by Rose Estes
Begging the indulgence of the strangely silent beauty, Mika pressed his fluffy form against the softness of her body, his head cradled between the twin mounds of her ample breasts. Any sword thrust capable of killing him would risk harming the girl. He prayed that the strategy would work until he could think of something else.
For a moment it seemed that his gamble had worked. A figure appeared in the center of the now almost blinding light, and slowly took shape.
Mika saw with a sinking heart the largest human being he had ever seen in his entire life. The man was a giant. A veritable giant. The small curving interior of the wagon bent him almost double. Standing erect, Mika had no doubt that the monster would top eight feet.
In addition, he weighed more than any two nomads put together, perhaps four hundred stones!
Mika was able to make his estimate without the confusion of clothes, for the giant wore only a square loincloth which was large enough to smother a two-year-old child.
His arms, chest, and thighs, devoid of clothing and hair, were immense and rigid with corded muscle. Mika doubted that the giant could lower his arms to his sides or knock his knees, so greatly distorted were the muscles that warped those extremities.
Mika formed all of his impressions in the blink of an eye, then became too frightened to blink his eyes and stared in fixed terror at the angry face so close before him.
The giant’s head was bald and gleaming, his ears bracketing the white boulder of a head like two distended fungi.
His eyes gleamed in his doughy face like shiny chunks of anthracite and were made more harsh by the total absence of eyebrows.
His nose was a blobby affair, its various bends and planes giving evidence of having been broken numerous times and set without the benefit of a healer.
His mouth was but a cruel slit through which his foul breath rasped loudly.
Clutched in one immense hand was an equally immense sword, the well-honed edge of which gleamed silver.
The giant snarled silently, and his face twitched into an awful grimace while his sword trembled barely a hand’s span from Mika’s quivering body. It was obvious that the giant was uncertain what he should do.
Desperately Mika looked at the giant, trying to formulate some plan of his own.
Then, the giant’s hand shot out, grasped the back of Mika’s neck and began to pull. But owls have no necks, and the man’s hand found nothing to grab but feathers, which he pulled and tugged, causing Mika great pain.
Mika was determined not to be separated from the girl, so he opened his beak and gripped the scarlet ribbon that criss-crossed her dress, gently separating the girl’s breasts, and hung on tight, clasping her generous figure with outspread wings. The sword hovered nearby, waiting for even the tiniest sliver of space so that it could slip between the girl and his body. He clutched harder. What a waste, he thought. Here I am pressed up against the most beautiful woman in the world, and I’m an owl.
Then the thought spun out of his mind as the giant gave up his painful tugging and began beating on Mika’s head with the hilt of the sword.
Damn! This had to stop. Mika knew that he had to get out of the wagon and soon, or he would be one dead owl. Letting go of the ribbon, he swiveled his head and sank his beak into the giant’s arm. The sensation was very satisfying. Blood spurted in every direction and flowed down Mika’s throat. Strange that he had never noticed how good blood tasted before.
The giant tried to shake Mika off his arm, but there wasn’t enough room in the wagon to swing a cat, let alone an owl, and all he succeeded in doing was bashing his elbow against a wooden strut. He hissed angrily. The giant tried to pass the sword to his left hand, but Mika kicked out with his foot and the sword fell to the floor with a tinny clatter.
The wagon was shaking violently now, and out of the corner of his eye, Mika saw the cowhide covering behind the driver’s seat start to open. Then the giant swung around, obscuring Mika’s view. Mika bit down harder. The giant grunted soundlessly and fell against the cowhide. Mika heard a startled exclamation and guessed that the driver had been knocked off his perch.
Mika had only a second to hope that the fall had been fatal, for the giant was up to no good. Using his arm, the one Mika was biting, the giant pressed against the owl’s throat, crushing him against the side of the wagon.
Against his will, Mika was forced to open his beak in an attempt to suck air into his lungs. As he did, the giant ripped his arm free and grabbed Mika by the chest, holding him out at arm’s length while reaching for the knife that hung from his loincloth.
