by T.A. Barron
“Fell down a pit, mayhaps.”
“No, he was just here, I tell you! I saw him clear as—”
“Night. Mayhaps he really was a ghost.”
“Look! Would a ghost wear this?”
To Tamwyn’s horror, one of the winged men picked up his shawl. It must have come off when he’d fallen, just before he slid backward into the bushes! The fellow held it up, scanning the slope for any sign of its wearer. His companions did the same, their ragged wings opening and closing as they searched. One of them, Tamwyn felt sure, looked straight at him for several endless seconds.
Finally, the man cast the shawl aside. “Bah! If he did tumble down a pit, that would be the last of his story. Just what he deserves, I say.”
“Right. Call it an early sacrifice.”
“Are you sure you really saw him? Could have been that ale.”
“I saw him, all right! But some more ale would taste good right now.”
“Plenty good.”
With that, the trio turned to go. They trampled down the hillside, their harsh voices fading into the night.
Tamwyn sighed in relief. He had escaped! Now all he had to do was wriggle out of this maze of thorns without slicing himself to bits. Which wouldn’t be easy.
Slowly, carefully, he turned onto his right side. He started to squirm—when suddenly he glimpsed something astonishing. He froze. And then he blinked, making sure that he wasn’t just imagining it.
But no, it was there! Wrapped around a branch deep inside the maze of thorns. Impossible to see, except from this angle.
Mistletoe. The small, shiny leaves shone like burnished gold even in such dim light.
Twisting his body, Tamwyn stretched out one arm as far as he could. There! He wrapped his fingers around the golden bough and gently pulled it free from the thorns. Then, oblivious to the additional pokes and scrapes on his arm, shoulder, and neck, he drew it to himself. And wriggled out of the cluster of bushes.
He sat there, streaked with blood, but glad beyond words. Light from the cavern’s ceiling filtered down, faintly illuminating his body—and the prize he held in his hands. For a long moment he studied the leaves in admiration, curling them around his forearm. At last, he nodded.
For he knew exactly what he was going to do with this radiant bough.
• • •
It took more than two hours for Tamwyn to make his way back down the hillside, his head and pack covered with the shawl. Much of that time he’d spent huddled, motionless, in dark corners of the village, avoiding the roaming bands of chanters. As well as the drunkards. And he must have tripped half a dozen times, owing to his injured hip. Even now, it throbbed painfully.
Yet that did not concern him. For he stood, at last, at his destination—just outside the door to Gwirion’s humble home.
He waited until there were no passersby, and no people lurking in the shadows. Then, as quietly as the breaking light of dawn, he stepped over to the door. Gently, he removed a sprig of dried herbs that was hanging from a hook. In its place on the door, he hung the circular wreath that he had made from the mistletoe.
A Golden Wreath. Just as Mananaun had prophesied, these villagers—all that remained of a once-magnificent people known as fire angels—would now have a new leader.
A new beginning.
And perhaps, a new destiny.
Good luck, my friend, he thought as he stepped back from the door. May you someday burn as bright as the stars.
Tamwyn limped back into the shadows. Without another look back, he started once again on his trek.
29 • The New Age to Come
Llynia studied the prisoners arrayed before her. And the many spear-wielding gnomes who stood around them, filling the central chamber of the ancient temple. Her face, pale in the milky light shining through the ceiling of translucent quartz, showed the hint of a grin. With the composure of someone who could command the present, and also discern the future, she ran her fingers through her straight blonde hair.
Still savoring the reactions of Elli and Lleu, her former colleagues at the Society of the Whole, she was in no hurry to speak. After all, she was Llynia the Seer, as Hanwan Belamir had dubbed her. And this wretched group before her—who were they, really? Nothing but gnomes in human guise, closer to mosquitoes than to herself. Her grin broadened ever so slightly: Mosquitoes deserved to be swatted.
Calmly, she adjusted the band holding a deep red ruby that sat upon her brow. Then, with an air of thoughtfulness, she rubbed her green-stained chin. At last she spoke.
“You don’t look well, my young apprentice. No, not well at all.”
