by T.A. Barron
Was it time, perhaps, to tell her what was really happening inside him? What it felt like to have these strange, often violent powers surging through his body—appearing when he least expected them, didn’t want them, and couldn’t even begin to control them?
Before he could speak, the wind suddenly died. Ice and snow ceased flying; the mountaintop fell silent. All around, the ghostly heads of nearby peaks glistened in the starlight, though none of those summits rose higher than Elli and Tamwyn. For they were sitting atop Hallia’s Peak, the highest point in all seven rootrealms of Avalon, so high that it was the only place where the Great Tree’s trunk could actually be seen.
Tamwyn studied the vista. There were the other peaks of Olanabram, and beyond, the starlit ridges rising steeply upward that he knew were the bottommost reaches of Avalon’s trunk. As a wilderness guide, he’d always been struck by the stark contrasts of mountains—starting with their howling storms that could melt instantly into profound stillness, a quiet so deep you could almost feel its weight upon the air. He also loved how, by day, the ridges shone with light, sliced by the shadows of clouds. And how, on nights like this, they rippled like a glowing sea beneath the stars.
Turning back to their sitting stone, he gazed at the frosted rocks that surrounded them, looking like thousands of miniature snowcapped peaks. Only the sitting stone itself had no trace of snow. Tamwyn slid his feet, bare as always, over its smooth surface, feeling the strange warmth of this stone that no wind could ever chill.
For this was Merlin’s Stargazing Stone, touched long ago by the magic of the great wizard himself. And its eternal warmth, strong enough that ice and snow never stayed on its surface, was but the least of its wonders. Even now, it gleamed mysteriously—as well as darkly, for it was nearly as black as the gaping hole in the starry sky above their heads.
The hole where, less than a month before, the seven stars of the Wizard’s Staff constellation had abruptly disappeared.
The hole that had brought Elli and Tamwyn to this remote summit. And to the Stone itself.
For this was not only the best spot in Avalon to view the stars—or a gap between the stars. More important, it was the one spot where anyone from any realm could come and ask for a vision. Such was the lasting gift: of Merlin.
And so they had trekked all the way here, joined by their closest companions, who were now exploring the summit to pick a suitable place to camp (or, like the shrunken giant Shim, already sleeping soundly by a nearby hot spring). Elli and Tamwyn’s goal was simple: to call for a vision that would reveal the truth of what had happened to the vanished stars. Elli had insisted that Tamwyn, with his emerging powers, should be the one to ask for it. And while he’d at first resisted, he had finally agreed.
“So are you ever going to do it?” Elli turned from the starry sky and nudged Tamwyn impatiently. “Or are you just going to sit here like a mindless lump of snow?”
He shook his long black hair, irked at her tone. Even though he guessed that her impatience was really masking her worries about the hole—and what it meant for Avalon—she had about as much patience as a hungry raccoon.
“Well?” she demanded. “What are you waiting for?”
“You know, Elli, you are the single most impatient, stubborn, thick-headed, exasperating . . .”
She cut him off with a fetching grin. “We’re so much alike, aren’t we?”
Despite himself, he almost grinned back. For he knew she was right. And, to his surprise, he wasn’t angry anymore. Right now, instead of berating her, he mainly wanted to hug her. Just how did she do that—changing his feelings as fast as a mountain storm? On top of that, she could somehow see right into him, as if he were a clear alpine pool—even when he himself felt hopelessly murky.
He blew a long sigh. Although he had no idea where their relationship might go, it had definitely come a long way from the pair of black eyes she’d given him when they first met.
He reached over and lightly touched the simple yellow band she was wearing around her wrist, a sturdy bracelet of astral flower stems that he’d woven for her last week. But when their eyes met, he could see that she had other things on her mind. Worrisome things.
“Tamwyn,” she whispered, “I’m scared. What if you ask for a vision—and nothing happens?”
He ran a hand through his locks. “I’m more scared of what could happen.”
