by T.A. Barron
He was a deer!
With grace and power, Tamwyn flew across the muddy plains. His hooves touched down only lightly, and only long enough to leap again into the air. Bounding and gliding, bounding and gliding, he raced across the flats, feeling the wind ruffle his fur.
Moments later, he smelled something new, a scent quite different from that of wet mud. It was merely a faint tingle, not so much a smell as a feeling. And yet he knew at once what it was: the intimate touch of magic on the air.
Following the scent, he veered a bit to the right. As with the rest of southern Mudroot, there were no landmarks to be seen, just ever-rolling plains. No trees, no hills, not even any more mounds of mud that were really creatures in disguise. What sort of people were these mudmakers? And with what strange powers?
Brown, brown, brown. Even the overcast sky took on the color of this land. Behind those thick clouds, Tamwyn knew, only two stars remained in the Wizard’s Staff. And he wondered whether Avalon’s chances to survive this time were any greater than Elli’s.
Loping across the plains, he followed the scent of magic. Stronger it grew, and stronger, until he felt its tingle not just in his nose but in his throat, his lungs, and even his hooves. Finally, it grew so strong that he could almost chew and swallow it like wet grass or juicy sprigs of fern.
But he saw no spring! No sign of water at all. Nothing but endless, rolling flats of mud.
He slowed to a trot, concentrating with all his might on the scent. He bore to the left, then a little to the right, then left again. The strange tingling swelled even more.
Suddenly, the air around him shimmered, as if he’d stepped right through an invisible curtain. There, just ahead, he saw a slight depression in the land—a depression that simply hadn’t been there seconds before. He raised his large ears, and caught the unmistakable trickle of water. The spring!
He bounded over to the spot. It was really nothing more than a pool, bubbling fresh from the depths of Avalon. A little pool—nothing more. But he had no other hope, so he pushed all doubts aside.
Tamwyn moved around the edge of the pool, eyeing it closely. As he walked, his back arched upward, his neck shortened, and his hooves flattened into feet. The transition happened so smoothly that he barely noticed it until it was over. Then, with the whiff of magic still tingling his nose, he knelt by the side of the little spring.
He unstrapped his water gourd from his belt. His hand brushed against his tiny quartz bell, making it clink softly, and he wondered whether he would ever see the rocky hills of Stoneroot again. He submerged the gourd until it filled completely. Just before he capped it, an impulse grabbed him—and he took a swallow.
His eyes popped wide open with the taste. This wasn’t water! This was something that sparkled inside his throat, his chest, his weary legs. A fountain of feelings exploded inside him. The exhilaration of his first climb to the ridge high above Dun Tara’s snowfields. The shock of his plunge headfirst into an icy river, when he rescued a green-throated duck caught by the current. The thrilling burst of flavor when he bit into a spiral-shaped larkon fruit and tasted its liquid starshine. All these feelings and more swept through him in that instant.
He capped the gourd. Feeling new strength in his legs, he turned from the pool, stepped through the shimmering curtain, and started to run. To lope. To bound once again like a running deer.
Even faster than before he ran. His hooves barely skimmed the soggy ground. He was gliding with the speed of a stag and the grace of the wind—and before long, he saw the circle of mudmakers.
Am I too late? Did I take too long?
He bounded up to the circle and slowed to a walk. Hooves became hands and feet; he stood upright as a man. As he came closer, the ring of towering creatures parted.
Tamwyn entered the circle. The first thing he saw was the body of the gnome impaled by spears. Just the memory of those warlike beasts—and what they’d done—made his temples pound in rage. Then, by the flickering portal, he saw Nuic, Henni... and Elli. As he knelt beside her, he caught sight of Nuic’s liquid purple eyes. They were filled, he felt sure, with something different from the usual scorn. More like hope.
One of Aelonnia’s slender fingers touched Tamwyn’s shoulder. “A Maker you are, my friend,” she whispered in her lilting, resonant voice. “Now slowly pour it, very slowly, first in her mouth and then on her wound.”
