by Eric Diehl
Nightfall nodded his approval. “That’s a good call. We must not grow overly reliant upon our magic, and this will remind us of what the Normals must, by needs, deal with in their frustratingly handicapped lives. If we remain open-minded throughout, perhaps we’ll each broaden our perspective in the process.”
With that, Nightfall raised his forelegs over his head, and as he swept them down across his torso, bending low to his feet, he was transformed into a man, lithe and hard-muscled, with dark skin glistening where visible through his loose fitting raiment. Edgar swept his kerchief the length of his body and also assumed humanoid form, but shorter and stockier; pale of complexion and garbed in similar style. Both temporarily-emasculated practitioners of the One Art donned shoes and gloves specialized for climbing, and they promptly began to ascend the steep slope, on two feet when they could but sometimes leaning into the incline to scramble up on all four. Nightfall quickly opened a lead and Edgar scurried to keep up, but he lost his hastened grip on the sloping scrabble and slid down several yards, raking at the rock with fingers sorely lacking claws.
Up ahead, Nightfall came to a break in the slope where a horizontal rift divided the rocky face, with the lower section jutting outward as a narrow ledge that angled a distance upward before reversing to climb back in the opposite direction. When Edgar arrived moments later he looked to where Nightfall labored along the ledge, and then looked straight up through the scrubby brush to where his mentor’s switchback course eventually rejoined the vertical path. Edgar growled, a sound that didn’t emerge from the Normals throat at all to his satisfaction, and commenced to clamber straight up the shorter, steeper path.
Out ahead now, and just below the returning ledge, Edgar reached up for its lip, but even as his fingers closed on it his feet slipped and his weight dropped like the trap-door of a gallows. With a yelp he was bumping and sliding downward, grabbing and snatching at the sparse shrubbery that careened past with increasing speed. Catching hold of a bush he jerked to a stop, but a hand-full of branches came loose in one fist and he found himself swinging out over a precipice dangling by one arm, held from a long fall by a single root-ball straining at his weight. With his heart hammering and his lungs gulping down dust Edgar finally clawed his way back up, belly-wriggling like a rock lizard the final few yards to the ledge. Panting and with his wits spinning he climbed to his feet on the narrow track a short distance in front of his rival, and on wobbly legs that would scarcely hold his weight Edgar spread his arms wide and molded himself to the near-vertical face, edging sideways up the narrow ledge one tenuous, shuffling half-step at a time.
During their ascent the piercing call of a nesting pair of Golden Hawks kept the hackles at the back of his neck up on end, especially since in native form the raptors were a natural predator. The screeching now grew louder and the thrum of wings sounded close behind where he edged along with his cheek pressed tight against the weather-worn stone—the two temporarily-retired wizards were sheltered from the fearsome birds by nothing more than a narrowing shelf of rock that overhung their path.
At a spot where the ledge rounded a point thrust out over open space, and where the shelf withered excruciatingly thin, Edgar was scrabbling for a finger-hold when there was a billowing whoosh behind—he shrieked as a wingtip brushed his shoulders and the tip of a talon grazed the back of his neck. The receding draft of the huge bird sucked him irresistibly out from his forward lean and he suddenly found himself teetering on the ledge’s rim. He shrieked as he felt the balance begin to shift against him, tilting further out and uselessly wind-milling his arms, but his rising scream was abruptly silenced by a hard whack on the back, reversing his tip-out and propelling him face-first into the stony precipice. He hissed, rubbing his curiously bulbous Normals nose where it had cracked hard into the stone, and he turned an accusing glare to where Nightfall stood holding his staff and grinning like some prankish Normals school-boy.
Nightfall shrugged off the scowl. “So, next time I should just watch you fall?” he queried mildly.
Edgar darted his gaze past his feet to the sheer plummet into broken hardscrabble far below, and his stomach knotted below his lungs. He clamped his eyes shut to contain the threatening vertigo, and he meekly shook his head no, pressing his face into the rock and hastening passage around the jagged promontory.
