by T.A. Barron
Not far away, more giants worked, cutting and shaping the gray and white stones. Still others fit them carefully into the towers and bridges of a growing city. So this was Varigal! Destroyed by Stangmar’s army of warrior goblins, Fincayra’s most ancient city was being completely rebuilt, rock by rock. Already its rough-hewn walls and spires mirrored the cliff walls and snowy spires that surrounded the valley.
As they labored, the giants chanted in low, rumbling tones. Their words echoed from cliff to cliff, pounding and cracking like stones themselves.
Hy gododin catann hue
Hud a lledrith mal wyddan
Gaunce ae bellawn wen cabri
Varigal don Fincayra
Dravia, dravia Fincayra.
Hud ya vardann tendal fe
Roe samenya, llaren kai
Hosh waundi na mal storro
Varigal don Fincayra
Dravia, dravia Fincayra.
I remembered, ages ago it seemed, hearing those same voices chanting the Lledra during the Dance of the Giants that had finally brought the Shrouded Castle crashing down. And I remembered hearing Elen sing that same chant to me when I was barely more than a babe in her arms.
Talking trees and walking stones,
Giants are the island’s bones.
While this land our dance still knows,
Varigal crowns Fincayra.
Live long, live long Fincayra.
Giants breathe and tempests blow,
Touch the waves and rivers slow.
In the island’s realm of snow,
Varigal crowns Fincayra.
Live long, live long Fincayra.
Bumbelwy snorted, rolling over on his bed of branches. A sprig of fern had caught in his hair and seemed to be growing straight out of his ear. With every breath, his bells rattled like a potful of pebbles. Yet the jester slept on, undisturbed.
I turned back to watch a wild-haired female giant, at the near end of the valley, push the base of a stone tower into place with her bare shoulder. From this distance, she looked much like the giant on whose immense frame the eagle had landed at the start of the Great Council. I suspected that, somewhere down there, my old friend Shim was also working. Or, more likely, doing his best to avoid working. Yet as much as I wanted to see him again, there would be no time to try to find him.
“So,” spoke a melodic voice behind us, “why do you come to the land of the giants?”
Rhia and I spun around. Seated on a rounded, mossy rock—a rock that had been empty only seconds before—was a tall, pale woman. Her golden hair, stretching almost to her knees, fell about her like rays of light. She wore a simple, light blue robe, yet her very posture made it seem like an elegant dress. Her eyes shone unusually bright, as if intense flames burned inside her.
Winsome though she was, I steeled myself. I may not have Rhia’s instincts, but I won’t let what happened with Nimue happen again. Reaching for my staff in the grass, I pulled it closer to my side.
The bright-eyed woman laughed gently. “I see you don’t trust me.”
Rhia, while still sitting on the grass, straightened her back and seemed for a moment to study the woman’s face. Then she drew in her breath. “I trust you. We came here to learn about Leaping.”
I nearly jumped out of my boots. “Rhia! You don’t know her!”
“I know I don’t. And yet . . . I do. She makes me want to—well, trust in the berries. There’s something about her that, I don’t know . . . that reminds me of the stars shining at the darkest time of night.”
The woman rose slowly, her hair swirling about her waist. “That is because, dear girl, I am the spirit of a star. You know me, in fact, as one of your constellations.”
Despite the quaking ground, Rhia rose to her feet. “Gwri,” she said softly, so softly that I could barely hear her above the continuing rumble. “You are Gwri of the Golden Hair.”
“Yes. I live in your westernmost sky. And I have watched you, Rhia, as well as you, Merlin, even as you have watched me.”
Dumbfounded, I too clambered to my feet. It seemed so long ago, that night under the shomorra tree, when Rhia had first shown me Gwri of the Golden Hair. And how to see constellations in a completely new way. To find their shapes not just in the stars themselves, but in the spaces between the stars.
Rhia took a small step closer on the grassy knoll. “Why did you come all the way here?”
