by T.A. Barron
Elli scooped up the sprite and scurried out of the cavern. Even as she stood, she saw Grikkolo’s peril. A pair of burly gobsken pounded up behind him, one brandishing a broadsword, the other holding a torch. He veered to the side, doing his best to run on the rock-strewn ground. But he was no match for his pursuers.
Elli dashed toward the gobsken, cradling Nuic in one arm. She didn’t know what she could do to help, only that she must try. And that she wanted to do more for the elf than she’d been able to do for Tamwyn.
“Stop!” she cried, just a few paces away, as one of the warriors drew back his sword.
Too late. The sword slashed across Grikkolo’s back. The old fellow crumpled to the ground as blood poured from his wound, soaking his tunic.
Oblivious to the gobsken who stared at her in surprise, Elli knelt beside the fallen elf. In the wavering light of the gobsken’s torch, she held Grikkolo’s head, feeling his thick white hair in her hands. Gravely, she peered down at him, then drew his body closer. If this had been Coerria herself dying in her arms, Elli could have felt no more sorrowful.
Suddenly remembering her healing water from the secret spring in Mudroot, she caught her breath. Might there still be time? Hastily she set Grikkolo down on the hard ground and reached for her water gourd. But Nuic grabbed hold of her arm.
“It’s too late, Elliryanna.”
Turning her gaze back to the elf, she knew that Nuic was right. Although Grikkolo’s large eyes were still open, they looked like icy pools, freezing fast.
The old elf blinked at her. “You?” he whispered hoarsely. “You should have . . . stayed safe.”
Elli shook her head. “Did you stay safe, my friend?”
“No,” he whispered, so weakly she could barely hear. “I am . . . just a fool.”
“Not true,” she replied. “You are—” She swallowed. “A person of great courage.”
The vaguest hint of a smile came to Grikkolo’s lips. Then he went limp, and lay still.
“Should I jest kill ‘em, too?” rasped the gobsken with the bloody sword.
“No,” answered the other. He stared down at Elli and Nuic, rubbing his chin with his three-fingered hand. “Methinks there’s something more going on. Why else would these strangers be out here? Let’s take ‘em back to the mine. Then ol’ scarface can question ‘em. An’ kill ‘em hisself.”
The first warrior grinned, his greenish tongue dancing around his lips. “Kulwych will like that.”
“Right. An’ there’ll be a goodly reward fer us.” The gobsken kicked Elli’s back. “C’mon, move! Yer our prisoners now.”
17 • The Magical Mist
Tamwyn continued to climb the mist-shrouded path, just as he’d done for several hours. Merlin’s Pinnacle was high, all right, just as Palimyst had warned him. But now it felt more like endless. Part of that feeling came from the smooth, unchanging slope of this trail that climbed steadily into the clouds. And part came from the fact that he could see nothing.
Nothing but mist.
Curling shreds of vapor—some as thick as grass snakes, others thinner than yarn—wound around his legs and slid between his toes. More threaded through his hair or curled around his neck. Unlike any mist he had ever encountered before, this vapor seemed to rise right out of the ground, weaving and braiding as it lifted. And stranger still, it seemed almost intelligent, moving with a will of its own.
Like it’s examining me, he said to himself. He brushed away a curl of mist that had wrapped itself around a lock of hair, tickling his ear lobe. Deciding whether or not I’m acceptable. Or capable.
Or, he added with a slight frown, worthy.
He recalled Palimyst’s old Taliwonn saying, making his frown deepen:
To swim within the River of Time
Thy soul must be worthy, thy motive sublime.
At least his motives were good enough! What could be more sublime than to hope to save Avalon? And in the process, to complete his father’s journey, taking his torch up to the stars?
He waved away a shred of mist that was dangling from his eyebrow. To be honest, there was one more motive—one not nearly so sublime. He simply wanted to go to the stars. To run freely among them, as he loved to run through the meadows and glades of Stoneroot.
Even so, Tamwyn knew that his problem was not whether his motives were truly sublime—but whether he himself was truly worthy. Palimyst had called him a maker, the same term Aelonnia of Mudroot had used. But could he make anything really important, really valuable?
