by T.A. Barron
Coerria nodded. “Your work, my small friend, is your life. Your all.”
Just like you, High Priestess, thought Elli as she watched.
Llynia shifted her feet impatiently in the pool, splashing some water over the rim. “Will you not answer my question? What exactly is my quest?”
The Elder’s eyes widened. “To find, if you can, the true heir of Merlin. And the stars are saying that you have just three weeks to do it.”
Llynia’s cheeks, even under the green tint, went pale. “But . . . but how can I do that? No one even knows if such a person exists!”
“Quite true, my child.” The voice of the High Priestess turned raspy. “And so if you cannot find Merlin’s heir, you have but one choice left. To find Merlin himself, if he still lives.”
Fairlyn’s many arms, even the ones shooing stray faeries over the fence, froze. She released a strange, uncertain smell, like the wet wings of a fledgling about to fly from the nest—or fall to the ground.
“But—” began Llynia.
Coerria silenced her with a hand. “There is no other way to save our world, I fear. You heard the Elders yourself. Avalon’s troubles are growing like mushrooms after a rain! And the true storm has only just begun.”
“The true storm?”
“This will be a dangerous journey, Llynia. Dark days—and dark foes—await you. Even, perhaps, the child of the Prophecy. Those enemies will do anything, even commit murder, to stop you. I can only hope that your gift of Sight will help you, as well as your . . . your invitation from the Lady. But as much as I want you to go, and as much as we need you to succeed—I fear for you. And so I cannot command you to take this larger quest. I can only ask.”
Llynia swallowed. Dark foes . . . murder . . . She hadn’t been counting on all this.
Then, all of a sudden, her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re doing. You’re just trying to scare me! To frighten me off! You don’t want me to go—and certainly not succeed.” Venomously, she added, “You know exactly what it means for you if I do.”
Coerria’s eyes flashed, but her face seemed more sorrowful than angry. “Is that what you really believe?”
“You never wanted me to be your successor. Never! You only supported my selection as Chosen One at the end, because you knew my victory was assured.”
“No, my child. I supported you at the end because I came to believe that, with enough time, you would grow into a mature leader, with wisdom to match your gifts.” She shook her white head. “Instead, you have grown into—”
“An absolute ass,” called a gruff voice from the waterfall.
All eyes turned toward Nuic. The round little sprite, standing in the foaming water at the top of the falls, glared right back at them.
Llynia, her face a dark reddish green, growled angrily. “What are you doing there? I told you and your apprentice to leave!”
Nuic’s own color darkened so that it almost matched hers. “Well, I disobeyed.”
Behind the shelves, Elli cringed. No, Nuic, please. Please don’t tell them . . .
The sprite pointed a tiny hand toward the spot where she was hiding. “And so did she.”
Elli emerged, biting her lip.
“You wretch!” shrieked Llynia, stomping her feet and splashing herself with water. “I should have known you were eavesdropping. Just you wait until—”
“Be still, now.” There was a new tone in the Elder’s voice, a sternness that even Llynia couldn’t ignore.
Shaking with fury, the younger priestess obeyed—though not before she gave Elli a last withering look. She turned back to Coerria, wishing with all her heart that this old woman weren’t still her superior. No wonder the Order was struggling, with such a leader! Still, with great effort, she tried to appear calm. “But she heard . . .” She fumbled, trying to find suitable words. “But she heard about the quest.”
“So she did.” The High Priestess nodded, so that her white hair shimmered almost as much as her spider’s-silk gown. “But that’s only appropriate, since she, too, has a choice. The choice of joining you.”
Llynia nearly choked. “Her? Joining me? Why, why, I wouldn’t think of such a thing!”
“True.” The old woman’s eyes blazed. “Which is why I am commanding it. If you go, then she goes, as well—if she so chooses.”
She turned toward the apprentice. “Well, Elliryanna, my child, what do you say? This journey will be very dangerous. No one would think less of you if you don’t want to go.”
Elli licked her lips, which had gone suddenly dry. “If . . . if it would help Avalon, High Priestess, then I . . . will go.”
