Ravenlord: Episode Four 

The Hill 

By Amanda R. Hamlin

--continue from episode three--

“You could have said no,” Julia thought bitterly but she said nothing aloud.  He would point out, rightly, that he would have had no way of knowing she had anything special planned and that, since she almost never did, it was a safe guess to make that she did not.  She could have countered with the argument that she had given up on plans since his schedule was too unpredictable and difficult to work around but that would have been starting a pissing contest just to be spiteful and she was too tired to be spiteful anymore.  But it was so unfair.  Garritt has seemed at least semi-interested.  If his guild had left him alone for just one night, something might have been made of it. And tomorrow was the big raid night so this was her last chance for a while.  Julia sat with her hands in her lap, curling and uncurling among the folds of her beautiful full skirt, as the rage swelled up inside her until she trembled from the energy as Garritt continued to talk unconcernedly about his day at work and the problems with the guild.  But her anger was impotent, and she knew it.  A few minutes more and he rose to leave, never knowing how deeply upset she was.  He kissed her on the forehead again as he turned to go and that nearly broke her. 

            Left alone, she could bear it no more.  It was as if the walls were closing in around her, shrinking as if to crush her.  Desperate for air and space, for her soul as well as her body, she rose and dashed for the front hall, not bothering to look and see if Garritt had come after her.  Such romantic notions had been slowly but relentlessly crushed out of her.  Besides, she knew his gaming headphones would fully block even the loud clatter of her distressed exit.  As she wrenched open the door, the brisk wind struck her in the face, raising prickles on her skin, thick with the threat of rain and the smell of decomposing leaves.  And then she ran, feet pounding the pavement, hair licking behind her like a comet.  It was a block and a half to the park, and she ran the whole way, weaving around leisurely dog-walkers, elderly couples or friends out for an evening stroll, and local shoppers carrying their grocery bags.  Some stared, make exclamations of displeasure, or even hurled curses, the dogs barking and snapping at her heels, but she flew past them before sight or sound could register. 

            A fence of heavy wrought iron, or imitation wrought iron, circled the park.  It was only a block and a half to the edge of the park but considerably further to a place where there was any kind of break in this barrier.  Julia was in no mood for the delay and, catching hold of the top of one of the fence posts, leaped upwards.  The fence was about the height of her shoulder and her leap was not nearly as high as she had intended.  Rather than clearing the fence, she found herself spread across it in an extremely ungraceful manner, with the decorative spikes on top of the fence posts, blunt but still highly unpleasant, digging in her, her right leg hanging from another spike where her shoe had snagged, while a pair of smartly dressed women walking towards her exchanged looks and put their hands to their mouths as if whispering or giggling.  Hauling with all her might, her arms burning, she managed to drag herself up over the wall like a bag of wet laundry.

            Frantic to get away before the women got close enough to let her know exactly what they thought of her, she failed to control her descent, catching her skirt on one of the spikes, then pulling loose so she tumbled with a hard thump on a pile of leaves on the other side, the breath whistling through her teeth.  But she dragged her bruised legs under her and kept on running, the leaves falling from her with soft hisses and whispering about her feet as she went on.  She knew exactly where she was going.  Near one end of the park was a hill, treeless and open to the sky.  Even now that the branches were mostly bare, there was still the black cris-cross and interlace, like skeletal hands reaching for one another, between her and the open freedom of the stars and moon.  As she approached the hill, the ground sloped upward, gradually at first, then more and more steeply, so that her breath rasped in her throat after her long run, her feet scrabbling for purchase on the damp grass, sliding out from under her so that she was thrown forward, her hand sinking into the wet dirt and clammy remains of dead grass.  At last, she was almost on all fours, clutching at the ground in front of her to steady herself, looking down at her feet, not up at how far she had left to go.  

