by T.A. Barron
She caught herself before finishing the word. But Shim knew what she’d meant to say.
“A giant,” he said glumly. “Go on.”
“Well, Gasher had never attacked a faery colony before that day. Which is why he caught us by surprise. Killed everyone but me. And stole our precious crystal.”
She shuddered, making her bells sound like breaking glass. “All this makes frightful sense—I see that now. Gasher serves Stangmar, who must have promised him great rewards for doing the king’s dirty work.”
“Including stealing Treasures.”
“Right,” wailed the faery. “I can’t imagine what terrible things Stangmar could do with the crystal’s enormous power!”
“What exactishly,” asked Shim, “is that power?”
“Leaping instantly to another place,” she answered. “That’s why we call it the Leaper. Its power lets you move in a heartbeat to any other place, no matter how far away.”
“In a heartbeat,” repeated Shim, awestruck.
“One more thing,” continued Elf. “Legends say the Leaper can only be used by someone whose heart is true and whose motives are right.”
“Then what could the wickedly king possibly do with it?”
The faery chimed some somber notes. “The legends also say that the crystal could possibly be corrupted, turning its power to death and destruction. If it ever fell into the wrong hands . . . it could be changed into a weapon that’s able to cast foes—even whole armies—to their deaths.”
Enraged, Shim vowed, “We can’t let that happen!”
“True. If the king could change the Leaper into a weapon like that, he and Gawr could wipe out anyone who dares to oppose them.”
Standing up, Shim turned toward the waterfall. Swiftly, much faster than he’d expected, he felt calmed by its beauty and grace. He gazed thoughtfully at the cascade of water—a lovely liquid curtain, endlessly flowing. Mist from the falls caressed his face; splashing and swishing filled his ears.
Quietly, he spoke—as much to himself as to his friend. “Despite all our troubles, there is still so much beauty in our world. Beauty that needs saving . . . and helping . . . and loving.”
Turning to the faery on his shoulder, he added, “Which is why we are going to get back your crystal.”
“We?”
“Yes indeedily! What do you say to that?”
She glowed bright from the tips of her wings down to her toes. “I say thank you, Big Friend!”
She scrutinized him, still not sure she could believe her ears. “You would really do that? You would make us a team?”
“A truly intrepidly team.”
Her light dimmed. “But we have a serious problem.”
“I know,” he said anxiously. “How are we ever going to defeat such a terribibulous foe? Even when I was all bigly and strong, that wyvern was almost too much for me.”
“That’s a problem, for sure. But before we even get to that one . . . we have another.”
Shim cocked his head. “What?”
“We don’t have even the slightest clue where Gasher might be. Or whether he still has the crystal—though most likely he kept it for a while, just to possess it. But even if he still has it, we probably won’t have much time left before he delivers it to Stangmar!” She shook her bells despondently. “This is a very big island, with hundreds of places for wyverns to hide. So we have no idea at all where to look.”
Both of them abruptly froze. Something was emerging from the waterfall!
Slowly, from a spot in the cascade above Shim’s head, it pushed out of the falls. Delicate and glistening, it stretched outward, reaching toward them.
A hand.
18.
SECRET HIDEAWAY
The hand, looking almost as liquid as the waterfall itself, reached out from the flowing curtain. Shim and the luminous faery on his shoulder both watched, entranced, as the watery fingers stretched toward them.
“Somelyhow,” said Shim, “I don’t feel afraid as much as . . .”
“Amazed,” finished Elf. “Just amazed.”
The hand, now fully protruding from the waterfall, abruptly stopped. Then, as water flowed around its wrist, the hand beckoned to the companions.
“It wants us to come closer,” said the faery, sounding her warning chimes.
“No. Methinks it wants us to come . . . inside.”
They traded uncertain glances, then Shim stepped forward. Covering Elf with his hand to keep her from getting washed away, they entered the tumbling cascade. Water crashed down on top of them as they moved through the falls.