“How can I be well if I’m your captive? Let us go this instant!”
Llynia leaned forward on the throne, her own glare locked with Elli’s, staring so intensely that she didn’t even notice the amulet of leaves around the younger woman’s neck. Then, forcing her voice to sound calm, she said, “It is not for you to give orders, young apprentice.”
“I am not your apprentice!” Elli took a step forward, stopping only at the points of spears that pushed against her chest. “You are a disgrace to the Society.”
“Possibly so,” Llynia replied, leaning back in her throne. She fingered the clasp, shaped like an oak tree, on the collar of her robe. “But to be disgraced by an obsolete sect is actually a form of honor.” She sighed ruefully. “You, however—you are a disgrace of the worst sort. A disgrace to your own kind! To humanity, the creatures made in the true image of Dagda and Lorilanda.”
“Who taught you that, Llynia?” demanded Lleu, his hands on the hips of his Drumadian robe. “Your new mentor, Belamir?”
Even in the milky light, her face darkened. The green patch on her chin looked more than ever like a beard. “Why yes, Hanwan has taught me much. Including,” she spat, “the worthlessness of those such as you, who cling blindly to the old ways.”
“And what are the new ways?” he shot back. “Are they anything more than the comforting certainty of your own arrogance? And the unending tug of your own greed?”
Her fingers gripped the arms of the throne, squeezing tightly. “Humans are the greatest of mortal creatures! Some, though, refuse to accept that fact. For with the blessing of our many gifts comes a responsibility—to care for our world, and help its lesser creatures.”
Nuic, whose scarlet color didn’t seem the least bit dimmed by the temple, coughed as if he was choking. He squirmed in Elli’s arms, turning the Galator toward his back where it wouldn’t be seen. Then, his voice as sharp as the gnomes’ spears, he declared: “You mean to devour our world, and enslave other creatures.”
“I mean nothing of the kind!” Llynia’s outburst echoed within the quartz walls. “Don’t you understand that we have the wisdom and power to remake the world?”
Lleu’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Like you remade the compound?”
She looked, for the first time, uncertain. “What do you mean?”
“It’s all been destroyed! And with it, the life of Coerria.”
Llynia seemed to wince. “I know nothing of this.” Suddenly her expression hardened. “You are lying! Trying to trick me into straying from the path. If such a thing really were to happen, I’d have seen it in a vision. And besides,” she added coldly, “Coerria’s time is past, even as the old order is past.”
“But—”
“But nothing! This is the time of Humanity First. The rise of an age when humans will, at last, leave their mark everywhere in Avalon.”
Lleu frowned. “Can’t you see, Llynia, that it sometimes takes far greater wisdom to leave no mark at all? That it gives us far greater power, in the end, to honor all forms of life as much as our own?”
“You are mad not to understand! Animals, birds, fish in the seas—they are our children, to be led. Our underlings, to be commanded. And sometimes our foes, to be destroyed. But never, despite all those misguided teachings of Elen and Rhia, our equals.”
Again Elli spoke up. Her voice remained qui
et, barely more than a whisper. But her words seemed to swell, filling the whole temple. “Can we glow like the light flyer? Tell me. Sing like the meadowlark? Tell me. Or leap like the antelope? And tell me this, as well: Can we listen to the language of trees, as can the elves? Swim for days in the darkest depths of the sea, as do the mer people? Or fly higher than the clouds, like the eaglefolk?”
Ignoring Llynia’s prolonged, contemptuous yawn, Elli continued, her voice still quiet, yet no less ringing. Where the words came from, she had no idea. She only knew that they came.
“Those creatures I named—and all the others—they’re not just our equals. They are our sisters and brothers, our fellow journeyers, borne by the same uncertain winds of choice and chance. They share our mortal longings, our triumphs and tragedies. They deserve, no less than we do, to live and breathe and grow before they die.”
As she spoke, Nuic continued to glare at the woman on the throne. But his colors melted into blues and greens. And the maryth’s tiny hand reached out to touch the back of Elli’s wrist.