Past that harrowing point the going became somewhat easier, and toward the summit they came off the ledge onto a medium slope up the final distance. Here on less steep terrain they crept low through dense brush as the raging hawks screeched and swooped and dove just overhead.
The prize that the pair of magic-bereft sorcerers sought was a pair of gossamer-sheer wings, set at the back of the hawk’s nest in the upper reaches of a soaring banyan tree that dominated the mesa-top a short distance ahead. The Golden Hawks in this venue were no garden-variety raptors, however, but much larger—with talons powerful enough to rip out a Normals’ throat or even crush his skull. Whenever the brush thinned and the hawks closed in, Edgar and Nightfall would stand back to back and stab and swing at the swooping birds with their staves, but the closer they approached the banyan tree the more furious and aggressive the hawks became.
Ducking down in a particularly dense thicket, Edgar slumped to the ground while Nightfall spread the branches to peer up at the fearsome creatures wheeling just overhead, and as he watched their open wingspans circle and pirouette Edgar was ominously minded of a pair of curved scimitars wielded by a black-cloaked Blade Master.
Nightfall released the parting of the branches overhead and crouched down beside Edgar. “This was intended as a competition between you and I,” he said softly, “but I fear that if we separate those two may well tear us to pieces individually.”
Edgar nodded vehemently, as that very thought had been fraying at his nerves. “This is hardly a routine contest,” he ventured, “but rather a game without rules. What say we work together to gain the prize, and later negotiate the scoring of our individual efforts?”
Nightfall nodded, and they made the final dash to the base of the banyan, flailing their staffs at the strafing hawks and leaping to catch and swing up into the tree’s lower branches. Carefully they climbed the thick trunk of the soaring tree, always mindful to position themselves with no open exposure to the furious raptors. Now it was just the male who continued the harassment, whereas the female had pumped her wings up to the nest and sat planted in front of her chirping, head-bobbing youngsters. Edgar uneasily studied the steely eyed female guarding her young, and he could not help but wonder why in a clueless riddle he and Nightfall had willingly inserted themselves into this mess. But still, they’d come this far.
“And so what now, my student sans-magic?” asked Nightfall from where they perched in the crook of a forked branch, as high up as the nest but removed a distance horizontally. Edgar dubiously pondered their options, which he personally saw as poor to none, when one of his feet slipped on the bark and jammed into the crotch of the tree, pinching it painfully. He pulled it free, rubbing at his awkward Normals’ foot and scowling at the offending crook, but then his brow rose and he panned his gaze all around, searching. “Look!” he pointed to a medium-thick vine that climbed past them up the trunk. He craned his neck. “And there,” he pointed to a forked branch similar to where they now sat, but higher up and off to one side.
Nightfall’s gaze followed, and he shook his head. “If you are thinking what I suspect, this time it is you who considers a most dangerous tactic, my friend. You realize, of course, that in our present state we are fully vulnerable to mortal indiscretion?”
Edgar remained silent for some moments, and then spoke in a somber tone. “Yes, I understand that. But I’m not sure that I would ever again have full confidence in myself if I were to have made it this far and had then just given up, especially after a possibility had presented itself.”
Though Edgar had always experienced some difficulty judging a Normal’s quixotic range of facial expres
sion, it was no great feat of perception to see that Nightfall was not happy with his proposition. But even so, his mentor nodded reluctantly. “Tell me, then, how you wish to proceed.”
Edgar described his intent, and as he began to climb further up the trunk, tearing the vine loose as he went, Nightfall did the same, but descending. Once up a certain height Edgar severed the vine and carefully crept out toward the forked branch, with the male hawk ever circling. Once in position he looped the vine through the crotch and wedged the knotted end snug, and waved to Nightfall, who gave a few securing yanks at the other end. He then crept back to the trunk, descended, and shimmied out yet another limb.
