Shadows on the Stars

by T.A. Barron

  “Which I have.” Tamwyn stepped out from under the overhang.

  Elli started in surprise, but like Nuic, she just stared at Tamwyn, saving nothing.

  Scree’s eagle eyes widened. “Do I sense a quest coming on, little brother?”

  “Yes. But I’m not your little brother. We’re the same age, and you know it. Just because you look ten years older—”

  “And act ten years wiser,” added Scree with a smirk. Ignoring Tamwyn’s glare, he asked, “So tell us, then. What is this plan of yours?”

  Tamwyn stepped toward them on the snow. He moved slowly but deliberately, his bare feet crunching on the hardened crust. Just short of the Stargazing Stone, he stopped and drew a deep breath.

  “Well,” he began, trying not to look at Elli, “I think there’s just one thing to do.”

  “Which is?” probed Nuic, his liquid purple eyes locked on Tamwyn.

  “Go up there. All the way to the stars—before those dark shapes, whatever they are, really start to appear.”

  “And just what,” demanded the sprite, “would you do if you ever actually reached the stars?”

  “Relight them. Restore them somehow. That could be the only way to stop Rhita Gawr.”

  “But,” objected Elli, “that’s crazy! No one can do that.”

  “Lighting stars is no simple matter,” stressed Nuic.

  Still unwilling to look directly at Elli, Tamwyn spoke instead to the sprite. “Look, when those same seven stars went dark, way back at the end of the Age of Storms, Merlin said it was essential to relight them. And he found some way to do it, didn’t he?”

  “Sure, but he was—”

  “A wizard,” said Tamwyn bitterly. “And I’m not, as all of you know. I’m just a stupid fool, with a wizard’s staff.”

  His throat, suddenly dry, grew hoarse. “But maybe I could still find a way. Still figure it out.” He glanced, ever so briefly, at Elli. “Before it’s too late.”

  Elli, blinking the mist from her eyes, watched him in silence. Brionna, as observant as ever, caught the softer look on her face, but also said nothing.

  Shim, who had ambled over, shook his white mop of hair. He had, for once, heard well enough to understand, and frowned up at Tamwyn. “You is full of madness, lad. Certainly, definitely, absolutely.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m convinced it’s the only way to save Avalon.”

  “I think,” declared Nuic, “you also have another reason for going. Tell me now, hmmmpff, am I right?”

  Tamwyn swallowed. “Yes, old one, you’re right. I also want to try to find my father.”

  “Your father?” repeated Scree. “Krystallus? But he’s long dead.”

  “No one knows that for sure.”

  Scree scratched his hooked nose. “That’s true, I suppose. And if he’s even half as stubborn as you, Tam, he just might have survived.”

  Tamwyn grinned. “Everything I know about stubbornness I learned from you, brother.” Turning back to Nuic, he explained, “Maybe I can find him, somewhere between here and the stars.”

  “Hmmmpff. Or at least his torch.”

  Tamwyn caught his breath, remembering his frightful dream. “Torch?”

  The pinnacle sprite shifted on the snow. “His precious torch, said to have been a gift from Merlin himself. He carried it everywhere, on all his expeditions.” His black color rippled with a bit of red. “I heard him say once that the torch would never go out—until the moment he died.”

  Tamwyn stiffened. His mind flashed with the final moment of his dream, when his father’s body crumpled. And the torch went out.

  At last, Elli spoke again. “Listen to me, Tamwyn. You are a stupid fool. But that’s still no reason to throw your life away, questing for things that are impossible. The stars, your father—can’t you just see how crazy that is? They’re both out of reach.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Maybe there’s something we can do right here,” she continued. “In the Seven Realms. Maybe Rhita Gawr is already down here! He could be hiding in some cave, along with his minion White Hands.”

  At the mention of the sorcerer’s name, Brionna tensed. He had stolen her beloved grandfather, her only family—and left her with a scar across her back, as well as deeper scars inside. Awkwardly, Scree reached out and touched her shoulder. But she just brushed his hand away.

  “Elli,” whispered Tamwyn, “I know this is crazy. And I’m scared, too—of more things than you know. But honestly, I have to try! To see what I can do. And also to see what I’m really meant to be.”