Gwri laughed again, more heartily than before. This time a circle of golden light glowed in the air around her. “I came here to help the giants of your land rebuild their ancient capital. For, you see, I also came here ages ago when Varigal was first built. I stood by Dagda’s side, providing the light he needed to work through the night when he carved the very first giant from the stony side of a mountain.”
“You came such a long way.”
“Yes, Merlin. I came here by Leaping.”
My legs nearly buckled beneath me, though not because of the quaking ground. “Leaping? Will you—can you tell me what I need to know?”
“You already know the soul of this Song,” the star declared. “You only need to find it within yourself.”
“We have so little time! The moon is barely a quarter full. And my mother . . . “ My throat tightened, reducing my voice to a whisper. “She’s going to die. All because of me.”
Gwri studied me intently. She seemed to be listening to my innermost thoughts, oblivious to the continuing rumble from the valley below. “Just what did you do?”
“I found the speaking shell, whose power brought her here.”
Gwri tilted her head, sending a cascade of hair tumbling over her arm. “No, Merlin. Think again.”
Puzzled, I rubbed my chin. “But the shell—”
“Think again.”
I caught Rhia’s eye. “You mean . . . it was me. Not the shell.”
The woman nodded. “The shell needed your power to do it. Your power of Leaping, unformed as it is. One day, perhaps, you may master that power. Then you may send people, or things, or dreams. You could travel through the worlds, or even through time, as you choose.”
“Time?” A vague memory stirred within me. “When I was very young, I used to dream about living backward in time. Honestly! Just so I could relive my favorite moments over and over again.”
A spare smile touched her face. “Perhaps you will come to master that, as well. Then you could grow younger every day, while everyone around you grows older.”
As much as the idea intrigued me, I shook my head. “That’s only a dream. I’m afraid I’ll never master anything. Look what disaster I caused when I brought my mother to Fincayra.”
“Tell me,” said Gwri, “what have you learned from that?”
Another quake shook the ground. Rocks from the cliff nearest us broke loose, sending up a cloud of dust as they clattered down to the valley below. I grasped my staff for better balance. “Well, I’ve learned that Leaping, like all magic I suppose, has limits.”
“True. Even the great spirit Dagda has limits! For all he knows about the powers of the universe, he cannot bring someone back to life who has died.” Gwri looked suddenly pained, as if she were recalling something that had happened long ago. After a long pause, she spoke again. “Have you learned anything else?”
I hesitated, shifting my weight on the grass. “Well . . . that you must think carefully before bringing someone or something to a new place, since what you do could have unintended consequences. Serious ones.”
“And why do you suppose that is so?”
Squeezing the knotted top of my staff, I thought hard. The wind whistled across the ridge, chafing my face. “Because, you see, one action is connected to another. Throwing a single pebble in the wrong place could start a rockslide. The truth is, everything is connected to everything else.”
Gwri burst into laughter just as my staff erupted in blue flames. A golden circle of light glowed in the air around her, even as the image of a star inside a circle appeared on the shaft. I le
t my fingers stroke it.
“You have learned well. Merlin. Everything plays a part in the great and glorious song of the stars.”
Remembering the phrase from the walls of Arbassa, I nodded. “I only wish I knew enough to use the power of Leaping right now. For I must find my way, and quickly, to a dragon’s lair, though I don’t have any idea where to look.”
Gwri turned to the east, her long hair shimmering. “The dragon you seek is the same one who was lulled into enchanted sleep ages ago by your grandfather, Tuatha. And yet even your grandfather’s powers were not great enough to resist Balor, the guardian of the Otherworld Well. If you should survive the dragon and make your way there, do you really expect to fare any better?”
“No. I only hope to try.”
For a long moment, she studied me. “The sleeping dragon’s lair lies in the Lost Lands, just across the water from here. As it happens, it also lies not very far from the Otherworld Well—though that matters little to you, since you must still voyage all the way to the Forgotten Island before you go there.”
With my finger, I traced the new marking on my staff. “Could you, perhaps, send us to the dragon’s lair?”
Gwri’s eyes shone a bit brighter. “I could, yes. But I prefer to let someone else do it. Someone you know, who can get you there almost as fast as I can.”
