by T.A. Barron
“So they never saw each other again.”
“No, my dear. I’m afraid not.”
Elli leaned closer to Tamwyn. “I’m sorry. I know how it feels to lose your family.”
He just bit his lip.
Rhia tossed her silver curls. “You both still have family, though. Let’s not forget that. Elli, you have Uncle Nuic here—the best of friends, I can promise you.”
The pinnacle sprite wriggled in his chair and turned red around the edges of his face. “Hmmmpff,” he declared.
“And Tamwyn, you have—”
“A brother, if he’s still alive.”
“Yes, but something more.” She studied him with real affection, stroking his wrist. “You have an aunt. A great-aunt, actually, but that sounds positively too old! So you may, if you like, call me Aunt Rhia.”
Despite everything, Tamwyn just had to grin.
Rhia glanced at the nearest shaft of starlight. She waved her hand, and the blue-winged faeries gathered up all the platters, bowls, and cups from the table. “Do you know,” she said, “it’s nighttime already! Time for you youngsters to get some sleep, before your journey to Fireroot tomorrow.” Her gaze shifted to Nuic. “And time for us oldsters to catch up on the last few centuries.”
“Hmmmpff, pretty dull compared to the old days.” He waved his small arm toward Tamwyn and Elli. “Though they’re doing their best to make life more exciting.”
Just then Tamwyn felt a stirring in his tunic pocket. A bony wing emerged, followed by a mouselike face with glowing green eyes. “Nighty time, didja say say? Time for me to wakesa upsy! Yessa ya ya ya, manny man.”
Tamwyn stroked his head. “That’s right, it’s time you went out for some food.”
Elli shook her head in wonder. “He slept right through the fight with the ghoulacas, the mist, everything. Even dinner.”
“Ooee ooee, me me go getsy me own dinner, soony soon.”
Tamwyn continued stroking the little creature’s head as he turned back to Rhia. For her part, she was studying Batty Lad with considerable interest. “He’s, well...a friend,” Tamwyn explained. “Sort of adopted me.”
“I see,” she replied with a hint of amusement. “I can only wonder why.”
“Before we go,” he insisted, “there’s something else I just have to ask about.” Seeing her nod, he pressed on. “The stars. I’m still wondering . . . after the Age of Storms, when Merlin rekindled the Wizard’s Staff, just how did he get up there? And how did he bring the stars back to life?”
Rhia laughed again, and it seemed that bells were ringing inside the tree of mist. “Oh, my, you truly are your father’s son! I can’t answer those questions, my dear, at least not now.” She bent her head toward his. “I will just tell you this much, though. He traveled to the stars with the aid of a powerful dragon by the name of Basilgarrad. A great warrior—and friend.”
At the mention of such a mighty dragon, the little fellow in Tamwyn’s pocket squeaked in fright and pulled himself back down into the folds of cloth. He stayed in there, quivering, despite Tamwyn’s efforts to coax him out.
“Well, I have one more question myself,” announced Elli. “I’d like to know . . . is Merlin, your brother, still around?”
Rhia smiled sadly. “Yes, yes, he’s around. And he always will be, I suspect. But not anywhere in Avalon, I’m afraid. He’s fully occupied these days with the problems of mortal Earth. And what problems they have! So if we are to save Avalon, my dear, we must do it ourselves.”
She rose from her burl chair, her gown of woven vines gleaming in the rays of starlight. “You’ll be leaving early in the morning, though I’ll still be able to give you a hearty woodland breakfast. Then . . . you must seek the staff of Merlin. And find it—before that sorcerer does! So much depends on it.”
She ruffled her luminous wings. “Until then, my dears, dream on this:
“So find the staff of Merlin true
And you shall find the heir:
Like a brother to the darkened child,
The light of stars shall bear.”
Tamwyn opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand to stop him.
“No more questions,” she commanded.
He looked at her, almost smiling. “Yes, Aunt Rhia.”
