“It’s a pity—from what you and Chiamh say, I feel as though I’m missing something special,” D’arvan said. “There’s only one problem, Aurian—how are you going to control this Othersight? It’s no good you having access to the Old Magic if it’s just going to enthrall you.”
“Let her try it again,” Chiamh suggested, “and we’ll fly this time. She’ll know what to expect, so it won’t come as such a shock, and what’s more she’ll have something else to occupy her attention. I’ll teach her to control the Othersight, but it will require a lot of practice—there’s no time to do it now.”
“Do you think it’s safe?” D’arvan began doubtfully.
“Oh, let’s get on with it,” Aurian said impatiently, “before we grow old and grey standing here on this blasted cliff. You’ve already explained what I ought to be doing—give me back the talisman, D’arvan.”
Reluctantly, he handed the shimmering stone to her. The Mage almost snatched it out of his grasp. When she hung the chain around her neck once more, the world sprang back into radiant splendor. Entranced, she watched Chiamh’s outline change and his aura alter to darker, more smoky hues as he changed from human to equine shape. Well, standing around putting off the moment of action wouldn’t make her feel any less nervous. D’arvan made a stirrup of his hands for her, and taking a deep breath, Aurian scrambled up onto the Wind-eye’s back.
23
Departures
Knotting one hand firmly into Chiamh’s mane, the Mage closed the other around the talisman. Concentrating hard to imprint her will upon the unfamiliar magic, she gathered the field of energy that constituted her own aura, and let it merge with that of the Xandim beneath her, and the swirling silvery strands that were the wind. Chiamh leapt forward with a lurch that almost unseated her, set his hooves upon a pathway of gleaming air, and stretched out his stride in what seemed like an ordinary gallop—except that with every step, he and the Mage were climbing higher and higher into the skies.
The first thing Aurian noticed was the cold, which increased as she mounted higher, and the strengthening wind, which made her eyes water and her ears ache, and blew her hair back from her face. Chiamh’s rhythmic stride felt similar to the way it had always felt, except that the motion was smoother and more fluid, without the jarring impact as his hooves struck the ground. Save for that one detail, Aurian could almost imagine herself riding along on the ground in an ordinary fashion—so long as she didn’t look down. For a time she was very careful not to do that. She clung to Chiamh’s back like a burr, crouching low over his neck with her eyes screwed tight shut, and when she did gain the courage to open them—mostly because it was more worrying not to be able to see what was going on—she kept them fixed firmly in front of her, on the Windeye’s pricked, black-tipped ears.
Finally, Aurian mustered enough courage to look down at the ground. Glowing in the dazzling, crystalline configurations of the Othersight, it swung dizzily beneath her in remote but perfect detail, just as it had done when she had ridden the winds to Aerillia with Chiamh, so long ago. And here we are, riding them together once more, the Mage thought—and her fear vanished all at once, in a glow of warmth and trust for her companion, as did the many worries that had been dogging her for these last hours.
The Mage had been filled with despair ever since Anvar’s spirit had failed to return with her own from the Well of Souls, for if he had gone to be reborn elsewhere he could never be restored, even with the Caldron, to his old body.—Now he seemed truly lost forever, so that she was forced to fight a continuing battle against her sorrow in order to keep striving toward her goal of Eliseth’s defeat. She had also been feeling hurt by Wolf’s hostility, though in truth she could understand why he should feel little love for a mother who had seemingly abandoned him for so many years. Vannor, too—there was still something very much amiss with the man, though for the life of her she couldn’t discover what. . . . But the higher Aurian soared with the Windeye, the lighter her heart began to feel, as though she had truly left her troubles behind her, anchored to the ground below.
Chiamh circled above the cliffs and began to make his descent, losing height all the time as he angled back to where D’arvan stood waiting. He landed perfectly; so lightly that Aurian barely felt the jar at all. She slid down quickly from his back, delighted by what she had seen, but glad, nonetheless, to be back safe on solid ground. As she stepped back Chiamh shimmered, and changed back to his human shape. “Well?” he asked her challengingly. “No, on second thoughts don’t tell me. You were squeezing me so tightly round the ribs that I’ll probably have the bruises for a week.”
Aurian removed the talisman from her neck and dropped it carefully into the pocket of her tunic. “I could probably get used to it,” she admitted cautiously. Then she exchanged glances with the Windeye and they both laughed.—Aurian held out her hands to him. “It was wonderful,” she said, “as well you know....”
She broke off; staring over Chiamh’s shoulder and up into the sky at a small dark speck in the distance. It seemed to be hurtling down toward her at a tremendous rate. The Mage held her breath. Don’t be daft, she told herself, it’s probably just a chough or a gull. . . . But the sight had set a fresh spark to the cooling embers of hope within her heart, and already they had flared up, renewed—to bum brighter yet when the bird came close enough for her to see that it was, indeed, a hawk.
Chiamh shook her arm. “What is it, Aurian? What do you see?” He knew better than to try to look in the direction of her gaze—his vision was far too limited.
“I think . . .” the Mage began—and fell silent. Since the hawk had flown away from the Nightrunner settlement, she had derided herself as a fool for thinking that such a creature might have housed Anvar’s spirit. In her embarrassment and doubt she had remained silent, therefore, and had not mentioned her suspicions to a soul. Now, however, those former suspicions were looking to be increasingly accurate as the hawk e to hover, high above her head.
“Dear Gods, it « . . .” Aurian breathed. She extended an to the hovering bird.
“Anvar?” she called softly. “Anvar?” D’arvan exclaimed. He looked at her with deep concern. “Aurian, you’d better come inside,” he said gently. He reached out to take her hand, but Chiamh restrained . “D’arvan, look . . .” The hawk abandoned its static position in the sky and sideslipped down toward Aurian.—It landed on her forearm, settling its wings across its back as though it meant to stay there, and fixed the Mage’s face in its fierce gaze.—The warm coloration drained from Chiamh’s eyes, chang-them to reflective argent as he switched to his Othersight. The silver eyes widened. “Light of the goddess,” he breathed, Aurian knew what he must be seeing. Though the physical of the hawk was a drastic alteration, the spirit light that shone from it in a scintillating aureole of many hues, was unaltered and familiar.—The goddess only knew how it had happened, but somehow, Anvar was occupying the body of the hawk.
Chiamh swung back to face the Mage. “You knew, didn’t you?” he accused the Mage.
Aurian nodded, never taking her eyes from the bird. “I suspected—I had hoped
... I’ll tell you about it later, Chiamh.”
“Me too, I hope.” D’arvan put in. “This is one explanation I wouldn’t like to miss.”
From his vantage point high in the air, Anvar looked down on the tall figure of the woman. This was right—this was where he wanted to be! Already, he had forgotten who he was or why he had been searching, but this human had clearly been his goal. There was something in her that called to him.... Trusting her as he would have trusted no other, the hawk folded his wings and swooped down to settle on her proffered arm.