Chapter 2
Finn sighed with some regret as the man and woman disappeared through a doorway. When she looked into his eyes, he had read curiosity and wonder in her expression. And she had touched him like his flesh was not stone, but alive beneath her hands. It had been a century since anyone stood eye to eye with him, or really looked at him.
Though he was a monster, he was still human beneath the layer of stone and ugliness. He’d been pure monster after Cinead MacLeod cursed him, and it took him some time to learn to control it. He had slaughtered the clan animals for food and frightened the people, but, as he had predicted, they turned on Cinead and held him responsible.
The man’s death had not lessened Finn’s pain, because he still suffered each dawn as his body turned to stone. He still craved human touch and human congress.
He fought constantly to hold on to his humanity. If he allowed the monster to take over, he would be mindless, and live by instinct alone. What was to keep the monster from slaughtering humans? He had not in the past, but… After six hundred and sixty-two years, he no longer believed he would ever return to his human form.
Though he could not see the sun go down, his body sensed it coming, and even now the transition from stone to flesh hit him like a broadax. He caught himself on the tips of his fingers as he pitched forward, his muscles knotted from being in one position for the past fifteen hours. He had nine hours to spend alive and in motion before the sun rose and he again became the cursed stone statue.
But in all but thought, he remained the monster.
He rose from his crouched position and stretched to his full height. He bowed his back and extended his wings, relieving his cramped muscles. He flapped his wings, rose into the air, and flew to one end of the storage area and back.
Being banished to this dark, crowded space was worse than being out in the garden. At least there he had not been missed when he needed to forage at night for food and water. Since arriving here, his one attempt to escape the storage area caused the eruption of an ungodly racket, and two men with weapons had rushed in. He pretended to be frozen into the same pose he was forced into every dawn until they left. He had to find a way out of this place, or at least into the rest of the building, where he might find food to fill his rumbling belly and water to slake his thirst.
He discovered four windows set into the roof. Why would anyone fashion a window in such a place? He paused in wonder to study the clarity of the glass. It looked much thicker than any he had ever seen.
The sky had turned a deep purple. Clouds partially obscured the moon. If he could open the window, he could fly out and find food and drink with no one the wiser. He flew up and ran his hands around the frame and discovered a latch. He tried to open the door the day before and set off a commotion, but perhaps this time he could slip out before the guards arrived. But then how would he get back in?
His stomach rumbled. He would figure out a way back in later. He shoved open the window, flew through the opening, and then hovered above it. No ungodly noise. He started to ease the window shut, then thought better of it. The latch might lock, and he would be forced to breatk it to get back in.
He searched the top of the building for an object to wedge in the frame, but the area stretched flat and empty but for some pipes. He flew back through the opening, and hovering low, scanned the area.
The panels of the wooden box in which he was transported lay stacked against one wall. He wrenched one of the narrow slats loose from the top and broke it in two. With two flaps of his wings, he was back up at the window, where he wedged a small piece beneath the latch so it could not catch.
He flew away from the auction house, leaving the stifled, trapped feeling behind, and soared high above the flat-roofed buildings. He had heard the man mention sharing a meal. He scanned the streets below for a glimpse of the woman who’d looked into his eyes.
Not in hundreds of years had he felt such a strong stirring from a human glance or the touch of a woman’s hand. But then he had seldom experienced either. She wanted to buy him and have him conveyed to her home. He would be her property, just as he had been Ian Ciar’s from the moment he was turned into this grotesque creature.
There was something morally wrong in one human owning another. But he was no longer human. And he spent more time as a stone block than the monster.
But there were freedoms that, as a human, he would never experience without his curse. Flying was one of them. He twisted in midair and shot straight up, until the cold took his breath. He folded his wings, jackknifed, and allowed himself to plummet toward the earth headfirst. The glint of the moon on the tile shingles of the buildings warned him he was close, and yet he waited. At the last moment, he snapped his wings open and glided along the rooftops, following their crenellated heights.
He spotted a rain barrel atop a roof and landed on it. Though the water tasted a bit strange, he drank deeply, then flew on.
The scent of seawater reached him long before he arrived, passing high over several ships at berth. He maintained his heading until a glimmer of light caused the water to shimmer as though thousands of candles rode the chop, then turned back inland.
