Chapter Three

The Ordeal

...a lone man wakes in a deserted world. Bleeding, his memories gone he must navigate a strange world to find his way home.

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The Ordeal - Chapter Three

Written by Edward Shaddow

A talking raven, sure, why not, weirder things have happened, most of them just recently. “I think I saw a packet in the fridge, did you want me to get it for you?” I replied, already getting up from my seat. “Cooked?”

“Raw thanks, and leave the fat on.” He replied as I headed towards the kitchen. The raven flew from his perch to land on the kitchen service window and watched me soundlessly as I found and plated the raw meat for him. Scraping noises came from the contact of claws on stainless steal as the raven pushed off and flew back to the table. I couldn’t help but carry the plate one handed like a waiter would. “One serving of bacon for sir. Would you care for any condiments or perhaps something to drink?” I said in a fake French accent. The raven looked up at me quizzically, “Uh...this is fine, thanks.” Shaking his head slightly, he hopped up on the table to better attack his food. I sat down and we both began to eat our breakfasts in silence, apart from the occasional scrape of beak and spoon hitting china.

“So,” I said between mouthfuls, “You eat here often, or just on special occasions?” I watched as the raven quickly wolfed down the piece of fat hanging from his beak before answering me. “Don’t flatter yourself buddy,” he cawed, directing his attention towards the remaining bacon, “I’m not here because I want to be, you know.” If it was possible for a bird to give you attitude, he was doing it. I stopped eating and looked at him, “What did you just say?” With his beak full of meat the raven shot a sideways glance, and let slip, what I interpreted as, a muffled “Huh?”

“Your saying that you’re here against your will? Whose will is it? Did they do this?” I said gesturing around the room. “Did they make everyone disappear just to torture me or something?” I felt my voice shake as a long forgotten rage began to slip. “What the hell did I do to deserve this? I gave you freaking bacon! I’m not that bad a guy! Am I?” Am I? The burst of rage subsided as quickly as it came, leaving me feeling drained and slightly ashamed. Is this something that I deserve or a huge injustice against the little guy? Even though I can’t remember a single thing, it is entirely possible that I’ve done something so terrible that I needed to be hauled up in front of what ever was the equivalent of the universe’s principals’ office. I slumped back into my chair and starred solemnly into the half eaten bowl of porridge. Suddenly it didn’t seem so warm and inviting.

“Finished your little freak out?” the raven said looking up from his empty plate. It was my turn to shoot a dirty look, more out of frustration than attitude. The prospect of being chewed out by a creature who would list ‘Dumpster diving’ in his top ten favourite things to do, wasn’t something I was in the mood for.

“Do not.” The raven said suddenly; breaking my train of thought.

“Huh...do not what?” I replied.

“Dumpster diving; it’s not in my top ten list. More like top fifty, but definitely not top ten.”

Had I been thinking out loud?

“Now, bacon! That’s in my top ten list.” He went on, talking to himself between picking at the scraps on the almost empty plate. OK, so, a talking raven who can read minds, not the strangest thing to happen to me today, yet why do I feel the sudden need for a strong drink and a very long lie down?

“...This one time, I found a whole Italian sausage in a bin out the back of this crazy old woman's house. Man, I was so full afterwards I could hardly fly when she came rushing out with the broom. Crazy woman; its not like she was going to eat it.” He was still chatting to himself. Give a bird the power of speech and they never shut up, no wonder they can only ‘caw.' “Look,” I said, interrupting him mid rant, “I think it’s about time I got some answers, don’t you?” Those beady black eyes looked up at me sharply. Suddenly I felt like a piece of discarded Italian sausage. No broom wielding woman is going to save me, that’s for sure.

“What is it you want to know?” the raven said, its black, bottomless eyes staring at me. What is it they say about looking into abysses?

