Taliesin swooped back for her. When he reached her side, he said, “Very interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone transform into a nighthawk before.”
So she wasn’t an owl. “How are you able to talk?” Ursula tried to say, but it just came out as a series of screeches.
“Practice. Lots of practice. Just follow me, and you’ll be fine.” He arced away from her, this time heading back toward the castle. Ursula followed him, soaring higher into the briny air. The wind rushed over her feathers while below the ground peeled away. Exhilarated, she swooped over the castle’s turrets and glimpsed its spindly spires gleaming in the moonlight. A circular wall surrounded the keep, and mist whirled over the ground, gathering in leeward eddies between the towers. Faint lights sparkled in the narrow windows. In which of those rooms was Bael, and had he been imprisoned too?
They soared past the castle to the peaked ridge, and over the darkened forest of apple trees. The mix of mist and blossoms was inviting, like a soft white carpet, and Taliesin flew lower, breaching the forest’s canopy. Gracefully, he glided between the branches. She chased him, thrilling as her wings caught the night air. They passed the clearing where she’d first met Nimue’s handmaidens, then they dove back into the forest of apple trees.
Above them the canopy of blossoms thickened and the tree trunks widened. Between the giant tree trunks, the air stilled. It was deathly quiet, like the entire forest was holding its breath. Taliesin winged forward over the rich soil. Ursula followed close behind, as the trees became denser. Below them the moss of the forest floor gave way to a thick carpet of vines and nettles. It was a strange juxtaposition—delicate clouds of apple blossoms above a wiry sea of thorns. As the forest darkened, a shiver ran over Ursula’s feathers.
Suddenly Taliesin swooped up as they approached a giant oak. Burls and the ragged stumps of broken branches gnarled its massive trunk. Taliesin landed on a thick bough, and Ursula alit next to him, her heart racing, wings burning with fatigue.
“Once you’ve rested a moment, I’ll take you inside.” But as Ursula caught her breath, Taliesin was already launching off his perch, with a shrill “Follow me.” He swooped around the tree’s trunk to a narrow hollow. As he dove for it, he folded his wings to fit inside.
Ursula made another circle around the tree before attempting the maneuver, then she folded her wings and slipped into the opening. Inside, she found not a soft nest, but a sort of shoot of slippery wood. She scrambled to balance herself, but only managed to slide down forward on her chest. Like a playground slide, the smooth wood in the oak spiraled downward. She slid down in darkness until light bloomed in front of her, and she skidded onto a dusty stone floor.
Blinking at the glare, she hopped to her feet. Before she could get a good glimpse of her surroundings, Taliesin launched into an Angelic spell, and her wings began to twist and crack. The feathers crawled back into her skin, while her arms and legs regrew. At the last word of the spell, her back spasmed, and she cried out with pain.
“Nice flying,” said Taliesin, perched on a twisted root. Ursula straightened, surveying her surroundings.
Ursula frowned. “Next time, please ask permission before transforming me into a bird.”
Taliesin cocked his head. “This is where I leave you. Merlin asked to speak to you alone, and I must catch dinner for the missus.”
“Where exactly are we?”
Instead of answering, Taliesin flapped his wings and flew through the hole from which they’d entered, leaving Ursula alone in the candlelit room.
She shivered at the cold draft rising from the stone floor. In her human form she was far too big to fit through the hole in the tree that led back to the forest, and she hugged herself, stepping up to the door. It was made of oak planks, the bark rough and untouched. There was no handle. Holding her breath, she raised a hand and knocked.
She heard no reply, just a soft creak as the door slowly opened to reveal a cavernous hall filled with books that reached for the high oak ceiling. It was a chaotic, labyrinthine library of sorts. Lining the walls and in piles all over the floor lay hundreds of dusty tomes. Beeswax candles lit the room, some in brass candleholders, some simply affixed to the top of particularly tall towers of books.
