twisted.

The Old Mother said there were three or four of them, as Iliana had helped her struggle from the floor, taking care of the injured leg, eased her old frame into a wooden chair and looked around at the belongings strewn from shelves and tables, tossed haphazardly across the bare earth floor. The smell of herbs and dried plants, of liquors and potions, was pungent in the confines of the small wooden dwelling.

“Listen to me, daughter,” the old woman had said. “I will be all right. The leg is not so good, but it will heal. I ‘m not really hurt so as it won’t mend. But there is something more important. They took something from me — something they should not have. It was that which they came seeking.”

Iliana had crouched in front of her, peering up at the time etched face, looking into those dark and knowing eyes with concern.

“What is it they took, Old Mother?” she asked.

“No, Iliana. I cannot tell you that. You must find the men who took it and bring it back. You will know it when you see it. It’s a bundle wrapped in old red cloth and tied about with leather thongs.”

That was strange enough. Though Iliana pressed her, the old woman would not tell her more of what the bundle contained, and though she had visited the old woman many times, she had never seen such a bundle, nor where the old woman might hide it. Rather, she was more concerned about her oft-time mentor. There was a large bruise starting to form on the Old Mother’s forehead, a smear of dirt across her face, and Iliana had raised her hand, carefully pushing the strands of pale white hair away so she could see. The Old Mother gripped Iliana’s wrist.

“No, I can see to that,” she said. “It is what I do, after all. It ‘s more important that you attend to what you must.” She released Iliana’s wrist. “I knew this day would come. Go. Find them. Bring it back.”

“But if you knew —?” said Iliana.

The old woman leaned forward and gripped Iliana’s chin with one hand and leaned forward, fixing her with a stern gaze. “This is what you must do, child. Now go.”

When Iliana stood, the Old Mother gave a satisfied nod, and then winced and frowned, the discomfort evident on her face. Iliana hesitated, but the old woman waved her away.

“Do as you must, child,” she said. “But do it well. Do it as I know you can.”

With those last words, she left the old woman sitting there, troubled to be doing so, her anger reaching up inside her, her jaw clenched tight. Whoever these men were, they would pay for what they had done.

The Old Mother had always been there, teaching, guiding, showing her things, ever since the times she first could remember. Iliana had never really known her birth mother. She had died when Iliana was barely three summers old. Instead, Iliana had grown up with her father, who taught her the ways of the forests, and how to use a blade and bow, how to track the signs on the forest floor and seek the paths in the more treacherous places. The Old Mother had tried to teach her about potions and the uses of various herbs and ingredients, but Iliana had shown more aptitude for other things, feeling more at home with a good strong hilt in her hand, rather than a collecting pouch. She was at home running between the trees or stalking silently, her bow held at the ready, the subtle scents and sounds of the forest all around her.

She missed her bow now. The fury that burned inside her had left her thoughts muddled. She had grabbed a few provisions, strapped on her sword, and taken off into the forest, not even thinking to leave word for her father. Later, when she realized, she knew that she could trust the Old Mother to give him word, but then she had no other thought driving her than to find the men who had done this thing.

She had little trouble determining which way they had gone. It was clear that they knew little of the forest, stumbling through the needles and small brush, leaving a clear trail. She had no idea how long ago they had left, but with such clear signs, she knew she would have little trouble tracking them down. Such hasty flight worried her. It was almost as if they had run in fear. Fear of what they had done? Fear of the Old Mother? No, that could not be possible. She was just an old woman living in the forest, after all.

But now, she could sense she was close to her quarry. Iliana played the events of that afternoon two days ago in her mind, as she sought a place to rest the night. She would start early in the morning, at first light. As she pushed a thick pile of dry needles together to make her bed, the picture of the old woman lying there kept returning to haunt her. They would pay for what they had done.

She heard the first sounds of them mid morning. She was nearing the edge of the forest, the trees thinning and low scrubby bushes filling the spaces around their bases. The sound of voices drifted through the forest’s edge, and Iliana slowed her pace. Picking her path carefully, she moved from tree to tree, keeping herself concealed as much as she could as she approached the forest’s edge. She peered from behind a concealing branch, looking out on a sloping hillside, tufted grasses and the occasional bush breaking up the slightly uneven slope.

There were three of them, not four, sitting around the remains of a fire. She scanned the surrounding area, seeking a fourth, but there was no sign of any movement. It looked as if they were just now rising for the day, yet nearly a third of the day was already gone. She spotted a tree that would give her a better view, and carefully shifted her position, padding across the dry carpet of needles that cushioned the sound of her passage. This tree was closer, and the sound of their voices came to her more clearly. They were grumbling among themselves.

“Urghhh,” said one. “My head hurts, and my mouth is like…”

“What do you expect?” said another. “You near finished all the wineskins yourself last night.”