“How lovely,” said Llynia, patting her open mouth. “You speak, perhaps, of the past. Yet I, with the gift of visions, speak of the future.”
“And just what future do you see?” demanded Lleu, pushing a spearhead away from his face.
The priestess relaxed into her throne. “At Hanwan’s request, I came here two weeks ago, to offer the gnomes a chance to survive in the new age to come. To serve, while we reshape Avalon, as our helpers.”
“As your mercenaries,” grumbled Nuic.
“Helpers,” repeated Llynia. “Of course, gnomes being gnomes, I had to offer them payment.”
“Spoils of war,” corrected Nuic. “So here you are, bartering with the very same creatures you once said you detested.”
“All for a higher cause.” Her face twisted into a sly smile. “Unlike you, though, I will soon be leaving this forgettable land. I would have gone yesterday, in fact, the alliance having been forged. Then came my vision of your imminent arrival in this ruined temple of some lost religion—whose fate, I should add, was rather like the one that will soon befall the Society of the Whole.”
“And everyone else, too!” Elli stepped forward, her voice quaking with passion. “I know you hate me, Llynia. But you’ve got to listen. Rhita Gawr is here in Avalon. It’s true! He’s planning to conquer Avalon—and other worlds, too. Soon! In just—”
“Wait,” commanded the priestess, taken aback. “Rhita Gawr? Here?”
“Yes.”
Llynia leaned forward, looking more skeptical by the second. “Where did you ever hear such a thing?”
“A vision. Almost two weeks ago, on top of Hallia’s Peak. It came to—”
“A vision?” scoffed Llynia, her face reddening. “Came to you?”
“It’s true,” insisted Elli. “And not just me. Others saw it, too! Even . . . the Lady.”
The mere mention of the Lady of the Lake, whose rejection still smarted, made Llynia’s face flush even more. “How dare you try to tell me about visions? Me—a true seer! How dare you try to tell me anything, you impudent whelp?”
“Llynia,” pleaded Elli. “You must listen.”
“I must do nothing!” she snarled. “Our conversation is finished, apprentice.”
Elli glared at her, eyes aflame.
Llynia raised her hand and made a harsh, guttural sound that called all the gnomes to attention. Then, speaking slowly in the Common Tongue, she told them to take the prisoners to the underground chamber. And to keep the prisoners alive, at least as long as they caused no trouble. Although they seemed disappointed at the second part of the command, the gnomes grunted their approval. Outside the temple, monkeys chattered raucously in the jungle—but their voices seemed melodic compared to the gnomes’.
Throughout all this, the jester gnashed his teeth, considering his options. He could, of course, kill the girl, the irksome priest, and probably a few gnomes, in short order. What would that gain him, though? Even for a killer as accomplished as himself, there were simply too many of these three-fingered toads for him to get away alive. And with the crystals.
Curse that flawed portal! he thought. Everything had been going so well until then. Why, he’d even guessed correctly that the Lady had sent them to the highlord of the water dragons, to learn the whereabouts of Kulwych’s crystal. Which would, before he was through, belong not to Kulwych, but to himself.
His fingers tapped against the shaft of his cane—a slow, menacing rhythm. Control. He had to regain control. That was what he loved most about this business, after all, right down to the ultimate control of another person’s life. Or death. Nothing was more exhilarating than that!
For now, though, he’d have to wait. To bide his time. And to wait for the moment of weakness, of vulnerability, that always came. And then . . . he would strike.
At that moment, a sharp spearpoint poked him hard in the back. He whirled around to see a particularly scarred gnome, urging him to start walking. The other prisoners had already begun to move out of the chamber. Narrowing his eyes, Deth Macoll said to himself, I’ll go, you toad. But I’ll see you again before we’re through. That’s a promise.
Elli, who was at the front of the group, suddenly stopped. Despite the snarls and grunts of the gnomes around her, and their angry shoves, she held her ground and turned back to Llynia. The priestess was watching from her throne, satisfaction written all over her pallid face.
“Wait,” demanded Elli. “What was that you said about a new age to come? What exactly did you mean?”
