A Wizard's Wings

by T.A. Barron

  “That girl Medba reminds me of your sister.”

  I spun around to face my mother. Her hair was tangled, her blue robe soiled, and she looked almost as sleepy as Shim. But her face glowed bright as she tousled the hair of the young boy beside her.

  “Lleu!” I exclaimed, giving his woolen scarf a playful tug.

  He looked up at me, his lone ear catching the sunlight through his curls. “I be much glad to see ye, master Merlin.”

  “And I you, my friend.”

  He beamed at me, showing the gap where his front teeth would someday appear.

  I turned back to Elen of the Sapphire Eyes. “So,” I said through my grin, “you couldn’t resist a chance to escape from that village?”

  “Certainly not,” she declared, her own mouth curling in a grin. “But much as I dearly loved the place, somebody had to help Shim take care of all these children.”

  Glancing at the figures scampering down the beach, splashing in the tide pools, kicking sand at each other, and jumping in and out of the hat, I had to agree. “I’m sure Shim was glad to see you! As am I.”

  We embraced, and I felt her patting my back through the astral vest she had given me. As we separated, she scrutinized me carefully, her brow wrinkling with concern. “You’ve had some troubles, haven’t you?”

  “Oh,” I said as casually as possible, “a few here and there. Right now, though, my challenge is how to build a vessel big enough to hold everyone.”

  “Why not ask Rhia? She’s always brimming with ideas.” Her eyes swept over the dune, then back to me. “Where is she, anyway?”

  “She’s . . . ah, gone a different way. Riding Ionn, which you know she loves to do.”

  My mother scowled. “She’s not riding for pleasure.”

  “No,” I admitted, feeling the weight of her gaze. “She’s fine, though. Believe me.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I don’t believe you, Merlin. None of us are fine, what with all that’s happened.”

  “Wait, now.” I waved my staff at the children spreading out along the beach. “They are. And what’s more important, for a brief moment, at least, they’re safe. Free from the threat of that sword-armed scourge, who is probably still searching for me near the place we last fought, far away from here.”

  “Still, my son, he’s bound to find out where we are. Then the children—and you—will be in danger again.”

  “Eventually, yes. But I have a plan that, if it works, would keep them safe forever. I just need to . . .”

  Suddenly, I felt something tug on my satchel. I whirled around to find Lleu withdrawing his hand, a guilty grin on his face.

  “No harm, master Merlin. I jest be . . . well, curious. ‘Bout yer bag.”

  “You mean, what’s in it?”

  “Well, yes, master Merlin.”

  I couldn’t help but feel amused, since sneaking a peek into someone’s satchel was just the kind of thing I’d have done at his age. Elen’s expression, too, had softened; no doubt she was thinking something similar. With dramatic tones, I proclaimed, “Behold, young man, I shall grant your wish! View now the world famous, roundly acclaimed, triply enchanted . . . magic feather.”

  “Magic feather?” he repeated skeptically.

  Delicately, I lifted the satchel’s leather flap, holding my breath in mock anticipation. Silently, I summoned the required powers, bidding them to follow my will. As the air above the satchel started to quiver, Lleu gasped. Slowly, very slowly, Trouble’s feather rose upward. The boy drew back, standing next to Elen, his back pressed against her thigh, while the feather floated higher.

  Lleu stared in amazement as the feather rose higher, drifting lazily toward him. Like a fluffy butterfly it floated, spinning past his chest, over his shoulder, and along the length of his arm. It hovered, twirling, before his face. Suddenly it darted closer, tickling his nostrils.

  The boy laughed, swatting the feather away. He tried to catch it, even as the feather spun behind my mother. Eagerly, he swung around to reach it. As he did so, he knocked his head into her side, bashing the scabbed remains of his ear.

  He yowled in pain, covering his wound with his hand. Elen bent down and stroked his head with compassion, whispering sofdy as she did so. But he continued to whimper painfully.

  “Oh, Lleu, I’m so sorry,” I offered, steering the feather back into my pouch. “That was a foolish, clumsy idea.”