            And so it came as a surprise for her when, suddenly, there was no more hill for her hands to grab and she came stumbling out onto the small level space at the top, the limpid moon swimming in the sky above, a full harvest moon, it's light almost yellow as it flowed down on the tangled trees below, making each twist and crook of the branches stand out sharp and black and shining.  Up here, the wind struck with full force, above the shelter of the trees and buildings.  Her hair rippled and snapped behind her like a tawny flag and the sleeves and full skirt of her peasant dress fluttered wildly about.  But the fabric plastered itself tight against her body as she faced into the wild blast, feeling the sweat drying on her body and her tears on her face.  And then, caring not who heard, she flung up her arms and cried aloud, “Ravenlord, Ravenlord, take me away with you.”

            The force of the wind doubled, almost knocking her flat and, in its wake a cloud came scudding across the sky, cutting off the moon's light.  For a moment she was aware only of disorientation and panic, blind groping, a feeling almost like falling and the roaring in her ears.  Then it was all over.  The wind died completely, not even a gentle breeze remaining to stir the branches below.  The moon came out from behind the cloud again, washing the ground with pale light.  A few blocks away, the church bells tolled the hour, eight o'clock.  Julia stood alone on the hilltop in her pseudo-medieval dress, hair wild, streaked with sweat and mud and tears, feeling rather foolish and utterly, utterly crushed.  Her husband would not play the Ravenlord, or lay hands on her at all it seemed, and the Ravenlord himself declined to answer her call.  The last thread of hope had been pulled from her tapestry of fantasy.

            Garritt was still running his heroic, or a new one, when she returned so he didn't hear her, but she no longer cared.  Slowly, wearily, she dragged her way up the stairs, stripping off her wet and muddy dress, balling it into an angry wad, then stuffing it savagely into the hamper in the linen closet.  For a moment she stood in the hallway, bitterly naked, goose flesh creeping across her body, as she idly wondered what would happen if Garritt walked out of his room at this exact moment and saw her like this.  Then she plodded into the bedroom, feet dragging, and struggled into a pair of shapeless sweats that also served as pajamas.  Though it was still too early for bed, she crawled under the heavy comforter, groping for the remote, and pressed play, starting a DVD of nostalgic 80s cartoons, perfect for numbing, mindless forgetfulness.  Turning off the light and pulling the covers up to her chin, she let her eyes glaze over as her brain and heart switched off.  Sometime later, Garritt came in and attempted to be friendly, but she pretended to be extremely interested in the show, not taking her eyes from the screen and answering his questions in monosyllabic grunts.  Eventually, he just came and sat next to her, slipping his arm around her shoulders and she relaxed into him, let her head slide to his shoulder while, inside, she was crying, her heart a hollow going on and on forever.  

            The next day, she was still depressed, unfocused at work, almost cutting a client's hair at ear level when she had wanted it shoulder level.  Only a burning itch on the back of her neck which forced her to set down the scissors and scratch, giving her time to collect her thoughts, saved her form an embarrassing and potentially job threatening error.  There were no ravens in the tree today. As soon as she got home, she immediately changed out her tailored, fashionable clothes, throwing them in the hamper as well to bury the evidence of last night's tragedy, then put on a shapeless house dress, soft, faded blue, the kind her grandmother would have worn.  Taking a deep breath, she let her lungs expand fully, the fabric so light against her skin she could barely feel it. 

            Sylvanus wined eagerly, wagging her tail, as she pressed her warm, compact, furry body against Julia's now bare ankles and Julia felt a stab of pain.  “I'm so sorry, puppy,” she said sadly.  “I've been so caught up in my own things I've been neglecting you.”  Reaching down to scratch Sylvannus behind the ear, she was rewarded by happy bounds and licks until, overcome with feelings—happiness, guilt, loneliness, love—she snatched up the wiggling form and held it close against her.  For a long time, she held Sylvannus, sitting in her favorite chair by the window in the living room, her fingers threaded through the silky white fur.  The dog made little wuffing sounds and snuggled into the hollow of her arms so Julia was filled with a sweet wrenching ache at the realization that this creature at least loved her unconditionally, overflowing her heart and leaking out her eyes.  It was a quite peaceful weeping.  Even as the tears slide silently down her face, dropping to form dew like globes in Sylvannus's fur, she was smiling, a wry, bitter smile.  She was still sad, yes, but also at ease in the love she felt for this other living creature.

