The Eternal Flame

by T.A. Barron

  “You’re no longer Batty Lad,” said Tamwyn, his voice full of awe. He steadied himself beside the dragon’s ear. “But are you still a friend?”

  A rich, rumbling laughter bubbled out of the dragon’s throat. “A friend I shall always be,” he declared in a voice that was the absolute opposite of Batty Lad’s squeaky chatter. His new voice sounded so deep and resonant that it made Tamwyn think of harp strings that stretched from one end of the sky to the other. “Just as I was to your grandfather.”

  Tamwyn squeezed the enormous ear in surprise. “You knew Merlin?”

  “Knew him?” bellowed the dragon. He tilted his wings, banking gracefully toward the Heart of Pegasus. The wind blew hard, buffeting them both, but Tamwyn had no trouble hearing the dragon’s next words. “Your grandfather and I shared many battles, and many adventures, including his journey to relight the stars after the War of Storms.”

  The young man caught his breath. “I know who you really are! Not Batty Lad, but—”

  “Basilgarrad.” The name, spoken with the dragon’s remarkable resonance, hovered in the air as if it, too, possessed wings. “And I am glad indeed to have regained my true form.”

  In a flash, Tamwyn understood. “Merlin! He asked you to stay hidden, didn’t he? And used his magic to disguise you?”

  The dragon nodded his massive head, making Tamwyn hold tight to the ear for balance. “I agreed so the enemies of Avalon would not suspect I still existed. That was why Merlin did not ride me on his final journey to Earth. And why I remained hidden for so many years, until his true heir appeared at last.”

  Tamwyn stood erect on the soaring dragon. For the first time in his life, he felt sure that the words true heir really did mean him. And he also felt sure of what he must do next.

  He glanced at the troubled star, now riven with so many cracks of darkness that its light flickered feebly. Then he looked upward, at the whirling clot of wrath that was Rhita Gawr. So boundless was the warlord’s rage, and so wholly consuming, he hadn’t yet realized that Tamwyn still survived. The young man glared up at him, thinking of the companions that Rhita Gawr had just killed: Ahearna, the gallant steed, and Henni, the irrepressible hoolah, would never be seen again. They were lost, just like the staff of Merlin. Finally, Tamwyn spoke into the ear of the great green dragon who bore him.

  “Basilgarrad, you have faced many foes in battle, always guided by your love of Avalon. Will you join me now, in the greatest battle of all?”

  The dragon answered with a powerful flap of his wings that made them swoop suddenly upward. His green eyes aglow, he flapped again, surging higher and higher. As they rose, the wind whistled around Tamwyn, blowing his hair and fluttering his torn tunic. With one arm wrapped around the dragon’s upright ear, he felt as if he were riding on the prow of a great ship—the ship of his destiny, perhaps, that had carried him at last to the stars.

  As they climbed, dark cracks snaked ever faster across the star. The Heart dimmed abruptly, its fires disappearing. In just another moment, Tamwyn knew, the star would go completely dark.

  Above them, the immense black dragon that was Rhita Gawr finally stopped whirling in wrathful circles. Only now did he notice something new, something he’d never expected. Another dragon approached, one who bore the very person who had blinded his eye only minutes before. Rhita Gawr trained his remaining eye on his young foe—and also on an ancient foe he’d presumed long dead.

  “Baaasilllgarrrrraaad,” he roared, loud enough to make the very sky shudder.

  “Rrrrrhitaaa Gaaawwrrrrr,” answered the great green dragon, with a mighty flap of his wings.

  The two gargantuan creatures flew straight at each other. Black sparks flared in the eye of one; green light glowed within the eyes of the other. They were flying fast, so fast that Tamwyn caught his breath, sure they were going to meet in a shattering collision.

  At the last possible instant, both dragons veered aside. They passed so close that their wingtips brushed against each other, knocking loose a few scales that drifted down toward the darkening star. Both roared again, then spun around to face each other, perilous claws extended.

  Without warning, a bolt of black lightning shot from Rhita Gawr’s eye. Basilgarrad reacted with amazing agility, sweeping sideways so quickly that the lightning passed by, lost on empty sky. In the same maneuver, the green dragon swung around and flew just over his enemy, raking his back with those deadly claws.

