A six-eyed raven calls down to me from beside a gargoyle, its head cocks to the side, and I see the blackness of its eyes. I blink, thinking this a dream, but when I look again, six eyes continue to stare into me. There is wonder set behind the eyes of this creature. A wonder that rivals that of a child. Its body is bigger than I remember, oil slick black. There is something strange about its beak, but I cannot point to it.
The gargoyles rest beside and stare at me. An uneasy feeling runs down my spine like the creature is alive and lying in wait. Two large bat-like wings rise from its back. A head covered by a helmet of stones sits between two wide-set shoulders, arms corded with muscle, and talons that wrap around the side of the building. The feet also hold talons that wrap the building, but they are longer.
I look around at the buildings that look over me as if they are guardians. They all hold these gargoyles, and they all look towards me. Some have helms of stone, while others are naked with wings shaped ears and small horns that protrude from their skulls like budding trees. The buildings all have sloped roofs with jagged iron posts as spires, and some have crosses stretched to the sky. Stained glass is laid in some windows, painting intricate pictures of geometric shapes and angels. Some windows are covered with bars of iron, while others have boards that sew them shut. Most of the doors are painted black, most of the street of dim or exhausted.
It is simply now, the raven, the gargoyles, and I. We are alone now, and I wait for them to speak to me. They stare with such intensity.
The raven caws, flapping its wings and taking to the sky. It circles a few times overhead, then flies into moonlight. A hunch tells me to follow the bird. It is not every day that you see a six-eyed raven. I don't actually believe that anyone has even seen a six-eyed raven; I still think it is a figment of my imagination. It matters not; I will follow it.
The city streets are cobblestone, all of which is withered. Cracks allow weeds to break through, sprouting in odd spots. There are small holes in the ground that are filled with mud and dirt. They are not deep, but they show how this part of the city has begun to deteriorate. As I walk, the eyes of the gargoyles seem to follow me. I cannot see their heads moving, but I continue to feel their presence on me even after I've left the piles of corpses and the cross pyres.
I pass a house that seems to be having a party. It is loud with laughing, screaming, and moaning. The only light that is on in the house comes from the basement, where tiny amounts trickle through small windows. Stairs rise from the street to a large red door with a light on outside, a blue lamp. A statue of a woman sits outside the house beside the stairs. A marble woman dressed in a flowing gown, hair tied back, with a sash covering her eyes. In one hand, she holds a sword; in the other, she holds a scale. The scale is perfectly balanced by a heart and something that I do not know. It is roughly the size of a cup but jagged with sharp spikes.
The raven caws down to me, indicating I need to continue moving. We move through the city, switching between alleys and the main roads. The alleys are dark and cluttered with peculiar things. There is a wall of giant cages, open and empty. Tracks lead away from the cages and into the city. The paws are huge. I cannot make out what animal would have been in the cage, and I do not plan to find out.
Further into the city we go. We don't pass anyone, though occasionally we hear people indoors or walking down the streets. The raven leads me away from it all.
Finally, the raven stops at an unmarked building. It sits on the blue lamp that hangs above the black door. The windows are all sewn shut with rotten and splintered wood. A raw iron fence stands guard, marked with a spiked gate. The iron is coated in rust that flakes as I touch it. A tree grew beside the house, but it is now dead, rotted from the inside, smoldering from flames. There is no light inside the house, no noise on the street.
The raven caws.
Unlatching the gate, I make my way across the cobblestone to the door. I reach for the handle, but the door slowly swings open. Before me is nothing but darkness.
The raven caws.
I take a few steps into the place, and the door softly shuts behind me. I hear a locking mechanism engage. Expelling any fear, I continue forward, my eyes adjusting to the darkness with unmatched swiftness. I'm in a long hallway, the floor is wooden and covered with dust, the walls are painted with patterned paper colored black and green, and brass chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, marked with dried wax and burnout candles.
This place is unsettling; eyes watch my every move, they are buried into my skin. I feel them on me, but I see nothing. A small table sits along the wall in the hallway. A candle is placed on it, though it is burnt to the end of the wick. There is a bowl filled with candies covered with dust. A mirror hangs on the wall behind the table. I stare into it, trying to find something in my reflection. Hoping that there will be some sense of humanity there.
I see nothing, not even a blank expression looking back at me.
I walk the hall, finding a long rug overtakes the wood halfway down. It's red and painted with details of shapes and patterns that run in and out of each other. It too is coated with dust. Looking behind me, I see footprints where I have stepped, left by the dust on the ground.
At the end of the hall lies a door, wooden with frosted glass and a handle made of brass. It is beautiful, more fit to be something on the outside of the house, but nonetheless. There are no other doors in this place, just the long hallway and the door that leads back outside to the street. I do not know what waits for me beyond the door, I do not know if it even matters. The raven guided me to this place for a reason. I shall find out why soon enough.
I push the door open and step into a great library. The walls run wild with shelving lined with books. Their spines face outwards, and all are different shapes and sizes. Some are green, others red, some seem to be bound with mole skin, while others are leather wrapped. There is no rhyme or reason to the way they are laid throughout the room, or none that I can pick up on at a glance. Books are stacked in the corners, some piles taller than I am. There is no window in the room, just a ladder that wraps around to reach the top shelves, and a desk sitting in the middle of the room. The chair behind the desk is turned away from me, its back is high, and it looks to be blue leather or some fancy material. Wood wraps the chair's edges, matching the desk's wood. A lamp sits on the desk, a few books piled into stacks, some loose pens, sheets of paper, and even an hourglass, which is slowly counting down.
