Feeding the Crows

"Too many," grumbled Gran. She worked her jaw and chewed her tongue. I frowned at the landscape.

Winter's bare trees held hundreds of black, cawing birds. They cried out to each other and moved in unison like a dark cloud. Our hut was on the edge of the village, the better for Gran the birdwatcher to read the signs of the lands.

I looked at Gran as she leaned on a walking stick as gnarled and twisted as she was. The village children were afraid of her; many of their mothers avoided her gaze as well. Despite her age, Gran's good eye could spot a flea across the room. The other eye was clouded and didn't seem to see at all.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"What do you think it means, child?" I was no longer a child, but everyone was young in Gran's eyes.

I knew what the black clouds meant. We had to feed the crows.

"How long do we have?"

Gran frowned. "Not long," she replied, her voice a whisper. She stared at the trees full of dark omens and chewed air.

"We should tell the Elders."

Gran nodded. Her eyes didn't leave the birds.

The road was empty. Villagers kept to their huts, crowded around low fires. Snow didn't fall here and we were blessed with short winters. There was little to do but rest and wait for winter's end.

During summer and autumn, the roads would be full of merchants from every land. We would trade for silks and sweetwine.

Merchants swore that ours was the best crop. Our corn grew larger and gave a bountiful harvest while other villages struggled to keep their plants alive. We knew that we thrived because we kept the old ways, traditions that had sustained our people for as long as anyone could remember.

Other villages had turned their backs to tradition. They called them barbaric and thought us cruel and superstitious. Some of our villagers were wont to agree with them; birdwatchers had always been looked on with disgust and fear, important though we were. Gran held her ground, though, and the Elders heard our words. Change spread everywhere, but as long as Gran lived, we would honor the old ways.

I sounded the gong and the impact of stick to metal made my teeth vibrate. Crows inside the village took flight with cries of surprise and indignation. A few villagers peeked from their huts, but their eyes widened when they saw the birds in the air and the stick in my hand. Door and window flaps quickly covered their views.

The gong still rang in the air as I entered the Elder hut. The three Elders arrived as I started a fire. They fidgeted and watched me with wary eyes. Gran arrived just as the spiced sweetwine was beginning to boil.

Gran wore her birdwatching robes and the sight of her was chilling. A long cloth draped from her shoulders, embroidered with thousands of crow feathers. Feathers hung from her hair and black crows' beaks shone from a necklace that hung to her waist.

"We have to feed the crows," she said. Her voice sounded hollow and ancient. The Elders were visibly shocked. Sanna, the youngest of the Old, whimpered. Gran worked her gums again and pretended not to hear. She watched and let the silence hang in the air like a bird's shriek.

"Who?" All eyes turned to Jorah, whose strength seemed to falter with his voice, and then back to Gran. She shrugged and leaned on her stick. Gran was never offered a seat in the Elder hut.

"Can you be sure?" asked Lei, the oldest in the village aside from Gran, who was at least a dozen years her senior.

Gran chewed and nodded. Sanna looked at me, and I nodded as well. She frowned.

"Perhaps," Sanna began, "perhaps we need not..." Her voice faded. She took a deep breath and began again. "The other villages feed the crows with corn. They have priests who say that an offering of crop will suffice."

Gran's lips twitched. "Oh they'll eat the corn, child." The Elder bristled at being called a child and I pursed my lips to hide my grin. "But it's not the corn they want." Lei shuddered.

"She's right," agreed Jorah. The hand holding his untouched sweetwine trembled. "The traders say that the villages with priests are near starving. The crows are only satisfied with, with..." He cleared his throat and spiced sweetwine sloshed onto his shoe.

"With blood," finished Lei. She looked at the other two Elders. "Stop acting like children," she chided. "We have done this before. Who will go?"

Sanna frowned petulantly and Jorah studied the ground. In spite of myself, I fought a shudder. Someone from the village had to go. Someone had to die. Someone had to feed the crows.

"I will go," said Gran, her voice solid. I gasped. Lei looked relieved, Sanna terrified, and Jorah dropped the cup of sweetwine.

"No," I said. Tears stung my eyes. "Gran..." She raised her hand. It was done.

The Elders were silent as we walked to the trees. A baby fussed in a hut somewhere and was quickly shushed.

The ancient, gnarled oak was full of crows. Even in summer, its branches no longer held leaves. I recoiled when I saw that Gran had already prepared the noose.

I had to stoop to let Gran wrap her birdwatching robes around my shoulders. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. It was done. She placed her beak necklace over my head and nodded at me, chewing all the time. I nodded in return.

Jorah helped Gran into the noose. It was quick, she struggled little. The birds in the tree screeched. The noise was deafening. I hated them for robbing us of Gran. I hated them for their insatiable hunger. I feared them for their power.

And I prayed for a hearty harvest.