Tarlan tipped back his head and looked upward. One by one, the countless green gems set into the chamber walls were lighting up. A web of light raced up toward the ceiling, converging at the slab of diamond where the triplets’ jewels were burning bright.
“It’s beautiful!” cried Gulph.
As the jewels sprang into life in the walls, so the rainbow storm that had hung over the citadel died away completely. Blackness replaced it, and Tarlan had the answer to the question he’d pondered over earlier.
It’s night. All the stars are coming out.
He clutched his arms around his chest, marveling at the patterns of the constellations. They reminded him achingly of the Isle of Stars.
They reminded him of Melchior.
“Are you all right, Tarlan?” Elodie asked, gently touching his arm.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
The jewels blazed brighter still, then suddenly shrank to tiny pricks of white light. Warm wind blew past them. The ground shook. The walls of the throne room shimmered, then disappeared. The slab of diamond vanished too. But the three jewels—green, red, and gold—remained. Except they were no longer jewels.
They were stars.
Tarlan turned a slow circle. No longer contained by the towering walls, the platform now looked out across the city of Celestis. Crystal towers glistened beneath the starlight. Beyond them, Tarlan could see the darkness of the Isurian forest, the distant surge of the mountains to the north, the promise of Ritherlee to the south.
Listening hard, he even thought he could hear the snow-filled song of Yalasti.
A crowd of people surged up the steps toward them. Two figures rushed up to Elodie and spun her around—Sylva and Cedric, their faces splashed with mud and bright with happiness. Behind them came ranks of ghosts, led by Lady Vicerin and Lady Darrand, avenged at last.
A huge man with red hair forced his way through a line of soldiers. A gigantic hammer dangled at his belt. Clasping his enormous hands around Gulph’s waist, the Defender of Deep Poynt raised Tarlan’s brother aloft. His army cheered.
A wolf’s howl rose from the far side of the platform. Mingled with it was a feline snarl and a triumphant, rumbling roar. It sounded like music to Tarlan. Grinning, he opened his arms wide to welcome Greythorn, Filos, and Brock, bounding in a row toward him. Following them was a tide of animals—horses and deer, foxes and flying eagles. The ground thundered beneath them.
“You are here!” yowled Filos, bowling him over. Tarlan hugged the tigron, burying his fingers in the blue-and-white stripes of her fur. Her warm tongue rasped across his face.
“Yes, I’m here!” He laughed. “We’re all here!”
“And the battle is over,” added Greythorn. He pressed his muzzle against Tarlan’s cheek and winked his one good eye. “It is time to rest.”
“Yes.” Tarlan scratched the soft place between the wolf’s ears. “I’m ready to rest.”
“Another battle soon?” inquired Brock, gently shouldering Filos and Greythorn aside. Wrapping his muscular forelegs completely around Tarlan, the enormous bear squeezed him tight. “Brock will be ready for that.”
“I’m sure you will,” Tarlan replied, laughing again as he gasped for breath. “Oh, it’s good to see you all! I can’t believe we’re all together again! I can’t believe we’ve done it!”
“You have done it,” said Greythorn gravely. The wolf flicked his tail toward Elodie and Gulph. Hand in hand, laughing together, Tarlan’s brother and sister were making their way toward them through the happy crowd. “You and your pack.”
“You’re all my pack,” Tarlan replied.
Prying himself free from Brock’s affectionate bear hug, he joined his siblings.
“We made it!” said Gulph, grabbing Tarlan’s hand.
Gulph’s green eyes shone; so did Elodie’s. Tarlan knew that his must be shining too. He felt light on his feet, ready to fly.
I’m here, Mirith! I’m here, Melchior! And you’re here with me. I’m sure of it.
Did the stars above him twinkle in reply? Or was it just the tears in his eyes?
“Are you ready, my dear children?” said a familiar voice.
Kalia was standing before the three thrones. Her gray robe hung from her slender body. Her red-gold hair wafted in the breeze. Her scarred face shone with happiness.
She was holding a round crystal tray.
On it were the three crowns of Toronia.