  After a moment, he turned to me, a thin trickle of blood running down from his ear. “Nay, master Merlin,” he said weakly. “I likes yer idea, very much. I be the clumsy ‘un, bangin’ me noggin like that.”

  I started to speak, when Shim kneeled beside us, flattening a spur of the dune and a jumble of firewood with his great knee. He looked down on us glumly. “I is sorry, Merlin, but I has some badly news.”

  I groaned. “What now?”

  The giant’s face contorted, twisting his oversized nose. “Hardly as I tried, I couldn’t convince any other giants to comes to the battle. Not even Jingba, my oldest friend. When I tells him about Rhita Gawr and all, he just laughs at me and says I is full of exaggeratinglyness.”

  The report made me wince. “That’s terrible! Without at least some of the giants, we won’t stand a chance.”

  “I is sorry, verily sorry. Maybily I will tries them again, after I takes the nap I is longingly for.” He stretched his jaws with another yawn. “And if that doesn’t works, I tries the dwarves! If I can just finds Urnalda, maybily I can convince her to helps.”

  “No, Shim,” I declared, recalling her death threat. “You mustn’t! She has set a—”

  “There you are, you cowardly runt of a wizard!” boomed a voice from atop the dune.

  I spun around, though I already knew who was hailing me. Yes, and with every particle of my body! It was the person I least wanted to see, the person I had no idea how to fight. Slayer.

  22: ATTACK

  The warrior stood atop the dune, poised for battle. Sunlight glinted off his breastplate, and from the deadly sword blades attached to his shoulders. From behind his skull mask, his coarse laughter roared. Then, with the edge of one of his swords, he lifted the mask slightly—not enough to reveal his face, but enough to spit on the sand at his feet.

  “You fled me before, runt wizard! This time, by the spirits, you won’t escape.”

  “It’s you who won’t escape,” I flung back, jabbing my staff into the sand of the beach. Looking up the slope at Slayer, my mind raced. He was here! Somehow he must have discovered my plan—and now that plan was ruined. No, worse! Now that the children were gathered all in one place, they were in far greater danger than before. I’d done this madman a favor. And I couldn’t possibly stop him if he turned all my own magic against me.

  “Come prove your brave words,” he shot back. “Come up here and fight to the death.”

  By my side, Lleu shrank back into my mother’s arms. He trembled all over; the blood drained from his face. He released the urgent, heart-rending pule of a cornered animal.

  Further down the beach and in the shallows, other children stopped splashing in the tide pools, forming shapes in the sand, collecting colorful shells, or swinging from the brim of Shim’s hat. As one, they turned to find out what was wrong. Several of them, seeing the terrible warrior with the face of a skull, froze in their tracks, standing as rigid as barnacles on sea-splattered rocks. Others started running away, kicking wet sand in all directions. A few even plunged into the rolling wall of mist that lined the shore, obscuring the sea beyond.

  “Well?” boomed my foe. “Are you no braver than that squealing boy beside you?”

  Shim gave a thunderous growl. He rose from the kneeling position, blocking out the sun with his massive frame. “You is the unbravely one,” he bellowed, his voice blowing the remaining leaves off a linden tree at the base of the dune. “I’ll squashes you like a tinyly bug.”

  “No, wait,” I commanded, lifting my staff. “He has strange magic, Shim. Powerfully strange. Leave him t
o me—while you round up the children. Get them all safely away, however you can.”

  “No, Merlin,” implored my mother. “Don’t fight him.”

  “I must. Now go, both of you! Get the children.”

  The giant frowned. “I surely hopes you knows what you is doing, Merlin.”

  “So do I,” seconded my mother, shielding Lleu with the folds of her robe.

  Waving them away, I turned back to Slayer. “You are a coward!” I called, trying to gain some time for them to gather the children. “Why don’t you show your face behind that mask?”

  He seemed to hesitate, then slowly raised his bladed arms above his head. He stood there, a terrible silhouette against the sky, light glinting along the edges of his swords. “For you, runt wizard, this is my true face. The face of death.”

  With that, he stormed down from the crest of the dune. Slashing his blades, he ran straight at me, cursing as his boots dug into the sand. Now I had no choice but to fight him. In just a few seconds, he’d reach me.

