A Wizard's Wings

by T.A. Barron

  Shim kneeled at the base of the hill, resting his mighty chin on one of the stone crosspieces. His grin widened, showing a row of misshapen teeth under his bulging nose. Smugly, he gave me a wink. Only then did I notice the short, bejeweled figure with unruly red hair who sat perched on top of his nose. Urnalda! She watched me, arms folded across her gold-embroidered black robe, clutching her staff with one hand. She looked equal parts regal, frightening—and simply comical.

  To get closer, I climbed on top of the moss-draped boulder near the edge of the circle. “So,” I called up to them, “you two made peace. I’m glad, as well as grateful.”

  “Peace be not the right word,” retorted Urnalda. “Instead, we made pieces.” She slapped her thigh at her joke, cackling with delight so that her blue shell earrings danced up and down, tinkling.

  Puzzled, I stared up at her. “I don’t understand. Pieces of what?”

  “Of stone, that be what!” Her laughter broke out again. One of the earrings flew off, but she waved a finger and halted its fall, then made it travel back through the air and hook itself again on her ear. “Shim and I be friends now, Merlin. You be remembering the little, er, surprise I had waiting for him? Well, it be a pit, a giant-sized pit.”

  More puzzled than ever, I tapped my staff against the boulder. “This is how you made friends?”

  Shim nodded. “But the pit is not giantly enough, harr harr! I falls into it, and breaks through into some more underly tunnels. Manily more. Then I tries to get out, and breaks lotsly more rock everlywhere. By the times I escapes, there’s a hugely hole in the land.”

  “My amphitheater!” crowed the enchantress, waving her arms. “Now Urnalda be waiting no longer to give weekly addresses to my people, to view plays in my honor, and all the rest. So kindhearted Urnalda be offering pardon to Shim for his crimes of spying.” Her voice suddenly lowered to a growl. “Unless I be learning that he says or does anything I not be liking.”

  The giant grinned ever so slightly. “I is muchly grateful to her.”

  Without warning, the boulder shifted under my feet. I toppled off, scraping my back on the rough surface as I fell. At the same time, a spear hissed directly through the spot where I’d been standing. Even as I hit the ground, I saw who had thrown it: the brawny goblin with the purple armbands. He stood at the far side of the circle, bleeding from a gash in his ribs. Cursing vehemently at having missed his target, he slipped between two standing stones and started running down the hill, pursued by several dwarves.

  Slowly, I stood. With a knowing nod, I placed my open hand upon the shaggy moss covering the boulder. I could feel, beneath the moistness of the moss, the slightest quiver, gentler than a butterfly’s fluttering wing. “Thank you, living stone, for saving my life.”

  From deep within the mass of rock, I felt an ancient, throbbing voice. It was a voice I had heard once before, years ago, a voice I could never forget. For it spoke out of the vastness of time, from the strength and experience of stone. Its words came slow, hard, and unadorned.

  You are welcome, young man. You have never been far from my thoughts, since the day you entered me and spoke your two-legged notions.

  I sighed softly. “Yes, I know, I resisted you that day. You wanted me to harden into stone, but I couldn’t do it. I want too much to live, and change, as a man.”

  Change! bellowed the voice, flowing into my hand like a torrent of sound. It is I who knows the truth about change—I who have bubbled within the belly of a star, risen aflame, circled the universe in a particle of dust, then built a new world over numberless eons. Not in many wizards’ lifetimes could you learn what I have learned, or see what I have seen.

  “I know, great stone. And yet I hope that somehow, if we survive this day, I could come and learn from you.”

  The boulder rocked slightly, grinding into the soil. For that you will need patience, young man, not one of your strengths. And yet you are the first of your kind to speak with me, and the only living creature ever to resist my powers. So it is possible you could learn, with time.

  Gratefully, I nodded. “Who told you of our plight, that you came here today?”

  Just above my hand, the stone’s surface quavered. From under one of the drooping clusters of moss, a tiny, glowing speck emerged. The light flyer fluttered toward me, hovered before my face, and landed gently on the tip of my nose—just as it had done once before, at the old oak tree that Rhia had tried to awaken.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The delicate creature whirred its wings softly. Suddenly it flew off, flashing brightly. It circled one of the pillars, then veered westward, invisible against the lowering sun.