“What do I want to know? How about everything! I wake up in the middle of a deserted city, bleeding from my side, delirious with pain and suffering the wonderful affects of amnesia. Eventually finding this place, ‘Casa du Weird,' the only hotel with magically appearing lifts, fully stocked kitchens and overnight forests! Then there is you my bacon loving friend. Are you a figment of my imagination or am I a figment of yours?” Saying it out loud like that made it even more believable. Could all this just be in my head? It made perfect sense in a way: I had an accident, slipped into a coma, hello deserted city, I’ll have coffee with my porridge thanks.

“Don’t kid yourself.” the raven said, hopping across the table to stand next to my half empty bowl. He craned his neck upwards; even from that angle he was still imposing, that beak hadn’t got any duller. “You can’t get out of it that easy you know. Dreams, visions, ghosts, they all have their place, this isn’t it though. Wake up and look around, do you think your mind could create all this? Bigger things are in play here than you Blondie. You’ve joined a game that’s been around long before you were even thought about, and If I were you, I’d think about learning the rules and concentrate on finishing rather than whine and moan about why you’re doing it.” A furious beating of wings punctuated his statement, as the raven flew off towards the lobby.

“Rules? What rules?” I said looking at what was left of my porridge, now flavoured with large black feathers. ‘Bigger things are in play here...’ have I become the unwitting pawn in someone's idea of a big joke? Absently turning one of the ravens feathers in my hand I let my mind wander. That bird knows a lot more than he’s letting on, that’s obvious, although I doubt he knows everything. Do I follow someone with half a clue or set out on my own hoping to stumble upon the answers? Bit of a no brainer that one. Dropping the feather I headed out after the bird. Half a clue is better than none, even if it does smell of raw bacon.

He sat on top of the lone cash register that dotted the otherwise pristine service desk of the lobby. Walking over towards him I could swear the bloody thing smirked at me; he’d played me, just enough to prove his point no doubt. The plants had grown again in the relatively short time it had taken to eat breakfast. Long creeping vines covered the floor so much that it resembled a well kept temple ruin. As I dodged the vines and creeping plants that littered the floor, managing to stay upright most of the time. The bird alighted from his perch and gracefully landed atop the narrow board that held the room keys. Pulling the key from my pocket I dangled it at him (possibly not the most sensible thing to do to an animal who by its very nature is attracted bright shiny things) and said “Thanks, but I’ve already got a room.”

“Good for you, lanky,” he said, “I’ll send the maid up with some fresh towels for you.”

“Ha...” I started; half leaping, half stumbling over the mass of plants grouped around the counter. “Ha.” I finished, managing to compose myself by grabbing on to the polished wood.

“If you are quite finished playing with the flowers, Snow White, you might want to grab the bottom key marked ‘garage’ and follow me.” The raven said gliding off towards the open lift.

“Easier said than done, bird” I muttered looking at the minefield of roots and creepers between me and the brass doors. If you’ve ever seen anyone leap over a two meter high counter from a standing start and made it look graceful, odds are they have had some gymnastics training in the past. Me, well, I couldn’t remember my past, but odds are that the vaulting horse wasn’t in it. Scrambling over the counter I grabbed the key and made my way slowly over to the waiting lift and, apparently, impatient raven.

“Get everything did you? Didn’t forget to turn the stove off?”

“Unless you want me to show you what it’s like to only be able to get around on a couple of legs, I suggest shutting your beak before I lose my patience, and lose your wings.” The silence on short trip down to the garage was worth the constant evil looks. Even if his gaze did make me feel like a piece of bacon the entire time.

The muffled chime sounded as the lift entered the parking garage and the brass doors slid open. No sooner had I pulled back the metal lattice, revealing the waiting dark, than the bird shot into the blackness. Thanks I thought to myself, not like it’s going to be hard to find a raven against a pitch black backdrop now is it? No doubt retaliation for my thinly veiled threat. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark the further I moved away from the dim light the lift emitted. As expected, the garage was bare except for a few cars caked in a thick dust that dotted the vacant lot, giving it the impression of a rather cheap and neglected vintage car collection. Moving slowly towards the nearest car, several feet away from me, I heard the beating of wings and the grating sound of claws against metal. Great, he’s back.

