The water was calm and in its maintained flow it devoured the path joining the lighthouse to the main continent. As the sky converted into a streak of orange dusk, lights began to shine, guiding from the moss-covered mooring post to the green chipped door. A small rowing boat was gently tapping against the rocks, a rope binding it to the island. A dainty shadow was rushing among the kitchen garden, racing the night, collecting her goods in a basket hanging from her arm. Her arms were tight around her gathered produce, feet following the path lights. She leant her hips against the door, pushing with force. Despite her efforts she still dropped the basket, dangling from her fingers. Potatoes, herbs and carrots scattered across the craggy ground. Leaving the door swinging on it hinges, she caught sight of a person, washed up just off the path. A blanket of seaweed disguised them. She crept toward the pile of armour and sea tangle, unsure if she was about to deal with a hostile or a victim. The last of the sun glinted off a sword, peeking from the scabbard on the belt. Their chest moved. The delicate woman crouched beside them and pulled back the carpet of seaweed, revealing a sharp jaw and pointed nose. As she uncovered more, she started to notice, not only weapons, but the type of armour they wore. No family arms bared upon the chest. She flinches. Her mother told her tales of the Craven Brothers. Nasty tales about how they were efficient but unfair, pillaging the small towns and treaties, collecting women and children as they passed. She brought Pallas to the lighthouse, more than 20 years ago, claiming it was safe.
#
The cawing of the bird chimed down the hollow tower. Pallas took a moment, bringing her hand to rub at her dry eyes. The loft bedroom was an unfamiliar place, only waking here as a teen after a night of watching stars. Confusion shrouded her thoughts until the concern of the night before jerked her awake. There was a mercenary downstairs, injured and possibly looking for her mother. Her dead mother. It happened before; people came with torches and grievances. The first time led to the discovery of her mother’s diaries. The tale they told followed the court of King Hades and his descent into madness. Her mother recorded everything she ever did in service of the tyrant ruler. The first man who came was furious, he had just been liberated. He claimed they were betrothed. In a fit of rage, he broke Corae’s chest. Pallas took to reading and examining her mother’s belongings since. They were full of things her mother withheld from her. When Corae told Pallas of how they came to live on the lighthouse isle, she proclaimed mercenaries chased them from the village and here they sought refuge. The old man welcomed their help with the lighthouse and offered them a room in the quarters. Pallas remembered some of his stories of the ocean fondly, even though some scared her.
Pallas harnessed the light inside the spinning lamp, absorbing the power into herself. She leant against the banister and followed the spiral stairs. Her heart was thumping rapidly, and she was trying to slow it with the pace of her steps. The bouquet of steeping tea met her at the bottom. Her feet came to a halt. Pushing a deep breath from her lungs, she prepared herself to meet the mercenary, now apparently in the kitchen. The sun was glimmering off the various pans stacked on the slim sideboards. The herculean figure from her lawn last night was stood over a steaming cup of tea. The decorative teapot was sat on the stove, cream with a circular pattern of sage green feathers and yellow eggs.
“Good morning.” The voice from the large statue was somewhat quiet, graceful.
“Morning,” Pallas crossed her arms. “What are you doing?” Her brows furrowing deep into her face.
“I wanted tea, and the least I could do is make you morning tea.” Pallas assumed the night before the unwanted visitor was a man, more precisely a man from Craven Brothers. Until the choking mercenary introduced herself as Diana.
“Well don’t you think it rude to just hel...” Her speech haltering, ready to release years of pent-up anger, then her eyes set on the tea pot. “Where did you get that?” Her scolding voice dropped to a worrisome monotone.
“Oh, just ov-”
“Have you already drunk?” Her voice brisk and breathless, floating on her toes.
“Yeah, this is my-” Frustration registering across Diana’s face at being interrupted again.
“I need to see if I have any made up” Pallas was whispering, throwing open the cabinets and dragging out the various jars and bottles.
A crow sat on the windowsill. He pronounced himself with a few echoing caws.
“Oh, bugger off will you!” Pallas hollered through the window and the crow did not budge.
Diana set her teacup on the side and stood straight, her hair brushing against the ceiling.
“What are you looking for?” Her voice lower, querying the secret.
“You’ve drunk tea from my mother’s teapot.”
“Well, I'm sorry I didn’t know-”
“My mother’s birdbrew teapot.”
Pallas and Diana stood, facing each other, wordless mouths hanging open. After the tense moment passed, Diana closed her mouth, she leant against the kitchen counter once more.
“I don’t know what that is.” Her shoulders shrugging.
“It’s an enchanted pot and it turns the drinker in a crow!” Pallas’ face was red, and her voice was loud, it reverberated off the windows.
The crow on the windowsill cawed again, mocking.
Diana’s eye shot wide with panic, she started to pace the kitchen, her muscular arms scraping the cupboard handles. Pallas burst out of the kitchen door, she was on her knees in the small growing patch, collecting herbs.
