Read RAVENLORD :: THE DREAM, THE MESSAGE

The Dream, The Message

Ravenlord: Episode Three

By Amanda R. Hamlin

--continue for episode two--

Then, abruptly, Julia stopped dead in her tracks and gasped, a tight, strangled breath, as if she had been punched in the stomach for, suddenly, after all this time, those images had awakened a twitch, a quiver, something, deep inside her. It was very tiny, faint as the ephemeral flutter of a moth's wing, but it was there and something, anything at all after so much nothing, was precious beyond words. A shudder passed up and down her spine at the marvel of the gift and she threw back her head with lips parted. “Oh, Ravenlord,” she whispered.

That night when Julia drifted into sleep she had a dream, not as explicit a dream or even as clear and vivid as it would have been in the past, but it left her with no doubt that she had received a message from the Ravenlord. She remembered nothing concrete from the dream or, rather, there had been nothing concrete in the dream, just a black mist, shot through with the fire colors of falling leaves in which she was floating. A cool wind blew, setting her hair flying, brushing ticklingly against her skin all up and down her body for, in the dream, she was naked, and her hair was much longer, the ankle length mane she had always dreamed of. And, carried on the wind, came the crowing of carrion fowl. Each cry pierced deep into her and she could feel them pulse in her heart, under her belly and down, down, each a burning needle of desire. As the cries grew wilder and more raucous, the surges within grew more powerful until she felt she would break asunder.

She woke the next morning, the blood still singing in her veins, and stared at the ceiling for several minutes before she remembered where she was. Then she felt Garritt turn over next to her, the warmth of his body spreading out to envelop her. Memory stirred inside her of the long-ago days when they would waken in that heat and fumble together, still half asleep, too eager to wait for full waking. And Julia felt the sweetness of her dream ache slightly as she watched the rise and fall of his breath. Then his lashes flickered, he opened his eyes, and smiled at her. “Hello, Julia.”

“Good morning.” She bent towards him and, like sleeping beauty in reverse, put her mouth on his. It seemed ages since she had dared, or wanted, to kiss like this and Garritt didn't withdraw, he kissed back, but only half-heatedly. There was none of the hard, biting sharpness of the beak for which she yearned but, for the first time in ages, she wasn't going to give up so easily and kissed even harder in an attempt to reach and wake whatever might be inside him. She wasn't even quite sure why she did so. Her own desire still wasn't fully wakened but enough, so she wanted to try.

He laughed and put his arms around her, but it wasn't a wild, delighted laugh as he would once have given. It was affectionate but also nervous, as if he sensed something was expected of him that he might not be prepared to answer to. “I love you too, Julia,” he said, giving her a squeeze, though it lacked energy.

“Would you like me to make pancakes for breakfast?” she asked, trying to keep her voice cheerful despite her disappointment.

“Na, I have to leave right away to get ready for a morning meeting. I am sorry though. You make such good pancakes.” He kissed the part in her hair, chaste as chaste, and stood up. Part of Julia was furious, but she had become too proud to fight long ago. Besides, the deep, shuddering wonder of her dream was still there. Even if Garritt refused to share it with her, she could still feel it surge through her like a wave. Even if her feelings might be slight in the grand scheme of things, she had been so long with nothing that even this left her breathless and dizzy. She could feel her heart race as she prepared her own breakfast, simple granola, not pancakes, and then packed her purse and stepped into her boots. Finally, she opened the door, and the wind struck her in the face so that her carefully brushed and slicked down hair began to fly around her. There had been some rain in the night and the odor of the damp leaves was as heavy as perfume in her nostrils, sending her desire spiraling through her like a bonfire in the wind, so that she had to hold the door post and steady herself before she could walk on.

The smell and feel of autumn had always had the power to stir her blood, even in the most horrible of circumstances. She and Garritt had met in the fall, years before, and she had always thought that was the reason, that her senses carried her back to the nights when they had talked until four in the morning, wandering their college campus under the black sky, wading through piles of wet leaves, the way they had become instantly obsessed with each other and had jumped into bed, scandalously too slow for a one night stand but too quickly for anything else. Now she wondered if it wasn't something much deeper and older, the long-forgotten power of the Ravenlord, that called up these feelings in her. Perhaps it was even this that had so intensified her immediate infatuation with Garritt. In the beginning, he had suited her well, had seemed to possess all the power and passion she longer for. Was it just that life had crushed it out of him, or had the glamour of the Ravenlord been on her, making her see things that existed, not in reality, but only in the black velvet world of her inner longings?

She twisted her hands miserably. The question, in one form or another was always eating at the back of her mind, so frightening she usually kept it firmly in the subconscious, only rarely, like now, becoming condensed enough to allow it to slip free. Suppose she had imagined it all. What then? Would she have to go forever unsatisfied? There was no way she was going to consider divorce or even separation, especially since she would then have to explain to everyone that it was because he didn't measure up to the evil bird-god of her fantasies. Even the first option was fraught with worry. How could she ever wake the fire in him again? The weary grind of business meetings and being nagged to pick up his dirty dishes might have forever slain the dark spirit within. Even if it were only deeply buried, she had not the faintest idea how she would release it from its armor, thick and tough as rhino hide, growing ever harder, more pitted and unyielding as the years added rind upon rind of new growth, like the unbreachable bark of an ancient tree. Many was the night as an adolescent and still, sometimes, as a teenager, when she had stood outside, hands straining to the sky, in all weather, beneath slicing wind or lashing rain, shivering in the shining white winter, whenever she felt lonely or unloved or angry, and cry with every aching fiber of her being, “Oh, Ravenlord, come for me, come for me now.”

