On Wings of Magic

by Andre Norton

  With him, she remembered his boyhood with a strong, dour Falconer mother who never touched him except when necessary and never with affection, for that was the proper way. The Falconer way. With him she remembered his yearning for the Eyrie he had never seen and never known, where he might take his place and at last be accepted as one of them. With him, she served a term as a marine on a Sulcar ship, and with him, she retched, seasick, in the lightest swell. She knew the thrill that shook him when he first caught sight of Mama—Eirran—on his journey back to find what there was left of the Eyrie. With him, she knew that what he had thought was his dream of rebuilding the place taking fire was, in fact, the beginnings of the love he felt for her. With him, she quarreled with Eirran and came, grudgingly, to a kind of respect for her unwillingness to back down from what she considered right, even in very trying circumstances. With him, she fought the beast in the mountains, retreated from the shattered mountains, traveled with Eirran seeking a permanent home for them both, hesitantly felt the kicking lump in Eirran's belly that would one day be Mouse. She looked upon her own infant face through his eyes when he held her for the first time and put her into the cradle he had made with his own hands. With him, she guided the girlchild to her first steps, to her first spoonful of food eaten on her own. With him, she put the child that was herself on his saddlebow, listening to her squealing and holding her while she squirmed with delight, and galloped off to ride into his beloved mountains.

  His falcon, and his horse, and the mountains—those were the things a Falconer was allowed to cherish openly and without shame. To his confusion and occasional shame, Yareth had allowed more into his life. She knew his anger when he discovered that his child had been taken by the Hags of Estcarp, his dismay and gratitude that Eirran had found a way to accompany him though he had forbidden it, and felt his joy when he found his daughter again.

  Eirran was everything to him. She was what he had lost, what he had never had, what he would always seek. And because Mouse had come from the two of them, out of their love, his feelings for her were no less intense. Without her and Eirran, he would be even more lonely than he had been all his life.

  And as she knew what he knew, felt what he felt, she also basked in the warmth of the love he felt for her, for Eirran, for Newbold. At last she understood why he seldom spoke about the way he felt, knew about the way Falconers avoided talking about their emotions, how they denied and disciplined themselves against all things of beauty and of love, lest they mistakenly be thought weak. But Mouse knew he wasn't weak, even if Yareth the Falconer didn't quite believe it in the depths of his heart. The love he was so ashamed of allowing himself to feel made him a complete man, far more so than his brother in flesh, Weldyn—

  The falcon breathed its last and at that instant a sharp blade of grief stabbed through the man whose mind she inhabited. So enmeshed was she in this new sensation, this being one with Yareth the Falconer, that the pain threatened to carry her away entirely. It was as if someone had taken the Alizonder sword that now hung at his side and cut clear through him. And because she was so close—not only touching his mind but winding through every part of it—the sword cut right through her, too. She couldn't help crying out aloud as she spun down toward the welcoming blackness. Something—a shadow with rustling wings—swirled down with her. Newbold! He soared closer to her. She knew she was going with him, and was glad for his company on the journey. Journey—could this be death? If so, it was not at all the way she had always thought it might be. The darkness was nothing to be scared of at all, not with Newbold to keep her company. It was quiet. And comfortable… .

  “Come back, Mouse!” the other Witch-children called. The words echoed in her mind, filtering down through the dark mists through which she fell. “Come back!” Star added to her, mind to mind. “It isn't death, not yet. You aren't going to die if you come back now. We need you! We all need you! Remember, you are the only one who can make the Jewel work!”

  They were right. Farewell, Newbold, she said. The falcon's spirit hesitated a moment, then flew on.

  Now panic set in. Wildly clutching the Jewel, grasping at the help offered by her sisters, she scrambled out of Papa's mind. She caught her breath, aware that she had had a very close call. There was danger in wearing the Jewel, unwittingly letting it take her deeper into another person's mind than she knew how to manage or control. Papa bent nearly to the ground, his hands over his eyes.

  “Oh, no,” Mama said. “No.” She laid Newbold's body down, turned, and put her arms around him.