And then, all at once, they entered a wondrous chamber, unlike anything they’d ever known.
They stood inside the falls, directly behind the torrent of water. Mist, shot through with rainbows, swept around them ceaselessly. Strange translucent plants, part liquid and part solid, sprouted from the walls and dangled from the ceiling like fruity dewdrops—some resembling cherries, apples, and pears, while others were simply liquid leaves that dripped constantly. One wall held a row of slender, pointy vegetables, hanging like icicles that sparkled with silver-colored frost. Nearby grew rich green moss that seemed to flow down a face of rock, next to a bubbling, translucent tree that resembled a slow-motion fountain.
“Thank you for joining me, brave travelers.”
Shim and Elf turned to see a woman with deep blue-green eyes and silver braids that flowed like sunlit streams down to her waist. Wearing a rippling, sea-green gown and an amulet made from an iridescent shell, she radiated elegance. Gracefully, she bent to sit on a stone so that she could face her guests directly rather than look down on them.
Gesturing around the chamber, she asked, “Do you like my watery home?”
Elf waved her antennae, making them chime sweetly.
“Oh yes,” answered Shim. “It’s so wetly wonderful in here.”
She grinned. Then, speaking rhythmically with the cadence of ocean waves, she explained, “I made this secret hideaway many years ago, when I sensed the first little rivulets of trouble forming . . . in case they should ever swell into raging rivers. Rivers that could drown our beloved isle of Fincayra.”
Shim tilted his head, trying to understand. “You mean trouble from King Stangmar?”
The woman fingered the spiral shape of her amulet. “Yes.”
“You know him, then?”
“Yes,” she answered somberly. She stared off into the distance for a moment. “You see . . . he is my son.”
Shim almost fell over backward into the curtain of falls. “Then you are . . .”
“Olwen.” She bowed her head in greeting. “I imagine you have heard a few stories.”
“Only one, and it’s a beautiful one,” replied Elf, shaking the moisture off her wings. “About your love for our wizardking Tuatha—a love so great that you left your ancestral home under the sea to join him.”
Olwen nodded. “That is true. I also gave up my graceful merwoman’s tail, trading it for these.” She patted her legs. “And I would do that again a hundred times, so deep was our love for each other.” She sighed. “I just never expected that our time together would end so soon.”
Shim grimaced. “So it’s true, then? Tuatha defeated that wickedly Gawr and banished him to the spirit realm, but died in the process. How horribobulous!”
“That’s the right word for it. And now my son has taken the throne.” Her voice roughened like waves crashing on a rocky shore. “But he is merely a tool for Gawr, who manipulates him from the spirit realm.”
She turned her blue-green eyes up to the ceiling, recalling some painful memories. “The first command that came from Gawr was to kill me, since I represent a threat to Stangmar’s rule. So I was forced to escape, running for my life from the new king—my own son.”
She faced them again, her eyes
as misty as the air of the hideaway. “At least, before I left, I helped his wife, Elen, escape with their young son, my grandson—a boy they call Emrys . . . though I suspect he will someday earn a true name, one befitting a wizard. If, that is, he survives! Unlike Stangmar, the boy has the gift of drawing magic from nature. So he, too, threatens the king’s power . . . and Gawr’s control.”
She paused, biting her lip. “I only hope the Living Mist and the ocean beyond will be kind to them. Elen’s plan is to journey all the way to the world of mortals, her homeland, where Stangmar can never find them. Perhaps my kin, the merfolk, will guide them to safety. That’s possible, since the boy has some of my mer blood in him. But there is no way to know.”
Lifting her amulet, she placed the shell against her ear, listening. She held it there for a long moment, her expression wistful. Whether she was just hoping to hear its familiar sound of the sea, or perhaps even a word of encouragement, the companions couldn’t tell. But they stayed silent until she finally lowered the shell.