  Rhita Gawr screeched angrily, arching his back. Before Tamwyn’s heart took another beat, the warlord of the Otherworld whipped his terrible tail, slicing across Basilgarrad’s wing. The green dragon spun aside, his wing only slightly torn. Tamwyn clung tightly to his friend’s ear, certain that the whipping tail had missed him by no more than a pace or two.

  On and on the dragons fought: sometimes diving, feinting, and dodging; sometimes slamming together with the crash of wings and the scream of claws drawn over scales. In the fading light of the star, the two titans battled. Black lightning exploded time and again in the air, as wrathful roars erupted. Tamwyn did his best to hang on, wishing that he could do more.

  Finally the two dragons pulled back, while they continued to fly around each other warily. Although both had been wounded, neither showed anything but fury in their faces. Their wings, despite being torn in places, beat majestically, ready to plunge into battle again instantaneously.

  “You are a fool, Basilgarrad,” called Rhita Gawr, panting so hard that his nostrils flared with every breath. “You shall lose to me, in time. But you have already lost the larger battle for this world! For my warriors are now fully assembled, ready to destroy whatever feeble opposition they may face down below. On my signal they shall descend into Avalon, and you can do nothing whatsoever to stop them.”

  “When I stop you, evil one, that will stop them,” roared the green dragon in response. His voice rang out boldly, but Tamwyn detected the vaguest hint of uncertainty beneath his words.

  “You shall stop neither!” Rhita Gawr whirled around, spinning in a circle with his wide wings outstretched. “Long as you may live, you are still a mere mortal, destined to die, while I am the greatest of all immortals, destined to triumph.”

  He flapped his wings again, as if to emphasize the word triumph. “And to make your death even more bitter, Basilgarrad, I shall tell you something else. Experienced battler that you are, you might actually find some way to harm my warriors or delay them from their mission, if I were not here to stop you myself.” He snarled with satisfaction. “But I am here, unfortunately for you. Very much here! And soon I shall destroy both you and your wretched little passenger.”

  Tamwyn turned toward the seven darkened stars of the Wizard’s Staff, far across the sky. Beneath those seven faintly glowing circles whose centers were completely black, a mass of dark shapes gathered. The deathless warriors of Rhita Gawr were, indeed, poised to strike. And even if they could somehow be routed by Basilgarrad, there was no way to do that from here. So there was no way to stop them. Unless . . .

  Leaning his face right into Basilgarrad’s ear, Tamwyn whispered, “The last thing he’d ever expect would be for us to leave him—and charge them.”

  The whole ear stiffened, quivering slightly, as he continued. “We may well die, my friend—so many of those warriors against just you and me. But we may also do them some harm, as Rhita Gawr said! My guess is that, even though they cannot die, their mortal bodies can still be wounded. And by doing that, we could maybe hamper Rhita Gawr’s plans.” He drew a deep breath. “At least, by fighting them, we might buy some more time for our friends down below. And, if we die defending Avalon, it would be a glorious death. Don’t you agree?”

  “I agree!” bellowed Basilgarrad.

  Instantly, the dragon spun around to face the darkened constellation. He began beating his wings so fast that they soon became a blur of green, lit by the last embers of the Heart of Pegasus. He shot off toward the immortal warriors, leaving a surprised Rhita Gawr. By the time
Tamwyn heard, far behind them, a roar of outrage from the black dragon, they had already covered a good distance.

  Nearly as fast as starlight they flew, crossing the sky. All around, hundreds of stars gleamed radiantly, suspended from their branches. For a moment, Tamwyn simply watched the passage of those glowing circles, each of them a flaming doorway that could lead to another world. He gazed at them, awed by the vastness of Avalon’s reach and the eternal beauty of its stars.

  But they’re not eternal, he reminded himself grimly. Every last one of them could go dark if Rhita Gawr prevailed. Perhaps the glittering River of Time itself would also succumb to his powers.

  Shifting his stance by the dragon’s ear, he glanced behind. Even now, the Heart star glowed only feebly. Very little time remained before it went completely dark. And when that happened, it would be too late to halt the invasion.

