Transformations

I know many of you have heard the rumours: that somewhere in the wild hills north of the great river, where the winds rise suddenly from the west and no sane man these days dares to go, there exist women who can transform themselves at will into anything they choose. A few even say these women can become any animal they wish, or can metamorphize themselves into trees and back again. I've even heard people say they can become one with the wind, travel great distances, and then step back out of the swirling currents of air.

All of these stories are wrong. Forget every thing you've heard about shape-shifters, skin walkers, and all the others. What really happens is much more mysterious. I know, for I have been there. It was many years ago, just after the great battle that restored calm and civility to our land. I may be just a poet, but during that war we were all pressed into service. I found myself leading a small forward band of men patrolling the wild territories. None of us were particularly anxious to seek out opposing forces, but it didn't matter. Even though we managed to keep moving, most of the time we were completely lost, and we never saw any other soldiers. What we found was far more dangerous.

It was late one afternoon, and we hadn't eaten for days. We were determined not to spend another night hungry, and as fortune had it, when we went over a ridge we saw a small village in the valley. We had every reason to believe this was enemy territory, but hunger made us bold. As we crossed the fields, we could see a few villagers closing their doors. Clambering over the livestock fences, we went up to the first house. No-one answered our knock. We tried each of the five houses in turn, with the same result. We weren't there to hurt anyone, we just wanted to eat. There was nothing for it, we walked over to the livestock pen, and picked out a young goat. With thoughts of an evening campfire in our heads, we threw a rope around its neck and started leading it back to the hills.

She came running out, cursing us as thieves and brigands. I offered to pay her for the goat, she would have none of it. She was fury itself: her eyes were the darkest eyes I've ever seen. It was only later that I found out they grow darkest when she's angry. Her black hair fell around her shoulders in waves, and she leaned forward to let us know exactly how she felt about the loss of her goat. I remember noticing even then a leather belt with a hammered gold buckle. We wished her no harm, we tried to turn away. That's when she threw herself on the man leading our dinner away.

I'm not sure what he saw when he turned around. It certainly wasn't a slender woman, dressed in black, unarmed. He dropped the rope, and fell to the ground. Another picked it up, and she turned on him. He took one look, and went running towards the forest. I was amazed: these were armed men, warriors, running in fear from a simple peasant. I'd had enough of that! I seized her arms, and used a small cord to bind her hands behind her. I told one of the remaining men to pick up the rope, and lead the goat away. He did as he was told, thank goodness, and I stood there with her until they'd all made the tree line.

She wore, around her waist, a small leather bag, and I looked inside, curious. Not much to report, a couple amulets, primitive to say the least, a few pieces of birchbark with runes scratched into them. Some unusual small stones, and several sprigs of various herbs. We'd stolen the goat of the village wise woman. Oh, well, fate and the great Measurer would sort out the crime later, in the meantime, we would eat and she'd get another goat. I told her as much as I untied her arms, after placing a small bit of gold in her sack.

It was too late for her to do anything, and she went walking back towards her village, not humbled, and not dispirited, but not furious any longer either. I walked towards the trees where the men had disappeared, thinking of those small objects she carried. I knew that south of the river, there were certain people who would be very interested in her knowledge: perhaps her people had preserved memories of some of the ancient ways during their long isolation. By the time I joined up with my men, I was chiding myself for not talking her out of the contents of that sack, but the objects would do our elders little good if she were not there to explain them. In any case, they were already roasting the goat by the time I found them, and my hunger and satiation made me forget her, and forget her trinkets.

Two of the men were busy mocking the other two who had fled or collapsed in the 'fearsome' fight. The victims were mostly silent, but when they had eaten, they began to talk. The first insisted her had seen a huge raven, and had fallen to the ground because he'd feared it would carry him away. The second was less articulate, he kept muttering about a clawed beast pursuing him, and how his only course was to run as fast as a deer away from the scene. I silently thanked the Goddess that we'd never run into opposing soldiers, and bade them bed down for the night around the fire.