Lifting his face, he gazed up at the stars—masses and masses of them, more than he could possibly count. There, flanking the black hole of the Wizard’s Staff, were other constellations he knew well: Golden Bough, that lovely ring of light; Pegasus, soaring high over starry fields; and Twisted Tree, which tonight seemed as large as the Great Tree of Avalon itself.
Though dawn was drawing near, the stars still blazed with the sharp clarity of night. Often, as a guide, he had set his course by them. So often, in fact, that they had long since become his companions, as much as Elli, Scree, and the others. Yet in all his years of camping, they’d never looked so bright as they did right now, in the clear, cold air of Hallia’s Peak.
Stars, he said to himself. What are you, really? Dimming at the end of every day after the golden flash of starset, and swelling bright again every morning at dawn, they were Avalon’s ultimate mystery. And, for Tamwyn, its ultimate beauty.
He clenched his fists. For he knew that the stars had also called to his father, the famed explorer Krystallus Eopia. So much that they had lured him to make the expedition that would be his greatest—and his last. Somewhere up there, climbing the trunk and branches of the Great Tree on the way to the stars, Krystallus had perished.
Or had he? Over the past few weeks, that question had clung like a burr to Tamwyn’s thoughts. After all, no one knew for certain what had really happened to that expedition . . . or to Krystallus himself.
Struck by a new idea, Tamwyn caught his breath. After calling for a vision about the vanished stars, why not call for one about his father?
The very thought made his heart pound as fast as a wood elf s drum. For more than he’d been willing to admit, Tamwyn longed to find his father. To know him, as he never had, as a son. Even for just a moment. And to learn what his father had discovered about the stars. And maybe also, since Krystallus had seen up close the wizardry of Merlin, to learn what was needed to control these growing magical powers—powers that had caused Tamwyn to freeze a ripe melon in his hands, confuse some flying moon geese with a simple whistle, and knock over an old elm tree with a single breath, when he hadn’t intended any such things to happen.
All right, he told himself. I’ll do it. Right after—
Elli squeezed his forearm, still impatient. This time she didn’t speak, but merely raised an eyebrow.
Tamwyn nodded. Drawing a deep breath, he gazed up at the black hole that seemed like a gash in the night sky. He focused his thoughts on just one question: What does the hole mean—for Avalon, and for us? And then, thinking of the young woman by his side, he added: And are we safe?
At last, remembering the words that the old sprite Nuic had taught him, he started to chant:
Great starscape on high, deliver me thy
Vision of truth, as in Merlin’s youth;
Use all heaven’s light to answer tonight
This question my own, by Stargazing Stone.
As his words melted into the air, a slight gust of wind blew over the mountaintop. Elli shifted a bit closer on the Stone, peering up at the stars. Anxiously, she muttered, “Nuic said it might take a minute or two before anything magical happens.”
Tamwyn didn’t answer. He was watching the sky and listening to the buffeting breeze with the keen attention of a wilderness guide. Suddenly he heard a voice—no, two. He stiffened, listening intently, as did Elli beside him.
Then, as one, they breathed a disappointed sigh. They faced each other, knowing that those voices hadn’t come from any magic.
“It’s only Scree,” grumbled Tamwyn. “And Brionna. Somewhere over there, behin
d those boulders.”
“Sounds like they’re having another argument,” added Elli.
“Or they never finished their last one.” He shook his head. “That brother of mine, stubborn as a headless troll! Why can’t he just realize that he doesn’t really like Brionna? All they ever do is argue.”
Elli looked surprised, then gave her frosted curls a shake. “You really think that? He argues with her because he likes her. A lot, in fact.”
“Really? Are you sure? Well, Brionna certainly doesn’t feel the same way about him.”
“Oh, yes she docs. Just the same.” Elli peered at him thoughtfully. “Your brother’s not the only man around here who’s clueless when it comes to women.”
Tamwyn returned her gaze, then gave a reluctant nod. “You might have a point there. He’s about as awkward with her as I am with . . .”
He stopped, realizing what he was about to say. Sheepishly, he averted his eyes.
Elli laughed, a sound as lilting as a lark’s morning song. “You know,” she said gently, “Scree, being an eagleman, may look a lot older than you. But he’s still just a boy when it comes to women. A lot like you.”
