The shock of the impact knocked Gwydion back a pace. He was surprisingly unrattled, and the two charged again. And again, Gwydion lost ground.
The instinct in him said that he would lose if the buck either wore him down to the point that he couldn’t fight anymore, or if the buck pushed him out of the meadow. He could still smell the doe’s heady musk. He didn’t want to lose.
He began to analyze the situation, even as he continued the mindless battering. There had to be a way.
At first, all he saw was a powerful, angry animal. The muscles on his neck and shoulders bunched and flexed as they crashed together again, and he was forced backwards another foot. He had to study the situation against the instincts making him fight, but at first, it only made him lose ground faster. But he had been trained by great warriors in the art of combat, and Bran especially had explained the need to understand a situation thoroughly before you could affect the outcome. And this time the goal was crystal clear: beat his rival and win the doe.
He saw it in a flash that felt almost like the instinct driving him to battle in the first place: the buck always used his greater antlers to force Gwydion’s down. In the next round, Gwydion managed to time it so that he caught the buck’s antlers beneath his, and found that he was in control. With a twist of his neck, he forced the great animal to take his own step back.
The buck bellowed his rage, but he couldn’t regain dominance. Gwydion timed his hits for maximum force and control, forcing the other deer back further and further. The buck made one last rally, trying to regain his superiority, but Gwydion saw it coming, and instead of simply forcing the buck backwards, he forced the buck’s head down, twisted his shoulders and flipped the stag onto its back.
The buck flailed for a moment before regaining his feet. He looked like he wanted to continue the challenge, but when Gwydion took a step forward and lowered his head, the buck turned and walked out of the field, head held high except for the times he turned to make sure Gwydion wasn’t following him.
Gwydion thought about it for just a moment, but then the doe passed upwind from him, and all his battle rage turned to lust in an instant. He ran to the doe, who turned her tail to him, and mounted her with glee. The mating was rough and frantic, and just as suddenly as the lust had filled him, it was gone. He felt himself sliding off her, feeling almost confused by the suddenness of the last few minutes. Lust, battle, victory, lust, and then he was just standing there, watching the doe walk away. He looked for tenderness and found none; a growing hunger made him move a few feet to a particularly green patch of grass which he munched with contentment.
He spent the night and most of the next day wandering bemusedly, feeling his human mind slipping into a trance like state while his deer body functioned efficiently and smoothly. He ate when needed, drank when he found water, and slept when he felt tired. He encountered no other does, in heat or otherwise, and he was not challenged by any other animal. He would have felt like a king of the forest, but he was feeling little at all in the way of emotion. There was only hunger and exhaustion and fear.
The sun was descending in the west, and Gwydion’s senses were heightened for the transition from day to night, a particularly dangerous time for any animal. He had been trotting through a thin wood, but a glow to one side caught his eye, and he turned to see the image of a man floating in a meadow. His deer instincts almost made him run, but the human part of him shaped the name, Math.
He trotted to his uncle timidly, and stood waiting. Math examined him for many long minutes, while memory and thought returned to Gwydion. Finally Math nodded, and he said, “You may now return to me, nephew.”
The woods dissolved, as did his antlers and hide. He found himself in Math’s throne room, on all fours, trying to understand his lack of hearing and smell. He shook himself several times, trying to come to grips not just with his humanity, but also with the lingering feelings from the last couple of days.
“Well nephew?” Math asked. “What did you learn?”
Gwydion cleared his throat a few times, and stood up to look his uncle in the face. “Deer are creatures without thought,” he said. “They live for the moment, and never think about what is coming except as it relates to their next meal.”
“And how did you fare?”
Gwydion thought for a moment. “At first it was easy to assert my humanity, and to think as a man. But as time went on, I could not keep that consciousness going, and allowed the instinctive nature of the beast to overwhelm the rational nature of the man.”
Math nodded. “Very good. We are quite different from most animals, and when you take a form that is not human, you must strive to retain that difference.”
Gwydion cocked his head. “Can you train yourself to spend long periods of time as an animal?”
“You can,” Math said. “It may be part of your training later on, for it is a great lesson in self-control, but for now, be content with what you receive.”
“Yes, uncle.”
Chapter 6: Wolf
It took almost a week for Gwydion to feel like himself again. Math asked very little of him during that time, although Bran came to his room every day for a short training session. The exertion helped Gwydion get used to his human body again, and working with Bran made him exercise his mind as well.
Gwydion went to the tower after he felt completely human again, and Math gestured for him to come up on the dais beside him. Like a whisper close in his ear, he heard, Can you hear our voices?
He turned to look at the old man. “Did you say something?”
The corner of Math’s mouth twitched. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”
With only a moment of trepidation, Gwydion answered, “Yes, uncle.”
Math pulled the rowan wand from his sleeve, and touched it to Gwydion’s forehead again. The pain of transformation made him scream, which turned into a loud, keening whine. He felt new senses take hold, especially smell. He had to exert all his willpower to keep from sniffing everything in the room, and ended up on his haunches, scratching his ear.
Math said, “You are now a wolf, nephew. Again, no harm will come to you. Explore to your heart’s content, and try to remember your true self this time.”
