Reading Time: 4 minutes

Mother of Crow

By Jenny K. Brennan

Chapter 3 To panic or not to panic

Last updated: January 5, 2019 at 19:07 pm

A dusty pile of shattered butterfly, a bottomless pit of dread, a shattered future. All of that could be stuffed in Frederico’s memory hole and covered with some blissful ignorance. If it weren’t for the distant echoes of instant punishment and the true consequence of his failure drifting into Frederico’s breeding lab.
He desperately needed to let his bladder empty itself. He wanted to crawl up in a ball on the floor and wait for this horrible moment to end. The sound of their visitors drifted ominously through the silent building, but wasn’t rowing stronger. Not yet. But in a rare moment of pure selfishness, Frederico’s self-preservation kicked in, Truth was: staying where he was, like a fool, would not be helpful.
they would not move ever again. Maybe they would get a last scenic trip to the Nest Capital for repurposing. Maybe. But the look on John’s face shattered all illusion. the big man trembled and any second now he would start blubbering. the sound of click and scrape mingled with the so helpful abbot’s joyful blabber were still far away. The corridor made three turns before hitting the cloisters eastern wing, where Frederico and his Butterfly operation was located. It was in the farthest corner of the oldest part of the main building, closest to the rear gardens and the secondary garbage pile, not needed anymore as the total number of residents had dropped from nearly a hundred to less than twenty in the last decade. John raised a hand and pointed at the door and tried to speak. In an instance, Frederico made up his mind. He put a finger to his lips and John shut his mouth. Frederico’s illusions drained away quicker than he could hold on to them. The benefactors. That word was a mockery. The guardians didn’t accept failure and Frederico had failed. “”Shh.” He stopped to listen. Still distant, but their so called benefactors were coming. Benefactor. In just a few moments, The concept of the guardians as benefactors had become a mockery of everything good in the world. The Abbot believed the guardians kept them safe. Safe from what? He didn’t know. Frederico hadn’t been outside the cloister walls in months, outside the monestary property in nearly twenty years. Where had the time gone? Where had all the missing monks gone? A few of them, like the aged Rafael had died ob old age. A few of the older monks had died from prolonged illness and in one case, a fall that broke too many frail old bones to mend. Where had his mind been? His sense of truth? He suddenly felt his body in a way he hadn’t just that morning. He was thin and his robe hung on his frame like little more than rags. He remembered eating, but didn’t know what or when. He recalled working, but didn’t know why. The butterfly. He blinked the mist out of his eyes and stared at his hand. It trembled. He closed his fist and didn’t recognize it at first. Then it came back to him. The self. I am me.
“Fred?” John watched Frederico with wide eyes, “Brother?”

The sound of John’s voice jolted Frederico out of is inaction. He rushed to the open door and peered out in the misty passage. The sound did not indicate any kind of hurry. The Abbot was one of those that should have died of old age decades ago, but he lingered well past his due date. And he was slow. it would take the abbot a good long while to guide the guardians to the right chamber. If he could even remember where it was. But he couldn’t count on the old monk forgetting. Not this time.
He had to put his faith in age. The Abbot and his visitors had to make their way through a maze of narrow corridors. It was a less than optimal part to live in if one wanted company, but growing butterflies in the midst of monks on duty in the main garden and the library complex was unthinkable. It was also a good five minute walk through dusty passages past crumbling artefact collection and empty rooms and chapels.
he stared at John and his metallic coverings. That wouldn’t be good. And he couldn’t leave the man behind could he? the thought shamed Frederico into action. He quickly inspected the metal parts and knew that as soon as John started walking, the sound would reverberate and spread through the echoing building to eager ears. He looked around the room and thought frantically. Removing the armour wouldn’t work. Unfastening the straps and buckles holding John’s suit together would make just as much noise as leaving it on. But maybe he could do something about that. If John could cooperate. But first. He hurried to the heavy door and tried to remember when he oiled the hinges last. Remembering John’s entrance earlier he tried to recall if the door itself had made any noise. He didn’t think it had. if he was wrong, he was bird food, but if he was right, it could win them a few moments. He pushed the door closed. it swung silently and closed with a barely audible thud. He released his breath and saw what he was looking for. A pile of discarded blankets and polishing rags lay in one corner. John’s tear-filled eyes followed Frederico’s doings. Frederico caught his eyes and put a finger over his lips. He leaned close to John’s ear and with barely a breath he whispered, “We will get out of here. But you have to be quiet. do you understand me, Brother? “ The big man frowned and opened his mouth. Frederico quickly put a hand over the trembling lips. “When I say quiet I mean absolutely quiet. No talk. no moving. No questions!” He waited a moment. John blinked furiously but his eyes lit up and he nodded. “Good, very good.” Frederico didn’t stop to listen. What was the point? He muttered to himself as he got to work.

