Boneyard Mysteries

The headache struck me suddenly and without apparent reason. Maybe I slept too long? Maybe I ate too little? Maybe the storm is approaching faster than I thought. It didn’t matter. The headache was here with me now.

It was a kind that is only alleviated by sleep.

One day, I’ll remember not all summons are delivered in decorated little envelopes.

The descent into and through hypnagogia was faster than I am accustomed to. I found myself falling through an illuminated darkness that I knew was the boundary between Waking and Dreaming. My dream body in freefall, I was not afraid. A few tumbles in play before becoming serious. I would not take the location of my arrival to chance. I deployed by cloak in the form of wings and made my intention of arriving at the lair.

At once I heard other winged creatures. From the darkness around me, they condensed into inky black forms. Their calls were deafening, concerning, and welcome. The number of ravens that now surrounded me were so great, they hid the darkness and devoured the illumination.

With a gentle turn, the mass of flying birds slightly altered their course. I did not turn with them though. I meant to fly through them and continue to the lair. I do not count myself as one of their number, and I certainly don’t understand what they are up to.

That I did not understand their intent was relevant, as the mass reformed around me again. We flew straight for a few more seconds, then the mass made a change of course again. I followed their lead. Another slight change that I followed faster. Then a hard right and a steep dive that we all make in unison.

I felt a prickling on my skin as we entered a world. The ravens scattered immediately on passing through. As they mostly dispersed, the Boneyard was revealed beneath me. A loose knot of ravens remained around me, still guiding my path. Together we flew over loose bones and neat piles, over bare ground and smokey pyres.

Until we arrive at a clearing within the mass of bones. Large enough to place a house on. Small enough that a person could cross the area in seconds. In the middle of this clearing is a very small pile of bones. So few in number, they seem the donation of just one individual. And they are very fresh bones. Still bleeding from rich marrow. I pick up a bone and wipe off the blood. From the bone’s pores, it bleeds anew.

The bones are too fresh to lay directly on the ground. I need drier bones to serve as the base of the pyre. Without asking, ravens begin bringing me the dry bones that I need. I nod my thanks, and quietly begin building a small pyre for the fresh bones to be included in.

Finished, it’s not so much a pyre as it is a large campfire, but made with bones instead of wood. I place the skull near the top, and cover the skull with an arrangement of dry long bones in a decorative spiral. I know the spirit in the bones probably doesn’t care of such things, but that doesn’t mean I should just treat it willynilly. It would take me just as long to pile the bones so they won’t fall, as it did to make the spiral. So, why not?

I look over at a watching raven and smile. It caws and nods its head. Well, that’s settled. The spiral remains.

I wipe my hands to prepare to call the Purging Fire when I note I have become bloodsoaked from the fresh bones. My hands, arms, and body from chest down, is covered in never-drying blood. That’s okay. I know what to do.

From someplace within me, I call the Purging Fire. But I don’t apply the fire to the bones just yet. I hold it in my hands. I stand before the fresh bones and Sing to them until they start to vibrate from resonance. As the fire intensifies, I pour it over me, letting the flames wrap around me to burn off the blood before pouring the Purging Fire onto the pyre. My form free of blood, the Purging Fire embraces the small pyre. The dancing flames continue the spiral of the topmost bones, forming a beautiful twirling effect.

I take a step back and bow. I hear the sound of something heavy shifting on hollow bones. I turn to see Ravenwoman has been watching from the clearing’s edge. She wears her full regalia, but something seems missing. She seems smaller somehow. I don’t ask any questions. Nor do I move closer to her. I merely bow in greeting. She snorts and challenges why I submitted to the fire. I answer her straightly, ignoring the derisive tone.

She continues to ask baited questions about my handling of the bones and… other things. I answer with straight words, or ignore the question entirely. When she runs out of things to interrogate me with, I ask if she’s okay. She takes deep offense at my question. I try to explain myself. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble over this. But you do understand, I won’t be ruled. I’m not a trophy to hoard.” She only huffs in answer and leaves the clearing’s edge. She quickly climbs over the bordering piles and disappears from sight.

