Dubh had been learning his lessons well. He could fly just as fleet as any of the ravens in his unkindness, for that is the name given to a group of ravens, in all kinds of weather. He had as keen an eye and as keen a sense of smell as any young raven could wish for.
On this day, when he came of age as an adult raven, ready to bond with a mate and have chicklings of his own, that is three years old, he knew where his wings would take him. To the Cracked Oak atop the Gruama Fell to seek council of the Morrigan, the ancient silver Raven, the longest-lived of a long-lived race of birds.
Of all the People of the Feathered Wing, Dubh most admired the Kingfisher he saw darting about in a blur of blue and gold about the babbling brook and diving like an arrow into the water to catch little silver fish.
Dubh had learned to peck the flesh and bones of dead animals along with all his people but he thought what a thrill it must be to dive so sweetly and to catch a fish.
He was a young Raven and it is quite common for young people to wish they could be something different to what they are and take the special things that they can do for granted.
Dubh gave two swift beats of his sable wings and leapt into the air, quickly rising to the tops of the budding trees with slow, strong flaps. Dubh turned West to follow the slant of the hot sun’s beams in the direction of the Gruama Fell which, despite the attentions of the early morning sun, lay shrouded in a gloomy mist.
Dubh’s heart sang in him for the joy of the flight and the joy of his third naming day! He had wondered for days what the Morrigan, the Great Grey Sage, would have to impart to him. She was very ancient and very wise, if not a little disconcerting at times! The last time he had seen her was indeed his naming day when she has gifted him his name, Dubh.
‘Dubh come down, frown, clown!’ cawed a rasping voice below him and he spread his wings wide to stay his careering through the air. He had reached the Gruama Fell, a barren misty waste save for one great oak tree bursting forth from a cleft in the rock.
At some dim point in its ancient history the tree’s trunk had been cleaved in two by a lightning strike, but the tree still lived nonetheless and Dubh alighted in one half of the tree’s branches in a flurry of flapping feathers. And in the other half of the great tree the Morrigan, the Great Gray Sage, was perched and it was she that had given the call!
‘Well met Dubh, grub, nub!’ she cawed, then cackled, coughed, shook out her threadbare wings and settled her greying feathers, rolling her piercing eyes before settling a sharp look upon Dubh once again.
‘Is it time? Is it your day, way, pray?’ she cawed, ‘Thirty-six summers long, song, strong!’
‘Um, yes’ said Dubh, ‘I am here for your blessing Mistress Morrigan’
‘Bless, yes, guess! What have we here I wonder? What's in your heart, part, dart?’ asked the Morrigan.
‘Well Mistress, it's in my heart that I should like to catch a fish….’,
‘Fish, wish, pish!’ cried the Morrigan rolling her eyes again, ‘It’s flesh that grows you and feeds your young, lung, rung, each according to their kind!’
The Morrigan coughed and spat neatly to one side, ‘Fish indeed, bleed, heed! A raven you are and that means gleanings of the dead, bread, fed. Now I'll tell you why youngling!’
And so she did with many a confusing rhyme, cackle and cough and the gist of her teaching was simply this:
Creatures weave one of two tapestries in their lives, the Tapestry of Life and the Tapestry of Death, one at one time and one at another.
The death of one creature leads to the life for another and all must eat and live and then one day die. Then they can provide nourishment for creatures alike to the raven, the worm and the beetle and life prospers transformed by those that weave the Tapestry of Death to the benefit of all creatures.
Ravenkind weave greatly of the Tapestry of Death and so bring life to themselves it is true, but also in harvesting dead and rotting corpses, before their festering can lead to disease and decay, thereby bringing benefit to all.
‘It takes all of the Creatures of the Wide World, hurled, unfurled, to balance the Scales set upon the Great Axis of Life’ cawed the Morrigan, ‘each of their own place, each of their own kind, hind, mind!’
‘Leave fishes for the fish, the osprey and the Fisher King my child and use that which ye have! A feathered wing to soar, a keen eye to see and nose to discern the scents of the air and a sharp and clever beak, reek, peek!’
‘That is the Majesty of Ravenkind and unless I miss my mark, and I seldom do so, majesty could be your calling my young Dubh, grub, hub!’ cackled the Morrigan.
‘Thank you Mistress Morrigan' said Dubh somewhat overwhelmed at this whole tirade but starting to feel a great sense of pride and belonging beginning to stir within him and simply this thought:
It does not matter what creature you are in Nature, or the part you have to play, for all of Nature is One.
Dubh flapped his wings and flew back east into the late morning sun thoughtful, but content.
I pad behind you, Watchful, unfeasible power coiled in grace. Watchful, Alert, Proud beyond expression. Suddenly! Winged...
