Crows

Leaves crunched beneath Merrin’s feet as he ran through the thick woodland, weaving between the trees and just barely ducking beneath the branches. He could feel the tears staining his cheeks, the breathless heaving in his chest that was nothing to do with exertion at all. The satchel at his side felt heavier than ever before, the singular object carrying the weight of everything and anything he wanted but could never have.

A part of him thought he could still hear the sounds of the others yelling after him, the anger clouding Orlia’s eyes as he cost them everything they’d spent weeks working towards. But he knew he was alone.

Blackened branches and decay beneath his feet told him that there wouldn’t be anyone else for a while. He’d gone too far, but his feet continued to carry him further and further despite the burning in his thighs. There was no way of knowing how long he’d been running, whether it was an hour or five. The trees overhead were thick enough to block out the sun regardless of if he could see past the thick shadows surrounding him. The very same shadows that he’d been afraid of just last year that now felt like a warm blanket on a winter’s day, a steaming mug of tea between chilled hands, and the soft melody that only he could hear.

As the trees thinned out, Merrin didn’t stop, a part of him knew that he’d end up here. One foot after the other he found the clearing he’d seen a million times. The place he would visit in the depths of his dreams, the place they’d done everything together.

Merrin had never been here alone.

At the edge of the clearing, the cart lay abandoned, a deep black stain tracing across the wood in feral claw marks. The twinge of hope in his chest was a dangerous, sickening thing that he pushed down so deep he thought he was going to throw up. For a second, he swore he could feel the signet ring on his finger, the small shining key to their sanctuary, but his fingers were bare of any jewellery. Even his claw-tip was nowhere to be seen, more than likely lost in the thickets of undergrowth between here and the Manor.

It wouldn’t have helped. The obsidian pedestal was gone, in its place was a singular, towering tree. Roots larger than Merrin arched up like the claws of a beast long buried. Moss and lichen wrapped itself around the bark, dappling the pitch-black trunk in a small smattering of pale green and the faintest purple hue.

Merrin’s legs shook beneath his weight, and he took those last few steps towards the tree before collapsing beneath it. The satchel fell to the ground beside him, and Merrin shoved it out of his way. As the flap fell open, he caught the shining glimpse of the golden crown he’d been so quick to stash inside. He hadn’t thought about it at first, hadn’t considered just who it was that the crown, the jewels, the very manor they’d been in, had belonged to.

But then he saw the portrait…

Months of bottled-up fear and desperation finally cracked. The overwhelming sense of isolation that carved its way into the space that had once been so full in his mind. The days and weeks he’d always thought that maybe if he looked at the light just right, if he listened close enough, he would still be there. That perhaps if the room was dark enough the shadows would shift around him, dancing between the light and brush a cold chill across Merrin’s skin.

No amount of looking, or listening, or praying had changed the unending nothingness.

For so long Merrin had hidden that from everyone. They all believed the separation was a good

thing, because now Merrin could just be him again, he could focus on more important things than a spectre that he’d convinced himself was there. But he was there. He’d been there for so fucking long. And now he was gone. He was gone, and Merrin was nothing but a hollow shell with too much space inside of his head that was too quiet, too empty.

He hated it. He hated how he felt now. Hated how he spent so long just trying to find the one person who knew what he was thinking, knew what he was feeling better than he did himself. He hated the fact that he’d never believed in soulmates until he’d lost his.

One painting, that’s all it had taken. Something as simple as Matthias pointing out one portrait on the wall with purple eyes and adorned with enough gold that it shone in the dark of night. He’d only pointed it out because of the gold; real gold that had been used in place of paint, swirled across the clawed nails and dappled where piercings dug into flesh. Amethyst had been used in the eyes and dappled across the skin, a diamond in the centre of his chest where his orb would have been.

Whatever question Orlia had asked him hadn’t registered, Merrin was far too engrossed in staring into those eyes once more, the hope that maybe this was it. This would be the key to bring them back together.

He hadn’t realised that the question was a warning, and they had to leave before they’d all be turned to dust by whatever magic was still present in the manor. Magic that was being awoken by the crown hidden in his satchel.

If he’d just put it back, then they would’ve been fine to continue exploring, take more minor things that the house wouldn’t miss. But he couldn’t give it up, not when he knew who it belonged to. The painting, the crown, the very manor they were in. It was all his, and Merrin couldn’t give up the one solid thing he had left. It could prove to be the only thing that stood between Merrin and finally being able to see him again.

The telltale flap of wings overhead only caught his attention for one second, a second long enough that Merrin let himself think of the best. But all he saw above were crows, black pinpoints against the stormy sky overhead. Circling around and around in a dizzying spiral around the tree, their descent down to the ground hypnotic enough that for a second Merrin forget everything.

He’d had dreams like this, laid out beneath a tree as the corvids pick his bones clean. Every time their beaks dug into his skin he’d feel the tearing of his flesh. Strands of sinews dripping blood onto the ground as he was picked apart for an endless eternity. But this wasn’t a dream, or a nightmare, or anything of the sort.

As a crow swooped low to the ground, Merrin followed its gaze to the shine of the crown within his satchel. It was of no surprise that it had caught the creature’s eye, the sparkle of faceted amethyst, deep sapphires, more diamonds than Merrin had seen before in a single piece. All of it a statement of wealth the likes of which Aedria would never see again, that Merrin or anyone else in Ashenport would ever see again. Not even newspapers from the mainland could hold a testament to the frivolous shine of the ancient Crown Prince. A life of luxury that Merrin couldn’t hate anymore, not when he knew what it had meant for the island.

Would such a thing even be seen again? Would Merrin get to hold it in his hands without the fear of gold and gemstone crumbling to nothing but ink and shadow dripping through his fingers.

Maybe if he closed his eyes it would all come back.

It was hard not to with the exhaustion lapping at his mind, the waves of fatigue flooding his muscles

now he was finally at ease. Merrin watched as the crow hopped in the dead grass beside the satchel, tapping against the golden crown with soft rythm that Merrin swore he could recognise. An old tune? A lullaby his mother had sang? Whatever it may have been, it was enough to pull the breath from his lungs, and the world around him was swallowed by the night.