Carefully, he tilted Elli’s head forward and poured into her mouth a few drops of the magical liquid. He waited a few seconds, then gave her some more. Then, very gently, he poured the water over the base of the spear that stuck out from her side. Instantly, it fizzed and frothed, spraying upward around the wound. It reminded him of the White Geyser of Crystillia that he had glimpsed from the bottom of the Rugged Path. Remarkably, wherever the spray touched her robe, the bloodstains disappeared.
A sudden spasm shot through Elli’s body. She lifted her head, coughed violently, then rolled onto her uninjured side. At the same time, the spear shaft wriggled outward, pulling away from her body, until it fell with a splat on the mud. Henni reached for the spear and studied it with wonder.
Elli opened her eyes. She blinked groggily, trying her best to focus. Through her torn robe, she watched in astonishment as the gash in her side shrank, closed, and vanished.
Shakily, she turned to Nuic. “What . . . what happened?”
“Hmmmpff. You decided to scare a few centuries off my life, that’s all.”
“But . . . the wound? The spear—”
“Tamwyn gave you a drink,” the old sprite said. Then, with his most affectionate gruffness, he added, “Not bad for a moron.”
“Or a clumsy man,” added Henni.
Tamwyn’s lips turned up slightly. Then an idea struck him. Holding the water gourd, he stepped over to the hoolah and poured a few drops onto his ripped shoulder. There was a sudden hiss, a bubbling of white liquid—and a moment later, a full-blown smile on Henni’s face. His shoulder had completely healed.
He patted the spot in disbelief with his large hand. “Hoohoo, eeheeheehee. You’re too good to me, Tamwyn.”
“No, not really.” He capped the gourd. “I just want to keep you alive so I can kill you myself someday.”
Henni burst into a howling fit of laughter, rolling in the mud. “Oohoo, oohoo, eeheeheehee! That’s a good idea.”
Elli finally sat up. She gasped, seeing the body of the gnome with three spears in his chest. “Who killed him?”
“I did,” Tamwyn answered grimly. “With some help from his friends.”
“That drink, though.. .” she said with a confused shake of her curls. “What was it?” Suddenly aware of the ring of mudmakers around them, she stiffened. “And who are they?”
“Answer I shall,” whispered Aelonnia. She waved two of her four long arms. “We are mudmakers of the Isenwy clan. Lower Malóch is our home, and has been since the beginning.”
“Mudmakers,” said Elli in awe. “All the years I lived in Mudroot with my parents, none of us ever saw one of your people.”
The tall figures around her muttered to each other, bobbing their round heads.
“Hard to find, we are, yes indeed,” whispered Aelonnia, her deep voice vibrating. “As is the water that healed you. It was found long ago by Halaad, a very young daughter of mudmakers, who had been brutally attacked by gnomes. Too badly wounded was she to be taken as a slave.”
Aelonnia paused, seeing Elli suddenly wince. For a long moment she watched with her huge brown eyes, then continued. “Left to die, Halaad crawled to the edge of a bubbling pool of water—magical water, rich with the most powerful substance in all Avalon.”
“Élano,” said both Elli and Tamwyn in unison.
“Élano it was. When she drank from it, her wounds instantly healed. And for more than five centuries since that day, stories and songs have celebrated the Secret Spring of Halaad. But magically concealed is its location, you see, so it can be found only by mudmakers.” She bent toward Tamwyn, an
d her voice grew suddenly grave. “Or by a true Maker who comes to our realm.”
36 • Something Stupid
Slowly, Tamwyn rose to his feet on the mud. He felt strangely awkward now, after his time as a stag with flashing hooves and bounding legs. He looked up into the face of Aelonnia, so far above him.
“Tell me, please. What is a Maker?”
All around Tamwyn, Elli, Nuic, and Henni, the towering figures of the mudmakers stirred. Their long arms lifted, reaching skyward, as they whispered fervently to one another. They reminded Tamwyn of a grove of ancient spruce trees, tall and dark, shaken by the same storm.
Aelonnia’s brown body swayed as she bent lower. “Answer you I shall,” she said in her rich, resonant whisper. “But start I must with the seed. For at first, that was all there was—one thing and all things, present and future.”