32 • Scree’s Plunge
Tucking back his massive wings, Scree plunged downward. Wind rushed against his face, blowing his streaming hair backward. He narrowed his yellow-rimmed eyes to thin slits, and clutched the staff tight within his talon. Then he screeched the cry of the eaglefolk—a cry that meant only one thing.
Death.
The two intruders, who had neared the jagged rim of the crater, froze. Just as his prey always did. Inwardly, Scree smiled. This was going to be as easy as nabbing a cliff hare for supper.
One of the intruders, the short and pudgy one, yelped in fright and threw himself behind a charred black boulder. A flame vent spouted fire and smoke right beside him, but he just huddled there, cowering.
The other one reacted differently. This one didn’t run and hide, or stand still, paralyzed with fright. No, this person instantly pulled out a bow and nocked an arrow.
Scree didn’t veer aside. This wasn’t the first time he’d faced flamelon archers, who came up here hunting for action—or for eaglefolk meat. Even if the bowman got off a shot before Scree reached him—which was unlikely, given Scree’s speed—he’d never hit the moving target. And never survive to shoot again. None of these flamelons, for all their boastful bravado, were any match for an eagleman defending his territory.
The bowman shot. Just as Scree had predicted, the arrow was easy to dodge. He lifted one wing ever so slightly, causing himself to bank to the side. Wind ruffled his feathers— and the arrow whizzed past.
Scree plunged again. Rage flooded his mind. He screeched louder than before, his cry echoing across the smoky cliffs.
By the time he saw the second arrow speeding toward him, it was too late. This bowman, whoever he or she was, was canny enough—and swift enough—to fire a second shot just when Scree banked to avoid the first. And Scree had veered right into its path.
As the arrow struck his wing, just above the joint, his screech turned into a shout of excruciating pain. He swerved, trying to pull out of his dive. But his whole right wing burned. He couldn’t lift it. Couldn’t pull out in time!
Towers of rock spun before him. And jagged cliffs—too close, too close! He knew, in that final instant, that he was going to hit hard. Too hard to survive.
• • •
Scree opened his eyes. He saw only dark sky—night dark, clotted with smoke. So he was on his back, then. Still in Fireroot . . . and still alive. Their mistake! Whoever had shot him should have killed him when they had the chance. He’d make sure they would regret what they’d done.
He realized in a flash that he’d regained his human form. And that he must have shifted back to human shape after hitting the ground. He could feel arms at his side, not wings. And legs, not talons.
Talons! All of a sudden he remembered the staff. He’d lost it!
Keeping silent, so as not to alert his attackers, he tried to roll over. But the instant he moved his right arm, a jolt of pain seared him. It was all he could do not to shout out loud. Then he noticed the bloody strip of bark cloth tied above his elbow. That was strange. Why should intruders shoot him out of the sky and then take time to bandage his wound?
Never mind. He needed to find his staff. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced himself to sit up.
“So then, you’re awake.”
The speaker was a tall woman, slim and strong: the one who’d shot him! She sat by a flame vent, warming her hands in the chill night air. Her eyes, not fiery orange or upturned at the corners like those of flamelons, reflected bright green in the firelight.
Scree winced against another jolt of pain as he sat all the way up. A wave of dizziness washed over him. But he held himself steady. His eyes darted about, searching
for the staff. His staff.
That was when he caught sight of her ears. Pointed at the top, they were. Elf ears! He’d never seen an elf before; none lived in Fireroot. But he’d heard tales about some who came here to explore the realm’s volcanoes and jeweled caverns. He cursed himself for not taking into account the possibility that his intruder might have been an elf—and an expert shot.
Then he saw the staff. It lay on the ashen ground by the elf’s legs, just a body’s length away. Close enough that, if he moved quickly enough, he could—
“Don’t try it,” she said sternly. In an instant, she stood, moving with speed and grace he’d never seen in any flamelon. Almost as soon as she was on her feet, her longbow was off her shoulder and nocked with a fresh arrow, pointed straight at his chest. “Any unfriendly moves, and I’ll have to waste another arrow on you, eagleman.”
“Betterly you obey whatever she wantses,” declared another voice.