  Mouse blinked, gradually beginning to come back to herself. It was difficult, almost like being born again, this reclaiming of herself as a separate person after having been a part of him. She had always known that Papa had loved Newbold, though she had never quite understood it until now. And the falcon had· loved Papa, too. Sometimes, when they were talking to each other in falconsong, the sounds that came pouring out of their throats simply filled the air around them. When she tried, she could hear the notes sparkling and glittering with love. It was like what Papa and Mama felt for each other, only different. Something very simple and direct, that a bird could understand. With Mama and Papa, it was much more complicated. What she heard when they were together was a soft chiming that melted and floated over their heads, enclosing them in a singing bubble that Mouse thought must be as safe and as private as a private sky. She had sometimes wondered whether Mama ever heard it, and then decided that Mama didn't have to. It was enough that she moved through her days in a bubble of comforting love-song.

  Now, for the first time, Mouse saw what she had only heard before. Blue sparks like the notes of a clear silver bell were flowing out of Mama as she held Papa tight, and it looked just the way she had always thought it might, in her mind.

  “Oh, I'm so sorry, Yareth,” Mama said. “There was nothing I could do—”

  “I know.” Papa's shoulders slumped just a little. A muscle twitched in his jaw, the way it did when he was trying to hide the way he felt. He just held her hand, hard, for a moment. “You did the best you could. He should never have been wounded. He could have avoided that dart.”

  “He was getting old, my love. He wasn't as quick as he used to be. And he did kill the Kolder, all by himself, and the machine he was a part of. We should do so well as he did, to take a mighty enemy with us into the Void.”

  “Yes. It was an ending worthy of a song. But he is gone, Eirran. And a Falconer without his falcon is only half a man.”

  “You will always be the most wonderful man in the world to me.” In full view of everyone, she kissed him.

  It was as if they had forgotten the entire world outside of the spot where they knelt, mourning over Newbold's body. The globe of sparkling blue surrounded them, almost blinding in its intensity, shielding them from everything but each other. But Mouse could tell, despite the love, that Papa had a big empty place inside, where Newbold had lived, and Mama was close to emptying herself as well, trying to help Papa ease his pain. The other children stood nearby, holding hands and watching, their faces showing the sorrow and sympathy they felt for the stricken Falconer and his wife. Star looked at Mouse and nodded. Together, the children all helped her push strength to him. Privately, Mouse pushed a little extra strength to Mama as well. Papa's shoulders straightened once more.

  “We must bury Newbold,” Papa said firmly.

  “Yes.”

  “He has gone, and what is left is only a shell, but I will not abandon it to be eaten by scavengers.”

  Weldyn came back into the clearing. He took in the situation at a glance. “The Hounds are abroad already,” he said brusquely. “They will pick up our trail before long. We can't tarry.”

  Papa looked at him out of what Mama called his “falcon's eyes,” the same look he used to get when he and Mama talked about Rofan and the way he was so cruel to Belda back in Blagden. He had looked like that the day he had punished Rofan.

  “And if it had been Sharpclaw who had fallen, would yo
u drop his body by the roadside as you ran to save your own skin?”

  Weldyn's face got red and he frowned. “Bury him then, by all means, but be quick about it.” He strode away. A few red sparks glittered in the air after him and Mouse knew he was very angry.

  “We'll help you, Papa,” she said.

  “Shall we go and search for a suitable place?” Mama said. “Someplace hidden?”

  “Here,” Papa said. He pointed to where Newbold's body lay. “Right here.”

  “But if the Hounds are out and searching, and if they happen to find this copse—”

  “Here,” Papa repeated stubbornly. “The spot where he died.”

  II

  They set a guard, and dug a small hole in the center of the clearing at the place where Eirran had worked over the stricken falcon. The Guardsmen, even those who were standing watch, found a moment to come to Yareth and express their regret and sympathy over his loss. Weldyn, having said what he had to say, left the copse with Sharpclaw, to try to discover where, exactly, the Hounds were ranging.