She gazed around at the sprawling plains of mud. “In the beginning, there was Merlin’s magical seed. Beat like a heart it did. From it arose the Great Tree, and seven great realms, all blessed with the sacred Elements of Avalon:
“Earth, mud of birth;
Air, free to breathe;
Fire, spark of light;
Water, sap to grow;
Life, fruit of soul;
LightDark, stars and space;
Mystery, now and always.”
Her deep-set eyes turned skyward. “All these are the gifts of Dagda and Lorilanda, and all are found . . .”
“In élano,” said Tamwyn.
“Yes, but also in one place more,” replied the towering creature. “In the mud of Malóch.”
Tamwyn couldn’t hide his amazement. “The same mud I ran across just now?”
“Yes,” answered Aelonnia.
“The same mud we threw at each other?” added Henni.
“Yes,” she repeated—though her whisper sounded a bit harsher this time.
“In the earliest days of this realm,” Aelonnia continued, “come here himself Merlin did. And to the mudmakers he gave a great power, a wizard’s power, yes indeed.”
“What power was that?” Elli rose to her feet and stood beside Tamwyn. “Can you tell us?”
Aelonnia’s eyes gleamed. “The power to Make, to form new creatures from our mud. Only mudmakers do that power possess. We have used it to Make many creatures—from the giant elephaunts of Africqua, that forest of vines in High Malóch, to the tiny light flyers who live now in every realm.”
“Light flyers?” asked Tamwyn, remembering the delicate creature who had guided them through the forest, its frilled wings pulsing with golden light.
“Make them we did,” she replied. “Merlin himself described to us the light flyers of old who lived in Lost Fincayra, and we formed them in the same image.”
Her voice, while always musical, had never been louder than a whisper. But now it grew even quieter. “To Make, ten things we need: the seven Elements, the mud that combines them, the time to do our work, and one thing more. The magic of Merlin. Only when all are present can new creatures be Made.”
Tamwyn chewed his tongue. “So those beetles . . .”
“Could be Made only by someone whose very touch holds the power of a wizard.” Aelonnia moved many of her fingers, so gracefully that she seemed to be strumming an invisible harp. “Hold that power you do, Tamwyn of Stoneroot. And in all the centuries since Merlin first visited Malóch, no one else who came here has been able to Make living creatures. That is why the gnomes ran from you! Thought you a wizard, they did.”
Tamwyn frowned. “But . . . beetles? They were just ugly little things.”
“Hmmmpff,” countered Nuic. “So are you, compared to the mudmakers.”
Elli giggled, then put her hand on Tamwyn’s shoulder. “If you really Made new life, you can’t just ignore that.”
“But I didn’t mean to Make anything,” he protested.
The slender finger of Aelonnia touched his chin and tilted his head back so that he gazed right into her eyes. “Accept who you are, you must. It may even be that within you resides the true heir of Merlin.”
Tamwyn caught his breath at that phrase. His face suddenly darkened with the memory of who he really was. He traded glances with Elli, then shook his head, dropping flakes of mud on the ground. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
But the mudmaker merely tapped his chin with her fingertip. “Know you shall, in time.”
Elli squeezed his shoulder. “Suppose she’s right? Suppose you are the heir—not the child of the Prophecy? Or maybe even . . . both?”
“Don’t be idiotic! How could I be both the greatest doom of Avalon, and also the greatest hope?”
She pursed her lips in thought. “I really don’t know. But there’s one sure way to find out. When we find your brother, and the staff he guards, you should touch it. Hold it! Just like R— er, I mean the Lady, said.”
Again he shook his head. “No chance.” Lines furrowed his brow. “Don’t you see, Elli? That would be the worst thing I could possibly do! If I really am the bringer of doom, then just by touching the staff I could unleash terrible power. Who knows what might happen? Nothing good, that’s certain! Not just for us, but for all of Avalon.”
Nuic’s colors darkened slightly. “As I’ve said before, you two can either go on bickering forever, or go after Merlin’s staff.”
Elli grinned at the pinnacle sprite. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But no sooner do I wake up from the dead than you’re grumping at me.”
“Hmmmpff. That’s how you know you’re alive, you little wretch.”