His bare feet tramped along the pathway, pushing into the soft, damp grass that never grew any longer than the fur on a rabbit’s back. Yet strangely, he never left any footprints. Was that to be the sum of his life? To have walked many places, without ever leaving any mark?
Merlin’s Pinnacle kept rising higher and higher. He wondered how much farther it would be to the top. To the place where he’d find out whether he could, in fact, enter the River of Time. But there was no way to tell. All he knew was that this trail kept climbing upward—and that it rose in a steady spiral, always circling the misty mountain.
His thoughts turned to Palimyst, the humble craftsman with such skillful fingers. And also such wisdom, to make his goal shaping nature’s immortal gifts with his own mortal hands. The mammoth fellow had convinced Tamwyn to stay the night beneath his tent, despite Tamwyn’s sense of urgency that time was fast disappearing. But now, having climbed for so long, he was glad he’d taken a few hours’ sleep. Besides, even with his night vision, which seemed stronger than ever, he wouldn’t have wanted to walk here after starset. All this thick mist would have made the darkest night he’d ever known.
Not as dark as Shadowroot, though. Worried about Elli, he tugged on the strap of his pack, jostling the harmóna wood within. A soft, melodic hum came from the half-finished harp, someday to be fitted with the strings from Palimyst.
Tamwyn grinned wistfully, despite his worries. It always lifted his spirits to hear that sound. He tapped the sheath of his dagger, whose blade bore those mysterious, ancient words about Rhita Gawr. Someday, when all this was over, he would finish carving the harp. Yes, and give it to Elli at last!
If we survive, that is. His grim mood returned, as he continued to trudge up the trail. And Avalon, too, must survive.
His only hope, he knew, was to enter the River somehow. Nothing else would work, given how far he needed to go, and how little time remained. Cryll Onnawesh, Palimyst had called it: the seam in the tent of the sky. If the River really did divide the two halves of time—always moving among the stars but never leaving the present moment—then there really was a chance he could reach the stars before it was too late.
How to enter it, though? Merlin had done it somehow, and without the help of his fabled dragon, Basilgarrad. But that was small comfort. Merlin was, after all, Merlin—the greatest wizard of all time. And yet . . . I have some of his blood in my veins. Just as I have the blood of Krystallus.
He stopped, as moist tufts of mist pressed against his face. Reaching inside his pack, he pulled out a glass globe held inside a leather strap—his father’s compass. Tiny waves of mist rippled across the globe’s surface, but Tamwyn could still see inside. The horizontal arrow, as always, pointed westward, while the vertical arrow pointed straight above his head. To the stars.
Krystallus, he remembered, had his own theory of how to ascend to the stars. Whether or not it had anything to do with the River of Time, nobody could say. All that was clear was that it involved some sort of horse, a great horse on high.
Tamwyn nodded, reciting to himself the riddle that Krystallus had written in the letter hidden in the Great Hall of the Heartwood:
To climb ever starward,
To vault through the sky,
Discover one secret:
The Great Horse on High.
What did that mean? And did it have anything to do with Rhita Gawr’s boast that Avalon would fall when the great horse dies? The warlord’s boast, Tamwyn now und
erstood, referred to the constellation Pegasus, and the ever-beating star in its center. But a constellation of stars couldn’t carry him up into the sky! Could there be more to this riddle, and to the Great Horse, than he had guessed? He scowled, tired of having so many questions, and so few answers.
Stowing the compass, he resumed walking. The path kept on spiraling higher, leading him ever upward. He couldn’t begin to guess how high he’d climbed. The mist hid everything around him.
Just as it hid the stars.
Rhita Gawr hid the stars, too, he thought. But in a totally different way. He recalled the dreadful sight of those immortal warriors pouring out of the darkened doorways of the stars—the seven stars of the Wizard’s Staff constellation. Even if I make it up to the stars in time, how will I ever relight them ? And close those doorways?
He blew a long sigh, scattering the mist. Figuring out Krystallus’ riddle seemed easy compared to figuring out how to do that. He didn’t have enough power to light something as small as his father’s torch—let alone something as great as a star. This went far beyond the skills of a wilderness guide.