From the shadows between two stacks of books, an old, gray-haired man appeared. Wearing a dark navy cloak, he moved toward her in a quick, twitchy jerks, like a marionette. “Ursula, come in, come in. Welcome to my home. I’m sorry for sending Taliesin, but it’s impossible for me to leave the tree. You see, it was imperative that we meet.”
“Merlin, I presume.”
“The one and only.” He grinned, his eyes flashing in the candlelight. “You and I have much to discuss, but first we must get you something to eat. Would you like some rabbit stew? You must be famished. Flying about in the night always whets one’s appetite.” He spoke quickly in a staccato burst of words. “Taliesin caught the rabbit for us earlier.”
Before Ursula could answer, he had turned back into the stacks. She could see now where Taliesin had learned his selective approach to answering questions. A maze of passages and corridors wound between the books, candlelight dancing over their yellowed pages and spines, and the room smelled of rich meats and dusty leather. Merlin moved swiftly, twisting sideways to squeeze through narrow gaps between the volumes.
At last, he stopped at a clearing in the stacks—a sort of rounded room. A wall curved around one side, inlaid with shelves interrupted by a single narrow window. A small fire burned in a cast iron stove, and warm light wavered over a roughly hewn table, strewn with papers.
“Welcome to my home,” said Merlin.
“Where exactly are we?”
“This is Avalon’s great oak.” Merlin walked toward the window, peering thorough it at a lush thicket of vines. As Merlin approached, the vines writhed against their roots, straining toward him as if desperate to touch him.
He stepped away from the window and hurried over to the iron stove, then lifted a lid from a Dutch oven. Sniffing, he declared, “Perfect, if I do say myself.”
He muttered something in Angelic, and a small earthenware bowl appeared in his hand. With a practiced flick of his wrist he dipped it into the pot. He turned to Ursula, offering a bowl of steaming stew, then he paused.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he muttered. “I forgot you’ll need a spoon.” With another incantation, a spoon appeared in his hand. Ursula marveled at his Angelic fluency—far superior to her own. Perfect diction, and so fast she could only understand two words in ten.
Merlin smiled. “Now, we just need something for you to sit on.”
Three seconds and another spell later, they were seated across from one another at the wooden table. Merlin closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t mind me. Eat your stew. We can talk when you’ve eaten.”
“You’re not hungry?”
“I had a bowl myself before you arrived. Terribly rude, I know, but I was famished.”
Ursula took a bite of the stew, closing her eyes to savor the rich taste—tender pieces of rabbit flavored with thyme, rosemary, and juniper berries. She lost herself in the food, practically slurping down the bowl. Merlin had been right—a spoon hardly seemed necessary.
When she’d finished, she looked up to see Merlin watching her intently. “Did you like it?”
“It was amazing. You must teach me the spell to conjure it.”
Merlin grinned, deep lines creasing his face. “No spell. That’s my mother’s recipe, and a family secret.” He laced his fingers together, knitting his extravagant silver eyebrows. “So, how was the queen?”
“The queen?” Ursula stalled. She’d been expecting a question about Kester, or Bael, or the dragons in New York. Certainly not the queen who had pronounced her some sort of abomination.
“She’s okay, I guess.”
“Still flying her birds?”
“Seemed that way.”
“I remember how she loved those little creatures,�
� said Merlin a little wistfully.
“You knew her?”
His eyes flashed. “We were lovers once—it was she who imprisoned me here.”
“I thought you were a powerful mage. A high druidic something-or-other. And you’re telling me you’re a prisoner?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I was fully aware the queen planned to steal my magic and force me into exile, but I loved her. It clouded my judgment.” He paused, stroking his beard. “Not that I’d change anything.”
Perhaps it was time to gently broach the ‘Princess of Darkness’ thing. “I don’t think she likes me.”
Candlelight glinted in Merlin’s eyes. “She knows her mind. I have no use for weak women. Which brings me to you. We need to discuss your plans and future. You know winning the sword will be difficult, but if anyone is going to convince the Lady to hand it over…” He trailed off, stroking his beard again.
