Pros, Cons, and Caws

“Are you well, Inkling? You seem…perturbed.”

Inkling ruffled midnight-black feathers, embarrassed. He’d been distracted during his and Ven’s weekly gossip session, but he’d been hoping the demon hadn’t noticed, “I…yes. I’m fine.”

Ven appraised him with serious, yellow-slitted pupils. Technically his full name was Kiss of Rattlesnake Venom Under New Moon’s Darkness, but Inkling just called him Ven, “It is obvious to me that you are lying.”

“I’m not-” Inkling huffed, “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“As you prefer,” Ven rumbled. There was an awkward pause, and Inkling wished he could leave. But it was still too early. He came to Hell every Friday, and he was bound to stay through Saturday morning. Usually he enjoyed his and Ven’s gossip sessions. As a Herald Crow, it was one of Inkling’s jobs to bring earthly gossip to demons once a week. He’d been assigned to Ven for over a year, and they usually had animated conversations about everything from sports to music to politics to social media. But gossip had been dry this week, and they’d run out of conversation topics too early.

“I know I should not pry,” Ven said finally, “But you are a vital link to the outside world for me, and I have come to value your visits. I do not wish to see you encumbered by a burden if it is one I could lift.”

Inkling sighed, “I…thanks, Ven. I…I’ve been struggling with work, is all.”

Ven watched without comment, and Inkling’s worries suddenly came tumbling out of his beak, “My family have been Heralds as far back as anyone can remember. And my ancestors did truly important work. They warned humans of impending death, sickness, and misfortune. But these days…” Inkling sighed, “Human life has grown so much safer. Now I warn humans of things that are so…pointless. I was an omen for a late credit card bill last week.”

Ven stifled a small laugh, “I do not believe that requires an omen.”

“It doesn’t!” Inkling agreed emphatically, “And I spend all day doing errands just that unnecessary. I just don’t feel fulfilled anymore.”

“I confess I don’t know what rules Heralds are bound by. Can you quit?”

“I can,” Inkling hesitated, “But I lose all my memories, aside from the skills I need to survive as a normal crow. I’d still remember how to fly, nest, and forage, but I would forget you, my family, and…”

“Portent,” Ven said her name in a sorrowful murmur.

“Exactly. I can’t decide what to do.”

“Might I make a suggestion?”

“Please.”

“I went through something similar last year. I was tempting a college student to waste his money betting on the Cardinals instead of paying rent-”

Inkling couldn’t resist a snort, “That was a temptation? He might as well burn the money.”

“Indeed,” Ven’s yellow eyes flickered with amusement, “But I too had a moment where I wondered what I was doing. I used to tempt humans to commit atrocities like murder and arson. How had I sunk to moving numbers on a screen? My job too began to feel like a joke.”

“What did you do?”

“I began keeping a list of pros and cons. Every time something happened, it went into one of those two categories. After a few weeks, I realized that my job had indeed changed in the last few decades, and there were aspects that were not glamorous. But I found there was still plenty I did enjoy doing, and that helped me accept what I did not. Perhaps a similar exercise would help you.”

Inkling considered, “Couldn’t hurt. At least I’d have some specifics to think about.”

“I agree,” Ven opened his mouth, but he was interrupted as the wails of the damned suddenly peaked in a screeching crescendo of nails-on-a-chalkboard agony.

Inkling sighed, “Time to go.”

Ven stood to wave him off, “Same time next week?”

“As always,” Inkling gave him a salute with one wing, “Thank you, Ven. I appreciate the advice.”

Ven bowed, “Any time. Know that I would miss you, should you choose another life. But I would also celebrate your choice.”

Touched, Inkling returned the bow and swooped into the sky to join the cloud of departing crows. Jays used to be tasked with bringing gossip to Hell (and sticks, for some reason), but they’d unionized in the sixties and the task had fallen to crows instead. Inkling followed the flock up to the surface world, individuals breaking off one by one as they reached the departure tunnels to their assigned cities. Inkling took the exit tunnel for Flagstaff, emerging as always from just behind the college testing center. 

It was early sunrise, and the town was bathed in rosy orange light. Inkling breathed in the brisk mountain air, enjoying the open sky for a few moments after the sulfurous depths of Hell. Then he wheeled toward the observatory that was set high on a hill above town.

Harbinger was already present when he landed. The ancient Great Horned Owl was fluffed up twice his size in the morning’s chill, his impressive eyebrows drawn sternly over electric yellow eyes, “Inkling,” He greeted, “Anything to report from Hell?”

“Nothing new,” Inkling considered adding Harbinger to his cons list, but his supervisor wasn’t unbearable. Just stern, “Ven considered my gossip useful as always. Has Portent returned?”

“Not yet. But you’ve got better things to do than mooning over Portent.”

“Fine,” Inkling mostly succeeded in not letting his feathers ruffle in annoyance, “What are my orders for today?”