The Elder nodded. “So be it.”
“But I don’t . . .” continued Elli. “I don’t know how to help.”
“You can’t help,” grumbled Llynia, picking some mud off her nose. “You will only get in the way.”
“Perhaps,” said Coerria softly, “she will be more help than you expect.”
Llynia roared with rage. “And perhaps you are a mad old buffoon!”
Everyone at the Baths fell silent. But for the continuous splatter of the waterfall, the swirl of water in the pools, and the quiet buzz of Uzzzula’s wings, no sound could be heard. Not even a breath.
Finally, Coerria spoke again. “May I remind you, Llynia, that you are not yet High Priestess.” She stared straight at her until Llynia finally lowered her eyes. “And I dearly hope, if you take on this quest, that you will find something as precious as a wizard: a touch of humility.”
Llynia forced herself to nod, though her fists were clenched. “Yes, High Priestess. I . . . er, apologize. And, by your leave, I accept this quest.”
“Don’t try to fool me with your niceties, child.” The wrinkled face hardened. “It is time we spoke candidly, you and I. For we may not have that chance again.”
Sparks kindled in Llynia’s eyes. “Just what do you mean, niceties? I have always been truthful with you. As truthful as . . .”
“As a changeling! Do you really think I am so feebleminded that I haven’t seen all your schemes, all your true desires?”
The younger priestess just stared at her, temples pounding. At her side, Fairlyn quivered, as the Baths smelled of something burning.
“Hear me now, my child.” The white-haired woman’s voice grew quieter, but no less intense. “You have great gifts, indeed. But your greatest gift is also your greatest flaw.”
Llynia bristled. “If you’re going to speak candidly, as you put it, then don’t speak in riddles.” She wiped her face, and the clump of mud finally fell off her chin—leaving a dark green splotch in its place. “Say what you really mean.”
“All right, then. Your special skill may allow you to see the future. But you still lack the wisdom to understand what you see. That’s right! You are too sure. Too arrogant.” She bent closer to the priestess. “You still mistake truth, which is rarely pure, for purity, which is rarely true.”
Llynia kicked at the water in the pool. “More riddles! I can’t understand anything you’re saying.”
“Alas, my child, I had hoped you would.”
“Don’t call me child!”
Coerria gazed at her with an unreadable expression. Wistfully, she said, “Perhaps in time.”
“Time! The one thing we don’t have.” Llynia stood up, sloshing more water on the ground. Pushing Fairlyn’s outstretched arm away, she tightened the dripping towel around her body. “Well, I want you to know something, High Priestess. I’ll take this perilous journey, wherever it may lead. But not for you.”
She sucked in her breath. “No, I do this for our sacred Order. That’s the one thing that matters to me. The only thing!”
She stalked out of the Baths, ignoring the robe that Fairlyn held out to her. As she yanked open the door, however, she happened to catch sight of herself in a mirror that hung from a birch tree. Her entire body went suddenly rigid.
“What... what could... did, but—how . . .” she babbled. Then, after a lo
ng pause, she bellowed, “Aaaaaaarrggghh!”
Eyes ablaze, she whirled around to face Fairlyn. “Those cursed faeries! Look what they did to me! If I ever catch one of them, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She sputtered incoherently for a few seconds, then shouted, “By the crooked teeth of Babd Catha, I will!”
Out through the gate she stomped. Fairlyn hesitated, smelling like a mound of spoiled cabbage. With sad eyes, she glanced over at the High Priestess, then hurried through the gate after Llynia.
10 • The Staff of Merlin
The High Priestess, seated on the oaken stool, turned slowly, scanning the Baths. She took in the steaming pools, the shelves of bathing powders and oils, and the tumbling waterfall where Nuic’s bluish gray form stood amidst the spray. Last of all, she faced Elli, whose curly brown hair was thicker than the ferns surrounding the pools.
“And what of you, my child? I fear that, as difficult as Llynia’s journey will be, your own will be more so.”
The young apprentice straightened her back and pushed a tangle of curls off her brow. “I’ll do my best, High Priestess.”
