Crow Feathers

by Lawrence Schimel

The fresh air almost made Ysabelle sneeze as she carried the heavy chamber pot out into the woods behind the inn. Spring was exploding all around her, flowers and buds and birdsong, and she was cooped up inside, dusting and working. It was her eleventh birthday, and she couldn't help thinking about how things would be different if her parents hadn't been killed in a raid last summer.

Galen, the hostler, and his wife had taken her in, it was true, and an extra mouth to feed, especially just before winter, was no light burden to shoulder, but they certainly worked her hard enough in exchange. She did far more work than either of their natural daughters, that was certain, and always the most unpleasant of tasks.

Ysabelle remembered when her parents were still alive: at this time of year they would go out into the woods and have picnics, picking herbs and berries and wild mushrooms...

"Ysabelle, you lazy wench, stop daydreaming and get back to work!"

Ysabelle startled forward. She wondered what would happen if she just kept walking into the forest and never returned. A crow floated lazily to her left, and she stared enviously after it, longing for wings of her own that would carry her away from her unhappiness.

She dumped the smelly contents of her load under a bush and headed back to the inn. At the edge of the forest she turned around for one last look at the green, burgeoning life. It seemed alive with energy and vibrancy, whereas the inn she returned to seemed as dark and unwelcoming as a dank cave. She looked up for one last longing glimpse at the crow, and as she watched it flew toward her. The bird flew in a tight circle above her head, once, twice, and on the third circuit dropped a feather down to her. Ysabelle let the pot fall to the ground as she reached to catch the ebony plume before it touched the soil. She smiled, and looked up at the bird, who flew off into the woods. She tucked the feather into her skirt, and hurried inside before Galen yelled at her again.

Ysabelle tied the feather around a string and wore it about her neck.It was a constant reminder for her of what life might be like elsewhere, and whenever she felt herself getting angry or frustrated she'd let her mind take flight, imagining she were flying overhead whatever had caused her disturbance, until she had calmed down.

She began getting more feathers. Whenever she saw a crow, it would fly overhead, circle three times and a drop a feather to her. Ysabelle saved them all, although only that first feather she kept around her neck. The others she stored in a small bag, which she kept hidden from her foster family, who would have thrown the feathers out if they found them, not to mention teased her mercilessly, if not beaten her outright with the switch. It took very little to make them use the willow switch on her. Her bed was in a corner of the attic, and she stashed the bag of feathers outside her window, under the eaves, crawling out there each night to add the new feathers. Ysabelle quickly had so many feathers she began stringing them together, ten to a strand, to keep count.

One afternoon, Ysabelle crawled out onto the roof to add a new handful of feathers to her cache. She normally did this only under cover of darkness, but she had been gifted with so many feathers when she emptied the chamber pots that morning that she was afraid they would be discovered. The innkeeper's daughters made a point of regularly inspecting her sleeping area, and immediately reported any faults or unusual objects to their parents, which invariably meant the willow switch was brought out.

Ysabelle was so afraid of being discovered up on the roof, however, that she moved too quickly as she scampered back toward the open window. She slipped, and fell off the roof.

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