“First, there’s a man named Doug who will receive a promotion at work on Monday. I need you to fly in front of him from right to left to give him notice of the good news. Second, a woman named Claire is about to suffer the death of one of her goldfish, so you need to strike one of her windows so she’s not caught unawares. Third, there’s a wedding reception this afternoon for a couple named Henry and Edith. It will end in divorce, so you need to make your presence known at their reception to warn them. And lastly, a college student named Olive is about to receive an important email from one of her professors. You must fly into her dorm to warn her.”

Inkling didn’t bother to memorize the names, only the tasks. Another boring day in Herald paradise, “Anything else?”

“No. That’s sufficient for today.”

Inkling bowed and took off, four glowing purple skybeams now visible on the town’s horizon. He didn’t know how the magic worked, but he was now able to see the location of each assigned human. When he completed a task, the skybeam would vanish and Harbinger would take note. 

Claire was easy. She lived in an older part of town, and Inkling could see her sitting at her kitchen table working on a crossword. A tank sat on the shelf behind her, and Inkling briefly wondered which goldfish was about to make its departure. But it made no difference to him. He struck the window with just enough force to produce a bang. Claire looked up from the crossword, startled, but he was already flying away when she stepped outside to investigate.

Done. The skybeam vanished in a puff of lavender smoke, and Inkling allowed himself a short flight over downtown to celebrate getting his first task done so quickly. The morning was warming, and the trees were heavy with yellow leaves. He landed in one and took a few minutes to consider his pros and cons list. He decided to add one con for having to run into a window, as it always left his right wing a little sore, but gave one pro for having time to enjoy such beautiful weather. If he was busy trying to survive, would there be time for pleasure flights?

The wedding reception wasn’t until afternoon, so he decided to look for Doug next. The young man was sprawled on the couch of his apartment, watching TV. Inkling ruffled his feathers in annoyance. Flying past a human didn’t count unless they were outside, so he had no choice but to wait. He settled in a pine tree for the stakeout, shifting restlessly. 

Morning gave way to early afternoon, and Doug didn’t leave the couch. Bored and irritable, Inkling wondered why such a lazy human was getting a promotion. He was considering leaving to look for Olive when there was rustling below him. Inkling tensed instinctively, though he knew he had nothing to worry about. The same magic that made the skybeams also ensured his safety from predators. And even if it hadn’t, this particular cat posed no threat. 

“Afternoon, Inkling,” Foreboding, a fellow Herald, hauled herself up in the tree next to him. She shook pine needles out of her black coat, “You on a task?”

“Trying to be,” Inkling didn’t bother to hide his frustration, “But Doug doesn’t seem to have plans to leave his couch.”

Foreboding studied Doug with pumpkin-colored eyes, “Want me to bring him out for you?”

“Yes, please! You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I love a little chaos,” Foreboding jumped down to the apartment’s porch, meowing loudly as she walked along the edge. Doug looked up in time to see her send a flower pot tumbling off the porch to shatter three stories below. 

“Get ready,” Foreboding called, tail twitching in amusement. Doug burst out of the apartment, cursing and waving his arms at Foreboding. She jumped neatly back into the pine tree and ran along a branch, stopping only to watch Inkling fly past Doug going from right to left. The significance of the flight was entirely lost on the irate human, but the universe accepted it and the skybeam vanished.

“Thanks!” Inkling called to Foreboding, who twitched her ears in acknowledgement and then jumped to the ground, likely heading off to cross some unfortunate human’s path. Inkling wheeled and headed for the wedding reception, considering his pros and cons while he flew. He decided to add a pro for lack of predators and a con for boredom. 

Two pros and two cons so far. No closer to a decision. 

The wedding reception was in full swing when he landed on the central gazebo. Inkling let out a couple of loud caws, drawing a few curious glances. But no one seemed particularly concerned with the couple’s now-forewarned divorce. Inkling began to preen, a little frustrated. Did humans even learn about these omens anymore? Did any of them understand his warnings? And if they didn’t, what was the point of being here at all?

He stayed for exactly an hour, the minimum time needed for the task to count as completed. As soon as the skybeam vanished, he took off into the warm gold of midafternoon. There hadn’t been time to eat earlier, and he was starving. 

He added a con to his list for pointless work as he flew downtown. He soared over a pair of ravens digging through a dumpster, and he allowed a small moment of satisfaction to break through his frustration. The same magic that foretold the future, produced skybeams, protected him from predators, and allowed crows to fly to Hell every week also made sure Heralds were well-fed. Cats were fed luxurious cuts of beef and fish, while owls were given plump grass-fed rodents. 

And crows got catering.

The food always appeared in an alcove over one of the hotels, inaccessible to anyone but Herald Crows. Given the hour Inkling was alone when he arrived, but the burger and fries awaiting him were as warm and crisp as if they’d been freshly prepared. Inkling took a moment to admire the burger, which had an English muffin bun branded with a local restaurant logo, green chiles, and cheddar cheese. He savored it with the perfectly seasoned fries, adding a pro to his list for delicious food. He couldn’t imagine rooting through dumpsters after eating like this his entire life.