“Even now,” Olwen continued, “the king’s army of gobsken and ghoulliants are slaving night and day to transform an ancient temple into his fortress, a castle that will forever spin on its foundation. It will be dreadful—and impossible to attack.”
She shook her head. “It pains me to see that old temple destroyed. Long ago, it was built over a sacred spring and dedicated to Lorilanda. You already know, I’m sure, that she is the great goddess of birth, flowering, and renewal—as well as the partner of Dagda. But you might not know that Lorilanda is especially revered by my people, because so much of the life of this world resides in water—the oceans, the rivers, the lakes, the streams. So it was natural to build her temple over a spring with its own special magic. In fact, there is no place on Fincayra with more power . . . outside of Druma Wood and the Crystal Cave of Elusa. Which is why Gawr wanted to put the new castle there at the spring—to tap into that magic and divert it to evil.”
She scowled. “Bad as that is, Gawr has ordered Stangmar to do something even worse—to send his most vicious warriors to destroy the giants! It doesn’t even matter to Gawr or my son that the giants are Fincayra’s oldest people, a race that deserves to be honored, not hunted. All because of some prophecy called—”
“The Dance of the Giants,” completed Shim. With a shudder, he said, “I know this to be truly.”
“How?”
He drew a deep breath and stood his tallest. “Because, Lady Olwen, I am a giant! Not a giantly giant, I know—just a little giant. But, believe me, I really am one.”
She listened, watching him closely. And most strikingly, she did not laugh.
With a jostle of bells, Elf spoke up. “Stangmar has also sent his warriors and allies to hunt for the Treasures of Fincayra.”
Olwen peered at the faery with compassion. “Like the Leaper.”
Elf bobbed her antennae. “But why?”
“Because the Treasures, including the crystal guarded for so long by your people, hold enormous power. And Gawr wants to turn that power to evil purposes, corrupting all the Treasures into weapons.”
“That’s why,” declared the luminous faery, “we must find the Leaper before it’s too late.” Her glow dimmed. “The trouble is . . . we have no idea where to look for Gasher, the purple wyvern who stole it.”
Olwen gazed at her guests for several seconds, fingering her amulet. At last, she announced, “I do.”
Both Shim and Elf caught their breath.
“As a child,” Olwen explained, “I played along the southern coast of the isle, in the shallows near the fabled Shore of the Speaking Shells.” She tapped her amulet. “Where I found this old friend.”
Leaning closer to the companions, she went on. “One day, in the cliffs just west of that place, I discovered a nest of wyverns. Purple wyverns.”
Elf radiated blue light. “That’s where Gasher must be! Oh, thank you for helping us!”
“Yes,” agreed Shim. “You are a greatly friend.”
She locked gazes with him. “And you, I am certain, are much more than you seem. I can see the giant in you, even now.”
Shim puffed out his chest. “Thank you muchly, great Lady.”
Olwen’s oceanic eyes turned to the faery on his shoulder. “You, too, have a great heart, much bigger than your body. I am sure your family is very proud of you.”
Elf’s light dimmed like the moon hidden by clouds. “I lost my whole family when the Leaper was stolen.”
Olwen looked at her with great compassion. “So you have no mother or father?”
The faery’s wings sagged.
Her voice a mere whisper, Olwen said, “I can understand your loss, little one. For I am a mother who lost her only child. He may still be alive . . . but he’s no longer my son.”
No one spoke for some time, as the falls flowed, the liquid plants dripped, and the mist swept all around them.
Finally, Shim said quietly, “My father, somelybody told me, died fighting against Gawr. But I don’t even remember my mother.”
Olwen reached out her hand and gently stroked his cheek. “You once had a mother, you did. She is with you even now—in ways you may not fully understand.”
She smiled lovingly. “And I am certain that she would see the giant you truly are.”
Again Shim felt the sudden surge of longing—and the painful emptiness that came with it. A voice he couldn’t quite recognize whispered in his memory something about the true meaning of bigness. But who had said that to him? And why?
