by Peter Wacht
Following his grandparents over one mountain plateau, a flash of movement caught his eye. Focusing his sharp gaze in that direction, he picked out the source — a rabbit scurrying for its burrow, frightened by the three predators above it. Upon seeing the rabbit, Thomas felt the immediate urge to dive for the kill. It took all of his will to suppress the instinct. He quickly realized that certain natural instincts of the raptor were now his own, in addition to his ability to fly.
Rynlin, when we are in these forms, do we actually become birds of prey?
What do you mean, Thomas?
Well, Rya said that I didn’t have to learn how to fly, because I already knew. I just had to let my natural instincts take over. Does that apply to other things as well, such as having the urge to kill a rabbit if I’m hungry?
In a way, yes. Thomas heard the wheels spinning in Rynlin’s head as he formulated an answer. You see, Thomas, all animals —including man, of course —are very much the same. They have many of the same needs, such as eating and sleeping and so much more. Those traits have simply been adapted to each species. If a hawk is hungry and it sees a rabbit, and a man is hungry and he sees a deer, you’ll see much the same in terms of a response. That applies to other things as well. Now, as a man, if you saw that deer, you’d kill it with an arrow, perhaps.
If you were a hawk, you would use your talons on a rabbit. But both would be giving in to the same instinct. When you took on the shape of the raptor, the image was — what’s the best way to say this — placed on top of your own image as a man. It’s an awkward explanation, but do you understand? Your dominant shape right now is that of a raptor. Therefore, your dominant instincts will be those of a raptor as well. Because the power to do this came from nature, the instincts and knowledge of that image came with it. And they were placed on top of your own. That’s why you had the urge to go after the rabbit, and why if you caught it, you’d be more than satisfied with the meal.
An excellent explanation, said Rya. Though a bit tedious.
Don’t you think you’ve given me enough grief during the past few hundred years, woman?
Certainly not, she replied. Rya laughed softly to herself. It was so easy to tease her husband sometimes.
I had one other question, interrupted Thomas.
Why don’t you let Rya answer it, said Rynlin in a huff. I wouldn’t want to go on for too long.
All right. I just wanted to know what happened to our clothes when we changed shape.
I can’t say, said Rya sheepishly. No one has ever figured it out. All I know is that when we change back we’ll be fully clothed. How was that, Rynlin?
It stands to reason you’d get the easy question.
Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you have to be grumpy all the time.
Old! Who are you calling old? You’re the same age as me.
Yes, but I’ve retained a youthful outlook on life and have aged much more gracefully—
Thomas decided to fly on his own for a time, so he drifted behind his grandparents several hundred feet. Their favorite pastime, besides making his life difficult, was bickering, and they were very good at both.
The silence, except for the rushing of the wind across his feathers, appealed to Thomas. The gusts of wind curling off the Highland peaks made for a bumpy ride. Much of the time a sudden gust of air pulled Thomas to the left or right. Some even came straight down in bursts, forcing him toward the earth. Despite the constant struggle, he enjoyed every minute of it. Once he learned the rhythm and play of the winds, he focused on the mountains below.
When using the Talent to search, he had done much the same thing as he was doing now, gliding across the earth and looking down at it from a bird’s eye view. But this was different. Actually flying above the earth as a raptor added an excitement to it unavailable when he applied the Talent. His grandparents had told him to stay with them, but how was he supposed to have any fun flying behind them as they continued to bicker about the same things they’d been irritating each other with for the past hundreds of years?
Giving in to his desire to explore, he darted away and skimmed low over a mountaintop, marveling at the tough Highland flowers pushing their way through the thin layer of snow in an effort to absorb the sun’s warmth. As he circled around another mountain, he flew so close to the tops of the evergreen trees he could have reached out with his talons and snatched the top branch. Soaring through the air made him forget his worries for a time. He reveled in the freedom of it all, shrieking in triumph as he coasted low over a hidden valley then pumping his wings furiously to gain enough altitude to avoid a fast-approaching mountain.