“Well, we deserved it, didn’t we?” said the first. “We’ll be home soon, and then we can celebrate proper.”

The speaker was thick set, with matted dark hair hacked short about a square face. The other was thin, ratty-faced with lank blond strands hanging around his dirty features. Iliana could not see the third one’s face. His back was toward her.

“I don’t like it, Haron,” said Rat-Face. “We should have waited.”

The third one spoke then, standing as he did so. He had long dark hair, tied behind his head, and he was tall. He busied himself with strapping a belt around his waist, in it, an ugly broadsword.

“Well, you can forget about that,” he said. “We’re far enough away from the old witch now. You worry too much. You’ll feel different once we get paid.”

Rat-Face spoke again. “Well, I still say you shouldn’t have hit her.”

The tall one laughed. There was something cruel and cold in the laugh, and Iliana felt the anger rising in her once again.

“You don’t like it, Flit, you shouldn’t be along.” He turned, scanning the tree line, and Iliana shrank back. He had a dark, high- cheekboned face and even at this distance, she could see the scar running across one cheek and across his nose. He turned around.

“For all we know, the old witch is dead. She would be if you hadn’t pulled me back,” he said and laughed again.

Iliana ground her teeth, and started reaching for her sword hilt. The other two were standing now, reaching for their packs and weapons. The man with the scar pushed Rat-Face and laughed again as his companion stumbled back and landed on his rump. Iliana stepped out from her hiding spot, determined to put an end to this right now. She was easing her sword out, striding forward, when a black flurry burst from the trees, right in her path, squawking and croaking up into her face. She stumbled back, hands in front of her face and quickly ducked into her place of concealment. Just as well she did, because the one with the scar had swung around, looking for the source of the commotion.

Her breath coming in short gasps, Iliana withdrew behind the tree, her gaze darting around the branches and trunks that surrounded her. There it was. It was that cursed black bird again. A raven, she thought. She had no doubt it was the same one. It perched on a half-denuded branch, watching her, its head cocked to one side.

She narrowed her eyes and hissed at it, then slowly looked around the tree again. Another figure was approaching over an intervening rise, fumbling with the front of his clothing. Iliana let out a long, low breath. The bird could not know what a favor it had just done her. There were four of them after all. If she had emerged from the trees when she had tried to, the fourth would have caught her unawares, probably warned the others. He too had a sword strapped at his hip. She watched as he approached the three men. He too was tall, brown hair to his shoulders, and across his shoulders, he carried a bundle. Iliana bit her lip. It was something wrapped in faded red cloth. She glanced back at the bird, but it had already departed.

“Aren’t you lot ready yet?” he said in a rough voice. “Come on. Get moving.” There was a confident swagger to his step as he neared.

Iliana thought quickly. As much as she relished the thought of giving these men their proper due, there was no way she could take them here in the open. She would have to find some other way to deal with them. Perhaps to take them one by one, but to do so without arousing the others’ suspicions would be hard. She watched as they made ready their possessions and headed off over the hill, all the while grumbling abuse at each other. Thankfully, the direction they took kept them reasonably close to the tree line, so she was able to track them for a few hours without breaking cover.

Finally, toward early afternoon, they broke their trek, dumped their packs and pulled out provisions. Good! She watched and waited. Even though she wasn’t really paying attention to what they talked about, the few snatches that she did catch fueled her low opinion of them even more. A small finger of forest stretched out in front of them. She judged the distance and thought they were close enough to it to serve her purposes. One of the men, the one Rat-Face had called Haron, belched and clambered to his feet. He looked around, muttered something to his companions, then lumbered toward the trees, close to the spot where Iliana stood in concealment. If this was to work, she had to act quickly.

She was holding her breath, intent on the man’s next actions, when a noise from above grabbed at her attention. She glanced up quickly. The cursed bird was back again. She bared her teeth at it. She couldn’t have it interfere now. What was it doing following her anyway? She turned her focus back to the approaching ruffian, praying silently that the bird would keep its place.

As he entered the trees, already working at the ties on his stained leather trousers, she shrank back out of sight. Gently, she eased her knife from her belt. She couldn’t afford for this one to make any noise. He only walked a few paces before he started to squat, but before he was half way through the action, Iliana was upon him. He grunted as he felt her hand curl around his shoulder, but that was the last real sound he made. She drew her knife quickly across his throat, pressing one knee against his back for extra purchase.

The man fell like a sack, clutching at his throat, his eyes wide. Iliana felt no compunction. She had done similar putting a wounded beast out of its misery. The warm smell of blood was around her, and she shook her head and stepped back. There was no regret in what she’d just done, but there was no satisfaction, either. She frowned as she watched him die, wondering at the lack of feeling, then stepped quickly back to see what the other three were doing. They were still squatting in a semi-circle, waiting, she thought. Rat-Face had his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his hands.

