The Boy with the Crows

By Hope Ann

I found him by accident as I stumbled through the forest, cloaked in shadows.

The child was crouched in a patch of light, bare feet dusty against the packed earth. He was feeding the crows. They hopped about him, nipping at his clothing, brushing his face with their wings. He laughed.

It was the first laugh I’d heard in a hundred years.

The crows fluttered, then returned. He grinned, holding out his thin arm.

One child. One boy. I could pass my powers on and fade. I would have peace and he… He would grow up like me. Immortal. Tied to the rift, only able to step into the physical world every quarter of a century. Gifted with power, yet bound to watch those he loved die.

I reached out a trembling hand.

The lad looked up. I was glad he couldn’t see me through the veil that separated our worlds. I’d have frightened him. My great wings were gnarled. My clothes blackened. My arms twisted and bent. My steps unsteady. The price of power.

Power. More like loneliness. Death. Sorrow.

I should have released it centuries ago. I could reach through this rift now and lure the child close. Then finally rest.

But those eyes… blue eyes, like a spring morning sky. Filled with laughter.

My fingers closed over thin air.

My last hope and I let it go. I couldn’t burden the boy with this life. I couldn’t bind him to the rift, that invisible realm of power and sorrow which would steal that laughter away.

I stayed there that night. I had no strength to move.

The boy came the next day. And the next. Through the veil between us, I watched him feed crows. I watched him laugh.

I watched him grow.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered to the crows one day. He was tall and strong now. His eyes still laughed, but his lips didn’t. “I promise. The forest will burn if I don’t leave. The land will be destroyed by the fires if each man doesn’t do his part.” It seemed as if he turned and stared at me. “I’ll be back.”

That was ten years ago.

The rift parts around me, letting me enter the visible world for the last time. My form is too wasted to survive another twenty-five years.

He was my last chance at peace. At least I can feel the wind on my face and the sun on my crumbling skin.

I’m glad I get to rest here. In his place. His forest.

A crow flutters from a tree with a caw. I sink to a stump and pull out seed, cupping it as best I can. Another crow joins the first, and then another.

I don’t see the shadow of the warrior until it’s too late.

He stands, watching. Hand on his sword’s hilt.

I thought it would end differently. The glittering blade at his waist can’t kill me, but it will force me to fade back into the rift. I won’t have the strength to heal. I won’t have the strength to return to the physical realm.

He steps forward.

A seed spills through my twisted fingers.

The crows squawk, fluttering closer to peck it up. A wing brushes one knee. Another perches on my shoulder. Darling things. His things.

I brush the crow’s beak with a gnarled thumb. “It’s okay.”

It’s the end now.

The warrior’s weathered boots step before me.

He’ll be back. I promise.

There will be one less fae to pass on power. One more mindless spirit, drifting harmlessly through the rift.

Will I remember him then?

I close my eyes. Feathers brush against my fingers. Inquisitive beaks peck my skin.

Darkness.

And then, a warm hand touches my shoulder. “Hey.”

The word sounds like sunlight.

“I wondered if you’d be here,” he says.

The crows haven’t fled. They’re examining his boots now. I lift my head.

The warrior—he’s younger than I first thought. A tiny smile on his lips. A scar on his brow. Dusty hair sweeping his strong forehead. Eyes… Blue eyes…

“You changed since I last saw you,” he says.

Laughter lurks in those eyes. Less carefree, but still merry.

“You fed the crows,” I whisper.

He nods.

“You… saw me?”

“Every day. I wasn’t afraid of the monsters when you were here.”

My throat aches.

The hand on my shoulder steadies me. “I said I’d come back.”

“Yes.”

“You waited? All these years?”

I lift my eyes. To see him alive. To see him whole and safe. It’s enough. “I couldn’t abandon the crows.”

“No.” He stares at them still hopping around our feet. “I couldn’t either…” He falters.

I thought his face was young. I was wrong. Invisible lines etch his features. He’s tasted sorrow now. Death. Terror. Love.

His eyes meet mine again. “I brought someone.” He pulls aside his cloak.

My heart surges for the first time in ages. Air rushes into my lungs.

A child clings to the warrior’s leg. Blue eyes stare at me like cornflowers. Young eyes in a youthful face with the same thatch of hair I saw so many years ago.

“Come,” the father whispers. He gently unwinds the child’s arms. “He’s a friend.”

The child watches me. There’s laughter deep in his eyes, too. It’s wary, but it’s there.

“Well?” The father’s hands slip to the lad’s shoulders. “Go on. Ask.”

Silence, thrumming like a heartbeat.

The child takes a step. A warm touch brushes my own, then curls around them. “Your hands are cold,” he says.

“They’re very old.”

He looks at them, then cups his other hand around my stiff fingers. “I like them.” His gaze lifts to mine. “Will you teach me?”

“Teach you?” I hesitate, the words dusty in my throat. Behind him, his father smiles.

“Yes.” Laughter spills through the child’s eyes. “Will you teach me to feed the crows?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hope Ann entertains a mob of younger siblings, manages shifts at Culver’s, and writes a wide range of fantasy. Fueled by passion, relationships, and constant learning, she works to provide an escape from the grind of normal life through fiction and the sarcastic, no-nonsense inspirational posts on her blog.

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