16 - The Summoning
I had overheard Sarah telling Illidan to use my study to decipher the magic in the journal. By the time I had flown back round to the study window, he had closed the drapes. It frustrated me that I could not see what he was doing.
I could do nothing but wait and pray my demonic friend would be able to understand and use the notes I had left behind for his attention. Even sneaking glances at what Sarah was doing did not help the time progress any faster. This was going to be a long day.
Just after lunchtime, Gwen arrived; her unmistakable voice being what gave her identity away. I flew round to the living room window and saw her holding my son. She did so love strolling through Stormwind pushing the pram, cooing at Ocel as he watched everything around him until the motion made him fall asleep.
How I ached to hold him again and I felt a twinge of envy as I watched her hand him over to Sarah. I heard Sarah asking Arcaena to fetch Gwen a drink. The demon hunter must have been in the kitchen for I did not see her.
Sarah moved through to the nursery and I followed overhead, landing on the sill and staying concealed behind the shutter. I could secretly observe what was going on in the room through the wooden slats.
I watched in awe as she settled in the rocking chair and started to nurse him. It was a marvellous sight. She rocked very gently as Ocel took his nourishment, his tiny hand kneading the fabric of her open top.
The look in her eyes took my breath away. With such unconditional love, I knew our son would have a blessed childhood; a mother who would protect him in whatever way she deemed necessary and love him just as fiercely.
She would always there for him – literally. Her immortality, the unexpected side-effect of Illidan reviving her from near death was something none of us had expected.
I for one, had not reacted well to the revelation nor the fact that her journey into the Twisting Nether had meant she would never be able to conceive again. The rupturing of her soul had left her barren.
Yet, it was one of Illidan's myriad powers which enabled him to sense her pregnancy at the time and together with help from the naaru, he protected our child from suffering any ill-effect of her crenelated soul and sequential resuscitation. Unfortunately, he could not renew that which was stolen from her.
Now, as I watched the two most important people in my life continue to build an unbreakable bond, I acknowledged that we, Sarah and I, possessed something so unique we would still be happy and very much in love, regardless of her immortality or indeed any alteration to her being.
Providing I was given the opportunity of course; I had to, firstly, revert to my human form, then I would be able to prove how much she meant to me.
My fleeting moment of exhilaration was suddenly peppered with doubt. Perhaps she would not feel the same for me. With time to dwell on the things I had said prior to events at the Dark Portal, and the past few days looking to the skies for me (according to Drew) with no result, maybe she had indeed started to lose hope. For all my journal had evidenced my love for her, she may well see it as a thing of the past, something lost, gone forever.
What if my transformation was going to be too late? Was my transformation going to happen at all? Would there be much point? I shook my feathers with asperity, spreading my wings as I did so, inadvertently knocking the shutter and causing it to bang against the sill.
I froze as I saw her turn round. A look of annoyance spread over her face. I shuffled back to the very edge of the sill and peered through the gap between shutter and window frame. After a moment she turned her attention back to Ocel and continued her lullaby.
A few minutes later Sarah rose and took him over to the changing table where she tended to his nappy. His limbs slowly drooped and I knew the little guy was sleepy after his feed. I could still hear Sarah humming as she finished cleaning and dressing him. With a tender kiss on his forehead and brushing of her lips over his knuckles, she laid him down in his crib.
I assumed she had went to rejoin Gwen and Arcaena, so I decided to leave them be for a while and do a circuit or two of Stormwind, perhaps even find something to eat. It had been a while since I had enjoyed the fruit and grain at the Newbery's.
As I glided over the rooftops, I noticed the statue I observed on my arrival in the city. It had been unveiled.
Although I had half expected it, having realised whose funeral was being attended, it nonetheless came as a bit of shock seeing myself carved in stone, surveying Stormwind and poised as if in the act of protecting the city and all who lived within it.
I landed on a tree close by to look at it in a little more detail. I suppose it was more flattering than the one at the entrance to the city, when I was … well - not looking my best shall we say.
A thought, so incomprehensible came to mind. I imagined what my great friend Vindicator Ocel would have said had he been with me at that precise moment. He would have laughed, slapped me on the back and said, Ah, old friend – if you ask me you're looking far better dead than you do alive! Inwardly, I chuckled – well as close to chuckle as a raven could manage. We'd been inclined to have a dry, sometimes slightly sick sense of humour.
I was also rather pleased to see the new effigy did not possess the (alleged) paunch which Erik had so not diplomatically pointed out one evening in my home.