  For a long moment, she studied him. “Just what,” she whispered back, “are you scared of? Besides the stars, and what might be up there?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid of, well, what’s . . .” He moved closer to her, working his tongue. “What’s happening inside me.”

  She peered at him, a fathomless look on her face. “I understand,” she said gently. “The same thing has been happening inside me.”

  He frowned. “No, no, it isn’t. It can’t! You don’t know what I mean, what I’m feeling.”

  Suddenly her eyes seemed to burst into flames. “Oh, I don’t? I can’t? Is that what you think, you rock-brained excuse for a man?”

  Angrily, she slid off the Stone and stood facing him. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Tamwyn. If I ever did have feelings like that for you, I’d be—well, even stupider than you!”

  “Wait, no,” he sputtered, trying to explain. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand just fine,” she snapped. “Just fine!”

  She turned and strode off, kicking up snow with every step.

  Before Tamwyn could do anything, Nuic tugged on his leggings. “Did I ever tell you, my boy, about your remarkable way with women? It’s a quality you inherited from your grandfather Merlin.”

  Tamwyn merely growled at him and started after Elli. Then, abruptly, he halted. He stood as still as the snow-frosted rocks all around, his expression one of utter surprise.

  Someone else was approaching—someone he recognized instantly from the songs of bards. But Tamwyn had never expected to see this creature. Not in all his years of trekking. For the bards, with good reason, called her the most elusive beauty in all the lands.

  4 • Bonds of Two Brothers

  Tamwyn’s jaw went slack. Though his bare feet sank deeper into the cold snow, he didn’t care. This was the sight of a lifetime—a creature more of legend than reality.

  He glanced over at Elli, who had also stopped in her tracks. By the Stargazing Stone, Scree, Brionna, Nuic, and Shim all stood in silence. Even the irrepressible Henni stopped swinging from his upside-down perch and simply gaped at the creature.

  It was the Sapphire Unicorn. She was, as all of them knew, unique. While there were a few other unicorns with patches of blue in their horns or manes, only this one shone deep blue all over, as if her whole body were a glowing gemstone. Long ago, at the very moment that Merlin’s mother, Elen, arrived in Avalon, the first creature she had seen was the Sapphire Unicorn—and since then, this exquisite being had come to symbolize all that was rare and wondrous in the world. For through all the ages of Avalon, there had been one—and only one—of her kind. The sight of her was just as unusual, and full of portent, as an appearance by the Lady of the Lake: Sometimes centuries would pass between sightings. And then, without warning, some voyager in a remote region would catch a glimpse of her spiraling blue horn.

  She loped up the steep slope to the summit with the ease of a gentle wind, her head held high, her hooves kicking up puffs of sparkling snow. Her horn glowed lustrous blue, as did her fetlocks, her mane, and her flowing tail. Powerful thigh muscles flexed as she bounded over the drifts.

  It was her eyes, though, that most arrested Tamwyn. Deep as an endless slice of sky they were, and just as blue. There was something old about them, as old as the Great Tree itself. They seemed to shine with the sorrows and hopes of all living creatures. And yet they gleamed with new
ness, too—as vibrant as the first rays of light from a newborn star.

  Struck by the unicorn’s beauty, Tamwyn could barely breathe as he watched her climb toward them, her hooves clicking quietly across the snow-frosted rocks. He had known, from the songs of bards, about her elusiveness as well as her beauty. But he found himself, even so, amazed by her loveliness.

  She’s like grace come alive, he mused. Too beautiful, almost, for a mortal creature.

  Mid-stride, the Sapphire Unicorn turned her head and fixed one of her eyes on Tamwyn. Instantly, he realized that she had heard his thought. And then, in a full, whinnying voice, she spoke directly into his mind:

  Perhaps that is so, young man. But I come on an errand fraught with misery and grief.

  Tamwyn tensed, twisting his feet in the snow. And what is this errand, graceful one?

  Soon you shall know. For it was the Lady of the Lake herself who sent me.

  “The Lady,” he said aloud, surprised. Could this be somehow connected to last night’s vision? And to his decision to go to the stars?

