Unseen branches whipped her face, scraping across her tear stained cheeks as she flew past the gnarled trunks that rose out of the green haze, their withered bark gaping maws of ancient teeth. Sobs snagged in her throat, battling for room against her ragged gasps and the beat of her rabbit-fleeing heart.

She careened past the trees, the branches, and the thorns, her feet pounding down the loose soil underfoot. Wicked claws of the snarlingthorns lashed out at her legs, hooking into her flesh and hindering her desperate flight. She stumbled, loose soil flying as her feet scrambled for a foothold to spur her forward.

Her toe caught a root, and, with a hoarse cry she fell forward, her precious cargo flying out of her grasp. She landed in a spray of sun baked dirt, skidding to a stop at the foot of a tree. No, no, no!

Scrambling to her knees, she whipped her head around the small clearing. Where was it? She couldn't lose it! Not now, not after— not after— She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists around the warm soil, tears lumping in her throat.

"Take the sword," father said, his voice hard with finality. "And go! The Flame be with you." He shoved the hilt into her hands and gave her shoulder push. She searched his warm brown eyes for— "No!" She rasped, jerking open her eyes. "Don't remember more; you have to get farther away." Shakily, she drew in a breath, blinking hard. "Don't let them take it. Never let them take it."

Throwing a fistfull of dirt aside, she locked her jaw against the flashes of movement, wrenches of screams, and pieces of blurred memory welling up inside her as an inevitable tide. Her mother, falling. Dead. Gleaming sword falling out of her limp, gray hands. Screaming. Not just her own. Fire hungrily licking over head, shadows, both human and inhuman, darting under the burning roofs. Her brother, sweet, innocent brother's woeful eyes shining through the soot and tears. And her father—strong, capable father—handing her Mother's sword, telling her to run. To go. To flee. Flee her burning village. Flee from the invaders. Flee from danger while her family fought to survive.

She shook her head, fisting her hands in her dark locks. Stop it, stop it! Don't think about it. Just run. Inhaling slowly, she let her hair go and lifted her gaze to the clearing. A flash of light caught her eye. The sword lay a few feet from her in a patch of sunlight, half buried in the dark soil. She dove forward, her fingers closing around the hilt, and shot to her feet with a strangled grunt.

She had to run. She had to run as fast as her feet could carry her and do nothing else. No thinking, no remembering, no stopping. So she turned and ran.

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Something tickled her nose. With a sharp inhale, her eyes flew open. A squirrel, brown and unremarkable, stared at her with fathomless black eyes that seemed to suck out her soul and consume it. She blinked. The squirrel twitched its whiskers innocently.

"Oh." The simple word crept out between her cracked lips like a shredded breath of wind, quiet and understated. The squirrel fluffed its tail and scampered away, the morning sun painting outlines of leaves on its back. It was morning. Already.

She slid her eyes away from the trees to the sword. It lay in the bare earth where she'd dropped it, glistening like the crown of a king. But unlike a crown, it wasn't lost; it wasn't waiting to be found. It was just there, lying patiently, waiting for the right person to pick it up and carry it into battles worthy to be sung about.

You will know the truth of the blade; for all who look upon it will know that I have blessed it.

The sword; the Sword of Siel, the gift to the Ravens. The gift to heroes. The gift that was now hers and hers alone. You are a Raven, Ere. One day this sword will be yours. One day fire will light your path. Until then, wait, listen, and learn, my child. One day this will be yours.

Except, it was hers because the Bärdvi attacked and razed— "Stop it, Ere!" She slammed her hands into the dirt, sitting bolt right, and shook back her hair.

A sob squirmed in her throat and she swallowed thickly, licking her lips. Thirsty. Hungry. Alone. Water. She needed water. Oh, but how the fog inside her weighed her down. But her thirst was greater, so she stood with aching slowness.

She curled her fingers over the worn hilt of the sword, lifting it, groaning as her arms screamed. Rest, her body pleaded but she pushed on, the soft soil shifting like sand under her feet, swallowing up the sounds of her footsteps. A breeze rustled through the dark leaves, bringing the sound of gurgling water, and she turned towards it, coaxing her legs to pick up the pace.

A ribbon of blue weaved around the trunks of the ancient trees, telling her she had arrived. She knelt on the sodden earth, setting aside her cumbersome burden, and leaned over the water. Hesitation seized her and she stared down at her wavering reflection.

