Over the next few hours they worked together shoulder to shoulder in the workshop, long into the night, making little test pieces, and discussing and exploring different ideas, until they constructed a design they liked. She had never worked at her pa’s side before, not like this. She had never had a need for man-made constructions. So it was an entirely new experience for her, and it brought her great joy, the act of actually creating something with her pa at her side.
Later that night, when they finally went to sleep, she curled up between her sheets, her head on the pillow, and it felt just about as fine as anything she had ever felt. She knew there were dark and terrible dangers out there in the forest. She knew there was still a fight ahead of her, but tonight, she was home with her pa, and for a little while, that’s all she wanted. Everything is always changing and everything is always staying the same.
The next morning, Serafina went upstairs straightaway to find Braeden.
All the guests that had come for the ball had fled in their carriages to escape the heavy rains flooding the roads, so the house and grounds felt empty. She passed Mr. McNamee, the estate superintendent, gathering a large group of workers in the stable courtyard to repair the damage caused by the nightly storms.
Out back behind the stables, she spotted Braeden in the distance, walking alone into a pasture toward four black horses. The horses had been his companions for years, but in the months she had been gone, Braeden had fallen into such despair that he had drifted away from his friends. As he approached them for the first time in a long time, the horses stood in the field and stared at him as if he was a stranger.
Braeden folded his leg brace at the knee, and sat in the middle of the field. The horses studied him from a distance for a long time. Finally, they began walking slowly toward him.
The four black horses surrounded Braeden, lowered their heads to his, and gently nuzzled him, as horses in the field who have not seen each other in far too long will do.
Then the lead horse extended his front leg, bowed his head low with a bending neck, and knelt down onto one knee so that Braeden could climb onto his bare back. When the horse rose up again, Braeden was astride him, on four strong legs.
Serafina watched Braeden ride out into the rolling, grassy fields with his horses, up to the top of a great hill where there was a large white oak tree with a huge crown and thick splaying limbs. As the horses grazed at the top of the hill, Braeden stayed among them, once again a trusted member of their herd.
Serafina was about to climb the hill to catch up with them, but then she paused. The golden morning light shone down through the mist rising from the tall grass, and for a moment she felt the coolness of the mist, and the heat of the sun, and the touch of the breeze on her skin. She knew she had returned to the living, but at this moment it felt as if the separation between her and the world around her had slipped away. We are made of the world, and the world is made of us, she thought.
Wondering what she could do, she slowly raised her hand in front of her, shaping her fingers until the mist around her began to move. The mist flowed outward, swirling and turning in a long tendril, propelled by her will. She guided the tendril of mist up the hill, toward Braeden and the horses, then up through the branches of the tree until the tendril of mist met the sun and disappeared. Serafina smiled, sensing that there was much for her to learn.
But she knew she didn’t have time to linger. She had won one battle by escaping the cloak, but she knew the real war was yet to come. She continued on up the hill to join Braeden and the horses, but then something happened.
Black crows began flying in, strong and hard, from all directions. Soon, hundreds of crows were flying about the tree at the top of the hill, landing and taking off again, wheeling about the sky, croaking and cawing, as if they were engaged in some sort of raucous, noisy conclave.
When she saw Braeden standing below, looking up at the crows, she thought he was just watching them like she was, but then she realized that he was actually calling them in, trying to speak with them, his voice filled with urgency. As the crows flew in great circles around the top of the tree, he talked to them, sometimes struggling with the phrasing of his words, other times correcting himself, like someone who is gradually finding his way.
Finally, one of the crows flew down and perched on a branch near Braeden, tilted its black shining head, and made clicking-gurgling noises. It appeared that Braeden actually understood what the crow was saying to him, and when Braeden spoke back to the crow in English, the bird seemed to somehow understand him. Many of the other crows came closer and joined in their conversation until there were crows in the lower branches all around him.
As Serafina moved quickly up the hill, she was worried about scaring the crows off, but the birds seemed to have no shortage of boisterous, brazen confidence in themselves, flying all around, buzzing and cawing, flapping their great black wings, as they conversed with the boy.
Braeden seemed unfamiliar with the crows’ language at first, as if he didn’t understand everything they were saying, but he seemed to become more used to the cadence of it. Serafina had never given much thought to the cawing of crows, but as she watched them now, she began to hear just how many different kinds of sounds they made—long, castigating rattles, impatient clacks, triumphant caws, rowdy jeers and playful chortles, warnings and signals, praise and encouragement, and urgent calls to flight. She realized that the crows had an entire language of their own. And with powers she did not understand, Braeden was learning it.
Finally, he said a few last words to the crows, and they all launched up into the air at once. One flock of the crows flapped forcefully away on strong and steady wings, flying west toward the mountains in the distance. The other crows flew in small flocks in different directions, some toward the house, others the gardens, and still others into the nearby forests.
“Where have you sent them all?” she asked, making her presence known for the first time.
Braeden turned in surprise and smiled at the sight of her. “Serafina…” he said, his voice filled with gentle contentment. She was just happy that he could actually see her.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Better than I have in a long time,” he said, nodding vigorously.
“Me too,” she said, smiling. “It’s good to be home. I was going to come up here and tell you that we have work to do, but I think you’ve already begun.”
“I’m afraid I’m out of practice, so it took me a while to figure out how to speak to them.”
She looked toward the flock flying west, their black silhouettes receding into the blue sky beneath a striking, sunlit formation of tumbling white clouds.
“And where is that particular flock going?”
“I asked them to head to the Smoky Mountains.”
The sound of that name brought a pang of sadness to her heart.
Looking at Braeden and then the crows again, Serafina wondered what it was all about. “Why so far?” she asked. “What will they find there?”