Eya Gall's Crown Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

Flying lessons

The first recollection he had of being actually alive was as a sensation of contrasts, of being warm and comfortable and then decidedly uncomfortable and insecure. Had he then been able to set down the facts of his birth, (the Chroniclers were later to tell and sing the saga of these events many times) he would have realised that his warmth and comfort owed its being to his mother as she settled her majestic form, like an enveloping cloud, over his denuded, ugly body; and those short, sharp contrasts of cold and loneliness were the prelude to the satisfaction of a full stomach.

As the soft down of his feathers grew and his eyes opened on to the world, his mother's form was less and less about him. She was more occupied with meeting the demands of his appetite than keeping him warm. His father now appeared more frequently, dropping into his open beak a tasty morsel of hare or rabbit and nodding approvingly as he watched his son grow. His body was now covered in a soft, white down out of which a tawny shade of feather was just beginning to peep through. Each day he would flex the muscles of his wings and stretch his neck to follow the steep flight of his parents with alert and watchful eyes.

One day a great longing to follow them swept over him. He rose up, poised on the very edge of the eyrie . . .

'No! It is not yet time. Go back, child!'

The voice was strong and compelling. He fell back into the nest feeling foolish and rather cross at being frustrated in his first attempt at flight. Where had the voice come from? He quickly swung his eyes in all directions and saw, perched high on a rock above him, a very old eagle. Though he stayed away from the edge of the eyrie, he flexed his wings again defiantly, feeling much less vulnerable now that he could see this intruder into his domain. He took in her appearance and saw that she was indeed very old and surely no threat to him. Her plumage had lost its lustre and there were bald patches on her throat and head giving her a dishevelled and almost comical appearance, and yet, even at this distance, he felt her compelling presence.

'Who are you?' he asked timidly. He had meant to sound fierce, but even to himself he sounded meek and fledgling.

'I am Amanara,' she said. In the Ancient Tongue of Eagle it meant The-One-Who-is-sent-for. 'And where, child, are your parents?'

'They've gone hunting,' he stammered.

She was obviously annoyed at finding neither parent with him.

He added, 'I was hungry again, you see,' by way of excuse.

Suddenly she was before him, towering above him on the very edge of his eyrie. Her flight from the rock above was so smooth and quick that it had hardly seemed to happen at all. He cowered back before recollecting with some annoyance at himself, that he had as sharp a beak and talons as any other eagle and had no need to fear this intrusion. She seemed to read his thoughts and her golden eyes glinted in a smile.

'No, you have no need to fear,' she said. 'I am friend to all of the True Blood and have journeyed far to meet you, my son. You have long been awaited in the Great Heights.'

He did not understand what she meant and swallowed nervously wondering whether he dared ask her to explain. Then much to his relief, both his parents arrived at that moment. He noted how his mother's feathers flustered when she saw who the visitor was. The young hare that she held in her beak fell to the ground as she stammered out a welcome in the Ancient Tongue.

His father, ever dignified, inclined his head in a gesture of one equal to another.

'You are welcome, Amanara the Wise,' he said. 'You have made your journey quickly. May you find what you hope for.'

'Indeed, indeed,' she replied, 'the hope is in all our hearts, we of the True-Blood.' She inclined her head towards the young fledgling. 'Does the child know aught of this matter?'

'No, Amanara, we have awaited your arrival.'

'Quite right,' she nodded, 'then it remains for me to give him his rightful name. May he bear it with honour.'

She drew herself up and spread her wings as if poised for flight, and with a loud voice that echoed and re-echoed among the high rocks, she cried, 'His name is Ralendel!'

As the echoes died away there was silence. Even the wind that always played amongst the heather and sparse grass on the mountain crags, paused for breath as if this moment bridged time and space and embraced all of creation. But for Ralendel, momentous as he realised this occasion was, he had more urgent matters on his mind than Name Ceremonies. His eyes were drawn to the rocks close to his mother's feet. Had the hare fallen out of reach or was it just hidden among the rocks? He could bear it no longer. The gnawing hunger was agonising. 'I'm hungry! Please, I'm hungry.'

The motionless figures came to life.

'Bless me!' said Amanara, in amusement. 'Feed the child. He will need all his strength!'

