The Iron Badger

Chapter 11

1

My father found himself sitting back on an ash-covered log amongst the ash-colored forest—with a beige colored sky above him. He rested his face in the palms of his hands, wondering where he was, wondering why it all seemed oddly familiar. Worrying gave way to thoughts distracting him from the raven that flew next to my father on a nearby tree branch. All was right with the world as my father kept his face hidden deep inside his hands. Too afraid to look up to a bleak and troublesome world. He yearned for a life he somewhat remembered but strained to remember it. Face deep inside his own palms gave my father peace—not the same peace that one would find hope in, but a fragile peace that would be shattered the moment his face would leave his hands. Afraid to see a dreary world voided of all life and color. Rye sighed, then began to lift his worrisome head. With closed eyes he opened them and found something astonishing

Rye found no beige skies and saw no ash-colored forest. What my father saw was hope, life, a world he could understand. Rye saw color once again. The change puzzled my father but felt a sense of familiarity as if this had already happened before.

The sudden change from bleak to color caused Rye to shield his eyes from the powerful brightness of color. With both hands in front my father's eyes began to focus. The brightness began to soften. He regained clarity and saw a familiar friend proudly perching itself on a branch closest to him. My father wiped his eyes, helping him to see clearly. The raven seemed familiar but was unsure if he had seen the bird before. "Have I seen you before?" asked my father. Hoping to find clues to his whereabouts.

The raven spoke not, nor did it ruffle a single feather upon its body, but instead, it only cocked its head from side to side, then hopped itself to a lower branch studying my father closely.

Rye felt weak mostly in his legs, then grabbed a branch closest to the raven, but the raven moved not. "Why does all this seem strangely familiar to me?" Asked my father as if waiting for an answer from the bird itself. But my father was only speaking to himself. "I remember a blizzard then being separated from Si. I also remember Equinox, a makeshift fort, then my horse started a fire... I know there is more... But for the life of me, I cannot remember."

The raven sat and spoke not a word, but proudly pointed with its beak. My father looked at the direction to where the raven pointed—My father's blood ran icy cold when he spotted an odd opening in the middle of the woods that seemed to cause the trees to bend out of shape. And that too seemed very familiar to Rye.

The raven then flew from the branch where it once sat, only to find a home, a place to rest its feet upon my father's shoulder. This worried Rye none, for the actions of the bird seemed very much familiar. Every action and moment triggered a feeling of complete certainty. He stopped just at the threshold of the opening that rippled like water. Rye looked deeply into the eyes of the raven. "I have a feeling we will both see a silver moon, followed by hearing the howls of wolves in the distance." Just as he spoke those words, the bird cawed, then flapped its wings in reply. Rye gave a curious look to his friend, trying to place it in his memory. "I swear by the gods that you remind me of someone that I either know or knew in life." The bird cawed, then flapped its wings once more. And so, they went through the portal together.

On the other side of the portal Rye saw a brilliant silvery moon knowing he would see. The stars shined above him the way he had remembered. Sounds of wild howls came just as he thought they might. He drew his sword from his back, just the way he knew he would. And yet the raven stayed true upon Rye's shoulder as if it was keeping a watchful eye on him.

The twisted tree cast its cruel and eerie shadow from the paleness of the moon's glow. My father knew of the twisted tree from home. He remembered me saying something of witches, but still my father could not seem to put the night, wolves, the twisted tree, and myself together. With sword in hand, Rye marched onward to the tree that shined like a beacon bathed in the moon's terrible glow. Within a few steps, he heard something that he had yet heard before. Tara? he thought to himself, walking close to the sounds of a child crying.

"Never come out here at this late hour!"

The voice echoed in the darkness of the woods. Rye turned but found no one nearby.

"Yes, Father."

Rye turned again, but still found no one.

"Dead wolves."

Rye turned his head to his right. The raven stared into his eyes. "Never come out here at this late hour. Do you under—"

"Do you understand me?" Rye finished. But still my father did not understand.

"Si is dead!" mourned the raven.

Before Rye could speak, shadows began to merge as one forming a demonic warrior that my father remembered fighting against. He also remembered losing against the dark warrior that holds a flaming sword.

"The One-That-Eats-Fear," cried the raven.

The raven sat still and firm upon my father's right shoulder. Eyes looked towards the bird then back at the dark warrior. It was a thought my father had. A thought that was long ago and forgotten. A smile then formed—slowly Rye lowered his sword then sheathed it.

What caused my father to sheath his sword was a memory that sprouted in his mind. He saw himself in bed seeing mother by his bedside stroking his long hair as she told him stories of strange places and wonderous people from times forgotten and far away lands. Gods that fought each other, how Caz hurled his brother Hades to earth in a thunderous crash. But one-story stuck Rye the most was the story of Phreebous, a god that eats fears! My father's eyes turned once again to the raven. "Thank you, my friend. Thank you helping me to remember."

The raven puffed out its chest upon my father's shoulder. My father's attention soon turned to the dark knight. Screams of terror came from the twisted tree followed by the sounds of hungry wolves tearing the flesh of his daughter. Tears did fall from Rye's cheeks, but they were not tears of loss, but relief. "There once was a god. Some say he had the head of an old man and the body of a serpent. The One-That-Eats-Fears lulls the victim into a never-ending sleep.

Rye took a step towards the dark warrior. "My mother used to tell me stories about the gods. I used to believe they were merely make-believe... The only way for me to awaken is for me to call out the name of the god who has imprisoned me."

The dark warrior sheathed its sword. The cries of his daughter ceased as the wolves suddenly vanished.

The stars in the heavens disappeared into a swirl of darkness, leaving Rye alone with the dark warriorؙ—yet the raven stayed perched upon my father's shoulder.

"Then what, pray tell, is thy name?"

"Thy name is Phreebous!"

2

When my father had spoken Phreebous's name the darkness suddenly became light that blinded both Rye and the raven. The raven still perched itself on my father's shoulder. Rye shielded his eyes with his hand, while the raven looked away with its head under its wing. The light slowly dimmed, Rye placed his hand to his side, then saw an old man sitting upon a throne. In his hand was a staff. "You have spoken my name correctly. I must warn you. Lillian has cast her eyes upon you, Master Rye."

"What does she want with me?" Demanded Rye. The raven flew from my father's shoulder onto the cold, white, marble floor. The stairs were wide and long, too numerous to count. The throne sat in front of the stairs allowing Phreebous to peer down on my father. "Why not ask your friend, Master Rye? It appears I am not the only god in my own realm," Phreebous pointed at the raven with his staff.

Rye looked at the bird on the floor. "A crow? Crows are now gods?"

Phreebous banged hisstaff hard upon the marble floor. He was unamused with my father's carelesswords. The bird that sat upon the marble floor begin to squawk out of pain. Thefeathers puffed up, sounds of pain increased. Squawking slowly turned intosounds of human moans as the bird grew taller. Feathers fell to the floor,revealing white silky skin. Rye gazed upon the beauty of a naked woman in frontof him, a sight to behold. Her arms crossed her naked chest. Knees and legsheld steadfast revealing little to for the men to see. Her green eyes gazed atRye. "I was a raven, you dolt! Not a crow."