The girl that stared back at her was hardly recognizable with sorrow-filled hazel eyes, deep shadows carving a gorge below them, and cracks riddling her lips like fault lines. Ash and dust clung to her cheeks, contrasting starkly with the red gashes across her cheeks and the scarlet of her cape blazing around her neck. Where had the fierce eyed, capable heir of the sword, gone? This girl she saw was no hero, like a Raven. This girl was haunted and hunted. This girl looked like she survived a war, not a village raid.

Ripples distorted the image, breaking her from her reverie. Clearing her throat, she bent and drank her fill. Sitting back on her legs, she stared up at the swaying canopy. The stream burbled. The wind whispered. Her thoughts stumbled around in heavy fog, walking a path carefully made.

With a long sigh, she fell onto her back, not caring that the wet soil would cling to her clothes. The leaves rustled, flashing with rich emerald light against the glimpses of the blue, blue sky behind it.

Why is it that the sky can be blue when all one feels is gray? She wondered wearily. Why is it that the leaves can be so green when all one feels is withered inside? Why is it that the earth is so prosperous, the wind so tender, the day so light, when such human horrors have happened upon it?

A bird, adorned in a crown of azure feathers, alighted on a branch, sending a shower of bard fragments. She closed her eyes and let the improvised rain patter onto her skin. Why is it me who bears the sword? Why did it have to be now? I'm not ready to use it. I'm not ready to slay evil beasts, or even the Evil itself. I just ran away from my birth village, condemning all inside of it to die by the hands of the Evil. I'm just a girl. I'm just a Raven.

A bitter smile curled her lip. Just a Raven indeed! As if the Raven family—one of the two families promised to be led by the Flame, to bring hope, light, and peace to the land of Travan—was merely a name of a commoner.

She was the Raven now. The one who should, at this very moment, be charging back to save her family, her home, her friends. Instead, she was lying by a stream, in the Weeping Wood, lost, fleeing, and terrified. She was no hero. She was certainly no Raven to be sung about. Groaning, she threw an arm over her eyes.

Light vanished from her view, the darkness of her eyelids speckled with the dying sparks and colors it left. In the darkness, images of fire and monstrous shadows leaping on fleeing figures flashed across her senses. Her heart froze and the dampness of the earth beneath her turned frigid. Mother, Father, Adjourn, Verray, and Anon; All dead, except perhaps Adjourn and Anon.

Paas, the one with the sweetest cow, Hende, with the softest hands and the best herbs, Espy, the most striking in the village—All dead! All gone. Forever; homes destroyed by the invaders; lives stolen by the Evil.

And she did nothing to try to save them.

Teas burned the back of her throat and slipped out of the corners of her eyes. "Why?" she croaked. "Why, Flame? Why did you let it fall on me now? Why couldn't You have waited until my mentoring was done? Then I could have been ready! But THIS happened! And I did nothing!" She forced her voice not to shake. "Why me? I can't do this! I'm too afraid!"

Blinking rapidly, she took another wobbly breath. "You should have chosen another Raven, Flame. I can't do this. I can't go out alone with this heavy sword. I'm not brave enough. I'm not courageous enough.

"How can I save others when I can't even save my family?" Bitterness welled up behind the tears. They dripped down her face, picking a trail through the hardened blood, dirt, and ash.

"What good I have begun, I will complete."

She jumped, a startled gasp escaping. She had heard that Mother talked to the Flame, but she'd never had it happen to her. She'd never guessed that the Flame would talk to her, especially now, when she was so low.

"To whom do you run to? To whom do you draw strength from? Know this; for as long as the ages turn and will turn, I will always be with you, to the end of all days. From the breath of my lungs, you draw life, so then for the time that you live I will sustain all your needs and guide you in all your deeds.

"To whom do you fight? For whom do you mourn? Know this: I will comfort you in your darkness and bring you the wings of dawn. I will slay all your enemies and strike fear in their hearts, for you are my beloved, and I will fight for you.

"From whom do you hide? Of whom are you ashamed? Know this: I will forgive all transgressions, and wash away all blame.

"To you, my Wolf, raise your voice to the heavens and call my sheep back to me. Reflect my light and scatter the shadows; be filled with my firelight.

"To you, my Raven, spread your wings and fly. Bring..."

"....Bring solace to those in need by the edge of your blade and the fire of your heart. Rejoice in the knowledge that I will gather the shattered souls and restore them; be filled with my eternal peace," she murmured in tandem, finishing the Promise every Raven knew..

