Grim anthology

The young man would have been content to live this way, except he was lonely. He hoped that if he conquered his fear of hunting, he might finally catch a girl’s eye. So one morning he set out into the forest, resolving not to return until he had made a kill.

First he came across a deer. But he was so petrified, he could not move until it was out of sight. Later, he spied a badger waddling along. But his hands shook so badly that by the time he was able to nock an arrow, the badger had slipped down into its hole. He cursed himself, wondering how he could be so cowardly.

Finally, near sunset, he spied a lone raven standing on an outcropping of rock in a small clearing. Ravens were loathsome animals, eaters of the dead and dying, and harbingers of bad luck. The world would be a better place with one less raven. He quietly set an arrow and drew back on the bowstring. This time, he would claim his place as a man.

But the instant before he released the arrow, the raven turned to look at him and cocked its head in such a curious, intelligent way that the young man flinched and the arrow flew wide, embedding itself in a tree five feet away.

“That,” remarked the raven, “was a terrible shot.”

“Luckily for you,” said the young man. Then his eyes grew wide. “You speak!”

“Truly,” said the raven. “I have seen boys of ten and old men shaky with weariness who had better aim.”

“Amazing! I nearly kill a magic talking raven and he criticizes me for not piercing his breast with a wooden shaft.”

“I am not a ‘he,’” said the raven, feathers ruffling. “And I’ll thank you not to talk so casually about my breasts.”

“My apologies, Lady Raven,” said the young man with a slight bow. He slowly walked out into the clearing. “But I must know, how is it you talk?”

“Because I am not really a raven, but a maiden princess under a curse. Now I must know, how is it you are such a terrible marksman?”

“I happen to be an excellent marksman!”

“Oh?” The raven turned toward where the arrow was still embedded deep in the bark. “Were you hunting trees today, then?”

The young man sighed and shook his head. “My aim fails me the moment I target a living thing.”

“And why is that?”

He thought about it a moment, then finally said, “I don’t know.”

“Could it be that you are afraid to kill?”

“Well, that would be an unfortunate trait in a hunter.”

“Indeed. You would have been better off born to a shoemaker or a tailor, perhaps.”

“We cannot choose who we are born to.”

“Truly.” The raven turned away and raised her wings to take flight.

“Please don’t go yet!” said the young man. “Meeting you is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Unsurprisingly.”

“Won’t you tell me of your curse?”

She lowered her wings. She did not turn back around, but craned her head toward him.

“I have been cursed like this since I was but a year old.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

“That is terrible!” said the young man. “Is there no way to break this curse?”

The raven turned back all the way around to face him. “There is. Why, would you be willing to attempt it?”

“Of course!” Then he looked suddenly hesitant. “That is...if it is within my ability.”

“You wouldn’t have to kill.”

“Then yes, I would consider it a privilege. What must I do?”

“On the edge of this forest, a small house sits next to a crossroads. By the house is a pile of wood chips. Sit upon that pile and wait for me. The curse allows me to appear in my true form for one hour every night at midnight. I will come for you, and if you are awake when I arrive, the curse will be broken.”

“That doesn’t seem so hard.”

“Beware,” said the raven. “There is an old woman who lives in the house. She will try to give you food and drink. But if you accept it, you will not be able to stay awake that night.”

“Hunger and thirst are not new to me,” said the young man. “I will prevail easily.”

“I am not so sure of that,” said the raven.

* * *

The young man hiked through the darkening forest and arrived at the cottage just as the sun slid behind the tree line. The cottage was even smaller and coarser than his own. The walls were made of stacked logs sealed with mud, and the hay thatched roof looked rotten in places. The young man felt sorry for the old woman who lived there, whoever she was.

He found a bed of oak chips by the side of the house, just as the raven had described. It wasn’t very comfortable, but he thought that might help him stay awake. So he sat down and waited.

Darkness had fallen when the old woman emerged from the cottage, holding a lantern. She had a gentle smile, and eyes that were warm yet sad.

“A guest!” Her voice was as soft as worn velvet. “Oh, how wonderful!” She came over and held out the lantern to look at him. “Handsome face. A little thin and pale, though. You could do with a bit of meat.”

“It has been a long time since I have eaten meat,” he admitted.

“Well, you are in luck, then, my boy. I have a nice fat rabbit turning on the spit. Far too much for me to eat. Won’t you come inside and share it?”

“It’s generous of you, but I must remain out here until after midnight.”

“Ah, the old legend of the Raven Princess, eh?”

“Old legend? Have others tried to break the curse before me?”

“Of course! And who can blame them! According to the legends, her beauty is like no other.”

“I had not heard of her beauty,” he said.