As Olwen withdrew her hand, the little giant continued to look at her. “Maybily someday your son will remember the wonderful mother who is still inside him.”
“That,” she replied, “is the kindest thing anyone has said to me in a very long time.”
Shifting her gaze to the luminous faery, Olwen declared, “May Lorilanda strengthen you, little one. For centuries, your people have guarded the Leaper and kept it safe. Now it needs your protection, more than ever.”
Elf chimed resolutely. “That is my quest. The crystal can’t become a weapon for Gawr!”
“Right,” agreed Olwen. “What will happen to the other Treasures of Fincayra remains a mystery. But the fate of this one, the Leaper, is up to you.”
“And me,” declared Shim. “It’s my quest, as well.”
On his shoulder, Elf brightened.
But Olwen shook her head. Studying Shim, she said, “The Leaper is only part of your true quest. Maybe even the smaller part. Trust me—I feel sure of that.”
Confused, he peered back at her. “Saving the Leaper will be perilously enough! If that’s not my only quest, then what else do I need to do?”
She drew a deep breath of the misty air. “That’s for you to discover.”
“I just hope I’ll survive that longishly.”
“So do I,” replied Olwen.
“And so do I,” echoed Elf.
Straightening her back, Olwen looked at them with a mix of hope and fear . . . as well as admiration. “Go now, brave travelers. But you must hurry! If that wyvern hasn’t already given the Leaper to Stangmar and Gawr, he will soon!”
Shim and Elf nodded with grim resolve.
“Here is something to give you strength on your journey.” Olwen reached up and plucked a pear-shaped fruit from a vine. As she offered it to her guests, it shimmered and sparkled like a watery crystal. “My aquapears have just ripened.”
Shim received the fruit with both hands as the faery floated down to it. Elf took the first bite, then Shim followed. Nectar ran down both of their chins as they swallowed their first morsels of the luscious, sweet flesh. Eyes open wide with delight, they kept eating, taking many more bites, until the aquapear had been reduced to just a tiny stem and a few seeds.
“Fank woo muchwee much,” said Shim through a mouthful of fruit.
Elf glowed and rang her golden bells melodiously.
Watching them eat, Olwen smiled. As they finished, her smile faded away. “Farewell, brave ones. Great danger awaits you . . . and great hope for Fincayra goes with you.”
19.
BEWARE
Fueled by Olwen’s exquisite fruit, the companions left her waterfall hideaway and set off immediately. Shim strode as fast as his little legs allowed, while Elf chose to ride on his shoulder, her glowing wings pressed close against her back. Over the rolling hills they trekked, always aiming southwest, toward the Shore of the Speaking Shells.
After several hours, they reached the edge of the mighty River Unceasing. Crossing it proved far more difficult for Shim than last time, both because the river had widened greatly toward its delta and because he couldn’t just step right across as he’d done before. Only after another hour of searching did they find a bridge of river stones close enough together that Shim could hop from one to the next. But the stones didn’t reach all the way to the other side, so Elf took flight and Shim dived from the last stone into the swiftly flowing water. Madly, he swam to the opposite shore. Though the current carried him a good ways downstream, he finally pulled himself onto the bank, soaked and bedraggled.
“Swimming is for fishes and merpeoples, not for me!” He shook his wild mane, spraying Elf, who was hovering right above him.
“You made it, though.” With a sarcastic jingle of bells, she added, “No danger of you ever becoming a merman.”
“No, surely not.” He felt the urge to say, Certainly, definitely, absolutely—but resisted. Those words belonged to his past.
Before long, they started walking again. Soon the landscape to the west grew more verdant with shrubs and grasses that vibrated with life. Colorful birds soared overhead, weasels and foxes prowled, butterflies darted and crickets sang, while young deer leaped gracefully over pools and stones. A long-billed curlew whistled mellifluously from the grasses. In the distance, the greenery deepened even more, melting into a swath of enormous trees that reached majestically skyward.