Song of the Wanderer

by Bruce Coville

  “A kiss! She promised. She promised, and then she left without giving it. A cheat, a cheat after all. And I trusted her!”

  Cara blinked. “Is that all? Well, come here, then. I’ll be glad to kiss you.”

  “You will?” asked Medafil suspiciously.

  “Certainly.” She nearly added that she had always kissed the neighbor’s cat back at home, but decided against it. She wasn’t sure Medafil would like the comparison.

  He sat in front of her, wings tucked against his sides, eyes closed, tail once more curled around his front paws. Cara set the sphere gently on the cave floor. Then she placed her hands on the gryphon’s neck. Stretching upward, she kissed him firmly on his beak.

  Medafil opened his eyes. “Well, that’s better!” he said happily.

  “But why did my grandmother leave without kissing you?” Cara asked. “She always keeps her promises.”

  “Gaaah! I don’t want to talk about it! Well, if you must know, we were having an argument. She was stubborn, even for a human.” He sighed. “She said she was coming back. But she didn’t. She didn’t come back.”

  “I’m going to get her,” said Cara gently. “That’s why we’re out here in the wilderness to begin with.”

  Medafil blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  So she told him her story, beginning with the night she had jumped from the tower of St. Christopher’s and landed in Luster. As she spoke, he stretched out on the floor beside her. After a few minutes she heard a deep thrum and realized that he was purring. The purring stopped when she described the path M’Gama had told them to follow.

  “Ebillan!” he cried, sitting up. “Gaaah! You can’t go there. You’ll never come back!”

  “I have to go.”

  Medafil let out a heavy breath. “Well, I may be able to help you through the forest. But when it comes to Ebillan, you’re going to be on your own. Gaaah, what a terrible idea!”

  He stood and began pacing back and forth, his tail twitching as he did. Suddenly he stopped. “I just remembered something that you should have. Something I want to give you.”

  He went to the back of the cave. After several minutes of listening to him mutter and fuss, Cara picked up the sphere and walked to where Medafil was standing. “I can see why you have a hard time finding anything,” she said, gazing at the pile he was pawing through. It was an odd mixture of natural and hand-crafted items — large gems, ancient-looking daggers, lumps of gold, pieces of driftwood, candles, a crown, two shields, and dozens of other things jumbled together in a huge heap.

  “Need a housekeeper,” muttered Medafil. “Ah, there we go!”

  Reaching forward, using his claws delicately, almost like fingers, he extracted a large seashell from the pile. “Here,” he said proudly, passing it to Cara.

  Shifting the sphere so that she could hold it in one hand, she took the shell. Its outside was a pale, creamy color and rough to the touch. Turning it over she could see that its deep purple throat — smooth and shiny as burnished metal — curved into hidden depths.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “But why — ”

  “Hold it to your ear,” said Medafil eagerly.

  Cara smiled indulgently, figuring the gryphon thought the old trick of “hearing the ocean” in a shell was some special magic. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she put the shell to her ear, ready to feign surprise.

  Her pretend surprise quickly turned to complete astonishment. Though it was indeed the familiar “roar of the ocean” that she heard at first, it soon faded, to be replaced by the voice of a young woman. Though Cara had never heard the voice before, it was familiar.

  The words it sang were even more familiar:

  My heart seeks the hearth,

  My feet seek the road.

  A soul so divided

  Is a terrible load.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, taking the shell from her ear. She noticed that M’Gama’s ring was glowing again, more brightly than ever.

  “The Wanderer gave it to me,” replied Medafil. “She was supposed to give me a kiss, but she gave me that instead.”

  “Is that her voice?”

  “Of course!” The gryphon looked at her suspiciously. “Don’t you recognize her voice?”

  “I never heard her voice when she was young,” said Cara. “She was much older by the time I was born.”

