by T.A. Barron
Then someone else stepped toward Elli. It was not a human, but an elf, who strode with a graceful air despite her solemn expression.
“Brionna,” exclaimed Elli, “I am so glad to see you!” She threw her arms around the elf maiden’s neck. “I thought maybe you had—”
“Died,” finished Brionna. “For a moment there during the fighting, part of me did die. Then unexpectedly, life returned.”
She placed her slender hands on Elli’s shoulders. “You and your companions will surely grieve to depart from fair Avalon. But you should know that many of us who stay behind will also grieve. I shall miss you, my good sister.”
Elli blinked to clear her vision.
Tamwyn tapped Brionna’s shoulder. “Is Scree here? Have you seen him?”
The elf lowered her arms and turned to face him. “He was here,” she said grimly. “And he saved my life. But then he left to fight Harlech, that murderer.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I haven’t seen him since.”
Worriedly, Tamwyn scanned the crowd gathered around them. He spotted several eaglefolk who were standing next to Basilgarrad, examining his great wings with open admiration. Scree, though, was not among them. Nor was he anywhere else to be seen, on the ground or in the sky.
As he continued to search, Tamwyn’s gaze fell upon the tall, stately form of a mudmaker. He knew, without doubt, that it was Aelonnia of Isenwy. Her brown eyes gazed back at him, while her long fingers drummed against her sides. Then he heard her resonant, lilting whisper, as she spoke directly into his mind.
“Truly a Maker you are, Tamwyn of Stoneroot, as I told you when first we met. Yet believe me you did not.”
No, he replied through his thoughts. I guess I just wasn’t ready. He exhaled slowly. Which is how I feel right now.
“Were you ready to climb to the highest reaches of the Great Tree?” she asked in response. “To defeat Rhita Gawr? To rekindle the stars? No, but succeed you did. Earned my trust, you have, and now you must trust in yourself.”
With that, Aelonnia bent forward in what Tamwyn knew was a respectful bow. He started to bow in return, when a shadow suddenly fell over him. He looked up—
Into the face of Shim. As enormous as it was, there was no mistaking those wild eyes, that mop of white hair, and that nose which even now seemed too big for its face.
“Shim!” he cried. “You’re a giant again.”
“Nicely, isn’t it?” he bellowed. “And me hearing’s come back, laddy. Probably thanks to me old ears getting so bigly! So now I can hears most anything that someone might utterly.” He winked at Brionna, who, like Elli, was also peering up at him. “Even the softly voice of me little niece Rowanna.”
He thumped his chest triumphantly, rattling his cloak of woven willows. “Bigly I is now, and bigly I will remain foreverly after.”
Then a look of anxiety, which seemed most odd for a giant, came across his face. He glanced over his shoulder at a female giant with a mouth that was so huge it was beyond enormous. Seeing that she was standing a good distance away, he breathed a sigh of relief that nearly knocked Tamwyn and the others to the ground. And then he added, as softly as he could manage, “Just so long as I stays away from Bonlog.”
Basilgarrad, who had been listening, released a deep, rumbling chuckle.
Shim looked scornfully at the dragon. Scrunching his nose at this creature whose size rivaled his own, he said, “You just don’t know what it’s like to be smallsy.”
The dragon laughed even harder, frightening several of the people gathered nearby.
At last, Shim turned back to Tamwyn. “I is sorry to sees you go, laddy. Really, truly, honestly. I know you is full of madness, like your grandlyfather Merlin. But evenly so, I will miss you.”
The young man gave a nod. “I’ll miss you, too, Shim.”
Just then, Elli grabbed his arm. “Look there! Look who’s coming.”
An elderly woman strode toward them, her silver curls bouncing with every step. Rhia. Even without her suit of woven vines, or the thick shawl that bulged where it covered her delicate wings, Tamwyn and Elli would have recognized her right away. The easy grace of her step, the wrinkles of smiles around her mouth, and the look of unsurpassed wisdom, all spoke of the Lady of the Lake.
“Well, my children,” she said as she reached them. “It is lovely, truly lovely, to see you again.”
