Book 4, Chapter 16: Gods, Corvids and the Cathedral

“Tread! Good morning. Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Your Highness, good morning. Do you have an alteration in schedule or something?”

Once again I was taken by his change in character. When I’d met him, he was an angry commoner, a deserter fleeing a war that destroyed his family. Now, he ran a castle and spoke like the nobles. Though I guess he was one, since being knighted. Good for Tread.

“It’s not that. I wanted to talk to you about gods.”

“Gods?”

“Maitlan, he said . . . wait, let me back up. Ok, so,” my mind was a mess this morning, I needed coffee! But had none. Only tea. I’d pour a double tea to straighten out my thoughts. “The ravens and crows. There are so many. And foxes – have you seen them around?”

He straightened his posture, “My lady, have you been drinking this morning? You have to meet the archbishop in the afternoon. Perhaps drink tea in the meantime?”

“No. What? I am drinking tea.” I held the cup up to him. “Maitlan thought it strange we have so many of the corvids hanging around here, thought it was some kind of portent. He said something about an old god or whatever who governed them.”

Tread spoke the word carefully, like he was testing it out for the first time, “Corvids?”

“Uh, it means ravens and crows. The corvid family.”

“If you say so.”

“That doesn’t matter. Is there a god of ravens?”

“I guess you could ask the ravens.”

I sighed. “Ok. You remember when we were fleeing the encampment by the Dernam river? We came across that huge statue, the massive head on the hill. And you told me some mythology about it. The gods who put it there.”

“Oh, yes! The sculpture of Hiltonx. He carved that wondrously large statue and Herifsa, in her jealous rage, caused a flood and buried it, along with his sculptor’s tools.”

“Right. That’s the story. Ok, what about ravens and crows and foxes, is there a deity or whatever who’s associated with them?”

“Ah! I’m sorry, my lady, now I understand. You’re thinking of Brandst, the protector.”

“He’s the god of ravens, a protector? Who does he protect?”

“It’s more, uhm, there’s more to it than that. Ravens are cunning and smart. They are a boon and a curse, if you take my meaning.”

“How can they be both?”

“See, they protect a farmer’s fields by driving the locusts and grasshoppers away, but they also steal chicks and goslings, grain when they can, and even food if we leave it out. I’ve seen crows take strawberries right off the plants. If you’re not careful, they can steal all manner of things. I’ve made sure to lock my window every night here, for the great number of murders and conspiracies around.”

“Ok, and, uh, what was his name? Brand?”

“Brandst.”

“What’s he about? You said some kind of protector.”

“A moment, my lady. Let me recall.” He closed his eyes and I could see them moving around under his lids, before opening them and saying, “He was a king of long ago, a giant of a man. The stories say he was twelve feet tall, but my grandfather always said he was no more than ten. After all, he could still squeeze into a house. Those giant bridges were built for him, that’s why they’re so big.”

“Ok, and what does this have to do with ravens and crows?”

“They took a liking to him during a large battle. The battle took place before the Ketzillian forest on the other side of Breadamont, where many crows and ravens nest. His army was losing, their backs to the forest, and this the birds saw. They believed him fighting to protect their nests, and so offered to help.”

“Wait, the ravens can talk?”

“Not anymore. But Brandst could understand them then.”

“Ok, sure. What happened?”

“They struck a deal. The birds would help Brandst’s army if the king would give them his head.”

“That doesn’t sound like helping.”

“I told you, the . . . corvids are both a boon and a curse. And they’re crafty. Brandst agreed to the deal to save his men and kingdom. So, the birds flew out and plucked the eyes of the enemy soldiers and Brandst’s army won the day. He had his own men cut off his head, leaving it for the birds.”

“Damn. I sure hope they aren’t here for anyone’s head.”

“The head bestowed protection on the birds and army, and the remaining soldiers all returned home safely. It’s why some farms have statues of heads on their land. Some even think the statue of Hiltonx is actually of Brandst, that the god sculpted it for him.”