  How, though, to fight? All my wiles were turned back on me. Then an idea suddenly struck. If I resisted using any magic, then he couldn’t throw my power back! Yet . . . that meant I must rely on brute strength alone. And that was a battle he surely would win.

  Just before he reached me, I flung my staff aside and hurled myself bodily at his legs. The force of my charge sent him sprawling over me. Both of us tumbled down to the beach, throwing sand in the air.

  No sooner did I scramble to my feet than he did the same. Roaring like a wrathful boar, he lunged at me, slicing with his swords. Rather than draw my own blade, I waited until the last possible instant, then stepped aside. Slayer plunged past me, rolling into a tide pool. Seawater, kelp, and gull feathers sprayed us both. Rising again, he stumbled, landing on a large, orange conch shell, crushing it to bits under his weight.

  Immediately, he charged again. With a stream of curses, he slashed his blades, barely missing my chest as I feinted one way and dodged the other. Huffing for breath, I faced him once more. Sooner or later, I knew, one of his swords would strike its target. I glanced over my shoulder to see Shim far down the beach, herding all the children behind the dunes. His pounding footsteps, like their cries, were swiftly retreating. Before long they, at least, would be out of danger.

  Again he charged, flailing his deadly arms. Once more I escaped, leaping aside and turning a somersault on the sand. This time, though, when I stood and faced him, he made no move to attack.

  “You’re even more afraid than I recall,” he snarled, panting hoarsely. “Why do you run from me? No magic left?”

  “Plenty,” I retorted, slowly circling him on the beach. “I just don’t need it to fight you.”

  “Then fight me, whelp!”

  He lunged again. Just as I spun away, though, he halted himself. Seeing this, I tried to stop—but my foot caught on a twisted piece of driftwood. I tumbled onto the wet sand, rolling over on my back. Right above me stood Slayer, chortling in satisfaction. Behind him, a steep-sided dune rose off the beach like a sheer cliff, casting its dark shadow on both of us.

  “No time to fight now, you runt wizard.” He raised both of his blades, ready to skewer me. “Just to die.”

  He planted his feet. I saw the muscles under his breastplate flex. The twin swords lifted high, their gruesome edges flashing in the sun.

  “No!” cried another voice. Elen! Hurling herself on the sand at Slayer’s feet, she placed herself between us. She threw back her head and glared up at him fearlessly. “Don’t you dare harm my son.”

  Slayer guffawed. “Only after I deal with you, woman!” Under his breath, he added, “How very fitting.”

  He started to bring down his swords. As bright as streaks of light, they shone against the darkened dune behind him. In that brief instant, I knew I had no choice but to call on my magical powers. No other way to stop him! But I also knew that any magic would be thrust back at me—or worse, at Elen. My mind reeled. There must be another way!

  The swords swept through the air. I saw them plunging toward my mother. My rage at last boiled over, and I was about to form a fireball in my hand.

  Just then, the blurred figure of a man leaped off the top of the dune. With a ferocious shout, the man, wearing a hooded cloak, smashed into Slayer, knocking him to the ground. Bellowing with rage, Slayer struck out, stabbing the cloaked figure with his swords. He slashed at the man’s chest, arms, and legs in a brutal frenzy. Blood splattered the beach.

  All of a sudden the sky darkened. I looked up to see Shim’s immense form stepping over the dune from behind. His bare foot slammed down onto the sand. Before Slayer could move, the giant’s huge hand reached down and grasped him by the middle, pinning his murderous blades to his sides. Although the warrior struggled so hard to break free that his armor seemed ready to burst, he couldn’t budge. Shim lifted him higher, glowering at him with enormous eyes. Then the giant roared angrily, with such force that the great wall of mist shuddered, thinned, and pulled some ways back from the shore. Shim reared back and hurled the warrior straight through the mist and far out to sea—so far that we heard no splash.

  The hulking form bent over me. “Is you alrightly, Merlin?”

  “Thanks to you, old friend.” I clambered to my feet. “You and . . .”

  My words faded away. I saw Elen, her back to me, kneeling over the heroic figure. Although her back obscured the man’s face, I recognized the cloak. It belonged to Cairpré! My insides wrenched at the sight. Cairpré, my mentor, my friend—lying there on the sand, dying.