She paused as a pair of tiny light flyers lifted off her wrist. The sparkling creatures circled her once, then nestled themselves in her hair, joining dozens of others whose light set her curls aglow.
Seeing that her small friends were settled, she continued. “You have done well, each in your own way. You, Tamwyn Eopia, have made your great-aunt very proud.”
Despite everything, he smiled.
“And you, Elliryanna Lailoken, have done equally well.” She reached out and gently touched the young woman’s chin. “If I ever had a daughter,” she whispered, “I would have wanted one like you.”
But Elli didn’t smile. “Your crystal,” she said hesitantly. “I had to—had to destroy it.”
“I know, my child. You did what was necessary for Avalon.”
Her gray-blue eyes radiated kindness. “Thanks to you, many remarkable creatures will continue to live with freedom and dignity.”
Elli still didn’t smile. “Without the power of the crystal, though, you . . . will die.”
“True.” Rhia bent closer. “But many more beings will live on—including the new Sapphire Unicorn.”
Elli gasped. “New unicorn? So the Sapphire Unicorn we saw on Hallia’s Peak—”
“Had already given birth. That’s right, to a healthy, handsome filly! I haven’t seen her myself—she is, after all, the creature whom bards call the most elusive beauty in all the lands. But a wandering willow spirit told me that she’d glimpsed the filly scampering through a glade in El Urien.”
Rhia’s wrinkled face glowed like her silver curls. “So, my child, because of what you have done, Avalon still has one of its most lovely beings, the creature who embodies all that is rare and wondrous in our world.”
At last, Elli gave a hint of a smile, though it was a sad one. “I only wish I could be here to see it.”
“I know,” the elder replied tenderly. “You will miss much about Avalon. And so, after this season of great loss, will I.”
Elli stiffened. For she understood exactly what Rhia was telling her. “Coerria! She died?”
“Peacefully. By the time I reached her, I could not help her. Yet we spoke for a few moments. And even at the end, there was much more love than grief in her great heart.”
The young priestess stared down at the mud.
“She gave me something, Elli. Something for you.” Reaching under her heavy shawl, Rhia pulled out a small bundle. It gleamed with the rich sheen of spider’s silk.
As Elli looked up and saw what it was, she covered her mouth in surprise. For she could never mistake the gown of the High Priestess. Woven by the Grand Elusa a thousand years ago, worn by Elen the Founder as well as by Rhia herself, the gown’s silken threads held much of the history of Avalon. And much of its beauty, too.
“For—for me?” Elli sputtered.
“Yes, dear one. For you. She wanted you to have it. She made me promise to deliver it to you and no one else.”
Standing off to one side, Llynia bit her lip and turned away.
Elli took the bundle. She hefted it, struck by how very light it seemed. Her gaze met Rhia’s once again. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Then her brow furrowed with a question. “What will happen to Uzzzula? Without Coerria’s long white hair to braid, she won’t know what to do.”
Rhia smiled at just the corner of her mouth. “She will find another way to stay busy, as hive spirits always do. But like you and me, she will miss her friend terribly. That has ever been the way, when priestesses or priests are parted from their maryths.”
“Hmmmpff,” began the pinnacle sprite on Elli’s s
houlder. “Rank sentimentalists, the lot of them. Probably enjoy bathing in their own tears! Not me, I tell you. I’ll always prefer a cold mountain stream.”
Elli turned her head toward him—slowly, for she knew just what Nuic had meant. “You’re not coming with me, are you?”
The little fellow tried to speak gruffly, but his tender shade of lavender belied his tone of voice. “Not many sprites where you’re going, young wench. And besides, mistress Rhiannon over there needs someone to look after her.”
“To keep me out of trouble?” asked the elder playfully.
“Impossible,” retorted the sprite. “I’ll be satisfied if I can just know where you are some of the time.”
As Elli took him from her shoulder and gave him a gentle hug, he wriggled free. “Hmmmpff, mind the ribs, will you?” Then, his color deepening to purple, he said, “But just so you can know where we are some of the time, I think you should take this.”
He grabbed the leather cord wrapped around his middle, then pulled off the Galator. The green jewel glowed dimly, with the intelligence of a living eye. Carefully, he gave it to her.
