The bird was cawing, a deep, hoarse sound that pounded the air like a hammer, but there were words in the sound, words translated by something that slept beneath the mountains, beneath Green’s own psyche.
Electric blue eyes in a silver-black head studied Green from entirely too nearby. A beak like a pewter pickax hovered inches from his upturned face.
There was the deeper shadow hanging above the crow’s head, a patch of fully ripened dusk in the shape of a seven-pointed star.
With an effort of will, Green pushed aside his fear and spoke.
“Well, I live forty feet from this spot now, so it seemed neighborly to stop by.”
The crow puffed out his throat feathers. He made a gurgling, croaking sound that Green understood as laughter.
“Sleep comes hard on an empty stomach. A flight to the moon is longer than you think. Spring always has two false starts. And…even here in your infancy, you are still you. Why should we expect any different?”
The croaking laugh came again.
A dozen more crows, unaffected by the frozen landscape, glided in to perch in the branches above and watch the conversation. One crow used a swooping bluebird, frozen mid-flight, as a platform to gain a better view of the scene. The crows all laughed along with their king.
“My infancy?”
“A private joke, human. For now, at least, your memory flows to you from a single direction. Ours flows from many. Do not concern yourself overmuch. There is dignity in each of our allotted measures of strength and struggle.”
As he spoke, the king grew. Once the size of a man, the giant bird now sidestepped along his perch to make room for a body the size of a tiger.
“I know you said you’d rather I didn’t visit, but I really need help. I have so many questions. And my friend…my teacher…is dying.”
The king cocked his head, studying Green with one eye, then the other.
“Our preferences are our own affair. You need not carry them for us. Yes, we know about Valentina and your fight against the outsider. Indeed, such things are among the reasons we honored your request.”
The crow looked down at the hatch beneath Green’s feet.
“Please. I don’t understand. I have so many questions. Can you help us?”
The Crow King was now too large for his branch. He stepped down onto the mottled sheet metal roof. The surface made a soft popping sound as it accepted the ten-foot-tall bird’s weight.
“We sympathize. We hold you and your teacher in great esteem.”
“Then, please, do something. Like you did when you saved me from the bus.”
The king stood motionless.
“That is…one interpretation.”
“I saw you. In the memory. You chose to save me. You gave me this magic acorn or whatever the hell it is. I still don’t even know what it is doing to me.”
“Chose? Yes, we were able to pluck that moment because someone chose you. But it wasn’t us. The meal was to our liking, the trading of a token obeyed our own ancient custom, but the choice was entirelyyours. Otherwise, we could not have accessed a thing as private and personal as your death.”
“I chose? What does that mean?”
“Indeed. You chose. At least twice. We heard you choose beneath the bus. And, more to the point, a much older version of you, forward in your future, but backward in a twin of this world’s past, asked us directly to be present on the street that day. We repaid one of the favors we owed to past and future you. In this dimension and in others. Your cheerful facility with paradox has always been superlative among your kind. Perhaps your chief talent.”
This is meaningless.
Frustration lit a fire behind Green’s eyes. He had the urge to swat a nearby crow from its perch, but he forced himself to swallow his anger.
“That doesn’t make any sense. I asked you to be there? What do you mean? My future, but the world’s past? I don’t understand.”
The Crow King paused, seeming to consider his words.