With a wave of the rowan wand, Gwydion found himself in the woods again. He tried to determine if they were the same woods that he had roamed as a deer, but the change in perspective was too great; he was lower to the ground, and none of the smells were exactly the same as he remembered as a deer.
In the distance, he heard a howl, and without thinking, he answered it. More howls answered, each on a different note, and it made a very satisfying music in his ears. The wind brought him tantalizing whiffs of the pack, but the howls indicated that they were moving downwind from him, and he understood; they wanted to know who he was as much as he wanted to know about them.
He sat back and waited, tracking them by sound. He had made out at least five before he had lost their scent, which struck him as a strong pack. As they closed in on him, he began to get nervous. What if they decided he was an intruder? He heard two yips close on his left side, and by the time he turned, they were surrounding him.
He had been wrong. Six wolves, all male, watched him silently. Gwydion turned around slowly, looking at all of them in turn, but ended up looking at the one that had to be the pack leader. The leader cocked his head to the side and gave a short yip. Gwydion was shocked to find he could interpret it to mean, “What are you intentions, wolf who is not a member of our pack?”
Trusting his instinct, Gwydion replied, “I seek to join with you, pack leader.”
“Are you prepared to accept your rightful place?”
“I am.”
“Then it is time for you to be judged.” The leader nodded and the smallest wolf attacked Gwydion.
Despite being caught off guard, Gwydion quickly rallied, and ended up on top of the younger wolf, his teeth clamped on his neck just hard enough not to break the skin. The wolf struggled fo
r a minute, then went limp, and Gwydion released him, knowing he had won. As soon as he stepped back, though, the next wolf attacked.
Gwydion felt like his life had become a blur of fur, fang, and claw. He fought for his life, and at the same time, he knew he was not in any immediate danger; he was really fighting for his place. They gave him no break and no breathing room, and it took all of his strength and skill to keep himself upright, especially when they started coming at him in pairs. And just as suddenly as it began, he found himself in the center of the ring again, with all the other wolves watching him silently.
Panting and covered with dozens of scratches, he faced the leader. “You have fought well, wolf who wants to join,” the old wolf said. “But you have yet to battle me.”
Gwydion expected a pounce, but the leader began to circle him instead, stiff legged and growling. Gwydion mirrored him, wondering why they were posturing when the other attacks happened so fast. The answer came to him—the leader was seeing if he had any weak areas—when the leader was upon him.
Like when he fought the buck, Gwydion felt his mind analyzing the situation rationally, humanly. The leader was a good fighter, obviously very experienced. He used cunning and guile as well as brute strength. Gwydion could see flaws and weaknesses, too, and he was about to start using them when he remembered Bran’s lessons about controlling the battle. He knew if he won, he would be the new pack leader. He also knew he was not prepared for such a role.
Gwydion began giving ground. He acted more tired than he was, and he favored his small wounds. The leader pressed him harder, took advantage of every opening Gwydion showed him. Gwydion rallied once, showing his mettle, and quickly faded. He ended up on his stomach, tail between his legs, feeling the leader’s hot breath and sharp teeth on his neck. It was not hard to act submissive.
The leader let him go and stepped away. “You fought well, young pup.”
Barely moving, Gwydion said, “Thank you, my leader.”
“You still have a strange scent, but not too strange, I think.” He walked around Gwydion, who remained prostrate. “And I can see we won’t have to teach you manners. Do you have a name?”
Gwydion tried to say his name, but what he heard was: “Moon Howl.”
The leader nodded. “And I am Long Claw, leader of the Moss Stone wolves. Welcome to our pack, Moon Howl.”
The other wolves swarmed him again, but with nose and tongue instead of claw and tooth. Gwydion felt enveloped by love, and was surprised by how wonderful it felt.
A sharp bark from Long Claw brought them all to their feet. “Our family still waits for food,” he said. “Shall we hunt, brothers?”
Everyone, including Gwydion, howled in return. They set off at a lope through the misty forest, spreading out rapidly, though Gwydion could still smell them and hear the soft padding of their feet. Long Claw appeared beside him.
“There is much about you I do not understand,” he said.
“You are my leader,” Gwydion replied. “Ask me and I will answer.”
“Where did you come from?”
“A land far away, full of men.”
“Ah, men,” Long Claw said. “We know of them, but they are rare in our demesne.”
“That is good,” Gwydion said. “Men often kill wolves.”
“They do not understand our ways.”
“But our cousins the dogs call them litter-mates.”
“They are not my cousins,” Long Claw said with contempt. They trotted along in silence for a bit. “Did the humans kill your pack?”
“No,” Gwydion said.
“Then why did you leave your home and wander into the Moss Stone lands?”
Gwydion thought about the truth, and how a wolf might see it. “My pack leader,” he said, “Wanted me to go and seek other lands, other wolves. He said that other packs could use new blood, and ours was getting crowded. He sent me to find a new pack, and I ranged far and wide before finding the Moss Stone lands.”
Long Claw grunted. “I have not heard of such a situation in many ages. Your old pack must be very prosperous.”
“It is,” Gwydion said. “But prosperity is only one part of life, is it not?”