  At that instant the unicorn leaped over a mound of loose rocks and loped straight toward Elli, who smiled broadly as the shimmering creature trotted right up to her. As a gentle breeze rippled the unicorn’s mane, she studied the young woman carefully. Then, tilting her head, she offered a small shred of cloth that she’d been holding at the edge of her mouth.

  Elli took it—and abruptly went pale. She looked anxiously over her shoulder at Nuic and Tamwyn. “A piece of Coerria’s gown! The one worn only by the High Priestess. She must be in trouble!”

  Unbidden, Tamwyn caught the thoughts of the unicorn. More trouble, young woman, than you can imagine.

  “I’ll go to her,” declared Elli. She squeezed the silky shred in her hand. “Right away.”

  The Sapphire Unicorn’s ears twitched anxiously. She shook her head, scattering the hair of her mane.

  Again, Tamwyn caught her thoughts. He shouted to Elli, “She wants you to go first to the Lady of the Lake!”

  “But why?” demanded Elli. “Coerria is the one in danger, not the Lady. And I must—”

  At that instant, a strange green shoot, capped with a dark red bud, popped right out of the snow beside the unicorn. It shivered a bit, swelled in size, and lifted to its full height. Meanwhile, the bud swiftly opened into a magnificent flower.

  Everyone, including the unicorn, stared at it. A flower in winter? thought Tamwyn, astonished.

  Even if it hadn’t appeared in the midst of a snow field, atop a remote mountain peak, this flower would have seemed miraculous. Though only seconds old, it stood nearly as high as Elli’s knee, with a single bell-shaped blossom and no leaves. A deep red color glowed on its largest petals, while the rest were darker, the color of dried blood. It gave off a scent like lilac blossoms, which seemed impossibly sweet on this frozen mountainside.

  The unicorn’s ears lay back, and she swished her flowing tail. Gracefully she bent her head to look more closely at the flower. Her great blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  Tamwyn, though, felt a sudden sense of foreboding. He raised his hand, and was about to shout, when someone else called out first.

  “Wait,” yelled Scree. He sprinted through the snow toward the unicorn, his muscular legs pumping. “This feels wrong. I’ve lived on mountains all my life, and never seen a flower like that!”

  The unicorn simply ignored him. Bending her head to the flower, she sniffed at it with wide nostrils, drinking in the sweet smell.

  “Wait!” shouted Scree and Tamwyn in unison.

  Gently, she touched one of the bloodred petals with the tip of her spiraling horn. All at once, the flower exploded with a thunderous roar that echoed across the summit and the surrounding ridges. As if it had been made of glass, the flower shot out dozens of jagged shards—which struck the unicorn with devastating force.

  She shrieked in agony, a heartrending whinny. Staggering, she fell on her side, kicking wildly in the snow. Her horn, which had been hit directly by several shards, lost its lustrous glow, sizzled, and then broke apart, crumbling into flecks of ash that blew across the slope. A shard had also lodged in her eye, tearing a wide gash in the crystalline blue. Meanwhile, all over her magnificent body—her long neck, her sturdy haunches, her elegant nose—gaping wounds appeared. Fountains of silver-blue blood spurted from them, staining the snow all around, as the creature writhed in pain, whinnying helplessly.

  It was over in seconds. Elli, who had been standing behind the unicorn and so hadn’t been hit, screamed in horror. Before she could even think to pull out her gourd that was filled with healing waters from the Secret Spring of Halaad, the great being shivered and fell still.

  The Sapphire Unicorn, whom bards had long celebrated as the most elusive beauty in all the lands, was no more.

  Elli fell to her knees in the snow beside the gruesome corpse. “Why?” she cried, hurling her question across the mountainside.

  Tamwyn charged forward, his mind reeling. Who had done this? Why would anyone destroy such a wondrous creature, the only one of her kind? To keep her from completing her mission for the Lady? Or some other reason?

  Suddenly, he knew. Rhita Gawr did this. I’m certain. And then he realized something else: This terrible trap might not have been meant for the unicorn! That deadly flower could have been set to explode when the first person with any magical power touched it.

  He caught his breath. That flower could have been meant for him.

  “Aaaagh,” came a moan from near the corpse. It was Scree!