“Now, just because you’ve mastered the art of speaking through this,” he warned, “I don’t want you bothering me all the time.”
Rhia, hearing this, raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Sad as she felt, Elli grinned at him. “No promises, Nuic.”
“Hmmmpff. Something tells me I’m going to regret this.”
As she handed him to Rhia, she told the sprite, “I’m going to miss your cranky old voice.”
“And I suppose, now and then, I’ll miss your cranky young voice.”
Tamwyn, standing beside Elli, said under his breath, “I wish I could hear Scree’s voice again. And what I’d give to hear his eagle’s cry, one more time.”
Solemnly, she nodded. “We’ll miss many other sounds of Avalon, too.”
He blew a long breath. “Like the chiming bells of Stoneroot. The crackle of a portal’s flames. Or the whispering leaves of Woodroot.” He shook his head. “I’ll even miss the crazy laugh of that hoolah, Henni.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” grumbled Nuic.
Basilgarrad snorted in agreement. Then, as Tamwyn turned his way, the dragon rolled his gleaming eyes up toward the sky. Tamwyn followed his gaze, suddenly hopeful that he might find Scree after all.
36 • Wondrous Realms Forsaking
Tamwyn watched as someone with huge, silvery wings soared out of the sky. His eyes stared with astonishment; his heartbeat quickened with gratitude.
But it wasn’t Scree he was watching.
A deep, rippling neigh burst from the throat of the great winged horse, Ahearna. Her cry echoed across the muddy plains now littered with dead and wounded warriors. All the people gathered around Tamwyn looked upward, and even those whose hearts ached from their losses or whose bodies stung from their wounds felt stirred by her triumphant tone. For the steed long known as the Star Galloper had indeed survived.
With a graceful glide, Ahearna landed. She tossed her head, shaking her mane, then folded her wings against her back. So lustrously did those wings glow that they seemed to have been feathered with starlight. As she walked slowly toward Tamwyn, her hooves squelched in the mud, an almost comical sound for such a majestic creature. Then came another sound, even more comical.
“Eehee, hoohoo, heeheeheeyahaha,” laughed Henni as he leaped off the horse’s back. He hit the ground, splattering his sacklike tunic with mud. But the hoolah didn’t care. His circular eyebrows widened as he said breathlessly, “We almost died, so many times I lost count! Hoohoo eeheeyaha, I’d love another ride like that any old time.”
“Not I,” answered the winged horse, flicking him with her tail as she strode past. “Be grateful for the miracles that kept you alive! If we had not fallen into the River of Time, where the gallop of hours stands still, and if Lorilanda herself had not come to us and healed my wing, you would not be laughing now.”
Henni cocked his head, looking genuinely puzzled, as if he couldn’t begin to grasp the concept of not laughing.
Ahearna stopped just a pace away from Tamwyn. She studied him intently, the light from his torch gleaming in her rich brown eyes. “Now, young colt, I can see how very bright your flame burns. You have saved us all. You—and the greatest of all steeds.”
She turned, bowing her head toward the dragon whose enormous body rested behind Tamwyn. “Basilgarrad,” she declared, “I recognize you from long ago. How you came to this young man’s aid after I failed him, I do not know. But I am grateful beyond the stars that you did.”
The dragon’s long ears trembled. “You did not fail, Star Galloper. You did your part, with courage and grace. And without that part, I could not have done mine.”
Bobbing her head, Ahearna turned back to Tamwyn. Her voice much softer now, she said, “Lorilanda told me how it came to pass that you left my star darkened. And how, after you have passed through its doorway, your spark will rekindle its flame. Yet she did not need to tell me how you have suffered by this decision: That much I can see for myself.”
His expression grew somber. He gazed at the faces arrayed before him, many of which he would never see again. And he thought of other faces, Scree’s in particular, that he would sorely miss. Hoarsely, he said, “Leaving these people, these places, breaks my heart.”
It was Rhia who answered him, in a voice quiet yet resonant. “I understand, my child, for in the long years that I have lived apart from my brother Merlin, part of me has hurt so much it seemed to die. Yet that very same death has kept my love for him alive.”
