LE CORBEAU: By Chris Allinotte
Friday, January 29th, 2010Emmett was pissed off. He had traveled days in this stinking forest with its too-large trees, in hopes of meeting up with the trading company.
He looked across the fire at his “guide”, a third-generation voyageur, named Remy Latour who knew this area very well, or so he said. The problem was that Emmett only understood about one word in three, and the little man didn’t speak much English to begin with, usually just “Follows me,” or “careful with your walking.”
They had set out from the California border and worked their way steadily North. Emmett was charged with procuring an agreement with one of the new coal mines to help supply his companies’ steamships. They had hiked the better part of three days now, and he knew time would be getting tight.
If he could make the deal soon, they would get over to the coast and an American steamship would be there to meet him.
Today they’d met the Indian. . “C’est Two Bear, mon ami.” They were getting close to the settlements. It was good news, but it also meant that Remy spoke to him even less, and instead conversed back and forth with the tough looking young man in broken french, disastrous English and the gutteral native patois.
Tired and frustrated, Emmett cleaned his revolver by the firelight, and hoped that tomorrow he would finally meet people who spoke for-God’s-sake English, and he could do his deal and get gone.
As he snapped the cylinder home and filled the chambers with fresh ammunition, a huge croaking shriek startled him off the fallen log he’d been sitting on. Both the guide and his “ami” were chuckling. Flushed with embarrassment, the American spun around to see a huge black bird sitting on a branch just above their heads. Without another thought, he pulled the trigger and watched with satisfaction as the ugly beast tumbled to earth like a rock, shedding feathers all the way.
Two Bears’ reaction was immediate. Moving faster than seemed humanly possible, he was around the fire and holding a massive bone-hilted knife to the man’s throat.
“NON!” Remy was screaming at the savage now. He held the man’s knife-hand, and was talking a rapidly. Emmett heard, “Americain … très mauvais … beaucoup des carabines – BANG BANG!”
The younger man stared hard at Emmett. His black eyes were full of primal rage, and he could tell it was taking a supreme effort of will not to rip out his neck. After what seemed an eternity, he sheathed the knife, and walked over to the corpse of the bird. He picked it up reverently, and again with that uncanny speed, had vanished into the woods.
Emmett was shaking. “What in God’s name was that Remy? It was only a bird!”
“Non monsieur. It was … un corbeau, the Raven. They are sacred bird. Raven is God here.”
“Your job, Remy, is to keep me safe, no matter what. That was way too close.”
“Apologies, Monsieur. But this, she going to be bad.”
“I honestly don’t give a shit anymore Remy. Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got business in the morning.”
That night, Emmett dreamed of the bird. It was bigger in his dreams. He was a mouse on the ground, squealing, trying everything he could to stay alive.
The black bird dove at him, and it was as if the sky itself had become black feathers, closing in on him.
He started awake, but couldn’t move. There was a man sitting on his chest. Powerfully muscled, he had the head of a raven, and was staring at him with cold animal eyes.
Emmet screamed as the beak darted forward twice and took his eyes. He flailed for his pistol, but the bird-man swung one talon-fingered hand and stabbed through the man’s throat to the spine.
With a squak that sounded like the word “even”, the creature descended.
Emmett convulsed, and the raven flew away with his body.
Across the fire, Remy made the sign of the cross and went to sleep.
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©2010 Chris Allinotte