  “That makes sense,” said Medafil with a nod. “I keep forgetting how quickly you humans age. Anyway, keep the shell. Keep the ball, too, if you like. I don’t have much use for it since I can see in the dark. Sort of.”

  “Thank you,” said Cara sincerely. “I don’t think I can take the ball, though. It’s too big and too fragile. I’m afraid I would break it the first day.”

  “Oh, nonsense. It’s not fragile at all. Watch!”

  Reaching forward, the gryphon knocked the glowing sphere out of her hand. Immediately it went black. She heard it hit the stone floor with a bell-like sound, then start to roll away. She could hear Medafil pounce and slam one huge paw down on the sphere, which let out a clear, high note.

  “Pick it up,” said Medafil.

  Groping forward through the darkness, Cara found the gryphon, found his leg, found the sphere. As soon as she picked the ball up, it began to glow again.

  “Put one hand on top, the other on the bottom,” said Medafil. “That’s right. Now twist your hands in opposite directions.”

  Again, she did as he directed. The sphere began to grow between her hands.

  “Oops,” said the gryphon. “Try the other way.”

  She reversed the direction of the twisting. The sphere began to shrink, reducing to the size of a cantaloupe, then a grapefruit, then a tangerine. When it was no bigger than a cherry, she stopped for fear of making it disappear altogether. She held it up for a moment, marveling at its brightness.

  “Put it in your pocket,” said Medafil.

  She did as he instructed. The minute it left her hand the light was extinguished again.

  “I’m glad it goes out,” she said. “It would be dangerous if it stayed on all the time. On the other hand, it would be good to be able to let go of it when I’m trying to do something. Is there a way to keep it glowing without holding it?”

  “How should I know? said Medafil, shrugging his wings. “I can’t work the gatbangled thing at all! Look, it’s getting light. I’d better take you back to your friends before they get worried. Or even worse, before they decide to start looking for you. If they leave the path, we may never be able to find them.”

  Cara could see just the faintest glimmer of light in the sky at the front of the cave. When she walked toward it and could look out toward the horizon, she saw that fully half the sun was already above the edge of the world.

  “You’re right!” she said, suddenly terrified that her impulsive action would leave the others thinking something terrible had happened to her — and lead them into danger when they tried to find her. “Let’s go. Now!”

  “Actually, I’m not sure I want to,” said Medafil, sounding sly and stubborn. “Maybe I want you to stay here with me.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I have a job to do!”

  Medafil sighed. “You sound just like your grandmother.”

  Cara smiled. “Take me back, and I’ll give you another kiss.”

  “Gaaah! You gave me one kiss because you had to. I don’t want another unless you want to give it to me. Come on, let’s go.”

  She mounted his back, and he raced toward the front of the cave. He sprang forward, leaping out over the ledge. When Cara saw the sudden drop beneath them, hundreds of feet down to deadly, jagged rocks, she couldn’t help but cry out. But Medafil had spread his great wings and, without even flapping them, he caught an updraft and soared into the sky.

  * * *

  Cara saw Moonheart and the others before they spotted her. When they did look up — it was Finder who spied
Medafil first — there was a sudden uproar in the camp. Watching it, Cara could see they feared Medafil was on the attack; Belle and Lightfoot were already moving into battle position.

  Leaning against the gryphon’s neck, Cara called, “Don’t go too low yet. Let me shout to them first.”

  Holding his wings steady, Medafil glided down to about fifty feet above the travelers, then banked sideways in a curve so they could see Cara mounted on his back.

  “It’s all right!” she shouted, waving to them. “He’s a friend!”

  She could see them relax. A moment later, Medafil landed.

  “Thank goodness!” cried Jacques as Cara scrambled down from the gryphon’s back. “When I woke and found you were gone, I was afraid something terrible had happened.”

  “Well, something terrifying did happen,” said Cara.

  As she spoke, the Squijum scrambled up her side to perch on her shoulder. “Bad girl!” he scolded. “Gone long scare Squijum bad! Much naughty!” And with that he gave her hair a yank.

