Devoured

Dunstan trudged up the hill, the shadow of his hood hiding his face. The raven, Erebus, flew overhead, zipping forward and backward, landing occasionally on Dunstan’s shoulder for rest and then spreading his wings and taking off into the sky again. By and large, Dunstan ignored him but when Erebus cawed, he glanced around and pulled his hood further down until he almost couldn’t see past it. 1

Finally, he reached the cemetery. The light of the full moon and the shadows of tombstone and statues played eerie tricks on his eyes. Knuckles white, he gripped his staff in one hand. It was about six feet, thin, and made of oak with a red stone embedded in the top. There was a black stripe through the center of the stone, and it glared down at him like a feline eye. Perhaps the staff didn’t appreciate being used like a walking stick.2

Tenth row, third column in Dunstan stopped. Erebus circled the cemetery and landed on Dunstan’s shoulder. Dunstan gripped his hood, threw it back and stared down at the tombstone with crimson eyes. The tombstone was just stone, not marble like some of them, and the inscription was amateurish and uneven. He sat down in front of it, placed his staff on the ground beside him, drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.3

“Hey, Mom,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited lately.” His lips twitched into a half smile. “Well…I’m sorry I haven’t visited at all. It was just really hard, you know.” He wanted to apologize in advance for not visiting for the next several years, but that would require an explanation on his part, even if it was to nothing but the air. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was about shoulder length, black and shiny. His mother had always loved his hair, but if she could see how long it had gotten she would have grabbed him in a headlock and cut it with the nearest tool available. 4

“I miss you. I wish you were here.” He bit his lip. He wanted to say she would be proud of him, but she had always come down hard on him when he lied to her. So he settled on saying, “I’m doing okay. I’ve got an apprenticeship with a wizard. It’s not someone you know, but…you would have liked him.” Which was true enough: everyone liked Moric. He was polite, charming, well dressed and always seemed to be able to seamlessly integrate himself into conversation, making it seem as though he had been—and should have been—there the whole time and that it was perfectly normal for him to be interested in whatever the topic was, whether it was farming or who was dating whom. 5

Moric was teaching Dunstan that art of integration, and though Dunstan’s technique was still highly imperfect, he was amazed at how much more he knew about the town and its people, how widely his world was beginning to expand. By observation, he was also learning how to carry himself so as to exude power or to blend into the background and become utterly forgettable, and in what situations each was suitable for; how to pick his words carefully so as to be clear and obscure at the same time, to talk in a way that conveyed a false meaning without lying and in a way that no one could convincingly accuse him of trickery. 6

He wanted to say all these things but couldn’t. Besides, if his mother were watching over him she would know all this already, and if she weren’t, he didn’t really want her to know. A chill ran through his body. He wondered if there were spirits here, and if there were, was his mother’s spirit here? Could she how his “darling” blue eyes had turned red?7

He pulled up his hood again and stood. Erebus took to the air, circled and cawed. 8

“Dunstan, are you ready to go?”9

Dunstan turned to look at Moric as he approached, black traveling cloak fluttering out behind him, his own staff made of mahogany resting against his shoulder, a rucksack on his back and another held in his hand.10

“Yes, sir,” Dunstan said. 11

“Good. Here’s your bag.” Moric tossed the second rucksack to Dunstan who caught it. “Now let’s get going.” He turned on heel and strolled toward the cemetery entrance. 12

Dunstan glanced over his shoulder at his mother’s grave, and then followed Moric out into the dark, devoured by guilt.13