Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1)

by Michael A. Hooten

  “Gwyd!”

  The hand on his chest stopped him, and he followed it to his cousin’s face. “Oh. Hello, Gil.”

  “What’s the matter with you? First you’re gone for over a month, and now you walk the length of the hall like you’re in a dream.”

  “Don’t you hear them?”

  “Hear who? Everyone’s talking at once.”

  “The winds.”

  Gil took him firmly by the shoulder and steered him to a table in one of the wicker partitions. He pushed Gwydion down into a chair, and sat next to him. “Look,” he said, “Everyone knows you’re going to be the full on designated heir in a few months. And everyone knows you spend hours locked up with Math and Goewin. But if you start talking about hearing the winds, people will hate you all the same.”

  “What?” Gwydion said. “Gil, you’re not making any sense.”

  “Oh, yes I am. It’s like this: Math is respected and loved for his abilities, because... well, because he’s Math. But you’re not.”

  Gwydion turned the words over in his head, wondering where he had heard something similar. It clicked in his mind and he said, “They’re jealous.”

  “Frightened is more like it,” Gil said. “Damnation, I’m your best friend, and it still gives me the willies.”

  Gwydion smiled. “Ah, now you get to find out why you shouldn’t have beaten me with that claymore.” The way Gil paled made him laugh.

  Gwydion watched how people treated him over the next few days, and used his growing abilities to hear the whispers that they didn’t want him to hear. He could only hear people in the same room with him, but he went through all of the common areas at one point in the day or another. Many wondered if he was under some kind of enchantment, and Math encouraged this idea, as well as the fact that it would wear off after some time. It loosened many tongues to speculate. And the wind brought it all to his ears.

  All around the caer, they pointed and spoke about what he was becoming, and there was hope mixed with the fear, and not a little envy. The kitchen lasses giggled and speculated who he might pursue next. The arms masters mumbled about having to teach a spoiled brat. The charioteers remained confident that their skill was still beyond his reach. Gil bragged about him, and made his abilities out to be more than they were. The farmers who worked the fields just outside of the caer walls looked at him in the courtyard or while eating in the hall, and wondered to each other what kind of leader he might be.

  Only Bethyl said nothing, which made it hard for him to fathom what went on behind her eyes.

  Gwydion also noticed the changes in himself, trying to match what he heard with what he felt. Some days, he thought that he had somehow grown beyond his own body, and become one of the winds. Other times, he felt very insignificant, as though his experiences had made him somehow less instead of more. He knew he did not act the same as before, and yet he didn’t feel all that different. He still enjoyed watching all the young women, some of whom courted him almost openly, but he just shook his head at their advances. He accepted every criticism from the arms masters without complaint, but inwardly weighed both their words and their intentions. At the same time, he was kinder to those who had escaped his notice before; the servants and artisans that he had always just accepted as a part of life became real people to him, with their own cares and concerns.

  He had been back just over a week when Mari came to visit her brother. Gwydion heard about it from the winds long before she arrived, and so did not show any surprise when her arrival was announced at dinner one evening. Gil looked at the page, then at Gwydion. “You knew she was coming?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Arianrhod?”

  Gwydion shook his head. “She has been coughing too much recently, and your mother didn’t feel she was up to the trip.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Gil demanded. “That’s my family.”

  Gwydion shrugged. “I heard about it from the winds a couple of days ago. It was just one of those things, and I didn’t think about telling you. I’m sorry.”

  Gil pulled back from him. “I don’t know which is creepier,” he said. “That you know, or that you are sorry for not mentioning it.”

  Gwydion said nothing, but waited for Mari to join them. She kissed each on the cheek, and sat down to a bowl of hot soup which she drank gratefully. “That hits the spot,” she said. “It’s not really a good for season for travel.”

  “So why did you?” Gil asked.

  “Because Mother wanted me to check on you,” she said. “She worries that you don’t have sense enough to keep yourself warm.”

  “I’m fine,” Gil said. “I don’t know why she’s worried.”

  “Because that’s what mothers are supposed to do,” Gwydion said.

  Mari looked at him. “You haven’t asked about Ari yet.”

  “That’s because he already knows,” Gil said. “The winds told him.”

  “You’re hearing the winds now?”

  “I am,” Gwydion said. At her continued stare, he said, “What?”

  “You just seem to be very unlike yourself.”

  “I keep telling him that,” Gil said, “but he doesn’t listen to me.”

  “Am I better or worse?” Gwydion asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. But it’s more than just hearing the winds isn’t it?”

  Gwydion stopped with a bite of bread halfway in his mouth. He lowered it slowly and focused his attention on her. “Why do you say that?”

  She smiled, with a touch of mystery. “Women hear things that are beyond sound sometimes. It’s not magic, it’s just intuition.” She cocked her head at him, and he felt like they were suddenly alone. “And if I had to guess, some major things have happened in your life recently that have shaken you up pretty badly. You are not yourself because usually you would hide behind flippancy and bravado. But right now you are just hidden.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “For mere intuition, it comes across as very deep magic.” He looked down at his hands, and the smile faded. “I am not sure what I am supposed to do with myself, with everything that I have learned and experienced.”