  “Ouch!” said Cara. “Cut that out.”

  “Yike! Don’t yell!” He gave her a little kiss on the cheek, then leaped off her shoulder and ran to hide behind Thomas.

  When everyone had settled down, she introduced Medafil, then quickly filled them in on all that had happened the night before, starting with her vision of Beloved.

  “Hmmmm,” said Thomas, taking out one of his watches and glancing at it.

  “What?” asked Cara.

  “I’m not sure. But there’s something familiar about how that happened. I’m trying to figure out what the connection is, what makes this vision like the one you had back in Summerhaven. But I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “We thank you for taking care of our friend,” said Moonheart formally, making a slight bow to Medafil.

  “Gaaah! She is a friend of the Queen, whom I honor. She is the grandchild of the Wanderer, whom I love. Of course I took care of her. What kind of framdatted care are you taking, leading her into Ebillan’s territory?”

  “It is the path we were given,” said Moonheart.

  “How are you planning to get there?” insisted the gryphon.

  “We’ll continue as we are going now,” said Moonheart. “Through the forest and to the edge of his territory.”

  “You’ll never make it, unless you follow my advice. Well, you probably won’t follow my best advice, which is to not go there at all. But at least let me help you.”

  “How?”

  “The forest is enchanted. Unless you go the right way, you’ll wind up wandering in endless circles and never find your way out.” He reached back to preen one of his wings with his beak, then said modestly, “I happen to know the paths.”

  “The only path we need is the one we’re on right now,” said Moonheart. “If we stay on it, we’ll be just fine.” These last words he delivered with a significant look at Cara.

  “I know a shortcut,” said Medafil, sounding almost desperate now.

  Cara, ever aware of the calendar stick she carried in her pack, caught her breath. “Moonheart, that might make all the difference,” she said softly.

  “How do we know he’s not simply going to lead us into some trap?” asked Moonheart.

  Cara, uncertain how to answer, finally said, “We just have to trust him.”

  Moonheart looked uneasy.

  “Trust beak-faced wingcat?” squeaked the Squijum, peeking out from behind the Tinker’s boots.

  Medafil started to lunge at the little creature but managed to hold himself back.

  “Why not trust now?” asked the Dimblethum. “Can always crunch later if need to.”

  Moonheart sighed. “Lead on,” he said.

  “I think I’ll go home instead,” said Medafil.

  But Cara put her hand on his shoulder. “Please?”

  “Gaah! Dradfingled girlthings. Always could talk me out of common sense. All right, follow me.”

  And with that, he plunged into the forest.

  * * *

  It took three days to reach the far side of the forest. During that time Cara grew deeply fond of the crotchety gryphon — despite his constant warnings of impending doom. And he more than proved his worth when he twice kept them from being lured onto a false path that would have sent them wandering in the untracked wilderness.

  At night, after they had made camp and settled in to rest, Cara followed two rituals. The first was to take out her calendar stick and cut a notch for the day just finished. As the notches grew more numerous, the days left for them to reach Ebillan’s cave before the transit point would shift grew fewer and fewer.

  Once she had marked the stick, she would return it to her pack and take out the shell Medafil had given her. Whenever she held it to her ear to listen to her grandmother’s voice, M’Gama’s ring would begin to glow with a gentle green light. One night Jacques saw her with the shell and asked about it. Without saying anything, she handed it to him. He put it to his ear. After a moment his eyes widened, then filled with tears.

  He sat listening to it for a long time.

  * * *

  The Dimblethum was enormously useful in keeping them fed as they traveled, for he seemed to know every plant that could be used in any way for food. Yet he grew fidgety as they continued. When Cara asked him why, he growled, “The Dimblethum does not like dragons. Most especially, he does not like Ebillan.”

  Which did nothing to make her feel any more comfortable.

