Harbingers Of Life And Friendship
20250713
Prompt from DailyPrompt.com
“Never look a crow in the eyes”, I was told as a child. “They steal away souls. They’ll lay death upon you, then eat your ghost before it reaches the After.”
While throwing stones at other birds earned a scolding, any child attempting violence against crows was marched behind the chapel and would rejoin the group pale and whimpering. The one time an adult killed a crow, pleas of drink-addled eyes didn’t save him; his body was left in the scragfield as an apology. An offering. A desperate petition for the rest of us to be spared.
Like everyone else, I looked away any time I caught a flutter of dark wings. Turned from their cursed cries. Gathered their discarded feathers to be burnt and dabbed the ashes on my forehead.
But now… with the weight of life clinging like a lead ghost of my buried parents and siblings… I’ve been wandering the woods to stare at crows.
They stare back. Caw to each other. Sometimes I think they’re cawing at me. Perhaps asking where my defiance comes from. Why I’m not afraid of them.
Part of me still is. But it’s a tired part. Worn thin.
Despite hours of loitering, meeting their gazes whenever I can, I still live. Perhaps I’m cursed. Or is staring not enough? Do I need to offend them? But I don’t want to risk bringing wrath down on everyone else.
As I sit pondering, watching the flock in the tree above, one suddenly detaches and drops down next to me.
I am face-to-face with a crow. My heart pounds in my throat.
It tilts its head. Inspects me. Caws. At me. A question? A challenge? I’ve no idea.
“Please.” I whisper. “I-I want to… it’s too much. Everything’s just… I can’t. I want it to end.”
The crow digests this. Tilting its head one way than another. Then it pecks at my brooch.
Oh. Does it want payment? I unpin the little decoration, worn shiny by age and fingertips, and hold it out.
The crow accepts slowly. Head turned so one beady eye is staring into mine. Then in a flash it’s gone. Back into the tree.
I wrap my arms around my knees, shawl loose about my shoulders, and wait for death.
Night falls and I’m still waiting. Bitter hope collapsing into indignation.
The crow swizzed me!
I knot my shawl and storm home. Halfway there I think perhaps, having given the crow a gift, it has laid a peaceful death in my sleep upon me, and hurry to bed.
I wake disgruntled and return to the tree. I clutch a loaf of bread and a handful of silver pennies. Surely suitable payment.
The crows mob me before I settle in my usual spot, and gleefully accept crumbled bread from my palms. The pennies I dole out with care, selecting crows which I judge to have the sharpest eyes.
To my irritation I can’t tell if any of them are the swindler from yesterday. At least I have petitioned so many that surely one must follow through. I return home rumpled and tired but hopeful.
Days pass. My hope withers.
Then I wake to find crows in my yard. Today must be the day; my neighbours have covered their windows and will be praying inside. I walk out to face my end.
The crows caw at me, the same way I’ve heard them call to each other so many times. They hop around me as I kneel, and peck at my arms and pockets as if checking for something. Oh! They are my guests, I must host them. I hurry back inside and empty my cupboards. Soon the whole flock is here happily squabbling and feasting, while I sit in the middle and wait as patiently as I can.
Then one crow drops from the sky in front of me, holding a shiny leafy object in its beak. It cocks its head, meeting my gaze, then lays the object in my lap.
It’s my brooch! And threaded through the closed pin is a crow feather and… a sprig of flowering rosemary.
Rosemary. The life herb.
I brush a trembling finger along the gift. My mind awhirl.
“Wh-what does this mean?”
The crow lets out strange, soft noises I’ve never heard them make before.
“Am I… not allowed to die?” I stare hard into its beady, glittering black eyes. Searching for an answer. “Am I cursed, or destined, or…?”
The crow caws and takes flight - and the rest of the flock swirls up with it. Back to the forest, to their home. Leaving me kneeling in my messed garden staring at the decorated brooch.
I don’t know how long I’d been there when a sharp voice stirred me. “Child? What is that… talisman?”
The priest stands at my fence. Blessed censure held outstretched.
“I-I don’t know. The crows gave it to me.”
“They gave it to you?” The priest looks dumbfounded. Almost as confused as me.
“Yes.” I hold the brooch up so he can see it clearly. “What is this? I don’t understand. It must mean something, but I can’t…”
“I…” The priest steps back. “Sleep, child. Clarity will come in the morning.”
While I turn in as instructed I barely sleep. My mind incessantly pecking at the mystery glinting at my bedside.
I am up at first light, inspecting the ruin left from the feast, when the priest comes through my gate - and drops to one knee, his head bowed low. “None died from the crows’ visit. None even laid ill. They clearly wish for you to be our intermediary. What do you need?”
When I stare blankly at him a flutter behind catches my eye. A crow. Perched on the chapel. Watching me. I press a hand to my chest, where the broach is pinned to my tunic.
I am sure they hold a power far more marvellous than the legends. And I will find it.
“For today… stale bread.”
Prompt was “Write a story set in a culture where everyone believes crows are a sign of impending death.”
[I deliberately wrote this such that it could be a supernatural story, but could also be mundane. Which interpretation do you prefer?]