NOVEL FROG 47. Taming Falcons
Cal shook in my hand, not bothering to stand. I cupped the water fowl, the bird looked as natural as any falcon I'd seen. A chuckle escaped. I always wanted a pet companion. Rangers practically had the need for a bond ingrained in their souls—a tool to heighten awareness, cover blind spots, and provide company. A creation of water housing my mind parasite wasn't what I had in mind. Birds were cool, dragons were better, and I thought I'd at least end up with a wolf or a bear.
The flayen may look like a falcon, but he was a long shot from being the companion I wanted. For one, he didn't act like a bird, which was fair. If the roles were switched and I was in a bird suit, I'd be just as disoriented.
"Really? I was the guardian of my nation's most prized possession, and this is what you would have me be? At least give me human skin to wear."
"I can't."
The falcon stared at me intensely with the one eye facing me. The other was covered by my hand as if Cal were using it as a pillow.
"I won't."
"Why not?" Calypso asked.
"I don't trust you."
"And this makes me trustworthy?"
"No. But I feel less inclined to punch you in the face." I still had issues with Cal. He'd been in my mind for a couple of years now, and there was no way of knowing what he had done there.
Cal jerked his head up, trying to generate momentum to reach his feet. He squandered the attempt, and his head crashed back down on my hand. The flayen bird tried again and again. If he was trying to fight, he had terrible technique. I'd no fowl experience myself, but I at least knew to lead with the beak or talons. Even if he was a foreigner, he had to see a chicken fight or two.
I aided Cal's fourth attempt by pushing the jerking head. Cal's body sprung upright, his talons digging into my forearm. My off-hand caught him and provided support before he rocked over to the other side. The talons released their grip from within my skin. I healed the small punctures and washed away the little blood on my arm. The falcon looked at my hand, holding it upright, and attacked it with its beak. I strangled the bird, which turned into a puddle when I squeezed too hard.
I waited for the presence to land in my mind before speaking. "Ao's tangled jewels. What in the bloody abyss was that for?"
"I was a bird. That is what I frecking do."
"Pecking?"
"What? No. Frecking… it is our term for—never mind. Do not put me back in that skin. I am not leaving here unless you give me a real body. Preferably one like my own."
"That one had a beak..."
"I hate you."
"'Ae. I believe we just took our first step in companionship bonding." The words felt just as wrong saying them as it did hearing them, and I even tried masking them as a joke.
The truth was that bonding with a companion had several stages. The first was resistance. The second was finding common ground. The third was acceptance. The other steps got far too chummy for my comfort level. There was no way I'd take this companionship past acceptance.
Mutual hatred was as solid a ground as any to build upon. Probably too strong for the shaking structure I had in mind.
I sat back in my chair and sipped on poison. The potent liquid hurt something fierce. Squids wailed in his confines, punching against my skull. I took another sip and then summoned another bird form. It was the same as the last but a bit larger.
"No."
I met the claws digging into my mind with another drink. The pain intensified and dulled at the same time. Altogether, it took twenty swallows and sixteen iterations of water falcons before we reached the third and final stage of our companionship.
"I still hate you," Calypso said. The bird perched on my forearm, standing a foot and a half tall, and his sharp razor-like wings tucked on his back. "What are you doing?" His serrated beak nipped at my finger as I scratched the side of his head, only to relent as I kept scratching. His head rested on my finger, and he let out a click. "This changes nothing."
"If we are to work together, there will be changes."
"Is this not enough?"
"Not even close. You will start teaching me all you know about your mind magic."
"I cannot."
"I don't care. You will teach and train me how to resist your attacks and any attacks your people might send my way. You will then teach me all about your people and your plans. And I want to know everything you have been doing inside my mind and your strategy to possess me."
"Even if I told you all my secrets, you would not believe me. Why persist with the theatrics?"
"All of your secrets. Then you will tell me what you know about me and what happened in your two hundred years of looping. Do you understand?"
The falcon looked at me with a crooked head. He winced when I swallowed another round of poison. My channels felt like ash. The fact that mana cycled freely throughout them was a miracle.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Let's start with building mind resistance."