The moon wasn't exactly full, but it was getting close. I lay there watching it, considering the days events and trying to decide where to next lead the small band: North, into uncertain territory, or south, the safer option, but likely to be of little use for reconnaissance. There were the usual sounds of the forest around us. How could I lead such men into even a small skirmish, I wondered. Then the shock came, not a scream, not a howl, more like the predatory cry of a vengeful raven.

Most of what I saw was influenced either by the red glow of the dying fire, or the half light of a waxing moon. I remember a dark shadow, swifter than the wind, and what looked like an oak staff being swung. There was a saddening sound as the staff came down hard on one of my men. It broke his skull with one blow. The other three were up in a flash, and flailing about. Whoosh went the staff, catching another in the side. I heard the wind go out of him, and he bent over. That was enough for the other two: the last I saw of them, they were running like frightened stags through the moonlit underbrush. I flung myself at their assailant, closing my arms around him with all my might, hoping the shear force of my body blow would at least slow him down.

Except it wasn't a him: it was a woman, and a slender one at that. We went crashing to the ground together. I landed on top, and the fight went out of her. She lay there, winded. I looked down, and saw the goat woman staring up at me with fire in her eyes. I tied her hands, and her feet for good measure. I threw a couple new logs on the fire, hoping to get some light, and survey the damage.

It didn't take long to realize the first man she'd hit had fought his last battle. Perhaps the Measurer had already decided it had been a been a crime to take that goat, and had allowed fate to seal his destiny. He'd certainly paid a high price for his dinner. Or perhaps the ancient forces the wise woman could call on had been involved. Either way, the spirit had gone out of him quickly. The other hadn't been as lucky: his chest was crushed, his ribs broken. I did what I could for him, and turned to the woman.

I made her sit up. I nearly cursed her, and then thought better of it. She could have made the curse come back at me three-fold, if what I'm told is true. And what she'd done had taken determination, which my own men lacked, and more than that: honor and especially courage. I stared at her, across the firelight. And as I did, her looks grew softer, the red rage went out of her eyes, she began to remind me of a woman I'd once known, the kind we all think about at such times, a lost love from long ago, fondly recalled. I'd lost Nuala through my own foolhardiness, but here, in this wild, foreign place, I'd been recalling her lately, and I was struck at that moment how much the goat woman resembled her. The beauty I recalled in Nuala was the same beauty I saw then, looking across the firelight at me, half smiling just as Nuala so often did. I stared at her a long time, much of the night, between attending to the wounded man and contemplating my situation.

What I had on my hands was more than a problem: there I was, in hostile territory, one man dead, another badly wounded, two others missing, and a girl captive I dared not release. When dawn came I had to act, I left her tied up, and buried the dead man. By the time I was done the other man had followed him: there was much digging that morning, and no sign of the other two. It gave me even more time to think. What should I do with her? My mission had ended in complete failure. But the elders would see it as a success if I brought her back with me, especially if she shared her knowledge. I decided it was the only thing to do.

I gave up on waiting for the 'warriors' to return. I untied her feet, and told her, as gently as I could, my intent. She wasn't happy, but wasn't furious either. Perhaps she thought she could easily escape before we could cross the river? She gave me that small Nuala half smile. I asked her name. She told me it was Cerdwin, that she'd been named after her mother, and her grandmother. We put our shadows before us, and headed south.

We talked of many things that day, as we walked over the hills and through the forests. She walked easily, even though I kept her hands tied. I didn't want her to be able to start waving those slender arms around. Who knew what she could conjure up if she was free to move them? She was very good at identifying the native birdsong, knowing which flowers were which, naming the places we passed. She tried to give me directions but I didn't trust her enough for that: I knew the river was south of us, and I kept us moving that way. Most of the time, when we weren't talking, I had her walk in front of me, so I could keep a good eye on her. I couldn't help but notice her form, the grace of her walk, the sway of her hips. Her waist, with her dress gathered by the belt. The way her hair fell on her shoulders, or waved in the small breezes of that north country. I thought about Nuala often through the day, and once, when she turned, I almost called her that. I had to force myself to say "Cerdwin." She smiled then, that long remembered smile.