  “Less than an hour be left before Dundealgal’s Eve,” declared Urnalda from her throne atop Shim’s nose. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she surveyed the hills beyond the circle of stones. “Yet no one be joining us.”

  “They will come,” I assured her, though my uncertain tone betrayed my thoughts.

  She grimaced. “These goblins be just a few mortal allies of Rhita Gawr. We be needing more, many more, to turn back a full invasion.” Nervously, she spat on her hands, then rubbed them together. “I still be seeing no visions past tonight, Merlin. This be most worrisome! No visions at all, except for those ghostly snakes who be hissing at me in my dreams.”

  Her pale brow wrinkled. “Tonight, I be fearing, will prove our very last.”

  31: THE DOORWAY

  As Urnalda spoke her fateful words, I scanned the perimeter of the ring. The dwarves had nearly finished their work of tending to the wounded. Now they were carefully removing the last of their slain from the circle, to be buried facedown with their weaponry at their sides, as was the custom among dwarves. The bodies of the warrior goblins had already been cleared away, though I doubted they’d been treated with much dignity. The bound form of Dinatius had been left undisturbed in the middle of the ring. Though still unconscious, he seemed to be stirring more actively than before.

  All of a sudden I felt new movement under my boots. This was no tremor caused by a giant, however. It felt more like a vibration, slow and distant but steadily quickening. With every second, it grew stronger.

  The dwarves inside the circle leaped about in confusion, calling to their leader, while those standing outside didn’t seem to feel any shaking at all. Shim, too, felt the vibrations. His bulbous nose twisted in puzzlement, almost knocking off Urnalda. She cursed, slapped him hard, then crawled off, placing herself in the middle of the crosspiece where his chin had been resting. Right away, she started shouting orders to her troops, moving them to the stones at the edge.

  The vibrations grew more intense. Shim grunted, then stood up again, adding his own quaking to the ground. As the dwarves pulled back, only Dinatius, the living stone, and I remained within the ring.

  Accelerating more, the vibrations produced a low, eerie hum. It came not from the ground itself, but from somewhere far deeper, as well as someplace higher. The air within the circle grew dense, pressured, sparking with tension. I realized, in a flash, what we were feeling—two worlds veering perilously close to each other. How had Dagda put it? So close, in truth, that their terrains will nearly touch.

  I sensed another change. The misty whiteness of the ground, which I’d noticed upon arriving, was deepening—and accelerating. Even as I watched, the turf grew steadily lighter, melting from brown to gray, with patches of milky white. Then I gasped. In the lightest patches, I saw traces of movement! Streaking shadows, gathering forms . . . the forces of Rhita Gawr! They were close, very close, to passing through the doorway.

  I checked the sun. Already dipping close to the horizon! Only minutes remained. Swiftly, I climbed back onto the living stone for a better view of the surrounding hills. Stretching my second sight to the limit, I searched for any sign of Rhia or other allies. But I saw only a few skeletal trees, their outlines swiftly darkening.

  No more defenders of Fincayra. Not even Rhia. I shuddered, knowing that only death o
r severe injury would have kept my sister from this place. And I shuddered again to think of what awaited us all after Rhita Gawr’s forces poured into our world.

  At that instant, I heard a distant screech, barely audible above the hum of the vibrating ground. I looked up, just in time to see a tiny black dot soaring out of the pink-tinted sky. Downward it spiraled, growing steadily larger. Another screech ripped the air, echoing among the hills so many times that they seemed to be shouting in reply. Soon massive wings gleamed in the reddening light, as did the creature’s broad tail, hooked beak, and powerful talons. A canyon eagle!

  Not far behind, swooping downward, came others, flying singly or in pairs. Before long, the sky was dotted with their arching wings. Diving in parallel paths, the eagles streaked toward the circle of stones. As the leader landed on one of the pillars, clasping it firmly with his outstretched talons, he faced me and gave a majestic flap of his wings.

  I bowed in greeting, my ears ringing with the eagles’ cries.

  The living stone quivered beneath me. They remember you, young man. They remember how you fought for them when no one else dared.

  I nodded, but my mood remained grim. For while these winged warriors were powerful allies indeed, they were not enough. No, not nearly enough.

