A different sort of Christmas tale - for Pactnmmt
Title: How the Raven Saved Mr. Kuryakin
Word Count: 1881
Genre: Gen
This story was inspired by a photo taken by pactnmmt. My thanks to her and to Sparky for her beta.
The Photo:
Illya struggled to keep his footing as he half-slid, half-tumbled down the embankment. For three days and nights, he’d been on the run, trying to elude THRUSH. Of course, it didn’t help that he cut a path half a mile wide in the snow. And THRUSH had advantage of proper clothing and gear. Illya had the clothes on his back and what he’d stolen along the way.
Half numb from cold and nearly too tired to move a step farther, Illya paused, listening to the wind in the trees and the grumbling of his empty stomach. It would be dark soon and he would have a chance to rest and possibly get warm if the matches in his pocket were still good.
He looked around for some wildlife. At this juncture in time, he’d eat anything. Something caught his eye and he aimed, then paused. It as a raven, plump and its plumage glistening in the dying rays of the sun. He pulled the gun up. His gypsy friends had told him to never ever kill a raven. Their flesh was inedible and it was incredible bad luck.
The raven watched him for a moment and then flew a short distance from him and rasped out a cry. He waited and Illya tilted his head. The bird mimicked the action and Illya took a step towards him and then two. When he could practically touch the bird, the raven flew to another nearby tree.
For some reason, this amused Illya and he followed the bird. There in the near dark, he saw a dark impression in the rocks. With hope in his heart, he staggered forward and into the cave. Thankfully, it was empty, as well as out of the wind and dry.
The raven perched just outside, watching him.
“Thank you,” Illya said to the bird. “I don’t suppose you know where there’s a supply for firewood, would you?”
With another rasp, the raven hopped to another nearby tree. At its base was a collection of dried branches.
“I’ll be damned… or saved, in that instance.” Illya collected them and carried them back to the cave. It took him three loads, but he built a suitable pyre and struck a match. Nothing. The same held true for the next two. All he had was one match left and Illya felt his spirt plummet. At least he’d had shelter, but in his weakened condition, he wasn’t sure it would be enough.
The Raven hopped closer and studied him carefully. It looked at the wood and then back at him as if to say, “Well, get on with it.”
“It’s no use. The matches aren’t any good.” Illya wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Then temptation to sleep was so great, but he knew if he did, hypothermia could very well succeed where countless THRUSH had failed. “You did your best, but it’s hopeless.”
The bird hopped closer, as if nothing it had nothing to fear and Illya’s eyes opened as it spoke:
“In the beginning, the world was a cold and dark place. The only light ever seen was that of the Sun, but that never lasted long enough. The First People were cold at night and many of the Old couldn't last through the harsh winters.
Back in those days, people and animals lived together peacefully. The animals were people back then...they didn't take their present-day shapes until much later. They were the creators.
A council of the animals was called to try to do something about the cold problem. They all agreed that something must be done, but none could agree on what. After much debate it was decided that someone had to go to the Sun to try to bring fire back to the Earth for people. The only question now was who would do it.
They went around the circle to decide who would get fire for the first people. This being winter, Bear was too tired to undertake such a task. Wolf knew that if he went, there would be no-one left to watch over people. Squirrel was too scattered to be of much help. Snake had no way of carrying anything. It was eventually decided that a bird would be the best suited for the task.
Peacock was too self-possessed and too worried that such a task might harm his feathers. Robin and Wren were both too small to make the long journey. When they came around to Raven, he offered to do it. Now it's important to note that in the first days, Raven didn't look anything like he did today. He had a straight beak, feathers of every color of the rainbow and a melodic voice that was the envy of all the other birds.
Now that it was settled who would do it, the question remained, "How?" Raven looked around him for tools but all he saw were a few dead branches. Inspiration struck. He picked up one of the longest branches and headed off toward the Sun. He flew for three days and nights. When he finally got to the sun, he held the branch to the sun and it started to smoke. Raven beat his wings a little, and before he knew it the branch had caught fire.
As Raven headed back to the Earth and the First People, the fire slowly consumed the branch. As he neared the Earth, the branch grew shorter and shorter. The smoke choked his lungs and made it difficult to see. The fire singed his feathers and burned away at his beak. Raven finally made it back to the First People and gave them the branch. They just stared at him.