  Moved by some obscure sense of ceremony, the little girls wanted to sing a song over Newbold's grave. Mouse knew that the ordeal they had all been through had left its mark on them. If they had still been as young as they were when they left home, they might not have thought of doing it.

  They gathered in a circle around the grave, and all held hands. Then they began to sing. The only song they all knew was the one they had sung when they had ridden into Es City that day so long ago—when they had still been children. It wasn't quite the right sort of song for the occasion because it was all about being very happy to be going somewhere. But when they sang it, their clear, sweet voices made it sound very fine, and nobody minded about the words at all. Papa and Mama held hands very tightly and Mouse thought that they both looked a little better by the time the children were through.

  “Aren't you finished yet?” Weldyn's voice cut through the little clearing, severing the mood. “The Hounds are close on our trail. We'll have to run for it.”

  Papa glared at him, then swallowed hard. Mouse knew he was putting Newbold's memory into a safe place, where he could take it out and examine it later, when the hurt had died down a little. But he had his falcon's eyes again.

  “Very well,” he said. “It's a good thing we are all riding Torgians, and that the disguises on all but Weldyn's and mine still hold. Let's hope the Alizonders didn't choose their best horses to chase us. Everyone, mount up as before. We're going home.”

  Home! What a wonderful word! And then Mouse realized, with a pang that clutched at her heart, she didn't really know which home she wanted to return to—the one with the Witches in Estcarp, or back in Blagden with Mama and Papa—any more than she did when she had first been kidnapped by the Hounds. Then all the children had yearned for a haven to flee to, a place of safety that, for lack of a better word, they all called “home.” Now, Mouse seemed to be the only one not to know where it was.

  “Don't worry so much,” Star said, and Mouse realized she had been thinking so hard Star couldn't help hearing. “You'll make the right decision when the time comes.”

  “I hope so,” Mouse said. She felt really bad. First the Witches had come for her and she had gone off without a second thought. Then she and the others had been kidnapped. Then Mama and Papa had come after her—and had gone through some very dangerous times, she knew, from listening to them talk—and poor Newbold had gotten killed in the fight with the Kolder, and now she couldn't even make up her mind where she wanted to live, once they got back to Estcarp. How could she ever explain it to them? Either Papa and Mama, or the Guardian? She huddled into a miserable lump on Mama's saddlebow, aware as she did so that Papa's wonderful Torgian, Rangin, was getting old, too, and one day he would die, too.

  And as if things weren't bad enough, Weldyn—who still refused to carry one of the Witch-children—had begun to pick at Papa. It was as if he didn't realize—or didn't care about—the danger involved.

  “If you were back at the Eyrie, you'd have no trouble replacing your falcon with a new fledgling.” He lifted Sharpclaw on his fist and sent him winging into the sky again. “This is my third.”

  “I understand you reared your birds from the egg, before the Turning,” Dunnis said. He had been the one who had carried Mouse out of the castle. He was very nice, and sometimes very funny, too. Now he held Lisper in front of him. Lisper's thumb was in her mouth as her gaze went from Papa to Weldyn, and back. Mouse knew he was trying now to avoid possible trouble, to get Weldyn and Papa off a sore subject, and she watched with as much attention as Lisper did.

  “We did,” Weldyn said. “But the Mews were destroyed just as the Eyrie was.”

  “Few men know that as well as I,” Papa said. There was a dangerous edge in his voice that Mouse knew very well, but Weldyn didn't seem to hear it any more than he recognized the look in Papa's eyes. Or if he did, he didn't seem to care.

  “Really.” Weldyn's voice was flat, and disbelief laced through it.

  “Yes, really. I tried to find the Eyrie. I was going to rebuild it, and the Women's Village… .”

  Weldyn looked at Papa, and then at Mama. A mockery of comprehension broke over his face. “Ah!” he said. “And that was when you first met this, this woman, why you took her with you on your journey. Too bad you were too weak of will to carry through your quest.”

  Mama spoke up and Mouse thought she had never heard her use such a sharp tone with anybody. “Weak-willed? I would rather you had fought the beast my husband battled! You would be singing a different tune now, Falconer!”