Quick action was even more important now. Iliana made her rapidly to the stand of trees jutting to one side of their group. Noting each of their positions, she drew her sword and took a deep breath, steeling herself. There would be no warning. She charged.

Iliana ran at full speed, her sword held aloft. The men were just starting to turn as she reached their position. She brought her blade down, slashing to one side, catching Rat-Face in the thigh as she passed. He toppled to the side, clutching at his wounded leg, squawling like a baby. The other two were scrabbling for their weapons as she spun, ready to slash again. Slowly, the two remaining men got to their feet. Rat-Face lay on the ground where she had hit him, blubbering.

The one with the scar glanced at his other companion, the man with the rough voice. He was waving his sword back and forth, a cruel grin on his face.

“Well, what have we here?” he said. There was nothing about his tone that Iliana liked.

Iliana, her body feeling charged, her breath coming quickly, saw that leering face and felt the anger wash through her anew. She took a deliberate step forward. He gestured to the one with the scar to move around to her side. She glanced at him and narrowed her eyes. The whimpering sound from the man on the ground broke through to her. She couldn’t afford to let her fury rule her.

“I want no more hurt here,” she said through clenched teeth. “You have taken something that is not yours. I have come to take it back.”

“Have you now? So the old witch has sent you, has she?”

Before the last word was out of his lips, he lunged, but Iliana was ready for him. She sidestepped the thrust, and whirled, bringing her sword up to block a slashing blow from her side. The impact went right through her blade and shook her arm, but she turned rapidly, blocking another thrust from the first man.

“Give it back and it’s finished,” she said.

“It’ll be finished long before then,” said the first, grinning evilly with bared teeth.

There was a flicker in his eyes, and Iliana spun to the left, barely bringing up her blade in time to block a wicked down stroke from the man with the scar. Iliana knew what to do. She fell to one knee, as if the stroke had driven her to the ground. The scarred ruffian was leaning forward into his stroke. In one quick move, Iliana thrust up with her other hand, burying her small knife in his belly. He fell back, clutching at the hilt, a look of shock on his face. In an instant she was on her feet, her sword at the ready.

The first one was regarding her warily now. “You will pay for this,” he said with a growl, and charged. There was no smile there now. She could see the rage on his face. She danced out of the way of his charge. Flustered he turned, his face contorting. He charged again. Iliana stepped lightly back, drawing him in. He lifted his sword high, ready to bring it down in a skull-crushing blow, but as he did so, he left himself exposed. Iliana thrust forward, catching him in the chest. Her sword slid deep. With a heave, she pulled it free.

The man, at the top of his upswing, staggered back, dropped his sword behind him and collapsed to his knees. With a strangled growl, he fell to the side.

Iliana looked around at her handiwork. Rat-Face was still whimpering, huddled where she had left him. The one with the scar was groaning weakly, hands clutched to his belly, blood leaking out between his fingers. It wasn’t enough. She would finish the job. She glanced over at the red-wrapped bundle. There was her prize, but she hadn’t finished yet. She saw the Old Mother lying there on the ground, the marks of violence on her face, and her rage welled up in her anew. She strode over the where Rat-Face lay, looking up at her, fear painted over his wide-eyed face. She lifted her sword.

“P-please,” he said. “Please.”

She hesitated, seeking sense from the conflicting urges warring inside her. A croaking cry came from somewhere far up in a tree, and she glanced over. She looked down at the man, whimpering on the ground below her.

“P-please. I have children. I have a family.”

Slowly, Iliana lowered her sword.

She pointed at the man with the scar with her sword. “Go,” she said to Rat-Face. “Take him with you. Find some better way to look after your family.”

Rat-Face got unsteadily to his feet. Still looking fearfully at Iliana, he hobbled over to where the other man lay and helped him struggle to his feet, still clutching at his belly.

“Th-thank you,” he said as he passed.

She watched them as they staggered and limped off out of the clearing, supporting each other. She did not know if the one with the scar would survive the gut wound, but if they got to a healer soon enough, he might. The knife was small, and it would not have gone deep. She had at least given him the chance of living. She stepped over and retrieved the knife, wiped it clean, and replaced it in her belt.

Suddenly feeling drained, she squatted on the ground and proceeded to wipe her sword clean on the grass beside her.

A raucous call from above grew her gaze skyward. The cursed black bird, again! It circled the clearing then swept down toward her. She gripped her sword hilt more tightly. If the bird was going to attack her again…

The bird alighted on the cloth-wrapped bundle and Iliana tried to shoo it away with a wave of her arm. The beast fluttered briefly upward, and then came to rest again, standing on the bundle. It fixed her with one shining eye. Iliana stood back up, her fists planted on her hips.

