Beware What The Raven Brings: A Prequel
December 1956
Manny's breath was taken away as he trudged through the frigid underbrush. Crunching through pillowy ice, he stopped at the crest of his father’s hill. Beauty in a place can still dawn a broken heart.
Manny stood gazing down at the makeshift tombstone, the wintry breeze buffeting his russet hair ever so slightly. He knew he couldn’t weep; his father would’ve wanted him to endure it, to resume living.
Manny wiped away the heap of snow, building onto an obsolete picture of his deceased kin. “Oh, Father.” Manny murmured half-heartedly, “Vengeance will come.”
By the time Manny followed the trail home, it was nearing dusk. The snowfall scattered around him, and he cursed the biting weather, for the frost was his weakness. Manny strode for a lengthy while; the blackness enveloped him in a bouquet of keen chill, grabbing at his limbs.
A sudden cry of anguish brought Manny to an abrupt halt. He whirled around, his terror spiking. There, on the frost-bitten earth, was a lump of presumed darkness. Manny peered closer: a minuscule bird. No, a raven. Its plumage was pure black, like the depths of the sea and the maw of a cavern. However, on its collar was a strip of cream-colored white. It was darkness against light, dawn to dusk.
Manny could merely gaze transfixed at the broken form of the feeble bird. So delicate, silky feathers, and a glistening dewdrop eye.
The bird’s haunted wail rose up to the full-faced moon once more, making Manny cringe.
“Are you hurt?” he murmured to it, caressing it with his gentle words. On impulse, Manny tore off his heavy winter jacket, gingerly picking up the wounded creature and wrapping it in his arms.
Fortunately, the bird didn’t fight, only whimpered in a way an injured child would. Laughter bubbled up inside Manny as the white-necked raven poked its head from between layers of cloth and nipped Manny softly.
He grinned, teeth chattering from the frigidity. “I think you and I are going to be the best of friends.”
Manny snuck in through the bedroom window; the succulent aroma of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven warmed his icy throat. His aunt was always the best cook, cheering Manny up with merely a bowl of oyster stew.
Manny tossed his mittens, hung his winter hat, and ripped off his boots, all while clutching a raven to his chest.
The bird didn’t object when Manny fixed its wing, basic skills his mother once taught him.
He arranged a makeshift nest for his raven: an array of tea cloths scattered haphazardly within a large milk carton. The raven became drowsy and began to roost in its temporary shelter.
“Good night,” Manny whispered from across the room after feeding the bird chunks of chilled meat from the freezer.
He heard a faint coo from the dozing raven and grinned sheepishly, pondering how his aunt would react to his new companion.
The entire night, his dreams lay among voyages he and his bird would have, and for the first time since his father passed, he slept with his nightlight off.
The bird adored him.
Every day after school, the raven would meet Manny by the old lamppost on Wilmore Street, to his absolute ecstasy.
Hopping along the coarse asphalt road alongside Manny, the raven—known to him as Kindle—squawked with glee each time he was stroked.
It had been several weeks since the bird’s arrival in Manny’s life. Of course, he’d assume it was fate. Kindle had brought indecipherable beauty and perfection to Manny’s feeble life of misery.
“You’re a kindled flame in my darkened world!” Manny had murmured to the raven every morning.
As the bird grew, his affection for Manny evolved as well. Kindle didn’t mind sleeping outside, nor did he mind strips of frigid steak.
One rather dark evening after school, Manny strode home, using a shortcut through the woods. He called out for his raven to no avail. Lost and petrified, a trembling Manny stumbled through the misty darkness blindly. The only source of light is the illuminated lamp posts guiding him along the path.
“Look who it is…” an oddly familiar voice jeered.
Manny whirled around, peering through the tendrils of black. Leaning against a burly redwood was Ryan, the school bully. He was flanked by two of his companions, Dylan and Rocky.
There was no benevolence in Ryan's grimace, only an abnormal look of bloodlust.
