Michael's Flight_A Librarian of Nimium Book

by Lynn Egan

  :Evil cannot come here. Father would have sensed it. His land speaks to him.:

  "It does?"

  :Yes. The king-bond. I will acquire it when I rule. The ruler and the land are as one. He would know if a force was harming the Island.:

  Michael pondered this for a moment, but again something was shoving his mind away from clarity. It was maddening, to be so near the truth and yet not able to see it. He shook his head and looked up at her again.

  "Marinarae l'Aestir a'Murud, will you forgive an addled Aeldhind and travel with me to find the answers to what's ailing your Island?"

  The gray wildcat blinked her eyes slowly, then dropped to the forest floor and became herself again, smiling.

  "Duke Michael Feysguir-Pahairren of Ishald, I forgive and accept."

  ~

  "I really would prefer we leave my father's name off my titles." Michael spoke after they had been walking in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes.

  Murud gave the distinctive rolling half-shrug of the Aeld, "Names are words, and do not change what is named."

  Here was one of Michael's favorite arguments. "I disagree entirely! The name of a thing is its power. Having the name of a thing gives you power over it, and naming something against its nature will change its nature. You demonstrated it yourself before - you wish to be called Murud, when your given name is Marinarae. Something about the name, about being Marinarae, bothers you, so you changed your name to fit your self. Changed is maybe not exact since it was part of your name, but you took a part that others see as secondary and made it who you want to be seen as. You identify more with the Island itself than you do with who your parents named you to be. Do you see?"

  Murud frowned into the treetops as they walked a few more steps, then spoke. "But I am still I, whatever name I choose others to call me. The -rae suffix and a'Murud were added to my name when I became Heir, but I remained I."

  "But you see, because your status changed, they changed your name!" He was in his element here, and had given great thought to the subject. Onomomageia, the magic of naming, had been something he'd studied at college, though of course he couldn't practice it. "It's why we use titles and family names instead of just calling each other Hey You. Every name means something, even if it's just Blonde Girl. The names define us, describe us, and tell a story about us."

  The princess tilted her head to the side and gazed at him with her enigmatic eyes. "And your father's part of your story you wish left out of who you are?"

  Michael blinked at this insight on her part. It took him a moment to gather himself and analyze that she was right on that point.

  "Well, yes, I guess that could be it."

  She nodded. "Then we shall rename you Pahairree. That is Raven's Golden Eye in the ancient tongue, instead of Raven's Golden Talon. It acknowledges your history and your most memorable feature."

  He wasn't sure she had understood the entirety of his speech, nor was he content in allowing her to rename him so casually. He let it be for now, as he didn't feel this place was the best one in which to have his name spoken aloud too often. Names had power, and he didn't want anything here to have power over him.

  ~

  They had been walking for quite a while under the trees and it was beginning to be dusk. Michael was sure they could reach Seasguir before midnight, but didn't want to be wandering around in the woods in the darkness, and didn't want to advertise their presence by having the princess light their way magically. He was past the bounds of where he knew the forest by heart and asked Murud if she could smell water. She took the lead and soon they were near a small brook.

  They put their packs gratefully down and both drank big gulps of the clear, cool stream. Michael debated whether they should have a fire or not, and when he mentioned it to Murud she suggested if he was feeling suspicious, they could scout as their animal selves and report back.

  The cooling air felt lovely and soft against his feathers as he soared around above the forest canopy. He had watched the gray form of the cat-princess trotting confidently away from their packs, which they had hidden underneath some bushes.

  What an odd person she is, he thought to himself. She has such innocent conceptions of what life outside the palace is, but wasn't squeamish about digging through dead bodies. She's a lady of privilege and rank, but he'd blown up at her more than once and she'd still consented to travel with him and follow his directions. She had few reasons to stay with him and many more reasons to trot home to her father and claim she'd been kidnapped and that the whole thing was a trick.

  A strange noise below him, but rapidly ascending, caught his attention and he veered at the same instant that an arrow plunged up through the leaves and knocked one of his flight feathers into the darkening sky. He rolled upside down and dove away from where he thought it had come from, getting into the treetops and swerving randomly to keep the unknown archer from getting a clear shot. He was a large bird and it wasn't easy to duck and weave through the branches, but he managed it for long enough to feel that pursuit must have been thrown off. Panting and wing-sore, he landed on a branch and scuttled as quietly as possible towards the trunk, hoping it would give him some sort of protection if he was discovered. Smooth pale bark greeted him at the base of the limb, but higher up and a little further around there seemed to be a hole. He thought he could fit into it, and then he'd be able to rest and hear anything that approached.

  He made the leap and eyed the dark arch, listening. It seemed to be empty, and he stuck his head cautiously inside. It wasn't too roomy, but if he crouched halfway inside it, that could be the camouflage he needed. He sat in the entrance of it, ruffled his feathers to obscure his outline, and slitted his golden eyes as much as he could without losing vision.

  Silence descended.

  Silence continued.

