The Crow's Apprentice

The Crow was a necessary but unfortunate part of any town, especially for sin eating.

AN: Io's name is pronounced like "eye-oh".

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         The stars would be aligned tonight - a good omen for a funeral.

         Clifford Gresley, the old tanner in the middle of town, had died in the morning - passed in his sleep. A peaceful way to go. And with the star alignment this night, his soul would have an easy time on its way to the other side - after the Crow completed the sin eating, of course. Io hadn’t known him well, she hadn’t had much need for a tanner’s services in her life, but she had seen him in town before - he seemed polite from what she had always observed, and she had never heard of any enemies in his case, either. Of course, he hadn’t been meeting her eyes anymore in the past year, but Io had become used to the townspeople avoiding her since she had become the Crow’s apprentice. It was to be expected, she didn’t blame them - a dabbler in magick was a necessary but unfortunate part of any particularly superstitious society. There had to be *someone* willing to associate with spirits and unholy practices, taking on the burden of sin and malevolence so that the everyday townsperson wouldn’t have to fret over it. There had been a Crow in the town for as long as the town itself had existed, the mantle being passed from mistress to apprentice for generations. And so, while the Crow and her Little Bird might not be warmly welcomed any time soon, they wouldn’t be chased out, either.

         “Enough dawdling over your altar, girl.” The Crow drifts into the main room, passing behind Io from the herb closet.

         “Sorry, mistress,” she places her talisman back onto the table which held her altar, “I was lost in my mind.”

         “As you often are,” the Crow hums, shambling toward her own altar against the other wall of the main room. Io watches her prepare and pack her materials, the Crow’s long, thin fingers - covered in black ash from the first knuckles down to the tips - collecting various crystals and incense.

         The dark-haired girl fidgets with her own fingers, watching the feathered cloak around the old woman’s shoulders shift as she moved. “The funeral has begun already?”

         “Soon,” the Crow turns back to face her, “prepare yourself, Little Bird. You’ll only be observing tonight. I will warn you now, do not interfere. Even if it looks like I need help, don’t involve yourself.”

         Io often couldn’t tell the difference in her mistress’ emotions just by her face, so often cold and carefully controlled. Her eyes, however, were a different story. Now, they had a weight to them - the sin eating must be a dramatic event, then. The girl had never witnessed it before - she had been too young to participate in her own parents’ funeral, and had never had another occasion to attend one since.

         “I won’t, mistress.” Io nodded seriously, moving her nervous hands behind her back.

         The Crow never missed much, though. “All will be well, girl. I *have* been at this for quite a while now, you know.”

         The girl huffed a slight laugh, “yes, mistress.”

         “Fine, then,” the old woman nodded once, satisfied. “We’ll be on our way now.”

         Io rushed to follow her mistress as she made to leave, despite the Crow’s slow pace. She watched the back of the woman’s head as they walked, tracing the intricate braids in her gray hair with her eyes. Despite the pain she often complained about in her fingers, the braids are still careful and neat - the Crow was deliberate and methodical in everything she did. Dressed all in black, she could’ve disappeared entirely in the shadows cast over her by the trees surrounding them along the forest path. Surely living up to her name. She carried herself with the weight of her years in service as the Crow, her spine starting to hunch over in her older age. Io wondered what she would be like when she was that age - she had a hard time imagining herself ever being as assured and awesome as her mistress, even if she had the same amount of experience.

         Lost in her mind again, the girl almost ran into the old woman’s back when she came to a stop at the mouth of the clearing just outside of town. The funeral attendees were aware of their presence - none looking directly, but their rigid posture and strained silence was telling enough. The familial tribute part of the funeral must have taken place already - Clifford Gresley’s body was already covered by the funerary tapestry and adorned with worldly possessions, laid out in his casket. Lydia Gresley, the old tanner’s wife, stood at the front of the attendees, holding a wooden mazer bowl of ale and a small plate of bread and salt. She gave her husband’s casket a wide berth, waiting for her time to assist the Crow with her sin eating.

         The Crow muttered over her shoulder, “stand at my side, but outside of the circle. Don’t bother the congregation.”

         “Yes, mistress.”

         Io followed her mistress to the opposite side of the old tanner’s casket, stopping a few feet away to let the older woman carry on. The Crow went about setting up her materials for the ritual - smudging her sage around the area to prepare for her circle, and setting out her elemental symbols at each corner of her upward pentagram. The black-haired girl recited each in her mind to see if her studies had been truly sticking - the white candle for spirit, incense for air, thyme for earth, her athame for fire, and moonwater.

         “O spirits, protect me. I strive to higher things. In good faith, overcome evil with connected strength.” The Crow’s voice floated over the silence despite her quiet tone.

         Io watched her mistress put the pointer and middle fingers of her right hand together, aiming at the ground outside of her elemental symbols. As the old woman walked around the symbols, the line of the circle cut itself into the dirt despite the lack of contact as if she were carrying an invisible stick, following her fingers. Once the circle was connected, she stood in the middle, prayer beads wrapped around her hands and held up in front of her face, her forehead resting against them.

         “Put the offerings in place,” the Crow instructed, and Io watched as the old tanner’s wife brought her wooden crockery toward Clifford’s body, resting them on his chest, and quickly moving back toward the other attendees.

         “I call upon you to let this soul pass over untarnished. I will be the conduit of his sin. With this offering, I will take his sin upon my soul and bare this burden in his place.” As the Crow murmured her incantation, Io felt the air go heavy, the wind prickling at her skin despite the layers of her clothes.

         The feeling of being watched burned against the back of her neck, but she didn’t dare turn away from her mistress. The sound of rushing wind filled her ears despite the lack of movement in the air. The old woman took the small plate off of Clifford’s chest and ate the bread and salt, then brought the mazer bowl to her mouth and drank the ale.

         Everything went silent.

         A different kind than the tense one of the attendees earlier, this one had a weight of anticipation about it. Io clenched her hands into fists, fighting the instinct to run that suddenly rose within her. And in the next moment, the Crow’s body contorted. Her spine bent back in a way the girl had never witnessed before, the veins in her neck straining against her skin as her head tilted back. Her mistress’ face was contorted in pain, though no sound left her throat. Instead, the noise that met Io’s ears was a cacophony of voices - male, female, soft, loud, joyful, despondent, furious - all speaking different words at the same time. The black-haired girl was struck with the sudden desire to rush toward the Crow - pull her back, help her upright, something - but she reminded herself of her mistress’ words. Her teeth clench, jaw tight, she hadn’t realized how tense her body had become until now.

         And then, as if nothing had happened, the noise stopped - the sudden silence left Io’s ears ringing. The Crow was breathing heavier now, straightening back up. Or, as straight as she could - the weight on her back seemed heavier than usual now. The girl waited for her mistress to close the circle with a short, “it is complete” before she moved to the old woman’s side. She attempted to take her arm, before her mistress shook her off. The Crow put the wooden crockery back on Clifford’s body for Lydia to retrieve. They would burn it after - that was how it was.

         Io went about collecting the Crow’s materials for her, packing them back up as the old woman nodded at the attendees. There was no need to say anything else, their purpose here was over. The black-haired girl rushed to follow after her mistress, watching the slow, lumbering pace she took. She looked exhausted.

         She waited until they had passed the treeline to speak, “you’re walking slower, mistress.”

         “Yes,” the Crow agreed with a heavy sigh, “a sin is a heavy burden to bear.”