  Cara noticed that Lightfoot often walked alongside Belle. She wanted to ask him about it, but wasn’t able to maneuver him away from the others until late in the second day. They were walking at the back of the group, Cara with her hand resting on Lightfoot’s shoulder. They were silent for a while. Finally, gathering her courage, she said, “Do you like Belle?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know! Do you like her? Do you want her to be your girlfriend?”

  Lightfoot curled his lip. “The warrior queen for a girlfriend? Now there’s a scary thought. Besides,” he muttered, “it wouldn’t make any difference if I did.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Cara.

  He shook his head in irritation and said, “If we’re going to talk, let’s talk about something sensible!”

  * * *

  They spent most of the third day after she met Medafil — the twentieth day of their journey — climbing. At the end of the day they came out on a low cliff. Spread out before them was the Northern Waste, a vast, bleak-looking stretch of land, rocky and nearly bare of vegetation. Smoke curled up from cracks in the ground. Ahead, and to the right, Cara could see a muddy pool that popped and bubbled.

  “A vacation paradise,” muttered Jacques.

  “Ebillan’s territory,” said the gryphon. He reared back and flapped his wings as if he wanted to get away from the land. “This is where I leave you bitdingled fools. Unless you decide to do something intelligent and turn around, too.”

  Cara looked at Medafil in surprise. Somehow she had assumed he would continue to travel with them. But, of course, he had no connection to their quest and had only come this far as a courtesy.

  She went to stand in front of him. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Gaaah! What have I done but help you to your doom? Dingbongled dragon will probably eat you before you go two miles into his territory. Why not turn around and come back with me?”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “Gaaah,” said Medafil. But this time it was little more than a sigh, and his wings sagged as he said it. “I knew you were stubborn from the minute I met you.” He looked around, then straightened his shoulders and said, “All right. I was just testing you, hoping you would see the wisdom of turning back. If you insist on going forward, then so be it. Let’s get moving.”

  Thus it was that on the twentieth day of their journey, the Dimblethum, the Squijum, four unicorns, three humans, and one gryphon cli
mbed down the cliff and entered the territory of Ebillan, the seventh dragon.

  To their left the sun was low in the sky. From it stretched brilliant streamers of red and orange, their garish light making the desolation of the Northern Waste appear all the more stark. Then, against one of the ribbons of light, Cara saw something else.

  “Look,” she whispered. “Ebillan’s coming!”

  18

  To Bargain

  with a Dragon

  Ebillan’s body was sinuous and his long tail writhed and twisted like a snake even as he flew. He was jet-black, save for his eyes, which were a blazing red, and his nostrils, which glowed like hot coals. As he swooped toward them Cara noticed that he was considerably smaller than Firethroat. Even so, each of his batlike wings was easily as long as a schoolbus.

  Suddenly he threw back his head and shot a gout of flame into the darkening purple sky.

  Finder stepped back nervously.

  “Just a warning,” murmured Thomas, and though the words were reassuring, Cara thought he sounded less like he was offering a fact than trying to convince himself that this was the case. She stepped closer to Lightfoot, who stood tense and ready. Belle was beside him, one foot pawing the stony soil as if she was about to launch herself forward. Moonheart had stepped to the front of the group, where he stood without flinching.

  Cupping the air with his wings, Ebillan dropped gracefully to the ground, landing about twenty feet in front of them.

  “Yike!” whispered the Squijum, who clung cowering to Cara’s neck. The Dimblethum, standing behind her, put one heavy paw on her shoulder.

  She glanced over at Medafil. “Gatbimbled thing,” muttered the gryphon.

  “How dare you enter my territory?” growled Ebillan. His head wove back and forth as he spoke, and his long tongue flicked out of his mouth, nearly lapping against the travelers.

  “We come on a mission from the Queen,” said Moonheart.

  This seemed to surprise the dragon. He looked at them suspiciously for a moment, then said, “An odd group for the Queen to send on a mission.”