The Dragon of Avalon

by T.A. Barron

  "Right," sneered the sprite, turning an amused shade of orange. "Somebody like y—"

  He broke off suddenly, catching the pungent odor of a goblin vulture, whose talons often smelled of rotting carrion. The sprite's color instantly went white. He whirled around in midair, tangling his own leg in the strings of his parachute. As he tried to pull his leg free, the chute collapsed. He started plunging toward the rock-strewn slope, taking Basil with him.

  For seconds that seemed like hours, they dropped downward. Basil tried to free himself from the sprite's grip, but to no avail; in his panic, the sprite only squeezed harder. Locked together, they fell toward the boulders, faster and faster.

  At last, the sprite managed to free his leg. With a desperate lurch, he threw his weight sideways. A loud whomp! announced the chute had filled again with air. A fresh updraft from the mountainside carried them higher once more.

  Having stopped their free fall, the sprite still didn't relax. He cast his head anxiously from side to side, staring into the sky around them. His liquid purple eyes seemed about to pop out of his head.

  "Looking for something?" asked Basil nonchalantly.

  "Yes, you idiot! You really are dimmer than an ogre's eyeball! There's a goblin vulture up here somewhere."

  "No," declared Basil. "There's not."

  "But I smelled . . ." The sprite's voice trailed off. As he stared at his small passenger, his skin color melted from frosty white to wrathful red. "You did that! You! Why, you demented, idiotic smell-maker . . . you could have killed us. Murdered us. Destroyed us. Or worse!"

  Basil waited patiently until the sprite's ranting stopped. Then, ears cocked innocently, he asked, "Can I help it if you're so easily fooled?"

  The sprite opened his mouth to speak, found absolutely no words, and shut his mouth abruptly. Then, as his color changed to muddy orange, he did something new, something highly unusual for a pinnacle sprite. He grinned. Well, almost. The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, though it could have been just a twitch.

  "Not bad, you little mystery beast. That foolish prank of yours was insanely risky . . . but effective. And pinnacle sprites appreciate a good prank."

  With a tilt of his head, he added, "My name is Nuic. I may be a young sprite—not even a hundred years old—but I am an excellent judge of character. And I can spot someone with the true heart of a prankster."

  "And I can spot someone with the true personality of a goblin vulture," said Basil wryly.

  "Ah, you mean my happy disposition?" Nuic's almost-grin vanished. "Hmmmpff. Sweetness is much overrated, if you ask me. Except in a honeycomb." His voice lowered. "You still haven't thanked me for saving your life."

  "Manners are much overrated. Except in a sprite."

  Nuic's skin, like his mood, darkened.

  "I can tell you this, though, Master Nuic. Whatever kind of creature I am, my name is Basil. And I'm pleased to meet you."

  "Hmmmpff. Not at all pleased to meet you."

  "And now, if you don't mind, how about letting me go? I can fly on my own, you know."

  Nuic's eyes widened. "No, you're trying to fool me again. Those dried, crumpled leaves there on your back are certainly not wings?"

  "Yes indeed," answered Basil, ignoring the insult. "Let go of my tail and I'll show you."

  The wind strengthened, lifting them both higher. Below them stretched the high peaks of Olanabram, ridge upon ridge of mountains that wore massive glaciers like fluffy white shawls upon their shoulders.

  The sprite released his grip. Basil opened his bony wings and coasted freely, then caught a swell and spun a trio of backward loops in quick succession. Gliding back to Nuic's side—while keeping a safe distance from the parachute strings—the little fellow's green eyes glowed with satisfaction.

  "One more thing I'd like to say," Basil announced.

  "Hmmmpff. Just because you can fly, it doesn't make you any less rude and sassy."

  "True," agreed Basil, banking a turn and sailing over to Nuic's other side. "But there is still one more thing I'd like to say."

  The sprite's color darkened to muddy brown. "Get it over with, then."

  "I just wanted to say . . . thanks. For saving my life down there."

  Although Nuic's grimace remained, a few subtle traces of pink appeared in his chest and at his temples. Gruffly, he said, "You're still rude and sassy, you ogre-brained bumpkin."

  "And you're still easily fooled." Basil chuckled, flattening his ears against his head.

