The Crow’s Nest

He awoke in the same fashion he normally did, soaked in sweat and with only one thought rolling through his cloudy mind.

Powder. He needed the powder.

He stood from his cot, glancing momentarily at the dark spot that outlined his sweaty body as he slept. His bare feet slapped against the concrete floor of the tower as he scurried across his meager room to his ammo can. The box was at one point green, but decades of use and wear had peeled most of the paint off and left the surface a crusty reddish-brown. Once his shaky hands fumbled the latch open, he was delighted by a small white ball tucked into a bottle cap, right where he’d left it the night before. He crushed it between his fingers and prepared a line.

Once he’d done his business and satiated his need, he began to take his normal stock. Wrapped inside a small sheet of wax paper were nine 7.62x51 rounds. He pulled each one out and shook them, listening for gunpowder. He stopped halfway through to wipe up his nosebleed, but was soon back to his ammunition checking.

Finally, in some scraps of plastic in the back was a single scrap of dried meat. He took just one meager bite before returning his last bits to the scraps.

“He better come today.” He mumbled while he loaded his nine rounds into the magazine of his NDM-86 rifle. As each round clicked satisfyingly in between the feed lips, he looked back to his rusty box and worried that he may not have enough powder to make it through the day.

He paused, dropping his head into his hand, and mumbled with his eyes closed, “just work, ease the will of Rathka.”

This thought comforted him as he loaded his magazine into his rifle and sat in his chair. It was an old canvas chair from decades ago, and it overlooked the bleached white sand and rubble that lay before the tower.

He sat, as he did everyday, soaking in the sun from the open window that looked down upon the Great Road, with Ledonia to the east and Waterwood to the west. He stared down at the well worn path, waiting for any sinner to pass by. This morning was rather quiet though, and as most folk traveled in the morning or evening to avoid the devilish sun, he was worried he may see nobody. The Sallow Faced Man rarely came on days when he saw nobody.

**

The sun rolled through the sky as it normally did, and as it began to set, he chewed up his last bit of dried meat while watching the Great Road. It wasn’t until the sky had started to dye itself a deep shade of purplish blue that a small group of travelers dared show themselves on the Great Road.

Three folks, two women and an old man, all dressed in rags, slowly meandered amongst the bleached ruins. “By the will of Rathka,” he muttered to himself as he drew the post reticle upon the man. “For the patrons of the Tower,” slipped through his lips as he squeezed through the second stage of his trigger.

Three reports echoed through the bleached landscape, and three travelers fell dead.

Not too long after, five black robed men emerged from the first floor of the tower. They scurried to the bodies, pulling them in one by one to lobby beneath.

He was pleased with his efforts, but displeased with the shakes coming forth in his hands. He needed food, and he needed powder. He placed his rifle on the ground and his head in his hands. He felt his arms start to shake and his eyes grow dry.

“By the will of Rathka,” he nearly sobbed, “for the patrons of the Tower.”

**

Some hours later, as the orange glow from his candles danced and flickered over the walls, he sat alone. Though the candles were bright enough to see a bit, they really did little to stave off the darkness leaking in through the open windows of the Tower.

Silent tears mixed with the sweat on his cheeks while he held his haunches and rocked slowly back and forth. “The will of Rathka…the will of Rathka.”

A knock on the steel door on the far end of his small nest pulled him from his sobs. An image of the Sallow Faced Man flashed in his mind, though it was soon pushed away by thoughts of the powder.

He jumped from his cot and ran to the door, it creaked on its rusted track as he slid out of the way. He sighed in relief when he was greeted with the crooked smile of the Sallow Faced Man.

“You’ve done well, Crow.” The Sallow Faced Man hissed through clenched teeth. As he spoke, his hands and arms seemed to rattle and shake, though they always had.

“Thank you, brother.” He, Crow, replied. “I need supplies.”

