The Book

Chapter 2 - A Warm Spring Day

Young Deal McShane held a hand beneath a lock of brown hair, sat down and stared at the book.  Despite several minutes of negotiating the dimpled, leather-covered monstrosity, the book failed to answer a single question.  In fact, it refused to stare back, causing him to stand, pick up and open the book.  The leather behemoth nestled neatly into his lap as he sat in a chair, exactly where he pictured it should dwell, even though it bothered him immensely to hold.

He hummed, sighed and hummed again, finally reaching forth to open the leather binder to the first page.  A word almost spoke to him, ‘Welcome’.  Deal noticed no magical tidings, no hallowed demons jumped out to capture his soul and no vicious threads pulled the boy onto the pages of the book.  It was only just a book.

The Book:
‘Welcome.  Read every single word before moving forward.  Don’t skip anything.  You, or someone you know, will die or worse if you skip pages.  This is my legacy to the person I trust most fore I am surely dead.

The Truth – There is more magiks in the world since the Rapture took place four centuries ago.  Fewer people allow for more magiks to exist.

God’s plan – Use his magiks to survive.  We exist because of his power.

The Birthright – God’s intention to allow a woman only one birth will keep populations low - so we don’t ruin the Earth as before.

The Watchers – The angels are charged with watching over us.’

He fell asleep after reading a couple lines.  It had been, overall, an exhausting day.  The new, younger body left him wanting for a good night's sleep and now one arm lay notched inside a fold of the book.

He'd become somewhat shorter since the transformation.  Only his toes touched the floor where he sat and he tucked deeply into the wallows of his favorite chair.

The next morning, young Deal awoke at the break of dawn, drew a cup of water from the clean bucket and put on a set of clothes from the closet which fit his youthful figure best.  They were old and musty, hadn’t been worn in years, but he hadn't nary a care.  An old, brown coat hung to the right where he touched it and decided it wasn't necessary.  Then, he pushed open the old z-braced door.

Morning dew dripped from the tall grass.  Jezebel, the brown mare, looked to him and backed away until running out of rope.  He slowly walked toward her and stroked her muzzle, pulled the iron stob from the ground and picked up a hammer leaning near the doorway.

They crossed the meadow side by side to a nice spot of tall grass.  He hammered the stake deep into the earth and re-attached the long rope.  The warmth radiating from the morning sun, the smells coming from the spring flowers, the spectacular sights from across the field and the singular bands of mist rolling from the sunlit meadow all left him captivated.  Everything felt brand new.


A piebald crow landed in a tree some distance away.  As he strolled back to the cabin, it continued to inspect.  It slowly flew from tree to tree until landing on an oak limb closer to where he stood.  When he saw the crow, he admired its beautiful markings, the makeup of the white on black and the nestled neck-feathers moving up and down as it called.  He felt closer to nature and, ultimately, closer to God.

Then, more crows came.  One by one, they lit in the trees.  One by one, they each remained silent, only listening to the old piebald who harked in sets and chants of three from a taut limb.  One by one, they each observed others coming in to inspect the boy, called to action by the old piebald.  All at once, they darted from the trees and dashed across the steamy meadow having reasoned enough troops for battle.

They swarmed atop Deal as an army defending their home.  He swung fists, flailed both arms to protect his face and tripped and fell repeatedly.  They scratched and gouged and pecked with unforeseen vengeance.  He turned, seeing the cabin door standing open and rushed quickly to get away.  The flock followed, so many that some even hopped along the ground.  They blackened the ground and blotted the sun.  He'd barely escaped.

Standing inside with his back to the door, he glared across the room to the book.  Heavy panting continued, gasping for air; not for need of it, but because he'd caught a fright.  He checked his pants, making sure everything remained intact and dry.

His skin burned from scrapes and scratches.  But, Deal felt it necessary to laugh at such heinous acts.  Everything felt brand new now, even this.  Nothing the matter, only smiling concern from intense emotions.

Deal walked to the door and spotted the piebald hopping around in a trampled clearing.  Droves of birds called and screamed from the rooftop and surrounding field.  Countless crows scratched at the walls, flying down and pounding against the old logs.

Wondering what had driven them to a fit of insanity, he saw the piebald peeking inside through the crack in the door.  He remembered what it was like to lose an eye and wanted nothing more than to live again, in peace.

“The pipe.” he whispered.

Deal picked up a ball of twine and pulled it tightly with both hands.  It held.  He wove the twine into a lasso and slowly opened the door.  There stood the piebald just beyond reach.  He pushed the door outward quickly, shooing the crows away and tossed the noose to the ground.  The z-braced door closed, leaving the twine inside the crack without tension.  As the crow came over to inspect the lasso, it stepped on the twine.  Snap!  Mottled white and black feathers flew across the entrance-way.  The bird disappeared from sight.