Tamwyn shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Gently, she took his hand. “Let your heart break, my son. Yes, let it break wide open! For only then can you feel all the truth and beauty that you have lost. Only then can you hope, far in the future, to find it all again.”
Hesitantly, he nodded.
All at once, another problem occurred to him, striking him with the force of black lightning. “Wait! How can I ever lead humanity out of Avalon, as I promised?”
He waved at all the men and women crowded around him. “There are far too many people here. Ahearna, you couldn’t carry more than a few of us. Even you, my good dragon, couldn’t take more than a fraction. And neither Dagda nor Lorilanda is around to help. This whole plan will fail unless I can find someone else who can help us.”
“Someone,” boomed a voice from over by the dragon’s tail, “like me?”
Tamwyn turned to see, striding toward him, a sturdy eagleman, bare-chested in his human form. “Scree!”
The two brothers embraced. When they pulled apart, they continued to peer at each other for a long moment. At last, Scree said, “You’ve done well, Tam.” His yellow-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Though you would have done better if you’d had my help.”
“No doubt,” Tamwyn replied, grinning. He glanced over at Brionna, whose face positively glowed—with relief, as well as something more. Then he noticed a golden-eyed eagleboy standing nearby. The boy gazed admiringly at Scree, while exuding a mixture of courage, sadness, and dignity that reminded Tamwyn of Scree’s younger self.
Turning back to his brother, Tamwyn said, “You may not have been with me. But it’s clear you had some other important things to do.”
“That I did, little brother. “ He scratched his hooked nose. “I had to deal with my, er, past. Take charge of a wayward clan. And kill that worm Harlech. But through all that, I never forgot about you. And I’ll never forget about you even after you’re gone.”
Tamwyn scowled. “You may not have to worry about that, Scree. As you heard me say a minute ago, if I’m ever going to go, I’ll need the help of someone else—someone who is much more powerful than either of us.”
“I know just the person,” Scree declared.
“Who?”
“The fellow who healed my wounds from the battle.” The eagleman rolled his muscular shoulders, as if opening his wings. “
If he hadn’t come along, I would have bled to death.”
Tamwyn pursed his lips, uncertain. “Who do you mean?”
“Just me, lad.”
Tamwyn—like Elli, Rhia, Brionna, and the others nearby—turned to see who had spoken.
Out of the multitudes stepped the old bard. Despite his advanced age and precariously balanced hat, he walked with a jaunty, youthful stride. He paused beside Ahearna, just long enough to stroke her back lightly. Then, twirling one end of his sideways-growing beard, he came closer to Tamwyn. For several seconds he examined the young man from under bushy brows.
“I have come to help you,” he declared at last. With a glance over at Rhia, he added more quietly, “And to apologize for not telling you sooner that I was here.”
Even as Rhia gasped, Tamwyn demanded, “Who are you?” But his question was drowned out in the roar of recognition that came from Basilgarrad, and the delighted whinny from Ahearna.
For the old bard had already begun to change before their eyes—not into someone younger, but into someone far, far older. Light glowed all about his body, as his garb transformed to an azure blue robe flecked with silver runes. Meanwhile, his beard whitened and lengthened, reaching down below his waist. Wrinkles appeared on his brow, cheeks, and hands. His lopsided hat grew taller, with a pointed tip that leaned drastically. His eyes darkened until they were as black as a raven’s wing. Only his bushy brows did not change.
“Merlin,” whispered Tamwyn in wonder. “It’s you.”
“That it is,” the wizard replied with a brisk nod of his head. “My, my, young man, how much you have grown! I barely recognize you and your brother now.”
“Wait,” protested Tamwyn. “I thought Dagda forbade you from ever coming back to Avalon! The independence of each world, and all that.”
Merlin’s dark eyes sparkled. “True, all true. But we made a little pact, Dagda and I—since Avalon was in, shall we say, unusual peril. He agreed to allow me to come back, but only if I promised not to interfere. At least, no more than a little dabble here and there.”
Playfully, he toyed with the strands of his beard. “I am, after all, an incurable meddler.”