The sun was getting lower. I began looking for a place for us to bed down. She nodded towards a grove of oaks, and I let her lead me there. There was a tiny clearing in the center. No passing patrols would find us there. We lay down as the sunset faded. Cerdwin fell asleep, peacefully, with her arms still tied, and I waited for the moonrise.

But I was exhausted from being up the night before, and allowed sleep to overcome me as well. A deep sleep, full of peaceful dreams of another time, before the war, of linen beds instead of this forest floor, and instead of this dangerous captive, of Nuala, the soft gaze of a young woman, her gentle hands touching my shoulders. In my dream she opened my shirt, and I felt those young, slender fingers caressing the muscles of my chest. She sat astride me, I could feel the insides of her warm thighs pressing against my legs. She moved down a little, undid my belt, and freed me. She caressed me a long time, whispering softly, then lifted up her dress, and guided me in. There, in the moonlight, amid the oaks, I had my Nuala again, my strong hands around her waist, her young breasts lifted as she leaned back, with her eyes closed, her hair moving in the light breeze, her head tilted back. She leaned forward, and looked down at me. I couldn't believe my eyes!

It was Cerdwin leaning down, looking at me, smiling that half-smile as we rocked in movement together. Cerdwin, in Nuala's form? I had a moment of shock, followed quickly by a moment of fear. But it was too late, I could already feel the very essence of my being gathering near my hips, rising towards the center, and she was drawing it into herself as I rocked and pulsed, the waves going through me and into her. Her eyes were closed now. She was saying something softly, rhythmically, half breath and half voice. A prayer, an invocation, an incantation. She kept it up a long time, caressing her breasts as she spoke, caressing my chest. Then she was done, and she let herself fall, warm, naked, fulfilled, to the bed of leaves beside me.

Soon she was asleep, as if all the energy she'd drained from me had overcome her. And I lay there, as awake as I had ever been, as if I had a limitless store of that energy, and it was flowing back into me. There was much time to think as the moonlit oakshadows moved slowly across the clearing. Clearly, she wasn't my prisoner. Just as clearly, my mission had failed. What would I say when I got back across the river? Well, I'd think of something. It was another half day's walk, after all. Thinking of all these things, I at last fell asleep, with her beside me.

When I awoke, I could see a heavy dew had fallen, and and there was no sign of Cerdwin. I started gathering my things together. When everything was prepared, I took one last look around me. There she was, sitting at the base of an oak, waiting for me to be ready. She blended so well into the foliage and bark I had to look twice. No wonder I thought she'd slipped away! I asked her what she intended to do. She told me she'd never been south of the river, and since she now had a companion to guide her, she may as well explore. The south seemed as wild and unknown to her as the north did to me. What could I say? She'd do what she wanted anyway.

The walking that day was much more pleasant. We still had to be careful to avoid any paths that might expose us to the opposition, but the countryside leveled out as we drew closer to the river. There were more ferns on the ground now, and flowering vines laced the bases of larger trees. She paused often to pick blossoms, whispering strange words each time she did, as if each stem had its own life. And several times she bent down to gather a sprig of some river valley herb. These she placed carefully in her belt sack, after gesturing over them with one hand, and always glancing up at the sky when she was done.

The trees were thicker as we got closer to the river. She;d given up being Nuala, or rather, I'd stopped thinking about Nuala to focus entirely on her. How could I not? Even her walk was beautiful, she seemed so light on her feet, as if she barely touched the ground. I wondered if that effect was her or just the result of my thoughts. She asked me to teach her a few short poems. She learned them almost at once, and when she spoke them back to me I almost forgot I'd heard each one a hundred times. She could transfix me with just her voice, no matter what the words said. That had always been my gift, and now she had learned it from me. I asked her to teach me one of her charms. She gave me a short one, five melodic words. She told me to only speak it when alone, when I was in a dark time, and needed to give myself strength.

