I was a crow. I worked for a man who went by the name Old Crow. Some people thought he had the name because he served the god Crow. Others thought he was an elder of the Crow clan. I knew differently: He named himself after the brand of booze he most loved. There is nothing greater than Old Crow, he cackled, and toasted me in cheap whiskey.
I didn't like Old Crow very much, but he was a powerful sorcerer and I wanted to learn magic. His teaching methods weren't designed for the comfort and convenience of his students. But I did learn. Mostly I learned that much of sorcery was bluff and misdirection. "Never disabuse people when they think you've done miracles," he advised. "Just nod modestly."
Which didn't exactly help me when it came time to bring Old Crow back from the dead.
I became aware of this need from Old Crow himself, who ruffled my feathers awake. "I'm going to do something, and I'm going to die doing it. I need you to fly to the Council of Raccoons and Bears and bring me back to life." He turned and left.
I flew after him, squawking angrily. "Is that a joke? I don't know how to resurrect people! And the Council of Raccoons and Bears hasn't met in over a hundred years! What is this?"
He chuckled. "That's why you'll have to travel back in time. You'll figure out the rest."
I cawed furiously. "I don't know how to do that either!"
"Oh, it's easy. Fly through the Brown Air for a hundred miles or so [ed. that just means a long distance, no idea how long] and drop down into clear air when you see pine trees beneath you. Tell the Council to give you the thing I left with them. You'll figure out what to do with it."
"You IDIOT!" I circled his head and beat it with my wings. "I do NOT know what to do with it! We have never DISCUSSED this! And I'll be fucked if I'm flying a hundred miles through the Brown Air!"
"You have to," he said. "You have to do both things. And I know you can. Would I trust my life to you otherwise?"
That stopped my noise. Old Crow did not want to die and never come back. In fact, unless I was mistaken, he didn't want to die at all. If he was doing this, it was for some very good reason. I had to trust him.
That is, I had to trust him because he forced the issue. He threw a burlap sack over his head and let it fall over him. Then it fell to the ground, empty. I searched everywhere to see if he'd really used sorcery and not just some simple trick to distract my eye. It was sorcery, all right. Old Crow was gone.
I began my loathsome flight. I don't know what made the Air Brown, but it tasted like refined corruption, as if a shit took a shit. Everyone I knew avoided the area, and so I'd never heard of a forest or clear air somewhere below it. But if Old Crow was staking his life on it, I was sure there'd be clear air, and a forest.
It is much harder to make a hard trip under your own power when you don't know how long it will be. You never know how much strength to reserve, and it takes a toll on the mind not to know how much longer you have to go. I felt all of the tedious miles in my wings, hating the Brown Air. I wasn't upset with Old Crow, though. That he staked his life on this meant it wasn't just some annoying test. It was death stuff. He was in it with me, probably suffering more. That made it easier for me.
After I know not how long, I saw the clear air and the forest. I had grown bored long before. One meets nothing in the Brown Air.
I swooped down with relief, and coasted down to the riverbank where the Council of Raccoons and Bears used to meet. And there they were. I was in the past.
The Council was born of necessity. Many human tribes had decided that the bears and raccoons were thieves, which was true, and that they needed to die, which was stupid. The creatures' common enemy made for common cause, and the alliance outlasted the point at which the last of those tribes had been turned to bear shit. After a while it faded away, although the bears and raccoons remained mostly friendly afterward, perhaps in case the same stupid idea occurred to someone else.
I landed neatly, the raccoons closer to me. The Council sat in two sections, maintaining distinct species identity. I didn't know if that meant something.
Two of the smaller raccoons walked toward me. Young raccoons were the favored scouts of the Council. It was a terrible risk, but the bears bore the brunt of any heavy fighting, so it was considered fair. Certainly the older raccoons had no reason to object.
I sat there. I had no idea what to say. I hadn't planned for this at all. I should have done that during my flight, but it is hard to think while breathing garbage.
"Greetings," I managed after an awkward thirty seconds. "Old Crow left something with you. I need it."