“Have you come to watch me stumble about in the dark, or are you going to start being helpful and find the light switch?” I called at the vague shadow siting on car in front of me. The shadow made no move or reply, “Come on, you still pissed at the wing thing? Look I didn’t mean it OK, I’m just having a really bad day and these games aren't helping much.” Still no reply, either he’s really sensitive or that’s not the same bird. Straining my eyes I stretched my vision further into the dark, wishing the shape to come into focus. The more I looked however, the blurrier it got. “Um...Bird, uh, Raven, thing?” Shit, what was his name, I don’t think I even thought to ask. Do ravens even have names or are they just ‘bird’? I kept walking towards the car, he’s either waiting to scare the living daylights out of me or...I didn’t even want to think about an ‘or’, knowing my day an ‘or’ would likely be much worse than a smart mouthed bird.

A strange feeling began to fall over me the closer I got to the shape. It wasn’t one of panic, although that was well and truly there, it was more like comfort; memories of home. Less than four steps away I could make out the distinct silhouette of a large bird, it’s head was cocked at that familiar and inquisitive angle; what the hell was the birds name? And like a sharp blow to the head it was there: Hugin. His name, as if I had known it from the beginning, from the very first time I saw him flying around the hotel. How the hell did I know that? All the time I was moving closer and closer as shadow gave way to shape, detail began to show its self until finally I saw it’s eyes. Red. Marbles of the darkest, purest red. Tiny orbs of blood, floating in a sea of black, staring right through me and penetrating my soul. Yet, it was all vaguely familiar. It felt right, if not good that this bird looked, not just at me, but in me as well. Those warm feelings became stronger, joined by hints of memories that began to rise up in the back of my mind, like the humble beginnings of a tsunami. It felt as if I was on the verge of knowing everything! My arm reached out, as it had done a thousand times before, ready to stroke those silk feathers and call her home. Her. Yes, it was she. I knew her name as well, it was one you could not forget...Without warning, bank after bank of lights hummed noisily into life above me, flooding the car-park with a white phosphorescent dawn.

On instinct I snapped my head back to look at the source of the light, bringing it back just as quickly, only to find the red eyed raven was gone. Along with what ever memories it was about to bring back. “Great...” I said to the dust.

“You’re welcome, Goldilocks,” said the bundle of feathers thrashing above me. “Do you know how hard it is to flick a light switch when you’ve got claws instead of fat, fleshy meat fingers? Bloody hard.” He came to rest on top of the car. “Don’t tell me you’ve chosen this one, it’s got no power at all! I could fly faster than this piece of junk. The better ones are in the back; VIP area you know.” I Looked at him standing there with his head titled. The black of his wings shone in the pale light. For a moment I knew that they were smooth and welcoming, just like hers. A flash of red and I almost had it back, but it was gone in an instant. Sigh. Guess I’m stuck with the bloody bird still. At least he had a name now; maybe I could shock him into silence by knowing something before he tells me. I started to head towards the back, noticing the large ‘VIP’ sign and pointing arrow. “There better be a Mustang back there, Hugin, or we’re not going anywhere!” I said, steadily walking away from him. A very confused caw and a ruffle of feathers let me know I had hit my mark. Is it bad that I feel pride in one-upping a bird? I smiled to myself, listening to my footsteps echoed off the walls around me. Nah.

Next Chapter...

Artist

Amon Amarth

Song

Cry of the Black Birds

Reason

If you have never heard of Amon Amarth I would recommend looking at their albums. Norse Death Metal, is there any greater genre of music? If there is I don’t want to know about it.

A talking raven, sure, why not, weirder things have happened, most of them just recently.