“Ok, huh. Thank you for the story.” That didn’t really help my situation, unless the ravens were bugging me for my head. The one who popped into my bedchambers didn’t mention it, he just flew around and out. “Hey, that story, did the birds do a lot of bowing?”

“Bowing? No. Never heard mention of it.”

“I think I’d like to keep my head a little longer.”

“The corvids offer you the same deal?”

“No, no they didn’t, Tread. Not so far. Guess I get to keep it as long as I can keep my army.”

“That and don’t ask those birds for help. You never get the boon without getting the curse.”

***

The ravens were out, circling above me, as I made my way to the cathedral. Yuck, I did not want to go in there again, the awful feelings it gave me. Despite Tread’s story, the cawing of ravens, their presence, made me feel better, safer. It felt like, oddly enough as this sounds, they were on my side.

Still, I gave them a bit of side-eye. You’re not getting my head, you little beasts! Not yet, anyway. Maybe during the coming war, if our army falls. And certainly not voluntarily!

I shook my head to get rid of these negative thoughts just as I got to the cathedral’s door. It had to be this place. Making me feel so. No idea why this building bothered me, but it did. Hand on the handle, I sighed as I pulled it open to a chorus of cawing, smiled for that, then entered the place and unsmiled.

***

“Your Highness,” Ghevont gestured to an ornate seat in front of his desk, tea and biscuits in front of him, “please.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” I sat, wondering if I could strike a bargain with the corvids to poop on his head whenever he left the building. I’d ask next time I let one into my rooms.

“How may I serve you, today? Have you reconsidered your decision about our institution?”

“Ah, I’m actually here to discuss something else with you. A few things, perhaps. First, and this is going to sound odd, what legally gives royalty, the nobles, land ownership? Why are my family the monarchs, for example?”

“Oh yes, I can see why you’d ask that, coming into your sixteenth year.”

I probably scowled at him. “And?”

“The church, my lady.”

“What, that’s it? That’s the whole story?”

“The gods we care for, to whom worship and sacrifice we offer, in search of understanding, have gifted the powers of exaltation to this holy institution, and . . .”

Right, right. Of course, he would say these things. I was a fool to ask an archbishop why some people were royalty and others were exploited by royalty. All thanks to him. Yay.

“And we keep those documents here, at this very church.”

“I’m sorry, I misheard, what documents?”

“Those that enshrine your family to the throne. And,” he shook his head depreciatingly, “those of the lesser nobles.”

“Huh. No kidding. What were to happen if, heaven forbid, this place burned down?” Such a lovely thought!

“The documents are well protected and many copies exist.”

“Neat. What role does this church, your church specifically have in this, uh, documentation?”

“We are the founding order of this religion. The Seclazrin, despite their prominence, are a breakaway church.”

“I did not know that.” Didn’t he tell me the opposite when I met him? Either way, I guess. It didn’t really matter. “I have another question for you. I’m thinking to, uh, found a library.”

“No better pursuit for a noble. And you’d like us to arrange that for you?”

“Well, I was thinking that, to do so, I’d need a number of scribes. I’d like to slightly alter how books are copied.”

“My lady?” He raised one eyebrow, looking at me suspiciously.

“Just to produce an index of the contents of the book. A table of contents if you would.”

“Hmmm. We do our best, our utmost, to reproduce works exactly as they came before us.”

“Yes, well, you can’t. I mean, there’s bound to be errors if humans are doing the work.”

“Humans?”

Ack! I meant, ‘instead of computers.’ Whoops. “People. Your men? Monks, I mean. Uh, ‘perfection is the enemy of progress,’ that sort of thing.”

“I see. And you believe adding an index to books will improve their quality?”

“Yes! Absolutely, yes. It’s so much easier to find what you’re looking for-”

“Perhaps my lady, being so young, doesn’t fully comprehend the experience of reading a book?”