"Who are you?" a voice booms from the chair.
"I'm Ezra," I say, trying to sharpen my voice, but still coming out timidly.
"I know no one named Ezra. Begone at once." The voice is stern and raspy.
"I was brought here by a raven," I say, pouring confidence into my words.
"Hmm."
There is a silence as I wait to be told to leave once again. I do not want to anger this person, but the raven clearly wanted me to come to this place and perhaps meet this person. They must know this raven or somehow be connected to it. Fog clouds my reality.
"Black raven?"
"Yes, with six eyes."
"Interesting. Very interesting, indeed." They say with curiosity in their tone.
"Do you know this raven?" I ask.
Laughter booms through the library, bouncing off the books. "He is my raven, yes. He must have seen something in you to bring you here. What plots could he be planning now, I wonder."
"Your raven?"
Ignoring my question, they continue. "We are born into this world, simply to die. Life is pointless, but so many people do not see that. They search for meaning, but always come up empty-handed. Most people are fools." They pause, chuckling to themselves. "It seems that you are not a fool, or at least my raven believes that."
A figure stands from the chair, but it's cloaked in shadow. I see nothing but a patch of darkness looming over a desk.
"I will give you a test." They say, "I must see what Quoth sees in you. And, if you pass my test, we will continue this conversation. If you fail, you will die."
I begin to protest, but am quickly hushed as something falls over my lips, and my mouth is no longer able to move.
"A man steals bread to feed his starving family. Without the food, his family will die. Is he a criminal?"
Silence falls over the room, and I am struck with an impossible question. A question of moral and legal character. Does he know that I am this very man? I'm not on this hunt for the glory; I'm simply here to save my own child. This man is no different than me, I thought of killing and robbing to save my child. I would surely steal if they were that hungry, no question about it. But, in the end, I would still be a criminal. There is no way around that. No matter the moral framework. I could be stealing from someone who is also in a tight spot or from a king. Does social status matter or make it right? Is it better to steal from the king or a peasant?
"A criminal," I say proudly.
"Hmm… Elaborate if you could."
"I am on this hunt to save my child; she is dying from a sickness of her blood. I would gladly steal to save her. Doing so, just because my daughter is sick, does not make it right. This man is no different than me; under that moral framework, it's simple: we are criminals."
"Excellent!" They clap, "on to the next question, then. I am always in front of you, but never seen. What am I?
I do not have time for these stupid riddles. I have a pope to find, a demon kill, my daughter is captured, and my wife may be here as well. There is no time for these games. My frustration begins to boil.
I take a deep breath and try to relax. That raven led me here for a reason; I must find that out. I must pass these tests to know what is next. I do not know of something that is always in front of me, but I cannot see it. Perhaps a ghost? I look around the room and see nothing but books. I scan over spines, look for a title that may help to point out the answer, but there is nothing hidden there. I think of my life. My daughter and wife, the life that we lived before this place. The life we would still have if I had never come here. The life we would have if she had never gotten sick.
"The future," I say.
"Good, good. You are doing excellently indeed." They clap, " Quoth saw something special in you. Our last question. If I say 'this sentence is false,' am I lying or telling the truth?"
"A truly dumb question," I say.
But it is a farce because I have no idea what the answer to this is. The easy answer would be to say yes, it is false, but then it is true. So the answer must be true in the end, but that would only make it false.
"It is neither true nor false. You're asking a paradox. A truly dumb question if you ask me," I huff. "I'm done with your riddles. Who are you, and why has your raven brought me here? I am on the hunt, and must continue for I fear my family is in danger."
"Oh, oh, oh. You are right to fear. It's a grave danger that they are in. Daughter held by the pope and a wife wandering the streets. That is exactly the reason that Quoth has brought you to me. He believes that you need the key."
Silence falls again over the room, as they sit in front of me, thinking. Nothing more than a shadow of darkness hidden behind a wooden desk.
"You have passed my tests; it seems that you are not a fool like the others he has brought me in the past. But I must still wonder if you are deserving of the key. Plead your case to me."
"No," I say abruptly, "I do not need some key. I will be leaving now; you've wasted enough of my time."
Turning, I begin to walk towards the door that leads back from which I've come. Taking one last look at all the books.
"Wait!" They yell, "I will give you the key. It will help you indeed. But you must find the door. I cannot tell you where it will be, for no one really knows."
He throws something towards me, and I catch it out of the air. A bronze key with a string threaded through a loop as a necklace. It's a normal enough-looking eye, but its weight is greater than any key I've held before, and words are inscribed on its length. They are in another language, which I cannot read.
When I look up from the key, the shadow figure is gone, and I am alone in the room. The books still sit on the shelves as if nothing has happened. Then, one falls from the shelf to my right, slamming into the ground with a plume of dust. I walk over to the book and pick it up. It's black leather with no writing on the cover or spine. I open it and find that it is blank. There is something mysterious about the book, so I take it with me. Leaving the room, walking the long hallway past the table and reflectionless mirror, out through the door, and back onto the street, drenched in pale moonlight.