She led him back into the trees, and to a patch of wild mushrooms that tasted like heaven to Gwydion. He said as much to Ruchalia, who said, “Those would be deadly poison to a human, you know.”
“Really?” said Gwydion. “Does that mean I should wait to change back to a human until after I digest them?”
“Yes,” Ruchalia answered. “And if you ever eat one while you are human, you’ll want to shapeshift in quick order. That knowledge saved Taliesin’s life once.”
“Can you tell me that story?” Gwydion asked.
“I thought you wanted to know about your uncle.”
“Well, ah, yes,” Gwydion stammered. “I just have an interest in the bards as well.”
“You know, you look almost nothing like Math,” Ruchalia said, cocking her head. “All the same, there are similarities. Like an interest in everything in everything around.”
“You say he was close to my age when you met. Did he appear like I did?”
“Oh, no, you’re much cuter,” Ruchalia said.
“I meant here, in this place—wherever this is.”
“This world is called Eleysia. And yes, Math did just show up one day, just as you did today. He said he was learning shapeshifting and world crossing from his father, Mathonwy.”
“Eleysia,” Gwydion said. “It’s a beautiful name, and comes from such a lovely sow.”
“You’re very different than your uncle,” Ruchalia said. “He never flattered or flirted. It was all business with him.”
“Some things never change.”
“It’s nice to feel appreciated, though,” she said, snuggling up against him.
Gwydion moved away, feeling pangs of heartache. “I’m sorry, Ruchalia. I was only being friendly.”
“As was I,” she said. “Something happened to you recently, a loss, or a heartbreak. It’s hard to tell which.”
“Both. Neither.” Gwydion shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
“It usually is.” She moved a little bit away, snuffling along the forest floor.
“I’m sorry, Ruchalia,” he said. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You think I’m offended?” She squealed in laughter, which turned into snorting chuckles. “You are young! You think that I’m pining for you, but I just wanted to give you a little space. You obviously are not ready to talk about whatever has happened. You are just as obviously used to having the sows fall all over themselves trying to get to you.”
Gwydion grunted sheepishly. “I imagine you’re right on both counts. Well, the second one, for sure. As for talking...” He did his own rooting around for minute while he considered it. Ruchalia nudged him with approval.
“That’s the way a boar acts,” she said.
“I thought boars were all fire and passion,” Gwydion said.
“That’s all some see. Not a sow, though.”
Gwydion shook his tusks. “The truth is, I would like someone to talk to. There’s my uncle, but he’s not here, and he’s hard enough to talk to when he is around.”
“There were times I couldn’t get him to shut up,” Ruchalia said.
“But was it a conversation, or just him talking at you, expecting you to agree with every word?”
Ruchalia snorted a laugh. “Yes, he did do that quite often. Now that you mention it, that’s when I enjoyed his company least.”
Gwydion trotted around the forest floor between three trees. “He’s a good teacher, and I’ve learned a lot. But there are things that I don’t trust him with.”
“Like?”
“Like about my time as a deer, or a wolf. I know he understands, but I don’t know that I can just tell him what it was like for me, good and ill.”
Ruchalia said, “You just want him to listen.”
“I do!” He slowed down and finally stopped in front of her. “I really do.”
“So tell me instead,” she said.
“I’m not sure I can,” he said.
“Let’s walk, and you can tell me about your shapeshifting so far. You said you’ve been a deer and a wolf?”
“Yes,” he answered, walking beside her through the forest. “He turned me into a deer first, which scared me more than I like to say. But I had no idea he what he was going to do. He simply said that we would be training, and I thought it would be a lecture, or drills or something.”
As Gwydion talked, Ruchalia led him deeper into the forest. The trees grew taller and more spread out, but still so thick at the top that the light was green even though it was the middle of the day. Different smells teased his nose, but he ignored them; the offer to talk had opened a door within him somewhere, and he spoke of his experiences without thinking about the consequences or what Ruchalia thought of him. Ruchalia, for her part, steered the conversation with small questions and grunts of assent or sympathy, while she steered him physically with little nudges and tugs.
She led him up a hill, where the forest thinned. Gwydion saw the valley below, filled with trees, and noted that the sun was beginning to set. A part of him wondered where he was going, but he also trusted Ruchalia. He told her about his disagreements with his uncle, and why he suspected that Math was at least as stubborn as he was; about his time in the tower, and his suspicions about Bran. He told her the differences in mating as a wolf and as a deer, and about making love as a human. He told her about Arianrhod, and why he thought she was so different from the women he normally bedded, and so much more attractive. He talked about being Math’s heir, and his fear that he would never be the leader his uncle wanted and the people needed. He also spoke of the harp, and how it brought him the most joy and satisfaction in his life.
When he finished, he felt relief, and an overwhelming sense of tiredness. He looked around, and noticed that they were in a pine forest now, in a protected bower with a soft bed of needles spread forming almost a nest. Ruchalia pushed him into it, and helped him get comfortable and lie down.