What was he on about? “The Lady?” Ursula prompted.
Merlin blinked, his eyes refocusing. “If you’re to use Excalibur to defeat the dragons, you’ll need to convince the Lady to give it to you.”
“Right,” said Ursula. “My friend Kester supposedly came here to look for Excalibur, though he’s gone missing.” She leaned back in her chair. “Does this have anything to do with why the queen hates me?”
“The blade was forged with one sole purpose—defeating the dragons.”
“Okay. And this is why the queen was so afraid of me? She’s worried that I’ll steal her sword?”
“Not her sword. The blade belongs to the Lady of the Lake, on the top of the Tor, guarded by the shades of lost souls. Only she may bestow it upon a worthy knight.”
“So why is the queen afraid of me?”
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know the prophecy, do you?”
“I have no bloody clue what you’re talking about.” Ursula clenched her fingers. “I’m seriously getting tired of not understanding what’s going on.”
Merlin closed his eyes and spoke slowly.
“The end starts when magic thickens the air,
The lost, as if unburied from the soil
Uncovered from the dankest roots of oaks.
Darkling, remember. Will you ring death knells
for Mount Acidale, kingdom of fire?"
Ursula straightened, leaning forward in her chair. Agnes had repeated part of the poem on the bank of the Thames. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Merlin’s bony shoulders lifted up. “No one knows. Some think it’s gibberish, a bit of doggerel written by a man half out of his mind. But I think it references the prophecy. One day, the Darkling will come to our shores, seeking the sword Excalibur. And if we allow him to unite with it, the depths of his dark magic will know no bounds, and he will become like a god who rules us all. Perhaps the queen believes you’re the Darkling. Of course, you’re not. Anyone can see that. A hellhound’s power is intriguing, but you’re no Darkling.”
“Who wrote the poem?
“I did.”
“And you’re still not sure how to interpret it?” Merlin really was beginning to remind her of the sort of daft pensioner you’d meet on a bus sipping from a paper bag.
“It’s a bit perplexing. I had been experimenting with one of the recipes in Rose’s Mycological Manual. When I awoke I found the verse written on my napkin.”
“Mycologic—are you saying you wrote this high on hallucinogenic mushrooms?”
Merlin shrugged. “I cannot know exactly what brought about the divination, but the first part of the prophecy has already come true. Magic is returning from where it had been hidden for millennia.”
“I don’t understand. Why do you and the queen think it’s to do with me?” she asked. “Nowhere does it say anything about a hellhound named Ursula.”
Merlin closed his eyes and repeated the first line of the poem: “When magic thickens the air…” He lay back in his chair for a long moment before opening his eyes. “Would you consider yourself to be lost but now uncovered?” His eyes seemed to pierce her very soul.
“I suppose. I don’t know who I am.”
With a sudden movement Merlin hopped up from his chair. The way he vacillated from lethargy to bursts of manic energy disconcerted Ursula.
He held out a bony hand. “Give me your hand.”
Ursula did as instructed, and Merlin wrapped his thin, strong fingers around hers. He stared deeply into her eyes. His hand tightened, and she felt a sensation of water on her skin, and smelled the briny scent of sea air.
“Oh.” His eyes widened, and he dropped her hand, almost pushing it away.
“What?”
“I didn’t foresee that.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Without answering her, he chanted a word in Angelic, and she fell to the floor with the snapping and popping of muscles and bones as feathers sprouted from her arms.
Merlin stared down at her as she transformed. “Return to the Castle. You must leave Avalon at once.”
“Why?” gasped Ursula as her mouth began to transform into a beak.
“I was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. I feel the darkness within you. You will bring ruin upon us all.”
Ursula flapped her wings, rising into the air. She tried to speak, but only managed a few squawks. Merlin pulled open the window, and incanted another spell as she soared into the air. All around her, thorns writhed like a sea of snakes.
As she flew, a thorn lashed out at her, but she dove under it. Dodging another, she flapped her wings as hard as she could, the beats carrying her above the seething briar.