  He had long enough to catch his breath and feel his tiny bird heart slow down before he realized that sound was returning to the forest. First the insects began their trills and chirrings, then he heard small animal noises begin in the treetops around him. Soon it seemed as if nothing unusual had occurred. Some sort of weasel screamed nearby, and he nearly fell off the branch with surprise. He chuckled to himself and settled down. It was full dark now, he had lost track of how far he'd flown, and there was an unknown assassin in the forest looking for him. He was weaponless and alone.

  He knew better than to wonder how it could get any worse.

  ~

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feelings he had as a raven. The slightest breeze or change in pressure around him was instantly communicated to him by his delicate feathers. His feet gripped the branch and he could feel the subtle rocking of the tree. His ears beneath the plumage of his head were sensitive to sounds both near and distant. He immersed himself in a growing picture of the area.

  To his right were many trees, their differing leaves or needles changing the sounds they made as they rubbed against each other. Branches made distinctive scrape, creak, and knock sounds as the wind or a creature moved them. Fruits or nuts dropped to the ground with heavy sounds, soft or sharp depending upon their type. He found it very soothing and had started to relax when he was jolted back to awareness.

  :He is at the base of your tree,: came the now-familiar internal voice. :Do not make a sound.:

  How could he answer her without making a sound?

  :Just so. If you think in words I will hear them. There is a man at the base of your tree. He has a bow and a quiver of arrows. He is waiting.:

  Waiting? What for?

  :I think there are others. He smells of himself and two more. They have been in the woods some time.:

  Dammit, dammit, dammit! Their packs were far away, they were essentially separated, and there were not one but three killers on their tracks. Dammit!

  :As we are it will be easier to get away than if we had been ourselves and found so.:

  She had a point. They would likely have been dead by now if they hadn't changed f
orms and scouted in different directions. He deeply regretted not finding a way to keep the Claw on himself.

  :The packs are safe for now. I kicked more leaves over them and scent marked them. No person should see them and no animal will disturb them for a day at least.:

  He had hoped to eat and rest tonight, but now it was more important than ever to get to Seasguir and the Red Mane. It was his - their - only way off this Island.

  :Then go. I will find you.:

  He had a sudden thrust of fear for her, so inexperienced with real danger.

  There was a yowl and a hiss beneath him, as if someone had stepped upon an unseen cat sleeping on a peaceful hearth, and a flurry of movement and sound: metal scraping and bowstring twanging and leaves flying.

  :GO! They will not look downward long!:

  Her command was not to be disobeyed, and he burst forth from the enfolding leaves like a black bolt of lightning, flying fast and straight in the direction of the first offer of aid he'd had on this maddening rock, and directly away from the second.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was very late when he landed on the roof of the Red Mane, but they seemed to still be serving guests. He wasn't sure, now that he was here, whether he should enter as a raven or as himself. He was bone-tired, scared for his companion, and unbalanced from the atmosphere of the Island.

  He hopped around on the roof for a bit until he spied that there was a gable window left open to the night air. He hopped down to it and peered in. The dark room inside was empty, and there was a door ajar that led to dim light. He dropped down into the room and bounced over to the door in the ungainly way that birds have when moving quickly on the ground. Sticking his head through the portal, he saw the landing had a matching door across from his and a narrow stair which had a single candle in a sconce at the bottom. He was much lighter as a bird than he was as a man, so he hop-glided down the stairs without much noise and continued his search.

  He managed to meet no one for several minutes, though he heard snoring from several doors and more personal noises from others. Finally, he came to the head of the stairs which he was sure led to the main room where he'd met the Aeldwidd.

  Now what?

  He decided finally to sneak down a few stairs and peek into the room and see if she was there. He managed this, but saw only a few somber drunks gathered near the fire. He muttered raven curses under his breath until a soft, slightly clawed foot set itself on the stair next to his body. He managed not to caw as a similarly clawed hand came gently down upon his back.

  "Wing brother, what do you here?" she said with some surprise in the desert tongue. She coaxed him to her arm and looked into his eyes. Hers widened and her lips parted in a grin. "Only one creature has such golden eyes! We had word you had been taken. Are you changed yourself or by another? Is it a curse?" Michael flopped down to the floor and, unheeding of the company, allowed his body to become a man's again. He leaned against the wall, exhausted, with a long cut across the underside of his arm - that must have been where the arrow grazed his wing.

  "You are injured! It should be healed." She reached a golden hand out to his arm and he felt a warm tingle where there had been pain, and then both feelings were gone.

  "You heal?"

  She noted his weary surprise and the use of the common tongue by answering in the same, "I am skilled with the body." Her hooded eyes and sly grin gave a double meaning to the phrase, but he was too tired to react. They descended to the main room and he finally had a full helping of the fish stew and bread. She indicated that speaking here was safe now, and he related his tale from when he had stormed out to when he had arrived again, leaving out a few key details.

  The half-cat woman listened intently to his story, nodding at certain points as if he confirmed things she had thought or heard. At the end, she shook her head.

  "There is a force here, for certain. It has been noticed for a few decades now, since before the Burnings. It subsided then but gradually has been getting stronger. It seems to have no source."

  Michael swallowed some of his second mug of ale. "The Burnings? I've heard them mentioned but nothing definite. Witch hunts, right?"

