A Wizard's Wings

by T.A. Barron

  Hallia tapped the pillar beneath us. “Already this seems part stone, and part mist.” She scraped the surface with her finger, pulling away some threadlike vapors. “What does this mean, young hawk, for my people, for our sacred lands? For all those hidden pathways and glades and meadows that you and I ran through together as deer?”

  “Drowned in mist,” I answered somberly. “Just like everything and everyone else in Fincayra.” I swatted at some white tufts clinging to my leggings. “Our homeland is lost, I can feel it. All we fought for, all Cairpré and so many others died for—lost.”

  We sat in silence for a long time, watching the mist deepen. My doubts about the future returned, but with a different twist. With no more Fincayra, what would become of Hallia? Of us? Perhaps we could live out our days in the Otherworld that was swallowing our homeland. Perhaps my time had truly come to travel to Britannia, with Hallia at my side. Or perhaps . . .

  At that moment, I noticed that a visitor had entered our camp. Up the hill he strode, moving briskly through the swelling mist. When he neared the circle, a gust of warm air blew over us. At the same time, birds of all kinds flocked to the stones, perching where they could see him. Many other creatures—centaurs and sprites, butterflies and wolves—followed him into the ring. Even the bear, with bandages on her whole body, hobbled in his wake. The living stone, too, rolled behind him, crunching heavily on the soil.

  He was an elderly man, his silvery hair as wispy as the vapors curling about his ankles. One arm dangled uselessly at his side, but his confident stride conveyed an air of strength. As soon as he approached, I recognized him. Yes, even before I gazed again into those deep brown eyes, full of wisdom and compassion and hope.

  “Dagda,” I said reverently, walking over and kneeling before him.

  He touched my shoulder lightly, and his face crinkled in a sad smile. “I am sorry for what you have lost.”

  I couldn’t find the words to reply.

  He studied me for a moment, then said in a resonant voice, “All is not as it appears, however.”

  “I . . . don’t understand.”

  “You shall, in time. Rise now, Merlin. I have brought someone to see you.”

  As I stood again, he reached down and scooped up a curl of mist. It rested in the palm of his hand, slowly spiraling. Then he blew upon it, very gently. It began to enlarge, growing taller and fuller. A rounded body appeared, then sleek wings with bands of silver and brown, then a proud head with yellow-rimmed eyes and a perilous beak. Trouble!

  The bird whistled, glanced at Dagda, and fluttered his wings. He lifted off, landing on my left shoulder with a rush of cold air. Again he whistled, before grasping me tightly with his talons.

  Feeling his weight again on my shoulder, I almost smiled, yet my heart remained too heavy. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I’ve missed him.”

  “And he you,” the elder spirit replied.

  I beckoned to Hallia, and also to Rhia, who was standing across the circle. More than anyone else, they knew how much this hawk meant to me. Both kneeled in greeting to Dagda, as I had done, then stroked Trouble’s feathered back. The hawk strutted happily on my shoulder, pausing once to tickle Rhia’s nose with his wing tip. Scullyrumpus, peering in awe over the edge of Rhia’s sleeve pocket, was uncharacteristically silent.

  At length, I turned back to Dagda. “Tell me, please, what you meant.”

  The old man’s eyes lowered. “You know now that the veil between the worlds has been torn, the cosmic balance shifted. Nothing can change that.”

  He splayed his fingers, causing the mist to lap against our legs like waves on the open sea. “And now . . . our worlds will merge. They are joining, even as the Forgotten Island has joined with the mainland. No longer will Fincayra stand apart, a haven between mortal Earth and immortal Otherworld.”

  “So it has been destroyed.” I shook my head dismally. “Just as I thought.”

  The elder raised his hand. “Not destroyed, Merlin. Transformed.”

  I traded uncertain glances with Hallia and Rhia. “Transformed how?”

  “Look more closely,” bade Dagda, waving at the vapors flowing over the stones and all the assembled creatures. “Do you notice something else about this mist?”

  I scanned our surroundings, increasingly white. “No,” I admitted.

