Whisperings of Magic (6 page)

When Catryn mounted later, the horse behaved strangely. It danced nervously; its wings fluttered and shook against her thighs. She calmed it as best she could, then dropped back to ride beside the Sele.

“We have not had a chance to speak since you returned,” she said. “Was there any more news?”

“None,” Sele the Plump replied, “but there was something …”

“What?”

“A general sense of unease. A feeling of worry. Not since Dahl regained command of his kingdom have I seen my people so perturbed. It is as if there
was something in the air. Something hovering over us.”

When they stopped for the night, Catryn waited to speak to Dahl alone.

“The Sele sense something wrong,” she said.

“What?”

“They cannot say. It is just a feeling. As if something is threatening. I feel it, too. I am going to see what I can find out.”

“Now? Tonight?”

“Yes. Darkness is a good cover.”

“But how? A cat again?”

“A cat cannot go as far as I intend to. I must fly.”

“A bird—you will go as a bird?” Dahl’s face stilled in the dying firelight. Catryn knew he was remembering the moment when he saw the Protector, in his hawk form, consumed by the dragon’s flames.

“No,” she answered. “Birds were the Protector’s other bodies. Those, and dogs.” Her nose wrinkled slightly as she said the word “dogs.” Catryn had not had much liking for the Protector when she had known him only as the dog that guarded Dahl, and she liked dogs even less now. “My forms are cats. Those are the bodies that fit me best. But tonight I will take the horse.”

“Are you certain this is wise, Catryn?” Dahl asked. “My feeling is that we should stay together.”

“That is not possible, Dahl,” Catryn answered.

“I suppose not,” he said, but he did not sound convinced.

“This is what I have been trained for,” Catryn insisted. “You must trust me.”

“I do trust you, of course I do,” Dahl answered quickly. “But still, I worry for you …”

“There is no need. I know what I am doing, Dahl.”

“I’m certain you do,” Dahl agreed. “But …” He met her gaze. It was adamant. Giving up, he shook his head. “Very well,” he said. “I will let you have your way in this. But take care, Catryn.”

“I will,” Catryn replied, but she bridled. It was not for Dahl to give her permission to do what she wished. Nevertheless, she was impatient to be off and would not argue the point with him now. “I will be back by morning,” she said. “You need not fear for me.” Her words were confident, even a trifle impatient. Clearly, Dahl still had no idea of the extent of her powers.

She turned then and strode over to where the horses were tied up. Her horse was not tethered—there was no need for that. Nor did she need saddle or bridle to ride it. She leaped upon its back and settled her knees under its wings.

“Tonight we fly,” she whispered into its ear. The ear twitched, and the horse turned its head to look at her. Its eyes flickered and it whinnied softly. She felt
it quiver beneath her. Without further guidance it stepped quietly away from the camp, away from the tree under which it had been sheltering. A few more steps and then the wings began to flutter. Catryn grasped its wiry gray mane. One tentative wingbeat, another, and then with a massive surge the wings spread wide and they were airborne. Catryn looked back and saw Dahl standing tall and straight, watching after them. His hair gleamed pale in the moonlight, his face even paler. How alone he suddenly seemed. For a moment she questioned the wisdom of leaving him. Was he right? Should they not stay together? But what use were her powers if she could not exercise them? And, no matter what her feelings for Dahl, her magic was something they could not share.

Then she and the horse were above the trees and he was lost to sight. As they rose higher and began to fly through the wisps of cloud that tried without success to hide the two moons of Taun, Catryn threw her head back and let the wind tear at her hair. For the first time in over three years she felt free! She had worked so hard, studied so hard. There had been no time for play. No time for herself. She knew this journey was not for pleasure, but in spite of herself she relaxed and let the moonlight course through her. The stars were calling. So tempting! Just to go higher and higher … Forget this world … Forget the terrors that were surely waiting for them … Forget even Dahl!

“Come,” sang the stars. “Come to us.” A siren song, alluring, irresistible.

She closed her eyes and let the song wash over her, envelope her completely. Now the wind seemed to sing, too.

“Find me,” was its song. “Seek me out. Fly to me.”

Catryn lost herself in its music. The air around her grew frigid but she did not notice. Did not notice that her fingers were freezing into claws in the horse’s mane. Did not even notice the slowing of her own heartbeat, the thickening of her blood …

The horse shook its head with a force that nearly tore Catryn’s fingers loose from its mane. It neighed, a shrill, raucous shriek that tore through Catryn like a shock of lightning.

“No!” she cried. “Oh, no!” She forced her frozen hands to turn the animal. Down! She must get back down! Her chest burned as if with icy fire. She willed herself to take a deep breath, and then another, but it seemed an eternity before she could breathe again without pain searing through her. Gradually, as they descended, she felt a softer wind blowing through her hair, felt her senses pouring back into her.

How near she had come to being lost! How
could
she have been so careless? After all she had said to Dahl. Her cheeks flamed at the memory of her proud, overconfident words. She buried her face in the horse’s mane and felt the warmth of it beneath her body. She breathed in its heavy, musty smell.

“My thanks, my friend,” she gasped.

The horse looked back at her. The light in its eyes eclipsed the moonlight and the starlight both.

“North,” Catryn whispered, forcing the words out from between chilled lips. “We go north.”

The horse veered. Its wings beat strongly and steadily. They flew into the darkness.