“Yes, but Rathka does not favor hastiness.” The Sallow Faced Man said as he brushed Crow aside and walked into his nest. Crow followed obediently, rushing ahead to grab his chair from the window. He pulled it next to his cot so they could sit and palaver.

“Three today?” The Sallow Faced man said as he sat.

“Yes, brother.” Crow replied as more sweat rolled down his forehead. “But I have no food,” he began twiddling his thumbs together, “or powder.”

“Patience, Crow,” the Sallow Faced Man replied, “the spoils of Rathka come to those who deserve them.” He pulled off his tattered black hood, exposing the worn lines and creases of his crooked and discolored face, and a head that seemed to be getting infected with the hands' shakiness. “You must show to him you are deserving.”

“How?” Crow replied, still trying to hide his incessant need for powder.

The Sallow Faced Man simply pulled back his whisky hair and tapped the scars on his forehead. A series of three circles with an X inside them were scrawled across his creased brow.

“Is it time?”

“Yes, Crow.”

After the Sallow Faced Man finished his work, he dressed Crow’s forehead with rags. He then pulled from his lap bag a small bundle of wax paper filled with meat and set it atop Crow's chest.

As he pulled the leather bit from between his teeth, Crow rolled to face Sallow Faced Man as he walked out. “Powder,” he rasped out.

“No Crow.” He paused on his way to the door, “I have no powder for you.”

“What?” Crow asked, raising his voice.

“If you are to be a brother, you mustn’t be tainted by the powder.”

“That’s bullshit!” Crow yelled as he arose from the cot, still holding the bandages to his head.

“Save your anger for Rathka,” the Sallow Faced Man replied, “for now you serve only him.”

“So I’ve not been serving him?” Crow asked as his face grew red.

“No. You’ve been serving me, Crow.” He turned away from the door to face Crow. “But through serving me and my brothers, providing us with sustenance and protection, you’ve finally gained Rathka’s favor.” He did not wait for Crow to respond before walking out.

**

Crow spent his night sweating and shaking on the cold cement floor. Though he’d closed his eyes for only a moment, it seemed, hours had passed. The sunrise turned the bleak gray walls into a fiery orange as it poked above the horizon. A cool, dry breeze whispered through the open windows.

Now that it was peak time for what few pilgrims dared pass through this section of the Great Road, he knew that he should grab his rifle and begin his watch. He had never had to go this long without the powder though, and he felt like all he was capable of doing was lying on the ground and sulking.

“Hello.” A voice cut through the silence. Though it was rather sullen sounding, it still filled the small room, and seemed to burst Crow’s eardrums.

Crow suddenly was invigorated, and flipped over as quickly as he could to face the voice. He simply stared, mouth agape, at the man sitting in his chair, holding his rifle across his lap.

The man was a bit older than Crow, but a good bit younger than the Sallow Faced Man, and he seemed rather plain. Dark hair outlined a narrow, hungry looking face. “Who are you?” He asked calmly.

Crow, still laying on his back with a blank expression, simply muttered, “I am a crow.”

The calm sounding man across the room stared at him for a moment, thinking. “No sir, you’re not a crow.” He replied.

“Yes,” Crow stuttered, “I am a crow and this is my nest.”

“And what is a crow?” He asked, “I’ve never seen a crow kill anybody before.”

“I’m not a brother, but I’m not an outsider, so I am a crow.” The cuts on his forehead throbbed and made him wonder if that statement was true anymore.

“I see. How long have you been here?” The calm man asked.

“Always,” he replied.

“So you shot and killed my friends yesterday?” He slowly, but smoothly, turned the rifle towards Crow, with it still resting on his knees.

“I,” he paused, feeling something welling in his throat, “I gave them to Rathka.” His eyes began to sting as his body mustered what little water it could to make tears.

“And Rathka is the old man downstairs then?” The calm man questioned.

Crow shook his head. “Rathka is no man.” He took a breath and tried to gather himself a bit, “he protects us for our service to him.” His voice began to rise.