He fancied some fish, and where better to find a few but on one of the fishing vessels coming in? He followed high above one of the larger boats late to reach port. Though it was dark, gulls still followed in its wake, screeching, dipping, and wheeling, alert for an opportunity to snatch a free meal.
The boat docked, and Finn and the gulls hovered, waiting for the fishermen to unload their cargo. Fascinated with how things had progressed since his time, he watched while loud machines sucked the fish out of the boat’s hold with huge hoses and dumped them onto a belt that carried the carcasses to holding vats filled with ice. Four men worked in tandem, scooping ice into the large tubs while the fish tumbled into them.
Finn swooped low over the base of the belt, its high sides keeping him out of sight of the men, and hovered there while he grabbed two of the larger fish and a few smaller ones.
He flew low along the deserted quay between the docked ships and then out into open water, with two large gulls following him. He flipped one of the smaller fish up in the air, and one gull snatched it, its beady black eye glowing as it flew away with its prize. The other bird flew alongside him, its high-pitched screech a jealous protest. Finn laughed and tossed him a fish as well.
He turned back inland and followed the coast on the lookout for a private place to enjoy his meal. He settled on a long point of rocks that had tumbled down from a high cliff and into the water.
Using his long talons, he ripped the heads off the fish and tossed them aside. Splitting their soft underbellies proved easy, and he pulled loose the guts and dumped them over the side of the rock onto the sand below. Gulls would find the leavings and clean up the mess. He rinsed the prepared carcasses in the surf, crouched upon the rocks, peeled the soft meat away from the skin and, rolling it into balls between his fingers, popped them into his mouth.
While he ate, he remembered roasting his catch over an open fire, sharing it with his men. Men long dead. Even after all these years alone, he still longed for the sound of another’s voice, sharing conversation with him. Instead he had to settle for the murmur of the sea. He ate his meal, then tossed the bones away for the gulls to pick over later.
Finn gazed out over the watery horizon. What was the point of this solitary life? What purpose did he serve, other than the ornamental when his body hardened into stone? He could sleep away the hours while in that form.
But as the monster, he only served himself by staying alive. What if he did not eat? Would he eventually die and become the stone statue for an eternity?
He did not have to return to the storage room.
He could find his own home, away from those who would claim him.
Two hundred years alone in a garden, shat on by birds, climbed on by other creatures, stared at and insulted by thousands of people wandering through, was more than enough. He had even been urinated on several times throughout the years.
Yes, he could be free of it all. But he was vulnerable when unprotected. Turning into the stone creature, even one less monstrous than he was right now, left him at the mercy of people. Should someone find him and decide to take a hammer and chisel to him while he was defenseless… He shuddered. He was haunted by the fear that he would live through the destruction, only to die once he changed to monster.
The laird of the castle through every generation had protected him. Until now. Now they wanted to be rid of him, though he had been careful of his behavior for the past fifty years or so.
Finn raked his fingers through his thick hair. He stared at his hands and grimaced. He needed a bar of soap. Just because he was a monster did not mean he had to stink like one. He flew down to the water and waded in to his knees. He bathed the best he could by rubbing sand against his skin and rinsing it in the frigid salt water. When he took flight, he turned back toward the building where the woman had visited him, spoken to him, touched him.
He landed on an impressive church not far from Edinburgh castle and folded his wings around him. From his perch on one of the spires, he studied the surrounding area. The city had always been a busy port, but the castle above was built of wood in his time. The hulking stone structure that sat atop the great hill in the middle of Edinburg was much more intimidating and regal, as was the church beneath him. The roads were no longer packed dirt, but stone.
The numerous stone buildings surrounding him created a maze of crosses and streets. People scurried up and down, wandering in and out of the pubs and shops. When the people’s movements became sluggish and sparse, he tired of watching them.
His thoughts turned morose. He focused on the cobbled street below. He could leap and let himself fall to the pavement below. If he allowed himself to topple from this spire, would he shatter into pieces like the stone statue, or would he die of his wounds? If he could die, it would end this constant waiting.
But if he did not die…if he made himself a cripple, what then would happen?
How many times would he have this debate? His fear of being maimed and helpless for an eternity always prevented him from acting.
With a sigh, Finn left his perch and flew west, toward the building he had escaped.