  "Just be glad—keep that cursed wing away from my parachute, you oaf!—that I just happened to come along when you were about to get spattered on a stone." Frowning, Nuic added, "Knowing what I know now, I wish I'd come to the wedding a day early. But we all make mistakes."

  Tilting his leathery wings, Basil glided closer. "Wedding? Whose wedding?"

  "You really are as daft as a doltbug! Why, the wizard's, of course. Don't you know anything? Anything at all?"

  Caught off guard, Basil muttered, "No, actually. And it feels like I know less every day."

  "Hmmmpff," said the sprite, his colors lightening a bit, "some people would call that a mark of wisdom. Although personally, I'd call it utter f—"

  "Wait!" interrupted Basil. "Did you say it's a wizard's wedding? The wizard Merlin?"

  "Who else, bubble brain? Wizards don't come along every day, you know! That's why half of Avalon is gathering down there right now." Proudly, he added, "The invited half, that is."

  The pinnacle sprite tugged on a parachute thread, making them float toward the highest peak in the area, a square-shaped mountain topped with snow. Hundreds of people of all descriptions had gathered there, forming a circle on the summit. Though Basil recognized some of them, from the tales he'd heard over the years, many bore no resemblance to any creature he'd ever heard about. Yet there was one he knew instantly. As immense as a rocky ridge, the giant Shim sat just outside the circle.

  "Merlin's wedding," said Basil in wonder. "So he's really come back to Avalon?"

  "No, you dithering dunderhead! He decided to miss the whole thing! Right now he's sitting on a shore, somewhere on Earth, counting grains of sand. When he gets to a trillion trillion—"

  "All right, all right," said Basil, annoyed at his own ignorance. He floated awhile beside the sprite, watching more guests of all kinds climb the mountain to witness the wedding. "Looks like every sort of creature you could imagine will be there."

  "Yes, and some you couldn't possibly imagine. Why, there will be people from every corner of all seven root-realms. Practically every race in Avalon."

  "Has Merlin arrived yet?"

  "Over there, by the edge of the circle. See his black hair and white tunic?"

  Basil gasped at the sight—and not just because it reminded him of his terrible dream. Having heard so many stories about the wizard—whose true name, Olo Eopia, meant great man of many worlds, many times—he couldn't believe that Merlin was right down there. Right now.

  His ebony mane blowing in a mountain breeze, Merlin stepped into the center of the circle of spectators. The sleeves of his tunic, whiter than the snow, fluttered as he beckoned to someone in the crowd. A woman emerged, stepping grace-fully to his side. Equally tall as her companion, she wore a long braid that glinted with the tans and auburns of marsh grasses. The braid reached down the back of her robe of azure blue, a color as rich as the summer sky.

  "Who is she?" asked Basil. "Standing next to Merlin?"

  Nuic shook himself, scowling. "Have I ever told you that you're a pin brained jabberjaw?"

  "Not recently. But who is she?"

  "Hallia, of course! They've been planning this for decades, ever since Merlin lost his senses and went to Earth for a while. But he finally saw his folly and returned."

  The sprite's liquid eyes rolled toward the mountaintop. "Poor fellow never had a chance, really. Once she taught him how to change into a deer, so they could run together in the meadows, he was thoroughly besotted."

 
Struggling to understand, Basil sputtered, "She's . . . a deer?"

  "No, you cabbage-brained, addleheaded know nothing! She's a deer woman, one of the ancient Mellwyn-bri-Meath clan from the Smoking Cliffs, the same place where Dagda used magical sea mist to weave the famous Carpet Caerlochlann."

  More confused than ever, Basil pressed, "A deer woman, you say? So she can change from one form to the other?"

  "Right, you moronic, piddle-mouthed puddinghead. And whatever form she takes, Merlin's totally infatuated with her. Why, he even named that mountain down there Hallia's Peak."

  Enthralled with all these discoveries, Basil ignored the insults. Travel really can enlighten you, he thought. Then he glanced down at the site of the recent landslide, and at the flicker of green flames still visible there, and added, If it doesn't kill you first.

  "Well," declared Nuic, "I can't say it's been a pleasure. But good luck to you anyway. Now I must be going."

  "Wait." Basil glided closer. "Did you say people from every part of Avalon will be there? Some from every race?"