“A good part, though.” Long Claw sniffed the breeze. “Deer ahead,” he said. “It is time to stay down wind, and use guile.”
Gwydion had a momentary confusion as the scent of deer grew stronger. He remembered being the deer, of that scent being himself, and his current scent being one of danger. He had to stop and shake his head, trying to clear the confusion. Long Claw looked at him curiously, but said nothing, and simply waited for Gwydion’s fit to pass. After a few moments, Gwydion was able to think again as a wolf, and the smell of the deer, stronger now, made his stomach grumble.
Long Claw evidently heard it, because he nodded once and continued leading them towards the deer. The scent permeated the air, sharpening both Moon Howl’s hunger and his canine instincts. With a barely audible yip, Long Claw signaled that they should separate. Moon Howl went left, looking for a break in the brush to see the herd. He knew it was a herd by the myriad of subtle differences in the smells, indicating many individual deer.
He went up a small ridge, and found a vantage point under a bush. He could see six deer in a dell below, grazing contentedly. Across the way, he could see Long Claw, also partly concealed. With a few ear flicks, the pack leader told him which deer he was interested in, an older one near the center of the group. Moon Howl understood, and began moving a bit further up wind.
The deer caught his scent and began to look about in alarm. Gwydion reversed course and came out into the open just below them; seeing him there, the herd began moving back towards Long Claw’s hiding spot. Gwydion saw him tense as the herd shifted the older deer towards the rear. With a great leap, he landed on the old deer’s back.
The herd panicked at the surprise; some began fleeing into the woods, while some turned to fight Long Claw. Gwydion rushed in to nip at the legs of the fighters, distracting them. Long Claw clung tenaciously to his prey, trying to get a good bite in. The old deer spun and jerked, lowing pitifully. Long Claw slid down and ripped at the deer’s haunches. Gwydion saw an opening and rushed in, jumping up to rip at the neck from the bottom.
Warm blood sprayed out, and the deer fell to its knees. The other deer, sensing the end was near, began backing away. Gwydion licked his chops and stared at them until they turned and melted into the woods. Long Claw had torn the deer’s legs, hobbling it, although it still tried to drag itself away. Long Claw moved up and bit into its neck. Gwydion heard the bone crunching, and soon the deer was still.
Long Claw let go, and let out a great howl. Gwydion joined him, altering his tone to a wild harmony. Soon they heard the answering calls from the pack. Within twenty minutes, all the males had arrived, and the females came a few minutes after that.
There were four of them, and they stopped when they saw Gwydion. They looked from him to the deer, where the males were already feeding. Long Claw came up and said, “This is Moon Howl. He has joined the pack, and defeated all but me.”
There was much sniffing to get acquainted, and then two of the females joined the feast, while the other two sat back on their haunches and looked at him expectantly. Moon Howl wasn’t sure what they wanted at first, but then he realized that they were both near to going into heat. He sniffed them over again, closely, and one especially intrigued him. He gave her a gentle nip on the shoulder, and led her to the carcass. They ate together, and then as the pack laid down to rest, she led him a little ways away.
“I am Smooth Nose,” she said. “Are you bound to another female?”
“I am not,” Moon Howl replied. “But I might be interested in being bound to you.”
“You are new to the pack,” she replied. “Will you fight for me?”
“None other will have you but me,” he said. “Is this agreeable to you?”
“It is,” she said with a deep sigh. “My time has passed twice already, a
nd none of the others was able to mate me. But you…”
“I didn’t know I was waiting for you until I smelled you,” he said.
“And I, you.” She barked a laugh. “Brown Pads may be jealous, but I think she will go into heat first. And once she has a mate, you will no longer be interesting. But will you control yourself and let another mate her?”
“For you, I will,” he said.
They returned to the pack, and sure enough, the other female, Brown Pads, attempted to get close to him. But he turned her aside gently, and soon she was courting another, although she kept glancing back at him.
He sat and watched the pack, quickly seeing that one of the other females was Long claw’s mate, and the last female was mated to another. Both acknowledged him, and he acknowledged them in return, but he realized that even if they went into heat, there would be no strong attraction. He didn’t understand it entirely, but assumed it was part of the instincts of the wolf. Feeling his own response to things, it seemed that the wolves had a much richer way of seeing the world compared to the deer. Instinct was still present, but did not dominate every action and reaction like it did in the deer.
Brown pads went into heat two days later. Her smell was almost overpowering, and oddly enough, Smooth Nose kept her distance from Gwydion, although she watched him closely. He felt the desire rise in him, but he did not join when three of the younger males began fighting for her. And when Short Tail emerged victorious, he led Brown Pads away, and Gwydion did not follow.
Long Claw came and sat next to him. “Short Tail is no match for you.”
“I’m waiting for Smooth Nose.”
“She has passed through two cycles and fought off those that would have her,” Long Claw said. “Does she hope it to be you?”
“That is what she has said.”
“And if she fights you?”
“I will still have her.”
Long Claw sighed. “I am pleased. Unbonded females can cause strife, and she has been unbonded for much too long.”
“Will it be soon, do you think?”
Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1) Page 5