About the author

Jenny K. Brennan is a Swedish/Canadian vocalist, songwriter, and writer living in Ontario, Canada since 2002 with one husband, one dog, and unfinished projects in the thousands. Find her on
The House of Imp,
kompoz.com,
Icarus Machine official,
JennyK Productions Youtube,
and other places. She is the lyricist and vocalist in the melodic metal band Icarus Machine since 2015. She studies braille at The Hadley Institute for the Blind and Visually impaired. On her free time, she learns Wordpress by trial and error, audio production using Apple Logic Pro, and carpentry by association.

Reading Time: 7 minutes

Mother of Crow

By Jenny K. Brennan

Chapter 2 The choices of flutterbys

Last updated: January 18, 2019 at 13:48 pm

A voice like velvet, like chill wind over frozen forest floor, of sand over water. It was all of those sounds in one gentle plea. Perhaps the tender tone was a trick of the acoustics in the bare stone room with its unforgiving surfaces and odd architecture throwing the sound in strange ways. It could easily be explained that way if one wished. And perhaps not. Maybe these sweet whispers were honest enough, halting and insecure as they were. The truth was somewhere in between. Deception was the work of the room; the honesty was real. ,And the force of will could not be denied. The man speaking urged and encouraged with soft gestures and careful movements of face and hands. “Come now, Little one. Don’t be shy with me. Come on, Sweets. You only need to do this once. A little bit closer now. Oh, that’s right. Just a little bit. ” Frederico’s Urging whispers spread out in the room and as the sound hit the stone it seemed to grow rather than fade. Gentle words of encouragements turned into a harsh echo of hissing that lingered. Frederico stood leaning forward in a painful posture that left his back constantly aching. His natural hand poked through the aluminum mesh and he held it palm up as close to the newly formed insect he dared to. The butterfly quivered a little as it stretched its newly formed wings in the warm air. Brand new wings spread out proudly, exposing their marvel of colour and form. A still damp pattern in luminous yellow and black somewhere between hot charcoal and pitch quickly dried as it slowly moved the wings against its new world.

Beautiful. Yes, you are.” Frederico breathed almost soundlessly with that familiar feeling of awe. It was an amazement that never got old. But this time however, it came adorned with an aching sense of dread.; A feeling long expected and not really a surprise. He moved the hand slowly, and with practiced smoothness in his approach to his ward, He moved it a barely measurable distance closer to the being beyond the barrier. A single drop of Frederico’s carefully concocted phantomgenic mixture sat ready on the very tip of his middle finger. A clear drop of liquid that would be the first, and last meal the butterfly would get. On the butterflies wings yellow and black appeared to move within their individual shades until one became the other, without a visible change. This was the critical phase. Where the insect was still in flux and could decide to be one of three things. It could finish the process of becoming what it really was meant to be. By letting the colours and shape settle into a normal creature in the world. A butterfly destined to live out its life in a futile hunt for sustenance until it starved and died . A quick and natural death in this unnatural world where butterflies could not survive .