She turned back to Tamwyn. “About being alive . . .” She smiled at him, her whole face alight. “Thanks.”
To his great chagrin, he blushed. “Er, well, that’s all right.” He cleared his throat. “There was something else, though. I’d like to give you this.”
He held out the water gourd. “It’s not as pretty as that harp I destroyed, but maybe it will be useful to you.”
“What? Are you sure? It’s powerful stuff, this water.”
Above them, the mudmakers nodded their great brown heads.
“I’m sure, Elli.” He pressed it into her hands. “I know you’ll do something good with it.”
She looked at him, both surprised and grateful. Then her eyes moved to the body of the gnome stuck with spears, and all the warmth in her face vanished. She hesitated, then said, “I think that first I’m going to do something stupid.”
Tamwyn sucked in his breath in disbelief. “Not the gnome?”
She nodded slowly. “Something’s different now—since you brought me back. When I look at him, I don’t hate him so much. What I mainly feel is . . . longing. To stop all this killing. To understand the gnomes, like Coerria said. I know it’s crazy, but I just have to try. Soon—before I come back to my senses.”
Above them, the mudmakers whispered urgently among themselves.
“But,” said Tamwyn softly, “they killed your parents.”
“Right. Just like they probably killed Halaad’s parents, and many other people. Too many!”
With that, she strode over to the gnome. He looked particularly ugly, with bloodshot eyes that bulged outward, a mouthful of jagged teeth, and a tuft of filthy black hair on his head. But as she bent closer to his bloodied body, she saw him take a shallow breath, and her resolve deepened.
I hope I don’t regret this, she told herself as she stooped over the gnome. Into his slack mouth she poured a few drops.
The gnome stirred, flailing his burly arms. He released an agonized moan.
“You’ve also got to pour a bit on the wounds,” said Tamwyn through gritted teeth.
Elli did so. A few seconds later, the spears popped out and smacked on the muddy ground. Before his gashes had even closed, the gnome felt them with a three-fingered hand, then sat up. Dazedly, he looked at Elli’s face. Then, seeing Tamwyn by her side, and the circle of great beings surrounding them, he howled in fright and charged through the gap between two mudmakers. They watc
hed him flee across the plains, legs churning and feet splatting, until he vanished from sight.
Elli drew a long, slow breath, then turned to Tamwyn. “I told you it was something stupid.”
“Certain that is not,” whispered Aelonnia with a wave of several arms. “It may be you are a fool, yes indeed. Or it may be you are a Maker yourself—though of a different kind.”
Elli looked into the liquid brown pools of her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Welcome you are, daughter of Malóch.”
Nuic’s colors shifted to fiery orange rimmed with black, and he walked over to the edge of the portal. “If we’re going to Fireroot, we should—”
Whoosh! Something small and ragged, like a clump of dead leaves, shot out of the portal’s green flames. It swooped upward, then swerved wildly to avoid the heads of the mudmakers. An aura of green surrounded it, and there were two glowing spots near one end.
“Batty Lad!” cried Tamwyn. He felt his tunic pocket. Empty. So much had happened since they’d arrived, he hadn’t noticed the little beast was gone. “Did you lose me in the portal?”
“Noee no no, manny man. I fellsies out when Hennihoo there shoves us!”
He landed on Tamwyn’s forearm, panting hard. Then he wiped his mouselike face with the tip of his wing. “Ooee ooee oo, thatsa some upsy-downsy journey.”
Tamwyn stroked his big cupped ears. “You smart little fellow! You figured we came here because Elli talked about Mudroot, didn’t you?”
“Yessa ya ya ya. Oh, but manny man! Before I could do follow yousa here, some elsabody comesies outa the portal. An elfy maiden, ears all pointy. Anda she carries something too too.”
Catching Elli’s look of impatience—not to mention Nuic’s—Tamwyn gave a curt nod. “That’s fine, Batty Lad. Tell me later, all right? We’ve got to find that staff now, before it’s too late.”
He started to put the little beast into his pocket, when Batty Lad flapped his wings angrily. “Thatsa what I’m saying, manny man! The elfy maiden, she carries woody staff. And she says to herself allsa proudly, Here is the staff of Merlin.”