Gone was his beauty and his voice. They were faced with a sooty, hoarse-sounding creature. They didn't know how to react so they just ignored him and started cultivating fire.
A great feast was held by people to celebrate this wondrous new thing. But when Raven showed up, they wouldn't let him near the table. They just threw him scraps.
This hurt Raven pretty bad, considering all he went through to help out. So he wandered off into the woods alone. As he got deeper and deeper into the woods, he heard a voice calling his name.
Raven, it said. He ignored it. RAVEN, it insisted.
"What do you want from me? I have nothing else to give!" he dismissed.
What you did was very noble, the voice stated. Raven finally snapped out of it and realised that the voice belonged to the Creator.
"It may have been noble, but look at me! I'm black as night and my voice is choked. The People want nothing to do with me!" he stated.
I've been thinking about that, the voice said. So people don't forget your sacrifice, I won't give you back your original form. You will stay as you are from now on...black feathers, choked voice and you will always scrounge for food...to remind people of your sacrifice. But as recognition, your black feathers will reflect all the colors of the rainbow like you once had. Your voice will strike a shiver in Man to remind him of what he did to you. And your meat will be bitter, so you will never be hunted for food.
And that's how people got fire, and why Raven looks like he does.*
Illya woke with a start. The raven was nearby, its feathers fluffed against the cold. A branch sat at the base of the tree. It wasn’t there before.
He studied the bird, as cold as he is. “And now you are giving fire to me?” The bird cocked its head in an obvious question. “What am I saying? Birds can’t talk.” The raven fluffed itself up even more. “Still, I suppose you are right. We have to take the chance. If the match doesn’t work, we are certainly be no worse off than he was now.”
He blew on his hands and shook them before moving slowly forward and picking up the branch. It had been charred from a previous fire. He looked again at the raven. Trembling, he dug out the last match and studied it even as he carried the stick into the shelter of the cave. With a silent prayer, he held his breath and carefully struck the match
It flared to life and Illya immediately touched it to the stick. It blazed to life. Carefully he carried it to the pine needles he’d gathered earlier and touched the stick to them. Then he fed the flames a small stick, making sure it caught and slowly he worked the fire until it was blazing. He looked over at the bird. “Come on, this is your fire as much as it’s mine.”
As if it understood, the bird dropped to the ground and came closer to the fire. Then something at the cave mouth caught Illya’s eye and he pulled his weapon and fired. The raven exploded into motion, dashing away into the night. Illya crept forward and found the rabbit he’d hit. It had been a clean shot and it meant that he would eat tonight. Somehow, although he didn’t know how, he felt the raven was responsible for that was well.
He field dressed the rabbit and roasted it. It was tough and tasted a little gamey, but Illya didn’t care. Satisfied, he restocked the fire and watched as the flames released embers into the night. He’d led THRUSH on a merry chase, but perhaps it was too late to do much more. Without meaning to, his head drooped and he slept.
He woke to motion outside the cave’s mouth. Tensing, he struggled into a better firing position and moved back as far as he could into the cave. He wouldn’t go without a fight.
“Illya?”
“Napoleon?” Illya shifted forward and lowered his weapon. He watched as his partner peeked into his shelter. “How did you find me?”
Napoleon gestured to the fire. “We were about to give up and then saw the smoke.”
“THRUSH?”
“Past tense, although one did last long enough to say you’d escaped and headed into the woods.” Another agent came forward, carrying blanket and Napoleon began to wrap them around Illya. “You couldn’t have picked a warmer time of the year for your little outing?”
“The next time I am captured, I will attempt to negotiate a more hospitable setting.” He moved stiffly, pulling the blanket closer. “I’m just glad it was you and not our feathered friends.”
“Speaking of such, that’s some watchdog you have.” Napoleon hooked a thumb towards the raven as it watched.
“What do you mean?”
“That crow.” Napoleon pointed to the raven, the morning light glistening off its feathers. “It about pecked our eyes out before it apparently decided we were okay and not a threat.”
“That is not a crow, Napoleon.” Illya nodded to the bird. “That is a raven.” He could have sworn the bird nodded back before taking wing and disappearing into the dawn.
