The Crow Queen

The bones roll across the table, making a sound like rain that echoes in the dark of the room. Ulnas no bigger than mushroom caps and tibulas and collar bones. White as sea foam, bleached by the sun.

She collects them and arranges them into small piles as the water in the old pot, a buckled metal container, begins to boil over the pile.

On a plate she counts teeth, sorting them into groups of molars, incisors and canines. When she is satisfied with the number she tips the plate of teeth over the fire, plumes of white smoke rising into the air.

Outside the ravens drop one by one from the sky, from the trees from rooftops and church tops, as the heat rises.

She surveys her treasures, her instruments. Black bird claws, raven's wings, jagged teeth and fragments of fossils, strewn across the table like an array of jewelry.

There is still blood on some of the animal teeth.

Magic was never nice. She could not worry about niceness, not now.

The red sun rises higher, and the people can barely remember when it set. Night time, and the coolness that comes with it, seems a distant dream.

It is a challenge. A challenge to her.

Prove your strength. 
Prove your will.
Who is the little girl who would play queen?

She is not a little girl.
She is not a queen.
But she is there, and she will do what needs doing.

She focuses on the flames as the crows in the room flap their wings, uncomfortable in the heat. She feels it rising off her bones, off her skin, making her cheeks flush. But her eyes do not stray from the fire.

Outside the people are desperate. The heat on some of the metal statues has made them too hot to touch.  Townsfolk avoid them for fear of burning.

I will play your game.
I will rise to your challenge.

She murmurs under her breath, her voice rising and falling like the flames. The sun turns from red to gold.

Fire and Frost. 
Frost and Fire.

She closes her eyes, the flames are white spots dancing in the darkness behind her eyelids. With her eyes still closed she tilts her head up, and looks at the Sun.

Art by Monjoncio.

Text by Lucie MacAulay