  As if he’d heard Tamwyn’s thoughts, Basilgarrad’s mighty wings beat all the faster. Now they were more than halfway to the Wizard’s Staff, and the remaining distance shrank rapidly. At last they were close enough to view clearly the warriors of Rhita Gawr. While what they saw wasn’t surprising, it was certainly disturbing.

  Dragons. Hundreds of dragons.

  Tamwyn shook his head at the sight of them, hovering together under the darkened doorways to the Otherworld. Although much smaller than their master, more the size of wyverns, these dark dragons looked terribly vicious, with spiked tails, jaws of jagged teeth, and claws as sharp as rapiers. Their black wings bore serrated edges, so that a slice from one of them could easily rip apart flesh and bone. And judging from all the violent scuffles going on, their personalities seemed well suited for warfare.

  Tamwyn stared at the warriors, thinking how much harm they could do down below. We must stop them somehow! Chase them back through those doorways. And then lock them out of Avalon.

  First, however, Tamwyn knew that he and Basilgarrad must get to the warriors. And soon! Before they received Rhita Gawr’s signal to plunge down to the lower realms. And before they—

  His thoughts ended abruptly. For he glanced to the rear just in time to see the Heart of Pegasus, once the brightest light in its constellation, wink one final time, then die. Its fires extinguished, the star loomed now as just a blot of blackness—and an open passageway to mortal Earth.

  To make matters worse, between Tamwyn and the darkened star, another blot of blackness was drawing nearer. Rhita Gawr. The warlord, though still distant, was flying swiftly. And his anger was unmistakable, seeming to jab at Tamwyn’s chest with an icy finger.

  Shrill cries from the warriors made Tamwyn turn back around. Having seen their long-awaited signal, the dragons ceased their scuffling and faced the lower realms. In unison, they flapped their wings and dived. The invasion of Avalon had begun.

  And we’re too late to stop it! Tamwyn made a fist and, in frustration, swung at the air by Basilgarrad’s ear. Now, he felt certain, he had lost everything. His one chance to save his world. His one chance to be more than just a clumsy buffoon—to be the true son of Krystallus, and the true heir of Merlin. And also his one chance to see Elli ever again.

  Suddenly he noticed a change in the invading army. They halted their plunge, scattering in different directions like windblown ashes from a campfire. From their throats came shrieks and roars not of conquest, but of confusion.

  Flying up from the trunk of the Great Tree, heading straight toward them, was another group of warriors! Tamwyn shook himself, trembling with disbelief. Yet there could be no doubt. The new warriors glowed with orange light, their very wings aflame.

  The fire angels had arrived.

  25 • Flight of the Fire Angels

  Led by Gwirion himself, the Ayanowyn warriors flew swiftly higher. Their winged bodies flamed bright orange, for with their new leadership had come restored purpose and renewed health. No longer men and women who resembled smoldering charcoal, they burned with llalowyn—the fire of the soul. Once again they would add to their people’s story, just as, once again, they would deserve their name of old.

  Fire angels.

  Tamwyn, riding on the head of the great green dragon Basilgarrad, felt as if his own heart had burst into flames of gratitude. He leaned forward while holding tight to the dragon’s ear, counting the ascending fire angels. There were sixty, maybe seventy of them, less than a third the number of Rhita Gawr’s dragons. On top of that, while the dragons were much smaller than Rhita Gawr himself, they were more than twice as large as their foes. Yet it soon became clear that what Gwirion’s forces lacked in number and size, they more than gained in courage, speed—and sheer audacity.

  The fire angels flew right into the warrior dragons, attacking with all the ferocity of a horde of angry wasps. Ayanowyn fighters swatted the dragons’ faces with burning wings, kicked at their lidless eyes, and even surprised them by landing on top of their scaly necks, so that the added weight made it much more difficult for the invaders to steer—or even to fly. All the while, the fire angels dodged spiked tails, serrated wings, and slashing claws. Although they wore no armor, and no clothes beyond ironwool loincloths, the fire angels’ agility in the air spared them from serious injury.

  Just as Tamwyn neared the fray, he saw one of the flaming people fly between two dragons, scorch their eyes, then veer away so swiftly that the invaders crashed in mid-air. The dragons shrieked with anger, then started fighting with each other, bashing fiercely with their tails and wings. Meanwhile, the fire angel who had caused the collision flew away unharmed.