Meal finished, Inkling left the alcove and headed toward campus, bracing himself. He’d deliberately left this task for last, and dread began to build in him as he approached the dorms. A door was propped open, so flying in was easy.

It was flying out that was the tricky part.

Inkling waited until he passed Olive’s room, which was at the end of the hall, before he let out a loud caw. The college student stuck her head out, confusion giving way to alarm at the presence of a noisy black bird. She let out a scream, and heads poked out of rooms up and down the corridor. Inkling cursed internally. Another day the dorm might have been emptier, but on Saturday afternoon many of the students were in. He wheeled at the end of the corridor and made a beeline for the door he’d entered.

“Is that a bird?”

“Eww! It’s going to poop everywhere!”

“Don’t let it touch me! Don’t let it touch me!”

A broom suddenly blocked Inkling’s exit, and he swerved up a stairwell to avoid it. Unfortunately that put him in the path of a descending trio of girls, and he flew straight into one’s face. She shrieked and started swatting him, and Inkling felt feathers rip free as he tried to propel himself backward. He managed to get airborne again and continued up the stairwell, cawing loudly, leaving the sobbing girl behind him. He leveled out on the new floor, but everyone had already heard the commotion below and the hallway was packed with students. Inkling flew desperate laps, looking for an escape, but there was no open door. Someone hurled a vase of white dahlias at him, knocking him to the floor in a shatter of glass. He wobbled back to his feet and dodged one student’s attempt to throw a sweatshirt over him.

Through the student’s legs, however, he finally saw an open window. Inkling grabbed one of the flowers and then beat his wings fiercely, rising above the screaming crowd and diving outside to freedom.

It was dusk now, and Inkling looked himself over as the skybeam vanished behind him. No cuts or broken bones, just a few missing feathers. He shuddered and added three cons for that, and then he flew toward a quieter section of campus. 

He landed in a small grove of trees a few minutes later, dahlia still clutched in his beak. The grove was between two sections of campus, and it felt peaceful and secluded even though it was technically in the middle of town. He preened glass from his feathers as he waited, but it wasn’t long.

Portent glided toward him, her glossy black feathers dyed rose gold in the fading light. Inkling stopped to watch her, almost open-beaked in awe as always. She landed smoothly next to him, letting out a small cry, “Oh no! What happened to you?”

“I had to fly into a college dorm,” Inkling shook his feathers ruefully.

“No! I hate going indoors!” Portent quickly took over the preening, and Inkling let himself relax under the gentle stroke of her beak, “They knocked out a bunch of feathers!”

“They’ll grow back,” Inkling tried to sound tough, “And it wasn’t all for nothing. I got you a flower.”

He passed the dahlia to Portent, who let out a delighted caw, “It’s perfect!” She tucked it into the feathers on her head, “How does it look?”

“Beautiful,” Inkling murmured. There was no other answer, “I missed you this morning.”

“I know,” Portent sighed, “I love Clamp of Gila Monster’s Jaws on Exposed Flesh, but she’s a talker. I got back late, and then I had to go all the way to Sedona for one of my tasks.”

“Oof,” Inkling said sympathetically, “Long day.”

“It was. But at least I found you the prettiest rock on the way back. Look!”

She presented him with a swirled piece of red limestone, and Inkling brightened, “That’s beautiful! I’ll add it to the collection!”

He placed the rock reverently in the hollow of their tree, where a small collection of other treasures - dried flowers, rocks, colorful paper, toys, and more - that they brought back for each other lay hidden. Inkling looked at it all, and he felt himself relax. He lost himself in his and Portent’s evening ritual of flying, preening, and eating a delicious meal of tacos together. When they finally cuddled up side by side in their tree to sleep, Inkling added three pros for his mate.

Six pros and six cons. 

He made his decision in the first light of dawn, and left before Portent was stirring. Harbinger looked surprised to see him when he arrived at the observatory, “Inkling! You’re up early.”

“I need to talk to you,” Inkling braced himself.

“Yes?”

“Some days this job is hard, and I’ve been wondering lately if I should continue.”

“Oh?” Harbinger’s gaze darkened a little, “Lost the faith, have we?”

“Don’t guilt me, Harbinger. Humans are the ones that have lost the faith. But I’ve decided I’ll continue. I love Portent, the food, and the company. But I have a condition.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m not flying in any more buildings. Ever again.”

Inkling met Harbinger’s electric yellow gaze, unflinching. The owl watched him for a long moment, and then to Inkling’s surprise he blinked his assent, “If that’s all you want, I can accommodate that. I have some interns starting soon, and it’ll be good for them to get experience.”

“Oh,” Relief washed over Inkling, “Thank you.”

“Anything else I should be aware of?”

“No.”

“Then your orders are as follows. First, there’s a student-”

Inkling half-listened. It was another day of being ignored and unimportant, and for a few moments he felt the same tug of despair he’d had for months. But then he remembered it was also another day of leisure flights, friends, delicious food, and Portent.

He decided that was good enough.