Page 7 of Corvus and the Broken God

The giant wooden door at the end of the hall was shut, and I lacked the proper anatomy to open it. Light leaked through the cracks between the walls and ceiling. Hmm. Maybe with enough space in the cracks, I could spy on them from the rafters. Getting up there would take finesse, not the usual launch-my-body-up-and-flap-violently technique I had recently perfected.

It took three attempts and more noise than I wanted to make to finally balance on the edge of the plaster wall. I scooted forward quietly, stepping gingerly over a jagged piece of wood, the room opening up below me. Neither of the room’s occupants looked my way, for they were deeply involved in an intense conversation. But before I could catch what they were saying, they grew quiet.

A man in his late fifties stood in front of a blazing fireplace, one large enough to cook an ox, brows drawn, deep in thought. He wore a fine, custom-made suit and a crisp white shirt, looking completely out of place in the medieval setting. His hands rested behind his back, eyes trained on the threadbare rug twice the size of the largest I had ever seen. The furniture could have belonged in a Gothic European museum, with large, dark wood, heavily carved, consisting of two great chairs on either side of the fire and two facing them, along with a massive wooden table lined with benches. On top of the table, two candles burned in large, rudimentary candlesticks. In the shadows, on an even larger chair pushed against the wall, sat The Monster. I could just make out his horns. I looked back at the man, seemingly unaware of the danger.

Quiet, Corvus, you’re distracting me.

His voice thundered in my head, impossible to ignore. I looked frantically between them, but the strange man looked far from afraid. Did he not realize the danger he was in? I should flee while the Monster was otherwise occupied. I stayed frozen on my perch. My actions were beyond foolish, but I couldn’t make my wings take me away, not yet.

“How comfortable you are in your weak skin. Have you forgotten who you are?” The Monster spoke, his voice the same deep timbre in my ears as I heard in my mind.

The stranger cocked his head. “It is important to be able to adapt. You call me weak, and yet you still live a thousand years in the past.” He motioned to the room as if his meaning wasn’t clear.

“I know men well. I walk with them regularly.” But his words lacked conviction.

“Good. Then do me the pleasure of pointing me in the direction of the whiskey.”

The Monster stood, and I hunkered back, ready to flee. He turned toward me, catching my eye for a heartbeat. With the light behind him, I couldn’t see his features clearly. Was he smiling? No, he couldn’t be. If there had been a smile on his face, it was gone, but his features relaxed, and I examined him as he stopped just below me. Thick horns, like those of a water buffalo, shone like ebony in the firelight. His skin was dark gunpowder gray, resembling more the flesh of a shark or whale than a human. I leaned closer and peered down at him. Against the wall below my perch was a sideboard with two crystal decanters. He opened one and poured a respectable amount into an old goblet, talons clicking against the pewter. He carried it back to the stranger, clothed in nothing more than a ragged kilt, giant wings folded against his back.

“Don’t make me drink alone. Even you aren’t that rude.”

The Monster nodded once and made his way back to the sideboard. This time, I was certain he was smiling.

Shut your beak. You’re staring.

He was right. I was. He didn’t ask me to leave, but curiosity was killing me. What was I witnessing? And why was he talking to me?

But keep it down. I meant it earlier, you are distracting me, and I need to be sharp.

What could he be talking about? Were my thoughts distracting him? But how could I possibly control that? He reached for the second decanter, pouring a tiny amount of golden liquid into a second pewter goblet.

“Is that mead? Where do you even find that around here?” asked the Stranger, as the Monster joined him again by the fire.

“I told you. I still interact with people regularly.”

“The wild men who live isolated from everyone else. Please. You are the only creature on the planet that stopped evolving.”

A laugh flew from the Monster’s mouth, although it could have been a grunt. “And is it too much to ask for the real reason of your visit, or do we have to pretend like this is a social call?” His deep voice washed over me, like hearing a song I had long forgotten but used to love. I shook my head. What a way to think about a Monster who wanted to eat me.

“When’s the last time we saw one another? Fifty years?” The stranger took his whiskey to one of the chairs and sat down, enjoying a lingering sniff before tasting.

“Forty-nine years and ten months. The last time you made the long trek up my mountain.” He sipped his mead, the large pewter goblet looking tiny so close to his large head. The Monster nodded toward the stranger. “I hope it’s to your liking.” Both creatures laughed.

“I figured sending you a bottle would be preferable to a telegram.”

“I'm not debating that.”

“So, Camazotz, it is past time for you to return to the land of the living. You have moped up here by yourself long enough.”

“And you’re here to tempt me? After what happened the last time?” Camazotz—now that he had a name, I couldn’t call him The Monster any longer—held his goblet and watched the stranger like a lion watches an antelope.

“No, I am here to convince you.”

“Well, Chaac, you and I know how unlikely that is. But give it your best.”

“Good. You’re curious. If you had been paying any attention, you’d know AI is about to change everything. From here on out, it’s make or break.”

“I hope you’re kidding. You think to interest me with such things?” His initial look of surprise turned into disgust.