He flew down the other side, spying a herd of mountain goats munching lazily on the sparse grass. He shrieked again, which woke the herd and initiated a mad rush for cover. Thomas almost missed a stroke of his wings when another shriek echoed his own. Tilting his head to the left, he saw that he was not alone. A raptor flew to his right. Thomas banked to the left to catch a warm updraft that would take him to greater heights. The other raptor followed, never more than a few feet away.
It was like he was looking in the mirror, with the white feathers speckled with grey on the underside, orange, brown and black feathers on the back. Thomas guessed the raptor beside him was a female, as it was slightly smaller. At first he thought the other raptor simply wanted to examine this visitor more closely. Raptors were solitary creatures with distinct ranges of territory. Most did not like it when unwanted guests appeared.
Thomas’ sharp eyes picked out the two hawks that were his grandparents, at the moment mere specks in the sky. They were probably still arguing. If the raptor thought to defend her territory, she would have attacked already, and with no warning. In fact, Thomas probably would never have known what hit him. Looking over at the raptor flying so closely at his side, something clicked in his mind. Recognition of some sort? This bird seemed familiar, as if he’d seen her before.
The female raptor gazed at Thomas, her eyes seeing through the Talent at the man beneath. It knew him. How, he couldn’t explain, but the female raptor knew him. Could it be the same one he had seen so many times before at the Crag? He always assumed that that particular raptor made the Crag and its surrounding territory its home because it was a good place to hunt. Maybe it stayed for another reason.
For several minutes they flew, the two raptors side by side, never separated by more than a few feet. Thomas glanced over at the other raptor several times. The recognition of who he was remained, and with it was a feeling of approval, and pride. Then, with a squawk of farewell, the smaller raptor tipped its wing and turned back the way it had come. Abruptly, Thomas felt a sharp sense of loss, as if something precious had been taken from him.
Thomas, what have you been up to? He heard his grandmother’s words, though they came from a great distance.
Nothing, he replied.
Well, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d join us. We’re almost there. Rya sounded put out. Rynlin must have gotten under her skin during the bickering. It was just one of his grandfather’s many talents.
I’ll be right there. Thomas increased the stroke of his wings, straining for more altitude. The higher you were, the stronger the wind currents. You could go farther faster and not have to expend as much energy. He was soon several hundred feet above his grandparents and gaining on them quickly.
There. The two hawks were just below. If they were almost there, it meant it was time to get serious. A lot was riding on his shoulders, placed there by both himself and his grandparents. Well, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have just one last bit of fun.
Drawing his wings into his sides, he tilted his body downward. He quickly picked up speed as he hurtled toward the earth. The rush was incredible. He had never experienced anything like it before. As the two hawks grew bigger, Thomas adjusted his positioning slightly. In a blur, he streaked past Rynlin and Rya no more than ten feet in front of them. The two hawks halted
their flight in surprise, squawking angrily.
Thomas, that was the most childish thing you have ever —
Oh, leave the boy alone, Rya. He was just having a little fun.
Thomas was right. Rynlin had gotten a few of his own zings in during their argument. That was the only thing that could explain his grandfather’s magnanimity. He had expected a tongue-lashing from both, but it would have been worth it. Rya bit back her words and they flew on in silence for several more minutes to the northwest when both Rynlin and Rya began climbing higher, reaching for a greater height. Thomas followed their example.
Thomas knew that several of the tallest mountains in the Highlands rose several leagues from tip to base. But the ones they neared exceeded even that. These mountains were immense, dwarfing everything around them. He and his grandparents continued to push for more height, until finally they leveled out. The trees below them were no more than a mass of green now separated from time to time by the whitened tip of a mountain. Rynlin led them over the towering peaks, much of their size hidden by the clouds that formed around their sides.