  “Gwirion!” shouted Tamwyn. Beneath him, Basilgarrad raised his enormous wings to slow their flight.

  Seeing his friend, Gwirion swerved and glided over. With a wary look at the great dragon, the fire angel landed on Basilgarrad’s head, right beside Tamwyn. For a few seconds they simply gazed at each other in amazement. Finally, Gwirion placed his hands on his hips and spoke.

  “By the Thousand Flames, Tamwyn! You have come a long way from the man who nearly died fighting some giant termites.”

  Tamwyn raised one hand, feeling the heat that radiated from his friend’s body. “And you have come a long way from the child who nearly died swallowing some fire coals, hoping to make your soulfire burn brighter.”

  Gwirion grinned. With one flaming finger, he touched the Golden Wreath upon his hairless head. “I never truly believed it was possible, until you brought this to my door. Just as I never truly believed that the prophecy would come true—that my people would flame again and fly back to the stars.”

  “And also,” added Tamwyn, “that you would meet Dagda himself, who would give your people its true name.”

  At that, the fire angel turned aside. He glanced at the battle raging all around them and muttered, “That part of the prophecy is merely a hope.”

  “And hope, you once told me, is a spark that blows on the wind. All it needs is some kindling to burst into flame.”

  Slowly, a gleam appeared in Gwirion’s eyes, brightening like an ember. “You know, Tamwyn, you have your own inner flames, though they cannot be seen. And the most powerful fires reside in the soul.”

  A pair of dragon warriors shot past Basilgarrad’s wing, pursuing a young fire angel. Deftly, the green dragon flicked his clubbed tail. He struck both invaders at once, so hard that they spun downward, completely dazed.

  “Gwirion,” said Tamwyn urgently, “this is our only chance. We must drive those evil beasts back through the seven darkened doorways.” He pointed at the seven pale circles whose flameless centers led to the Otherworld. “Or we all perish.”

  The fire angel whistled a few low, wandering notes. “Not so different from battling giant termites.”

  A deafening roar suddenly shook the air. Rhita Gawr arrived, wrath erupting from his uninjured eye in the form of a bolt of black lightning. Basilgarrad banked swiftly, avoiding the blast. But he turned so abruptly that Tamwyn needed to throw both his arms around the dragon’s ear just to keep from falling off. Gwirion leaped into the a
ir, wings aflame, to rejoin his forces.

  “Fools!” Rhita Gawr bellowed across the skies to his army of smaller dragons. “Have you forgotten you are immortal and cannot die? And have you also forgotten your bond with me, forged through my crystal of unrivaled power? Do not try to think with your own puny brains. Merely feel my thoughts, and follow my commands, and we shall triumph in all the ways I have foreseen!”

  Rhita Gawr swooped through the air, then stopped to hover directly in front of Tamwyn and Basilgarrad. The warlord turned his working eye toward them. Unlike his other eye, which had been coated with gray film, it shone clearly, a bottomless well of blackness. “Meanwhile,” he snarled, “I shall rid this world of a runt wizard and his pet dragon.”

  Enraged, Basilgarrad flapped his huge wings and shot at the warlord. His ears cocked forward, like spears pointing at his enemy’s heart. Tamwyn clung to one of the ears with all his strength so he wouldn’t fall. While he knew that no one, not even Dagda himself, could kill Rhita Gawr, he also knew that the bold green dragon intended to try.

  Just before impact, the immortal warlord dived underneath Basilgarrad. With a vengeful roar, he whipped his massive tail upward. It flew straight at Basilgarrad’s head so fast, it could barely be seen.

  Yet the ancient dragon’s reflexes were still faster. Basilgarrad dipped one wing, rolling on his side, just in time. The deadly tail flew past, grazing the green scales of his neck and the edge of one ear—the ear that anchored Tamwyn.

  The blow, though slight, was strong enough to jolt the young man loose. He flew into the air, crashing his back against the bony edge of Basilgarrad’s wing. To his surprise, he didn’t feel any of his own bones break, since his pack and torch took most of the impact. He did, however, hear a terrible splintering sound from within his pack, which filled him with the sickening certainty that Elli’s harp had been crushed.