  Then, as the rest of the eagles settled on the pillars, I noticed something else in the sky. Birds—more of them. Many more! Birds of all shapes and sizes were arriving, blackening the air with their bodies. They reminded me of the ones I’d seen massing along the Shore of the Speaking Shells, and I wondered if those birds had been gathering for this very moment. As the enormous flock neared, I recognized cranes, owls, pelicans, terns, swallows, cormorants, and hawks—though I knew the hawk I most longed to see again, the one whose feather rested in my satchel even now, was not among them.

  Another form, larger than a bird, approached from the northern sky. Its jagged wings, long neck, and massive head cut a shape I couldn’t possibly mistake. The shape of a dragon. Gwynnia! Beyond doubt, Fincayra’s last dragon had joined our cause. A thin trail of smoke poured out of her nostrils, but I couldn’t tell whether she had, indeed, learned to breathe fire. Nor, alas, could I tell where Hallia might be, for she was not riding on the dragon’s back.

  Over the hills, now bathed in lavender and pink, the shadows of Gwynnia and the assorted birds sped. I watched the shadows rise and fall with the contours of the land, darkening the slopes as they had the sky. I caught my breath. Not all those shapes on the land were shadows!

  Emerging from behind the hill adjacent to ours, a proud black stallion came galloping. Ionn! And on his back, Rhia! In the last rays of the sun, which sat like a great red shield on the horizon, her leafy suit glittered like a gown of rubies.

  Onward she rode, charging up the slope, the hooves of her steed pounding the turf like a drum. Dust flew, often obscuring her face. But I saw written on her features the wholehearted determination that I’d always known she possessed.

  “Rhia!” I shouted, waving to her from atop the boulder.

  She waved back, even as her other arm beckoned to others behind her, still shielded by the adjacent hill. At the same time, Scullyrumpus, his long ears flapping, lifted himself higher on her shoulder. In his shrill voice, he piped: “Yaaaaahee! Scullyrumpus Eiber y Findalair is herehere at laaaaast!”

  “Look there, Merlin,” boomed Shim’s great voice from above me. “Manily more is coming!”

  From behind the hill a host of creatures poured, beasts of every color and size and description. They came striding and lumbering, crawling and flying, slithering and trotting across the soil, ascending the slope to the ring of stones. There were bears, wolves, wildcats, straight-backed centaurs, water nymphs, frilled lizards, stags and does, large-eyed squirrels, foxes, hedgehogs, butterflies aplenty, mice, snakes, shrews, a dense swarm of bees, glyn-maters who ate only one meal every six hundred years, horses, fauns, wood elves, and at least one white unicorn.

  I saw a pair of wydyrr serpents, transparent except for their flickering tongues and the tips of their tails; a jellibog, who rolled limply along the ground, leaving a shimmering trail of green slime; and the legendary frog-footed people from the northern coast of the Lost Lands. I spotted a troop of deer people, their narrow faces held high—but no Hallia among them. Then, to my delight, I saw the huge, hulking spider known by all as the Grand Elusa. Hungry as always, she was grinding something between her massive jaws, perhaps the remains of a warrior goblin who had escaped from the dwarves’ onslaught.

  Also marching in the crowd were men and women, hundreds of them. Near the front strode a tall, gray-maned man. Surprised, I peered closer. It was, indeed, Cairpré! So he couldn’t stay away after all! He strode near the front, his white tunic glowing in the light of sunset, leading a contingent singing a rhythmic ballad.

  Many more people I recognized, as well. There was Honn, the bare-chested laborer who once sheltered me on my way to destroy the Shrouded Castle. And there—Pluton, the master baker, who helped me find the true name of my magical sword. Even Bumbelwy, the dour jester who. finally learned to make a dragon laugh, had come.

  Then, behind the marchers, came the most stirring sight of all. Trees, scores upon scores of them, advanced steadily. They slapped the ground with their splayed roots, sending up billowing clouds of dust. With their boughs, they rowed the air, creaking and groaning in unison. Oaks and ashes, hawthorns and pines, cedars and rowans swept steadily across the hills.

  Like a mountain on the move, like a tide upon the land. I smiled to myself, knowing that Rhia had found the way, at last, to awaken the trees.