Sure, I may be of Merlin’s blood. But I’m also a clumsy buffoon. As well as the Dark child, the person destined to destroy Avalon.
A cool clump of mist slid down his nose. What I really wish most of all is that Merlin himself were here. Right now. He would know what to do!
But Merlin wasn’t here. The farther Tamwyn strode up the grassy path, the sound of his footsteps magnified by the mist, the more he felt certain of that. And yet he couldn’t help wondering why Merlin would choose to stay on the world called Earth when Avalon—the world in between all things mortal and immortal, the world Merlin himself had planted as a seed—faced such terrible peril.
They must be having some serious problems of their own on Earth, he concluded. And then he wondered: When Merlin went through a star doorway to Earth, which star was that?
Almost imperceptibly, the slope of the trail started to flatten. Tamwyn refused to believe it at first, for he’d trekked so far up this mountain without any sign of change. But no, his feet weren’t lying to him. The trail was definitely leveling out.
Abruptly, the pathway ended, opening into a flat meadow of the same short grass. Could this be the summit? Since the mist crowded so close that he could barely see past his outstretched arm, he started to explore the area. He quickly discovered that the meadow was circular, about twenty paces across. A group of low, rounded stones ringed its edge. Outside the ring of stones, the slope fell sharply away.
So this was the summit! Feeling expectant, and yet unsure what to expect, Tamwyn sat down on one of the stones. Its surface felt slick from the moisture of the mist. As he rested his tired legs, he studied its smooth contours. To his surprise, down where the stone met the grass, he spied a flash of color.
An insect. As soon as he picked it up, though, he could tell this was no ordinary insect. Holding it gently in the palm of his hand, he peered at its spiraling antennae, orange wings, jagged blue scales, and enormous, faceted eyes.
He cocked his head, puzzled. For as strange as this creature was, even stranger was his feeling that he had seen it somewhere before. Yet how could that be?
Suddenly he remembered. And burst out laughing. He had seen this little fellow before—but from a completely different perspective. When he had used the drop of Dagda’s dew, given to him by Gwirion, he had been hoping to catch a glimpse of his lost companion Henni. Instead, he found himself staring at a bizarre, colorful dragon with spiraling tusks. The sight had been so terrifying that it nearly knocked him off his feet. But it was really just this insect, magnified millions of times!
“Some dragon you are,” he said to the insect. The tiny creature shook his antennae—or tusks—at him, as if admonishing him for such stupidity.
Amused, Tamwyn set the insect back down in the grass. All of a sudden, he heard the slapping of feet. Someone was coming up the trail! Running fast, from the sound of it.
He stood up and stepped closer to the top of the trail, peering into the impenetrable mist. But he could see nothing beyond the mist itself. He leaned forward, staring hard, when—
A body sprang out of the mist. It slammed right into him, knocking him over backward.
Tamwyn lay on the grass, momentarily stunned. Just as he started to sit up, the same body pounced on top of him, holding his shoulders to the ground and peering down at him with wild eyes.
18 • The One Called Dark Flame
Tamwyn knew those wild eyes.
He swiftly arched his back and rolled sideways, releasing a roar that echoed loudly in the mist. Caught off guard, his attacker flew to the side. He landed with a thud on the damp grass, not far from one of the rounded stones that ringed the summit of Merlin’s Pinnacle.
Before the assailant could move, Tamwyn leaped on top of his chest and sat on his ribs. Just to be sure there could be no escape, Tamwyn also grabbed both his wrists and pinned them to the ground. All the attacker could do now was to flap the backs of his oversized hands against the ground.
All, that is, except laugh.
“Eehee, eehee, hoohoohoo ahahaha,” came the raucous laughter. “I sure surprised you, clumsy man.”
“Henni, you old bag of bear turds!” Tamwyn looked at the hoolah’s sassy grin and familiar red headband (which was much more tattered than the last time he’d seen it). “I’d kill you a dozen times over, except . . .” His voice softened as a smile spread over his face. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Henni’s grin vanished and his eyes narrowed in concern. He peered up at Tamwyn through the gauzy shreds of mist. “Are you all right, clumsy man? You sound almost—”
“Idiotic, I know. But it’s true. I am glad to see your worthless, wretched, ugly face, even if you’ve got less sense than a headless troll.”