If possible the male had become even more agitated, screeching and swooping and banking between the positions occupied by the two Normals, and Edgar watched, studying the bird’s movements. After numerous repetitions of a common pattern and while the hawk was looping back around on his friend, Edgar waved his hand and Nightfall swung the free end of the vine out toward him. Catching it in both hands Edgar hooked a leg around it and dropped from his perch, letting his weight swing him on a calculated arc targeted on the nest.
The male immediately spotted his ploy and wheeled around on him, and Edgar yanked himself up on the vine to just barely avoid talons raking through just-vacated space. The hawk wheeled again and now the female was hopping back to intercept his rearward approach, but he was swinging in fast and BAM he smacked into the rear of the nest. The female screeched and bore down with wings spread and talons extended and Edgar lunged rearward, trying to dodge out of her reach. He stumbled, began to fall, and his backward-reaching hand scrabbled to stay his plunge off the swaying limb. The female was too close now, sweeping forward with the light playing off the curve of her lethal spurs, and Edgar squeezed his eyes shut against her descent. There was no hope, he’d blown it and would pay the ultimate price.
Fsssst!!!
He fell back against the tree a half-moment before his life would be crushed between the hawk’s talons, and that moment passed, and then another, and then—
And then nothing happened.
He edged open his clamped eyes, just enough to peek out.
There was nothing to see. The hawk was gone. The nest was gone; it was just Edgar, leaning precariously backward with his hands braced against…
Against the Hawk-Wing!
YEEEEEOOOOOWWWW, he howled in his oddest of odd Normals’ voice.
With his pulse still pounding Edgar lifted the wing-set, and he gazed upon it in wonderment. It was an ephemerally beautiful piece of work; sheer gauzy white with silver thread woven in a curiously intricate and somehow meaningful pattern. So very light, it was, but still substantial. Like a work of the Gods! It was—
Yow! His feet slipped on the smooth bark as the limb shifted suddenly —dramatically—and he lurched and was very nearly pitched from the tree! He struggled for balance on a limb that continued to gyrate with increasing intensity, holding the wing-set in a white-knuckled grip while his mind raced.
What’s happening?!!!
The wing-set was no longer in clear focus, because it was jiggling in his hands, and that was because he was shaking, and that was because the massive tree itself was trembling and swaying! There was a rumbling sound that was growing louder by the moment, and he pivoted to look down to where Nightfall was hugging the tree trunk and shouting and gesturing up to him frantically.
“WHAT?” yelled Edgar, somewhat foolishly over the growing roar.
“—must descend the tree! Bring the wings! We must go NOW!” Nightfall was stabbing a finger at Edgar’s feet, and Edgar looked down to see the vine, draped over the branch but near to slipping off. He lunged to grab it. Nightfall was yelling “BRING THE WINGS”, and so Edgar folded and tucked them under an arm, wrapped the vine around one leg, and held on with both hands to swing off the branch. Nightfall moved to intercept and grabbed Edgar and shoved him forcibly down the trunk, and the two of them went down fast, mostly falling the last twenty feet.
“What is happening?!!” Edgar yelled over the building roar, fighting to keep his footing on the rumbling ground.
“I didn’t think of this! The game stores itself when the prize is captured, and that’s what is happening now! We’ve got to get out of here before we’re very literally boxed up!”
“But we can’t do that! We’ll need our magic, and for that we’ve got to descend the bluff. We’ll never make it in time!”
But Edgar’s eyes widened as Nightfall grabbed the wing-set from him and opened it, peering intently at the arm-straps. “Come on!” yelled Nightfall, and Edgar opened his mouth to protest but Nightfall had already turned and begun to sprint across the undulating terrain toward the precipice some fifty yards off. When Edgar caught up Nightfall was stepping into the harness and strapping himself in.
“Y— You can’t do that! Fly? That’s insane! It’s mad, and… and what about me?!!!”
“It’s our only hope. I’ll kite to the surface below, and if the gods grant me time enough I’ll regain magic and spirit the pair of us out!”
“But—I don’t—” but Edgar found himself speaking to open space, because Nightfall had turned and plunged from sight off the cliff.