“Go away, Ryan!” Manny squeaked at the frost-kissed grass.
Dylan lunged forward, attempting to whack the side of Manny’s head. Manny, fortunately, stumbled backward—the blow only meeting thin air—into a cluster of merciless brambles.
Struggling to escape, Manny cried out in agonized fear. For his aunt, for his raven, or for anyone to help him.
“This is what you get for putting us in detention,” sneered Dylan, creeping forward. Manny felt the thorns tear his backpack as they pathetically pulled free. Before he could depart, however, Dylan’s fist came rushing down.
Manny, bracing for impact, shut his eyes and ground his teeth. Oddly, the explosion of pain didn’t come.
Cracking his eyes open, Manny pulled himself up. Perched in front of him was Kindle, his raven, gnashing his beak at the trio of relentless bullies.
Dylan leapt away as Kindle dashed forward, nipping his arm. A burst of crimson oozed from the fresh wound. Rocky yelped and fled, leaving a weeping Dylan and a trembling Ryan.
Kindle’s talon tore at Ryan’s scalp, and he stumbled away in terror.
Manny swiftly started forward to pull his raven away from the boys—to put an end to the brawl.
Ryan lashed out blindly with a stick pulled from the underbrush and caught Kindle’s left wing.
Kindle plummeted to the darkened earth, limp and feeble. Manny leapt to catch him, but he fell short.
Too preoccupied with his wounded companion, Manny was vaguely aware of Ryan hoisting Rocky up and shoving through the woods. Their heavy footfalls and weeps echoed across the forest canopy above: they wouldn’t ever dare to mess with him again.
Manny crouched beside his bird, fretting relentlessly. “No, no, no, no! C’mon, Kindle, get up!” Tears pricked his eyes; his best friend saved him. His only friend.
Manny nudged the bundle of black feathers, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Come on.” Manny began to shake Kindle more violently, desperate to snap him out of his unconsciousness.
The bird’s white-streaked shoulders were damp and torn, and Manny clutched his raven to his heart. “Please, my friend. My only friend!”
Manny was overwhelmed with a peculiar sense of déjà vu: his father’s death. He still remembered the scene playing out like today. How he stumbled away from the bullies tailing him and how he was exhausted and unaware of any other danger. How he stepped in the way of a moving vehicle. How his father rushed out of the house, shoving him out of the way, taking the worst of the damage. And how on the way to the hospital his father had…
Manny couldn’t let someone perish for him twice. He prayed with all that was left inside him for the bird to reap his soul, his consciousness. So that perhaps Kindle could maybe live on.
Suddenly, within him, Manny felt a jerk. A sign of hope, of inescapable beauty. He wished once more, begging the world for his bird’s life.
The pull was felt two times, then thrice, and Manny knew something had changed. He was different; a burst of adrenaline overwhelmed him. Manny's eyes widened with joviality when Kindle stirred; it was indeed feeble, but it exhibited his raven’s survival.
Manny grinned through tear-streaked eyes, “Oh, Kindle, I don't know what I could’ve done without you.”
It was an oddity to see all Kindle’s wounds diminished astoundingly swiftly, leaving only a glossy ebony plumage. Kindle fluffed himself up indignantly, as if bemused why Manny hadn’t offered him a stroke.
Manny laughed and leapt to his feet, setting his bird gingerly on his right shoulder.
Sure, he was sore; the bramble slashes throbbed, but he was content. He was aware of his being one with the raven, that the raven was a part of him.
Maybe I can turn into a bird! He thought goofily as he skipped home with Kindle on his arm. Of course, he was only joking..
Along the road to his house, he sensed a malevolent presence. Of hatred toward everyone who once tormented him.
“You know,” he growled to Kindle, who perched silently. “We should give everyone who thinks they can ruin our lives what they deserve. Those boys are the ones who killed my father.
“Because after all, in the end, our friendship will last.”