  I stumbled over to join my mother, who was holding his hand, sobbing quietly. Then my heart froze. The hood of the cloak had fallen back, revealing his face. It wasn’t Cairpré after all! Instead of the face I knew so well, I viewed a thick black beard, a jutting jaw, and eyes as dark as my own. No, there could be no doubt. It was Stangmar.

  Though blood soaked his chest, staining the sand, he lifted his head slightly, uttering a single word: “Elen.”

  She turned to him, still holding his limp hand. “I am here. With you.”

  “Elen,” he repeated, his voice raspy. “I had to find you. Had to . . . tell you.”

  She leaned closer. “Tell me what?”

  He squinted, as if his eyes were having trouble focusing. “I have done wrong . . . so much wrong. To this world, to so many, but most of all . . . to you.”

  “Please,” she said softly, “don’t try to speak.”

  For an instant, his eyes flashed angrily, a reminder of the ruthless king he once was. “I must speak! Before . . .” Again he tried lifting his head, but it fell back to the wet sand. Weakly, he closed his fingers around hers. “Elen . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Please . . . forgive me.”

  She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. Her soulful eyes gazed at his. “I forgive you.”

  A new quietness seemed to flow over his face, moving like one of the waves sweeping through the shallows. His mouth softened; his brow relaxed. Then, slowly, his head turned to me. I could see, by his eyes, that he was seeking my forgiveness, as well. But whether from weakness or from stubbornness, he could not bring himself to ask.

  Nor could I bring myself to answer.

  For a long moment, we stared wordlessly at each other. A sudden spasm shot through him, arching his back. With a final groan, he swung his head back to Elen, fixing his eyes on her. Then he closed them forever.

  23: THE VESSEL

  Gently, Elen laid Stangmar’s hand upon his bloody chest. With tear-stained cheeks, she peered at me. Her tone full of grief, as well as rebuke, she said, “You could have forgiven him.”

  My boots twisted uneasily in the sand. “No,” I replied. “Not after everything he did.”

  She merely gazed at me sorrowfully.

  I turned away, heading down the beach. My boots dragged across numerous shells, bright with colors, but I paid no heed. In the distance, I could see Shim’s woven hat, its lower edge lapp
ed by waves. Already, some of the children had returned. A few stood gawking at the corpse of Stangmar; others climbed the dunes or waded in the shallows.

  Moving past them, I trudged along the shoreline. Noticing my shadow alongside me, I snapped, “Where were you in that battle? Some help you were!”

  The shadow stopped walking, separating its feet from my own. I could almost feel its glare.

  “No,” I declared, “I am not going to apologize. Sure, you do just fine on the easier tasks, like finding a giant. But when it comes down to something really risky, involving life or death, where are you?”

  The shadow gave me a defiant shake of its head.

  “All right, then,” I ranted. “You just do that. Go away, as far as you like. And I hope you never come back!”

  The dark shape on the sand waved its arms wildly. Then it turned and stalked off down the beach.

  I watched it move away, certain it would return before long, ready to behave better. My stomach churned. What if it didn’t, though? I glanced down at the empty sand by my feet, feeling strangely bereft. I almost called to the shadow before it disappeared among the dunes, but no words came.

  “You is angrily, Merlin. I can tells.”

  I looked up to see Shim’s oversized nose dangling over me. “Yes, I am. At that sword-armed menace, at Stangmar, at my shadow . . .” I paused, swallowing. “And most of all, at myself.”

  “Better to be angrily at that swordly warrior,” advised the giant. Gingerly, he licked the palm of his great hand. “If he wasn’t so cuttingly sharp, I’d have squeezeded him into stewballs.” After another lick, he added, “But I guesses he doesn’t bother you for awhiles, since I throws him so far out to seas.”

  “You did well, Shim. Even if he survived, you certainly got rid of him for now.”

  “I wishes I’d gotten rid of him for everly! He’s muchly dangerous. Even with his bladely arms, I wagers he can still swims. He might come back here to kills you and the tinyly childrens in another couple of dailys.”