“Yes, we’re ready,” said Tarlan, regarding the crowns uncertainly. “Only . . . I don’t think we know quite what to do.”
Kalia smiled. “It is very simple. In fact, as a good friend might have told you, it is as easy as one, two, three.”
Theeta nudged Tarlan with her large beak. “Take perches,” she advised. “Ancients come. Ancients show.”
Tarlan was about to ask who she meant by “ancients” when the three wyverns plunged down from the night sky. They took up position over the three thrones, two with wings of green crystal, the third with wings that seemed made of smoke. Then, slowly, they descended until their claws gripped the backs of the great crystal chairs.
The instant that happened, all three of the ancient creatures turned to stone.
“Well,” said Tarlan. “Come on.”
He led his brother and sister to the thrones. None of them asked which seat belonged to whom. Without a word, Elodie took the central ruby throne. Gulph took the gold throne to her right, and Tarlan the emerald one to her left.
The crystal seat wasn’t hard and cold as Tarlan had anticipated, but soft and warm. Some kind of magic, he supposed. He looked up at the frozen wyvern poised like a statue above him.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Will you come again if I call?”
It would. He knew it. They all would. Wyverns and thorrods, wolves and tigrons and bears. His whole pack. Their loyalty to him was beyond question.
But would he ever need to call on them again? That was the question.
As they all settled into their seats, a sigh passed from one side of the crowd to the other. A sea of faces gazed up at them, yet for a brief moment only the three of them seemed to exist. Alive. Together. Victorious at last.
Kalia walked up to Gulph. Her face was solemn now. The crowd hushed. She held up the first of the three crowns. Its golden contours gleamed in the starlight.
“King Agulphus,” she proclaimed, and lowered the crown onto his head.
She moved along the line to where her daughter was waiting. They looked so alike, Tarlan thought.
“Queen Elodie.” Kalia held the second crown high, then nestled it into the waves of Elodie’s red-gold hair.
Now she was approaching Tarlan. He saw his own face reflected in the gold of the crown, and in his mother’s eyes. He felt hot and cold.
“King Tarlan.”
He closed his eyes. Something touched his head, embraced it. The crown was both light as a feather, and heavy as the world. It was a perfect fit.
The crowd roared. The ground shuddered as ten thousand feet stamped against it.
Opening his eyes, Tarlan grinned at his mother. Then, without thinking, he stood up. Beside him, Gulph and Elodie did the same. The crowd bellowed loud approval.
Glancing at Gulph, Tarlan shrugged, planted one foot on the seat of his throne and hoisted himself up to stand on it. Laughing, his siblings followed suit.
I never planned this, Tarlan thought in wonder as he gazed out across the jubilant throng. I even tried to run away from it. But I ended up here all the same.
Now that he was here, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
Tarlan held up his hands. The crowd fell silent. Gulph and Elodie regarded him with amusement.
“A speech?” Elodie smiled. “From you?”
“You think you two are the only ones who can make speeches?” Tarlan grinned.
The sky was growing lighter now, and the stars were beginning to dim. All except the three burning jewels that were the prophecy star
s.
“Dawn is coming!” Tarlan cried. He pointed toward the orange glow that was building on the distant horizon. “A new day! The last day of the Thousand Year War is over. The first day of the new age is here. The Age of Peace!”
The crowd erupted again. Tarlan waited for the uproar to die down, then went on.
“We stand before you today—me, my brother, my sister. We also stand with you, just as we will on all the days that are to come. We will serve you. We will protect you. All the people who live in Toronia, all the animals who share their world, and all those who walk in the Realm of the Dead.”
As he said this, Tarlan fancied he heard an old, croaking voice floating past him on the wind. A wizard’s voice.
One . . . two . . . three, the voice whispered. A simple spell . . . to end with.
“Everyone used to think the three realms meant Idilliam, Isur, and Ritherlee. But they don’t.” Tarlan looked at Elodie. He looked at Gulph. His brother and sister nodded.
Go on. That was Elodie’s voice in his head.
Yes, go on. That was Gulph.