The noise was deafening and there was a feeling of compression as the landscape bunched up all around, pressing inexorably in and down upon him. The huge tree was suddenly no longer fifty yards away but was right here, limbs drooping all around and then wrapping him in their embrace, and Edgar had great difficulty drawing breath as everything closed in overtop. He began to whimper as he was forced to his knees by the sheer weight of it, and his arms buckled and he was pressed flat to the surface. He tasted dirt and his eyes began to literally bulge from their sockets, the air forced from his lungs, and then his vision flashed light to dark and back again, and everything was transformed.
***
It was a goodly spell before Edgar could even begin to again trust his voice, but gradually he regained some semblance of feline composure. He tilted a sideways glance at Nightfall, who of course appeared his irritatingly calm and settled self.
Tail caught in a door—he even looks pleased with himself!
Still shaky on his feet, Edgar eased back onto his haunches. They stood, or now sat, pondering the game-set that looked impossibly small—all closed up and tidy.
“You did very well,” said Nightfall approvingly, as if they had not just moments prior come so excruciatingly close to being squeezed to bloody pulp. “Your gambit with the vine was resourceful and quite daring, and I admit to harboring some doubt that you would survive the attempt.”
“Yes, well…,” murmured Edgar, fighting to still the quaver in his voice. “I could hardly say any less of you; saving the day by flying off a cliff in an apparatus that I would have guessed was nothing more than ornamental.”
Nightfall rubbed his hind quarters gingerly. “Hmmmm… Well, it was not a graceful landing.” His tone brightened. “You do realize, though, that we’ll have to go back?”
Edgar’s eyes opened wider than he would have imagined possible, but words failed him.
“Yes,” continued Nightfall, lifting his admiring gaze to where the life-sized wing-set leaned against a wall on brilliant display. “Brigands—that’s what we are now, you know.” He spoke with a tone of evident relish. “We have made off with the coveted prize—changed its perception and brought it out from a surrealistic premise to an abnormal state where it should never exist!” He licked a paw approvingly. “But while our exploits might some day make for wizardly lore, before any such legends are born the canons of honor and fair sorcery require that the wing-set be returned to its rightful place.”
Edgar opened his mouth to speak but his jaw just hung there, like the scoop of a backhoe, because he could think of absolutely nothing to say. There were simply no words adequate to convey what they had just experienced, to say nothing of a future that had just snuck up and caught him unawares. Edgar’s shoulders sagged and
his ears drooped to either side, and he stared limp-whiskered at the fantastic wing-set, unable to do anything but nod in mute, dreadful wonder.
The End
Galinda
One pristine spring morning, in a village nestled within a vale coursed by a burbling brook and bounded by evergreens that scented the air with pine, a dreadful child was born. The tortured mother wailed and screeched piteously for long hours, and when the infant, too large again by half, was finally expelled in a tearing rush of blood and entrails, the exhausted woman looked just once upon her daughter’s face before turning her head away forevermore. The distraught midwife hurriedly pressed the mother’s eyes closed and crossed herself, murmuring fearful words of salvation, and then bolted from the room, never to be seen again.
The baby was born not pink and pudgy but rather with a coarse matt of hair that covered far too much of her body. Her lower jaw was dramatically thrust outward, and when her teeth grew in, yellow-grey in color, they crowded one another and jutted and jagged more like the mineralized protrusions that grew from the floor and ceiling of a cavern. Her limbs grew long and out of proportion, with boney joints and angles all wrong. Her feet and hands were far too large, and her nose looked like it had been broken, set sideways, and then broken the opposite direction. Large and misshapen moles and warts of various colors covered her skin, though they were not often visible through the thick mat of hair. Her only feature not disturbing or even shocking were the eyes, which shimmered as limpid pools of green, like the first sprouting of grass in an early spring meadow.
The listener might now expect to hear of an astounding beauty within, of a heart swelling with love and a soul imbued with kindness and charity even while locked into such a cruel physical form.
Forget about it. That would be another story; maybe try leafing through the book? Because Galinda’s heart was just as cold as her features were grim.