  "Not every race, you empty-headed hinkletooth! No gobsken or ogres were invited, and no mer people could make it, for some reason." The sprite chortled. "But you are nearly right. Almost every race will be there."

  "Which means," said Basil with a shake of his wings, "that if I were ever going to find someone from my race, whatever that is, someone who actually looks like me—"

  "Stop right there." Nuic's color darkened. "Don't even think about it! Do you have any idea how rude it would be to barge into somebody's wedding uninvited?"

  "Well . . ."

  "Or how dangerous it would be?"

  "Well . . ."

  "I'll take that as a no, you blister brain. For a start, the great white spider called the Grand Elusa—famous for her skill at splitting open living stones and swallowing them in seconds—has promised to eat any intruders. And if that's not bad enough, the hapless jester Bumbelwy, whose voice is so grating that whenever he sings, birds drop dead right out of the sky, has offered to serenade uninvited guests."

  Basil gulped. "But I need to know what—who—I really am! This could be my only chance."

  "Hmmmpff. You'll have many more chances to die, I assure you. And I haven't even mentioned what Merlin himself would do if he caught you."

  "But—"

  "Don't do it, Basil." The sprite's entire body pulsed scarlet. "Do you hear me?"

  "Sure," he replied, with a somber flap of his wings. "I hear you."

  "Good. Then you'll live to see another day."

  Basil said nothing.

  The sprite started to lean into his parachute, then glanced back at him. "If you ever do figure out what kind of creature you are, I'd like to know. Otherwise, I'm glad to say we'll probably never meet again."

  Despite his disappointment, Basil couldn't feel offended. Nuic was almost amusing, in a tortured sort of way. Despondently, he watched the grouchy little fellow depart, floating down toward the summit, shifting color to vibrant green.

  Abruptly, Basil jolted, as if a sudden gust of wind had blown against his wings. But the jolt didn't come from something he'd felt. Rather, it came from something he'd seen. From out of the clouds, a family of creatures appeared—one fully grown mother and seven or eight children. They soared out of the sky with mythic strength and grace, their jagged wings cutting through the air so powerfully that the very sight made Basil's heart quake with fear and wonder.

  Dragons. They are dragons.

  Basil watched the powerful beasts fly down to the summit, joining the rest of the invited guests. His gaze then turned to Merlin, the greatest wizard his world had ever known. And then, once more, he scanned the assembled creatures who had gathered—creatures of all kinds, from every realm.

  In that instant, Basil knew what he must do. Banking his own minuscule wings, he swooped down to join them. Whatever the risks, he was going to watch a wedding.

  11: STRANGE COMPANY

  Never, until that day, had I realized that I could feel two opposite emotions at once. To belong to the immense, bizarre, riotous diversity of life—and still stand utterly alone. To feel wholly connected, and yet completely apart.

  Basil plunged downward, the cold mountain air buffeting his wings. As he swooped closer to the snow-draped summit, he studied the creatures gathered there, creatures who had traveled from all across Avalon to attend the wedding of Merlin and Hallia. There were even more of them than he'd guessed from on high. Quickly, he lost sight of Nuic's small green form in the throng.

  He couldn't miss Shim, however. The giant sat at the far side of the summit, wearing a huge scarlet snake around his neck. Though knotted up like a fat red bow tie, the snake seemed resigned to its fate and didn't struggle. (It did, however, rouse itself to hiss at a cheeky gull who dared to land on its forehead.)

  As Basil approached from above, Shim leaned forward to scratch one of his immense toes, knocking several branches off his vest of woven hemlock trees. Though he didn't seem to notice, the family of centaurs walking beneath him certainly did: When the broken branches crashed down on their backs, they whinnied, cursed angrily, and galloped off to the opposite side of the summit. Meanwhile, Shim watched his old friends Merlin and Hallia step into the center of the circle of admirers—who by now covered the entire mountaintop. The enormous fellow's eyes glowed pink, and he chortled quietly, not much louder than an ordinary earthquake. Meanwhile, his long mane blew wildly in the mountain breeze, slapping unlucky birds out of the sky.

  "Oh, I do muchily love a wedding party!" he bellowed. And at that moment, Shim's eyes swung from the wedding couple to the enormous vats of honey awaiting the guests.