We reached the river. There was a ford I know, and it took us a little while to move downstream to find it. I told her we could get across there, but warned her it was deeper then it looked, and that the currents were unpredictable. I said I'd go first, and started across. A little ways in, maybe twenty paces, I saw some small fish swimming in the pool of an eddy. I pointed them out to her, and turned around to see if she noticed them. She was walking on the river.

Do not look at me so strangely! I know what I am saying. Wherever she was about to step, the water, no matter how swift, turned into a mirrored surface, and bore her up. I only had to look once to see it, to understand, and I did not turn around again. I simply concentrated on making it across the river in one piece. It only took a few minutes. I reached the other back, pulled myself up. It's not like she needed my help. I walked a few paces into the riverbank forest, and lay down before I collapsed.

We've all heard stories of dryads, the sisters of trees. I'd told the stories myself, in firelit mead halls, scores of times. And of water nymphs, and all the others. I loved those old stories, but until that moment had always thought they were charming tales for a winter's night, and nothing more. What I'd seen I could not possibly have seen, what I now knew to be possible simply could not be. It was all too much to contemplate. They say such beings never allow the onlookers to see more than they can bear, so how could she have let that happen? I was considering all this as she lay down beside me.

She didn't speak, or even look at me at first. She lay there, looking up at the sky, singing in the gentlest, most delicate voice it will ever be my pleasure to hear. I began to wonder if I hadn't just imagined it all, if I'd projected the vision as I'd projected Nuala, or if she'd somehow read my thoughts and become wholly what I half believed. Or had she simply placed the thought in my mind, and let her vision influence even my sight. I became lost in unlikely possibilities, and the only way I rose out of the confused chaos of my thoughts was by focusing on her movements.

She was unlacing her shirt, exposing her breasts to the sun. She lay like that a long time, and then took her shirt completely off. Her hands traced her breasts into a pattern of shadow and white reflected sunlight from where I lay. She took my hand in hers, and placed it on her chest. Suddenly, my hand seemed full of that same energy I'd felt the night before. I could feel it flowing through my arms, along my wrist, into my fingers and through them deep into her skin. She undid my shirt then, her hands on my chest palms down, as if she could draw it out of me in waves. A few clouds went across the sun, casting light shadows over us. They seemed to linger above us, and I noticed the forest had gone completely silent, as if it and all its creatures were waiting in anticipation. She removed the rest of my clothes.

I lay there, almost powerless, completely hers, in the clouded sunlight. She took out some of the herbs she'd gathered, crushed them between her hands, and then rubbed her hands on the warm flesh of my legs, my shoulders, my hips. With a subtle gesture, she had me turn on my side, and she did the same on my back, as if she needed to cover every inch of skin. Then I was lying face up again, and she had her skirt around her hips. She moved one thigh across my legs, and guided me inside her again. She began to move, and I began to move inside her. The waves rose within me, and she started to change. She looked down at me, with a gaze I'd not seen before, and could never imagine.

But I knew then how a sparrow must feel, when the falcon has caught it in midair, clasped it in her talons, and now is standing above it, about to eat. I know how Prometheus felt, each morning as he saw the great wings beating near him, and that hooked beak moving towards his chest. I know how the hare feels, when the wolf has already caught it, and the savage fangs are preparing to rip his flesh. She leaned down, still moving those slender hips, the warmth between her thighs consuming me, and drawing me in. Her teeth closed on my right shoulder, I could feel her sucking and biting. That's when to miracle happened.

Yes, she was consuming me, between her thighs and between her lips. Taking my very flesh into her, my blood, my life. And I was surrendering myself to her. But I found that the more I gave, the more I had. It was a revelation. I whispered to her "take all of me you want, there's plenty more. Eat your fill, and I will still be whole." She seemed surprised. And consume me she did, gnawing on one shoulder, then the other. Gnawing on my chest as she continued to draw me even deeper into her womb. And always the feeling there was far more of me then I'd imagined, That there'd always be plenty for her. She slowed down then, as the falcon must slow when she's nearly finished the sparrow, as the owl must slow when her belly's almost full of the caught snake.