As it cawed in desperation from a burlap sack, Deal searched Jensen’s coat.  The cob end of the pipe and its stem fit ideally together but, to no avail.  They were broken.  He put the stem into his mouth and blew air.  Nothing.  He then placed the cob against the stem, fitting the broken pieces perfectly, tamped an index finger over the hole and blew.  A fire lit beneath his fingertip, a smoke ring formed and he gingerly pulled the solid pipe from his lips and smiled.  The corn cob pipe wound up sticking out of the old piebald’s mouth.

It stood freely on the table as Deal stroked its tiny head.  He admired the white patches outlined in dark, or were they dark patches outlined in white?  He surmised the differences.  The crow stood upright while the boy stroked, but fell over when he let go.  It gently cooed in a high pitched tone even while lying on its side.

“Do you understand me?  I want you to leave me alone.” said Deal, whispering straight into the crow’s non-existent ears.  “Go tell your friends, my name is Deal McShane and I live here.  Where else should I be?”

He flung open the door and tossed the bird out.  It lay on the ground for a second, stood up and slowly flapped addled wings till airborne.  The sky darkened, the villains each made off after their piebald storyteller.

He sat and thought for a few minutes as the screaming birds rejoiced.  The noise outside finally halted, the morning sun rose and his horse needed water.  Without hesitation, he set out to do so.  Walking toward Jezebel, he looked to the piebald sitting high upon an oak limb.  It inspected him in return, though no other birds remained.  He turned to one side, showing a piebald feather stuck behind his ear.  Paying no more attention to the crow, he pulled the stake and moved Jezebel, then returned home.

The book lay on the table where he’d left it.  He hesitated, then grabbed the book as it revealed something to him.  “What must I do?” he asked.  The book answered, in a sort of roundabout fashion.  “God Speak.” he shouted.

‘A spell allowing one to have fellowship with animals.  Beware, the angels.’  He chanted the verse, “And God created the animals, allowing them the will to think and a voice to communicate amongst themselves.  God’s will be done.”  He walked outside and scanned the tree-line.  The piebald crow observed him from a distance.

“What do you want with me?” he asked, thinking the crow remained for no other reason than unnecessary torment.

It continued to hop along a limb.  When it opened its mouth, a vocal pattern of pure and simple language emerged.

“Jensen Brenamon.” brandished the crow.

“J…  I still can’t say it.  He... isn’t here.”

“Jensen Brenamon.  Where?” asked the crow.

“I’d rather not answer because, I don’t rightly know.” said Deal.  “Why did you attack me?”

“Demon.” it cawed.  “Demon son.”

“And, what makes me a demon, might I ask?”

“You speak with crows...  Demon son.”

“Dear crow, what makes me a demon if I can speak with you?  You, obviously, answered me back.  I’d fancy to know whether it be me, or you who should be a demon?” asked Deal.

The piebald flew closer, looking around the field in every direction.  “You Threader.  Use magiks.  You speak... with... me.

“Then, why can’t we just be friends?” asked Deal.

“Way of crow and man… different.  Man destroy.  Crow take for... necessity.  Crow not... destroy.”  The old piebald continued to hop from branch to branch, nervously anticipating an answer.

“The ways of man can be changed.”  Young Deal walked closer to the limb.  “As you and I speak now, so can the ways of man become better, more evolved.”

“Man take things.” it harked.  “Man destroy things.”

“We learn from our mistakes.  Why can’t we learn from you?” asked Deal.

“Judge you, we shall.  Crow have judge of nest.  Three crow make nest... and watch nestling.  Third crow - judge.  Crow closer to God.”

“How can a crow be closer to God?” asked Deal.

“Judge raise nestling.  If nestling be evil… judge kill nestling.  Crow judge, so crow also judge Man.  If Man evil, crow judge.”

“Man judges himself, as crows judge themselves.”

“God judge man.  Man evil.  Evil bad.  Man bad.”

“What makes me bad, then?  Answer me that.”

“You speak... with crow.”

“God permits me to speak to you.  His magiks have allowed it.”

“Stolen magiks.  Stolen from God.”

“They say God gave us these magiks in order to protect ourselves.  Do crows possess the ability to use these magiks?” asked Deal.

The piebald crow looked away, unfolded wings and flew as far as could be flown.  In the meantime, he heard it begin calling again in its natural, cawing voice.  The distant birds became charged once more as the piebald reported its findings.  The crows shouted and began using more interesting sounds, those he’d never heard before, but knew to be upsetting.  He smiled, kicked a rock across the path and returned to his humble cabin to continue reading.  Survival depended on it.