Time to leave! Mika kicked the giant full in the face with all his might and felt the man’s nose squash beneath the hard, callused ball of his foot.
He rammed his big toe into the giant’s eye, stepped on his shaved head with his other foot, and tore free of the giant’s grasp, leaving the man nothing but a handful of snow-white feathers, as he scrambled through the hole in the roof of the wagon and flew away.
Men stood in the clearing looking upward, pointing at him as he flew above them. Well, he could fix that, and taking careful aim, Mika squeezed a sphincter muscle and was rewarded by the howls of the watchers below as they shielded their heads and ran for shelter.
Mika beat the air with powerful strokes and headed back for the safety of the forest. But shortly before he reached the coppice, he began feeling sick at his stomach and his vision blurred. Realizing what was happening, Mika circled lower and lower, attempting to land before he changed back into human form.
Everything grew vague. A huge tree loomed up in front of him, and putting his feet out, he touched down just as darkness washed over him and he saw no more.
Chapter 10
MIKA WOKE TO FIND HIMSELF sprawled naked on top of a large roanwood branch, more than forty feet above the ground. Off in the distance he could hear men shouting as they plunged through the dark forest. He could see the bright light of their torches. It would never do to be found like this. He had to get into his clothes and make an appearance. His absence would definitely be noted.
As he pushed himself up from the branch, he nearly fell, but he clutched the tree with his right arm and hung on for dear life as he stared in horror at his left arm. Or, rather, what used to be his left arm. Now, it was a wing from the shoulder down.
Sour bile rose in his throat, and he rested his forehead against the rough bark and tried not to be sick. All sense of urgency left him as he pondered this new problem. It scarcely mattered now if he got back to his clothes before he was found. There was no way of concealing for long the fact that he had a wing instead of an arm.
Mika’s mind raced as he tried to think back over what he might have done wrong, but since the spell was gone from his memory, it was difficult to reconstruct. Obviously, he had fouled up some crucial part of the spell that channeled the return from one body to the other.
He tried to recall what would happen in such an instance, but he could not remember anything except the story of Grizzard, the shaman of a clan of Wolf Nomads that spent much of their time deep in the Burneal Forest.
During a convocation of shamans, which had taken place at their camp, Grizzard had attempted to polymorph himself into something, exactly what, Mika had never determined. But in the middle of the spell, Grizzard’s young son, six years of age and old enough to know better, had interrupted his father with some childish tale of woe. Grizzard’s wife had appeared and dragged the child away instantly, but the damage was done.
Grizzard changed right before their eyes. Or at least part of him did. His head, to be precise, changed into that of a goose. He was a man from the shoulders down and a goose from the neck up. An angry goose.
The goose-man chased the woman and child around the entire camp, honking its irritation, and when it finally caught up with the unfortunate child, it pecked him black and blue.
Three days later the spell came undone and Grizzard returned to his human form. But ever after, he was called Gizzard, in spite of
his objections, and the child was afraid to come near him for several moonturns. Grizzard also developed a fondness for worms.
Mika could not wait three days. He needed to be normal now. He considered staying up in the tree until the change took place, but it was chilly and the mosquitos had found him and were humming their approval. Then too, he would certainly be seen in the morning light even if he escaped detection now.
Mika could think of nothing worse than being gaped at by a crowd of curious nomads and drivers while he huddled naked in a tree trying to hide his wing.
A short bark sounded at the foot of the tree. Tam! Mika felt his spirits rise. Peering down over the edge of the branch he could just make out Tam’s figure at the foot of the tree.
“Good boy,” whispered Mika. “Tam, go get my clothes and the pouch,” he directed. But Tam merely sat there wagging his tail from side to side. Mika hurled small branches at the wolf, but Tam just ignored them and continued barking.
“Stupid wolf,” Mika muttered angrily, knowing that he had to get down immediately, before Tam’s barking brought the searchers. He pushed himself up carefully and edged over to the trunk of the tree.