“So he is your god?”

“No, he only tolerates us for our service, but if you kill me you’ll still answer to his judgement.” Crow replied, nearly yelling through his tears.

“Well, then I’ll kill you and face his judgement with a clear conscience.” He pulled the rifle up and tucked it beneath his arm. “Why did you kill them?”

“In service to him.” Crow replied as his tears turned to sobs.

“Enough of your god!” The man snapped, no longer able to maintain his calm facade. “How can I get the old man up here?”

Crow was silent.

“If I let travelers by, will he come?”

Crow shook his head. “I can’t shoot them all or nobody would come down the Great Road.”

“How then?” He snarled, growing more agitated.

Crow was again silent.

The man stood, pulling the rifle to his shoulder, ready to fire. “How!?”

“Miss.”

“What?”

“One bullet, one body. You have to miss somebody.” Crow replied through sobs.

“Why don’t I just blast now? Waste a round?”

“He’ll be suspicious and bring his brothers.”

The man pondered this for some time before opening his mouth again, “Fine. Let’s wait.”

And they did.

It wasn’t until sunset that the calm man finally saw somebody walking down the Great Road. He was nibbling on some of Crow’s dried meat, and nearly spit it out when he saw a shape come over the horizon.

Crow, meanwhile, was salivating for some dried meat as he sat with his back against the windowsill, facing the calm man.

The man stood and took aim at the wanderer in the road. “Wait until they’re in front of the tower.” Crow muttered weakly

“Oh I know.” The calm man muttered back, “how many rounds are in here?”

“Six, I think.” Crow replied, sounding defeated.

When the figure, who turned out to be a man dressed in bent street signs held together with wire, was in front of the tower’s base, the calm man fired a single shot. The man in the road jumped, then ran like a madman off into the ruins.

He and Crow waited silently for the Sallow Faced Man to come up the tower’s steps. After ten minutes or so passed, the Sallow Faced Man’s awful voice pierced through the walls.

“One bullet, one body! You dullard! One bullet, one body!” Echoed from the stairwell in the next room.

The calm man stood and aimed towards the door, shouldering the rifle but looking over its scope.

When the Sallow Faced Man entered Crow’s open doorway, his face changed from twisted anger to dumb fear. “Crow you fucking idiot.” He hissed under his breath. “Who are you?”

“I’m the man whose family was shot by your crow here.” The calm man replied, steadying the rifle at the man across him.

“They were sinners then, and deserved the wrath they were given.” The Sallow Faced Man said smoothly. He was much more confident under pressure than Crow.

“And so too shall you, old man.” The calm man replied, waiting for the old man to break his facade.

“Are you so sure? For I serve the will of Rathka, and he seldom allows failure.” A small grin started to tug at the corners of his lips. “And besides, you’ll be too slow to kill me.”

Before the calm man could react, the Crow shot him in the back of the skull, then lowered the pistol he’d been hiding in his trousers. “Shall I be forgiven?” He mumbled shamefully.

“No! You dullard! You’ll never truly serve Rath-” was all the Sallow Faced Man could get out before another shot filled the room.

The Sallow Faced Man fell dead atop the calm man, and Crow’s hand shook with the weight of his Makarov pistol.

Crow dropped the gun, and ran to the Sallow Faced Man’s corpse, and immediately began rummaging through his pack and his pockets. His heart sank when he found no powder, and plummeted after finding none on the body of the intruder.

Crow had never left this room for as long as he could remember, but looking at the bodies before him, he knew he could stay no longer. The brothers of the Sallow Faced Man would soon come to investigate.

Looking at the door, and then the window, Crow decided he’d take the quicker way down. He thought he’d deserved to be just another body to be drug away from their courtyard.

As he felt the wind whip by his face and body, he smiled a bit. For he was no longer Crow, he was free. He’d always wanted to be free, even if it was only for a moment.

And he’d gotten exactly that.