Coerria looked at her warmly. She tilted her head, making her flowing white hair glisten with mist. “I know you will.”
“But . . . but . . .”
“Yes, my child?”
“I, well . . . I really don’t know why you asked me to go.”
“Because, my dear, I have faith in you.”
Those simple words filled Elli’s heart as springwater fills a flask. Then, all at once, her doubts returned. “You say that, even after knowing where I came from? Before joining the Order?”
The white head nodded. “Tell me now, do you think it’s somehow your fault that you grew up in Mudroot? That your parents were killed? That you were stolen away into slavery?”
Elli’s lip quivered. “Everything about those years was wrong! Everything . . . until I escaped from the gnomes.”
Coerria frowned. “But the wrongs weren’t yours, my child.”
The Elder opened her arms. Awkwardly, Elli knelt beside the oaken stool and rested her brow on Coerria’s shoulder, feeling the smoothness of the silken gown against her skin. As gently as thistledown landing on grass, Coerria’s thin arms embraced her. But to Elli, they felt large and strong, full of love and warmth and . . . She blinked, trying to think of the words to describe it. Like Mama’s arms, and Papa’s.
Finally, she pulled away. She found herself gazing into the old woman’s richly blue eyes—eyes as much like sapphires as Elen’s were said to have been long ago.
At last, she said, “I’ve got to go.” With a twinkle, she added, “Can’t have Llynia leaving without me, can I?”
Coerria smiled at her. “No, can’t have that.” But as Elli started to rise, the white-haired priestess commanded, “Wait. There is something I must tell you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “A secret.”
Elli raised her eyebrows. “Tell me.”
A strange gleam came into the High Priestess’s eyes. “In just a moment. But first, Elliryanna, I’d like you to tell me something. Just why, after you escaped, did you come here?”
Elli blushed and turned aside. But as she moved, her little harp struck Coerria’s knee. It made a soft, ringing note that swelled in the misty air.
“Ah,” said the Elder. “I should have guessed. It was because of your father, wasn’t it?”
Slowly, Elli nodded. “He always said he loved it here.”
Coerria stroked the side of the harp. “Did he really make this himself?”
“When I was five. From a maple burl. And he made the strings from sea kelp from the southern shores of Malóch.”
“And the gnomes let you keep it?”
Elli’s expression darkened. “Only because I played it for them whenever they commanded.” She swallowed. “But what they didn’t know was that playing it kept my heart—my memories, and my hopes—alive all those years.”
“I see.” The old woman brushed a finger across Elli’s cheek. “You know, I knew your father.”
“Really?”
“Only a little, I’m afraid. He traveled about quite a bit, usually with Lleu. And when he was here in the compound,” she added with a grin, “he often skipped Formal Prayers. And yet I did see enough of him to know that he was a very good man.”
She nodded—which made Uzzzula, who had been busily braiding her hair, lose track of several white strands. The tiny maryth zipped around Coerria’s head, buzzing angrily, her purple-tinted wings flashing through the steam.
But Elli hadn’t noticed. Looking up at the night sky, she said, “I wish . . . that we’d had more time together. Just to live.” Then she clenched a fist and swung at the air. “Curse those gnomes! They’ve no right to be in Avalon.”
Coerria drew a long, slow breath. “May I tell you something? Something about Avalon?”
Elli cocked her head. “Your secret?”
“No, not quite yet. But if you are going to understand the secret—and use it on your quest—you must first understand this.”
She leaned back on the wooden stool. “Avalon, as you know, has all sorts of creatures. Why, even the seven vast rootrealms hold more kinds than anyone can name! And though no one has yet explored the higher trunk or branches of the Great Tree, there could be even more creatures up there. But right here, in the Seven Realms, we have plenty: Besides humans like you and me, all the animals and birds and insects of mortal Earth are here. Plus many other mortal creatures that are found nowhere else but Avalon—museos, light flyers, water dragons, wood elves, living stones... the list is endless. Some, like the bubblefish, live no longer than a heartbeat. And others may live to be as old as the world itself.”