Getting down was easier than he had thought it would be. Mika had been climbing roanwood trees since he was a toddler, and his hand and feet found the correct placement without even thinking about it.
“Did I ever tell you that your mother was a dog?” Mika whispered nastily as he ran through the woods, deftly ducking branches and other obstacles. Tam loped alongside, tongue lolling, laughing in his wolf fashion.
Cries were echoing all around Mika, torches flashing like giant fireflies as he dove into the thicket and squirmed into his clothes, dragging his cloak over the offending wing.
He had no more than emerged from the thicket when he was met by a crowd of drivers.
“No one in there,” he cried, pointing to the thicket from which he had just emerged. “Spread out and keep your eyes open. Don’t let anything slip past you!” and he plunged off to the right before anyone could speak.
He kept up the charade for another hour, questioning men as he encountered them and sending them off in new directions with fresh instructions, receiving, in return, their impression of what they had seen.
It were turrible, Captain,” said one of the drivers with a look of distaste as he brushed at his jerkin that was now stained a peculiar whitish-green. “It were as big as a cow an’ had long horns stickin’ out o’ its head. An’ it breathed fire, an’ acid dripped out o’ its mouth. Why, I were almos’ killed!”
“A real horror,” one of the nomads said somberly as he confided in Mika. “Some kind of feathered dragon, I think. It swooped down low, right in front of my face and tried to claw out my eyes with its claws, but I frightened it away with my sword.”
The other stories were equally outrageous. None agreed with any other, and almost all of the men claimed some personal encounter with the mythic beast. Only one man told the truth.
“It was an owl,” said the Guildsman after Mika had rounded up the last of the men and sent them back to their bedrolls.
“A most peculiar owl. It had human feet. I think now that you must have been correct,” said the Guildsman as he fixed Mika with a speculative gaze. “I agree that we are being plagued by a magic-user. But I do not think that we have much to fear, if this is any indication of his ability. What say you, Master Wolf?”
“I always say that it is a mistake to underestimate one’s enemies,” Mika said stiffly.
“Perhaps,” said the Guildsman. Then, yawning broadly, he turned to go. Dropping his hand he placed it on Mika’s cloak, on the place where his shoulder would be, had he one, and squeezed lightly.
Mika’s heart sank. He knew there was no way that the man could fail to realize that it was a wing, not an arm hidden beneath the cloak. He held his breath, waiting for whatever would come next.
But the Guildsman merely smiled enigmatically. “Good night,” he said pleasantly. “Get to bed. It’s been a busy night, but I’m sure that things will look different in the morning.”
Puzzled, Mika watched him turn and walk away. Damn! What game was the man playing at? He had been certain that the Guildsman was his enemy and would expose him. Perhaps he would yet, but for now, Mika was more than willing to find his bed and call it a night. Maybe things would be different in the morning. Twitching his wing, he hoped so with all his heart.
Things were different in the morning. They were worse. His arm was still a wing and it was necessary to keep his cloak draped around him to hide it.
Further, his head and neck ached horribly from the pounding he had taken from the giant’s sword and where the cursed man had pulled his feathers.
And if that were not enough, a large patch of the curly black hair that covered his chest was gone, ripped out by the roots where the giant had gripped him as he flew away.
One foot was badly swollen and throbbed constantly. He knew that he would have trouble getting it into his boot, much less fitting it in the stirrup. He could only hope that the giant felt worse than he did.
The grey was in a feisty mood that morning and began rearing as soon as he saw Mika. Rather than fool with the animal, Mika picked up a fallen yarpick that fairly bristled with sharp, inch-long spines and waved it under the grey’s nose.
“You give me one minute of trouble today and you’re a gelding. Got it?” he growled. A group of drivers laughed, but the animal must have heard something in Mika’s tone, for he quieted instantly and gave him no reason to complain throughout the whole long day.
