Part 4 (Final)

The raven launched into the air, cawing and flapping around the room. It knocked over herbs and rattled the pots and pans. Tomlin grabbed a fire poker and tried hitting the raven down with swipes and swishes. And the chicken hut began to sway on its three legs in a frenzied dance, trembling the ground on where it stood.

Baba flew in the house, dirtier and redder in the face than ever, and stomped a foot down on the floorboards, cracking them. The hut rumbled still, and everyone calmed. “No more of this nonsense! What’s happened?”

Tomlin lowered the hot poker, and the Raven went on cawing from the spinning wheel. Baba tilted her head and said, “did you have this raven put the beans in the jar?”

“Yes, I needed some help you see,” Tomlin said and cleared his throat. “But he’s gone all wild on us. I thought I’d shoo him away before-“

“-And he says,” Baba said, and the raven flew down to her arm. “That you cheated him. Out of his loaf of bread. Out of my loaf of bread. And ate it all yourself.”

Tomlin smirked and gestured as if flicking away a bug, “no! I just got so hungry after all my journeying and this raven, well, I suppose you need to make it another loaf of bread. Right after my dinner.”

“Your dinner?” Baba said, and grit her pointed teeth. “Oh no, you’re task was finished. I’ll send you on your way now, Tomlin. Never to come return.”

Tomlin scoffed and threw the hot poker on the ground. “You weren’t that pretty or wealthy anyway. I figured you out the moment I step foot into this squalor. Think I’ll be off to Porttown for a good woman, not some sundried, worn-out commoner.”

“I agree,” she said, and opened the door. Tomlin brushed himself off, and didn’t notice the raven hand over a feather or Baba muttering once again. Before he passed beyond her porch, Baba held up her hand and said, “will you take this feather? You surely deserve it.”

Tomlin, the gentleman he knew himself to be, thought in the least the feather might give him a more dashing appearance. Maybe he’d even sell and say it had magic. But that too, wouldn’t have been a lie. The moment his fingertips touched the feather, his clothes swirled up around him. Tomlin doubled over, sensing every bone in his body cracking apart. He screamed out, but no human noise escaped his throat. A caw shrieked, long and wailed, and slipped past his lips that soon turned into a beak. His body grew and shrank, lengthened and went dark and slick as an arrowhead. In seconds, he’d gone from a man to a raven himself.

“This will be our little secret. Maybe you’ll learn to be decent among the ravens. Trick them, and they’ll descend on you to pluck you bald. I promise. May you no longer be so lazy, Tomlin.”

Tomlin never made it to Porttown as a man, but as a raven known to stare in bakery windows and perform tricks for scraps. Anytime he ever slipped into thoughts of being a trickster, the wind died down and a song rose beyond the Neverwoods to remind him of Baba’s promise. Tomlin the raven taught any animal, from raven to rat, how to be clever. Across all the land, everyone heard rumors of the Porttown ravens and their uncanny knack of picking locks, using money in shops and sleeping inside rafters rather than trees. They feasted well and brought so much tourism to that far northern little town the locals grew fond of the ravens, none ever wanted for anything.

And Lazy Tomlin, himself a forgettable person, grew to be the most unforgettable raven who was anything but lazy.