  Tamwyn, Elli, and Brionna ran over. Scree was crouching in the snow, squeezing his thigh, his rugged face contorted in pain. Blood dribbled from a tiny gash above his knee, soaking his leggings. “One of those shards . . . hit me. And it’s working its way in deeper, I can feel it.”

  Bending his other leg with the dexterity of an eagleman, he scratched at the wound with his sharply pointed toenails, trying desperately to remove the shard. But the blood flowed freely, more than his scratching alone should have caused.

  “Wait,” commanded Elli. “This will help.”

  She pulled out her water gourd and poured several drops onto the wound. As the magical liquid seeped in, Brionna stepped to her side. The two women traded a grim glance, each of them recalling the day when that same water had healed the elf maiden’s gashes—and saved her life.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Tamwyn anxiously. “The potion’s not working! “ He knelt and pressed his hand against his brother’s wound.

  Blood flowed more and more, seeping through Tamwyn’s fingers. It poured over Scree’s thigh, painting the snow dark red. The young eagleman slumped back on the snow.

  “Too much blood,” he said weakly. “Just a little thing . . . shouldn’t bleed like this.”

  “And shouldn’t keep bleeding,” added Elli, confused. “Not after the water.”

  Shim pushed his way through the snow, his face a mass of worried wrinkles. In his arms he carried Nuic, whose color had shifted to somber gray. The pinnacle sprite gazed down at Scree, then said, “This is evil, such as I haven’t seen since the War of Storms.”

  “Have you got any herbs that could help?” asked Elli.

  Nuic frowned. “No herbs can help with this. Nor any magic I know.”

  “What are we going to do?” cried Brionna, her hands twisting the end of her long braid. “He’ll bleed to death.”

  Elli turned to Tamwyn. “Your powers! Use them.”

  He didn’t answer. For he was already wrestling with the same idea—and with his own fears. If he tried to call on his new powers, and lost control, he could destroy Scree. But if he did nothing—

  He ground his teeth, thinking hard. All the other times he’d tried to direct those powers, to guide them with his thoughts, he’d failed. And he’d never dared to turn his powers on someone he knew and loved, someone he couldn’t even hope to think clearly about.

  Think clearly about . . .

  “Aa
aagh,” Scree moaned painfully. He writhed on the snow, much as the unicorn had done just moments before. Elli touched his brow, her face contorted with fright.

  Think clearly . . .

  All at once, a new idea struck Tamwyn. Maybe thinking clearly wasn’t the point. Nor any kind of thinking! That could be just the wrong way to direct his magic. Maybe it had to be guided by something deeper than thought. Something not from his head, but from his heart.

  “Tamwyn!” shouted Elli. “He’s going to die.”

  “No,” he declared.

  Placing both his hands on Scree’s thigh, he did more than just press against the wound. He closed his eyes, searching within himself for his powers, and for whatever feelings could guide them. But the only feeling he sensed now was fear. He could kill Scree with just the slightest mistake! And he didn’t even know what powers he was looking for. All he knew was that now, for the very first time, he desperately wanted to find them.

  Come, my powers, he commanded. Grow strong! This time I really need you.

  But he felt nothing. Just the surging of Scree’s blood, running thick and warm through his fingers.

  He dug deeper into himself. Powers, whatever you are, help me! Now his strongest feeling was another kind of fear—for the life of his brother. And with it came an edge of panic, rising swiftly.

  But he could tell that this still wasn’t enough. He searched his feelings, hurrying through emotions like a man dashing blindly through a forest at night. Loyalty. Guilt. Sympathy. Sorrow.

  Nothing happened.

  Then, from somewhere far away it seemed, he heard another long, wrenching moan.

  Tamwyn’s eyes closed tighter, holding back his tears. He just couldn’t do it! Scree—his only brother, his only family—was dying. And it was Tamwyn’s fault. He could save him, even now, if only he knew how!

  His hands gripped the bloody flesh more tightly. Memories flooded through him, visions of their rough-and-tumble adventures together as children, their quarrels, celebrations, discoveries, and losses. Their years of painful separation. Their surprising reunion, less than a month ago. Their special way of speaking that went beyond any words, any language known by others.