A Gathering of Crows

A Gathering Of Crows

CHAPTER ONE

When the sun went down, and dusk gave way to night, the mountain came alive. A chorus of insects buzzed and hummed in the darkness. Birds chirped from their treetop nests. Tiny frogs—called spring peepers by the locals because of the peeping sounds they made when they came out of hibernation each spring—sang to one another from shallow, hidden bogs and winding, narrow creeks. Nocturnal animals prowled the mountainside—coyotes and deer, black bears and foxes, skunks and raccoons. Leaves rustled, swaying in the light breeze. All of these sounds and more combined to form a natural cacophony as loud as any city street. The mountain thrummed with energy and life.
And then, all at once, sound and movement abruptly ceased. The mountain fell silent. Animal and insect, predator and prey—all were affected. Even the breeze became still. The only remaining sound was the low hum of the power lines, coming from the electrical tower on top of the mountain. The massive steel structure loomed over the surrounding countryside like a monolith, a modern- age Stonehenge, dour and watchful. The ground around its base had been cleared of trees and undergrowth and replaced with gravel and cement. Beyond the concrete base was a man-made clearing that cut through the forest like a scar. The clearing wound all the way down the mountainside, where further towers jutted up above the treetops. Nestled at the base of the mountain, far below the power lines, tucked safely between the river and the limestone foothills, was a small town. Its lights twinkled in the darkness like fireflies.
Mist rose from the ground around the tower’s base and swirled slowly around the arches and girders. For a moment, the electrical hum grew louder. Then, one by one, five large crows with feathers as black as coal appeared, swooping down out of the moonlight and the darkness and the fog-enshrouded trees. They approached each other from different parts of the clearing and landed directly beneath the tower. Then, perched on the tower’s lowest rung, they looked down upon the tiny town far below. The fog grew thicker.
A single black feather fell off one of the birds and drifted lazily to the ground, where it landed in a clump of ferns and weeds on the edge of the clearing. The feather lay there for a moment. Then the vegetation began to smoke, as if on fire, although no flames were visible. Within seconds, the vegetation had withered and turned brown. It crumbled and dissolved, leaving the feather to balance atop a small mound of ash.
The largest of the birds cried out. The caw echoed across the mountainside, seeming to gather strength in the darkness. One by one, the others joined in. The echoes boomed through the treetops. Soon, the birds’ cries drowned out even the hum of the electrical transformers.

Copyright © 2010 by Brian Keene