dug my hand into one of his spice-pots.
‘Wait, uncle,’ I told him. ‘Don’t criticize my cooking until you’ve tasted it.’
And, as usual, the stew I was preparing came out perfect.
Beltira was a little sullen about that, as I recall.
And then there came a very important day in my life. It was the day – night actually – when mother revealed the secret of changing shape.
‘ It’s really quite simple, Polgara ,’ she told me. ‘ All you really have to do is form the image of the alternative shape in your mind and then fit yourself into it .’
Mother’s idea of ‘simple’ and mine were miles apart, however.
‘ The tail-feathers are too short ,’ she said critically after my third attempt. ‘ Try it again .’
It took me hours to get the imagined shape right. I was almost on the verge of giving up entirely. If I got the tailright, the beak was wrong – or the talons. Then the wing-feathers weren’t soft enough. Then the chest wasn’t strong enough. Then the eyes were too small. I was right at the edge of abandoning the whole notion when mother said, ‘ That looks closer. Now just let yourself flow into it .’ Mother’s ability to see into my mind made her the best teacher I could possibly have had.
As I started to slip myself into the image I’d formed, I felt as if my body had turned into something almost liquid – like honey. I literally seeped into that imaginary shape.
And then it was done. I was a snowy owl. Once again, mother’s intimate contact with my mind simplified things enormously. There are far too many things involved in flying for anyone to pick it up immediately, so mother quite simply instilled all those minuscule shifts and dexterity in my mind. I thrust with my soft wings, and I was immediately airborne. I circled a few times, learning with every silent sweep of my wings, and those circles grew inexorably wider.
There’s an ecstasy to flying that I won’t even try to describe. By the time dawn began to stain the eastern horizon, I was a competent bird, and my mind was filled with a joy I’d never known before.
‘ You’d better go back to the tower, Pol ,’ mother advised. ‘ Owls aren’t usually flying in the daytime .’
‘ Do I have to ?’
‘ Yes. Let’s not give our little secret away just yet. You’ll have to change to your own form as well .’
‘ Mother !’ I protested vehemently.
‘ We can play again tomorrow night, Pol. Now go home and change back before anyone wakes up.’
That didn’t make me too happy, but I did as I was told.
It was not long after that that Beldaran took me to one side. ‘Uncle Beldin’s bringing father back to the Vale,’ she told me.
‘Oh? How do you know that?’
‘Mother told me – in a dream.’
‘A dream?’ That startled me.
‘She always talks to me in my dreams. I told you about that already.’
I decided not to make an issue of it, but I reminded myself to have a talk with mother about it. She always came to me when I was awake, but for some reason she spoke to my sister in the hazy world of dreams. I wondered why there was such a difference. I also wondered why mother had told Beldaran about our vagrant father’s homecoming and hadn’t bothered to let me know about it.
It was early summer when uncle Beldin finally brought father home. Over the course of the years since father had left the Vale, uncle Beldin had kept track of him and had reported on his various escapades, so I was not just too excited about his return. The idea of admitting that a beer-soaked lecher was my father didn’t appeal to me all that much.
He didn’t look too bad when he came up the stairs to the top of Beldin’s tower, but I knew that appearances could be deceiving.
‘Father!’ Beldaran exclaimed, rushing across the floor to embrace him. Forgiveness is a virtue, I suppose, but sometimes Beldaran carried it to extremes.
I did something that wasn’t very nice at that point. My only excuse was that I didn’t
‘Wait, uncle,’ I told him. ‘Don’t criticize my cooking until you’ve tasted it.’
And, as usual, the stew I was preparing came out perfect.
Beltira was a little sullen about that, as I recall.
And then there came a very important day in my life. It was the day – night actually – when mother revealed the secret of changing shape.
‘ It’s really quite simple, Polgara ,’ she told me. ‘ All you really have to do is form the image of the alternative shape in your mind and then fit yourself into it .’
Mother’s idea of ‘simple’ and mine were miles apart, however.
‘ The tail-feathers are too short ,’ she said critically after my third attempt. ‘ Try it again .’
It took me hours to get the imagined shape right. I was almost on the verge of giving up entirely. If I got the tailright, the beak was wrong – or the talons. Then the wing-feathers weren’t soft enough. Then the chest wasn’t strong enough. Then the eyes were too small. I was right at the edge of abandoning the whole notion when mother said, ‘ That looks closer. Now just let yourself flow into it .’ Mother’s ability to see into my mind made her the best teacher I could possibly have had.
As I started to slip myself into the image I’d formed, I felt as if my body had turned into something almost liquid – like honey. I literally seeped into that imaginary shape.
And then it was done. I was a snowy owl. Once again, mother’s intimate contact with my mind simplified things enormously. There are far too many things involved in flying for anyone to pick it up immediately, so mother quite simply instilled all those minuscule shifts and dexterity in my mind. I thrust with my soft wings, and I was immediately airborne. I circled a few times, learning with every silent sweep of my wings, and those circles grew inexorably wider.
There’s an ecstasy to flying that I won’t even try to describe. By the time dawn began to stain the eastern horizon, I was a competent bird, and my mind was filled with a joy I’d never known before.
‘ You’d better go back to the tower, Pol ,’ mother advised. ‘ Owls aren’t usually flying in the daytime .’
‘ Do I have to ?’
‘ Yes. Let’s not give our little secret away just yet. You’ll have to change to your own form as well .’
‘ Mother !’ I protested vehemently.
‘ We can play again tomorrow night, Pol. Now go home and change back before anyone wakes up.’
That didn’t make me too happy, but I did as I was told.
It was not long after that that Beldaran took me to one side. ‘Uncle Beldin’s bringing father back to the Vale,’ she told me.
‘Oh? How do you know that?’
‘Mother told me – in a dream.’
‘A dream?’ That startled me.
‘She always talks to me in my dreams. I told you about that already.’
I decided not to make an issue of it, but I reminded myself to have a talk with mother about it. She always came to me when I was awake, but for some reason she spoke to my sister in the hazy world of dreams. I wondered why there was such a difference. I also wondered why mother had told Beldaran about our vagrant father’s homecoming and hadn’t bothered to let me know about it.
It was early summer when uncle Beldin finally brought father home. Over the course of the years since father had left the Vale, uncle Beldin had kept track of him and had reported on his various escapades, so I was not just too excited about his return. The idea of admitting that a beer-soaked lecher was my father didn’t appeal to me all that much.
He didn’t look too bad when he came up the stairs to the top of Beldin’s tower, but I knew that appearances could be deceiving.
‘Father!’ Beldaran exclaimed, rushing across the floor to embrace him. Forgiveness is a virtue, I suppose, but sometimes Beldaran carried it to extremes.
I did something that wasn’t very nice at that point. My only excuse was that I didn’t
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