Rhia and I traded perplexed glances.
The star motioned toward the dour jester, sprawled on the enormous brush pile. “Your sleeping friend over there.”
“Bumbelwy? You can’t be serious!”
Gwri’s laughter rang out. “Not him, though I daresay he may yet show himself capable of some surprising leaps.” Again she pointed. “I mean the sleeping friend beneath him.”
Before I could ask what she meant, Gwri grew brighter and brighter, until she glowed so intensely that even my second sight could not bear to watch. Like Rhia, I turned away. A few seconds later, the light suddenly diminished. We turned back, only to find that Gwri of the Golden Hair had vanished.
At that instant, the brush pile itself stirred.
27: ANOTHER CROSSING
The pile of brush lurched suddenly to the side, hurling the sleeping Bumbelwy into the air. His bells clanged like a blacksmith. And his shriek, easily heard above the rumbling from the valley below, joined with the surprised shouts of Rhia and me.
Spraying branches, leaves, and fern fronds across the grassy notch, the pile of leaves bent, twisted—and sat up. Two enormous arms stretched to either side, while a pair of hairy feet kicked free from the debris. A head lifted, showing wide pink eyes and a cavernous mouth that opened in a yawn. Just below the eyes, a gargantuan nose bulged like a swollen potato.
“Shim!” cried Rhia and I at once.
Finishing his yawn, the giant looked down on us in surprise. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again. “Is you a dream? Or is you real?”
“We’re real,” I declared.
Shim scrunched his nose doubtfully. “Really, truly, honestly?”
“Really, truly, honestly.” Rhia stepped forward and patted one of his feet, which towered over her. “It’s good to see you again. Shim.”
With a great smile, the giant reached out with one arm and gently scooped us into the palm of his hand. “I thinks I is still dreaming! But it’s you, the truly you.” He brought his nose a little closer and took a sniff. “You smells like bread. Goodly bread.”
I nodded. “Ambrosia. Like we had that night with Cairpré. Do you remember, good Shim? I wish we’d brought you some! But we’re in a hurry, you see. A great hurry.”
The immense nose scrunched again. “Is you still full of madness?”
“You could put it that way.”
“Ever since that day we firstly meets, you is full of madness!” The giant rocked with a thunderous laugh, swaying on the grassy knoll, shaking loose some rocks that bounced down into the valley. “That day you almost gets us stingded by thousands of bees.”
“And you were nothing but a blundering ball of honey.”
Rhia, who had managed to rise to her knees in the fleshy palm, joined in. “You were so small I was sure you were a dwarf.”
Shim’s pink eyes glowed with pride. “I is small no more.”
Another tumultuous crash from the valley filled the air, rocking the ridge. Even Shim’s mighty arm swayed like a tree in a gale. Rhia and I clung to his thumb for support.
His expression turned serious. “They is workings hard down there. I is supposed to brings the branches, for cookings the supper.” He looked suddenly sheepish. “I only wanted to rolls in the branches, then takes a little nap! A briefly little nap.”
“We’re glad you did,” I replied. “We need your help.”
A long, painful moan came from the loose branches at the far end of the notch. Before I could say anything, Shim reached over with his free hand and lifted out Bumbelwy by his heavy cloak. Draped with drooping ferns and broken branches, frowning with his whole face down to his layered chins, the gloomy jester looked half alive at best.
Rhia watched the dangling jester with concern. “Did you see him go flying when Shim woke up?”
I gave her a sardonic grin. “Maybe that was the leap that Gwri was talking about.”
“Ohhh,” groaned Bumbelwy, holding his head. “My head feels like a rock that just bounced down one of these cliffs! I must have rolled off that pile of—” All at once, he realized that he was being carried over the knoll by a giant. He struggled, swatting at the huge thumb that was hooked under his cloak. “Helllp! I’m about to be eaten!”
Shim grunted and shook his head at the bedraggled jester. “You isn’t very tasty, that’s easily to see. I wouldn’t puts you in my mouth for anythings.”
I waved at Bumbelwy. “Don’t worry. This giant’s a friend of ours.”