“We don’t want that do we, darling. No we certainly do not.” Among the nonsense words had crept in a dissonance of desperation that the Butterfly tending monk didn’t like. Barely breathing, he let his mind stray no more. The butterfly was still but for the slow movement of wings where the colours were not quite solid, not quite there. Frederico’s mind stilled but not without effort as the butterfly started moving toward the glittering drop on the human’s finger. Slowly, hesitatingly, curiously turning toward it. The monk held his breath. Would this be the one? Would this time be different? Yes, this time they would finally be able to deliver on their promise to their benefactors. The butterfly trembled but calmed just as quickly and moved closer. Frederico’s equilibrium, threatened by his sudden hope, held for another moment where he kept his thoughts strictly on the image of the creature coming to him. He needed to hope, then believe, then be in utter and complete knowing that the insect would come to him. He needed more than endless patience. Patience alone couldn’t bring the creature to him. the butterfly had to decide to come. He was almost depleted of patience. He had the hope. He also had a sliver of belief in his craft. But it was the lack of knowing that had on previous attempts failed him. He had rarely been able to see reality as something different than what was in front of him. But this time he felt it. That rare alignment of wanting and being came over him as the butterfly crept even closer . It would take the plunge and become what he needed it to be. What they all needed this one to make the right decision. Finally. Frederic’s vision shifted and he saw it. Saw the transformation take place. layered with what his eyes saw, he saw what he believed and the future was clear and decided.
Just another moment. Just a single second, a held breath. This time it would come to him. What felt like a lifetime of responsability, of threats, fear, and doubt lifted and he could breathe. Frederico exhale into the endless still moment. The butterfly came for its meal. It flexed, reached. And that was when someone decided it was a nice time to visit. The silent butterfly sanctuary held in a silent reverie rarely broken, shattered with a bang. dissonant shriek of uncoiled hinges and the sudden crash of a door slamming the wall shattered the fragile image and Frederico reeled, suddenly dizzy and disoriented. His perfectly placed fingers shook and his heart jumped into a jolting ra-ta-ta against the insides of his ribs. A loud clamber followed, the unmistakeable sound of a fully suited metal monk making his way across the stone floor but Frederico didn’t hear. He struggled to remain still, to keep calm. He desperately fought to pull back the image and the belief. ”No. don’t listen. That didn’t just happen.” He keened and begged the butterfly. It took him a split second to make his hand go still again even if his racing heart couldn’t be slowed that easily and his mind would not be eased. He stared at the insect in dismay. He knew what was happening and he couldn’t stop it.

What did stop was the moving butterfly. Its world changed immediately and it went from being curious, to puzzled, to frightened at the sudden change around it. It instantly had the knowledge it needed to make its choice. For the briefest of moments, thanks to the phantomgenic infusion during development, it knew too much of the future it was expected to enter. It was in that briefest of seconds that most butterflies made their choice. To live the one day, to evolve and scatter through the world as communicator, or simply to choose not to. This butterfly saw enough of its own destiny and its place in the world to decide on the not. The insect froze and stilled. Frederico swore and he knew it was too late. Still, hoping against the horror filling his body with numbing cold that it wasn’t so. In a last frantic action, he thrust his finger toward it. It could be forced. If he could just get the transforming liquid close enough. If he could just…

The butterfly had finally dried completely which made what happened next so much easier. It decided to break and so it broke. Minuscule cracks spread from the body throughout the velvety colourful expanse of its wings to the fragile edge, breaking the glorious coloured surfaces into pieces. One by one the divided sections of wing turned to dust. The body imploded and all the pieces of the once magnificent beast slowly and soundlessly fell through the air in a rain of soft dust to settle on the worn granite floor below.