Scree turned to see what looked like an overweight dwarf waddling toward them. His nose, bulging like a burl on an ironwood tree, glistened with a shiny yellow coating—which seemed almost like dried honey. “She’s a meanly one when she has to be! Honestly, truly, horribly.”
Scree shook his head—both at this babbling idiot and at the dizziness that was gathering again. He turned back to the elf woman. “What are you going to do with my staff, you scum?”
Her green eyes flashed. “Take it.”
“No!” Scree cried, his arm and head throbbing. “I haven’t guarded it for all this time just so you could steal it.”
“Then I really will have to shoot you.” She drew back her bowstring.
With all his strength, Scree forced himself to stand. He stood before her, staring straight into the arrowhead, utterly defiant. Though his head pounded and his legs felt like broken twigs beneath him, he tried not to sway.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “A slave of Rhita Gawr?”
For the first time, her gaze wavered. She bit her lip, then replied in a slightly hoarser voice. “Who I am doesn’t matter. And you won’t believe this, but I’d rather . . . rather let you live than die. So now that I know you didn’t bleed to death, I’ll just take the staff.”
Before Scree could speak again, the fat dwarf waved his hands. “Bake the staff? No, Rowanna. That would be all too splinterly!”
He suddenly frowned, pushing his finger into his ear. “Waitly, now. You didn’t say take the staff, didly you?”
She gave a grim nod.
“But Rowanna! Isn’t you some bittily confusedness? Methinks we is just going to uses Merlin’s magically staff. Not steals it.”
She glared at him, green eyes flashing. “The plan has changed, Shim. I’m going back to that cursed white lake, and taking it with me.”
In that instant, several things happened at once. Scree lunged, even as dizziness surged through him. The elf woman released her arrow. And Shim wailed in anguish.
33 • A Hornet’s Nest
Tamwyn and Elli moved briskly through the Woodroot forest, as they had all morning, following the Lady’s light flyer to the nearest portal. The luminous little creature glowed bright amidst the dark boughs and shaded roots, darting through the air along elk trails and fox runs. And yet its delicate light, barely a candle flame on wings, reminded both travelers of the fragile nature of life—and stars.
In silence, they padded through the groves. They could easily have talked, of course . . . if only about the potent smells of sweet cedar, rancid skunkweed, and fragrant dill. Or the cascades of pink bougainvillea, whose countless petals rippled like the fins of salmon swimming upstream.
But talking just didn’t occur to them. There was simply too much to think about from last night’s wondrous meeting with the Lady of the Lake—whose true identity they now knew, but whose mysterious ways they’d only begun to discover. As they tramped through thick groves of cedar and rowan, passing one honeysuckle abuzz with bees seeking the last drops of nectar, their heads were also buzzing.
Questions upon questions filled their thoughts. For Tamwyn, they mainly involved wondering whether he could, in fact, alter his own destiny. If nearly every creature alive knew that the child of the Dark Prophecy would cause the end of Avalon, what hope did he really have to do otherwise? Could he trust Elli to keep his dreaded identity secret? And how could he even imagine a different destiny, when he knew so little about himself and his strange, emerging powers? Sure, there was some hope in his ancestry, which included Krystallus, Hallia, Rhia—and even Merlin himself. But there was also flamelon blood in his veins... with all the warlike traits that made those people so feared throughout Avalon. And then there was his special knack for causing trouble.
For Elli, who trekked with Nuic sound asleep on her shoulder, the questions were different. Did she really deserve the same maryth as Rhia herself? What made her think she could find the true heir of Merlin, let alone help him prevail? Truth was, haughty old Llynia had been right: Elli was just an orphan, a former slave to gnomes, who had lucked into a role in all this. What sort of match could she ever be against a powerful sorcerer who had taken hundreds of slaves, slaughtered a forest, built an enormous dam, and halted a free-flowing river? And yet . . . something about the way the Lady had looked at her—really looked at her— made her at least hope she could help somehow.
As they entered a stand of dark green cedars, Nuic stirred. Elli reached up and squeezed his tiny hand. “Up late last night, were you?”
