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The tree? But then, Ulean had brought me messages off the slipstream from plants before. The land was far more alive and vibrant than most people thought her. I leaned my head against the gnarled bark and sank into the energy of the ancient wood. Old, well past old, far older than I was.
I saw the coming of the new people to this land.
Well over six hundred years old, then. As I snuggled against the tree, letting the trunk shield me from the wind and the chill, I began to doze, sliding easily away from my conscious mind.
Where is the owl?
He will be back. He and I are friends. He guards against the forest creatures, the Shadow Hunters.
Who is he?
The Guardian of the Forest. He was driven out of the ravine along with the Queen of Rivers and Rushes. She is not dead. She is biding her time.
I wish I could talk to her--so much is going on.
You may get your wish, young Cambyra. You may get your wish.
It's true then--what happened last night? I was an owl . . . I flew. And a stream of images from the night before blanketed my mind, taking me back, sinking me deep into the freedom the skies had showered upon me. I murmured gently, almost asleep in the cradle of the tree, feeling protected and cared for.
You must wake up, owlet. You have miles to go before you sleep . . .
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep . . ." A poem. You can't read, how did you know the words?
So many things pass through the slipstream. Did you truly believe I would not hear them as they cross my path? I am sorry, owlet, that you must journey to the bloody fanged ones . . . but truly, they are less dangerous than what waits in the woodland. Sometimes, the monsters are terribly beautiful, and the heroes loathsome. Go now, rest. Your friend will return for your next lesson in flight. Rest assured. He keeps watch over you.
And then, my eyes fluttered and I woke to full consciousness, freezing again as I realized it was time to get down, out of the tree.
Ulean rode my shoulder. The tree, he is old and wise, but not so old as me. But you can trust him. Trees are like that--once they choose a side, they seldom switch.
As I joined the others in making protection charms, I sorted through the herbs and crystals carefully, but my thoughts were a million miles away, soaring in the dark sky.
At seven on the dot, I was standing outside of Lannan's office in Vecktor Hall, at the New Forest Conservatory. Leo stood beside me, the limo we'd arrived in waiting in the street in front of the building. Nervous, wondering how this was going to work, I raised my hand and hesitantly knocked.
"Enter." The word echoed through the hall as the door slid silently open. I glanced inside to see Lannan sitting behind his desk.
Altos's office was as oddly contradictory as was he. The furniture was old, heavy, dark, and handcrafted, but electronics filled the shelves, and just like at Marta's, there was a minimalist feel to the decor once you moved beyond the basic furnishings. But the atmosphere reminded me of peaches left on the vine just a little too long.
The suite was done in burgundy and black, with a large divan against one wall. A tapestry hung on the wall and, as I looked closer, I realized it was a picture of a woman being fucked by a large wolf, while a man stood by, masturbating. I shuddered, averting my eyes. A second wall was covered with books, and a desk, ornate and hand-carved from ebony, sat near the books. A door led into another room.
I glanced around for anybody else, but we were alone. Leo stood outside. Lannan glanced at him briefly and waved him off.>Who are you? What is this? How am I doing this?
You, like your lover, are part Cambyra Fae. You are not just of the magic-born by birth, but half your heritage lies within the demonic Fae. Your father was one of the Uwilahsidhe, the owl people.
Part Fae. I was part Fae? My mind tried to process the concept but I kept coming back to one thought. You knew my father? What was he like? What is his name? Is he still alive?
Yes, I knew your father, and your mother, too. And yes, he still lives. His name is Wrath.
I want to meet him--is that possible?
But the owl fell silent as we twisted another loop around the house and he came lightly to rest in the oak again. He let out a piercing call that sliced through the night and I answered.
Not now. Not here. But he knows of you, girl. He knows of you.
And then he leapt and dove, and we were off once more, winging through the dark as he taught me to spread my wings and fly.
Early toward morning, the owl landed on the eaves next to my room. I landed next to him, exhausted, desperately needing to rest. We'd flown through the night, turning, dipping, but ever-always avoiding Myst's forest.
Time for you to return to your other form.