  She studied him for a moment. “Use it,” she said.

  The idea caught him off guard. “What?”

  Patiently, she said, “Math has been training you to be not just a Lord, but a leader and a man of power. Put that training to use.”

  “But how?”

  She touched his arm lightly. “I don’t even know what you learned, so I can’t tell you. But I have full confidence that you are smart enough to figure it out.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and the spell was broken. The noise and voices of the hall came back in a rush, and they spent the rest of the evening in small talk, including Gil and others who stopped by the welcome Mari back to the Caer. But in the back of Gwydion’s mind, a plan began to form.

  Two days later, he stood in front of Math and said, “I want to explore shapeshifting more.”

  Math looked at him with the inscrutable stare that used to make Gwydion squirm. This time, though, he met it squarely. “Explain your plan,” Math said.

  “I want some time to try on other forms, on my own terms, not yours.”

  “You think that I forced you into certain scenarios?”

  “I know you did,” Gwydion said. “It taught me the lessons that I needed to learn, but I have not felt like I have been able to return to myself.”

  “And you think that more shapes will help you?” Math asked with smile.

  “I do,” Gwydion said. “You introduced me to shapeshifting in order for me to change my perspective, and it did. But it did not teach me how to assimilate those different perspectives into my life. Right now I feel disjointed and not whole. Spending all my time confined to the Caer is not helping.”

  “You have taken three different shapes—”

  “Four,” Gwydion said.

  “I wasn’t counting you turning back to a human,” Math said.


  “Neither was I. Ruchalia taught me how to turn into a squirrel.”

  “Did she now?” Math said. “That was unexpected. How was it?”

  “Very limiting,” Gwydion said.

  “So what do you intend to try?”

  “I want to become a bird, and a fish. And possibly a tree.”

  “That last seems like Ruchalia’s influence again,” Math said. He sighed. “I wonder if it wise sending you to her world.”

  “What’s done is done,” Gwydion said.

  “So it is,” Math said with a smile. “Still, this step is large. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I have to try it,” Gwydion said. “Otherwise I will wander about feeling split between the worlds.”

  Math rested his chin in his hand, and Gwydion waited. The only sound was an occasional rustle from Goewin. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will grant you leave to explore various forms, but I have one restriction: you must stay in this world.”

  Gwydion bowed his head, and said, “As you wish.”

  “And if you encounter any trouble,” Math said, “call my name. I will hear you and find you, no matter what shape you may have taken.”

  It took Gwydion less than an hour to pack, throwing extra clothes and food into a rucksack, and putting on a couple of extra layers to stay warm. He did not speak to anyone, feeling a certain need to rush, as though he were afraid he might shapeshift at any moment. He took a quick look around his room, and grabbed his harp and his sword, just to be safe. Then he left, slipping through the front gate without even the kerns on watch noticing his passing.

  The fields beyond the caer provided little cover, and he crossed them quickly. The snow was not too deep, but pulled at his ankles, slowing him as he headed to a small wood. Once in the comforting embrace of the trees, he stopped to think. He had rushed through what he wanted to do, and now that it was time to do it, he felt a certain reluctance.

  The cold began seeping into his legs and hands, and he began pushing deeper into the woods, trying to figure out why he had been driven from the caer to shapeshift, and now did not want to. He quickly realized that he would be completely on his own this time, and that scared him some. He had never needed or wanted to be alone, and here in the trees, even the winds were quiet.

  He stopped under a pine tree so thick that underneath its spreading branches there was no snow, only a thick layer of needles. He sat with his back against the huge rough trunk. A few small breaths of breeze brought him far away voices and the smell of resinous sap. He pulled out his harp and began playing, which made him focus. He played several light and simple songs, letting the familiar peace and comfort of the strings fill him and calm him. When he felt more confident of his choice, he put the harp away and stood up. Stepping away from the tree he held the image of a raven in his mind, and poured himself into it.

  The world became larger, and he found himself hopping instead of walking. He also found that his mind was thankfully clear and sharp.

  He lifted his wings and looked at them. They felt huge, but disarmingly light. He made a few flaps just to see how they felt, and lifted himself easily a few inches off the ground. The motion surprised him; he thought he was going to be waving his whole arm, but instead it felt more like he was waving his hands, mostly due to the control he felt. He flapped harder, and he rose above the trees to see the forest stretching away before him, wheeling around, he saw Caer Dathyl in the distance, looking almost insignificant.

  Gwydion enjoyed himself, swooping and diving through the cold air. There were no other birds around that he could see, and he felt as though the world belonged to him. But he also began to feel his strength starting to fade. The cold air burned in his lungs, and his wings suddenly felt much heavier. He stretched them wide, and floated down until he was back in the trees.

  He spent the rest of the day amusing himself with his new abilities. He would jump off a branch and see how far he could glide, or plummet to the earth, catching himself just before he hit. He flew in loops and rolls, caught acorns with his feet and beak, and practiced hovering in one place. As the light began to fade, he found a hollow tree trunk and settled down for the night, tucking his head under his wing.