*(this story came from: http://www.velcrohead.com/gecko/raven.html#How%20Raven%20Invented%20Fire. It was so perfect that I choose not to modify it, but instead I give credit to the site’s storyteller)
Word Count: 1881
Genre: Gen
This story was inspired by a photo taken by pactnmmt. My thanks to her and to Sparky for her beta.
The Photo:
Illya struggled to keep his footing as he half-slid, half-tumbled down the embankment. For three days and nights, he’d been on the run, trying to elude THRUSH. Of course, it didn’t help that he cut a path half a mile wide in the snow. And THRUSH had advantage of proper clothing and gear. Illya had the clothes on his back and what he’d stolen along the way.
Half numb from cold and nearly too tired to move a step farther, Illya paused, listening to the wind in the trees and the grumbling of his empty stomach. It would be dark soon and he would have a chance to rest and possibly get warm if the matches in his pocket were still good.
He looked around for some wildlife. At this juncture in time, he’d eat anything. Something caught his eye and he aimed, then paused. It as a raven, plump and its plumage glistening in the dying rays of the sun. He pulled the gun up. His gypsy friends had told him to never ever kill a raven. Their flesh was inedible and it was incredible bad luck.
The raven watched him for a moment and then flew a short distance from him and rasped out a cry. He waited and Illya tilted his head. The bird mimicked the action and Illya took a step towards him and then two. When he could practically touch the bird, the raven flew to another nearby tree.
For some reason, this amused Illya and he followed the bird. There in the near dark, he saw a dark impression in the rocks. With hope in his heart, he staggered forward and into the cave. Thankfully, it was empty, as well as out of the wind and dry.
The raven perched just outside, watching him.
“Thank you,” Illya said to the bird. “I don’t suppose you know where there’s a supply for firewood, would you?”
With another rasp, the raven hopped to another nearby tree. At its base was a collection of dried branches.
“I’ll be damned… or saved, in that instance.” Illya collected them and carried them back to the cave. It took him three loads, but he built a suitable pyre and struck a match. Nothing. The same held true for the next two. All he had was one match left and Illya felt his spirt plummet. At least he’d had shelter, but in his weakened condition, he wasn’t sure it would be enough.
The Raven hopped closer and studied him carefully. It looked at the wood and then back at him as if to say, “Well, get on with it.”
“It’s no use. The matches aren’t any good.” Illya wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Then temptation to sleep was so great, but he knew if he did, hypothermia could very well succeed where countless THRUSH had failed. “You did your best, but it’s hopeless.”
The bird hopped closer, as if nothing it had nothing to fear and Illya’s eyes opened as it spoke:
“In the beginning, the world was a cold and dark place. The only light ever seen was that of the Sun, but that never lasted long enough. The First People were cold at night and many of the Old couldn't last through the harsh winters.
Back in those days, people and animals lived together peacefully. The animals were people back then...they didn't take their present-day shapes until much later. They were the creators.
A council of the animals was called to try to do something about the cold problem. They all agreed that something must be done, but none could agree on what. After much debate it was decided that someone had to go to the Sun to try to bring fire back to the Earth for people. The only question now was who would do it.
They went around the circle to decide who would get fire for the first people. This being winter, Bear was too tired to undertake such a task. Wolf knew that if he went, there would be no-one left to watch over people. Squirrel was too scattered to be of much help. Snake had no way of carrying anything. It was eventually decided that a bird would be the best suited for the task.
Peacock was too self-possessed and too worried that such a task might harm his feathers. Robin and Wren were both too small to make the long journey. When they came around to Raven, he offered to do it. Now it's important to note that in the first days, Raven didn't look anything like he did today. He had a straight beak, feathers of every color of the rainbow and a melodic voice that was the envy of all the other birds.
Now that it was settled who would do it, the question remained, "How?" Raven looked around him for tools but all he saw were a few dead branches. Inspiration struck. He picked up one of the longest branches and headed off toward the Sun. He flew for three days and nights. When he finally got to the sun, he held the branch to the sun and it started to smoke. Raven beat his wings a little, and before he knew it the branch had caught fire.
As Raven headed back to the Earth and the First People, the fire slowly consumed the branch. As he neared the Earth, the branch grew shorter and shorter. The smoke choked his lungs and made it difficult to see. The fire singed his feathers and burned away at his beak. Raven finally made it back to the First People and gave them the branch. They just stared at him.
