Last time she’d been lost she’d used a bird to guide her, but that had been pure luck and she doubted that she could enter a bird’s mind at will, least of all now when she was so tired. Yet, as she stumbled helplessly through the bracken, she found that her lips were moving as if of their own accord, forming a strange language she’d never heard before. Words came to her, heaped one on top of the other, and gradually a pattern began to form. The rhythm took hold as the cadence spread from her lips and through her body.
There was an odd sinking sensation in her stomach and she had the feeling that she’d been tossed high into the air, the clouds reaching up to her before she tumbled down to earth. She expected pain, to land with a thump, but there was nothing, only a faint, dizzy numbness in her stomach. It was as though she were unused to her eyes; they just wouldn’t focus properly as the world around her became distant and the forest blurred. Resting her forehead against the stump of a tree she felt her skin hot against the wood; beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and into her mouth.
It’s too late. She slumped down further. I can’t go on, Father, I’m so sorry. Still she mumbled words without rhyme or reason, just a collection of mad guttural sounds all tumbled together. In the distance the owl hooted again. If only I could get out of here. Getting up, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
She was flying high above the trees, her body, a poor broken thing, left far below. She felt herself fall, the ground rushing up to her, then almost by instinct she felt herself dart upwards once again, through the trees and past branches, as if she had been nothing but the faintest touch of the breeze.
But it was no good; she felt herself pulled back, her body dragging her down. On the topmost branch something stirred; a tiny flicker, but it was enough. With one final effort she heaved herself through the blackness, her eyes searching as she passed by a branch. Somewhere amid the leaves there was a flutter of movement, a hint of warmth. She felt her presence far above the forest floor as she scrabbled through the twigs. The bird was so close, she could almost taste the spittle of its mouth, feel its claws grip tightly against bark as a gust of wind ruffled its feathers. Down below her body called. No, she mustn’t look; the weight of her body lay ready to drag her to earth. She felt the pull of it, a hard tug that gathered momentum and she was falling.
Alone on the branch, the owl hardly moved. Its head cocked to one side as it contemplated the mouse that scurried through the undergrowth. It was young enough to feel the exhilaration of the hunt, wings held taut as it readied itself, the blood running wild through its veins. Then it stopped.
She slipped behind its mind so naturally that neither of them noticed. Caught up with the rodent, the owl hardly registered anything at all. It had a vague notion that something had squirmed behind its eyes, an uneasy feeling that all was not quite right. Iwa’s consciousness was far more subtle and so she had more problems. First there was a sensation of shock and surprise; she’d only stumbled upon animals by accident or in dreams before, but this was different. Now she had to keep control of the creature. There was a whole new body to get used to: the heavy weight of wings, the soft touch of feathers and the hard press of its unwieldy claws. But what eyes – she could see perfectly. Nothing went unnoticed, not the slightest twitch on the forest floor. Sharp ears picked out the faintest sound, the crawl of animals in the bracken or the finger of wind that rustled through the branches.
With some trepidation she realised that the bird had turned its head right round to look behind it, giving her a queasy feeling. Turning back proved more difficult than she’d imagined, the muscles were stiff and unyielding. If only this wasn’t all so complicated. All these new muscles and none of them worked how she expected.
Deep down in the bird’s subconscious a warning flashed, but Iwa managed to quell it and soften the hoot of sudden alarm. She felt its mind, a dull fuzzy thing as it contemplated the mouse far below, and its claws tightened as it calculated the flight path. With one final look it flexed its wings, the muscles of its stomach tensed, and it tilted forward, ready to lift off the branch. She could almost feel the swish of the air through its wings and the blood trembling in its body.
Maybe part of her had already begun to think like an owl, glorying in the thrill of the hunt, so it was only with some reluctance that she managed to pull back, the deep-rooted howl of complaint stifled before it left the bird’s subconscious. She was aware of a pang of hunger; the owl had not eaten all night, but she had more pressing needs. Far below she was aware that her body had already begun to walk towards the owl. There was no boundary to mark the hidden place, no shimmer of light or crackle of magic, but it was there all the same.
There was an angry hoot as the mouse moved away and the hunger grew inside the owl’s stomach. Its senses remained trained on the forest below as it watched the mouse scuttle into the undergrowth, perplexed as to why it hadn’t swooped down to catch it.
The mouse should
