Athan thought it a strange question, but no less strange than the talking raven asking it. “What good would it do to be angry at what I cannot change? What is, is what is, and I am sad for it, but I can’t dwell on it in anger. I must look to tomorrow and hope for better things.”
“I see,” said the raven. “You still have hope.”
“There is no hope,” said Treven, eyes glaring down at the mound of upturned dirt that used to be his mother. “The blight has taken everything away.”
Athan cast his eyes out to a smoke filled horizon the color of a setting sun turned mad. A thick black plume covered the sun, like a rising creature of shadow threatening to swallow the world whole. Despair entered his heart, and he felt without purpose. His breathing hitched on rancid air, and he looked down at his ash covered, empty hands.
“It’s true,” Athan said. “Everything is gone. My hands are empty and I lack a purpose.”
“But, there is hope,” reminded the raven.
“It’s not enough,” Treven argued, sullenly wiping away a tear that escaped his hold. Wet ash streaked across his cheek like a war borne scar, and his eyes reflected a dwindling soul as empty as his brother’s hands. “I don’t want to feel this way. I want to run away from this grave and the fires until I can’t run anymore.”
“I can help,” said the raven. “For I am formed of magic, and I have enough of it to share.”
“How would you help?” Athan asked as his hands remained empty and the hope in his heart faded.
The raven hopped closer. “To you, elder brother, I offer a purpose to fill those empty hands, so you can hold onto your hope and not fall into despair. And to you, younger brother, I offer the power to run faster and farther than any man could dream to run, so you may escape the pain and sorrow of this place.”
“I accept,” Treven quickly said. “Anything is better than what I have now.”
The raven tilted one black eye down to Athan. “Both of you must agree, for that is the nature of the magic I have to offer.”
Athan leered up at the raven. “At what price?”
“You are smart to ask,” the raven cawed. “For it is true that all magic comes with rules as well as a price. My price is thus: sometime in the future, I will ask of you a favor, Athan, and this request you alone must fulfill.”
“Only me?” Athan asked. “You swear to ask nothing of my brother?”
“Only you,” the raven replied. “I swear it, and by magic I am bound to this promise.”
“Please, Athan,” Treven begged. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Let’s take the raven’s offer and leave this place together.”
Athan could not deny his own wish to have purpose again, and he hoped the raven would grant him a piece of land somewhere far from the blight where his empty hands could be filled with rich, fertile soil to provide for himself and his brother. “All right,” he said. “I accept.”
“The bargain is stuck.” The raven cawed loudly and hopped along the branch. It cawed and cawed at the sky, louder and louder until its voice was joined by others. On black wings came the ravens, hundreds upon hundreds more, their voices raised in discordant echoes.
Athan took his brother into his arms and held tight as the ravens swarmed the hill. Round and round the ravens flew, swirling like smoke on the wind, feathers falling and turning the day into night. Athan clenched shut his eyes, he heard his brother cry, then abrupt silence surrounded the knoll. When Athan opened his eyes, he held not his brother but the neck of a saddled and bridled mule.
“What have you done?!” Athan yelled up at the raven. “Where is my brother?”
“He is there,” replied the raven, beak jutting towards the mule. “I have fulfilled his wish. He may now run farther and faster than any man. Many of my kin were sacrificed to provide such a beautiful gift. Are you not pleased?”
“No!” Athan could not believe the mule had once been his brother, but faintly he heard the whisper of Treven’s spirit trapped behind the mule’s glassy black eyes, and his heart sank at the truth of the raven’s words.
“But I have fulfilled his wish, as promised,” said the raven. “And yours. You now have a great purpose: to take care of your brother.”
“But, that has always been my purpose,” Athan argued.
“Indeed,” the raven agreed. “I’m sorry such drastic measures were needed for you to see it.”
And to that, Athan could not argue. His hands had never been truly empty, but he had been unable to see it. “Take it back,” Athan pleaded. “Please, this is not what we wanted.”
“The deal was stuck,” replied the raven. “I cannot undo it until the promised request has been fulfilled, for that is the nature of this magic.”
“Then tell me what you want of me!” Athan begged. “I’ll do anything! Just give me back my brother!”
The raven tuned its head to look at Athan with one eye then the other, its feet hopping an inch closer on the branch. “When the blight has spread from field to forest and mountain to sea, when the smoke of desperation endlessly covers the horizon and the children of man have dwindled to nothing, then I will come to you and make my request. If you fulfill this request, then, and only then, can I return Treven to his former self.”
“How long?” Athan asked, his throat heavy in a want to cry for all he
