The Raven

Twenty-Five

Once returned to the privacy of his dark and drafty tower room, the raven resigns himself to practicing his magic. Giving his powers the full extent of his concentration, he easily manipulates the forces within him to give the precise results he desires. He believes that he has nearly perfected his skills, and his mother should be particularly pleased with his ample progress should she happen to surprise him with an unexpected visit.

As a plume of black smoke quickly rises to the ceiling before filling the room, Caleb brings forth the shadows lurking on the wall. The blackened and definition-lacking forms of furniture warp into moving figures, twirling and dancing in the thick cloud. The raven watches intently as his magic does its job, his glowing red eyes the only light in the room; even they are practically indistinguishable through the haze of darkness caused by the heavy smoke and colorless shadows. His creations move so elegantly, so languidly, that the raven could almost believe they were their own entities rather than merely marionettes controlled by himself. It is rather beautiful in its own way, a beauty that Caleb had previously deemed himself incapable of. Deep in his heart, he had always felt his magic was a burden, dooming him to a lifetime of solitude and unrealistic daydreams.

However, this... This is no burden. No, this display of magical abilities is a concoction of all the positive feelings he has experienced as of late, both with Henry and about Henry. This is the freedom of exploring the garden he has always dreamed about, the warmth of the sunshine, breathing the fresh air, soaring uncaged through the sky in his raven form. This is all things good in his life, combined and compressed into a powerful and insanely incredible show of magic. It trickles to the surface of his skin and explodes through his fingertips into an enchanting veil of darkness, shadows, and smoke. It brings a smile to Caleb's pale face as he unknowingly and unrestrictedly loses himself in both the movements of his projections and the thoughts of his day with his handsome prince.

He is not sure how long he practices; the sunlight that had previously filtered in through his single window is now replaced by the glow of the moon. However, neither the passage nor restraint of time has any effect on him; Caleb is far too preoccupied with his training to care. A rush of power envelops him, heating his flesh as it sears his veins, warming him from the inside out; he has never felt so mystified by his own magic before. Perhaps this is why his mother loves to use hers so much. The raven has never felt anything that could compare to the strength and ultimate potential currently possessing him.

Suddenly, the door swings open with enough force to push the massive amount of magic clear to the other side of the room. It hits Caleb square in the chest in a way he could only describe as an explosion, literally knocking him off his feet and taking the very breath from his lungs. "Well, it certainly looks as if you have been practicing," his mother says, her eyes following the movements of the black fog as it scatters throughout the room before slowly dissipating in the air. "I should hope so, as the time is finally drawing near."

The raven's eyes grow wide at his mother's statement, anxiety flurrying through his belly; although he has been preparing for whatever is to come for his entire life, he is not sure that he is ready yet to face the challenge head-on. Temporarily unable to speak as he gasps for breath, he impatiently awaits his mother's continuation, desperately hoping she will finally explain what is happening. "The time is near?" he repeats, his voice hoarse from strain as he still struggles to control his oxygen intake. Swallowing thickly as he tries to hide his apprehension, he smooths his long, untamed hair from his face. "How near? Can I know yet what exactly is expected of me?" he questions, the urgent need to understand suddenly overtaking him.

The witch's eyes narrow at him, an irritated expression crossing her face. With a huff, she places her hands on her hips, and her foot taps against the dirty concrete floor. "You do not need to know yet, Raven," she says, her voice void of kindness and taking on a tone of impatience; she is obviously tired of having to repeat herself on the subject. "When it is time, you will be instructed what to do. And you will do it; without hesitation or question. Without fail, Raven. You will do as you are ordered, and that is all there is to it."

"Yes, Mother," Caleb replies quietly, still wholly unsure why he cannot know the details of this seemingly significant event that will evidently affect him greatly; it simply does not make any sense to him. The fact that his mother continues to withhold the information from him grows increasingly suspicious as time goes on. It certainly leaves an unpleasant feeling in the pit of the raven's stomach.

A thought suddenly occurs to him, his eyes widening in shock at his own discovery; Caleb wonders why he had never thought of such a thing before. Perhaps he can sneak around in his shadow form to learn the answers he is seeking; now that he has found enough courage to defy his mother's wishes, it definitely seems as if he should use it to his advantage in this case. It is worth a try, at least; after all, eighteen years is an awfully long time to be kept in the dark when literal lives are counting on him.

"Continue," the witch instructs, motioning toward Caleb. "There is no such thing as too much practice, Raven. We need to make sure that you are as prepared as possible."

Silently nodding, the boy rises from the floor and takes a deep breath, readying himself to create the magic again. Over and over, he continues conjuring and moving shadows and smoke to his mother's satisfaction as she observes silently, only giving criticism when she deems it necessary. Although she is highly impressed by his somehow exemplary skills, she would never admit it aloud. Informing the raven how apparently exceptional he has become at mastering his abilities would only cause the boy to have an inflated ego. It simply is not something she can risk at this stage of her plan; besides, he is so much easier to manipulate when he is attempting to gain her admiration and affection. No, she will keep her opinions and possible compliments to herself.

As quickly as the raven's happiness had come from watching his own magical efforts unfold earlier, they have now vanished just as suddenly; his mother truly does suck all the joy out of things.