“Hmmmpff,” said the sprite with a yawn. “I’m too old to stay up till dawn jabbering away.”
“Well, now that you’re awake, what do you think happened to Llynia and the others? They weren’t anywhere near the lake when we left.”
“No doubt Llynia wasn’t happy about being left behind— especially with a hoolah for company.” His color turned an amused shade of peach. “They probably drove themselves crazier than a clan of catnip faeries.”
Elli almost ran into Tamwyn, who had stopped suddenly. He was in midstep, his bare foot just above a hornet’s nest resting among some cedar cones. With unusual agility, he hopped backward before his foot crushed the gray folds of the nest. But he slammed the back of his head into a sharp branch.
“Owww,” he moaned, rubbing his tender scalp. He glanced over at Elli and blushed almost as red as Nuic looked at the moment. “Go ahead! Laugh.”
Elli shook her head, though her eyes glinted playfully. “Wouldn’t think of it.”
“At least I didn’t step in the hornet’s nest.”
“You did so,” countered Nuic’s gruff voice. “Just what else would you call joining this ragtag group that doesn’t know the difference between the Rugged Path and a running bath?”
Tamwyn frowned slightly. “You’ve got a point there, old sprite.”
“That I do.” His purple eyes rolled upward, while his body’s colors shifted to shadowy gray. “And I’ll tell you something else. Two things, in fact.”
Elli pursed her lips. “Good news or bad?”
“Bad, of course. What kind of maryth would ever give you good news?” He shifted his weight on her shoulder, harrumphed, and pointed toward the light flyer, who was fluttering around a towering spruce beyond the cedars. “First, the portal is right over there.”
Tamwyn frowned. “That’s bad news?”
“You haven’t survived it yet,” grumbled Nuic. “Not to mention found your brother and Merlin’s staff—if they’re still in Fireroot.”
Anxiously, Elli twirled one of her curls around her finger. “And the second bit of news?”
“Hmmmpff. Do I need to tell you two stump-heads everything? Even show you the stars?”
At once, Elli and Tamwyn looked up. Through the tracery of cedar boughs, they could see the remains of the Wizard’s Staff. Although the constellation still showed three stars when they’d left this morning, one had been fading fast—and now was gone. Only two remained!
Tamwyn winced, feeling an almost physical pain down in his
chest. Another star, another light in the sky that he’d watched his whole life, had disappeared. He swore under his breath. “How can we accomplish everything we’ve got to do before the last two are gone?”
“Welcome to the hornet’s nest,” muttered Nuic.
They walked briskly through the cedars, across a jumble of spice ferns, and up to the towering spruce. It stood over a pair of large boulders, which held between them a circle of shimmering green flames. Flames that rose from deep within the Great Tree.
Just as Tamwyn approached the portal, something splatted against the back of his neck. A ripe pear! He didn’t even need to turn around to know just who’d thrown it.
As juice dripped down his neck and between his shoulder blades, he grumbled. “Henni, you slimeball.”
“Eehee, eehee, hoohoohooha. So you knew it was me! Very funny!”
Tamwyn shook himself, then gave Elli a wink. “You know, I really would enjoy killing him. But then . . . life would be so dull.”
From Elli’s standpoint, though, this wasn’t any time for humor. She turned and asked Henni, “Where did Llynia and Fairlyn go?”
He lifted his hands, as big as cabbage leaves, into the air. “No idea. She just stomped off, right after the Lady of the Lake took you . . . um, wherever she took you. Oohoo, eehee, and was she ever mad! Hoohoohaha, really mad. Muttered something about all her plans being ruined, her life being wrecked, that sort of thing.”
Henni adjusted his red headband. For a moment, he looked uncommonly serious. “I’m going to miss Lady Greenbeard, and all her pouting and ranting. She was so much fun to be around.”
“Speak for yourself, hoolah.” Nuic’s colorful body now showed veins of dark green. “Let her spread joy somewhere else.” He sighed, then added, “And yet something tells me that we will see her again.”