She sniffed, a little comforted.

A touch of ice skittered across her bare arms. Her heart stopped. She'd felt that before. A shout. A scream. Crashing. Ringing metal. A tide of ice crashing upon her, freezing her very bones. They were here! It was here! They'd come for her. In a flash, she flew to her feet and bolted.

Her steps scraped into the soil, scrambling for traction to send her flying faster than she'd ever gone. But it wasn't fast enough. She had to go faster. She had to, she had to! But she couldn't. Her legs seemed to be sticks of lead, trembling so hard they nearly sent her headlong into a tree.

She pulled away in time and flashed past it, hardly taking a second to gasp air into her lungs. She had to run. She had to flee. She had to hide. Where could she go? Where could she hide? Nowhere. Nowhere. Nowhere! The forest turned into a blur. Dampness slid down her hot cheeks. She swiped at her eyes and pushed her racing heart faster.

"Ere!"

Her foot caught and she tumbled, skidding to a stop in a spray of dirt. She gasped, scrabbling to her feet.

"ERE!"

A strangled sob broke from her lips and she staggered into a tree.

"Stand and fight."

"W-what?" She gasped, her gut curling around her stomach. "I CAN'T! I don't even have the sword!"

"I do not need the sword to bring my plans for you to completion. Stand, fight."

She shook her head wildly, fighting for breadth. "I can't! I can't! They'll KILL me!"

"STAND. FIGHT. I will fight for you. I will be your strength. Trust me."

"I—" Movement! She whirled, eyes wide. A flash of purple. Gleam of metal. Creeping ice melt. No! No! No! She spun around and gave a strangled cry of terror, for there were more creeping shadows ahead of her.

With heart racing like a cornered deer, she turned in a slow circle. Ten armored men stood in a circle around her, their swords pointed at her, sharp purple insignias flashing in the morning light.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady her frantic gasps. Surrounded. She was surrounded. Her legs folded beneath her. Ice crawled up her spine and sunk its claws into her bones. She bowed her head and hunched her shoulders, shivering violently. The Evil. The Bärdvi. They were here.

"Raven," the Evil called through the throats of the Bärdvi who stood stiffly around her. "Little Raven, are you tired of flying?"

This was it; she was going to die.

"Raven, oh little Raven, why do you not answer? Is your little beak broken? But I hear your song."

Frosty air whispered into her lungs. Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

"Raaaaven! Where is your sword? Did you drop it? How terribly forgetful you are, little black bird."

She whimpered and moaned. Flame, she begged, plugging her ears in a futile attempt to shut out the Evil's taunting voice. Please save me. Please, please, please!

"Do you believe I will fulfill my promise?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you trust me?"

She swallowed hard but managed a hoarse, "Yes."

"Then stand, my Raven, and fight."

But she couldn't! She couldn't fight them—it—herself! She—but no, the Flame would fight with her. She'd just—she'd just have to fight as well. Oh, how she wanted to dig a hole, curl up in it, and let the Flame deal with it all.

"Black bird, black bird! Are you listening? The sticks are burning, but I will put them out. Dusk is coming, and dawn will be a long time away."

It was either this or let the Evil destroy her. With a miserable moan, she called on every pint of anything that resembled strength and rose.

"The Raven rises, the Raven stands. She does not speak; what does she seek? Nothing will come. No one will hear."

She kept her head bowed, fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms. Come on, she thought to herself. Do it! Do it now before— she turned around, lifting her chin with as much fierceness as she could manage, and said, "Fight me."

The wood died. Not a leaf twitched. Not a worm squirmed. Not a muscle moved, for all stared upon the Raven. She swallowed again and licked her lips. "Fight me," she repeated louder, this time no waver in her voice.

"The bird—little black bird—asks for a fight. What claws do you have, little black bird? What sharp beak do you possess?" The Evil mocked, peeling back the lips of the men so their mouths sneered while their ruby eyes glittered.

But she was not discouraged. When she first said it, it was trembling and weak. But when she said it the second time, something happened. A spark lit in her heart and warmth spread through her blood.

The Flame was with her. He filled her wavering heart with fire and gave her the knowledge that she was doing it right. She was fighting right. And she, with His help, would win.

"Fight me," she said again, courage lifting her voice and carrying it around the wood with conviction. "Fight me." Strength tingled into her toes and she stood straighter. "Fight me!" She cried and the men recoiled as if struck.

