THE PATH UNTO THE KING - PART I: THROUGH WOODS THAT REMEMBER Dante came for me shortly before dusk. No stone. No feather. No dreadful little relic dredged from whatever forgotten archive Gerald had entrusted to him. He merely waited upon the branch outside my window. Watching. I already knew. “So.” I fastened my coat. “The King has been tested.” Tap. I stopped. There are moments when a single sound may bear the weight of centuries. This was one. “And?” Dante said nothing. Of course. “Insufferable little bastard.” He flew. I followed. The woods received us reluctantly. There are forests which welcome the traveler beneath green boughs and birdsong. This was not such a place. The deeper Dante led me, the more the trees seemed to gather inward, their ancient limbs entwining overhead like the crooked fingers of drowned men reaching toward one another through black water. The evening light withered. Roots rose from the earth like petrified veins. And beneath my boots... the soil felt warm. I remembered when it had done that before. I wished I didn't. Dante moved from branch to branch. Never far ahead. Never looking back. He knew I would follow. That irritated me. “Your General remains an arrogant prick.” Tap. “Yes, I know he can hear me.” Somewhere impossibly far away, or perhaps terribly near; Hmmm. I stopped. Dante did not. “Fuck you too, Gerald.” The forest swallowed my words. We continued. Night descended without ceremony. Eventually we reached a clearing where a single dead tree stood against the heavens. Upon its branches hung strips of black cloth. They moved despite the absence of wind. I stopped. Dante landed above me. “No.” Tap. “I remember this place.” Two taps. My stomach tightened. “No, Dante.” Three. The bark bore markings. Most had been softened by centuries of rain. Some... had not. I touched one. A Crown. Crooked. Primitive. Familiar. And beneath it, names. Dozens of them. Some I remembered. Some I had tried very hard to forget. Kings. Not all had worn the Crown well. The newest carving remained unfinished. I withdrew my hand. “So Gerald brought her here.” Tap. Of course he had. Then I noticed the candle. Unlit. Waiting beneath the tree. And suddenly I understood what trial our dear General had chosen. “The Crow and the Candle.” Dante lowered his head. For the first time that evening... I laughed. Not from amusement. From disbelief. “That miserable old story?” Tap. “He always did enjoy theatrics.” Tap. Then Dante became still. His head turned toward the darkness. Far away, something moved beneath the earth. THUMP. The trees shivered. Another. THUMP. Then, THUMP. Three. Always fucking three. The candle ignited. And upon the earth before me, my shadow stretched toward the east. Toward the King. Dante's feathers rose. Then came something worse. A voice. Ancient. Starving. Too distant for words. Yet I knew the cadence. I had heard that voice when mountains wore different names. When maps still ended in monsters. When men crossed oceans believing the gods watched from above... and discovered too late that something older had been watching from below. I closed my eyes. “You've awakened.” The earth answered. THUMP. “Unfortunate.” Dante suddenly struck the branch. Tap. Tap. Tap. I looked up. “What?” Another sequence followed. Fast. Urgent. Crow Law. Words I had not heard spoken with such haste in centuries. THE KING HAS ANSWERED. My amusement vanished. “How?” Dante tapped again. I listened. And slowly... I understood. Gerald had presented the old arithmetic. One life. For many. The King had refused. I stared at Dante. “She would choose none?” Tap. “She challenged the lesson?” Tap. “And when Gerald pressed her?” Dante struck once. Yes. I looked toward the east. Something old stirred inside me. Not fear. Not yet. Hope was considerably more dangerous. “What did she tell him?” Dante hesitated. Then scratched three words into the damp earth. ANOTHER. FUCKING. WAY. I stared. Then laughed. Actually laughed. “Of course she did.” Dante watched me. But there remained one question. One that mattered more than all the others. My voice became quiet. “When she refused... did Gerald remain?” One tap. I closed my eyes. For a moment I saw neither crow nor forest. I saw a man. An old friend standing beneath a sun that belonged to another age. Gerald had remained. Then the King had passed. Whatever Gerald had sought... he had found it. “Very well.” I resumed walking. Dante followed. Hours passed strangely thereafter. The forest became increasingly unfamiliar. Not because I had never seen it. Because I had. Long ago. Trees stood where trees should not. A creek crossed our path three times despite flowing in only one direction. Once, I glimpsed figures walking parallel to us through the woods. Men. Bearded. Bloodied. Carrying iron. I did not look again. The dead become terribly needy when acknowledged. Eventually Dante landed upon my shoulder. Ahead... firelight. Faint. Flickering between the trees. Voices. Two women. And crows. Hundreds of them. I stopped. For longer than I care to admit. A thousand years I had waited for this moment. A thousand years carrying an Agreement whose words had outlived kingdoms, gods, languages, and every man who had first sworn it. Somewhere ahead stood the one Gerald had chosen. The new King. I should have felt relief. Instead... I was afraid. Dante tapped softly beside my ear. Once. I nodded. “I know.” We walked toward the fire. Then Gerald appeared. A black shape descending from the trees. He landed upon a branch between us. For the first time in centuries... we regarded one another beneath the same moon. Neither of us moved. Gerald tilted his head. Older than nations. Older than every grave containing men who once knew his true name. I smiled. “Hello, old friend.” Gerald's feathers shifted. Hmmm. Behind him, two figures turned toward the sound. Bexxy. Kitten. I could not yet see their faces clearly. But I saw the Crown. That ridiculous collection of crooked sticks silhouetted against the fire. And something inside me went terribly still. Gerald lowered his head. Not submission. Recognition. Dante flew from my shoulder and landed beside him. General and Archivist. Together again. I stepped into the dim reach of the firelight. Bexxy stared. Kitten stared. I looked first toward the scarred crows gathered among the branches. Survivors. Some I recognized. God help me. Some recognized me. Then I looked at Gerald. Finally... the King. “So.” Bexxy's hand drifted toward her crown. “Who the fuck are you?” I ignored the question. My eyes remained upon Gerald. “This is the one?” Hmmm. “The one who refused the Candle?” Gerald nodded. I looked at Bexxy again. A stranger. A King. Perhaps... an ending. And despite every instinct accumulated across a millennium telling me otherwise; I smiled. “Good.” Silence. Kitten looked between Gerald and me. “Oh, fuck this.” Reasonable. Bexxy stepped forward. “You know my General?” I looked at Gerald. For the briefest instant, beneath those sable feathers, I remembered the face of the man he had once been. “Yes.” “How?” There are questions whose answers belong to conversation. Others belong to confession. This one belonged to neither. I looked toward the fire. Then at the King. Then at the walnut clenched in the hand of the woman beside her. The Keeper. Gerald had truly done it. After all these centuries... he had found them both. I breathed deeply. “Gerald.” Hmmm. “Attend your King.” His feathers rose. Bexxy frowned. I turned toward Dante. “And you, old friend...” Tap. “Attend the Keeper.” Kitten looked at the walnut. Then at Dante. Then at me. “The fucking what?” I walked toward the fire. There would be time for questions. There would be time for fear. And soon enough... there would be time for truth. But some stories are too old to be told. Some horrors become lies the moment mankind attempts to contain them within words. And what happened beneath these lands a thousand years ago deserved something considerably more terrible than explanation. It deserved remembrance. I knelt beside the flames. “Come, then.” The crows descended. “Let me show you why Gerald is afraid.” #CrowLady#