“Rest,” she said. “We have spoken much, and there is more to come, but for now, let your mind and body renew themselves in sleep.”
“Thank you,” he said, feeling it an effort to speak. “For—for everything.”
She shushed him, then began humming a lullaby. It sounded strange in his ears, a true song from a sow to her piglets. He fell asleep wondering if he could reproduce it on the harp.
Gwydion awoke in the middle of the night, shaking from a dream. He had been a stag again, but this time the boy with the bow had shot him. He was disoriented and confused in the dark, but he felt Ruchalia beside him, warm and peaceful. He had a different pang then, a memory of Sweet Nose growing big beside him in their den.
He grumbled in frustration, and was tempted to leave Ruchalia and figure out what Math wanted him to learn without her. But her warmth lulled him, made him drowsy, and soon he was asleep again.
When he woke next, he could see sunlight coming in from outside, but the bower was still cool and dim. He stood and stretched, feeling better than he had in some time. His mind was clear, and his heart was no longer so heavy. He trotted into the fresh air.
He found Ruchalia sunning herself on a large flat rock overlooking a valley dense with trees. They were high on the mountainside, where the trees were just beginning to thin and he could see snow at the very crest. He heard Ruchalia singing, but as he got close enough to make out the words, she stopped.
“Good morning,” he said.
“I wasn’t sure you were ever going to wake up,” she said, turning to look at him.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Almost three days. Are you hungry?”
Gwydion checked himself. “Not yet, but I can tell I will be, soon.”
“That’s part of being a boar,” Ruchalia said. “We have great reserves, and value deliberation over blind instinct.”
“That’s not the perception of boars among humans.”
“But you also couldn’t conceive of a boar being a sha
pechanger, either.”
“True.”
Ruchalia stood and stretched her back. “Let’s go find something to eat.”
As they entered the forest, Gwydion said, “Ruchalia? This may seem like a silly question, but how are we talking?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, deer talk mostly through body language, and some vocalization. Wolves do the same, but communicate more. Humans use mostly speech, with a little body language thrown in. But I don’t see any of that between us.”
“Boars speak mostly with our thoughts,” she answered.
“You can read my mind?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “I mostly only hear what you want me to hear, although if you are not paying attention, I can sometimes hear you. It sounds like you’re talking to yourself.”
“So yesterday when I told you everything—”
“Day before yesterday,” she corrected.
“Right, day before yesterday... Was I sharing more than just words?”
She glanced at him. “That’s very perceptive,” she said. “And fairly accurate, I would say. It’s one of the reasons why you were so drained afterwards.”
“But if that kind of sharing was hard on me, how was it on you?”
“Here we are,” she said as they entered an alpine meadow filled with wild melons.
He ignored the scent of the fruit, and how it made his stomach twist in hunger. “You didn’t answer.”
She turned so that she was looking directly into his eyes. “I am much older than you realize,” she said, and he felt the weight of it, the weariness of both tremendous joy and tremendous pain. She nodded at his comprehension. “I understand what you are going through, and I sympathize, truly I do. But I have also known far worse, and have experienced it, absorbed it, and made it my own. Your story will become a part of me, too, and I will become a part of you. I think you will change from the experience far more than I.”
He bowed to her, the only tribute he could make to what he had glimpsed.
She laughed, hiding the deeper part of herself again. “You shouldn’t waste time with such useless gestures,” she said. “Not when breakfast awaits.”
They dug in, smashing melons and devouring them, seeds, rind and all. Gwydion finished six before he felt satiated. He waddled over to where Ruchalia was watching him, and collapsed beside her.
“I think I could go back to sleep for another two days,” he said contentedly.
“You know, it can be awfully lonely hanging out with you,” she teased. “Besides, I thought it might be a good time to tell you about your uncle.”
Gwydion sat up. “You said he visited you often?”
“He said I was one of the wisest creatures he had ever met. I told him he needed to travel more.”
“I sometimes wonder if I would have gotten along with a younger version of him.”
“Possibly.” Ruchalia cocked her head. “He’s not as mischievous as you are, but he wasn’t as sanctimonious as he sometimes comes across, either. Still, he wouldn’t mate me, and I certainly did my best to seduce him.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Gwydion said, “I’ve rarely seen the humor. He’s oftentimes gruff and very strict.”
Ruchalia smiled at his discomfort, but allowed the subject to stay on track. “I gather his father was too, from what he told me,” she said. “The last time he visited me, his father had just died, and we talked for several days about what it meant to be a leader. He was very nervous about becoming a lord.”
“The more I think about it, the more nervous I am as well. What did you advise him to do?”
“I told him it was simple,” she said. “Uphold the law, but show mercy when needed. Be kindest to the lowest. Don’t be afraid to stand up to the most powerful when you know that you are right, but be willing before then to admit you are wrong. Be certain when you make war, and doubtful when you make peace. You are responsible for your land, good and ill, and your choices will be reflected by the people under you.”
Gwydion frowned. “But that seems so trite.”
“Sometimes the best advice is in a proverb we have heard a million times. But if we don’t ever heed the advice, it doesn’t matter how familiar, and yes, trite, it is.”
