After another failed attempt to scry, Latgalay forced herself to take a break, and instead, she stood and began pacing, trying to figure out how to make this work.

She had read every scrap of writing that Karreki owned, and she had slowly come to the conclusion that she knew everything that Karreki did, and that the only difference was that Karreki had a bound spirit and an animal totem, which was that of her wolf.

And if a bound spirit was required—then she needed to bind one. Which meant she needed to step within the mists, which meant she needed the combined effort of the tribe, which meant she needed the tribe’s and the chief’s approval. Which came down to several more steps than Latgalay thought reasonable for just scrying.

But then, what would a bound spirit offer besides power? She had power aplenty, with a larger reserve of soitos than even Karreki. What she needed was to use that soitos properly, and to do that, she required a guide, or a totem of her own.

Her eyes landed on the chest of animal figurines, the same chest Karreki had shown her, and the same chest that Latgalay had shown Kainis. The same chest with the snake and the eagle and the ebony black raven.

She needed a guide. And she knew what she must do.

She pulled the chest down and set it upon the table. She decided to start with the snake figurine, as it had felt the most promising of the figurines that she had tested before. She pulled out the clay snake figurine, and summoned a tendril of dusjos to feed into the snake’s hard cold heart. The snake trembled, and the heart began thumping. The stone drank her dusjos, and the same revulsion filled Latgalay as before, but she pushed through it. The snake would serve her. The snake would be her slave, and she would be its master. She shoved more into the snake, and more again. The revulsion grew, the snake writhed, and then--Crack! The figurine shattered to dust and burned into smoke, leaving char on her hands where she had held the snake. It seemed that the snake did not consent to servitude. A shame.

She picked another figurine—a clay lion. She delved much more carefully this time. But she felt the same revulsion push back against her much earlier than with the snake. She stopped and cut the flow of dusjos off and held the lion and stared. It seemed deader than the snake had. She put it back with the rest.

What had she done wrong? She was certain the snake had been about to wake. But she could not risk breaking another. Well, she could risk that, but she really should not. It would be wasteful, and could result in a strong reprimand against her.

She pushed the chest away and got up, but a scintillating effect drew her eyes to the raven.

Against her better judgement and against Karreki’s warning, Latgalay picked up the black raven. She held it. An energy radiated from it, it vibrated, drew her in—almost.

She delved into the raven. The obsidian invited her dusjos. She found the passageways wide and easy to search and quickly found the heart, small and quick. Latgalay, with her dusjos, prodded the heart. And just as the snake had, the raven shook and trembled.

Dare she continue? But dare she not.

She pushed gently, a little at first, and then a little more. She penetrated the heart. She made contact with the wild energy within. And then her dusjos pulled away from her. The raven was stealing her soitos, draining her life away. She tried letting go, but the raven sucked and pulled and grabbed her dusjos, not releasing her, and continuing to drain and drain her. Her hands numbed, her legs weakened, and her blood chilled.

And the raven grew. From a small figurine to a large obsidian statue. And the raven shook. And small scales and flecks of blackness fell to the floor. And still, the raven pulled and drained and wanted more.

She felt vertigo, sure she was near the end, when she had a fleeting double vision. She stumbled backwards. She hit the chair. Her back felt like lead. She covered her eyes, but the vision did not stop. The world seemed so big. All around her, Karreki’s nest took on a new dimensions.

The raven let out an angry caw and furiously flapped its wings. Latgalay felt and saw things. Anger. Fear. A man with a scaled head and voids for eyes and daggers for teeth, laughing, as she writhed in pain. And then came the claustrophobia. The world closed in. The walls—too many walls.

She needed air.

The raven flew for the window, but the shutters were closed. He crashed into the wooden slats. Again and again the raven hit the shutter. Latgalay felt each blow splitting her skull. Latgalay stumbled.

“Stop!” She cried out.

But again the raven, he flew into the shutters, hurting his wing and bruising his beak. Latgalay’s shoulder throbbed and her nose bled from the impact, despite her prone and unmoving form.

She fell off her chair and crawled to open the door.

The raven flew into a shelf. Jars fell and smashed open, releasing foul pungents. Latgalay’s neck spasmed. She reached for the latch. The raven’s heart raced—terror—he flew for the shutters once more.

A second vision took hold of Latgalay and the room spun faster and her head hurt all the worse for it. She felt as though she was fling headfirst towards the shutters. She threw up her hands to protect herself, but it was not her own eyes that she had seen that through. A part of her mind was still within her own body, where she remained in control. But another part of her mind rode with the raven, and there she had no control at all. Finally the raven escaped the house, flying through the front door, though to the odd second vision it felt as though Latgalay was falling through the front door, then falling away from the ground and into the sky.

Trees flew by, and the raven circled above the village proper, above the long house where the chief’s longhall stood. There was an oddity in the greens before the longhall, and that was a planted banner, a dull and worn grey flag, with a charcoal shark drawn across it. And then the raven flew on and into the forest.

That banner belonged to a neighboring tribe, though Latgalay could not remember which. Her head ached far too much, her body still wracked with phantom pain, and she could not even rise from her knees without risking falling over from a dizzying weakness. She could not even reach the chair or bed. Instead, she collapsed to the hard packed dirt floor of the crone’s nest.