  “That has nothing to do with it, Eirran,” Papa said. Still, he and Mama reached again for each other's hands and clung to each other, hard.

  Weldyn made the strangest sound, a kind of strangled snort through his nose. He dug his heels in his horse's sides and galloped a distance ahead of the others.

  It didn't take long for Mama and Papa and the other men to catch up. Everyone went fast, because the Hounds were very close on their trail by now.

  “Shouldn't we try to cut across country?” Loric asked. He shifted Bird on the saddle in front of him.

  “Not yet,” Weldyn said. “For the present, we'll make better time on the roads. As long as Sharpclaw can keep us informed of where they are, we don't have much to worry about. My concern is that they'll try to go around us, catch us between two packs of them.”

  “We'll need to stop eventually,” Ranal said. Flame leaned against him, white-faced, her eyes closed. “These little ones can't go on much longer.”

  Mouse knew exactly how Flame felt, for she leaned against Mama the same way, except she forced herself to watch everything that was happening.

  “They'll have to go on as long as we do,” Weldyn said. “They don't have any choice in the matter.”

  “They've been starved and mistreated and tormented by the Kolder, and if they don't get some rest and some decent food, they're going to die.” Mama nudged her horse right up next to Weldyn's. “You're always telling everyone how wonderful you are, how great all Falconers are against the Hounds. I know my husband's abilities. Now show us how good you are.”

  He looked at her, his own hawk's eyes almost colorless. “I would have thought you wouldn't need to ask, after the fighting in the Kolder chamber,” he said. “Nevertheless, I will yield to what your, your husband wishes. It is his errand, not mine. And so it was he and not I the Guardian set to lead us.”

  His tone of voice stated clearly that he thought the wrong Falconer had been chosen for that duty. But Papa just nodded· and held Lisper closer to him. He glanced at the sky; the sun was nearly down behind the hedgerows.

  “Send Sharpclaw up to find us a place where we can rest. Then, when we make camp, I will go and find something for us to eat.”

  “We can't afford the luxury of a fire.”

  “We still have journeycake hidden in our saddlebags,” Eirran said. “And we can find roots and tubers, if we're lucky. It's t
oo early for berries.”

  Weldyn turned on her, the look of disgust plain on his face. “Oh, yes, you're the woman who taught a Falconer how to forage like an animal.”

  “And I suppose you think—”

  Papa put a finger in his mouth and whistled sharply, making all the horses start and Sharpclaw screech and bate. Weldyn brought both mount and bird into line with some difficulty. “Do as you're told,” Papa said. “This is no time for quarreling.”

  III

  They found shelter for the night in an abandoned stone building. Perhaps it had once been a barn or even a farmhouse; most likely, it was a peasant's practical combination of the two. The thatched roof was missing in places, but there was room enough inside for all, including the horses. Outside the house, Eirran discovered the remnants of a garden. It had long since gone to weeds, but there were a few edible plants still struggling to grow through the rank growth that threatened to strangle the life out of them. Pleased with their luck, Papa even decided it was safe to risk a small fire, after it grew too dark for enemy eyes to pick out the rising smoke and use it to track them by. Loric went out hunting with Weldyn, but game was scarce in this part of Alizon. They had to settle for taking a lamb from one of the flocks that grazed unwatched in a nearby field. Papa fared a little better. He snared a brace of rabbits while Mama gathered what there was to be had from the ruined garden.

  Soon, the lamb turned on a spit over the fire. Mama looked very contented as she worked with Papa, preparing the rabbit stew and stirring up a batch of trail biscuit. And six little girls sat in a row, watching and waiting. Their stomachs growled with hunger, and Mama gave each of them spoons to put in their mouths until supper was done.

  Weldyn stroked Sharpclaw, talking to him and feeding him tidbits while he waited for his own meal to cook. Mouse hoped he would let Papa alone for a while, but he wouldn't. He acted as if he were just talking to the bird or the other men, but Mouse knew he wasn't. And so did everyone else.