For the next several days, I underwent grueling mental training while Cal learned to be a bird. We were both terrible. Squids weren't meant to fly, and birds were terrible teachers. However, I did manage to pick up a few wins.
Mind resistance was like creating a castle within your mind. All one had to do was envision the mind as a sanctuary of thoughts and being and then construct mental protections to keep the sanctuary safe.
It sounded more straightforward than it was. Gathering my identity and storing it in one location was like scooping up a handful of water and then transporting it to another spot without losing a drop. Often, thoughts returned to the collective ocean or refused to be gathered in the first place. It wasn't possible to build protection around the entire mind either. Or rather, a sanctuary of that size was harder to fortify.
Fortunately, I hated the thought of mind possession more than I hated failure, and the more I failed, the more comfortable I became with my shortcomings.
Failure was alright once one got used to it. It almost became an expected familiarity. What I respected about the big 'F' was that it was consistent and predictable. Failure didn't let anyone down. It was the unreasonable expectation that caused the pain. All failure did was tone the edges of reason. With enough practice, it became a hammer that tempered the blade.
I embraced failure and persisted through all types of mental constructs in an attempt to create and secure my mind.
Calypso wasn't as enthused with failure as I was. The falcon could glide at best, and that was only if there was a decent draft in the cave and I gave him an initial throw. It was a terrible technique. Often, he took long breaks and peppered me with insults. He called it tutoring. I called him a hack.
By the time the loop came to an end, I'd eaten several wolfbears, endured days of headaches, drank at least a gallon of poison, and heard every insult about the races of Helm imaginable. I still couldn't gather my wits in one place, and Cal was as terrible of a bird as he was a coffin buddy.
Some might think I should've dropped the coffin incident by now. I would do my best to ignore those necrophiliacs at all costs. There were just some lines that weren't meant to be crossed when it came to coffin time. Tents crossed all of them.
The new loop had a little more slaughter than the last. After clearing the boss, den, jungle, and rat lair, I ventured into the dark cavern at the entrance and raged war on all the crawlers. I kept fire at my side to keep them at bay while practicing with my ice razors and other orbiting weapons. By the time the crawlers were cleared, I had reached up to twelve razors.
Just as my blades improved, Cal got more proficient with his talons and beak. He'd take to the air with massive leaps, glide to a lone crawler, and tear it apart. Sometimes, the flayen took on a dozen at a time. His cautious approach worked in his favor, and he avoided getting swarmed all but once. The one failure, though, allowed him to grow much more proficient with his retreats.
Cal would deny it if I asked, but I got the sense he was starting to like his new form. It certainly was better than being contained in my mind. I operated the space, and I didn't like spending too much time there.
It took one more loop of critter slaughter before Calypso could comfortably fly. The flayen was ecstatic.
"I need a title," Cal said after looping in the dark cavern. He swooped high and low, twisting and turning his body. More than once, his sharp eyes locked onto an escaping crawler. He'd screech his challenge before diving at his foe and then caw in his victory. I expected squids to eventually come to terms with his form; birds flew, and every fish dreamed of the sky. Sweet abyss. I even wished I could fly. The screeching and cawing, however, took me by surprise. Perhaps my bird shaping was too good… and now he wanted a title?
"What for?" I asked.
"I have reached a great stage in progression."
"It's like learning to walk."
"You call them toddlers…"
"Why do you need a title?"
"It would bring me great honor."
I withheld a snarky response. Acceptance went both ways. If a title was important to Cal, I could give him a title.
"Beaks of Thunder."
"Beaks of Thunder… Yes, this is a mighty name worthy of my glory."
"So, Beaks, what's your thoughts on moats?"
"Impractical. I can fly."
"Damn."
"Yup. Hmm... Although, an underwater fortress would be hard to penetrate."
Not what I had in mind, but the thought did encourage me to forgo dark cavern exploration and dive deeper into mind resistance.
"Go ahead and explore. I'm gonna stay here and train."
"You would only slow me down." Beaks launched from my shoulder and took flight. I lost him a second later in the great darkness, only to hear an occasional mighty caw.