A Wizard's Wings by T. A. Barron

sensing my change of heart, looked at me with concern. I felt strongly tempted to tell her about Dagda’s warning, but couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. Not yet anyway. Just thinking about it was hard enough; speaking about it would be harder still.
    Nor was I ready to tell Rhia, though that, too, was tempting. Glumly, I watched her finishing her last crumbs of honeycomb. She cared about Fincayra, too. But if I told her, she’d only feel as powerless as I. And for good reason! Even if I could somehow convince the giants, the dwarves, the canyon eagles, and all the others to join forces with one another—and, more difficult, with the race of men and women—how could I possibly cover enough territory to reach all of them in so little time?
    Rhia reached over and tugged my legging. “Merlin, what is it? You’re not thinking about the Orb anymore, are you?”
    My throat tightened. “I’m just thinking about . . . well, Leaping. How useful it would be, say, for travel. Why, I could get around this whole island in an instant! But no . . . that’s impossible—for me, anyway. That sort of Leaping takes at least a hundred years to learn.”
    Scullyrumpus snorted. “A thousand years for youyou.”
    Hallia shook her head. “Why should it take so long, young hawk? Since you can already move objects—your staff or your satchel—why can’t you move yourself?”
    For a moment I gazed into the glowing sphere. “Because Leaping one’s own self requires all the levels of magic working together, as a complete whole. And to do that, the wizard must also be . . . well, a complete whole.”
    “Notnot a complete fool,” piped Scullyrumpus. “Heka, heka, hee-hee-ho.”
    Ignoring him, Hallia cocked her head in doubt. “You mean having mind, body, and spirit—with no gaps? That’s a lot to ask.”
    “Definitely,” I replied. “And if any gaps exist, the magic goes awry. With terrible results.”
    Rhia waved her hand dismissively. “Forget the whole idea, Merlin. That’s not the way to travel, even if you could manage it.”
    “What do you suggest, then?”
    “Wings! That’s right, real wings. The kind Fincayran men and women had long ago before they were lost.”
    “If that old story is true,” I began, “then—”
    “It’s true,” she declared.
    “Well, whether it’s true or not, Leaping’s far superior. Much faster, and more direct.”
    A serene, contented look passed over her face. “Oh, flying is much more than speed. So much more.” She closed her eyes, and spoke as if dreaming. “Imagine . . . feeling your wings moving, and the air supporting your weight. Having all your senses come fully alive. Taking time to rise above the lands below, your spirit along with your body.”
    For an instant, as she spoke, I felt myself remembering something. A dream of my own, perhaps, though I couldn’t be sure.
    Her eyes opened. “If you could fly, Merlin, really fly, you’d see the difference. Right away. And you’d never go back to Leaping. You just don’t know!”
    “Really?” I picked up a walnut shell and tossed it at her. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have flown already—twice, in fact. To Stangmar’s castle, and with Aylah, the wind sister.”
    “But that wasn’t really flying on your own power. Trouble carried you to the castle, and Aylah, on the wind.”
    I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What’s the difference?”
    Rhia sighed. “You’re going to have to figure that out for yourself.”
    All I could do was scowl, to the delight of Scullyrumpus. Seated once more on Rhia’s shoulder, he half cackled, half chirped, wiggling his long ears in mirth.
    Finally, Rhia raised her hand to silence him. “Just think of the possibilities, Merlin. If you could fly, you could go anywhere you choose—even, say, across the western waters, all the way to the Forgotten Island.” Her eyes took on a sly gleam. “You did promise me once you’d go there. Remember?”
    “I remember. And I catch your hint,