  “I do,” offered Hallia, her face suddenly aglow. She pointed at the fallen pillar where we had been sitting. It looked now almost like a rectangular cloud, not so much covered by mist as infused with it. “Instead of drowning our world, it could be, well . . . becoming our world.”

  “I see!” exclaimed Rhia, bouncing so vigorously that Scullyrumpus’ ears flapped against her arm.

  “Well, I don’t,” I said in exasperation.

  Dagda reached over and placed his hand upon my shoulder, right next to Trouble’s talons. “Now you shall, thanks to all your good work. For the moment has come that I have long awaited.”

  35: MIRACLES

  Dagda’s eyes brightened, like stars emerging in a dusky sky. “Fincayrans have united,” he declared, loud enough that all the creatures gathered around the stone circle could hear. At once, the entire ring fell silent. Not a single bee buzzed; not a single bird chattered. Even the great bear, swathed in bandages, seemed to hold her breath.

  “Fincayra’s many threads have bound together into a sturdy rope,” proclaimed the elder spirit. “Not only have all of you fought together against a common enemy, you have done something much harder still. You have begun to live together as a single community, sharing your food and labors and dreams. That has not happened since days long past.”

  He paused, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips. “Those days held gifts for all, none of them more precious than peace. And for the men and women of that time, those days held one gift in particular.”

  Beside me, Rhia gasped.

  Lifting his hand high above his head, Dagda drew a graceful circle in the air. “And so shall it be again.”

  Rhia gave a shriek, as shrill as one of Trouble’s whistles. At the same time, Hallia leaped like a surprised doe. For both of them were experiencing the same thing as I—a deep, sustained pulsing in the middle of the back. This wasn’t the old ache between my shoulder blades. Far from it! This was a feeling of exhilaration and contentment combined, what I imagined a seed might feel before erupting at last into sunlight.

  My tunic felt suddenly tight around my chest. Before I knew what was happening, I heard a tearing sound. And out through my tunic and vest, as through Rhia’s suit of woven vines and Hallia’s robe, burst something utterly extraordinary.

  Wings.

  Awestruck, I spread them wide, closed them tight, then opened them again. Watching their edges glitter in the sunshine, I realized they weren’t made from flesh, blood, and bone, as was the rest of my body. No, these wings were made from something more ephemeral, like air, and more luminous, like starlight.

  Trouble whistled in delight and leaped into the air. Then came the greater miracle. I joined him!

  Pumping my broad, shimmering wings, I rose into the air above the circle of stones. Higher I climbed, and higher. Wind rushed over my face, flattening my hair and sending streams of tears across my temples. Though my glowing feathers quivered with every gust, the powerful wings kept beating rhythmically. I inhaled with every upstroke and exhaled with every downward whoosh.

  Trouble joined me, coaxing me to climb so steeply I could hardly breathe. Then, together, we veered and plunged straight down, wind coursing over us. Faster we fell, and faster. Grinning, I imagined myself with a long beard, stretched straight out behind me.

  Just above the tops of the pillars, we pulled up again. I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the ground. It seemed terribly woozy, ready to give me back all its promised vacation if I would just return to the ground. But I’d never agree to such a bargain. The thrill of flying now flowed through my veins.

  “Come join me!” I called to Rhia and Hallia, and
they followed me upward. Behind them came more men and women, along with my mother and most of the children. Then birds joined the throng, and the sky was soon filled with eagles, cormorants, owls, and curlews. Even Gwynnia took flight, flapping to catch up with Hallia. In short order, the air above the hillside vibrated with the pulsing of countless wings.

  I climbed higher, meeting again with the hawk I knew so well. Around each other we spun, performing twists, turns, and loops. Trouble’s acrobatics were much tighter and sharper than mine, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was that we were flying together, soaring as one.

  Vigorously I pumped my wings, then caught an updraft that carried me higher than ever before. Riding the wind, I felt made of air myself. And I recalled again Rhia’s impassioned description of flight: lifting the spirit along with the body.