“The first realm is the realm of men and women,” Tarlan continued. “The second is the realm of the beasts. The third is the realm of the dead. These are the three realms of Toronia.”
The cheers of the crowd were deafening now. Tarlan could feel the noise vibrating through his body, though the ground. It was as though Toronia itself was rejoicing.
“Three realms united in peace at last!”
The sun rose. The prophecy stars burned brighter than ever.
“United by the Crown of Three!”
The new day began.
EPILOGUE
Ten Years Later
Theeta shifted her weight in the nest. The knot of branches and moss had been growing harder of late. But then, the nest was old. Just like Theeta.
Craning her neck, she peered over the low wall surrounding the top of the tower. Below, the crystal buildings of the human city sparkled in the sunlight. Theeta did not understand why humans chose to spend so much time living under cover. But there was a lot about humans that she didn’t understand.
Still, the city did look beautiful.
She moved again, but still she could not get comfortable. Her back ached. No matter. It was just her old body reminding her that there was something she must do.
Reminding her that the time had come.
Wincing a little, Theeta buried her beak in her right wing and plucked out one of the long flight feathers. She turned it in the sun, so that it sent beams of golden light out into the day.
It did not take long for the others to come. Nasheen arrived first, her pale breast flashing bright. She landed on the wall and croaked her greeting. A moment later, Kitheen arrived. Were those the first signs of gray in his black feathers? Theeta thought so.
“Death feather,” Theeta said. “Thorrod take.”
She held out the feather.
“Theeta live,” Nasheen protested. “Theeta stay.”
Kitheen cocked his head in surprise. But, in his usual fashion, he said nothing.
“Theeta go,” said Theeta. “Theeta old. Theeta die.”
They sat for a while in silence, the three thorrods, as the sun rose slowly toward noon. Theeta remained patient and still, giving her old friends the time they needed to accept this new, hard truth.
At last, Nasheen bent toward her. Theeta did not move. Nasheen closed her beak gently around the long golden feather. Her black eyes were wet pools. She lodged Theeta’s feather carefully between the feathers of her own wing, then settled back onto her perch.
“Give Tarlan,” Theeta instructed. “Tarlan take. Tarlan know.”
“Tarlan human,” Nasheen replied uncertainly.
“Tarlan know,” Theeta reassured her.
Stretching her wings painfully, Theeta stood. Old, dry branches broke beneath her wrinkled claws. No matter. She would not be needing them again.
“Not go,” blurted Nasheen.
“Time now,” Theeta replied. “Remember Theeta.”
“Never forget!” snapped Kitheen. He looked around, as if startled by the sound of his own voice. Quietly—almost too quietly to hear—he added, “Kitheen love.”
“Love Kitheen,” echoed Theeta, touching the tip of her beak to the tip of his. She did the same with Nasheen. “Love Nasheen.”
Spreading her wings, she heaved herself slowly into the air. The weight of the world fell away, and, as she always did when she was flying, Theeta felt free.
“Where go?” Thorrods rarely asked questions, but Nasheen clearly could not help herself.
“Fly home,” answered Theeta. “Ice home. Mountain waits.”
Her two friends gazed up at her, wings twitching, clearly wanting to join her. Theeta’s feather shone from its temporary home in Nasheen’s wing. Soon Tarlan would have it. He would know what it meant.
“Stay now,” Theeta soothed. “Stay well. Theeta happy.”
Cupping her wings around a billow of wind, she rose high, then dived down past the top of the tower, gathering speed as she went. Gradually the aches left her body. She swooped beneath a curving arch of crystal and made a long, banking turn to the south.
The streets below were filled with humans. Some tilted their heads up and waved as Theeta sped past. But most were more interested in the celebrations going on in the main city square. Scanning the crowd with her keen eyes, Theeta picked out the young man Gulph had become. His back was still twisted, but he had grown tall, almost as tall as his siblings. Gazing into his gentle face was a curly-haired woman whose name, she knew, was Pip. Today they had joined their hands and joined their lives. Theeta, who had never had a life-mate of her own, wished them all the joy of the world.