Frederico stared in disbelief at the empty branch, then at the finger with it’s uneaten drop of magic brew. Its glittering seemed to mock him. His failure. His weakness of faith. He pulled his hand out and turned from the now empty breeding cage. He shook his hand but the stubborn drop still clung to the skin. He brought it up close to his face and glared at it. To his horror, his eyes burned and he fought against the choking sensation at the top of his throat. He ground his teeth against the emotion he didn’t quite know what to call. He had been so close. So close. He closed his eyes and took a moment to consider the consequences. But only a second.
“Oh, sorry, Brother. Didn’t realize you were in here.” Said a not too concerned voice followed by more metallic noises.
the familiar voice ripped Frederico out of his thoughts and he turned around. Where else would I be? What else would I be doing? The words stuck in Frederico’s throat and the choked gurgle he emitted fell on nothing but an empty doorway and a dim corridor.

Brother John had moved and stood at the table, peering down at the bottle of useless butterfly food, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Frederico glared at the man and absently put his finger in his mouth and sucked off the sticky drop and grimaced at the bitter taste. He turned away from Brother John and sighed. His mind returned to the situation at hand. It was what it was. And what was didn’t look good at all. Oh dear Mother of Crow, Save me.” He groaned at the empty cage with its layer of failed attempts to breed another communicator. The fresh sprinkling of dead insect clearly visible on top of all the others that had crumpled, shattered, or just fallen down deaden silent protest against their destiny.
John creaked, groaned, and clanked to stand at Frederico’s side. “Fred?” He pointed into the empty; cage.

“Yes, John?”

“Am I seeing things or is that thing empty?” Frederico’s fellow monk spoke with a surprisingly high pitched voice as his eyes roamed the remnants of dead insects.

Frederico sighed. “If you were finally starting to see things, my dear idiot, what would you be seeing, pray tell?”

“Um.” John blinked.

Frederico turned toward the door, attempting to leave John in his usual puzzlement. He could stay that way for hours if no one came along to poke him out of his revery of some random thing he had found. This seemed like a good time to leave the man undisturbed.
Frederico paused and let his gaze roamed the rest of the room in a second of indecision. The breeding cage covered one full wall of Frederic’s breeding lab. The rest of the cramped space was taken up by two large tables hosting the phantomgenic still, an incomprehensible compilation of burners and pipes, coloured glass bottles and all the tools. At the very edge of the largest table, on a spot hastily wiped clean merely hours ago, stood a single carefully sealed vial; the result of months of preparation for the last living specimen. Useless now. Frederico tore his eyes from the bottle and hurried over to the tall cupboard standing alone against the opposite wall. He pulled open the double doors and stared at the contents for a long moment before closing it again. He drew a calming breath that left him ready to throw up and started toward the door. He would admit his latest defeat. He would speak to the abbot and explain. He would understand. Surely. He cringed at the memory of his own words, his promise.

“Fred, wait.”

John’s squeek jolted Frederico and he stopped with a hand on the open door, and waited. “Yes, john?”

“Um, I was supposed to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

Brother John had turned to Frederico and the normal puzzlement was gone, replaced with a look of fear. John was fighting to say something, damp lips flapping soundlessly. No words came. The sudden intensity in the monks eyes gave Frederico pause and he stepped to John and put a hand on the metal clad shoulder. John spat the words he had been struggling with. “Don’t go. Fred. They’re coming.” He faltered and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as if the rest of his words were up there. Finding them at last, he sputtered. “To see you, Fred.” John smiled, happy. He nodded to confirm his message and then he frowned. “They’re coming to… inspect, that’s it, inspection. But Fred. He glanced anxiously at the cage. “Fred? where are the flutterbys?”

About the author

Jenny K. Brennan is a Swedish/Canadian vocalist, songwriter, and writer living in Ontario, Canada since 2002 with one husband, one dog, and unfinished projects in the thousands. Find her on
The House of Imp,
kompoz.com,
Icarus Machine official,
JennyK Productions Youtube,
and other places. She is the lyricist and vocalist in the melodic metal band Icarus Machine since 2015. She studies braille at The Hadley Institute for the Blind and Visually impaired. On her free time, she learns Wordpress by trial and error, audio production using Apple Logic Pro, and carpentry by association.