Thinking of that incident now, it was quite amusing, even my rather maladroit vanity made me grin as I recalled Sarah trying to keep a straight face. She no doubt thought I hadn't noticed her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter as she'd prepared some snacks for our guests – but I did.
Another, memory from that evening unexpectedly washed, nay ... cascaded over me; a most intimate memory at that. It suddenly made me very keen to be returned to my human self. I was sorely tempted to allow myself to relive this and similar moments, but I decided to refrain from such ... indulgence. There would be time aplenty to engage in desire when I was a man again.
Once more a feeling of pending doom overcame me. It seemed whenever my thoughts were most ebullient, some influence swamped me with negativity and hopelessness. In some respects it reminded me of the Void and its grasping, suffocating, detrimental leverage on the peoples of Azeroth; myself not having been spared its effects.
With one last look at my chiselled stone features which watched over the city, I took to the wing once more and went in search of sustenance.
I made my way to the Golden Keg, a favourite eatery and inn within the Dwarven sector of Stormwind. I had many happy memories there. Hopefully, I would be awarded some food from Myrla, the barmaid and head waitress in the establishment and also shake this feeling of gloom at the same time.
I flew down to the rear of the building, knowing full well that was where Myrla often fed the birds. She came across as a bit gruff at times did "our Myrla" as us patrons referred to her, but she was a kindly soul too and very fond of all wildlife that visited the area.
As suspected, she was out back, tending to her little birdtable that sat on the flat roof of the storeroom for the inn. My avian kin were so used to her that they flitted and hopped around her, some even sitting on her shoulders and outstretched hands, taking their fill of her offerings for them. I decided to land on the inn's upper roof and watch Myrla with her aviary before I introduced myself so-to-speak.
She chatted away to the birds while she fed them and addressed each one by name. Had I been human, I would have chortled in the background at some of her choices. Some were named after regulars of the inn, others after quite influential personages.
"Now then, Daryl, ah hope ye've bin behavin' yersel', eh?" She spoke to a blackbird, of which there were numerous in and around the bird feeders. The bird chirruped in response as eagerly, it awaited the culinary delights which Myrla had brought out for them.
The others crowded round as she presented a large round bowl. She scattered generous handfuls of grain on and around the feeders dotted over the top of the flat roofed annex. "Aye, proper stuff fur ye lot furst," she said cheerily. About thirty birds descended and started picking at the offerings enthusiastically.
"A wee bit o' carrion surprise fur ye tae," she said, producing another bowl. Its contents looked a tad dubious – a reddish coloured mush from where I sat. "Dinna ken whit kind o' meat it is, bit o' a mystery if ye ask me, but Colin swore blind it wis high quality."
She started ladling some onto tin plates atop the feeders. Her "guests" circled the plates, some obviously a little suspicious of the gloop in the centre of the plate.
One bird, a magpie, landed a little unceremoniously next to one of the plates, knocking a pretty bluebird out of the way before started gulping the plate's contents down. "Arthas!" Myrla said hotly. Inwardly, I laughed at her name choice for this one. My mirth grew as she spoke softly to the little bluebird. "Aww, Jaina! Ye pair wee thing! He's such a brute that Arthas!"
I omitted a guttural croak and Myrla turned her eyes to me. She gasped. "Why, I … " she stammered, mouth agape. It seemed odd that my presence stirred such a reaction in her; she was after all the bird-lady of Stormwind.
I took in my surroundings and I soon became conscious of the fact that I was the only raven. My attention turned back to the she-dwarf. She was still staring up at me in stupefaction.
My eyes flitted to the bowl in her hand. From it, the meaty mush slipped out and formed a small glossy red puddle at her feet; some actually making contact with her boot. I cawed in warning.
She glanced down. "Ach, fur goodness sake!" she chided, righting the bowl and placing it on the feeder. She shook her gooey boot and drops of the carrion creation splattered a few inches from where she stood. One or two birds hopped over and duly devoured the discarded meal.
Myrla looked back up. A smile crept on her face. "Well, lad," she guffawed. "I probably shouldnae, oot o' respect an' a'thing, but ... I have the purfect name for ye."She stepped forward. I peered over the guttering as she approached. After carrying out a quick surveillance of her immediate surroundings, she looked up, eyes wide. She cupped her hands round her mouth and with a rather disharmonic constraint she whispered, "Khadgar!"