All the while the crow cawing a countdown for the inevitable.
In Pallas’ absence Diana sunk to the floor, knees brought to her face. Pallas barely glancing at the enormous cowering shape, began at the counter to chop and mix, whispering to herself. Her hands were working so fast, Diana couldn’t understand what was happening.
“You are Corae!” She screamed, her voice croaking with fear. She raised to her feet, unsteady, reaching for the next room.
She returned, sword held high. Small black feathers started sprouting on her high cheekbones.
“Diana, please settle down.” Pallas did not glance up from her potion, now brewing on the stove.
“You are the witch who cursed my father!” Diana charged; her legs gave way. “You will pay!” The sword clattering on the floor was soon joined by Diana’s much smaller body.
“Caw, caw!” Diana’s caws died out with a rattle.
#
Through bushels of clouds, the sun travels along the path to the ocean once more. Diana screeched and flapped for hours. Pallas endured the torture of caws and whipping wings.
“I... I can’t-” Diana flapped her wings in Pallas’ face and plummeted to the floor, again. "-understand you!" She exclaimed, waving her hands, wiping her face. “For the last time, Diana!”
The home was full of fresh invigorating scents from the hours of brewing. Pallas’ fingertips were purple. She reached over the abundance of mess to open the windows and finally left out of the back kitchen door. Diana scurried to join her, half flying.
“This ritual is complex; I need you to listen to me.” Pallas put the tray in the stone circle. She walked the circle, hissing under her breath.
“Diana, you will need to remain on the altar, no, the stone in the middle, next to the tray.” Diana stumbled among the stones until she reached the larger stone in the middle. It was the colour of charcoal slate.
“You drank from the teapot and gives us approximately 12 hours before you are endlessly a crow.” She scattered a mix of petals and salt as she progressed around the circle. “I must do some chanting and then you will have to drink, birds don’t swallow, I’ve learnt that the hard way. Please remain calm.” Diana cawed and her wings started to twitch. “I feel the need to warn you, I have not performed this before, only watched my mother do it. We ought to wait for the sun, it should hit the mountain and then it’s the right time for this.” Pallas lowered herself to perch on one of the rocks.
“I think... I need to lay some things out for you Diana.” The air was calm. “I am not Corae, but she was my mother.” A pause. “She was a lovely woman to me and the old man who lived here long ago. Unfortunately, I discovered her diaries and read about all the awful things she did on behalf of the mad king. I do not have the power she once possessed so, try as I might, I can’t help you or your father, but I apologise for her misgivings. We came here to escape her persecution and since her death, I have dealt with many like you. I have given away a lot of her treasures and even her grimoire. I rarely practice magic.” Lifting her gaze to rest on Diana. “I know you harbour anger, like most of continent, but she’s gone and what’s done is done. I only ask that when you are human again, you go on your way and leave me here.” Pallas focused on her feet intently, refusing to look at the black bird in front of her. “All alone.” Mumbling to herself.
The sun refracted from the monument on the mountain and Pallas leapt to her feet. Chanting, she created a rhythm, and the wind seemed to join obliviously. Diana’s feet pattered against the slate, her small caws rattling jittery.
Pallas’ fingers wrapped around the bulb-like bottle, lunging toward Diana. Diana cawed; fear stuck in her small bird throat. Pallas held tight around Diana’s wings and tipped the bottle over her grey beak. Liquid pooled at the bottle neck and Diana would not open her mouth.
“You need to do this. You will be a bird forever. Diana!” Pallas was aware of fleeting time before the sun escaped and the ritual would be over.
Diana cawed in the bottle and the liquid escaped.
“Tip your head, you need to swallow this!”
Pallas breathed as the crow’s throat gulped.
There was no immediate change. Pallas still held tightly to the bird. The shine of the monument passed, and the sun continued its journey to the ocean, taking with it the warm day. Pallas remained on the floor, clutching Diana to her chest. When the moon made her appearance, the pair remained.
By the moonlight, Pallas released the bird and started to gather the paraphernalia scattered around the circle. Her slouch was a sign of the disappointment she harboured in her chest. Diana rested, watching Pallas return to the lighthouse quarters. The spinning lamp illuminating the sky above her and she traced Pallas’ movements by the lights in the quarter.
Pallas folded into a padded chair, sobbing lightly. The green chipped door creaking open. A broad and thickset figure cast a shadow on the dainty Pallas. She raised her eyes and locked into a stare with Diana, standing over her. Diana knelt in front of Pallas, bringing them to eye level.
“I don’t blame you for your mother’s wrongdoing, thank you for helping me, kind witch.” Their hands found each other and intertwined. "You don't have to be alone if you allow me to stay?" Her eyes raised, pleading with the petite witch in her green studded armchair.