“I’ve read plenty of books,” I held my tongue, it badly, badly wanted to end that sentence with, ‘you moron.’ After all, I’ve likely read more books than he has. Seen more books than he can imagine! Twelve story libraries aren’t unusual where I come from. I took a breath and counted to five. I bet the good archbishop here didn’t even know that ravens and crows were corvids! Another count of five, as the last one didn’t work.

“I’m sure you have. Princess Cayce, I believe we can come to an arrangement. As the state church for the kingdom, we’d gladly offer you the use of our scribes and help fulfill your dream of building a library. Perhaps you could name it after your father, or your late brother.”

I sat back, considering. Blackmail it is, I guess. Well, crap. Annoying, but if I kept insisting on my terms for every battle I fought, I’d never get anywhere. Compromise, the earls had earlier said I didn’t give any. “Alright, you win. We’ll return to our previous agreement and I’ll sign the documents. Could you have them prepared again?”

“Why, Princess, I just happen to have a set ready for you.” An annoying, smug look on his face, Ghevont opened a drawer, withdrew a large stack of papers, and placed them heavily on the table in front of me. “If you would be so kind as to place your royal signature at the beginning and back of the document, we can get started on organizing your library.”

I sat back in the chair. If he could play at this game, so could I. “Right. These documents. And I will need documents attesting to your church’s promise to help me found a library.”

“You want written documents of my promise to you? We have just come to an agreement, surely my word-”

“One thing that was drilled into me over and over, Your Excellency, is to get it in writing. Paperwork, if you please.”

He seemed to be fighting a scowl, and the scowl was winning. “Yes. My lady, it will be done. And, will you sign both into law to take effect on your sixteenth birthday and coronation, or would you like to wait until that day?”

“Let’s wait until that day. But, we have struck an agreement and for that, at least, I am happy.” I stood up and held out my hand to shake on it.

He seemed startled, surprised, and held out his own hand in the manner of ladies who were going to curtsy, palm facing the floor. The second finger on his right hand had an enormous golden ring with a giant, blue gemstone. Weird. I took his hand in mine, gave it a shake, despite his hand lacking grip, hanging limp in mine. And he gave me a look like I’d gone and drank his inkwell. Then I sat back down.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but it is customary, even for princesses, to kiss the ring.”

“Oh. How odd.” I did not sit up from the chair, nor give him my lips.

“Odd?”

“I have another, perhaps even stranger,” I shrugged in apology, “question to ask you. The last one, I swear.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he sat back into the chair, hands clasped together, “Be my guest.”

“I was speaking with the castle chamberlain, honestly doesn’t matter, but it’s all these birds, the ravens and crows. He said they were associated with a mythological figure named, uh, Bran. Brand. No, sorry, Brandst.”

Ghevont chuckled, picked up his tea, shaking his head while smiling, took a sip. “Ah, yes! Your chamberlain, the boy who was a farmer?”

I nodded.

“It’s a tale often told among the commoners. They even have statue heads of the Brandst figure on their farms, thinking to appease the ravens. Actually, the story predates them. It’s rather old and comes from those who were before us.”

“The people who built the bridges?”

“Oh no, not those. The gods themselves know who built those. The Brandst story comes from peoples yet living in the rolling hills east and south of here. They have a primitive way of life and an even more primitive spirituality, I’m afraid. Remnants of a larger group that used to populate most of these lands.”

“Ah. I take it we pushed them out?”

“I don’t know the answer to that. Just that, every now and again, when constructing a new building or such, people dig up remnants of housing, sometimes gravesites, that clearly resemble theirs.”

“That’s interesting. I wonder what happened. Do you know their mythology? I’m curious about how the ravens connect to their deities. And if that has anything to do with all these ones hanging around.”

“Yes, there have been a larger population than normal. My lady, I don’t think they’re at all connected to mythology. I’m sure this is just a natural, but unusual gathering.”