"Why do you need it?" harrumphed a bear toward the back. His massive shoulders were speckled with gray. I turned to address him alone. "Always talk to the pack leader," Old Crow had taught me, "in any species that hunts in packs. Never address anyone else unless you must. You will know the leader, because he will be the only one talking. And if you must kill, kill him first."
As if I could kill a bear!
However, it was important never to show fear or doubt. Old Crow called it the power of bullshit, and I had seen him proved right. You have power if creatures think you have power. If they stop thinking it, you stop having it.
"Old Crow needs it," I said carelessly. "I just came here for the exercise."
The Council gave chuffing laughs. They knew I was not telling the whole truth, but what else would they expect? If they had met Old Crow, they knew him for a bluffer, albeit one who could fulfill his boasts when one least expected it.
But there was something in their still expectation. It wasn't my bluff that gave them pause. Something else was bothering them.
"What favor did Old Crow do for you?" I piped.
The chief bear said carefully: "What would you call a favor?"
Ah, I began to see. "Did you kill him recently?"
A shuffle in the crowd, quickly stilled. I was on the right track.
"Are you here for vengeance?" the bear rumbled.
Interesting, I thought. The bear thinks I can hurt them. I can use that a little, but not too much. "No," I replied, resorting to a bit of the truth. "I do not want that. I want the thing Old Crow left you before you killed him. That will bring him back to life." (HOW? my brain screamed. Shut up, I told it.)
The bear chuckled. "Ah, I should have known. Well, we meant no harm to Old Crow. He told us to do it. The Corpse-Woman needed to die, and without him holding her still, we could never have done it."
That added up. Old Crow put on sorcerors' bodies like cheap suits. I had not heard of the Corpse-Woman, but even a crow knows such a person could be no good. Sometimes Old Crow was surprisingly public-spirited. Or perhaps she stole his whiskey. It wasn't important.
A small raccoon emerged from the council, carrying a pipe I recognized as one of Old Crow's. He laid it at my feet and scurried back.
I cocked my head at the pipe, unhappy. I couldn't fly with the huge clay thing, or even lift it. What was I supposed to do with it?
Then I saw the residue of tobacco and got an idea. "Bring me an ember," I said without thinking.
The Council grew very still then. "We do not use fire," the chief bear said. "You know that. We fear fire."
I did know that. How did I forget that? What was I supposed to do? I couldn't take the pipe out of their sight and figure it out later. I had to do my work right in front of them.
And Old Crow knew all of that.
Suddenly I had the answer in their stillness. I looked at the chief bear and said: "Go get an ember from that fire you don't have."
The bear stared at me, then sighed. "Lying to Old Crow's friend," he murmured. "I should know better." He motioned to one of the senior councilbears, who loped off into the forest.
After a time, the bear returned, carrying a stick gingerly in her mouth. The end glowed. She touched it to the tobacco. It fired dramatically, even with no breath to drive it. I wondered if Old Crow would appear then, but he didn't, and I wasn't surprised. I couldn't carry him, and I knew no way he could climb back.
"That's all," I said. "Thank you." I made to fly away.
"What about the pipe?" the chief bear said.
Never admit incapability, I thought. "You may keep it as a thank-offering," I said carelessly. "Old Crow is glad of your help."
"We were glad of his," said the chief bear.
I was not sure if flying back would bring me back to the time I had left, but it did. Sure enough, there was Old Crow, sitting splay-legged against his house and emptying a jug of whiskey into his throat.
"The way back was easier," I said, landing without ceremony. "It helps to know what you're going to face." I peered at him pointedly.
"But you wouldn't have learned as much that way," he said. "You now know that you can bluff a powerful council."
"But I could have learned more," I argued. "I don't know how I raised you from the dead, not really. I doubt I could do it again."
Old Crow lurched upright. "Well, you've shown you can think. So, fine. Let's go teach you how to raise the dead."
He went into his house. Ours now, I thought, strutting behind.
