Jack of Ravens

3

Ruth lay on the sofa with her iPod on, eyes shut and drifting close to sleep. Aimee Mann was singing about someone looking like a perfect fit, for a girl in need of a tourniquet, and Ruth felt tears spring to her eyes without any understanding of why they were there.

Like Peter Pan, like Superman, someone would come to save her, the song said.

She wanted to make the most of the music because there was something wrong with her iPod. Her downloads kept disappearing into the ether every time she found a song that touched her heart. They were wiped from her PC, too, and CDs vanished, there on the table one minute, gone the next. She was increasingly convinced that her flimsy grip on sanity was fading by the day.

The flat smelled strange, too, as if something had crawled into her wardrobe and died. Ruth felt sick and sad, and couldn’t shake the feeling that she too was dying, slowly but surely.

As she sank down into the music, dreams, half-memories and fractured images rose up to meet reality. There was Albert Bridge again, shrouded in mist. Why did it prey so heavily on her mind? There was fire, but not the kind of fire you see in autumn gardens. And somewhere she was calling, ‘I’ll love you … always,’ and her sadness felt like a deep, dark pool.

And then, strangely, she dreamed she was lying on the sofa listening to her iPod, only there was someone in the room with her. At first she thought it was an owl flying here and there, but then she realised it was a man pacing the floor, except he had features like an owl. As he walked, his head swivelled unnaturally, his big, round eyes constantly surveying her. Ruth felt that he wasn’t particularly pleasant, and probably extremely dangerous, but for now he had allied himself with her.

After a moment, he bent over her so that those eyes filled her entire vision. ‘You must wake from your slumber,’ he said in a harsh voice. ‘You are the most powerful.’

‘I can’t wake,’ Ruth replied dreamily. ‘I’ll never be able to find my CDs if I do that.’

Ruth could smell his breath and that jarred her reverie. Are there aromas in dreams? she thought absently.

‘Shake yourself,’ he pressed. ‘You must Craft a message, spell out your intent, unpick the fabric and weave new words of wonder. Fly again. Dream again. Tear out your heart and show it to another. Only a shared heart beats in time. Do it now, now, now. Two-day, for two is one, and one makes five. Do it now. Not on the Sun-Day or the Moon-Day, not on Woden’s Day or Thor’s Day or even Freya’s Day. Do it today, the Satyr’s Day.’

‘I can’t.’ Ruth began to cry again.

‘There are others who can help you. Your brother and sister. And more, four more. The Knight and his combat honey. The Broken Woman. The Warrior-Shaman with bloody clothes.’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Ruth called out.

The front door burst open with a tremendous crash. The owl-man retreated to the window as a dark shape that looked like a million tiny shapes joined together rushed towards him.

Ruth felt a huge weight on her chest preventing her from moving, but she was aware obliquely of a raging fight, flickering light and sucking shadows.

It ended suddenly and Ruth found herself being shaken gently awake. Rourke was sitting on the sofa next to her.

‘You were having a bad dream,’ he said with a reassuring smile.

Ruth gently pushed him away. ‘I don’t know … it was so strange.’

He put his arm round her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her.

‘Don’t,’ she said.

Rourke pressed on. ‘I thought we might go to bed. You’ve been teasing me along for ages …’

Ruth’s cheeks flushed. ‘I have not.’ She wriggled out of his grasp and stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this, but … I don’t really want a relationship right now. I thought I did, but I don’t.’

Rourke looked more surprised than hurt.

‘I know I’ve not been fair to you,’ Ruth continued, ‘and I did agree to all those dates, but …’ Her thoughts were moving too fast for words to express, faster than they had moved in a long time. ‘I’m just very sorry.’

‘I don’t understand-’

‘I don’t either, really. I just know I’ve been acting like some sappy loser. For a long time. And I’m not like that. I don’t need a boyfriend, but I thought I did, and you were around … I sound awful, don’t I?’

‘You’re saying you don’t want to see me any more?’

A slow sound echoed through the flat. Ruth was sure it was her wardrobe door opening just a little, perhaps stirred by a breeze. Suddenly she felt unaccountably frightened.

‘Can’t we just be friends?’ Rourke was saying. ‘You know I love your company, Ruth.’

‘Okay,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘Sure. Why not?’

The feeling of dread subsided. Ruth went to the window and found herself looking into the night for a dream-owl. ‘What day is it Two-Day?’ she asked dreamily.

‘Today? Saturday.’

‘Satyr Day,’ she whispered. Mist was drifting along the dark street, reminding her of Albert Bridge, where she thought she had first met somebody special. And despite the dark, and despite the mist, it felt as if the sun was coming out.