Gwydion bowed low so that his tusks scraped the ground. “You are indeed wise.”
Ruchalia snorted. “When you live as long as I have, you get to experience firsthand what works and what doesn’t. And believe me, I tried the things that don’t work plenty of times before I was convinced.”
“And yet you are still alive, and willing to share what you’ve learned,” Gwydion said. “How is that not wisdom?”
Ruchalia sighed. “Because I still feel like I have so much to learn.”
“That sounds like wisdom, too,” he said.
They spent the day wandering the woods, talking and comparing stories about Math. As evening approached, they rested in a meadow under the warm afternoon sun. Ruchalia said, “So is Math going to teach you how to shapeshift on your own?”
Gwydion shrugged. “It’s hard to say what my uncle may or may not do, no matter what the subject is, but doubly so with my training.”
“Are you interested in learning?”
Gwydion looked at her closely. “Are you offering to teach me?”
“Well, you should at least be able to take your own shape if you want,” she said.
“And if I can take my shape, then I should be able to take others?”
“Very good,” Ruchalia said.
“I would very much like to learn that.”
“Then watch, using all your senses,” she said. He saw her concentrate, and realized he could hear her holding the thought in her mind that she should be human. He could feel the desire welling inside her like a wave, but she let it go not with a crash, but by trickling it into the image she had formed in her mind. Her body began changing, faster than he expected, but still much slower than he had done so far.
She stood up, a not quite homely woman with short brown hair and broad curves in her hips and bust. “Stop leering and try it yourself,” she said. She sounded like she was at the bottom of a well, but he realized that was because she was speaking only with her mouth.
Gwydion thought about looking at himself in a mirror, and tried to find the power that Ruchalia had. It eluded him until she said, “Stop reaching for my power and use your own.”
“Right, sorry,” he said, and turned his focus more inward. He found the well within himself, and began to use it, letting it swell in his chest until he could feel the wind touching every bristle on his body. He pulled in a little more, feeling like he would explode, but hanging on to it.
“That’s right,” Ruchalia said. “Now let it go, slowly.”
Gwydion felt his limbs growing longer and fuller, felt his hair changing from coarse bristles to something softer and finer. The transformation seemed to take forever, and was not exactly pleasant, although it did not hurt the way he expected. After some endless time, he stood in front of Ruchalia, gasping for breath and feeling like he had just fought Gil.
“Very good,” Ruchalia said. “You took to that surprisingly fast. It usually takes two or three times for a beginner to get it right.
“Does it ever get any easier?” Gwydion said.
“Of course. It just takes practice.” She looked at him closely. “Are you ready to try it the other way?”
“In a minute,” Gwydion said.
“Take your time,” she said.
He watched her as he caught his breath. Her dress was simple but well made, but the short hair threw him. Every woman he knew had long hair. “What determines our form?” he asked.
“Mostly just being ourselves,” she replied. “For instance, I know what a horned owl or a barn owl looks like in a general sense, but exactly how I will look as either is based mostly on just me being me.”
“And clothes?” he said.
“Ah, well, that’s a bit trickier.”
She swished her dress about a little. “A lot of it has to do with how you see clothes. Humans see it as necessary, so it is part of the transformation. Boars don’t, so it’s not.”
Gwydion took a deep breath and felt the last of the shakes leave. “And say I wanted to have a full beard. Could that be part of the change?”
“With practice,” she said. “For now, you should concentrate on general form, not specifics.”
“Okay,” he said. “Here goes.” He built up the power within himself again, and began releasing it, holding a picture of a boar firmly in his mind.
And nothing happened.
“Try it again,” Ruchalia urged. “Think about more than just the shape, think about the feel of being a boar.”
“Shape and feel,” Gwydion said. “Got it.” He concentrated again, and began to feel the change happening, but he couldn’t seem to make it finish. He snapped back to his human shape, and fell to his knees in exhaustion.
Ruchalia came and knelt beside him, steadying him with her arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her, enjoying the strength of her. She hummed a song, different than what she sang as a swine, but with the same promise of comfort and rest. He could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, but he gradually began to rouse himself. “Why am I having so many problems?” he said.
“Relax,” she said, helping him stand up. “It’s your first time. You made the one transformation, and that’s an excellent start. Can you walk?”
“Some, I think,” he said. “As long as we don’t have to go far.”
“Just along here to where there’s a stream with a deep pool where you can drink while I can get you some suitable food,” she said. As they walked, he was aware of her hip rubbing his, and it took a great deal of concentration to keep his feet moving.
They went back into the trees, where the fading light had completely disappeared. Fireflies confused his eyes, but he could hear them getting closer to the stream, and then Ruchalia was sitting him down and scooping handfuls of water to his mouth. It helped revive him, and when she asked if he was okay while he got food for them, he waved her away shakily. She returned with melons that she broke open and fed to him. Gwydion soon felt more like himself, and stopped feeling like a walking earthquake.
Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1) Page 7
