On Rain Readers

In each age of history, there are certain roles that the creatures of the world adopt. Some work the soil to provide food for others. Some build shelter and structures to use as homes. One distinct role that has survived the eons and cultures of the world, and serves to be a radical curiosity from my secular perspective, is that of the spiritualist. I define a spiritualist as someone set aside, someone chosen not necessarily by a god or a divine creature as they would have you believe but more by their community to act as a liaison and mediator to whatever deity a culture chooses to believe in. Many times these spiritualists serve two functions, to relay a message to god, thus serving the organizational needs of the society as well as act as a community healer, such as the aboriginal witch doctors or shamans. Some served as a moral standard, like the prophets of old, and dictated the actions a community would need to accomplish in order to restore balance. Others still would serve as agents of social change, acting with a divine authority to achieve some illustrious end or bring warring tribes to peace. In this present age, we do not have the likes of shamans, prophets, or revolutionaries. The progress of technology and science has created more wonders than any god ever could. But there are still some of lesser minds who hold to the old ways while still reaping the benefit that science bestows. Many of the Norther Raven flock have been remarkably resistant to any societal change. While others of their feathered kind have adopted careers as mail carriers or transportation specialists, the Northern crows mainly keep to themselves. Most are adverse to fraternizing with these kind, but my lot as an investigator drives my curiosity to research these paradoxical creatures. I have learned that while they do have some modern means; steam wells for clean waters and irrigation, for example, they still maintain an important place for their spirituality within their communities. I have witnessed recently a ritual for deciding their own unique role of spiritualist, one among them whom they "set aside." Such a creature is given the title of Rain Reader.

Of the tribes in the North, each one has a Rain Reader who, once selected, abandons the tribe to live amongst the other Readers. This is because of the widely-held belief that their knowledge and skill is pure, and living amongst the common crows would sully their wisdom and abilities. I have never affiliated myself with the Rain Readers much, nor they with the rest of the world. They are an enigmatic and small group, keeping to themselves and teaching their ways only to their offspring. The closest thing I have been able to compare them to historically have been the Oracles of humanity's Rome, but even they lack the proper description. The Rain Reader's purpose, as they themselves dictate, is to make "certain truths known." A very clever phrase, as they can claim whatever truth they do reveal as incomplete, which then serves to free them of any subsequent responsibility of action. Each year, the Northern Raven tribes convene for several days of festivals and prophecy. It is at these gatherings that tribal laws are established and modified, new Readers are selected, and marraiges and other social contracts are codified. The occasion is called the Storming, a reference to the abundance of dark feathers and loud caws that accompanies such a large number of ravens.

I have only met two Rain Readers in my lifetime, before meeting the captain of the skyship. The first occasion was when I was a small kitten, and I walked the streets of London delivering the daily news. On one particularly dreary day the rains were hard, so hard that one could see only a few yards before them. I sought refuge in a great stone archway across the street from Trafalgar Square. I peered across the downpour to see a figure of a crow in the middle of the square, which was an odd sight to me. The birds always knew when the rains were coming before we land folk, so they would normally abandon the area for clearer climes. But this bird was just sitting in it staring upward at nothing, as if in deep meditation, or something above was speaking. He slowly spread his wings in that rain, and then let out such a crow as I had never heard. It was loud, piercing, not a cry of help or a scream from a deathblow, but not unlike them either. Then, he lowered his great span, and turned directly at me, and stared into my very mind. I am unsure how long I stared back, but before I realized it the rain had stopped, and I turned a moment to reclaim my bearings. When I once again looked to the Square, the Rain Reader was gone.

The second encounter occurred some time later, after I had been promoted to Inspector at the Creature Yard. It was the same Rain Reader, I could tell. He had been murdered, and his body lay in Trafalgar Square. Poor bird had been killed sometime in the night during the storm. His wings were spread as they once were so many years ago. His head was to one side, beak slightly open, eyes wide, and they still gazed into my mind as easily as before. We had never found the killer; we didn't even have a motive.

Now, upon the great ship in the sky, I saw the second Rain Reader I had ever come across. It sat before a small porthole on the starboard side, decrypting the raindrops as the fell and pattered with randomness upon the glass. I was once told that the Rain Readers believed those raindrops were not random, but messages from some god or divine creature. That each line, speck, and patter of water was trying to tell us something, but most creatures had forgotten how to listen. Frankly, the rain does have a sort of romantic beauty as it trickles down on clear faces of glass, but I consider that to be subject for the poets and muses, not any oracles or prophets. But, mythology tells us that the mundane and often overlooked aspects of life were the preferred mediums of divine communications. I had never encountered any god in tea leaves or raindrops, but it is a way of life that was worked for these ravens for thousands of years, and who was I to judge such matters?

Besides, my chief question was not about the rain was trying to tell us, but why a Rain Reader from the Northern lands was on the skyship at all.