Aron was dragged back to reality, the future disappearing into a dense black infinity in front of him. The pain and horror of what he had seen streaked tears down his cheeks.
*
His mind meandered through the wisps of cloud mist surrounding him. He would dive into the thickest downy clumps and enjoy being sucked into a blank white world. It was like swimming in a bathtub of milk without the risk of cheesy aromas forming in the areas he would forget to clean in subsequent days, or could not reach.
He would arch his back soaring upwards to the rich blueness of the sky above. Turn on his back and gently stroke his arms and legs. He imagined swimming in a mountain lake. He’d tuck and tumble downwards watching the heavens and earth spin around him. Roll to the left and right and spread out his limbs like a bird. A free spirit unencumbered by his bodily form. He followed an eagle which had swooped down from its nest on its mountain peak above the clouds. He floated next to it, seeking out the air streams that would waft them up in exultation. The eagle did try and peck at him a couple of times, but that’s eagles for you.
He swept below the clouds and surveyed the land underneath him. So long since he placed his feet on the grass and squiggled up his toes. His memories failed him after so much time. He hardly remembered who he was any more and anyway here was where he wanted to be, in the sky, alone and free.
He recalled he loathed lying on his back in a field; he never brought a blanket; always his body felt itchy and tickly against the fresh grass. He imagined ants crawling up his cloak sleeves. They never existed mind, just a figment of his mind. Well apart from that time he used the anthill as a headrest, and he shuddered at the thought. No, that was not for him, he had made his decision. He would live as a bird in the sky. He just had to perfect his incantation.
He gazed down at the ground again and frowned; it was really not for him. Too much hustle and bustle; too many hard objects to stub a toe on or to get a splinter in your finger. He saw a magnificent castle below him. Well, he may miss a few things like architecture, art and music. A crowd of people surrounded the fortress; perhaps it was a festival or tournament. Yes, he enjoyed those as well. He had always been partial to a pipe, an ale or two and a spot of dancing on a table.
He would dance nowhere else mind you. But there was always a point in a party when you knew it was the right time to man up and do a jig on a table. He just had the instinct for it. People used to say he was the life and soul of the party but that was a different time! He’d made his decision.
He would fly among eagles, become one of them and give up the life he once knew. He let his thoughts return to the Misty Mountains. His body rested on a single stone in the centre of the cave. It waited for his mind to bring his body back into being one more time. But soon he would finally give up his human form and take that of his beloved eagle. He saw himself as the winged hunter soaring across the wide-open spaces. His power and freedom transcending everything.
He would soar so high above the mountain peaks. He would swoop into the churning and howling storm and catch the wind to lift him beyond the skies to the stars themselves. He would drift directly to the sun feeling its heat grow, enlivening him till he reached the gods where he would fly amongst them. They would stand in admiration in the splendour of his majestic wings and golden feathers that glimmered in their radiance.
He began his incantation:
“Oh eagle my eyesight dims and my limbs become heavy with time,
I fly to the sun whose blaze scotches the haze from my eyes,
Take to the winds to unburden my load,
Plunge into the crystal waters of yonder mountain lake,
To restore the springtime of my life,
I shed these old clothes to become a bird ranging free.”
At which point a puff of smoke erupted and the priest turned into a chicken. A rather plump and goggly-eyed chicken. It seemed quite happy gently clucking, wandering around with chickeny jerky head motions and scratching the ground. That said, the bird emitted a notable trill when a sizeable egg popped out from beneath him, catching him by surprise.
This also dumbfounded Saturnus who raised his eyebrows and observed his pupil. After all these years he still could not craft an incantation quite right. In fact, the spell was going so well until the last line. He had told him many times before. He just did not listen.
‘Do not underestimate the power of the last line’s words, which are a key to the incantation and unlock its power. The image it creates solidifies the effect of the spell and gives it its energy.’ His pupil just never quite got it!
Saturnus considered his options and concluded that he would turn his pupil back to normal again, well eventually. He licked his lips and deliberated whether he would like his eggs fried, scrambled or poached. Then decided an omelette would be just the thing!
As for his pupil, well he was not quite an eagle, but he seemed happy enough doing chickeny things. It would run around, peck at the ground, cluck and coo, shuffle down into the dust and hunt for worms and bugs. That edged it for Saturnus. He was always getting bitten by mites and the like, and he fancied a break from all that scratching.
Yes, he would turn his pupil back to his old self; first he needed some wood and twine to build a coop; a nice warm place for the hen to roost at night; and a cosy wooden box in which to lay lots of tasty eggs. He put the thought of a delicious roast dinner with sprouts, carrots and potatoes swimming in gravy to the back of his mind, but nonetheless filed it for ‘future consideration’.
Ampheus Page 29