Okay. Now I’m really starting to think there could be something wrong with me. Apparently, every magical creature with insider knowledge thought she was some sort of monster. Even Bael did, it seemed.
She swooped around the oak, but the hollow she’d flown into had disappeared. There was also no sign of Taliesin. She was on her own.
She flew higher until she soared above the blanket of apple blossoms. The castle’s turrets and tower glinted faintly in the distance, and mist whirled around its base. In the other direction, fog blanketed the iron-gray sea. She circled in the chilly air. Merlin had told her to leave immediately, and somewhere through that fog she could find the portal back to St. Michael’s Mount. She had come to find Kester, and Kester clearly wasn’t here. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to get through the portal from this side, and she didn’t feel great about leaving Bael behind, even if he now found her presence disturbing since having learned of her origins.
Her other option was to return to the tower. The queen had said she’d be leaving in the morning, so she’d only be in Avalon for a few more hours anyway—plus, now that she thought about it, she needed to eat that apple to get her magic back. She didn’t relish explaining to Emerazel that she’d lost it yet again. Angling her wings, she turned toward the castle.
Here, above the tranquil sea of apple blossoms, Ursula almost felt at peace. Nothing more than the sound of the wind against her feathers—and yet she couldn’t hold back the rising waves of dread that churned beneath the surface of her mind. What exactly had Merlin told her? Something about a prophecy, and the awakening of magic. Did that explain the fear in Merlin’s eyes, and the queen’s? She didn’t have the foggiest notion what they were scared of, or why Mount Acidale was important.
Niniane had told her it was the sister city to Avalon. As she soared, the night wind ruffling her feathers, she tried to remember what she’d read about Mount Acidale in the library in New York—hadn’t there been a battle? And she remembered Bael mentioning it. Her brain hurt as she tried to recall what had been said. Bael had been upset when he’d learned Kester still lived. That was it. He had believed that he’d killed Kester at Mount Acidale.
Fuck. Her stomach dropped at the thought. Both Bael and Kester had been at this battle—and based on Bael’s reaction on the jetty, she had a feeling he would never tell her anything about Mount Acidale. Still, Kester
might. All the more reason she needed to speak to him.
She flew over the rocky ridge, which unfolded below her like the vertebrae of a sleeping beast. She looped around the keep and searched for Bael in its windows, soaring past one room after another, but she found him nowhere. Finally, she returned to her own tower room, exhaling a sigh of relief when she found her window still open. This time she was able to avoid any painful collisions when she flew through. She landed on her bed, her talons scrambling for purchase on the sheets.
She looked around the room, puffing her wings. She hadn’t learned the spell to transform yet—and in any case, she couldn’t speak. How was she supposed to shift back to her human form? When she tried to speak, her words came out as a series of guttural chirps. Bloody hell. Before she could fly out again to search for Taliesin, the owl’s form appeared through her window, and he spread his wings to land on her sill.
“Sorry for the delay,” he said. “Dinner ran late.” He began to speak in Angelic, and Ursula felt her bones lengthen and snap, a painful elongation. As before, the feathers retracted into her skin. Her intestines shifted into place with a sickening lurch, and she doubled over. When she straightened again, Taliesin was already gone.
She sat at the edge of her bed, staring out the window. The whole thing felt like a terrible dream. If her bones didn’t ache and her skin feel like it had been pierced with a thousand needles, she might have been tempted to believe it was just that.
Slipping under the covers, she closed her eyes. She knew she needed sleep, but as she was drifting off, her mind roiled. Niniane had said the king of Mount Acidale had been obsessed with fire magic. And Merlin had called it the kingdom of fire. Maybe that’s why Kester had gone there—to claim the king’s soul. But moreover, maybe this explained how she’d become a hellhound.
Chapter 14
Ursula awoke with a start. She could have sworn a loud noise had awakened her, but now, complete silence enshrouded the room. Sitting up in the morning light, she pulled up the shoulder of her silky nightgown.
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