Over by the waterfall, Nuic cleared his throat.
The corner of Coerria’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “My goodness, those pinnacle sprites are long-lived!” She bent her head toward Elli and whispered, “As well as sassy.”
Again Nuic cleared his throat, louder this time.
“Let me see,” continued the Elder, “who else lives for ages? The giants. And, of course, the wizards and their descendants—who may be human, but whose magical blood keeps them alive far longer than the rest of us. And then, on top of all these mortal creatures, we have immortal ones, too. Creatures who came not from the mud and air and water of Avalon—but from the Otherworld of the Spirits.”
She studied Elli’s face. “Yet with all that diversity, all that variety, I think the rarest being of all is someone who can really communicate, really connect, with a different kind of creature. Who can bridge the gulf between species, or between mortals and immortals. And alas, that skill is especially hard to find in humans. That was why, after all, our founders Elen and Rhia began the practice of pairing every priestess and priest with a maryth. So that none of us would ever forget to open our ears to other songs—no matter how different the melody, or how strange the rhythm.”
Elli shook her head, and her curls bounced. “What does all this have to do with me?”
Coerria smiled. “You, my child, have suffered greatly. But those gnomes, unwittingly, also gave you a gift.”
Elli’s back stiffened. “Gift?”
The High Priestess nodded, making hundreds of delicate braids slide across the shoulder of her gown. “The gift of understanding another people, very different from your own. I cannot say how or when, but I do believe that someday you’ll be grateful for that.”
“Nothing about gnomes will ever make me grateful.”
“Perhaps not. In time, you’ll know.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then the High Priestess shifted on her stool, making her gown ripple like starlight on the sea. Seeing this, Elli’s face brightened. Gingerly, she ran her hand along the hem of the gown.
“It’s beautiful,” she said with wonder. “The most beautiful thing in Avalon.”
“That it’s not, my child. It’s no more than a dead leaf compared to the miracle of élano, which flows from th
e depths of Avalon’s roots and gives life to us all. Still, it is a remarkable bit of clothing. Woven for Elen herself long ago . . . by the great white spider of Lost Fincayra.” She peered at Elli, a curious light in her eyes. “And it’s truly wondrous to wear.”
“For Avalon’s sake!” declared Nuic, pacing on the top step of the waterfall. “Aren’t you ever going to tell her your secret?”
“Why, yes, Ancient One,” said Coerria good-humoredly. “It’s time.”
“Finally,” grumbled the pinnacle sprite. “Lots is happening out there, you know! Stars dying, droughts worsening, Elders panicking . . . ” He paused, savoring a thought. “Even some priestesses turning green. With a bit of expert help, of course.”
Elli’s hazel green eyes widened. She waved at Nuic to shush, before glancing fearfully at the High Priestess. To her amazement, the old woman showed no outrage, or even concern. In fact, her face seemed almost mirthful.
Before Elli could speak, Coerria raised her hand. “The less I hear about that, the better.”
Elli nodded. “And so . . . the secret?”
The old woman’s expression turned serious, and she drew a deep breath. “Llynia is not the first priestess, you know, to have a vision.”
“You?”
“Yes, my child, just after I became High Priestess. It was the only vision I’ve ever had. And, like Llynia’s, it was of the Lady of the Lake.”
Elli frowned. “Do you think she really saw the Lady? Welcoming her into the lair? That’s what people say she told the Council of Elders.”
Coerria shook her head slowly—until Uzzzula’s reproachful buzzing made her stop. “I don’t know, child, I really don’t. But I do hope she has—not for her sake, but for Avalon’s. Because as remote and mysterious as the Lady is, she has always shown a special concern for our Society, and our world. And right now we need her help more than ever.”
Rubbing her chin, Elli asked, “But who, really, is the Lady of the Lake?”
“All anyone knows is that she is an enchantress, very old and very wise. And terribly difficult to find! Many have tried; none have succeeded. People say she lives in the eastern part of Woodroot, what the elves call El Urien, where the forest is deepest. But no one is certain—not even Belamir, whose school is in that region.”