Debating whether to tell him about the ravens and foxes who bow to me, I tried smiling. Didn’t quite work. He probably thought I was being a dumb teenager, believing in nonsense. He’d think I was outright crazy if I talked about the crows following me around and making me feel better about coming into this cathedral. Possibly, the good archbishop would be insulted. Instead, I asked, “What about this Brandst figure?”

“He’s not even in their normal mythologies. The story told by our farmers is, in fact, only half the tale.”

“Oh? Did the church document their religious practices?” As they were driving them out, I thought to myself, images of the militarized church descending upon those who lived here before. Not exactly a new twist on history. My body reminded me how little it liked being here, inside this building, as my stomach twisted, and I tried to remain outwardly calm.

“To a degree, yes. Ravens in their mythology are tricksters. You see, they don’t know the gods as we do, or proper worship and meditation, but ‘speak’ to spirits. Brandst, well, he may have been based on outlaws, criminals who pretended to be kings among those people, but outlaws from our lands. They usurped local mythology to create the appearance of divinity.”

“Huh. Ok. Tricksters. That’s sort of in the tale, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes. But you won’t learn anything from it, except how primitive peoples think. There’s nothing spiritually meaningful in these tales.”

“Right. Got it. Thank you for the conversation, Your Excellency. That clears up a lot.”

“My lady. Will you be joining us for the weekend mass?”

“Uh, mass.” I shuddered, unable to stop myself and hoped he thought I was itchy or something, I really, really needed to get out of here. “I will check with my schedule and see what I can do.”

“It would behoove you to take as much care for your spirituality as you do for your bodily exercise.”

“That’s the talk of the town, it would seem, my training.”

“Well, it is, shall we say, highly unusual for a-”

“-girl, yeah. I get it, Ghevont. I’m here to break stereotypes, it seems.”

“Hmmm.”

I stood and bolted out of there, trying to outrun the nausea and hatred I had for the place. Well, ok, not really. I left after the proper honorifics were exchanged and no, my lips did not touch that filthy ring. Probably full of lip viruses and all manner of gross. I forced myself to walk normally, fighting not to bolt the entire way to the exit.

***

When I stepped through that door and over the plank of wood on the ground in front of it, my first breath was deep and long and fresh, full of new air, late fall scents of drying sap and dead leaves mixing, and I basked in the warmth of the sun, like I’d emerged from a cave for the first time in ten years. The guards ahemed behind me as, by stopping, I’d made one of them wait in that awkward half-in, half-out door space.

“Oh, crap, sorry.” I felt selfish and hurried along to let them come out and enjoy the day, too.

Ugh, what a mess. Looks like I was stuck with Ghevont’s church, but at least he was generally friendly, if aligned with Hafthon. Nothing better than a smile while he sticks that knife into my back, proper politeness and all its due.

But I wasn’t much closer to understanding the strange behavior of the birds and foxes. Trading heads for their help and being the embodiment of trickster spirits. That last one reminded me of deities back on my world. The trickster deity was literally called ‘Raven’ by some cultures, and I thought, but couldn’t remember entirely, various versions included crows, foxes and jackals. And maybe a spider god, but that felt less trickster and more tricky. Like, now that I’ve got you in my invisible webs, you’re lunch, kind of deal.

And anyways, I didn’t like spiders.

Brin once told me that I spoke of Valhalla in my sleep. Valhalla! Their version of the trickster would be Loki. The half son of a frost giant and a goddess if memory served. He had sex with a horse once.

I really hoped I wasn’t Loki in disguise. Horses are great and all, but uh, yeah. They did not look appealing in a bikini. Not to body shame.

“Hey,” I said to the guard beside me, “what did the horse say when the god wanted to make love to it?”

“Uhm, Your Highness?”

“Neigh.”

“That’s very funny, my lady.”

“I sure think so!”