Slowly, he turned back to her. “And is that, um, all right with you? My being awkward around a woman?”
Her eyes sparkled. “That depends,” she answered, “on what woman you’re thinking about.”
Feeling suddenly warmer than even the magic of the Stone could explain, Tamwyn shifted uncomfortably. He decided to try to turn the conversation back to Scree. “You’re right about my brother, that’s for sure. Remember that big mistake he sometimes mentions, without ever telling us what it was? Something that happened years ago when he was living alone, guarding the staff. Well, I’d bet my beard that it had something to do with a woman.”
Elli grinned mischievously. “You don’t have a beard, Tamwyn.” Then, with her fingertips, she brushed the stubble on his chin. “But it won’t be long now.”
As she touched him, he felt an unexpected prickling. His heartbeat quickened; he leaned a little bit closer. He could almost imagine bringing his face to hers, and . . .
He suddenly pulled back as a bitter blast of wind raked across the summit. Chunks of ice stung their cheeks, necks, hands—anything exposed. The cold pierced Tamwyn’s old tunic and Elli’s tattered robe, and drove down deep into their bones.
“Owww,” she cried, hunching her shoulders and putting her hands on the sides of her head. “That hurts my ears!” She shivered as another frosty gust whipped them.
“Here, let me help.” Though shivering himself, he reached up and pushed her hands aside, replacing them with his own. Very gently, he cupped his palms over her ears, trying to hold back the wind.
As the last gust subsided, taking the edge off the cold, Tamwyn also felt his inner warmth grow again. Here she was, her face so close, looking at him gratefully. He studied her hazel green eyes, her lips that seemed so soft . . . and slowly drew her nearer. A new, dizzying feeling surged through him.
Without warning, an image flashed through his mind. An image from just a few days before, when he had held something utterly different in his hands. It was nothing remarkable, just a simple melon—but he’d held it in exactly this way, his hands cupped against its sides. The melon had been the gift of a friend, the farmer Abelawn, whose fields Tamwyn had often helped to harvest: the very last one from his vegetable garden. Tamwyn had hefted the fruit, thinking playfully how good a snowball it would make if only it were frozen. Then, all of a sudden, the melon turned to ice! In the blink of an eye, it froze between his hands—turning completely white before it shattered, exploding into a thousand icy shards.
Could the same thing happen now to Elli? Was this feeling rising inside him really just another violent, misdirected burst of power?
“No!” he shouted, roughly shoving her head away. Elli shrieked and tumbled backward off the Stone. But he could only stare down at his hands, aghast at what he’d almost done.
Elli slowly picked herself up, brushed the snow off her shoulders, and sat again at the far edge of the Stone. She glared at Tamwyn, rubbing her sore neck. Anger showed in her eyes, but there was also a hint of tears.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the night sky abruptly flashed with light. So much light that the whole sky seemed to be swallowed by flames. Then, just as swiftly, the light vanished, and was replaced by another night sky—one with only seven stars, grouped in an unmistakable constellation.
“The Wizard’s Staff,” whispered Tamwyn, blinking in astonishment.
Elli stopped rubbing her neck and just gaped at the sight.
As they watched, awestruck, the seven bright stars of the Wizard’s Staff flickered, as if some bitter winds on high had made them shiver. Then, one by one, they faded, pulsed with a final gleam of light, and disappeared—just as they had actually done less than a month before. But now, in this vision, when the last star went dark, nothing else remained in the sky.
All at once, something moved. Both Tamwyn and Elli sensed somehow that what they were about to see had not yet happened—but would very soon. As they watched, strange shapes, even darker than the sky itself, began to flow outward from the vanished constellation. The young viewers squinted, trying to see just what those shapes could be. But it was impossible to tell. They looked misty, undefined, and yet undoubtedly evil, like plumes of noxious gas. Combined, they resembled a vast hand of darkness, stretching deadly fingers toward Avalon.
Another flash! The evil shapes abruptly disappeared. Yet Tamwyn and Elli couldn’t stop seeing them in their minds, just as they couldn’t stop wondering what they really were.