  Several giants came lumbering behind the moving forest, their towering forms lit by the setting sun. They seemed to be herding the trees, keeping them together, just as shepherds might do with a flock of sheep. One giant wore a nose ring made from a waterwheel; another carried a crown of stones on her streaming yellow hair; still another waved an immense hand at Shim, who returned the gesture. I noticed that they walked more lightly than Shim, placing their hairy feet with care, perhaps to keep from shaking the ground enough to entangle the trees’ roots and branches.

  I glanced down at the ground within the pillars. Almost entirely white! Strange shapes shifted and coalesced beneath its surface. Meanwhile, the air grew warmer—and heavier, stiflingly so. Even above the din from the approaching Fincayrans, I could hear the vibrating hum from two worlds about to collide.

  Looking up again, I saw the edge of the rising moon as it lifted over the distant hills. Suddenly, a mass of dark, wispy shapes moved across its face, dimming its silvery light. At first I thought they were clouds. But as they drew nearer, flying across the darkening sky, I spotted eerie, flickering eyes within the vaporous forms. And I knew that we were being joined by marsh ghouls.

  Amazed, I stared at them. Only the depth of our troubles—and perhaps the memory of how I’d saved them from slavery—could have caused them to leave their treasured isolation. But who had told them of our plight? Had Rhia somehow found time to plunge deep into the remotest swamps and coax them into coming?

  With a start, I noticed a lone figure being pulled along by some marsh ghouls in the lead. While its shape resembled the others, it was darker and more sharply defined. No, it wasn’t one of them at all. It was a shadow. My own shadow. So it had finally returned, and brought with it the marsh ghouls. Great seasons!

  Rhia, astride her steed, galloped into the circle of stones. At the same instant, a new sound erupted from the ground below: voices, thousands of them, roaring in unison. The stallion reared, beating the air with his hooves, his black coat glistening with the last scarlet rays of the sun.

  Gently, Rhia stroked his neck until he grew calmer. Despite the swelling chorus, she managed to guide him over to the boulder where I stood. Her gaze met mine—just as the sun went down.

  Winter’s longest night had begun.

  32: WINTER’S LONGEST NIGHT

  As soon as the sun descended, the air within the
ring of stones grew denser—almost impossible to breathe. Sparks ignited at the bases of the pillars, sizzling and crackling as they floated upward in the heat. From my vantage point atop the moss-draped boulder near the edge of the circle, I thought the ground itself might soon burst into flames.

  A steadily swelling roar poured from the shapeless figures moving just beneath the surface. Already the ground had turned completely white, looking thinner than a newly frozen sheet of ice. The full moon began to rise over the far hills. It resembled a ghostly reflection of the white ring, sailing on high.

  Meanwhile, more Fincayrans joined us, lining the full perimeter, crowding up against the pillars. Soon the entire ring, and most of the hillside below, teemed with countless bodies of every imaginable description. As I’d done so often before, I scanned the crowd for Hallia. With no success.

  Rhia, sitting astride Ionn, called to me above the growing din: “Merlin! Shouldn’t we leave the circle?”

  “No,” I replied, planting my staff firmly on the shaggy surface of the living stone. “This is our world, and we stand here to protect it.”

  She nodded, her face grim. High above us, Shim’s massive head bobbed in agreement. From their perches on the surrounding pillars, the canyon eagles screeched their emphatic support. Ionn, too, whinnied defiantly. And beneath me, I felt the living stone shift, grinding its bulk even more deeply into the soil.

  Anxiously, I wondered what our foes would look like. Just how they would come. And whether the very ground would melt away as they passed into our world.

  “Beware!” cried Urnalda, waving her stubby arms from atop her stone crosspiece. “There be snakes!”

  She pointed to the center of the ring. Not far from the unconscious figure of Dinatius, whose tightly bound body was vibrating along with the ground beneath him, two wispy spirals of mist were rising slowly skyward. Ever so gradually, the pair of spirals lengthened, until they stood almost as tall as the surrounding pillars. At the same time, they grew thicker, especially at the top, where triangular heads began to form. Bright silver eyes appeared, along with hoods that arched menacingly over their slanted brows. As the wraithlike shapes writhed in the air, their surfaces hardened into scaly skin, coldly shimmering in the light of the moon.