            She made goulash that night, largely as an excuse to give some of the ground beef to Sylvannus.   While she was preparing it, Garritt called to let her know he would be home late from work which she said was fine and, really, it was.  She didn't need Garritt reminding her of what she couldn't have.  It was much more satisfying to savor her own meal while watching Sylvannus do the same, putting Garritt's portion in the warming drawer for him to find.  She wasn't heartless, not even angry anymore, just vaguely numb and sore, as if her whole body was a bruise.    

           Going upstairs, she decided to spend the evening cleaning out the storage closet in the spare room, where they threw everything that had no obvious immediate use, and, now, it bulged with junk, the removal of which, like her new clothes, would help her feel lighter.  Sylvannus followed at her heels, racing around the room and, eventually, getting in a fight with a ball of crumpled tissue paper from some long-forgotten gift.  The autumn day had already been waning while she ate.  Now it was dark enough that, even on the second floor, she had to switch on the light.  

            As she worked, she heard Garritt come in the front door and go to the kitchen to pick up his dinner.  Sylvannus had succeeded in defeating the tissue paper, pink scraps of it clinging to her fur, as she tilted her head from side to side, ears raise to pick up the sound from below, then dashed off, her feet pattering on the stairs, to greet Garritt in his turn.  Julia sighed, heaving herself to her feet, and switched off the light.  After a quick trip to the bathroom, she made her way down the hall to the bedroom.  Cleaning the closet had been hard work.  She would sit on the bed and rest a little, maybe do some reading, before going back to tackle a second round.  But, before doing so, she stood for a moment, watching the sky outside go dark and the bare branches of the nearby tree scrape the window.

            Suddenly, she heard the door open behind her and felt herself stiffen internally, frozen in weary dread at the sound of Garritt's footsteps coming in from the hall.  Somehow, without being able to say precisely how, she knew he was coming to have sex with her.  Some sixth sense born of long familiarity told her.  It was the old charm, standing with her back in the door, and she'd not even realized.  They had been celibate for almost six months now.  Why, why, tonight of all nights, did he have to impose this?  Julia remained facing away, in the futile dream that, if she never moved, nothing would happen.  Another step, then two, and now he stood behind her so that she could feel his breath on her neck, see him faintly silhouetted in the reflective window glass.  An old, sour taste rose in the back of her throat at the thought of submitting yet again to his lackluster advances.  The spark that had at long last leaped into flame inside her again would be crushed and bruised so that it retreated back beyond reach, falling to cold ash.  She could not let that happen, not after she had learned again how sweet desire could be.  Julia took a fortifying breath and felt her hands clench into fists as she turned around to tell him no.  

            But, before she could, he reached out and grabbed her arms with crushing strength, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled her tight against him.  The feel of the pressure, the nails, was like a black sunburst in her brain as she tilted back against him.  He bent his head towards the hollow of her jaw and his dark hair, loose as it so rarely was these days, came rippling forward over her shoulder, snake like and silken against her ear and throat.  Every muscle in her body seemed to lock and melt at the same time and then his hands came wrapping around her, palms pressing hard, fingers splayed.  One trailed down over her belly, the other up to her breast and, as they did, the lips against her ear whispered, “I am the Ravenlord.  I have come for you.”

         By now, Julia was so stunned and inflamed she could no longer even think clearly.  It was beyond her to unravel how or what or why and she no longer cared, having only wit enough left to gasp, “I am yours,” as she twisted herself around, flinging her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.  His mouth on hers, his hand against her back, he moved to tumble her back onto the bed as he had not in months...years.  Hands knotted in her clothes and pulled them off of her with such force she could almost have sworn they were being ripped.  

--end of episode four—

Key words: rejection, park, fence, hill, closet

Copyright: Amanda R. Hamlin

Not to be used by A.I. without permission of the author.

Cover by Eric Hamlin

To view his portfolio, go to: https://www.instagram.com/hamlin.eric/

Not to be used by A.I. without permission of the artist.

____

Also read:

 “I, Penelope’” “Deliverance from the Eye” “The Wrath of Sligoth” and other short story by Amanda Hamlin at the web page

All That is Gold at URL: http://allthatisgoldwriting.blogspot.cl

4/29/25