The hoolah’s grin suddenly returned, like a fire coal bursting into flame. And within his circular eyebrows, two more fires brightened. “That’s better! Oohoo, eehee, I missed you, too.”
“What happened to your headband?” asked Tamwyn with sarcasm. He bent closer, so the hoolah couldn’t mistake the angry look now back in his eyes. “Did you rip it when you threw us both into the Spiral Cascades? Or later, when the waterfall nearly pounded us to death?”
As if this were just a normal question, Henni showed no sign at all of remorse. Lying there on the ground, he merely shrugged his shoulders. “No, no. It got caught.”
“Caught? In what?”
“In the teeth of that dragon-faced boar I met back there on the cliffs. Funny how he didn’t seem to like having me pull on his tail.”
Despite his anger, Tamwyn couldn’t help but smirk. “Still the old Henni, aren’t you? Never met a death trap you didn’t like.”
“Hoohooheeheeha-ha-ha,” the hoolah laughed. “You’re right about that.” He wriggled a bit under Tamwyn’s weight. “Say now, eehee, eehee. Would you mind getting off me? You’re crushing the old ribs.”
But Tamwyn had not heard. For his thoughts had turned to their third companion, who really had perished in the Spiral Cascades. Frowning, he said quietly, “I wish we hadn’t lost Batty Lad.”
A small green object suddenly popped out of the folds of Henni’s sacklike tunic. Zipping through the dense mist, it left behind a glowing green trail as it swerved through the vapors.
“Ooee ooee, manny man,” the flying object squeaked as it whizzed past Tamwyn’s ear. “I thought you’d never, ever remember me! Oh yessa ya ya ya.”
“Batty Lad!” Tamwyn leaped to his feet, he was so delighted.
“Hey there, clumsy man,” teased Henni as he, too, regained his feet. “You missed your chance again to kill me.”
Tamwyn shot him a glance. “Don’t worry. I’ll get another chance soon enough.” He turned back to the creature buzzing around his head. “And you, you little green rascal! How did you ever find me?”
Batty Lad flipped over in the mist, did an erratic loop, then skidded to a
landing on Tamwyn’s forearm. “Easy, manny man. We justa keeps climbing up and up and up and up, since my most excellenty brain remembers where you’re so wanting to go.”
The young man shook his head, amazed. “You really do have an excellenty brain.”
Batty Lad’s tiny face crinkled into something close to a smile. “The journey was very hard, oh yessa. But the hardest part, absolooteyootly, was keeping this crazy-lazy hoolah from killing us both, ya ya ya.”
“I understand, my friend.”
Henni, who was happily swatting at shreds of mist, didn’t respond.
Tamwyn gazed down at the scrawny little fellow whose mouselike face, cupped ears, and leathery wings made him look so much like a bat. But then there was the strange light that surrounded him, sending rays of glowing green into the vapors. What kind of creature was Batty Lad, anyway? Tamwyn was no closer to knowing the answer to that question than he’d been on the day they first met.
Suddenly the wind gusted mightily, scattering the mist on the summit. Vapors parted, drawing aside like rows of undulating curtains. At the same time, the air around the companions lightened, sparkling with new radiance.
Tamwyn gazed at the shimmering mist, unsure whether the sudden light came from the stars above or from something else entirely. Another gust of wind whooshed past, making the mist brighten even more. A third gust blew over them, so strongly that Batty Lad’s crumpled little wings flapped on their own and slapped against Tamwyn’s forearm.
With a squeak of fright, Batty Lad dived into the nearest pocket in his friend’s tunic. Just then the mist opened completely, revealing all the stars of Avalon. Hundreds upon hundreds of them shone down on Merlin’s Pinnacle, blazing with such brilliance that Tamwyn and Henni both had to turn aside.
All at once a shadow fell over them. Tamwyn looked straight up to see what had caused the change. Another gust of wind struck his face, with such force that it made his eyes water. Yet he had no trouble seeing what had caused the wind, as well as the shadow.