  For the next two days, he explored the world in raven form. He flew through the forest, seeing it through avian eyes, and then he became bold and flew back to Caer Dathyl, where he sat in a bare tree in the courtyard, watching the movement below. A group of children spied him and began throwing rocks at him, convincing him to return to the forest.

  He began practicing shapeshifting back to human form, spending several hours tumbling through a snowy field as he tried to change shape just as he landed. After earning plenty of bruises for his miscalculations, he figured out the timing of it, and continued doing it until he could do it without thinking. Then he went the other way, jumping into the air and becoming a raven in flight, which took him a lot less time to learn.

  He left the forest again, wheeling over the countryside, over fields fallow for the winter, forests of skeletal trees, and craggy mountain tops. He marked the borders of Gwyneth, then crossed them and winged his way through the surrounding cantrevs.

  After a few days, he returned to the evergreens that he had started from, becoming a man again. His body felt very heavy, and he felt like he plodded on the ground as he went back to Caer Dathyl. He did not enter the keep, but bought food from an inn just inside the city gates. The fire in the common room was warm and cheery, and a bard played in the corner. It made him want to sink into the floor, and when the innkeeper suggested he take a room for the night, Gwydion agreed. The bed was thin and lumpy compared to his own in the keep, but he fell into it gratefully and slept for twenty hours.

  When he woke, he left the Caer again, and headed out to the Sayont River. The main channel flowed dark and swift, but the edges were frozen, and in some cases covered with snow. A primordial fear gripped his heart as he slid cautiously towards the water. He had almost decided to head back to the shore and try it from the pier when the ice split under him and he fell into the river.

  The shock of it took his breath away, and he felt the current catch his feet and drag him towards the center of the river. The weight of his clothes started dragging him under, and it took all of his powers of concentration to form the image of a salmon in his head. As soon as he started changing, he felt a different type of panic, realizing that his head was still above water.

  He let himself submerge completely, and felt the rush of water over his gills. He felt like pure muscle; he dove to the bottom of the river, where the water moved more slowly, while he acquainted himself with his new shape. It was like flying, but without the drag of gravity. He found himself darting all over, just because he could.

  He found that the cold water made him feel a little sleepy, so he let the current carry him downstream towards the sea, using flicks of his fins to keep him away from rocks and submerged trees. He didn’t worry about time, although he noticed the passing of days by the alternating light and dark. It took three days to get to the mouth of the river, where warm currents from the ocean mixed with the wintery river. The salt water invigorated him like a slap to the face, and he raced around the harbor, investigating all the nooks and crannies. He found several ships half buried in the mud, rotting, and full of tasty scavengers. He also found a couple of nets put out by hopeful fishermen, which he avoided.

  He left the harbor after a while and ventured into the open ocean. The salt became stronger the further out he went, and he began to cruise lazily just below the surface. The weak winter sun was not enough to warm the water, but he didn’t mind. In a fit of energy, he propelled himself downwards, passing through water that went from green to blue to black. He could feel the weight of it crushing in upon him, but he continued diving until it became too painful to continue. He could see bright spots all around him, evidence of some kind of life, but he did not investigate too closely. Instead, he slowly swam back towards the surface, t
rading the dim phosphor glow for the bright yellow sun.

  The bottom rose up to meet him, and he found himself skirting a small, heavily forested island. A shadow passed overhead, and he rolled to look up at what it might be. It took a moment for his brain to register the eagle that was plummeting towards him, but in a move that spoke of developing instincts, he pushed for shore and turned into man, throwing up his arm in defense.

  The eagle, clearly baffled at the change, struck his arm a glancing blow, then shot up and away with a frustrated cry. Gwydion stood knee deep in the water, watching it wheel away through the blue sky, feeling the wind drying the water from his face and hair. The absurdity of his situation suddenly struck him, and he began to laugh. It came out first as a low chuckle, but soon he was holding his sides and laughing as loud as he could, startling a flock of sparrows from the island, which made him laugh even more. He calmed down after a few minutes, and wiped away the tears from his eyes. Then he thought about how to tell Gil about what had just happened, and he started laughing again.

  He waded to shore, and began to gather firewood. He found a sheltered spot in the trees to build his fire, and spent several hours warming his bones and not thinking much. The winds were quiet. He played his harp some, but mostly he just watched the dancing flames, letting the moment be without any thought. He did, however, smile more than he had in a long while.

  He woke the next morning next to a cold pile of ashes, and moving proved to be difficult due to stiff muscles. He stumbled out to the shore to try and get his bearings, but he did not remember how he got to the island. He panicked for just a moment, then shrugged it off. He figured he had been swimming mostly west; he launched himself into the air as an osprey, circled the island twice, and then began flying into the rising sun.

  He landed that evening on the mainland, though he was still not quite sure what part of Glencairck he had found. He shapeshifted to a cat, and slunk through the alleys of the port town, listening to the conversations of men in tavern doorways and merchants in the streets. He discovered to his surprise that he was in Airu instead of Cairnecht. He found a quiet spot where he could shift, going straight into raven form, and followed the coast south until he recognized Afron at the mouth of the Sayont River. He followed the river until he was in the wilderness near Caer Dathyl, where he became a man again, walking through forests traversed only by animals.