by T.A. Barron
She paused, allowing her words to register. “Or, in your stubbornness, you can choose to attack me. But if you do, I warn you, I shall have just enough time before your arrows strike to send a blast of fire at your wizard friend and his maiden.” Her fingertip seemed to smolder, sizzling in the air. “Perhaps I will not be so fortunate as to kill them both. But at least one of them, I can promise, will surely die.”
As Hallia and I sat motionless, a low murmur arose from the assembled marsh ghouls. I cast around in my mind for anything, anything at all, I could do. But any attempt to move, let alone to attack, would certainly cause Nimue to release her pent-up flames, incinerating Hallia and myself. I could tell that Gwynnia, too, had arrived at the same terrible conclusion. Although her eyes brimmed with torment, she remained utterly still, even holding her wings tight against her back.
At length, the marsh ghouls again fell silent. Their luminous eyes glinted through the threads of mist that wove about their shifting forms. Though I was sure that the sorceress, like myself, had expected that they would choose to retreat and save themselves, they did not budge. Clearly, they had decided to test her resolve—and to try to save my life and Hallia’s in the process.
Nimue’s face twisted. Her finger sizzled all the more, sending upward a thin trail of smoke. My hand squeezed Hallia’s as my mind raced to find some way to escape.
A slight quiver of motion by my side caught my attention. My shadow! In that instant, I sent it a silent command: If you never heed me again, you must do so now! Go now—stop her if you can.
The shadow seemed to hesitate, shrinking itself down to a fraction of its size. Then, like a pouncing wolf, it leaped away from me and hurled itself at the sorceress, slamming straight into her abdomen.
Nimue shrieked, lurching backward. The searing blast of flames shot from her finger, expending itself harmlessly on the swamp vapors above her head. Before she could gather herself, I lunged at her myself, plowing into her with all my strength. She flew backward, ramming into one of the stone pillars. Fingers of mist broke out of the Mirror’s surface, groping at her. She swatted at them, stumbling sideways. The surface suddenly snapped into a rigid, black sheet. For a brief instant, waving her arms to keep her balance, she stared at her own dark reflection, and at something else beyond.
“No!” she cried, even as she fell into the Mirror. She vanished into its depths, her final shriek fading into the sound of shattering, which in turn faded into silence.
As her sweet aroma diminished, no one moved for a long moment. Then, all at once, a resounding cheer went up—first from Hallia and myself, then from Gwynnia (who also battered the ground with her tail, spraying mud in all directions), and finally from the marsh ghouls, whose voices rose in eerie, heaving moans.
When the cries at last died away, the remaining warrior goblins dropped their weapons. Slowly, very slowly, the marsh ghouls’ circle parted. Hesitantly at first, the warrior goblins moved toward the opening. A moment later they broke into a run and scattered in the swamp, their heavy boots pounding through the mud.
The marsh ghouls stood, shimmering darkly, for another few seconds. Then, as quietly as they had arrived, they melted into the vapors, vanishing from sight. Only the empty trails of their arrows remained, scrawled upon the air by the ancient archway.
I held Hallia close. The swamp seemed strangely calm. Together, we listened to the sound of our own breathing, and Gwynnia’s, not fully believing we remained alive.
Then out of the quiet arose a new sound. It came from somewhere nearby. Although it lasted only a second or two, it seemed almost like a voice. Almost . . . like a cat giving a single, satisfied meow.
27: THEIR OWN STORY
As I sat on the ground beside Hallia, swamp vapors encircled us, much as the marsh ghouls had only moments before. Suddenly I felt a strong nudge against my back. I turned to see Gwynnia, her fiery eyes trained on us.
With a quivering hand, Hallia reached up to stroke the dragon’s enormous nose. “You did well, my friend. Though you can’t yet breathe fire, you fought like a true dragon. Yes—even your namesake, mother of all the dragon race, would have been proud.”
Gwynnia, as if embarrassed, shook her head, making the rows of tiny purple scales beneath her eyes glitter like amethyst jewels. It also made her floppy ear slap against her shoulder, splattering us with mud. Laughing, Hallia pulled a glob off her chin. Without warning, she turned and threw it at my head. It smacked me on the temple.
“That,” she declared, “is for being late.”
Before I could protest, she pulled my face to hers. Those doelike eyes studied me for an instant. Then she planted a soft kiss on my lips. “And that’s for coming back to me.”
