Page 27 of Anathema

“No. Did you see a large bird that exploded into smaller birds?” Hearing her ask that aloud had me shrinking into myself. How completely insane I must’ve sounded.

“No. I was …. I just thought …. Some fresh air. I think I need air.” I finally turned around to see her holding out a bowl of broth and a slice of bread for me.

“I think you need some rest. Maybe some food,” she said, prodding the food toward me.

“I’ve had plenty of rest.”

“Yes, well, eat something before you slip into delirium. Though, I fear it’s too late,” she muttered under her breath.

“I could actually stand a quick walk first.”

“What? No. You need to eat, Maeve. You haven’t eaten in–”

I snatched the bowl from her hands and tipped back the broth, slurping it until I’d polished off the whole thing. Though, I immediately regretted it at the roiling in my stomach.

Aleysia’s jaw hung open as she stared back at me and half-heartedly accepted the empty bowl, when I handed it back to her.

“There. I ate.” I snatched up the bread and ripped a piece with my teeth as I stepped past her for the door.

“Where are you going? You should probably have someone go with you.”

“I just want some fresh air. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Fine. But if you’re not back at the toll of the quarter bell, I’m coming to look for you.”

“Deal.” I slipped out of my nightclothes, keeping my arm out of sight, and into my black dress and boots, then padded quietly down the stairs in hopes of avoiding Agatha. The moment my feet hit the lower level, I froze. A tall, gaunt figure stood at the foot of the stairs–Uncle Felix, munching on a sandwich of, undoubtedly, smelt fish and fig jam, as he was known to eat. He regarded me with a cocked brow before biting into his loathsome lunch.

Likewise, I bit into my bread.

He turned into the parlor, and I kept on out the front door.

The frigid air stiffened my muscles as I ran across the dirt road toward the woods, glancing up at the sky on occasion to make sure there was no terrifying colossus bird overhead. By the time I reached the woods, the birds that’d been pecking there scattered off.

As I neared the winterberry bush, I slowed my steps on seeing the undisturbed grave, no black object in sight. I swept my gaze over the area to find no footprints, no sign of struggle, or grooves, where someone might have been dragged over the dirt.

It was real. All of it was so real.

I turned back around toward the house and spied Aleysia staring at me through our bedroom window. I didn’t have to see her face up close to know lines of worry etched her brow.

I’m losing my mind. I must be.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, and on an exhale, I opened my eyes to a flash of silver buried in the piled dirt.

Leave it alone.

I couldn’t, though. Against my better judgment, I knelt to the ground and dug at the grave, until I loosened what appeared to be a black and silver, scaled and oval object, roughly the size of a melon. An egg of some sort, judging by the shape of it.

But no sign of the raven I’d buried there.

Frowning, I looked back to the empty grave and the object again. I examined its rough surface, trying to imagine what it could’ve been.

Over my shoulder, I stared at the entrance to Witch Knell. Nothing lurked there besides an errant breeze that winnowed through the crooked limbs, but it was that eerie placidity that cast a shiver down my spine and urged me to turn away.

The egg sat in my palm, and I held it up to examine the silver lined scales on its surface. I stretched my left arm out enough to slide my sleeve back for the scar there and the silvery scales that also accented the feather’s rough shape.

My mind puzzled the connection. The bird I’d buried. The cut I’d sustained. And now the egg.

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