The day seemed to last forever, helped not one bit by a miserable breakfast of coffee brewed from scorched grounds and mealybread so old it had crystalized. Mika felt like taking the yarpick to the cook.
His mosquito bites itched miserably, and chafed by the saddle, his flanks were red and inflamed by evening. He dismounted with a groan, wondering what new horror the cook would produce for dinner. He had not seen so much as one rabbit all day.
He tossed the reins to a young nomad and asked him to take care of the horse. The resulting howl, seconds later, assured him that the horse had not mellowed. He lowered himself gently to the ground and groaned, content to let Hornsbuck and the others set up camp.
They had found no forest this evening and were camped on the open prairie with nothing to see for miles in any direction. It was a bleak and lonely place that promised nothing hopeful.
It seemed to Mika that he had no more than closed his eyes than someone was shaking him by the shoulder.
“Here, eat this,” said a voice. “You’ll feel better.”
Mika opened his eyes and saw the Guildsman holding out a steaming mug. Mika sat up groggily and took the offering. The steam that rose from the surface of the mug smelled very good indeed.
“Rabbit stew,” said the Guildsman. “I have a pouch, too. Mine contains a mixture of dried meat and vegetables. That way, no matter where I am, all I have to do is mix it with hot water and I have a meal. You might find such a pouch more useful than the one you possess.”
“Perhaps,” Mika said noncommittally, wondering what the man was up to and why he was being friendly.
“I had thought to keep you out of our hair until we reached Eru-Tovar,” the Guildsman said in a straightforward manner. “You see, your reputation as a connoisseur of beautiful women is as well known as your skill with weapons. I did not think that I could risk your knowing about the princess.”
Mika gave a start and met the Guildsman’s level gaze. “So the messenger told the truth after all,” he said. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story.”
“Yes,” said the Guildsman. “It’s time. Come to the wagon with me. No, no, don’t worry, Recknass won’t harm you if you are with me. Besides, he has problems of his own at the moment.”
Tam accompanied them to the wagon, the roof of which, Mika noticed, had been repaired. But Tam placed himself between Mika and the Guildsman and could not be dissuaded, growli
ng whenever the man attempted to move closer to Mika.
“Quite an animal you have there,” said the Guildsman. “Why don’t you tell him that we’re friends now, so he’ll quit growling at me?”
“Wouldn’t do any good,” Mika said with a cold smile. “Tam makes up his own mind about people. I guess he just doesn’t like you. Besides, I don’t know that we are friends. It takes more than words to make it a fact.”
The Guildsman looked at Mika with cold blue eyes and then nodded. “Just so,” he said. “But sometimes friendships are born of need rather than the passage of time. Please suspend your decision until you have heard my explanation.”
Reaching the back of the wagon, the Guildsman unlaced the covering and climbed inside, ignoring the curious looks of drivers and nomads alike. Tam tried to follow, but there was not enough room in the tiny wagon and Mika told him to stay outside. Tam complied. Neither Mika nor the Guildsman noticed when Tam snapped angrily at a small black fly that soared past the entrance flap into the wagon and hovered attentively in the shadows.
The scene was almost identical to that of the previous night. The princess lay on the bed looking much the same as she had the night before. Her diaphanous gown outlined her magnificent form, luscious bosom, tiny waist, flared hips, and long flowing legs, accenting her bodily charms, yet cloaking the princess in silky folds.
Her hair was thick and lustrous. Mika yearned to push his hands, well, hand, through the lush mass and twine the tiny curls around his fingers.
He could almost feel her soft warm lips against his own.
His breath came in quick spurts as he gazed on her amazing beauty. Only at length did he realize that she was still asleep and did not appear to have wakened since he saw her last. She was unchanged.
The same could not be said for the giant, Recknass. He glared at Mika out of the tiny slit that was his left eye. His right eye was swollen completely shut and was puffed up to an enormous size. It was also an ugly mixture of black and purple, or at least Mika thought it was. It was hard to tell because of the layer of dried blood that had scabbed over the entire mess.