After they passed the first few, Rynlin angled downward, with Thomas and Rya following. One peak stood out from those surrounding it, rising almost a league higher than any of the others. It was the tallest mountain Thomas had ever seen. It must be the tallest in the Highlands, and probably the tallest in all the Kingdoms.
You’re absolutely correct, Thomas, said Rya, reading his thoughts. It’s all of those. It’s Athala’s Forge, where the Sylvana first gathered.
Are we going there now, asked Thomas, excited by the possibility, and afraid.
No, not yet. We’ll make camp for the night and go to the Circle tomorrow. You’ll need your rest to overcome the challenges.
The challenges. He had forgotten about that during the past few hours. His worry returned in a rush.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Circle
The next morning Thomas woke at dawn. The cold turned his breath to a white mist as he rolled out of his blankets. Rynlin and Rya had already started cooking breakfast over the small fire. Bread and porridge. Something that would stick to his bones, as his grandmother liked to say. As he walked to a nearby stream to wash the sleep from his eyes, his feet crunched softly in the hardened snow. Brushing the frigid water into his scraggly hair, he remembered the discussion from the night before.
When Rynlin landed in the small glade, he and Rya showed him how to change back to his normal shape. Thomas immediately realized just how exhausting shapechanging was. Every muscle in his body felt weak, and he couldn’t even stand up straight. He kept swaying from side to side as his muscles twinged and spasmed, protesting what he had just done.
“The more difficult a thing you do with the Talent, the harder it is on you physically,” Rya reminded him. “And changing your shape is one of the most taxing things you could ever do with the Talent. But don’t worry, dear, the more you do it, the easier it will become, and the less of a burden it will be. Before you know it, changing shape and flying across the Highlands will take no more of your energy than searching.”
Thomas simply nodded during his grandmother’s explanation. He didn’t have the strength to do anything else. He was having a hard enough time just keeping his eyes open, though it was still only early evening. He watched in a dreamy haze as Rynlin set up camp and got a fire going while Rya prepared a vegetable stew for the evening meal. The ingredients came from the small bag of supplies she always carried with her. The bag at her hip was truly remarkable, mused Thomas. No larger than a small sack, it never grew bigger even though Rya continued to pull out vegetables and cooking supplies.
Thomas had hoped to go to sleep early, but not this night. For the next few hours, his grandparents reviewed everything Thomas had ever learned about the Sylvana, as well as a few things that slipped through the cracks of his memory during his lessons. At first flying seemed like the most exhausting thing he had ever experienced, until now. Even after covering the entire history of the Sylvana, Rynlin and Rya weren’t finished. They then told him about each Sylvan Warrior he could expect to meet at the Circle, providing Thomas with a brief description so he would recognize each one.
Later, with the moon halfway across the sky, his grandparents finally let him curl up beneath his blankets by the fire. Unfortunately, his brain refused to turn off and the evening’s events played repeatedly through his mind. When he finally fell into a restless slumber, it seemed as if only minutes had passed when his grandfather shook him awake and pushed him off in the direction of the stream. They would leave for the Circle within the hour.
After clearing his head as best he could — the cold water could do only so much — and wolfing down some bread and cheese along with his porridge, Thomas walked to the other side of the clearing to think as Rynlin and Rya cleaned up their small camp. Today’s events, regardless of the outcome, would have a tremendous effect on his life. When he left the Crag, his only desire was to survive, to make it out alive so he could fulfill the promises he made to his grandfather. He never expected to find a home, one in which he felt comfortable and safe. After today, unless he failed, he doubted he would ever have that feeling of security again. His life was about to change dramatically, yet for the good or bad he didn’t know.
“Thomas, it’s time to go.”
Rya placed a hand of support on her grandson’s shoulder. Rynlin stood in the middle of the glade, their travel bags slung over his shoulder, a confident smile brightening his normally forbidding appearance. His grandfather really must be worried about him. It was the only way to explain Rynlin smiling so early in the morning.