Sputtering with surprise, I pulled away. “You . . . well, I—er . . . uh, that’s . . .”
“There,” she said with finality. “You remember that there was something I wanted to tell you? Well, now I have.”
My babbling ceased, and I grinned.
Suddenly pensive, she scanned the surrounding bog, watching the coils of rising vapors. Her fingers ran over the mud at our side, touching the scattered ashes that were the only remnant of Nimue’s fireball. “Somehow, young hawk, I knew you would come back in time to help. But the marsh ghouls? That surprised me.”
I nodded. “Surprised Nimue, too.”
“I’ve never heard of them doing anything to help another creature.” She began to comb her tangled locks with her fingers. “Certainly not a man or woman. Even my own people, famous for their forgiveness, have little to spare for marsh ghouls. All of our stories about them—every last one—ends in terror.”
Giving up on her mud-crusted hair, she stopped combing and peered at me thoughtfully. “It’s possible, I suppose, you did the right thing after all with my father’s key. Maybe it will have some effect that reaches beyond today. Maybe it will even change the marsh ghouls, at least a little.”
“Perhaps,” I replied. “It’s hard to know.”
I turned to the stone arch, pondering the Mirror within it. Beneath my shifting reflection, clouds of mist knotted, swirled, and congealed, forming numberless shapes and passageways. Slowly, as I watched, my own image disappeared, replaced by something else. It was, I realized, a face, though quite different from my own. It belonged to a man, whose flowing beard melted back into the mist: a face very old, very wise, full of sorrow and torment and centuries of longing—and, at the same time, a touch of hope. Even as I gazed at the face, it seemed, for an instant, to gaze back at me. Then, like a windblown cloud, it faded away.
My hand moved to my leather pouch. Reaching inside, I touched a seed, small and round, that seemed to pulse like a living heart. A seed that might, one day, sprout into something marvelous to behold.
Turning back to Hallia, I mused, “You could be right about the marsh ghouls. People tell lots of stories about them, and always will. But the marsh ghouls still have time to write their own story.” I drew a deep breath. “With their own choices, their own ending.”
She pointed toward the archway. “Someday will you tell me all the things you saw in there?”
“Not all of them, no. But I will tell you one, the most important thing.” I took her hand. “It was a mirror. A mirror that needs no light at all.”
Hearing the phrase, her whole face brightened. “And what did you see in that mirror?”
“Oh, many things, and among them, a wizard. Yes, the wizard I’ll one day become. Not because it’s my destiny, mind you, but because it’s me.” I tapped my chest. “The same me, made from the same flesh and bones, that you see right here.”
Sensing some motion on the ground, I turned to see my shadow. It seemed to be watching me, shaking its head with determination. I started to scowl, then caught myself. Slowly, I gave a nod. “Made from the same shadow, as well.”
The dark form ceased shaking—for the moment, at least.
All of a sudden, we heard a thump from the nearest mound of peat. A sucking sound ens
ued, and a ragged flap of turf lifted from the puddle at its edge. From under the flap appeared a head that was round, whiskered—and unmistakable.
The ballymag started to say something, then gasped at the sight of the dragon. For a long moment he watched us, tugging anxiously on his whiskers. At last he spoke, his voice thoroughly gruff. “Humansfilthy, always needhaving scrubamuck.”
Hallia’s eyes shone, as radiant as the liquid light in which we had once bathed. “That,” she replied, “would be mooshlovely.”
Table of Contents
Title page
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
1: SHADOWS
2: THE BALLYMAG
3: SECRETS
4: PAINODEATH
5: FLAMES NOW ARISE
6: BOUND ROOTS
7: A FIERY EYE
8: ARROWS THAT PIERCE THE DAY
9: LOST
10: THE WORD
PART TWO
11: A TRAIL MARKED UPON THE HEART
12: TOO SILENT
13: ECTOR
14: THE BLOODNOOSE
15: THE TALE OF THE WHISPERING MIST
16: QUELJIES
17: A WALL OF FLAMES
18: ROSE BLOSSOMS
19: GREAT POWER
PART THREE
20: THE MISTS OF TIME
21: VOICES
22: NAMES
23: DANCE OF LIGHT
24: MERLIN’S ISLE
25: TUNNELS
26: A TEST OF LOYALTIES
27: THEIR OWN STORY