In the weeks that followed, it seemed to Ralendel that there was never a moment's peace. If he had once longed to follow his parents' flight to the green valleys below, he had now cause to wish for the once quiet intimacy of his eyrie. Amanara was, of course, responsible for this drastic change. She undertook to teach him to fly. Firstly, she cleared the eyrie of the soft mosses and feathers so carefully put together by his parents when they had built his nest ready for his arrival. He had grown used to the comfort of the eyrie and resented her interference in his own little world. He had overheard Amanara explain to his parents that it was a necessary part of his training.

'It is far too comfortable a nest,' she said, 'and he will never find the will to leave it and learn to fly. No, we must make it uncomfortable!'

And bit by bit he found his eyrie reduced to a few twigs and dry leaves.

One day, she spread her great wings and hovered just beneath the eyrie.

'Come,' she said, 'it is time to fly. Your wings are strong and will bear you up.'

He hesitated, suddenly afraid of all that lay beneath him.

'Don't be afraid,' said Amanara. 'Climb on my wing,' and she stretched the feathers of her wing against the edge of the eyrie making a path for him to climb on to her back. She swooped in a steep dive which left him breathless, then rose again, riding the thermals, climbing ever higher and higher.

'Now, fly, Ralendel! You are strong and mighty!' she cried out. 'Fly, fly!' and she neatly tipped him off her wing and he plunged down into the valley below. He was paralysed with fear. Trees and the lush grass of the valley rushed menacingly towards him and he wondered how he could ever have been so foolish as to trust in Amanara's friendship.

Suddenly she was there again, wing outstretched towards him. She swooped beneath him and deftly caught him again bearing him up and up with incredible speed beyond the level of the clouds and he caught sight of the sun glinting on the snow-capped peak of the mountain.

Again she cried, 'Fly, Ralendel, fly!' and again she tipped him off and he plunged as before until it seemed the valley floor was only a breath away.

He heard her laugh out loud as she once more bore him up, but it was not a mocking laugh. He suddenly understood. She was laughing in the exhilaration of her powerful flight and he yearned to know the same exhilaration.

She turned in mid-flight, and again he felt himself slipping from her wing, but this time he spread out his own wings and felt for the first time the power of the wind holding him aloft. He twisted and turned, experimenting with his own powerful muscles. He was flying!

Sometime following his first flight, she had spoken softly to him at dawn.

'Child,' she said, 'what do you see?'

His eyes opened wide. He stared down, seeing nothing but the thick mist that always collected at that early hour below his eyrie.

'I see only mist,' he replied.

'Look again,' she said. 'The mist hides much.'

The gold of his eyes deepened with the effort to pierce the closeness of the white blanket.

'I see nothing . . . ah, yes . . . I see a dark tree. It is wet with mist and it shines with scarlet berries.'

'What tree is it?' she asked

'I do not know its name,' he replied.

'Then learn, O Ralendel. Its name is Ro-han in the Ancient Tongue. Its berries are a sign for you, for the fire that must burn in your heart till all is accomplished. Now, tell me of its leaves.'

'They are green, Amanara, and fresh, but their edges are jagged and rough like the rocks.'

'That too is a sign for you, my son, and you will learn its meaning before all is accomplished.'

Ralendel was puzzled and he was weary of this mystery. Why had he become such an object of concern to everyone? His mother kept looking at him as if she were almost afraid of him. She continued to bring him food. Indeed, since his plaintive cry of hunger after the Name Ceremony, she seemed determined to bring him everything he liked best. For breakfast yesterday she had brought him a mouthful of quail and a tender blue hare, and he'd hardly had time to digest that when she brought him a plump red grouse and dropped it at his feet. But she no longer looked at him as if he were her baby son. When he looked into her eyes he felt lonely and afraid. Then he remembered the meaning of his name - 'He-of-Great-Destiny'.

Amanara again seemed to read his thoughts.

'Come,' she said, 'sit beside me and I will explain.'him a mouthful of quail and a tender blue hare, and he'd hardly had time to digest that when she brought him a plump red grouse and dropped it at his feet. But she no longer looked at him as if he were her baby son. When he looked into her eyes he felt lonely and afraid. Then he remembered the meaning of his name - 'He-of-Great-Destiny'.

Amanara again seemed to read his thoughts.

'Come,' she said, 'sit beside me and I will explain.'