Suddenly the sky filled with a procession of scenes, drawn darkly upon the night. Unlike the vision of the shadowy shapes, which belonged to the future, these scenes seemed more present—as if they had recently happened, or were happening right now. Each one came from somewhere in the Seven Realms. And each one spelled some new disaster.
Elli gasped as she watched a towering stone pillar topple and smash to the ground. Surely that couldn’t be one of the pillars of the Great Temple in the Drumadian compound? Then the scene shifted to an angry mob of people, shouting and hurling stones. Next came a band of eaglefolk, flying out of the smoking cliffs of Fireroot—and straight into battle. But they weren’t fighting their traditional enemies, the flamelons, or even humans: Rather, they were battling other eaglefolk.
From behind the nearby boulders, Tamwyn and Elli heard a shout of disbelief. Evidently Scree, too, could see the vision. And didn’t like at all what it showed.
Next came a series of scenes that moved by so rapidly they blurred together. There was a gobsken warrior forging a broadsword; a water dragon’s tail rising out of the waves; and an ancient hand grasping desperately for something, clutching at the air, before it finally fell still.
And then those images melted into another scene, one that made Tamwyn stiffen. For staring down at him from the darkened sky was the brutally scarred face of White Hands, the wicked sorcerer who had enslaved hundreds of creatures and killed more, all in his quest to gain a powerful crystal of pure élano. Tamwyn, helped by his companions as well as his staff, had done his best to stop White Hands. Yet there was a satisfied gleam in the sorcerer’s only eye that made Tamwyn feel sure that he was still alive. And that he possessed the crystal.
Suddenly the scarred visage moved—and spoke. The sound of the sorcerer’s hoarse voice bubbled out of the air. “So what lies ahead, my lord?”
My lord? wondered Tamwyn. Who could he mean?
Something shifted behind the image of White Hands. It was hard to make out, barely more than a thin trail of smoke. Or a gaseous sort of serpent. Then the smoky form itself spoke, in a voice that crackled across the sky like a bolt of black lightning. And in that moment Tamwyn knew exactly who this was. For though he’d never heard the voice before, somewhere deep within himself he recognized it instantly.
Rhita Gawr. Wicked warlord of the Otherworld, w
here he’d been banished long ago by the great spirit Dagda and the wizard Merlin.
Rhita Gawr—here in Avalon.
“My ultimate triumph,” crackled the voice, “is but a few weeks away! First will fall Avalon, this miserable world in between. And then more worlds will follow.”
White Hands, rubbing his palms, nodded vigorously. “And the sign, my lord? What will be the sign?”
The snakelike form coiled slowly. “When the great horse dies, the storm will come.” A harsh, hissing laughter filled the air. “Ah yes, my pet, it will come.”
The sky flashed again, so bright that it took Tamwyn and Elli several seconds before they could see anything. When at last they gazed skyward, they saw no more visions. Only stars. And one dark, gaping hole where a certain constellation had once shone.
Tamwyn recalled the vision of those strange, shadowy shapes emerging from the void of the missing stars. Shapes that would, he felt sure, soon appear in reality. What were they? What did they mean? And what in the name of Avalon had Rhita Gawr meant about his triumph just a few weeks away—and by those words when the great horse dies?
He grimaced. This vision had raised more questions than it had answered!
He turned to Elli, and saw the same questions on her face. As well as all the anger and hurt that he himself had caused. His heart seemed to wither in his chest.
“Listen,” he started. “I can explain.”
She shook her head, jostling her curls in every direction. “Don’t explain. Just go.”
“But Elli—”
Her eyes seemed to sizzle. “Just go”
He stooped to retrieve his staff as well as his pack, wanting to say more but certain now that it would take some time before he could even hope to speak with her. All the things he’d like to tell her would simply have to wait. Just as his plan to ask for a vision about his missing father would have to wait. How long, he couldn’t even guess.
He turned and trudged off through the snow, troubled by the demons he’d seen on high—and, even more, by the demons he’d seen in himself.