Gone was his beauty and his voice. They were faced with a sooty, hoarse-sounding creature. They didn't know how to react so they just ignored him and started cultivating fire.
A great feast was held by people to celebrate this wondrous new thing. But when Raven showed up, they wouldn't let him near the table. They just threw him scraps.
This hurt Raven pretty bad, considering all he went through to help out. So he wandered off into the woods alone. As he got deeper and deeper into the woods, he heard a voice calling his name.
Raven, it said. He ignored it. RAVEN, it insisted.
"What do you want from me? I have nothing else to give!" he dismissed.
What you did was very noble, the voice stated. Raven finally snapped out of it and realised that the voice belonged to the Creator.
"It may have been noble, but look at me! I'm black as night and my voice is choked. The People want nothing to do with me!" he stated.
I've been thinking about that, the voice said. So people don't forget your sacrifice, I won't give you back your original form. You will stay as you are from now on...black feathers, choked voice and you will always scrounge for food...to remind people of your sacrifice. But as recognition, your black feathers will reflect all the colors of the rainbow like you once had. Your voice will strike a shiver in Man to remind him of what he did to you. And your meat will be bitter, so you will never be hunted for food.
And that's how people got fire, and why Raven looks like he does.*
Illya woke with a start. The raven was nearby, its feathers fluffed against the cold. A branch sat at the base of the tree. It wasn’t there before.
He studied the bird, as cold as he is. “And now you are giving fire to me?” The bird cocked its head in an obvious question. “What am I saying? Birds can’t talk.” The raven fluffed itself up even more. “Still, I suppose you are right. We have to take the chance. If the match doesn’t work, we are certainly be no worse off than he was now.”
He blew on his hands and shook them before moving slowly forward and picking up the branch. It had been charred from a previous fire. He looked again at the raven. Trembling, he dug out the last match and studied it even as he carried the stick into the shelter of the cave. With a silent prayer, he held his breath and carefully struck the match
It flared to life and Illya immediately touched it to the stick. It blazed to life. Carefully he carried it to the pine needles he’d gathered earlier and touched the stick to them. Then he fed the flames a small stick, making sure it caught and slowly he worked the fire until it was blazing. He looked over at the bird. “Come on, this is your fire as much as it’s mine.”
As if it understood, the bird dropped to the ground and came closer to the fire. Then something at the cave mouth caught Illya’s eye and he pulled his weapon and fired. The raven exploded into motion, dashing away into the night. Illya crept forward and found the rabbit he’d hit. It had been a clean shot and it meant that he would eat tonight. Somehow, although he didn’t know how, he felt the raven was responsible for that was well.
He field dressed the rabbit and roasted it. It was tough and tasted a little gamey, but Illya didn’t care. Satisfied, he restocked the fire and watched as the flames released embers into the night. He’d led THRUSH on a merry chase, but perhaps it was too late to do much more. Without meaning to, his head drooped and he slept.
He woke to motion outside the cave’s mouth. Tensing, he struggled into a better firing position and moved back as far as he could into the cave. He wouldn’t go without a fight.
“Illya?”
“Napoleon?” Illya shifted forward and lowered his weapon. He watched as his partner peeked into his shelter. “How did you find me?”
Napoleon gestured to the fire. “We were about to give up and then saw the smoke.”
“THRUSH?”
“Past tense, although one did last long enough to say you’d escaped and headed into the woods.” Another agent came forward, carrying blanket and Napoleon began to wrap them around Illya. “You couldn’t have picked a warmer time of the year for your little outing?”
“The next time I am captured, I will attempt to negotiate a more hospitable setting.” He moved stiffly, pulling the blanket closer. “I’m just glad it was you and not our feathered friends.”
“Speaking of such, that’s some watchdog you have.” Napoleon hooked a thumb towards the raven as it watched.
“What do you mean?”
“That crow.” Napoleon pointed to the raven, the morning light glistening off its feathers. “It about pecked our eyes out before it apparently decided we were okay and not a threat.”
“That is not a crow, Napoleon.” Illya nodded to the bird. “That is a raven.” He could have sworn the bird nodded back before taking wing and disappearing into the dawn.
*(this story came from: http://www.velcrohead.com/gecko/raven.html#How%20Raven%20Invented%20Fire. It was so perfect that I choose not to modify it, but instead I give credit to the site’s storyteller)