“What is it you want, bird?”

Her large, feathered tormenter hopped up and down the length of the bundle, and then cocked its head again. She lifted her sword. If the creature would not move, then she would move it.

The bird opened its beak. “Iliana,” it croaked.

She shook her head. It had sounded like her name, but how could that be?

“Iliana,” it said again.

She crouched then, a frown upon her brow. “Did you speak, bird?”

“Put down your sword.”

With a gasp, she regained her feet and backed away a few steps, her blade held in the guard position. “Wh-what?” she said.

The bird stepped along the length of the bundle, spread its wings as if to take to the air again, then settled once more, its feather ruffled.

“The cursed things sometimes have a mind of their own,” croaked the bird. “Put down your weapon, Iliana.”

She glanced around, looking for some sort of trick, looking for who it was making sport of her, scanning the edges of the small clearing, searching for who stood hidden in the shadows of the trees.

“Will you listen, child?”

It was the bird, no question, and the voice was familiar. Her mouth gone dry, her heart pounding in her chest, she lowered her weapon and hesitantly placed it on the grass. She had to be sure. This could be some sort of trick.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“You know who I am, child. What you did was well done, and I am pleased you have retrieved what I sent you for.”

“Yes, of course,” said the bird. “Now listen to me. I cannot hold this creature for too much longer — willful thing.”

The bird hopped off the bundle and stood looking at her, its head slightly cocked. “Take the package and open it. It would have been yours before long, but it is yours now. You have shown you are ready.”

As Iliana stepped forward and reached down to the bundle, the bird hopped out of her way, its wings spreading as if preparing for flight again.

“Hurry, child,” it said.

Iliana tore at the leather thongs wrapping the package, laid it on the ground and started slowly folding back the faded red cloth. There was some design on the material, but it was so faint she could barely make it out. Turning back the last flap of cloth, she gasped. There, revealed, lay a sword like no other she had seen. The hilt was finely worked, a serpent tightly coiled around the grip. The blade itself was silver, shining, a light green sheen evident in the metal. A scent washed up from the cloth, strange, like the smell of air before a storm.

“Pick it up, child.”

“N-no. I couldn’t,” she said.

“Do as I tell you, Iliana. The sword is yours by right.”

She reached forward gingerly, touching her fingers to the hilt. There was a slight tingle as her fingertips met the cold metal. And it was cold. Colder than it should have been, by rights. Surprised, she snatched her hand away.

“Go on,” croaked the bird. “Pick it up.”

Again she reached for the blade, this time grasping it firmly. She lifted the sword, feeling the tingle in her arm, feeling the cold metal solid in her grasp. She stood, holding the sword before her. The weight was right, so right. She could feel the balance in the blade. The hilt molded to her grip, is if it were made for her. She held the weapon up, marveling at the strange green sheen, turning it in the light.

“Iliana,” said the bird.

She tore her attention from the blade and turned to look at the creature standing there.

“I cannot hold this beast much longer. You have fought well, yet you mastered your anger. You showed mercy when it was necessary. It’s as it should be. You have earned the blade. You will need that strength in times to come, because you have been chosen by the fates for this task, many summers past. I was shown that you were born to bear this blade, but you must do so with mercy and wisdom. Your anger could have ruled you, but you ruled it when it was needed. Know this weapon – it is Serpent’s Kiss. Those who took it would have carried it to a man who would wield it in your stead. You have stopped that happening, for now.”

The black bird squawked and hopped a few paces, its wings again making as if to beat the air.

“Be still, bird,” it croaked. “I cannot stay too much more,” it said. “Now, come back. Come back to me. We have much to talk about before you are finally ready to leave and follow your destiny.”

With a mighty croak, the bird shot into the air, its wings beating, a single feather floating down to rest on the ground where it had stood. Iliana tracked it as it rose rapidly into the sky and disappeared from sight.

She looked down at the single feather, then back to the blade held before her, wondering at what had just happened.

“Serpent’s Kiss,” she said quietly, turning the blade this way and that, looking at the way the colors slid along its length.

Slowly, carefully, she placed it down on the faded cloth and wrapped the precious weapon. She tied what remained of the leather thongs around the bundle, holding the cloth secure, then stood and retrieving her own, old sword, slid it back in place behind her back. She still could not believe that such a weapon could be hers. She hefted the bundle beneath one arm. The Old Mother had said she was not ready, and inside, Iliana knew that the old woman was right. What did the Old Mother have planned for her? That was, if it was truly the Old Mother, and not some trickster in the shape of a bird. But she had the sword. That was proof enough.

As she turned and headed for the forest’s edge, she knew that the Old Mother was right – they indeed had much to talk about.