Behind me, more ravens are bringing more bones. Mostly dry this time. I sort and arrange them into piles to be burned later. I know now is not the time. I turn back to the pyre I’ve lit. The fires burn, but the bones are resisting the flames. I Dance the bones, shaking them loose from their stubbornness. I turn to see the flames are now reaching into the very heart of the pyre, illuminating the top skull from within so that even the eye sockets glow. I smile with satisfaction.

A large number of ravens assemble on one of the larger piles in the clearing. I come over to see from curiosity. Quickly, they pull me down onto the pile, turning me so I lie face up. The largest raven perches on my chest. It stares at me with determination. I know what’s coming. I do not resist. I lean my head back and allow the pile to hold my weight. With talon and beak, the giant raven tears away my clothes and rips open my chest. Unlike with Ravenwoman, there is no pain. I can feel it pulling and shredding my flesh, but there is no discomfort. I don’t know if this is relevant. I start to twitch uncontrollably as it pulls at nerves. The other ravens pull my arms back and start tearing the flesh off the bones. Some grab at my head and hold it back. As others remove the burnt bones from my upper chest and arms and flies away with them, the giant raven begins devouring my heart out of my chest.

I know this must come. I do not know why.

Blackout.

I open my eyes to see a raven descending with an intact radius for my left arm. I hear another raven descending on my right side with a bone for that arm. My bones are replaced. A collarbone is fitted. A joint is pecked at to nudge it back into position.

My heart is replaced with a fire that knits itself into flesh as the flames are dripped into my chest cavity by the ravens. Flaming drop by flaming drop, they each add a little more until the new formed heart suddenly begins beating and I feel the searing surge of too hot blood racing through my body.

Their reassembly of me complete, they pull flesh and skin back into place, and settle around me as if roosting. They are patiently waiting for my body to finish repairing itself.

Blackout.

I awake to find I am alone on the pile of bones. I know this is my personal corner of the Boneyard now. I sit up to find I’m in the raven-feather cloak, but I’m wearing something like a long shift. It’s a burial shroud that has enough stitches placed in it to provide me an attempt at modesty. A stitch at each shoulder. A stitch on either side of the waist. It is the color of ashes. The clearing is still mostly clear, with only the bone piles I have assembled, and the small, still burning pyre in the middle.

There are ravens perched all along the piles that make up the walls of my clearing. And ravens perched on one bone pile in particular. I go to that pile, and know it is to be formally arranged. How I do is clear to me, and not for me to say. The pile complete, I call the Burning Fire to take it. The fire lights at once, the bones accept the flames, but the bones are not consumed. This is my Mystery.

English, with its insistence on gendered pronouns, really fucks up what the bones said wordlessly to me. I won’t even attempt to try and translate with ke/kir. Either you know, or you don’t know. And I don’t want this Mystery trampled on. So you won’t know.

I accept the Mystery and realize my face is covered. The Deathmask that the Svartalf made has been returned to me. I remove it, and sit down to examine it better. The ravens come and surround me. With wordless understanding I know why those colors were chosen and what they speak to, and about, me.

I understand now Ravenwoman wore it at first not only to show me a face I would recognize, but in an attempt to master it. But its not her mask. She has her own headdress. This is my mask. I accept this, and the ravens mark the mask further.

I don the mask and it expands to merge with my feathered head to form my own headdress. It is one I could make in the Waking, if I had several tens of thousands of dollars to waste. No, I may make a basic version mask, but it would be hidden and used only in the most important of rituals. This mask belongs in the Boneyard. The Mystery of Dust and Ashes shakes my bones.

I now know what comes ahead. My duties in the Boneyard unfold with my understanding. Same as it ever was. Until the time comes that Ravenwoman has my skull in her hands, as was promised before I was born.

Suddenly, the ravens all take flight at once and I find myself flying upward with them. The darkness embraces me and I open my eyes to find I’m lying in the lair. Snake is watching me with cool interest. I am reaching to solidify the memories to take with me back to the Waking.

“You won’t remember all that you know. Because you write. But you don’t need to write all that you remember, either.” And I didn’t.

Make of that, what you may.