Westguard and the Seven Crows

[Chiangtao]

"I can do it!," pleaded a young boy to his father. His hand was stretched out toward his father, wagging up and down hopefully. "I can, I know I can!," he continued.

William Westguard smiled down at his boy. He twisted his mouth. He held a lumbering axe in his hands and turned it round and round as he thought.

The man was filled with pride at his son's eagerness. The boy was bobbing with excitment at the freshly-felled lumber stacked in his yard. William and his partners had returned from the woods with a cart of oak. They would leave some timber to build fires in the long winter to come, but most would be sold in Neverwinter.

William had taken his son to Neverwinter last year to sell last season's wood. The boy had been amazed at everything he saw. Horses at every street corner! Nobles and maidens in fine robes! Streets bustling with peddlers and hagglers! The new crop of wood had invigorated the boy with hopes of returning to the city. His sone was eager to see the logs chopped and treated.

William turned and turned the axe. He suddenly stopped the axe's rotation. He held the handle out to his son. "Alright," he said with a proud grin, "you're old enough to chip in around here. Do it just like I told you."

The boy grabbed the axe with glee, nearly nicking William's hand as he pulled the tool away from the man. "Thank you, Pa!," exclaimed the son. He turned and grabbed the lantern and skipped from the house.

William massaged his thumb while he smiled at his son running off to the yard. The light was fading for the day, but he could still make out his wife and daughter in the distance, churning butter and giggling. The boy ran to his mother, holding the axe near the head as though he'd just shot a prize pheasant.

This was life, thought William. He could not remember a day he was more satisfied. He retreated to his den and found his favorite book. He'd read the book more times than it had likely been reprinted, but each read brought him new insights. His mood and station in life influenced how he interpreted those treasured words. He settled into his favorite chair and began reading with anticipation at the new visions that would pass to him from his old friend.

[Chiangtao]

Westguard awoke in his favorite chair. His book was sprawled open upon his lap like a wounded sparrow. He took off his reading glasses and looked about the room, wondering what time it was. The room was still light, light enough to read by. He smiled and picked his book up again.

He read no more than a paragraph before something dawned upon him. He looked down at the desk nearby. The candle there had burned out. He looked to the dining room table, and there, too, the candles were unlit. He turned to the window: the source of the orange, flickering light.

Fire.

William ran from the house on cat's paws. The lumber had caught fire, and the barn was ablaze. He feebly grabbed a bucket, pausing to fill it at the pigs' trough. He tossed the water on the blaze, which fizzled and protested. The fire waned for a moment, but roared back its retort.

The flames were taller than the man. William quickly realized he could not stop this fire. He called out to his family. "Marille! Daniel! Rosey! Where ... oh gods, where are you!?"

No reply came, save the crackle and roar of the fire. Still, he ran laps around the barn, calling out over and over, searching for signs of life. He paused by the back window. Was that Marille?, he thought. A black outline of a woman passing the window, or simply tricks in the fire?

William retreated to the trough. He jumped in, soaking his clothes in water. And then he charged back to the barn. He broke down the burnt barn door with his shoulder. He stumbled forward into the blaze. There was fire everywhere. He plowed wrecklessly into the barn across burning floorboards.

A sudden crack rang out from above. A beam had broken loose from the ceiling. It crashed to the floor three feet in front of him. The floorboards gave way to the heavy overhead beam. The ground beneath William gave out and he fell...

[Chiangtao]

A shaft of light broke through the smoke and fell upon William's eyes. He moved to rub his eyes and clear his aching head--OUCH! He winced in pain. His arm was throbbing, purple, and likely-broken.

He pushed himself to his feet with his other arm. He looked up through the smoke. He had fallen into the food cellar where they stored their winter goods. The shelving here was still in-tact, and the clay jars were left untouched by the ravages of the fire.

The stairs lead up to the south. The metal door exited the barn from below, but the walls and floor had burnt down around it. William climbed the stairs slowly. He opened the door anyway--out of habit or desire for normalcy--and emerged from his refuge.

There they were: the blackened remains of his family. Their skin, their bones--all black and borne naked to the sun. No clothes, no hair. They were grim, onyx statues caked in flaked tree bark that once was skin.

Their size and height were their only recognizable features. The log pile had separated, likely prior to the fire. A large heavy trunk laid across the son's legs. William's wife and daughter were nearby craddled on the ground in a bent fetal position. The wife's boney hands gripped the son's arm. She had tried to pull him free.

The shock overcame William. In one night, the gods had taken everything from him. Sorrow filled his throat. He couldn't breathe. Tears were not enough to mourn their loss.

William choked for air, and his gaze fell upon his son. The boy's corpse still clung to the axe he'd handed him. The handle was burned, but the head had been buried in the log that crushed the boy's legs. His son had tried to chop his way free.

William stepped into the charred log yard. He had no questions, not even, "Why?" There was no point. Reason would never return his family.

He pulled the axe free from the log. "Then," he stammered to himself, arriving at a conclusion, "...then my life ends as well." He swung the axe beneath his legs. With both hands, he hurled the axe head upward into his chest and fell.