Oh, if only she knew! I cawed my approval and flew down to the feeder nearest her. Head upturned, she followed my path and smiled broadly when I landed. "Muradin's beard! I do believe ye understood me!" she said.
I ruffled my feathers in response. She proceeded to ladle out some more of the red coloured crud onto the tin plate atop the feeder. I simply looked at it then took a step back and cawed up at her.
"Oh! Fussy are ye?" she smiled. "Och well, considering yer namesake, ah'll allow ye that. Now whit will ah…" She looked towards some of the other containers she had painstakingly carried up the ladder to the flat roof. With a triumphant grunt, she picked one up and came back to the feeder.
It was a mixture of sweet and savoury pastries. I could not have asked for better, these were a particular favourite of mine – a bit of a guilty pleasure really. "Hush now boys and girls, ah'm no supposed to be givin' these tae ye, but if ye ask me, they'll jist gan tae waste. Brendan makes fer o'er mony o' these, every time."
An excitable mass of bright, light,dark and dull feathers bombarded the feeder. Seemed I wasn't the only one who liked the Golden Keg's pastries. I was hit from all directions as more of my hungry "cousins" arrived on the feeder; small birds, medium birds, big birds!
Then the feeding frenzy truly began. Beaks, bills, claws, talons all dependant on size and breed, started fighting for the tasty morsels. I was hungry, so I sure as hell wasn't going to miss out either. I started pecking at the crumbly delights, nudging my way forward.
"Fur goodness sake!" Myrla shrieked. I looked up and yet more birds dove down. The flapping, screeching and squawking became an all out riot, and Myrla had to ward off some of the swooping diners as they started attacking the container she still held with the remaining pastries stored inside. This was getting out of hand, and also very much out of the ordinary.
My appetite dissipated rather quickly as my feathers started to prickle; the sensation of static rippling across my flesh made me shudder. It was similar to what I had experienced in the Dalaran crater yet ... somehow more ... personal.
I noted that some of the pastry contenders were staring at me, obviously sensing whatever plight was now affecting me. Some watched warily; a few others reacted differently.
A sharp jab to my left wing caused me to caw out loudly. The attack was soon followed by others. All of them managed to hit where I had been injured with the arrow. With wings and feathers beating wildly around me the assault intensified and just over the din, I heard Myrla shouting she was leaving, because we were "all bad birds today".
My wound reopened, I could feel blood trickling over my chest and the pain was returning rapidly as beaks penetrated the gash. Numbers had increased and soon I was knocked over onto my side. Through the countless jabs and scratches I was victim to, the sizzle of static prevailed. I was in between being overpowered by my feathered kin or rendered immobilized by this phenomenon. I had to do something.
I struggled to focus, but even with my depleted strength I finally mustered enough power and blasted a bolt of frost through my avian attackers.
The bright flash of blue was stippled with the blacks, browns, greys and brighter shades of plumage as the birds were jettisoned from me. For a few moments, utter silence dominated the scene as I lay, panting from my injuries.
Gradually, one or two disorientated squawks rose in the air. I struggled upright. My eyes, though bleary, managed to see the multitude of loose feathers around me on the feeder. In clumps they shifted and swirled around the surface from the aftermath of my retaliation.
I noticed some globules of the red meaty mush had crystalised giving them a slightly bluey-white hue.
Still plagued by the buzz of static under my feathers, I now felt a wave of guilt at having harmed all those birds; Myrla's little friends. I nervously peered over the edge of the feeder.
The flat roof was littered with bodies lying on their sides or backs. I scanned them, my guilt still washing over me, unforgiving. Then, to my relief, with wings flapping they righted themselves and I saw that they had all been merely stunned. What irony that Arthas the magpie also lay panting amid a patch of frostblades. My conscience however, was cleared as I noted all breathing.
The strange sensation which had started this whole sorry event heightened and became a steady audible thrum; at least to my ears it did.
Thoughts and memories started to swirl in my head, like coloured pigments in water being stirred, blended together by some unseen force. I blinked and glanced around me.
My surroundings seemed to waver, pulse in and out of my view. One moment I was on a feeder looking at crumpled bodies of birds around me, the next I was aboard a zeppelin, then underwater in a bubble!
My mind kept conjuring past events, places, people, then transported me, turbulently, back to the present. The images started to flit back and forth erratically. I was losing all comprehension of where I was. Who I was. I cawed out repeatedly but in my head I sounded like a man. "What is happening here?"
My head involuntarily turned towards the Cathedral. An overwhelming instinct consumed me. Something … was calling me.