The Congregation

Roughly 10 miles across the wilderness (as the crow flies) a murder of crows congregated in a clearing outside a well known tavern ‘The Sad Spider’

They were heckling a lady inside.

“Lady Oktober, Lady Oktober come outside and play with us. Let us peck out your eyes and nest in your hair.”

One particular crow was carrying a large ruby ring in his beak which in fact, belonged to Lady Oktober. It glimmered and glowed faintly as the day was drawing to a close.

Inside the tavern, a log fire roared to drown out the buffoonery. The locals were full of merriment (and indeed ale) however, something was stirring.

From the darkest corner of the room, a darker shade of black shadow emerged. It was Lady Oktober. She had become a permanent fixture at the tavern for several months now, for the crows outside had been threatening to peck out her eyes for sometime.

It was evident from their voices that they hadn’t eaten in a while.

Lady Oktober had taken their mother from their nest when they were born - a mere ingredient for a spell which she’d cast upon King Merlot.  They had held a grudge ever since.

For it was Lady Oktober that introduced the guide dragons into the towns.  Enticing and snaring them as they sipped from her pools within the forest. Everybody knew dragons were unable to resist the Heloitrope waters, these pools were polluted with spells.

Each cooling drop sipped, resulting in ‘brain freeze’ which would freeze the beasts’ brain and extinguish its inner fire. 

These dragons were no longer a threat to the people and made very good slaves, they also generated a very good income for Lady Oktober as she operated an establishment over at Gheywood which was the sole source of food for these guide dragons. ‘The Vera Plant’ this plant kept them in check (or so she’d have people believe) Fed on anything else, they would turn and nobody wanted that.

She was a witch in almost every which way; hideously ugly, ratty hair and she had a wart on her big cranky old nose!  She slouched against her broomstick. Her cat had recently gained a fair bit of weight and had ran away (or rather slinked off as cats tend to do) One crucial element was missing though; she possessed not one magical power. Not an ounce of hocus pocus.

It hadn’t always been like this, Lady Oktober was once feared by many, inhabiting the woodlands on the outskirts of the town and nobody had dared to enter them except to purchase a dragon from her. Those with money could pass.

It was the ring that gave her power and she was nothing without it.

A short way from the tavern, a unicorn came a galloping, except it was no ordinary unicorn.  Where there should have been a single horn, lay 2 rather large, ugly bulls horns.  Noticeably distressed it trotted into the tavern.

The locals gasped, for they’d never seen a unicorn with sideway horns before.  It was a rather odd situation.

“What is your name oh wondrous creature?” begged the locals.

Clearing his throat, he replied “My name is Fyn and I come from Norwood (the next town along) less than an hour ago, a man with a chip on his shoulder passed through our town.  I offered to show his fortune in exchange for a ring he wore upon his finger.

His future looked cloudy so I couldn’t give him an accurate reading.  He became enraged and accused me of getting smart. He called me a stubborn twitard!

The locals gasped.

“Before I knew it, I was on all fours, growing a tail and these great things” He gestured towards his horns.

He failed to mention the countless people he’d conned that day and how he had actually tried to pilfer The Chameleons gold sovereign ring during a palm reading.

The locals looked baffled but carried on nonetheless, there was ale to be sunk, it was a remarkable story but generally quite accepted in these parts as it was indeed the age of wizardry and witchcraft.

A large pitcher of ale was poured for Fyn and placed onto the bar. “Any chance of a straw?” He asked.

As the attention was soon bought back to horseplay, Fyn found himself a resting place near the open fire.  It warmed his spirit ever so slightly (though this could have been the ale) he felt a cold touch upon his mane.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on some trivial pursuit across land?” It was Lady Oktober.

“How, old lady, is it possible, that you know that much when I didn’t go that far into detail?”

“The Chameleon, that is what they call him.  He passes through every couple of decades when the gods decide there’s a good vs wicked contrast. Like they would know” Fyn felt uncomfortable as Lady Oktober eyed him. She was ghastly in every sense but she had his full attention nonetheless.

“I can help you” She continued “But you will need to do me a favor first before I can raise the spell”

“What is it you ask of me? I am incapable of human tasks”

Lady Oktober paused for a moment, her stare fixated.

“There’s a mass of crows outside with a vendetta. I picked their mother from their nest to use as part of a spell etc.  They’ve never forgotten.

The ringleader holds a ruby ring in its beak. Without this ring, my spells are weak and pointless. With the ring, I can lift your curse.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Fyn candidly.

“Did the crows watch you enter the tavern?” asked the witch.

Fyn shook his head.

Together they concocted a dastardly plan.

Outside, the crows were constructing a pecking order. Each wanted to be the first to scratch the witch’s eyes out.

They were disturbed by a commotion outside the tavern and flew close-by to listen in.

“Help! I’ve caught a witch, her feeble attempt to turn me into a unicorn has failed and I now have her tied to this here string” Fyn’s voice was desperate and sounded genuine, the crows flew to assist, in turn they each held onto the string and heaved. They were eager to drag the witch outside and get at her.

They just weren’t strong enough to pull her out.

The ringleader grabbed hold and took flight, at this moment, the ruby ring slid quickly down the piece of string and behind the tavern door.

All fell silent.

 

With an almighty “roar’ the witch flew through the tavern doors, she teased the crows as she circled them.

“Now change me back” shouted Fyn as the witch was circling overhead.

“No chance” she cackled “There is only one who can lift the curse; you were foolish to think otherwise. I can see now why The Chameleon would like to turn such an imbecile into a ridiculous looking creature. Follow your trivial pursuit, you might learn a thing or two” She rode off into the nearest forest, the crows hot on her tail.

Where is that blasted cat? she thought to herself.

Reviews

[Clayton Bardwell]

"a murder of crows" Isn't that a beautiful way to describe a bunch of ugly black birds?

I feel as though I have struck upon the beginning of something special, someone special. Your writing has the feel of adventures of days long past.