“How's the book going?” Velma asked over Julia's shoulder as she was grabbing a quick lunch between clients.

“What book?” Julia gasped, jumping in shock.

“The one sticking out of the corner of your purse. The one you were eyeing longingly over the top of your sandwich.”

“Oh, that,” said Julia lamely, reaching out quickly to shove the book back into her purse but realized, just in time, how foolish this would look and changed it to a clumsy grab for her make-up. She could feel her cheeks burning and anger flamed in her at the sight of Velma's lip curling.

“Looks like you like it quite a bit,” said Velma conspiratorially, not mockingly and Julia's anger melted. Here was someone with whom she could share her new feelings, at least in a small way.

“Oh yes I do,” her voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. “I haven't gotten far yet, but I know I'll be able to read more tonight.

“I'm glad I know your tastes so well. Speaking of taste, can Garritt spare you this weekend? I need some advice on a new dress.”

“Sunday afternoon I'm always free,” said Julia, biting down her anger that this was because it was raid time and hoping Velma wouldn't remember the time she had claimed she was busy at that time because she had a fight with Garritt and didn't feel like talking about it.

Fortunately, Velma did not. “It's a plan then. Enjoy the book.” She clapped Julia on the shoulder before turning back to work.

As soon as she got on the bus for the ride home, Julia opened her book to read more. But, as the bus jounced along, she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. The bus was crowded and the position she had to keep her legs in to keep them tucked out of the way of the people standing in the aisle was making her pants feel decidedly tight and uncomfortable. A loose flowing skirt would be far preferable. And then it came to Julia, when she got home and changed out of her work clothes, why not put on something from the back of her closet? Something subdued, something she could, at least in theory, wear in public without being mocked. She didn't have the heart to go for anything like the black dress, at least not yet, but she did have clothes that would only raise a few eyebrows, more likely to be viewed as hippy, rather than ren-fair nut.

This anticipation gave her the lift she needed to tune out the mess around her and focus on her book. By the time she reached her stop, the warlord had returned from his battle and the bride realized how afraid she had been for his life. But, when they were reunited, she was too proud to admit it and, angry at the weakness of her feelings, was all the more determined to resist him. This was going to be good. But Julia forced herself to put the book down so she could change her clothes. She chose a full circle skirt and the top in soft fabric with a scoop neck, back lacing, and long hanging sleeves. Garritt had gotten home before her but was busy putting the finishing touched on dinner, so Julia was able to complete her change of clothes in peace. Then, her throat tight, she approached the kitchen. What would Garritt say? Would he see it as a come on and, if so, what would he do?

“How was your day, Julia?” he asked, kissing her on the forehead and she felt a dark foreboding, remembering her recent fears that his desire was forever lost or even might never have been. He said nothing about her clothes.

“My day was fine and yours?”

“Oh, annoying.” He spooned ravioli onto her plate. “One of the new employees opened some spam and a virus got all over the system.”

“I'm so sorry.” If he were stressed from work things became even more hopeless than the impossibility they already were.

“We got it under control.” He opened two cans of pop and pushed one across the table to her. “But, after that, there was no time to prepare for the meeting about the upcoming system overhaul.” He went on at some length, but Julia soon stopped listening to his words, many of which she couldn't understand anyway, and, instead, paid attention to his voice. By his animated tone, as well as his expression and the way he leaned back in his chair, she could tell he was more satisfied about having solved a problem than he was irritated about the extra work that had been caused. She looked down into her plate and pushed her remaining ravioli around, a sick lump congealing in her stomach. Though it had been a long time, she still recognized the sensation. This nauseous jello was what she would choke on every time she was about try and fail to ask someone out. “Julia, you okay?”

“I was wondering...I mean...would you like to go on a walk after dinner?” she asked shyly. She wanted to experience more of the exhilarating power of the fall weather, and she wanted to experience it with him. She hadn't quite made the jump from feeling desire inside herself, longing for the vast, intangible qualities symbolized by the Ravenlord, and feeling, or daring to feel, the same urge towards the reality of Garritt but, if anything could bridge the gap, this would be it. Maybe Garritt still carried some of the same memories of their first nights together that the wet leaves and biting wind could wake in him as well.

He smiled at her, a welcoming smile, not sexual but not obviously adverse. “I'd love to,” he said, and she strained her ear for the darker, richer note in his voice, the one that had always made her heart rise into her throat for him. “But I can't tonight. We've got another heroic scheduled.”

“You never told me about that last night,” Julia said coldly, feeling her heart harden in defense even as she spoke.

“Radin's daughter got sick so he had to drop out of the raid tomorrow night and the only sub we could find was a new guy who doesn't have the right gear yet, so we have to get him stuff tonight. I didn't know until I logged on quickly when I got home.”

Key words: Message, Walk, Autumn, Leaves Dream, Dress,

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Cover art by Eric Hamlin

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2/20/25