Honey & Stone

Arkadi was nine years old, and broken, when first he heard the crows speak.

Arkasha, they said, perched at his open window, as though they knew him. Arkasha, we heard you calling. Their raspy, creaking voices sounded like an old door opening up to a new and unfamiliar world.

Arkadi had pushed himself up in his bed, wincing for the bruises on his ribs, and blinked at the crows, unsure if what he’d heard was real. One of them lifted his wings, and flew into the room, landing softly on the edge of the bed. He tilted his head at Arkadi, a greeting.

I am Yura, said the bird. These are my brothers and sisters, and we have come to be the sword at your side.

Arkadi shook his head and furrowed his brow in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said. The words came rough and quiet from his throat, which was tired and raw from all his crying. “How did you find me? How do you know my name?”

You are unloved, said the crow. The words were cruel, and Arkadi winced as though struck. You are unloved, as we are, Yura continued, and his voice was soft and kind. We heard you calling, and we came.

Arkadi breathed out, and his heart felt less heavy. He had so many questions, but he was so tired. And who was he, after all, to turn away a friend? Even a friend with black eyes and feathers, and a voice like hinges and rustling leaves. As of this very moment, the crows were everything he had in the world.

“Thank you,” Arkadi whispered, as he slid back down beneath his covers and let his dark lashes fall over red-rimmed eyes. Thank you, he said again, though his lips didn’t move.

Sleep well, my friend, said Yura. Deeply, and dreaming of open sky.

____________

“Arkadi!”

His mother’s voice echoed over his shoulder like the cry of a banshee, but Arkadi didn’t turn to acknowledge her. With long, sure strides, and that familiar cold, black fury in his heart, he walked out onto the steppe until he could longer see the sky blue walls or the single golden spire of his hellish home.

The crows followed him, swooping down from the tree outside his bedroom window, and circling above him as he walked, like vultures over some dead thing out in the vast and sunlit fields.

He and the crows were stark and black against the warm summer landscape. He was sixteen now, and taller. Nearly as tall as his father, with dark brown curls and narrow, hazel eyes.

He was stronger, also. Strong enough not to cry when he was struck or belittled or threatened. Every harsh word from his mother, and every strike of his father’s palm, he’d hidden away like a stone in his chest, building up a wall around his heart. Only the crows were let inside.

Arkasha, cooed Polinka, a kind crow with one eye and a soothing voice, landing softly on his shoulder. Why don’t you leave them, Arkasha?

Arkadi was quiet, as were the crows. They listened, as they always did, hoping to hear a different answer. But he couldn’t give them one. Anymore than he could sprout wings and fly away.

“You don’t understand”, said Arkadi quietly. “In my world, I have nothing. I have no one.”

You have us, said Yura, from somewhere above him.

“And I am grateful,” Arkadi said, his voice velvet with sincerity. “But you cannot feed me or clothe me or give me purpose.” Arkadi shook his head, and wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow. “One day, my father will die, and my mother. And everything that is theirs will fall to me. And then I will not have nothing. I will not be no one.”

The crows fell silent. They understood, he knew, however much they wished he could be free of his hateful parents and his loveless home.

Arkasha, whispered Danylo, landing on his opposite shoulder. Look.

Arkadi looked ahead, and saw something small and orange and barely moving in the tall grass. He approached cautiously, as the crows floated to the ground around him.

It was a fox, small and still and bleeding. Arkadi knelt down, some feet away from the creature, and she looked up at him with tired eyes.

Wolf, said the crows, rustling nervously. Arkadi turned and trained his eyes over the horizon in every direction, looking for a sign that the wolf was still near. Seeing nothing, he turned back to the fox.

Come now, said Arkadi, moving in slowly and cupping his hands under the creature's slight body. We’ll take care of you.

Arkadi stood, feeling the creature’s rapid heartbeat beneath his hands, and stopped. The crows stopped as well, and the fox perked up her ears and looked out at the fields.

Avdotka! Came the call, somehow in his head as well as on the wind. Arkadi narrowed his eyes, searching the bright fields for signs of movement.

He turned to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon. He squinted his eyes against its light, and there beneath the summer sun, walking towards him, was a girl. Red ribbons, and blue and yellow, floated around her hair in the breeze, and she stopped and looked at him. Her hair was golden as the fields, and as Arkadi walked towards her, he felt something small and warm behind the stone wall of his heart, like a match struck in a dark dungeon.

Avdotka, said the girl, smiling at the creature in Arkadi’s arms. Avdotka, I heard you calling.

The fox whined in relief, and rested her head against Arkadi’s hand.

The girl looked up at Arkadi, blinking. A soft smile pulled at her lips. “Thank you,” she said, with a voice like honey and light.

A single stone fell from the wall.