Llynia growled some sort of command, and the gnomes’ shoving ceased. “I suppose,” she said in a leisurely tone, “it would do no harm for you to know about it. For unlike your so-called vision, this truly is coming. And soon.”
She made a mocking frown. “So sorry to tell you, though, since you will feel no end of torment. You see, there will soon be a terrible battle, a battle that will determine the fate of Avalon. And I fear that many of your dear friends will have to die.”
Elli, Lleu, and Brionna all gasped. Catha whistled uncertainly, while Nuic went completely black. Only Shim, who hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said, and the jester, preoccupied with his thoughts, showed no reaction.
Llynia continued, fingering her clasp. “Two opposing armies will soon start to gather, on the Plains of Isenwy south of here. One of them,” she said disdainfully, “is a ragtag assembly of creatures—well, come to think of it, creatures like you. Led by elves from El Urien, no doubt, since they have always had the audacity to consider themselves equal to humans.”
She paused to savor Brionna’s glare, then went on. “The elves, I am sure, have picked up a few recruits among humans—reactionary villagers, faith-blinded priests, and the like. My guess is that a few old allies from the War of Storms will join them, as well, such as eaglefolk, dwarves, and perhaps one or two others.”
She couldn’t suppress a satisfied chortle. “The other group—not really an army but a peacekeeping force—will have even more humans, those open to the teachings of Hanwan Belamir. And joining them will be many other peace-loving creatures.”
“Such as gnomes and gobsken, no doubt,” said Nuic acidly.
“Perhaps,” Llynia replied, with a wave of her hand. “But they are welcome only because they can help the higher cause.”
“Which is?” asked Lleu.
“Peace. Harmony. Freedom. All of which can only be attained, and preserved over time, if humanity takes charge.”
Elli snorted. “And for that to happen you need a war? A massacre, maybe? Llynia, just listen to yourself! You were once a priestess, for Avalon’s sake!”
“Yes,” she replied grimly. “For Avalon’s sake.” She leaned forward on the throne, peering straight at Elli. “And that is why, despite the likes of you—whose every breath mocks the special role of humanity—I have insisted to Hanwan that before the great battle begins, mercy must prevail. All the defenders of the old order will be giv
en a chance to surrender. To lay down their weapons and walk hand in hand with humanity into a bright new future.”
Brionna bristled. “Or die.”
Llynia sighed with genuine regret. “If necessary. Hanwan and I hope dearly that it will not come to that.” She scratched the dark patch on her chin, pondering. “But if that is what it takes to remake our world, then so be it.”
The prisoners traded glances—part outrage, part grief, part helplessness. Just as Llynia started to speak again, Nuic’s caustic voice cut her off.
“Congratulations, Lady Greenbeard. In no time at all, you’ve become a tyrant of gnomes, an ally of gobsken, and—though you refuse to see it—a servant of Rhita Gawr. That takes rare talent.”
Even in the milky light of the temple, her cheeks turned as red as a ripe apple. Before she could respond, though, Elli asked a question.
“Where is your maryth, Fairlyn? She always loved you, protected you with her own branches, and filled your days with wonderful smells. So where is she now?”
For the first time since they had arrived here, Llynia’s gaze faltered. The change was nearly imperceptible, but Elli noticed. She guessed that Llynia had been wounded, not just by her words, but by some deeper loss.
“She left you, didn’t she?” Elli raised her voice, driving her point home. “She just couldn’t take what you’ve become.”
Llynia’s wrathful glare returned. “Gnomes,” she barked. “Take them away. Right now!”
30 • Hidden Blood
Thud.
The heavy bar that blocked the entrance to the underground chamber slammed down. Seconds before, Elli had turned away from the door—just as the last three-fingered hands had pushed Shim through. The little fellow had stumbled and fallen against one of the granite walls. Right now, he was rubbing his sore shoulder, muttering to himself, Brionna, who looked equally glum, sat beside him, leaning against the wall.
A dungeon, Elli thought as she gazed around the cold, dank room. It felt like the inside of someone’s grave. Maybe whoever built this place used it to keep people about to be sacrificed. Or people, like me, who just couldn’t stay out of trouble.