"You are but a black bird," the Evil hissed. But it did not sound so amused anymore, for it saw not a girl afraid, but a girl in a red cape, fist clenched and eyes ablaze with the light of its enemy.

"No, I AM a Raven!" She lifted her chin higher and glared at the evil inside the men surrounding her. "I HAVE the Torch!" The fire inside her leapt upwards. The men stepped back, their expressions folding into uneasy snarls. "Fight me!"

"I will not fight such a weak black bird."

"Coward, hiding in the hearts of men!"

The Evil snarled at her.

She glared at it. "Come out!" She snapped. She wanted to get this over with before her newfound courage left.

The Evil howled in rage, throwing aside all but one man, who stepped forward and threw a sword at her. She scrambled out of the way, watching in a mixture of horror and courageous furry as the Evil rose out of the men in writhing clouds. It stretched forward and the world fell away, leaving behind an endless black plain.

Out of the plane towered a creature made of dark ropes that were smoke yet solid. It stood on two long legs and had two long arms, which ended in claws. Upon its shoulders was a head with two huge, swirling red eyes filled with pure hatred.

She gasped, stumbling backwards, clenching her fists as a pang of ice struck her heart. The Evil. It was the Evil right before her eyes!

"Foolish black bird!" It screamed, laughing. "You are mortal and cannot harm me! You do not even own a sword!"

It was right; she didn't have a sword. Or a knife. But she didn't need any of that; she had the Torch. She had the Flame on her side. He was much more powerful than her and the Evil, so as long as He threw the punches, she'd be okay. She hoped. Prayed. Please be good at throwing punches. Please.

"I will fight for you," the Flame murmured reassuringly with a hint of amusement.

The Evil's hand slammed down beside her, jerking her from her thoughts. "I will kill you, Raven. I will pull you apart. Such a foolish little black bird."

She didn't bother replying and darted away, running as fast as she could from the hand. Maybe if she got near it and punched it hard enough, the Flame would make her punch more than a punch (or whatever He does; she wasn't sure) and the Evil would die. Maybe.

A shadowy foot loomed out of the dark followed by a reaching hand. She scrambled to the side, breath scraping in her throat, narrowly missing being swatted. Flame! Help! What am I supposed to do?

She tuned and careened away from the terrible appendages, only to be thrown with pieces of the ground as a hand crashed into the ground next to her.

Sparks of light frizzled to life as she skidded to a halt, the Evil's maniacal laughter ringing in her head. She lay for a moment, disoriented, thoughts scattered all around her. She should...she should...Get up! GET UP! The hand!!

She pushed at the ground, hauling herself into a sitting position. The shadow of a great hand appeared above her. The breath in her lungs stuttered to a halt. She scrambled backwards, staring up at the monster, blood pounding in her ears. Oh, no, oh, no! FLAME! HELP!

A spark of fire tingled down to her hand. There. Something cool. She grabbed it and thrust it towards the hand. Tongues of flame burst forth from the previously discarded sword, scorching straight through the palm.

The hand, scorched and burning, withered, dispersing into little whips along with the rest of its body. And all the while, the Evil screamed. The last curl of shadow dispersed and the dark plain faded away, leaving her alone in the woods, ears still ringing, heart still pounding, and fingers still white-knucking the hilt.

A warm wind blew through the branches, rustling the leaves and prancing through her hair. She slowly lowered the sword and brushed a strand out of her face. She'd survived. By the Flame's help.

"WHOO!" She cried, pumping her fist into the air. "I SURVIVED! I DID IT! WE DID IT!" The Flame smiled inside of her, wrapping invisible but warm arms around her. She leaned into them, grinning. "It's gone. I survived," she whispered. "I survived."

The enormity of that simple proclamation washed upon her so suddenly that tears started to fall down her cheeks. She was alive. She had survived. The Flame had fulfilled His promise. Thank you Flame, thank you.

Letting go of the sword, she buried her face in her hands and wept in sheer relief until exhaustion overwhelmed her and she fell into a deep slumber.

⎼◡⬩⬪⬬⬪⬩◡⎼

CRACK!

She jolted awake, scrambling for the sword beside her before she had time to even open her eyes. She looked wildly around her, heartbeat racing. Flame? Out of the shade of the wood stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man and a small, plump boy. She rubbed her eyes and stared.

"Ere?"

"Father?" She leapt to her feet and ran into the embrace of her father and littlest brother. And they all wept, each eternally glad that one another was alive and the Flame had preserved them.