Bumbelwy, swaying before Shim’s nose, continued to flail wildly. “Such a tragedy!” he wailed. “All my humor and wisdom, lost forever down a giant’s gullet.”
Shim dropped him into the palm of his other hand. Bumbelwy landed in a heap beside Rhia and me. He struggled to stand, took a swing at Shim’s nose, tripped, and fell flat on his face again.
An enormous grin spread across Shim’s face. “At leastly he’s funny.”
Bumbelwy, who was trying to stand again, froze. “Do you mean that? Funny enough to make you laugh?”
“Not that funny,” boomed Shim, his voice so powerful it almost blew us all over the edge of his palm. “Just enough to makes me grin.”
The jester finally stood, trying to keep his balance while squaring his shoulders and straightening his cloak. “Good giant. You are more intelligent than I had thought at first.” He bowed awkwardly. “I am Bumbelwy the Mirthful, jester to—”
“Nobody.” I ignored his glare and spoke to Shim. “As I was saying, we need your help. We need to get to the lair of the sleeping dragon, the one Tuatha battled long ago. It’s somewhere across the water.”
The giant’s grin faded, as the rising wind howled across the cliffs. “You must be kiddingly.”
“I fear he’s not,” said Bumbelwy, his usual glumness returned. “You might as well eat us all now, before the dragon does.”
“If it’s really a sleeping dragon,” asked Rhia, “just how dangerous can it be?”
“Verily,” thundered Shim, his whole frame swaying like a great tree in a storm. “For starters, the dragon is still hungrily, even while it sleeps. For enders, it could wakes up anytime.” He paused, tilting his huge head in thought. “Nobodies know when Tuatha’s sleeping spell will wears off, and the dragon will wakes up. Although the legends say that it will happen on the darkest day in the life of Fincayra.”
Bumbelwy sighed. “Sounds like a typical day for me.”
“Hush!” I gazed up at Shim. “Will you take us there right away?”
“All rights. But it is madness! Certainly, definitely, absolutely.” Scanning the knoll, strewn with brush, he bit his great lip. “But firstly I needs to brings these
branches down to Varigal.”
“Please, no,” I begged. I scanned the afternoon sky, afraid to see the rising sliver of the moon. “Every minute counts now. Shim. I’m almost out of time.”
“I supposes I is already late with these pokingly branches.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
Shim replied by standing and taking a single, enormous stride along the spine of the ridge. Rocked by the jolt, we fell together in a jumble on his palm. Untangling ourselves was made more difficult by the giant’s bouncing gait, but we finally succeeded. Except for Bumbelwy, whose cloak had wrapped itself tightly around his head and shoulders. As he struggled to free himself, his bells were mercifully silent under the cloak.
Rhia and I, meanwhile, crawled to the edge of Shim’s palm and peered through the gaps in his fingers. Wind rushed past our faces as we watched the landscape transform. So great were Shim’s strides that the chanting of the giants, and the rumbling of their labors, soon faded away completely. He stepped over boulder fields as if they were mere clusters of pebbles, crushing rock ledges with his feet. Mountain passes that would have taken us days to scale he climbed in a few minutes. He traversed yawning crevasses with the ease of a rabbit hopping over a stick.
Before long, the terrain began to flatten. Hillsides of trees replaced the snow-draped ridges, while the valleys widened into broad meadows painted with purple and yellow flowers. Shim paused only once, to blow on the boughs of an apple tree, showering us with fruit. Unlike Bumbelwy, who hadn’t yet regained his appetite, Rhia and I ate the apples avidly.
Shim sped along, so fast that I had only barely noticed the expanding sweep of blue ahead, when his heavy foot splashed into water. In another moment, he was wading through a channel, surrounded by a flock of screeching gulls. His voice boomed, frightening the birds. “I remembers when you carries me across a ragingly river.”
“Right!” I shouted to be heard above the wind and screeching gulls. “The crossing was so rough I had to carry you on my shoulder.”
“That would be hardly now! Certainly, definitely, absolutely.”
