Read Online In the Land of Tea and Ravens by R.K. Ryals - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R.K. Ryals
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was too misty out for Grayson to make out her shape, but he knew the light belonged to Lyric. He knew it was her because he felt the same pull she did; the same pull that often made him stand at windows staring out into the world wondering if everyone else on the planet hurt as much as he did.
He gripped the windowsill until his knuckles lost color. The scar on his chest throbbed.
Damn it all.
~11~
For a week, the tea girl came to the palace, offering tea to an ailing king who didn’t recognize her. For a week, she whispered comforting words and hummed as she helped him sip from her porcelain cup. The tea was not magical. There was nothing special about the liquid, other than the taste and its properties. The girl meticulously gathered herbs and other plants to make her teas; the leaves part of a healing earth. These herbal concoctions bolstered the king, made him stronger and more animated. After the first week, he began to recognize the girl. The second week, he began to speak with her. “Why are you here?” he asked as he sipped his tea. Stunned, the girl replied, “Because you were sick, Your Majesty, and needed comfort.” Her words brightened his heart, and he smiled gently. “I have a name for you,” he said. “From this day forward, you shall be known as Mercy.”
~The Tea Girl~
The ravens woke Lyric before the sun, their fluttering wings loud against the windshield of her car as they roosted along the Ford Tempo’s hood, their claws leaving scratches in the paint. It had always been this way. She lived a life under the scrutiny of birds.
Sitting up in the backseat of her car, she glanced at the house beyond, her eyes raking its eerie shape in the dull landscape. The house was unlivable, the bugs and debris too much to contend with, so she’d parked her car along the wood line behind the rotting home and slept.
Her gaze skipped to the forest. “Promises,” she muttered.
Reaching into her red backpack, she pulled a water bottle free. The clear plastic container was filled with brown liquid, tea she’d steeped and then poured into it once it had cooled. The faint odor of willow bark tickled her nose.
You need to push him away, a voice scolded in her head.
The willow bark always acted fast, opening the lines of communication between herself and the spirits of her family. Only one bird always remained silent, the beady eyes watching. It was the one bird she wished would speak with her.
“And if I don’t want to push him away?” Lyric asked stubbornly.
Climbing to the front of the car, she repositioned the driver’s seat and rolled down the window. A raven landed on the door. You’d prefer he go mad ? the bird asked.
Lyric shuddered. “Not all of them do,” she murmured.
Claws clicked against glass as another bird landed on the windshield in front of her. This isn’t about you, the bird said.
Lyric’s forehead creased, her gaze taking in the dawn. There was always that moment right before the day swallowed the night—before the sun added a touch of color to the world—where it was just light enough for everything to look black and white. It was Lyric’s favorite part of the day. In that moment, everything resembled a vintage photograph inside of a large scrapbook. The world lost its quality of realism and became a book of memory. Some memories hurt, others were beautiful, but none of them were in real time. None of them could damage her as much as reality.
“No,” she mumbled. “This isn’t about me. I’ll find Old Ma’am’s tea book, and then I’ll leave.”
That’s a good girl, a raven cawed.
There were days she hated ravens, days where as much as she loved her family, she couldn’t help wondering what the birds would taste like in stew. She’d never do it since it was her anger talking, not common sense. She despised her quick temper. Her ease with anger had ruined her life as a child. Anger stole from her. Anger destroyed her.
Lyric inhaled,
He gripped the windowsill until his knuckles lost color. The scar on his chest throbbed.
Damn it all.
~11~
For a week, the tea girl came to the palace, offering tea to an ailing king who didn’t recognize her. For a week, she whispered comforting words and hummed as she helped him sip from her porcelain cup. The tea was not magical. There was nothing special about the liquid, other than the taste and its properties. The girl meticulously gathered herbs and other plants to make her teas; the leaves part of a healing earth. These herbal concoctions bolstered the king, made him stronger and more animated. After the first week, he began to recognize the girl. The second week, he began to speak with her. “Why are you here?” he asked as he sipped his tea. Stunned, the girl replied, “Because you were sick, Your Majesty, and needed comfort.” Her words brightened his heart, and he smiled gently. “I have a name for you,” he said. “From this day forward, you shall be known as Mercy.”
~The Tea Girl~
The ravens woke Lyric before the sun, their fluttering wings loud against the windshield of her car as they roosted along the Ford Tempo’s hood, their claws leaving scratches in the paint. It had always been this way. She lived a life under the scrutiny of birds.
Sitting up in the backseat of her car, she glanced at the house beyond, her eyes raking its eerie shape in the dull landscape. The house was unlivable, the bugs and debris too much to contend with, so she’d parked her car along the wood line behind the rotting home and slept.
Her gaze skipped to the forest. “Promises,” she muttered.
Reaching into her red backpack, she pulled a water bottle free. The clear plastic container was filled with brown liquid, tea she’d steeped and then poured into it once it had cooled. The faint odor of willow bark tickled her nose.
You need to push him away, a voice scolded in her head.
The willow bark always acted fast, opening the lines of communication between herself and the spirits of her family. Only one bird always remained silent, the beady eyes watching. It was the one bird she wished would speak with her.
“And if I don’t want to push him away?” Lyric asked stubbornly.
Climbing to the front of the car, she repositioned the driver’s seat and rolled down the window. A raven landed on the door. You’d prefer he go mad ? the bird asked.
Lyric shuddered. “Not all of them do,” she murmured.
Claws clicked against glass as another bird landed on the windshield in front of her. This isn’t about you, the bird said.
Lyric’s forehead creased, her gaze taking in the dawn. There was always that moment right before the day swallowed the night—before the sun added a touch of color to the world—where it was just light enough for everything to look black and white. It was Lyric’s favorite part of the day. In that moment, everything resembled a vintage photograph inside of a large scrapbook. The world lost its quality of realism and became a book of memory. Some memories hurt, others were beautiful, but none of them were in real time. None of them could damage her as much as reality.
“No,” she mumbled. “This isn’t about me. I’ll find Old Ma’am’s tea book, and then I’ll leave.”
That’s a good girl, a raven cawed.
There were days she hated ravens, days where as much as she loved her family, she couldn’t help wondering what the birds would taste like in stew. She’d never do it since it was her anger talking, not common sense. She despised her quick temper. Her ease with anger had ruined her life as a child. Anger stole from her. Anger destroyed her.
Lyric inhaled,
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