Кейт Новак - The Wyvern's Spur

Giogi looked down at the mage’s lovely face. It’s not like Aunt Dorath thinks, Giogi told himself. I’m not being seduced by some demon. I’m choosing to do this, for Cat’s sake, for the family’s sake. Someone must deal with Flattery. If I’m the only one who can use the spur, then I will just have to use it.

“Giogi, do you want me to come with you?” Cat asked again.

“No. I had better go alone. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back before dinner.” His tone was light, as if he were just going down the street to a tavern instead of a haunted crypt. Inside he was fighting down panic.

“You’re sure?” Cat asked.

“Yes. I think she’ll be more communicative if I’m alone.”

Cat stood, kissed Giogi good-bye, and whispered, “Good luck,” in his ear.

Giogi smiled at her gratefully. “I’ll be taking Daisyeye, Thomas,” he said. “I can saddle her myself, but please see that Poppy is returned to Redstone.”

“Very good, sir.”

A few minutes later, Giogioni led Daisyeye from the carriage house and out the garden gate, mounted her, turned her west, and kicked her into a trot.

The shining sun made the graveyard appear somewhat cheerier than it had the day before, but Giogi’s spirit was heavy. Yesterday all I wanted was to find the spur and return it to the crypt. I get my wish, and now it’s not enough. Now I have to find out how the spur works. I have to learn how to turn into a beast.

Giogi tied Daisyeye to a post and pulled out the key to the mausoleum. There’s no question about it. Flattery has to be vanquished.

He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. Of course, I could hire some real adventurers to go after Flattery, he mused, looking into the darkness.

Giogi walked into the mausoleum and pushed the door shut behind him. He locked the door and pulled out the finder’s stone to light his way. Cole hadn’t relied on hirelings to take care of Flattery, he thought as he skipped over the black-and-white tiles to open the secret door in the floor. The family honor is at stake; the only way to set things right is for the family to take care of it. Freffie and Steele are no match for Flattery’s treacheries, and Flattery’s already ambushed the only real threat to his power: Uncle Drone.

As Giogi started down the stairs to the crypt, he thought of Mother Lleddew’s story of how Uncle Drone had to slice off part of Cole’s wyvern foot so his corpse would transform back into a man’s. It was this that disturbed Giogi more than the fact that Cole had died battling the wizard. Suppose I get stuck as a wyvern while I’m still alive? Suppose I go wyverny and forget about my family and Cat and Daisyeye and fly off to live in the wild?

Giogi stood at the crypt door with the key in the lock. Aunt Dorath must have been afraid of the same thing, not being able to change back from a beast into a human being. Had that ever happened to Cole while he was alive? Giogi didn’t remember his father ever being away from home for very long, and when he returned, he never showed any signs of being wyverny.

As a matter of fact, Cole was like every other father Giogi had ever known, better, actually. Cole took him riding and boating and told him stories and taught him his letters and numbers. He must have been a good husband, too. Giogi didn’t remember his parents fighting very much. They gardened together and danced together and played backgammon and read books to one another by the fireside at night. Even separated by fourteen years and surrounded by the cold stone stairwell leading to the crypt, Giogi could feel the warmth of that hearth.

No, he decided, someone like Cole couldn’t forget how to be human. Not until death had left him cold.

Will it be the same for me, though?

“I’ll never find out by just standing here,” the nobleman declared. He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the crypt door.

As soon as he stepped into the crypt, motes of black swirled on the back wall and coalesced into the familiar shape of the shadow wyvern.

“Giogioni, you’re back,” the guardian whispered.

Giogi strode into the crypt. He stopped before the empty pillar and pulled the spur out of his boot. “I found it,” he said, dropping the heirloom onto the velvet cloth. “I need to know how to use it.”

“I knew you’d come back to me, my Giogioni,” the guardian said.

“You have nothing to do with it. This is an emergency. I don’t want to be a wyvern.”

The guardian laughed, her shadowy form swaying on the wall. It was a clear, ringing laugh, unlike her spooky, whispery voice. “I wouldn’t want to be a human.”

“Well, I need to be one anyway. A wyvern.”

“You can never be a wyvern, Giogioni. You may take a wyvern’s form, but you will always be human. That is essential.”

“What do you mean, essential?”

“The spur’s blessing guarantees the Wyvernspur line will continue. If Wyvernspurs were to turn from human to wyvern, they would not be able to continue the line as Wyvernspurs. So that which confers power over the spur, Selûne’s kiss, is not given to those unable to resist changing completely to wyvern.”

A touch of relief spread over Giogi. Then his curiosity overcame his anxiety. “Suppose someone not kissed by Selûne tries to use it?”

“They would think they had a wyvern’s power, though their body would still be human.”

“Is that all it takes to be kissed by Selûne—being able to resist going completely wyverny?”

“No. You must want to be different.”

“I don’t want to be different,” Giogi objected.

The guardian laughed. “You are so satisfied with yourself, your life, your world?”

Giogi shifted uneasily. He couldn’t lie.

“With a wyvern’s power and the blessings of the spur you can change yourself, your life, your world.”

“So what do I have to do to make it work?” Giogi asked.

“Take up the spur—”

Giogi set the finder’s stone down on the pillar and picked up the spur.

“Keep it near your leg.”

Giogi slid the spur into his boot.

“Now you must remember your dreams.”

“My dreams?” he sputtered. Then he understood. “Oh. Those dreams,” he said. The images sprang to his mind. The death cry of prey—the shriek of a rabbit, the squeal of a pig, the bellow of a cow. The taste of warm blood—salty and full of energy. The crunch of bone—surrendering to the strength of his jaw and yielding up its sweet marrow. He felt the blood pounding in his head, and the room seemed to spin and shrink around him. He bent over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

“A very handsome wyvern form, Giogioni,” the guardian whispered.

Giogioni looked down at himself nervously. Actually, he had to look back at himself. He was at least thirty feet longer. He was covered with red scales. His arms had become great leathery wings, and his feet were sharp talons. The strangest thing of all, though, was the tail. It swayed gracefully behind him without him thinking about it. He concentrated on controlling it and it froze, poised in the air, until he unconsciously picked a target.

He bent forward and slashed the tail over his head. The stinger at the tip pierced the velvet cloth atop the pillar.

The pillar toppled over, and the finder’s stone rolled across the floor of the crypt. The piece of velvet cloth remained caught on the end of the stinger. He pulled it off with a talon and nearly toppled over, trying to balance on one leg.

The guardian laughed. “You need to remember that your body is a weapon. You should practice with it—especially flying. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“How do I change back?” Giogi tried to ask, but his words came out as a growl.