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Updated: June 19, 2025
He knew that with time he could bring back everything that he had read, but it would take deep concentration and, perhaps, many days of trial and error to determine the right path that they must follow in order to have success. Mirestone, realizing that any distraction would break Peter's train of thought, sat quietly in the corner finishing off the Dutchman's supply of wine.
It wouldn't do to lose control of his senses. There must be a way out of the predicament. But Peter said that as soon as the feather turned red there was no turning back. Ah there's the answer. The feather is still white ... there's still a chance. Mirestone grabbed his cloak and raced for the door. He must get an animal another goat, perhaps, and expose the feather to its breath.
"What do you mean not as quickly as the goat do you think it would take more time on a human?" "Perhaps. I have heard of cases in which the hex, once it was started, dragged on for many days." "I see." Mirestone sat back again thinking to himself. Peter didn't like this. He wanted to get rid of Mirestone. "Well, you have your information. I showed you how the hex works.
No one ever had the audacity to walk into his house and help himself to whatever he wanted he was indeed unheard of in his tiny social world. "Well, what are you staring at?" Mirestone boomed out. "Take my cloak, please, then be seated. We'll talk."
The sky darkened as the glistening thunderheads now taking on an ominous coloring warned the farmers of the impending storm. It was later that evening. Rain drummed against the slate roof of Peter's house and reverberated through the rooms to where Mirestone and the Dutchman sat by the fire in silence.
I wish to get it over with as soon as possible, and " Peter eyed Mirestone squarely. "I expect to be paid well for my trouble." He was trying to make himself believe that that was his only reason for complying with Mirestone's demands. Actually he was not so sure....
"Just sit and watch." It was not many minutes before a light red tint crept up the feather's quill, spreading slowly outwards towards the fringed edges. Deeper and deeper grew the intensity of the color until it reached a pure blood red. "Hurry outside," cried Peter. "You can see the goat in its last seconds of life." Mirestone hurried after the Dutchman.
How it glistened in the firelight! He bent closer and closer as he whispered the magic words that Peter had taught him, his breath ruffling the feather, playing about in the fringed softness. He hung up the feather by a thread and watched it hop back and forth in the center of the room. Peter awakened and saw Mirestone sitting by the fire noting every movement of the feather.
As the heat of the noon day sun blasted down on their backs, Mirestone watched Peter pass a feather, freshly plucked from a white Leghorn, under the nose of the bleating kid. Mirestone listened carefully to what Peter was telling him. The breath of the victim had to be spread over the feather before anything further could be done. "Tie him," commanded Peter.
He watched Peter closely through his slitted eyes, and it seemed that his compelling stare was the only force that could drive the frightened Peter on. Every so often Peter would glance up and see Mirestone leaning back in the corner half concealed by the deep shadows only his partially opened eyes could be seen flickering in the fiery glow of the hearth.
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