The land over which they flew was night-black. Here and there a flickering light spoke of an isolated dwelling or two. Catryn pressed close to the warm body of the horse and kept her eyes fixed on the darkness below. She allowed herself to hear nothing but its wingbeats, feel nothing but its heartbeats. She was shocked at how easily she had allowed herself to be lured into danger. She grasped the horse’s mane more tightly.

It will not happen again, she vowed grimly. Then, in the distance ahead of them, she saw a clustering of lights: a village. It was time she took matters back into her own hands.

“Alight,” she whispered into the horse’s ear, “at the village edge.”

The animal circled, then landed soundlessly in a copse of wood just beyond the village green. “Furl your wings,” Catryn commanded.

The mighty wings rustled as they settled into its
body. Catryn leaped off and threw her cloak over the horse’s back to conceal them. “Wait here for me,” she said softly. The horse tossed its head. She reached out to caress it and scratch its forehead. It made a low, snuffling noise and pushed its head into her hand. She rested her own head against its muzzle briefly, feeling the softness of it. Then she turned and walked toward the nearest light.

It was an inn. As she approached, the door opened and a few men strode out. They left the door ajar. Catryn shrank back into the shadows and waited until they had made their way down the path toward some houses. Then she drew into herself. Her body shimmered silver in the moonlight for one brief instant—and dissolved. A ragged orange-and-brown striped tabby cat stood in its place.

Catryn turned her head to survey this new self. A furball near her tail caught her attention, and she pulled at it with her sharp little teeth until it came loose. Spitting the fur out, she washed down the spot with her rough tongue until the pelt lay smooth again.

No need to look too shabby, she told herself. Then she became still and let her cat senses take over. Smells of cooking meat and firesmoke filled the air around her. She cringed as the overpowering scent of humans swept along in their wake. She was still not quite used to the odor her own kind gave off—a smell she never noticed unless she was in her cat form. She set herself to listening, each ear covering a different
sector. Sounds, too, were much more distinct and much louder. Learning to separate them and not let them overwhelm her had taken months of training. Finally, whiskers twitching, she stepped delicately toward the open door and slipped in. There were but a few men inside and no one noticed.

Keeping a wary eye out for dogs, although she could not catch a whiff of one, she slunk along one wall. Snatches of conversation drifted over to her. Suddenly, one angry voice rose above the others.

“Never heard another thing from him. Promised he’d send for me, but he never did. So much for trusting a man—even your own brother.”

“Went north, did he?” another voice asked.

The two speakers were sitting at a table near the fire. Catryn curled herself up on the hearth near them and began to purr. It was odd that she had never had to be taught that. She had been able to do it from the very first time she shifted, but she still didn’t know how. It just happened.

“Old Tom did the same thing,” the second speaker said, his voice equally indignant. “A friend of his sent a note to him saying there was work to be had cutting wood up there. He off and left and told me he’d send word back to me if it was true and if there was something for me, too. Never heard another thing from him. I figured he hadn’t made out so well, that’s all, and didn’t want to admit it. Still, he could’ve let me know.”

“Hardly see anybody from those parts down
around here nowadays, do you?” added the first man. “That’s another odd thing. Used to be travelers coming by all the time, now—no one.” He paused to light his pipe.

“You’re right about that,” the second agreed. Then both men lapsed into silence.

Catryn lay where she was for a time longer, but when they began to talk again it was about village affairs. She was almost hypnotized with her own purring by now, and the warmth of the fire was making her sleepy.

Time to move, she thought. She stretched, a long, sinuous cat stretch, then began to circulate around the room, but could hear nothing else of interest. Still, what she had heard had been significant. There was, indeed, something going on in the north. It could not be good. Strange it was, too, that there were so few men at the inn. And, now that she took one last look around and thought on it further, that they should all be so old. Where were the young men of this village?

She slunk out the door when it opened to admit another man, then trotted back to where she had left the horse. Safely out of sight, she allowed herself to return to her own body. This was something she must discuss with Dahl, but the night was early yet. There was time, still, to explore farther.

“We go on,” she whispered to the horse as she settled herself onto its back and reached for its mane. “There is more to discover, of that I am certain.”

They flew for what seemed a long time. At first, nothing seemed amiss. Catryn ordered the horse to circle low over small villages and scatterings of houses, but by now more of the folk below seemed to be abed. There were few lights burning. Then, just as she was beginning to think they must turn back, she felt a wave of cold strike her. The horse felt it, too, for it faltered. Before she had time to think, a wall of mist enveloped them. From flying in clear, sharp moonlight, they went instantly into a world of gray blankness. The horse began to labor. It was as if it were trying to fly through air that had suddenly become as thick as cold soup. Catryn could feel water streaming off its wings. She lost all sense of direction—could only tell where the earth lay by the fact that the horse was fast losing its battle to stay aloft and was descending rapidly.

“Turn back,” she cried.

The horse banked in a wide circle, but they could not escape the mist. Catryn could feel its strands encircling her, reaching out and touching her like ghostly fingers, searching for her. The horse’s mighty wings beat more and more slowly. They were sinking in spite of all its efforts. A glimpse of something reached out of the grayness below her and then was lost to sight as they strained on. Catryn caught her breath. It had been the topmost branch of a tree. They were so low! And there was a forest beneath them. If they tried to land, blind as they were, they would crash into it. Then, unmistakably, she felt the
presence of something behind them. Something that was flying much more surely and quickly than they. A wave of hate and the stench of something worse than evil swept over her. The horse veered sharply and turned to meet the threat, eyes blazing forth fire. Catryn sent her mind out to meet it.