Brink

Long ago, before the War of the Ancients, the gods walked freely amongst mortals. It was common then for mortals to claim to be touched by a god; to bear a god’s blessing or favor. In many cases, this was a lie, and the mortal had no more claim on the god than a stone in his path. In some cases, it was the truth.

There once was a certain king of the land whose people called him Orteol and whose reign had been long and prosperous. He was well-loved by his people and respected by the gods for his humility.

Orteol had a son of the same name, who was his pride and his joy. Now, his son had been a sickly boy who struggled his way into manhood by the grace of the gods, and who seemed on the cusp of death every day of his life.

So, in the midst of the sun’s end festival, when the gods dwelled in the city, Orteol made a plea to the deity of death, who was at that time called Miradeṡ.

“Please,” the elderly king begged, “spare my son this torture. Grant him reprieve from your messenger’s clutching fingers. You may have anything,” he pleaded, “anything, for he is my sole treasure in this life.”

Miradeṡ, intrigued, bid Orterol to send for the boy, that they might plainly see him which the king called a treasure.

Desperate, the king did as the deity had asked and brought his son before them, repeating his earlier plea with tears in his kindly eyes.

When Miradeṡ’ gaze fell on the younger Orteol, they at once understood how the son had earned his father’s esteem. He was tall and handsome, despite the shadow of sickness that lingered over him even then, and his soul sang of quiet strength, of kindness, and of loyalty.

They also felt the weight of the knowledge that Orteol was long past meant for the grave.

“There is nothing I may do in this life,” they told the king, “for this man should have joined me long ago.”

The king threw his crown to the floor before the deity in a last, desperate plea. He begged Miradeṡ once more to spare his son, again offering a half-crazed repetition of “Anything, anything!”

The deity bent their head in a show of sorrow. “I may do nothing for him in this world, but I may do something before he reaches the next.”

They took Orteol’s crown from the floor at their feet and spun it once around a thin finger. As they did, the gold turned dark, and the spires of the crown lengthened. When Miradeṡ settled it on their head, the metal was black, and the many points of the crown had melted into three tall spires crowned with blue gems.

The deity sent one of their followers to fetch the first bird she saw. The girl went and returned quickly, carrying in her arms a sickly raven. She presented the bird to her patron with many whispered words of reverence.

Miradeṡ took a feather from the bird and a drop of their own godly blood to paint the symbol for ‘raven’ on the younger Orteol’s forehead.

At once, the prince changed into a handsome raven which Miradeṡ caused to perch carefully on their wrist.

The king cried out in horror at the sight and asked Miradeṡ what they had done. Miradeṡ said nothing for a time, merely stroking the raven Orteol’s feathers calmly.

Eventually, they broke their silence by saying, “As I said, I may do nothing for him in this world, but I can grant him passage from my realm to yours in the form of a raven. While you live, the raven cannot die, and while the raven lives, your son will be able to appear in this world.

“Otherwise, he will live with me in the Eraxxetu. There he will be able to return to his human form, and there you will be able to rejoin him after your death.” Miradeṡ placed a finger on the raven’s beak and told him to speak.

From the raven’s open beak came Orteol’s voice as he praised Miradeṡ and sang of his fortune to his father.

With a sob, the king collapsed to the floor at Miradeṡ’ feet. “Please,” he cried, “Is there nothing else?”

Miradeṡ told him there was not, and, without another word, left the earthly king.

Thenceforth, the king was accompanied by his son, the raven, as often as he visited the earth. It was known throughout his kingdom and the lands surrounding it that the bird belonged solely to Miradeṡ, who was thereafter called the Raven Queen by all who dared not speak their name.