As Giogi started down the stairs to the crypt, he thought of Mother Lleddew’s story of how Uncle Drone had to slice off part of Cole’s wyvern foot so his corpse would transform back into a man’s. It was this that disturbed Giogi more than the fact that Cole had died battling the wizard. Suppose I get stuck as a wyvern while I’m still alive? Suppose I go wyverny and forget about my family and Cat and Daisyeye and fly off to live in the wild?
Giogi stood at the crypt door with the key in the lock. Aunt Dorath must have been afraid of the same thing, not being able to change back from a beast into a human being. Had that ever happened to Cole while he was alive? Giogi didn’t remember his father ever being away from home for very long, and when he returned, he never showed any signs of being wyverny.
As a matter of fact, Cole was like every other father Giogi had ever known, better, actually. Cole took him riding and boating and told him stories and taught him his letters and numbers. He must have been a good husband, too. Giogi didn’t remember his parents fighting very much. They gardened together and danced together and played backgammon and read books to one another by the fireside at night. Even separated by fourteen years and surrounded by the cold stone stairwell leading to the crypt, Giogi could feel the warmth of that hearth.
No, he decided, someone like Cole couldn’t forget how to be human. Not until death had left him cold.
Will it be the same for me, though?
“I’ll never find out by just standing here,” the nobleman declared. He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the crypt door.
As soon as he stepped into the crypt, motes of black swirled on the back wall and coalesced into the familiar shape of the shadow wyvern.
“Giogioni, you’re back,” the guardian whispered.
Giogi strode into the crypt. He stopped before the empty pillar and pulled the spur out of his boot. “I found it,” he said, dropping the heirloom onto the velvet cloth. “I need to know how to use it.”
“I knew you’d come back to me, my Giogioni,” the guardian said.
“You have nothing to do with it. This is an emergency. I don’t want to be a wyvern.”
The guardian laughed, her shadowy form swaying on the wall. It was a clear, ringing laugh, unlike her spooky, whispery voice. “I wouldn’t want to be a human.”
“Well, I need to be one anyway. A wyvern.”
“You can never be a wyvern, Giogioni. You may take a wyvern’s form, but you will always be human. That is essential.”
“What do you mean, essential?”
“The spur’s blessing guarantees the Wyvernspur line will continue. If Wyvernspurs were to turn from human to wyvern, they would not be able to continue the line as Wyvernspurs. So that which confers power over the spur, Selûne’s kiss, is not given to those unable to resist changing completely to wyvern.”
A touch of relief spread over Giogi. Then his curiosity overcame his anxiety. “Suppose someone not kissed by Selûne tries to use it?”
“They would think they had a wyvern’s power, though their body would still be human.”
“Is that all it takes to be kissed by Selûne—being able to resist going completely wyverny?”
“No. You must want to be different.”
“I don’t want to be different,” Giogi objected.
The guardian laughed. “You are so satisfied with yourself, your life, your world?”
Giogi shifted uneasily. He couldn’t lie.
“With a wyvern’s power and the blessings of the spur you can change yourself, your life, your world.”
“So what do I have to do to make it work?” Giogi asked.
“Take up the spur—”
Giogi set the finder’s stone down on the pillar and picked up the spur.
“Keep it near your leg.”
Giogi slid the spur into his boot.
“Now you must remember your dreams.”
“My dreams?” he sputtered. Then he understood. “Oh. Those dreams,” he said. The images sprang to his mind. The death cry of prey—the shriek of a rabbit, the squeal of a pig, the bellow of a cow. The taste of warm blood—salty and full of energy. The crunch of bone—surrendering to the strength of his jaw and yielding up its sweet marrow. He felt the blood pounding in his head, and the room seemed to spin and shrink around him. He bent over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.
“A very handsome wyvern form, Giogioni,” the guardian whispered.
Giogioni looked down at himself nervously. Actually, he had to look back at himself. He was at least thirty feet longer. He was covered with red scales. His arms had become great leathery wings, and his feet were sharp talons. The strangest thing of all, though, was the tail. It swayed gracefully behind him without him thinking about it. He concentrated on controlling it and it froze, poised in the air, until he unconsciously picked a target.
He bent forward and slashed the tail over his head. The stinger at the tip pierced the velvet cloth atop the pillar.
The pillar toppled over, and the finder’s stone rolled across the floor of the crypt. The piece of velvet cloth remained caught on the end of the stinger. He pulled it off with a talon and nearly toppled over, trying to balance on one leg.
The guardian laughed. “You need to remember that your body is a weapon. You should practice with it—especially flying. It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“How do I change back?” Giogi tried to ask, but his words came out as a growl.
The guardian understood him, though. “I suppose you think of whatever humans dream about,” she said. She made a yawning sound. “Dull things,” she suggested.
Giogi tried to think of what he dreamed about when he wasn’t dreaming the wyvern dream. He thought about Cat. Unconsciously he began beating the air with his wings, and he remained a wyvern. He thought of galloping on Daisyeye, but that reminded him too much of chasing prey. Then he thought of Aunt Dorath, knitting by the fireside. The ceiling got farther away. His boots covered his feet. His arms dropped to his sides. He straightened up, no longer needing to balance his tail with the weight of his neck.
He picked the pillar off the floor, and laid the velvet cloth over it. Then he retrieved the finder’s stone.
“When will I see you again?” the guardian asked.
Giogi shivered, but it would be rude to say she scared him to death and he didn’t like coming into the crypt. “I don’t know,” he said. “Why?”
“I’ll miss you.”
“You will? Do you get lonely down here?”
“Sometimes. Not often.”
“Why do you stay?”
“This is where my bones are buried. Beside the bones of those I love—my mate, and all your ancestors who took his form, from Paton to Cole.”
“Oh,” Giogi said, thinking how strange it must be to love so many people dead for so many years. “I’ll be back when I’m finished with what I have to do,” he promised, “unless I die.”
“You’ll be back in that case, too,” the guardian said solemnly.
Giogi’s eyes roamed over the blocks of stone sealing in his ancestors. “You’re right. Well, until whichever.”
“Until whichever,” the guardian agreed.
“Thank you for the advice.”
“You’re welcome, my Giogioni.” The guardian’s shadow faded from the walls and left him alone.
For the first time ever, Giogi left the crypt without a feeling of terror.
Outside, the sun was getting low in the sky. Giogi slipped the finder’s stone in his boot beside the spur. He untied Daisyeye, slid her reins off her head, and tucked them into one of her saddlebags. “Go home, girl,” he said, slapping her on her backside. The mare took off down the hill without looking back.