As Theeta passed over the happy couple, she saw Gulph shaking the hand of a bearded man in a bright purple robe.
Otherland human, she thought, remembering the strange ships that had come in from the sea, and the terrible army they had spilled across the land. Now Gulph had made peace between Galadron and Toronia, and old enemies had become new friends. It was a sort of magic.
Melchior would have approved.
After clapping the Galadronian on his back, Gulph gathered up Pip in his arms and spun her away through the mass of dancing, singing humans. They whirled so fast that their feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. Almost as if they were flying.
Reaching the edge of the crowd, Theeta spotted Elodie, tall and beautiful in her golden armor. Her long hair framed sharp, intelligent features, and her hand rested on the sword she always wore at her side. Theeta sensed that someone equally elegant was walking beside her, although there was nobody to be seen.
Gone human, she told herself. Spirit soul.
Elodie made her way through the knots of humans around her, continually speaking and pointing and nodding, clearly giving out instructions, clearly in control. Theeta guessed it was Elodie who was in charge of the wedding celebration, just as she was in charge of Toronia’s peacekeeping army, which kept human affairs running smoothly across the kingdom.
Human affairs. Such complicated things. Theeta supposed she would miss them. But Yalasti beckoned.
Soaring over the outskirts of the city, Theeta scanned the parklands until she spotted a familiar figure crossing one of the neatly trimmed lawns. He was the tallest of the three, broad and muscular, his red-gold hair cropped short. Yet Theeta still saw a boy with lanky limbs, a tangle of hair, and the wilderness in his soul. Her heart swelled in her chest, and her wings faltered. Should she fly down to meet him? But, if she did, he would plead with her to stay.
Yet Theeta knew she had to go.
Nasheen would give Tarlan the feather, and Tarlan would know everything he needed to know. The feather contained Theeta’s wish that he should live a long and happy life. It was her final gift to the only human she had ever truly loved.
It was her good-bye.
She steered a course behind the trees, so that Tarlan would not know she was
there. In any case, his attention was on something else: the lame wolf cub he had rescued on his latest tour of the kingdom. They called him the Protector, and Theeta thought that was only right. Tarlan was strong. In his sure, human hands, Toronia would stay safe for a long, long time.
Tarlan whistled and pulled some meat from his pocket—scraps from the wedding feast. The wolf cub limped eagerly over and took the food from his master’s hands. Tarlan knelt and fussed the little creature. Across the distance between them, Theeta felt the warmth of his love.
A gray-bearded human emerged from the trees and trotted over the grass. It was Captain Leom, beckoning Tarlan to come back to the celebrations.
“Join him,” Theeta croaked under her breath. “Together stay.”
Tarlan shouted a greeting to his old friend. To Theeta’s ears, his cries sounded little different from the cries of the baby she had discovered in the Yalasti snow, all those years ago. It was Captain Leom who had placed the infant Tarlan down, and it was Theeta who had picked him up.
Now it was time to give him back.
Theeta flew on, past the statue of Captain Ossilius that stood in the south corner of the park, then out over the forests of Isur. The sun crept past the high point of noon. By the time it began to sink into the afternoon, Theeta had reached the big river, and Ritherlee beyond.
Air streamed past. The day flowed with it. Fields filled with crops. Animal herds. Running streams and rolling hills. There a castle of strong red stone, newly built in the place where Castle Vicerin had once stood. Humans filled its courtyards, and when Theeta flew past, they smiled and waved. Peace. Everywhere peace.
The sun sank into the west. The air chilled and the land rose. Hills became mountains. Grass gave way to snow.
Theeta climbed higher. The aches were back, deep in her bones. But it did not matter. Her wings moved smoothly, easily. When she finally landed, she would not need to move them again.
The mountains slipped by. Ice enveloped the world. The sky turned first orange, then red. Theeta was gold inside the light of the setting sun. Behind her, just visible to her sharp thorrod eyes as a distant, shimmering glow, twinkled the crystalline light of the human city she had left behind.
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