  Basil drifted downward, anxious to avoid attracting anyone's attention. Mustn't be seen, he reminded himself. Not by anyone who might care about an intruder. He kept a wary eye, in particular, on the great white spider who had just seated herself in the center of the throng. The crowd quite courteously parted to give the huge spider room to stretch her eight legs; a pair of living stones seemed especially eager to give her plenty of space, and rolled away across the snow.

  Fortunately, no one seemed to notice the approach of a scrawny little lizard with batlike wings and oversize ears. Most of the guests were focused exclusively on the wedding couple in the middle of the ring. The only exception was Shim, whose gaze remained fixed on the vats of honey.

  As Basil descended, he scanned the wedding guests who stood, sat, or crawled upon the snow—and, in a few cases, hovered or glided above the crowd. People of all kinds are here! he thought excitedly. Every size, shape, and color. Every possible description.

  He paused, swallowing. But is there someone—anyone—who looks like me?

  Floating nearer, he suddenly spied a lone creature bounding up the snowy ridge—and the sight made him gasp. The Sapphire Unicorn! She seemed to flow up the ridge, moving as effortlessly as the breeze itself. Her powerful muscles flexed as she loped to the summit, kicking up clouds of snow with her hooves. The unicorn's spiraling horn, like her coat and mane, radiated blue even deeper than the color of Hallia's dress. For this blue sparkled as if alive. One by one, each of the wedding guests turned to watch her arrival. For they, like Basil, knew that she was the only one of her kind in all of Avalon—the creature bards called the most elusive beauty in all the lands.

  Drawing closer, Basil saw a pair of women approach the wedding couple. One, an older woman whose flowing blond hair shone like the stars, wore a silvery gown that shimmered as she moved. That's Elen, mother of Merlin, he realized. Though he'd heard about her High Priestess gown, woven entirely from spider's silk, it was even more beautiful than he'd imagined. As Elen moved, the gown seemed more rays of light than thread, more air than substance.

  The other woman Basil also recognized: Rhia, Merlin's sister, clad in her famous suit of woven vines. What had he heard? That she'd grown up living in a great oak tree. And she moved, indeed, like windblown boughs; her feet left hardly any marks upon the
snow. Her curly brown hair, decorated with blossoms, bounced with every step. Around her head and shoulders flew dozens of light flyers, their little wings glowing so bright they looked like floating candle flames. And upon her back lay beautiful, translucent wings—a gift, it was said, from the great spirit Dagda himself. As he drifted lower, Basil gazed in awe at Rhia—her garb, her wings, and most of all, her radiant face, which glowed even brighter than the light flyers.

  I can't believe I'm here, he thought. Seeing these people . . . this place . . . this gathering. It can't be real!

  But Rhia's bell-like laugh, released when she embraced her brother, removed any doubt. No imaginary laughter could radiate such joy.

  Then another sound caught Basil's ear. From right below him came the deep, echoing hoot of an ancient owl. Though missing many feathers, the old owl could still hoot loud enough to frighten the silver stallion on whose back he was sitting, as well as the family of eiderdown geese nearby. The horse neighed and swished his tail, while the geese honked and fluttered with annoyance.

  By contrast, a golden-feathered phoenix, seated on a jagged stone beside them, didn't even seem to notice. She continued to stare at Merlin and Hallia, never blinking. Even when she was almost stepped on by the splayed roots of a huge, branching figure—a tree spirit, Basil guessed—the phoenix didn't bat an eye.

  Basil circled the summit, looking for someplace he could land and remain inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he also searched for anyone below who resembled himself, who might help explain the mystery of his origins. As he listened to the crowd's swelling din—all the neighing, bellowing, growling, singing, chattering, hissing, and buzzing—he could only wonder whether he would hear, sometime today, a voice that sounded like his own.

  He watched the last guests arrive. A pair of ragged-winged vultures gave him a start—they strongly resembled dactylbirds—but he was relieved to see them perch peacefully on an elephaunt's back. A group of gnomes straggled up the ridge of bright snow, very different terrain than their dark underground tunnels, then reluctantly obeyed a centaur's command to leave their weapons in a pile away from other guests. Nowhere, though, did Basil see the family of dragons who had arrived earlier. That puzzled him, but not enough to be concerned. After all, the mountaintop was teeming with Avalon's diversity of life. Even in the final few seconds before he landed, he saw many creatures he hadn't noticed before.