  Looking at the landscape far below, I viewed almost the entire isle of Fincayra. My sense of loss rushed back to me, for I could see that the mist, flowing outward from the circle of stones, by now reached all the way across the Rusted Plains to the southern shores and western cliffs. Druma Wood gleamed white, as did the giants’ city of Varigal and the remotest lands of the far north. And along every coastline, the ancient mists of the sea were joining with the new, expanding mists of the land.

  Yet one aspect of the scene surprised me: Fincayra seemed no less varied than before. Hills retained their old contours, cliffs dropped sharply, and the forests still swayed to the rhythm of the wind. Veering down for a closer look at the western coast, I made out individual boulders and trees, even twisting branches. They were white, and blurry at the edges. But they still existed.

  All at once, I understood the meaning of Dagda’s words. Fincayra had, indeed, transformed. My old homeland, that place of vivid colors and magnificent seasons, was gone. But a new land survived, one imbued with mist, and tied forever to the Otherworld. Now Fincayra was really something more—an intricate melding of two worlds.

  Sailing above the coastline, I felt the air whistle past me, buffeting my luminous wings. Suddenly I noticed a lone hillside that hadn’t been covered by mist. Thickly forested, it shone brilliant green, right down to the edge of its cliff-lined shore. By some mysterious power of its own, this verdant headland held back the vapors.

  Flying closer, I discovered yet another marvel. The forest was thickening even as I watched! With phenomenal speed, oaks and hemlocks and rowans sprouted, their moss-draped branches lifting skyward, their roots expanding as they thrust into the soil. Hefty vines twirled around swelling trunks; boughs burst into leaves, or cones, or red and purple flowers. Shafted by slanting rays, feathery ferns spread across the stream banks, joined by legions of mushrooms and blossoming gorse. Wafts of sweet resins rose off the hill, tingling my nostrils with their wondrous aromas.

  In a flash, I recognized the hillside’s contours. This was the promontory that had once been the Forgotten Island! And yet . . . it had been so bare, so devoid of greenery, when I left it.

  I banked hard and spiraled downward, until I was gliding just over the tops of the highest trees. There, wrapped around an uplifted rowan branch, I found a single bough of mistletoe, gleaming in the sunlight. The same golden bough where I had planted . . .

  The seed! This whole explosion of life was the work of that one remarkable seed. Once planted in the right spot, no soil could resist its magic, no winter could dull its vitality. The rarest of seeds, Dagda had prophesied, shall find a home at last.

  I circled the hillside, watching my shadow sweep across the burgeoning forest below. Just how, I wondered, was this lone spot able to hold the mist at bay? All around, the land grew whiter, yet this one place grew steadily greener.

  Another shadow approached mine, rapidly gaining. I looked over my shoulder. Rhia! Her face glowed as bright as a newborn star. And Scullyrumpus, whose furry head protruded from her pocket, seemed just as enthralled.

  She flew alongside me, so close our wing tips touched. Together we soared and spun, our bodies moving in perfect unison. Currents carried us higher, then lower, over the misted lands to the east, and back to the forested mound.

  We swooped down, marveling at the thriving trees. Rhia angled her wings, banking close enough to an elm to brush its quivering leaves with her outstretched hand. She made a low swishing sound as she passed, and the elm waved its upper limbs in reply. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud; now my sister could chat with trees from the air.

  I flew with her a while longer, then caught a swell that bore me swiftly higher. Like a bubble rising out of the deepest sea, I floated upward effortlessly, passing through alternating layers of cold and warmth. Soon, from on high, I viewed the whole of Fincayra again. Then I spotted Hallia, sailing above a cluster of clouds.

  I pumped my wings to join her—when another sight arrested me. The mist shrouding the western sea had parted, just enough to reveal a shining pathway across the water. In the far distance, at the end of that swath of luminous blue, I could see another island, partly veiled by vapors of its own. Subtly, it sparkled, beckoning to me across the sea.

  Although I knew only a little about the island, I could feel its pull, tugging me westward. And I knew well its name: Britannia. As well as another name, which it would one day be called in story and song—Merlin’s Isle of Gramarye.

