Ser Anthony Hawk relaxed, perched high above the royal gardens and lounging across the parapet.
He had spent years scaling the side of the tower, looking for handholds and avoiding loose stones. Climbing freed his mind from the troubles of the ground and liberated him from the crushing pressures of his Noble parents.
He would put as much distance between himself and the ground as possible, and at the time, he would’ve done anything to fly and truly be free.
Now, he was able to rise with ease and he could let the wind carry him wherever he chose with the slightest twitch of a finger. Or rather, a twitch of his feathers.
Ser Anthony, as he was dubbed on the day of receiving his knighthood, had done nothing of note to deserve the title.
His father, Ser Antony, had done nothing to earn the title, and his father had done nothing to deserve it.
The only Ser in the bloodline that was worthy of note was Ser Anthony’s great-great-grandfather who had been a no-name commoner who rose to the rank of general and was called the hero saviour of the fourteenth regiment in the War of Queens.
The reason Ser Anthony grew up within the castle walls was due to his ancestors’ merit. In fact, Anthony’s father was kind of a bum.
Growing up with generational respect without any of the wealth or character that comes with it had made his father into a hock. He would rub elbows with other nobles, oil the boots of royals, and schmooze with anyone with twinkling stones hanging from their person. Ser Anthony’s mother was especially disdainful of his fondness for precious jewels . . . and those who wore them.
This, amongst other distasteful aspects of his childhood, is what led Ser Anthony to want to escape. And from what he saw, only the heavens would ever be far enough to be truly free.
He was knighted at thirty and sent off to join in a paramilitary group of controlling officers. They were sent to the land of the Noctii.
It was the first time Ser Anthony experienced magic besides the time The Explorer had come through the Realm, dressed head to toe in Loot. Magic had wafted off the adventurer, and it had enthralled Ser Anthony.
But it was these dark lands that opened his eyes to everyday magic. And on his shifts, Ser Anthony would wander the streets, peeking into shops, and tasting brews out of still bubbling cauldrons.
He met a rough troupe of entertainers, all from distant lands, who had gotten too rowdy for the tavern. The bells were sounded and Ser Anthony arrived on scene with his troop of soldiers. Immediately, the entertainment started—they danced and sang and dropped their hats on his units’ heads. They made fun, made wise, made water, all in a whirling jamboree.
And then, as a finale, one of them, a woman, morphed into the most beautiful bird he had ever seen. Her feathers were a purple so deep they were blue and shimmered as if with glitter. Her magnificent tail had greenish patterns and designs and she soared around the town clearing. She perched above Ser Anthony’s head and sang a song of love.
The soldiers were having too good a time to remember why they had even come, but for Ser Anthony, a new purpose arose. He would find out how this woman became this wonderful bird.
He followed the troupe as they stumbled away, drunk on the excitement of a well-executed impromptu show, as well as the spirits they had gotten to. He followed at pace, but kept a distance, not wanting to spook them. A man in a soldier’s uniform can be quite daunting to face.
The merriment wandered out of the city limits to a rack of horses and carriages just on the outskirts. A fire was already going and someone tended meats and vegetables cooking on large flat rocks. Ser Anthony kept to the shadows, peering out at the travelling cabana, seeing them settle in and begin to recount stories only heard by the others thousands of times.
“You can come out you know,” the avian woman called out. The rest of the troupe fell silent. But Ser Anthony remained behind the wagon. “Suit yourself.”
When the hour grew late and Ser Anthony grew weary, his legs grew tired, and his stomach rumbled, he revealed himself.
“Ahh, finally! The hidden figure appears!” a stocky fellow with a round belly and bellowing voice exclaimed.
“You must be weary, tired, and hungry. Come sit,” another member said, patting the stone next to them. Ser Anthony did just that.
“It must have been a good show, to have the audience follow you home,” the cook said with a grin. He served Ser Anthony a hot plate of grub.
“It was magnificent. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ser Anthony said between bites.
“She’s quite the gamebird isn’t she?” The stocky man ribbed Ser Anthony, who almost choked on the ale he drank.
“Oh, hush, you.” The woman smirked. “Unless you want me to peck your eyes out.”
The troupe roared with laughter.
“How did you do it?” Ser Anthony asked, putting his empty plate beside the fire.
“Secrets! He wants to hear the secrets!” another member of the troupe feigned interrogation of the shapeshifting woman.
She moved an accusatory finger out of her face before answering. “For me, it was simple. I was born the bird. It’s the human you see before you that is the trick.”
Ser Anthony said nothing, although felt a crushing blow. His wish may be beyond even magic’s reach, then.
The troupe exploded with laughter once more. “He believed you!”
The stocky one rolled off his rock and onto his back, howling.
“Be nice. He does not smell like magic.” The one who had pointed at the woman gave Ser Anthony a sniff. “Smells a bit like cheese, actually.”
And the troupe roared some more.
“So, there is a way?” Ser Anthony asked sheepishly.
“There is always a way, dear. Believe it, and you will find it. You must study your bird, and ask its permission.”
Later, Ser Anthony lay on his cot, unable to sleep. By dawn, he was gone, and so were the caravans that had been parked outside the city.
Ser Anthony travelled with the troupe, his eyes glued to the skies. There were so many birds and his desire to fly became a choice of utility. There was the raven, the Herald of messages both good and bad, jet black, clever and in possession of a sharp beak—a commendable choice. There were too few eagles along the way, so few that they discouraged Ser Anthony greatly, knowing that he could not assume the form of the King of the Heavens. Pigeons, he did not care for much.
While he came to his decision, the Lady of Paradise, as he had taken to calling her, would walk him through the application of transfiguration. Without the faculties to execute, they had conceptual lessons and they discussed what it meant to be free of your natural form.
“The bird I am cannot fly on its own. I rely on gliding and wind streams if I want to travel by air,” she said to him one night from the top of a sturdy tree.
Her skin would ripple and flutter as hints of her feathered features peeked through. Her control was masterful and Ser Anthony was in awe.
“Once you discover who you are, to exist as both become effortless. But you must truly know yourself, as man and as bird.”
Ser Anthony continued to wonder who he might be, and what place he had amongst the clouds.
The evening Ser Anthony earned a title he was proud of, he was helping the cook with trapping. They had installed several snares around the woods, anticipating a hare or rabbit. If they were lucky, Stocky and Lean (monikers Ser Anthony had nicknamed the duo) would bag a buck.
The hazy summer day wheezed on with barely a breeze and Ser Anthony grew lethargic in the light of the sun.
He shifted from prone to upright and disturbed the brush just enough for a small and fast creature to burst from the leaves and into the clearing. It ran and was struck by a diving raptor in an instant.
Within arm’s reach of Ser Anthony, a red-tailed hawk now feasted on its lunch.
Breathless, he watched as its fine beak and sharp talons clawed at the rabbit’s flesh, tearing it to ribbons.
He’d have been sick if not for the feeling which crept up on him. It was the same aura he once felt when that stranger had swept through his town.
The bird had finished its meal but Ser Anthony was still locked in place. He thought the bird would up and leave, the way he only wished he could.
Instead, she turned to him and bowed. Ser Anthony returned the gesture.
The winds picked up and whirlwinds formed, tearing at his clothes, pulling at his hair.
He felt the gusts ruffle through his feathers. His eyes opened, and so too did the world around him.