I don't own The Crow, the Highwayman poem, or the song by Loreena McKennitt!
The Crow: Bloodstained Ground
Former Sergeant, now Captain Frank Albrecht, sat alone in his living room pouring over past cases. One case he looked at with great memory was the one involving Shelly Webster and Eric Draven. He laid it down on top of another file with a sigh. The file below it was that from another city. It was about a boy that was executed on his twenty-first birthday, because they couldn't find the true murderer. The boy had been set up, and the true murderers were a bunch of dirty cops and a dirty Captain. This was the tale of another Crow; this Crow was a boy by the name of Alex Corvis. While Alex and Eric were both Crow, he knew there were others he had yet found. Past. Present. Future. There would always end up being a Crow. A Crow to avenge those wrongly murdered.
However, he was to get the shock of his life tonight, for not just one, but three figures entered through his window, "You're back."
"Nice to see you as well, Sergeant Albrecht," Eric grinned.
"Got a promotion, I made Captain."
"Then it seems life has turned a new edge for you, my friend," Eric bowed slightly.
"Eric, why have you returned? Did you miss one?" Albrecht frowned.
"No. I got them all, but another needed my help, just as she needs you to watch over someone precious to her," Eric frowned.
"Hello Captain Albrecht," a girl walked out from behind Eric, her face was painted like Eric's, but in her arms was a younger girl. "I need you to watch over my sister, Cora Rivvett. I died protecting her, and she was not safe where she was placed. If Eric trusts you, then so do I. I place her in your care."
"And who are you?" Captain Albrecht questioned.
"I am Noel Rivvett. I died last year to the day or evening as it were. I died to protect her, I will not have a drugged up cop entrusted with the safety of my sister. You do not smoke, do you?" Noel glared at the Captain, sizing up his character.
"No, I quit when Eric came back last time," Albrecht chuckled.
"Good." Noel set her sister down on the floor of the apartment, "Cora, you will stay with the Captain and you will be safe. They will not trace you to me or here."
"Noe…" Cora threw her arms around her sister, "Don't forget that I love you, big sis."
"And my heart beats within you, sister. I am always with you."
"Sing for me before you go, Noe. Please?" Cora begged.
"As you wish my sister…
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of glaring velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a chill and a twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark of night,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me by the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way.
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching,
Marching, marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window
Hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement,
The road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" And they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say
"Look for me by the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way!"
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled on by like years!
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight
Cold, on the stroke of midnight
The tip of one finger touched it!
The trigger at least was hers!
Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear
Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!
Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shot her in the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky
With a white rope smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were the spurs i' the golden moon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
… Farewell my sister, until we are together again," tears had fell from her eyes as she had sung a song that belonged to another, one that was once a poem, possibly a true one. Yet it did express how she felt. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain Albrecht. I thank you for your truthfulness and help. It is nice to have met another honorable man."
Just as they were both about to leave… "Wait! Eric, take this," Albrecht handed Eric three copies of files. "When this is all over, I'll take her to see others like her and I. It may help her. There was another, but not in Detroit. Read over his file. I placed your friend's in there now. I'll always keep a copy of all those I find. No one will know but the girl and me."
"That is much comfort to me, Captain, as I am sure it is to Noel," Eric smiled a sad smile, as he and Noel flew out the window and into the night, seeking the killers from what Noel was beginning to call the Bloody Violin's Song.
fireinu:I plan to introduce something? I just go where the story takes me. I let the story tell itself through my mind, fingers, and feelings of the day. So, I cannot know where, when, or if a complication will occur; but I do see one that has been stirring in my mind since the moment Noel was made a Crow.
Hope-Corven: An interesting way of words you have indeed. You write very eloquently. And I must thank you graciously, but for the fact that I'm allergic to roses and cannot accept them, no matter their great beauty. However, the thought is much appriciated. I look forward to when you decide to write a tale of your own making.
Queen-of-Sporks: To dance in the light of shadows unseen, is truly but a marvelous dream. I thank you for your words of encouragement and find myself instead thanking you, for as my first reviewer of this tale I feel I should do so. Right now, I must apologize if my words are a bit of length, for I am in a rather proper and relaxed mood, and thus this is how I write for a time.
Sending mischief your way!
Snowfire the Kitsune