For many years, the raven was his faithful companion. Its resiliency and instinct for survival reminded him of himself. There were times that he wished that he could converse with it. But that seemed like a foolish wish — until he discovered the book of magic a few months ago. To his surprise and delight, he found a charm that could strengthen the communication between man and animal. All of a sudden, he came to know the thoughts of the raven, and could interpret every hoarsekraaahand baritone croak that it made.
A small gust of air entered from the opened window, causing the candle flame to flicker and the pages of the book to flutter. Fingal turned his head toward the window, and was startled to discover it had turned completely dark outside.
“All right, pet,” he said. “Ye can watch me work.”
Reaching for the raven, he perched it on his right shoulder. As he approached his work table, he began to detach the bird from his shoulder. But it resisted. Letting out a deep-throated croak of protest, it leaned its face forward, fixing its glassy eyes on the moon water.
“Fine, ye can stay where ye are.” The creature shifted slightly, its weight oddly comforting.
Fingal threaded his fingers through his sparse hair and took in a deep breath. “Ye want me tae scry again? All right,” he said, releasing the air in his lungs. As he pulled the bowl toward him, he caused the bird to flap its wings and land on the table. “There’s nay harm in looking one more time.”
He held the bowl, his palms cupping the sides. And while he grasped it, warmth began to emanate from his hands, heating the earthen vessel.
“Where are ye, Adrina?” he whispered into the water. “Show me where ye are, lass.”
A heaviness descended upon him, and his thoughts began to fade into the background. He wasn’t aware how long he gazed into the black fluid, but soon he noticed that his mind was totally emptied and his vision unfocused. He felt himself merging with the invisible energy that shifted and swirled above the water. There was an unexpected prickling sensation at the top of his head, as if a thousand needles poked at him. But he didn’t feel any pain. Instead, he felt weightless, as if he had somehow become one with the divine. Soon a change occurred in the liquid. At first it rippled softly, and then his likeness, which reflected off the surface, began to shimmer and disappear.
When the water became still again a few seconds later, he let out a loud hiss of satisfaction. There she was, her petite figure huddling over a small fire. It was as if he observed everything through a looking-glass. But there was sound as well, and he could hear the faint echo of crackling twigs. Adrina was surrounded by the forest, but an inner voice whispered that she was in a wooded area just outside of Dunnvie, coming increasingly closer to him.
“Och, sae ye are coming home at last,” he murmured. At hearing his voice, the raven fluttered its wings and walked closer to him. Fingal looked briefly at it and smiled. “Ye just wait, my pet. I’ll have a task for ye soon enough.”
The raven stared back at him, its intelligent, unwavering eyes glimmering in the soft light. It knew exactly what Fingal wanted.
He chuckled and then once again, he bent his head to the dark water, eager to divine more details that would help him locate Adrina.
But a sudden knock at the door broke his concentration, jerking him out of his trance. He cursed under his breath, and continued to stare down at the water, willing himself to return to a trance state. Unfortunately the knock at the door sounded again. This time it was louder and more insistent. And the impressions that he strove so hard to achieve vanished completely.
Gnashing his teeth, he glared at the closed door as a string of obscenities released from his lips. The bird flew up and settled back on his shoulder. Walking over to the door, he threw it open.
“What the hell do ye want?” he snarled. “Didnae I tell ye nae tae disturb me?”
The servant at the door jerked back while panic leapt to his countenance.
“I — I’m sorry tae bother ye, master,” he stammered, placing his hands to his stomach as if to protect himself from Fingal’s wrath. “’Tis about the bodies…nay one wants tae handle them for fear that the spirits of the dead will walk…”
“Ye interrupted me because of this?” Fingal said, his temper flaring.
The servant gulped. “I didnae want tae disturb ye, but the others willnae follow my orders. ‘Tis been almost a week, and we cannae leave the corpses hanging in the courtyard. The flies and the putrid smell will cause pestilence and —”
Whipping out his hand, he struck the servant’s cheek, the force of the blow knocking the other man to the ground.
“’Tis such a trivial matter,” he hissed. He could still feel the stinging in his palms as it vibrated to the rhythm of his anger. “Tell me, didnae I make myself clear about being pestered?”
The servant was sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide while his pupils were shrunken to tiny pinpricks. He palmed his reddened cheek. “Aye, master, but I —”
“Ye are an idiot,” Fingal snapped. “’Tis about time that I make an example of ye.”
“Nay!” The servant’s frightened gaze darted to the raven on his shoulder. He pushed himself to his knees, and clasped his hands together in desperate prayer. “Please, master, I dinnae want tae be turned into a — a raven!”
Fingal stared at the man who was shaking like a sheaf of wheat. At any moment, he appeared as if he would soil himself. Placing his foot on the other man’s chest, Fingal shoved him away.
But just then a thought struck him, and he began to stroke his chin. The people were frightened of his raven, however it had never crossed his mind that they believed that he had the ability to transform a human into an animal. But the evidence was right before him. His servant’s fear was palpable, and it emanated from him in waves. And Fingal fed off of the other man’s fear, the awareness making him feel giddy with power.
Taking the beastie and placing it at his bent forearm, he stroked the head of its silky plumage. “Who told ye that I can change people into birds?”
“Everyone kens this,” the man said, cautiously getting up from his knees. “’Tis said that — that thing use tae be a man before ye turned it thus.”
A bark of laughter burst from his lips. Meanwhile the blood from the servant’s features drained, and he made himself smaller by pulling his knees to his chest. Once again Fingal felt the surge of power. None of this was possible until he had discovered the old book.
