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#Post#: 540--------------------------------------------------
Zane Awakens
DIR By: crowgokek
Date: December 25, 2024, 4:54 pm
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[float=right max=45%]
HTML https://i.imgur.com/gMDYmMA.jpg[/float]
[center] Zane
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1ZN4Ymbj-1OeLjIklw1MWrb8JQKcOCeLXlk4u-s2ZYlQ/edit?usp=sharing
Crow | Arrow | Enbie
Can’t move forward if you’re always looking back.
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ONE YEAR, SIX MONTHS AGO
Dark water, closing over my head.
Pain in my side, in my back.
Darkness.
I swam back to consciousness, aware of a dull ache that seemed
unspecific. There was a consistent soft beeping nearby, and I
heard an odd rustling sound, and a soft birdcall.
And a rough-toned but kindly male voice, deep and scored by too
many cigarettes and drinks at the bar: “She’s comin’ round.”
My eyes flickered open. Acoustic tiling, fluorescent lights.
Bed. IV rack with medications. Yep, that IV’s in my arm. So.
Hospital.
I wiggle my toes first, and I can feel them doing it, so that’s
okay. Then my fingers. I can feel the sheets. Okay.
Experimentally, I try to sit up.
This is a mistake. All that unspecific pain comes together in a
searing agony in my left side. I hiss and settle back to the
blankets. The beeping noise intensifies, and before long, an
orderly is in to check on me.
“You’re awake!” she says, sounding delighted. Somehow it doesn’t
ring false, either.
“How long?” I ask. My voice is hoarse, scratchy, and it hurts to
talk. I cough, and the orderly hands me a glass of water and
helps me sit up.
There’s an old man dressed like a comic-book cowboy and two
extremely large crows sitting in the visitor’s chairs. One of
the crows looks as old as the cowboy, and they are..somehow
connected. The cowboy raises a finger to his lips, and winks at
me.
The orderly reacts to none of this.
“You’ve been in a coma for about six months,” she says. “Do you
know who you are?”
Do I? ….yes. “Legal name Maxine Hart,” I manage, laying back as
the orderly ratchets the bed up into a reclined position. “I was
adopted by the Coles like…I don’t know, eight years ago or
something. I remember I was on a ship. Yacht party. I..” I reach
out suddenly and seize the orderly’s wrist. “Jack. Jack Cole. Is
he…Did he…”
Gently, the orderly pulls my hand off of her. “I’ll see what I
can find out. You still need to rest. The doctor will be in
shortly to check on the state of your memory, though you don’t
seem to have any issues there, and go over your injuries and
therapy.”
I nod, already exhausted, and the orderly slips out the door.
Leaving me with the apparitions no one else can see, apparently.
“If you’re hallucinations,” I say tiredly, “I hope you’ll be
considerate enough to let me sleep.”
“Oh, no,” the old man says. “We’re kind of something else
entirely. You can call me Sam. And we have some time to talk.”
“First of all,” I tell him, “not she. They/them. You can respect
it or you can fuck right off, don’t care which.”
The old man raises his big, seamed hands defensively. “Fair
‘nuff. Ain’t talked to you ‘fore this, so didn’t know.”
“You do now,” I say gracelessly. “What do you want?”
“You had an experience while you were out of it,” the old man
says. “Something involving a tower.”
I went very still. There was no possible way for him to know
that. Slowly, as if the words were being pulled out of me
unwillingly, I answer. “There was…a field of brambles. Thorns.
Roses, maybe. I pushed through them. The tower…silver. The blood
on my hand opened a door…and I saw my name on the wall.”
The old man nods. “Tell me, kid. You got a goal? A purpose? A
plan? What happens, when you get out of this hospital?”
I’m silent. I don’t have an answer, and somehow, the old bastard
knows it. He jerks his thumb at one of the crows, this one
smaller and sleeker, somehow less aged than the other. “This
one’s been watching you. They say you’ve undergone two deaths –
one ceremonial, social – the other physical. They say you mourn
folks you’ve never known. They say you’d seek justice, if you
could.”
“The windup,” I say dryly, “and theeeeere’s the pitch.”
The old man laughs. “Y’ain’t wrong. We represent a group called
the Crows. Crows were responsible for bringing the fallen to the
lands of the dead…and occasionally, if circumstances warranted,
they’d bring someone back. Vengeance. Justice. Unfinished
business. We help the dead settle what keeps ‘em here.”
“Do I get a cool bird pet too?” I ask.
The crow squawks at me, and there’s a derisive sound in it. Its
eyes, I notice, are red.
“More like a partner,” he tells me. “They look like birds, but
they ain’t. We call ‘em Witnesses. Now look. We ain’t here to
strongarm you. Bein’ a Crow is heavy responsibility. What I’ll
do for you is get you in touch with folks that can help you find
your way, and if it lies with us, well and good. Ask around for
Old Man Black. If it don’t, well, no hard feelins either way.
For now, that doc’s gonna be here shortly, so you should deal
with that, and get some shuteye. You’ll be fine in a few weeks,
an’ we can talk more then.”
And then they just….vanished. They didn’t fade or fuzz, they
were simply there one moment and gone the next.
I settled back to the sheets. No point worrying about it while I
was in this bed.
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