  Merlin’s Isle. As I said the words to myself, a westerly wind gusted, rustling my feathers gently. I yearned to ride that wind, to fly with it across the sea. Stronger it blew, and stronger, pushing me past the coastline. Suddenly I found myself floating over open ocean; Fincayra was rapidly receding. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Hallia, diving into a cloud. Furiously, I beat my wings, fighting with all my will to return.

  At last, I broke free of the wailing wind and crossed back over the coastline. Trembling, my wings flapping heavily, I flew back toward Hallia, our home, and whatever lay ahead.

  36: MERLIN’S CHOICE

  Swift as the wind itself, Hallia and I returned to the ring of imposing stones. With a flutter of shimmering wings, we landed in the center of the circle, stirring shreds of mist off the ground. I noticed right away that the air within the ring felt warmer than before, and wondered whether that was due to Dagda’s presence. And I noticed, as well, that the mist had seeped more deeply into the land. The pillars now seemed as soft as clouds; even the stray tufts of grass on the ground had turned from brown to creamy white.

  Hallia and I glanced at each other. I sensed the uncertainty in her eyes, doubly so since I felt the same unease myself.

  As I folded my wings against my back, a piercing screech echoed across the surrounding hills. I looked upward, but I already knew who had called. As gently as a falling feather, Trouble landed on my shoulder, clasping me once again with his talons.

  Rhia arrived a few seconds later, her face still alight from the exhilaration of flying. Scullyrumpus, looking bedraggled but very pleased, climbed up the woven vines of her garb to wrap himself like a thick scarf around her neck.

  From across the circle, Dagda approached, followed by a variety of creatures including the bandaged bear, the mossy living stone, several sparrows, and a family of raccoons with five chattering infants who tumbled over one another in their excitement. The silver-haired spirit strode over to us, smiling, his feet moving through the mist as if he were wading in the shallows of a summer sea.

  “So,” he said in his deep voice, “now you have flown.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “And now I understand better what has happened to our world.”

  Dagda nodded slowly. “While I know you still feel more what Fincayra has lost than what it has gained, all the Otherworld is now yours to explore. You can still inhabit your favorite places on this world—yes, Hallia, all those trails and meadows you know so well—but you are also free to discover many more in the misty lands below.”

  “Thanks to our wings,” said Rhia gratefully.

  “That is right, Rhiannon. Because of your wings, you may venture into the Otherworld, even durin
g your mortal lives. For the doorway that was breached shall, in time, open even wider. Spirit creatures of all kinds will voyage here, walking and flying and swimming in this realm, just as you may do in the realms below.”

  Hallia tapped her foot excitedly, sending up puffs of white vapor. “So my people will still be able to run, as deer, across our sacred lands?”

  The elder smiled at her tenderly. “That will never change. But now, when you take the form of men and women, you may do something new. You may soar, as gracefully as hawks, in lands you have yet to discover.”

  On my shoulder, Trouble puffed out his chest feathers and ruffled his wings proudly.

  “What about that place all alive with trees?” asked Rhia. “There wasn’t any mist at all there.”

  “None at all,” I echoed. “It almost seemed . . .”

  Dagda lifted a silvery eyebrow. “Seemed what?”

  “Well, like the whole place was separated somehow from the rest of Fincayra. Just as it was when it was still the Forgotten Island. Only now, it’s covered with greenery.”

  “Quite so.” He watched me closely. “You have seen the magic of your seed, Merlin. Planted in the place of its destiny, it has worked wonders untold.”

  “But how,” I pressed, “does that land push back the mist? Why hasn’t it been swallowed like everywhere else?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Because the place you have renewed will become a world of its own.”

  I pondered his words. “You mean, a new Fincayra?”

  “In a sense, yes. The cosmic balance requires a place that stands apart, a place that remains not wholly of Earth and not wholly of Heaven, but somewhere in between. That kind of world resembles mist itself—not really air and not really water, but something of both, and something else all its own. So when Fincayra has fully joined with the spirit world, this new land shall become that in between place.”

  Hearing the phrase our mother so often used to describe Fincayra, Rhia and I traded glances.