  She nodded slowly. "Yes. There was drought, and crops failed. Animals were found dead of strange things. Evils were done everywhere. Fear spread and so did the flames. No one was safe and everyone suspect. Finally, the people accused the Queen of evil sorcery, since she had known weather magic. After her burning, the rains started. People became themselves again, there was much relief." The woman shrugged, "Some feel she was executed wrongly, others swear the king was blinded by her wicked powers. I have not enough of the truth to pick a side."

  He was surprised that he hadn't heard much about this before, but it linked with some of the things Murud had said to him. His worry increased.

  "My companion, the last I saw of her, she was a cat. She distracted the men in the forest so I could get here. Do you have a way to find her? She may be hurt or captured."

  "It is very late, and remember that you flew here. That is much faster than ground creatures can run. I will send someone to scout but we will not begin to worry until morning." The woman got up, walked to the counter, and spoke quietly with the proprietor, who nodded and went out back. The Aeldwidd came back to his table and sat once more.

  "I have sent Mouse. You need to sleep. I will bring you to my room, it will be safer."

  Michael raised an eyebrow at this, and she laughed.

  "Have no worry, I will not seduce you there. It is for protection; my room is considered off-limits when I am with a client." she winked at him.

  "I don't even know your name."

  She laughed and stood again, extending her hand to him, "I am called Qimal, when people choose to call me anything."

  As he was falling asleep in a very comfortable bed a few minutes later, he realized the name meant 'future friend'.

  ~

  Though exhaustion sent him to sleep quickly, he found himself troubled by dreams. They were formless things, full of a feeling of betrayal and pain. He tossed and turned, and at one point woke to find his head in Qimal's lap as she stroked his forehead.

  "Murud?" he croaked out, only half awake.

  She shook her head, "Mouse found her not. We will search again in the morning. She may be hiding. You do no good to her unrested." A feeling of warmth spread out from her gentle fingers and he found himself descending into a comforting darkness.

  He slept, dreamless, until dawn.

  The room was empty when Michael awoke, and thin shafts of light peeked through the shuttered window. It took him only a moment to remember where he was. He bolted up in the bed, mind whirling with worry. Had she arrived? Was she safe? Was he safe?

  He looked around, found his boots tucked by the foot of the bed, and drew them on hurriedly. Once through the door, he followed the sounds and smells of a waking household to the main eating room. Qimal was leaning over the counter, speaking with the proprietor, whose look in his direction made the Aeldwidd glance over, as well. She indicated with her chin that he should come nearer. He approached and was about to speak when she grabbed his hand urgently. Her voice belied her gesture.

  "My lover is awake at last! Darling you must stay to breakfast, or I shall weep. Come, will you eat hearty or light?" Her smiling eyes glanced behind him in a way that told him not to look. He forced his wit into action.

  "Oh, well, you were very enthusiastic last night. Hearty, of course!" He put his arm around her waist and found that though she looked relaxed, she was very tense. She led him to a position near the fire and they sat while the kitchen servant brought eggs, toasted bread, fried ham and root vegetables, sweet rolls, and a pitcher of the rich morning drink called ba'bakh which had become popular in recent decades. Michael could almost forget he was a hunted man with a breakfast such as that!

  Almost.

  He ate steadily while Qimal toyed with her mug and chattered gossip and endearments. Gradually through her prattle a
nd her body language he determined that it was likely at least one of his assassins was in the room and that she was working an alibi for him into the conversation. According to her he had been in her bed, and active, since the previous afternoon. He wasn't facing the room and couldn't see what was going on behind him, which he found disconcerting, but when one of her compliments was about how blue his eyes were, he figured out why she had faced him that way.

  If someone were hunting Michael of Ishald, they would be looking for a young man with golden eyes. According to Qimal's statement the night before, there was no other being in the world with that feature.

  Despite his anxiety he ate until he was full and a little more than full. He had decided that he was going to take every opportunity for food possible while he was here, since so often he seemed pulled away from meals lately. He leaned away from the table, trying to seem relaxed, and sipped the ba'bakh. That wasn't its true name, he remembered, but it had become the common term for the rich, bitter brew. It meant 'good blood' or 'joy blood' or something of that nature in the N'mari tongue. It was such an interesting language that many words had been borrowed from it and were used by other races. Rochati numbering was even used by merchants everywhere, though the Aeld had resisted a tens-based system.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a scuffle breaking out in the room behind them.

  "It's him, grab him!"

  Shocked and frightened, Michael was going to turn around but Qimal gripped his hand, spilling his drink all over the table. "You must turn around, to look surprised, or they will wonder. But do NOT look at their faces or the glamour will fade!" Her foreign hiss was over in a moment, and he turned to look at the scene, trying to aim his eyes only at the combatant's chests. His peripheral vision could fill in the rest. What he saw astonished him.

  A slender, pale young man with messy black hair and yellow eyes, dressed in faded black and white struggled with two assailants as a third held open the door of the establishment. Michael caught the glimmer of a ring on the man's finger as he swung a punch at one of the others, and it looked like the Ishald signet.