His perceptions had changed completely. They were high above the forest now, and yet he could see perfectly, despite the darkness. In fact, he realized, he wasn’t really seeing, because his human eyes did not possess the night vision of the elves. Moreover, he could see all around him without moving his head. Indeed, he had no head to move. His physical body had melted away somehow, vaporized like the morning dew, and what he was perceiving was registering not upon his senses, but directly upon his awareness.
The only time he had ever felt anything like it was on those occasions when he was asleep and dreamed he had somehow left his body and was hovering above it, looking down and seeing himself lying there in bed. He did not know why he had such dreams and was grateful they did not come more often, for they were profoundly unsettling. They always seemed so real, it was as if he could actually feel himself floating in midair, just below the ceiling, and there was always that strange, alarming, vertiginous sensation of his body failing away from him.
The feeling he had now was very similar, only this time, it persisted and there was no ceiling to stop him. They kept rising higher and higher, and now he had no sense of spinning, just an eerie sensation of floating, of feeling completely weightless and free, like a bird soaring high above the forest. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he had died, and the realization struck with absolute terror, the more so because he felt completely helpless, unable to do anything about it. Panic gripped him as he thought of himself rising forever, never to return to earth.
Have no fear, Gylvain’s voice came from somewhere very close. You are not dead. You have merely been transmogrified by magic. You have become one with the air currents upon which we soar. There is no reason for alarm. We are the wind, and here in the skies, we are in our element.
It’s wonderful! Michael’s excited voice came to him as if he were shouting gleefully right into his ear, except it didn’t feel as if he actually heard him, more as if Michael were a part of him, within him somehow. It’s fantastic! Oh, Aedan, look! We’re flying, just like birds! We’re flying!
Have no fear? thought Aedan. How was it possible that Michael could not be afraid? Was it just his youth, or was the emotion of fear something he completely lacked? Despite Gylvain’s reassurances, it seemed they’d died and their souls were rising up into the heavens! It was the most frightening experience Aedan had ever known, and yet to Michael, it was a joyous thing, a new adventure, and Aedan felt his wild exhilaration. Felt it! It was only then that Aedan realized he was not actually hearing their voices; he was somehow privy to their thoughts, as they were aware to his. Transformed into the wind, they were all one, together, mingled with each other in the swirling air currents that swept above the forest.
Yes, we are all one, Gylvain replied to his unvoiced thoughts, one with the wind. One with the power of nature. This is the true kingdom, one that is not subject to the rule of emperors or princes. It is the kingdom we are all a part of… the kingdom of the elemental forces that shape the world and shape us all.
They swept over the treetops with a speed unlike anything Aedan had ever imagined. But how? he thought. How is this possible?
Magic, Gylvain’s thoughts replied. Magic makes all things possible to those who apprehend the possibilities.
But did you not say that once a spell was used, it was forgotten? Michael asked.
That is so, Gylvain replied. But there are no fewer than a score of different spells for windwalking, and I devote myself to constant study of my arts. I am forever learning spells and losing them and learning them again. That is the way of magic, as indeed it is the way of all things in the world. To pursue the ways of knowledge is to forever be a student, learning the same lessons over and over again. It is a never-ending process, and the reward of it is the process itself. We forget too easily, and must always learn again. The study of magic is an apt metaphor for life; when one stops learning, one begins to die.
Between the reassuring presence of the wizard and Michael’s boundless joy and exhilaration at their flight, Aedan’s fear began to ebb, to be replaced by a growing sense of awe. He did not feel the wind of their swift passage through the skies: he was the wind, and far below him, the Aelvinnwode was like a vast green carpet stretching out across the land. In the distance, he could see the mountains of the Five Peaks region, and to the northwest, he could make out the rapidly approaching forest highlands of the goblin realm of Thurazor. But for the elves, that would have been their destination. Now, however, they swept past the land of their late captors and continued in a northeastern heading, past the rugged Stonecrown Mountains toward the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel.
It did not seem possible that they could have covered so much distance in so short a time, but when Aedan saw the first gray light of dawn appear over the horizon, he realized much more time had passed than he had thought. Hours had somehow seemed like only moments as he was caught in the fascination of the spectacle unfolding far below him, seeing the world the way a hawk would see it, or an eagle.
From the sky, he watched the sunrise, its rays casting an expanding band of light over the forest and the rolling, rugged country of the Northern Marches. His initial fear became forgotten as he was mesmerized by the beauty of the land waking up to a new day.
The forest seemed to slowly rise up toward them, and he realized they were descending. They were still moving forward with great speed, but they were gradually angling down, and soon he was able to make out birds flitting among the uppermost tree branches, oblivious to their presence. As they went lower still, a flock of doves rose up out of the trees, ascending toward them. Aedan could not get over the experience of birds flying up toward him. The flock flew closer with a fluttering of white wings in the early morning sun and then, amazingly, the doves passed through them! They were all around him, and even within him, soaring on the wind currents, and Aedan could actually feel their hearts beating.
Then the doves were above them, and they descended lower still, barely skimming the treetops, which bent with their passage. It was dreamlike and surreal as they swept over the forest, rushing smoothly through the sky above the forest canopy. Not even in his dreams had Aedan ever experienced anything like this. Surely, he thought, this was what it felt like to be a bird. As a child, he had often watched birds and wished he were capable of flight. Now he was doing it. And for a moment or two, while the doves had flown with them, he had experienced their feelings and sensations, too.
He had always thought that wizards lived their lives in dark and musty rooms, dimly illuminated by candles set in skulls, that they spent all their time puttering about with ancient manuscripts and arcane scrolls and breathing in the sulfurous fumes of their mystic potions while they squinted in the smoke from their incense burners. This, however, was magic of a different sort. Elven magic.