“Remember what we talked about yesterday and you’ll do fine,” said Rynlin, trying to keep Thomas’ spirits up.
Thomas nodded and followed his grandparents into the trees. The air was crisp and cold, helping him gather his wits. He tried to clear his mind of everything except what he was about to do, but he failed miserably and his worries returned tenfold. Would he succeed? Would he overcome the challenges? Could he become a Sylvan Warrior? And if he did, what would happen next? Each worry multiplied into more until Thomas could no longer keep track of them all.
They followed a small, dirt trail that led up a slight incline. The trees pushed in on both sides, forcing Thomas to dodge the branches Rynlin held out of the way for Rya, but then let whip backwards to take Thomas full in the face. Thomas gritted his teeth in irritation, not realizing that his worries disappeared as his anger increased, much as Rynlin intended. Soon the trail leveled off and the trees thinned out. Thomas followed after his grandparents doggedly, staring daggers at Rynlin’s back. Some of those branches had connected, and because of the cold the sting hurt all the more. After about a half-hour they reached the summit of Athala’s Forge, the tallest mountain in the Kingdoms. The Circle stood before him on a plateau that stretched on into the distance.
The huge stone columns dominated everything around them. Most were two or three times the size of a normal man, each one several feet thick and only allowing for a short space between them. Once, their sides had displayed a sharp edge, but time, wind and the elements had worked against them, until their sharp sides became smooth. Strangely, the tops of the columns appeared untouched, retaining their original form — a pyramid several feet tall, a unicorn’s horn carved into each face.
Thomas swept his gaze over the monoliths, captured by their stark beauty. The columns served as the outer boundary of the Circle, and in the very center of the stone giants stood an even larger stone, rising well above the other columns and reaching toward the sky like a beacon. It, too, had lost its sharp edges. Small steps, pitted and scarred by the elements but still intact, ran up one side to the flattened top.
Rynlin and Rya made their way toward the Circle as Thomas took in the structure. There were so many questions Thomas wanted to ask, yet both had serious expressions on their faces that did not invite conversation. The closer they got to the Circle, the more nervous
Thomas became. As the first stone loomed up in front of them, Rynlin and Rya stopped. Rya gave him a quick hug before hurrying through the space between two columns. Rynlin nodded then stepped through as well. The time finally had arrived. At the end of the day he would know if he was meant to join the ranks of the Sylvana, and perhaps something more of his future then he really wanted to know.
Taking a deep breath to calm the butterflies that congregated in his stomach, Thomas walked between the two stones and stopped. Only a Sylvan Warrior could enter without an invitation, so he waited. To keep his legs from shaking because of his nervousness, he examined his surroundings. The Circle wasn’t very large at all, it just seemed that way because of the monstrous stones that served as its boundary. Several dozen people deep in discussion stood in small groups. They had not yet noticed him. Rynlin and Rya ignored the others and walked across the Circle, going past the huge stone in the center and then standing in front of two columns.
Thomas studied some of the faces. Many appeared familiar thanks to Rynlin and Rya’s lesson from the night before. Daran Sharban was the Sylvan Warrior who lived at the edge of the Highlands where it touched the Breaker. It was hard to misplace the curly red hair and beard and twinkling eyes. Rynlin always said that even though Daran was several hundred years old, the boy had never left him when he had become a man. Most of the Sylvan Warriors wore somber expressions; Daran an easy smile.
Some of the others he guessed at. A short, bald man with a few wisps of white hair falling victim to the strong breeze of the plateau must be Tiro of Dunmoor. He stood at the base of the large column in the center of the Circle, known as the Stone. Thomas ran his eyes over the other Sylvan Warriors. The short man with the long, white beard that ran halfway down his chest must be Gavin of Ferranagh. He lived right next to the Western Ocean and was speaking with Teresa Nasoul. She called the Western Isle home. Thomas recognized her because of her silky white hair. Remarkably, she looked no older than he.