Doomraga's Revenge (9 page)

“Further north,” said Rhia, sitting cross-legged on the dragon’s head. Wind rushed through her hair, straightening all but her most tightly wound curls. She glanced to her right, where Merlin stood beside a tall ear. “To the deepest forest.”

Lleu, standing by the dragon’s other ear, raised his voice to be heard above the wind. “What
was
the deepest forest.”

No one spoke again as they sailed swiftly over leagues of rich forest. Trees, all shades of green, filled every contour of the land, just as songbirds’ music filled the air. Then, in unison, the companions caught their breath. For the vista before them was starting to change drastically.

Trees, stripped of their leaves, stood like skeletons. The landscape now looked more brown and gray than green, an expanded version of Rhia’s dying leaf. Ravines where streams once flowed were sterile and dry; no moss clung to their banks, no fish leaped from their pools. Mist did not rise skyward, only dust clouds stirred by the restless wind.

Basilgarrad strained his eyes, hoping to see some signs of life in this miserable terrain. But the farther north they flew, the more devastated the forest became. Now he saw no loping deer, heard no songbirds, smelled no fruit or flowers.

“What . . . happened?” he gasped.

“A blight,” declared Rhia, running her fingers over the woven vines of her garb. Because their magic sprang from the same source as the life of the woods, they, too, were fading. Already, more brittle brown leaves had appeared on her arms, thighs, and chest.

“And it’s spreading,” said Nuic, seated beside her. His own color had shifted to lifeless gray with a few traces of green.

“What’s causing this?” pressed Basilgarrad, shaking his immense head as he flew. To get a closer look, he swooped lower so that his underside nearly brushed the tops of the leafless trees. “What’s behind all this?”

“Magic,” Merlin declared, his face contorted as if he’d bitten into a bitter fruit. “I can feel it, down in the marrow of my bones. This is dark magic—the worst I’ve ever encountered.”

The dragon veered, following the empty gulley that once held a stream. The wind, dry and smelling of nothing but dust, rushed over him and all those he carried. It seemed to be blowing away any shreds of hope that the forest might return to life.

“Is there some way to stop this?” asked Basilgarrad. “To counter the magic?”

Rhia, swiveling atop the dragon’s head, turned to her brother. “Is there?”

Merlin’s dark eyes scanned the wretched scene below. “Perhaps. But it will be very risky.”

“It’s worth any risk,” insisted Rhia. She picked a dead leaf off her arm, then threw it into the wind. Aimlessly, it drifted down to the lifeless forest, landing on the bare ground.

Grimly, he nodded. “So be it. Basil, go farther to the west. Over that ridge there, the one with the notch.”

The dragon turned, still flying just above the spiky treetops. Seconds later, he crossed the notched ridge. More blighted lands stretched before them, with only a scattering of healthy trees on the horizon.

“There!” cried Merlin, pointing to the left. “Set us down there.”

Basilgarrad knew instantly which spot Merlin had chosen. Amidst all the gray and brown below, he saw only one variation—a touch of vibrant green. Not the green of living plants, but of a certain kind of fire.

“A portal,” said Lleu, peering down at the flames. “Do you know, Merlin, where this one leads?”

The wizard shook his head. “I know where it
might
lead—to a place far below the surface of Woodroot, a place we can find only by portalseeking. I’ve been there once, though only with help from Dagda. But what I saw there was a vast supply of one particular substance—the only substance strong enough to counter this blight.”

Rhia’s curls bounced as she nodded. “You mean . . . élano?”

“Yes! Not the diluted form we find in healing springs or portal flames. No, I mean pure élano—the most concentrated magic in this world, or perhaps any world.”

He twirled his beard, thinking. “I’ve only begun to comprehend its powers, mind you. But we’re talking about the essential sap, the very life source, of the Tree. It combines all seven sacred elements—and the result is, well, magic
beyond
magic.”

“And so,” said Rhia, suddenly excited, “if we can somehow gather enough pure élano—”

“We might be able to counter the blight,” finished her brother. “As strong as that dark magic is, the power of élano just might be stronger. If I’m right, it’s a power devoted to creating and healing life, rather than destroying it.” He swallowed. “And if I’m wrong . . .” His voice trailed off ominously.

“We lose precious time,” finished Lleu. “Meanwhile, this terrible sickness is spreading! If we take too long, there won’t be anything left in Avalon to save.”

“And we still don’t know what’s behind all this,” the dragon reminded them in his resoundingly deep voice. Descending toward the portal, he lifted his massive tail and tilted his wings. Dusty winds circled as he dropped lower.

“I’ll tell you what’s behind it,” declared Rhia, windblown curls whipping her cheeks. “Rhita Gawr! He wants to end all the life—all the magic—in Avalon. To turn back time, so our world never has a chance to flower. Killing this forest is just the beginning!”

“Now, now,” cautioned Merlin. “We don’t know that yet. There might be some other explanation.”

“Like what?” asked Rhia doubtfully.

He chewed on his lip. “I don’t know. Not yet.”

She scowled at him. “You always did like to wait until danger strikes you right between the eyes, rather than see it coming! Why can’t you call a disaster what it really is?”

“That’s what sisters are for.”

“To see disasters?”

“Yes,” he answered wryly. “Or cause them.”

Suddenly Basilgarrad dropped more altitude, preparing to land. Arching his enormous wings, he also lifted his head to protect his passengers from the impact—just as he plowed into a mass of dead trees, mowing them down with his enormous weight. Trunks snapped against his massive chest, while branches exploded, sending shards in all directions. He slid to a stop, then lowered his head once more. Only a few paces from the tip of his jaw, the portal’s green fire crackled in the center of a shallow pit.

“Excellent work, Basil.” The wizard patted the back of the dragon’s ear. “A perfect landing.”

“Hmmmpff,” grumbled the sprite. “Perfectly horrible, if you ask me. He could have killed us!”

“I’ll try harder next time,” said the dragon with a smirk.

“There won’t
be
any next time,” replied Nuic, his skin entirely scarlet.

“Look here,” said Merlin, having climbed down to the ground to examine the pit and its flames. His worried tone caught everyone’s attention. “This portal, if I’m not mistaken, seems to be frailer than most. See how its fire is sputtering? I wonder if it, too, has been affected by the blight.”

“Too bad Krystallus isn’t here,” offered Rhia, stepping to his side. “He knows so much about the nature of portals, he might be able to tell us.”

“Well, he’s not here,” snapped Merlin. He clenched his teeth, thinking of the bitter parting he’d had with his son. “We’ll just have to take our chances.”

Rhia eyed him sympathetically. “I’m willing if you are,” she said softly. She looped one of her fingers around one of his, as she’d often done since their youth.

Feeling her confidence, as well as her touch, Merlin straightened his back. “All right, then. Shall we enter this portal?”

Rhia, Lleu, and Nuic all gave a nod—although, in Nuic’s case, it was barely perceptible. Basilgarrad, for his part, frowned. “I’m too big, I’m afraid.”

Merlin gazed up at him. “That’s one thing I never thought I’d hear you say.”

The dragon’s eyes brightened for an instant, then dimmed again. “This place is somewhere under the surface? I can’t fly there to meet you?”

“Right, old friend. I’m sorry.”

“So all I can do is sit here and wait for you to return?”

Merlin stroked his scraggly beard. “I never said that.” His expression darkened. “There is, in fact, something else you could do. Something that could give us an important clue to what’s really happening—not just here in Woodroot, but all across Avalon.”

“What is it?” Basilgarrad eagerly pounded the ground with his tail, sending up clouds of dust and debris. “Where do I go?”

“To Waterroot,” answered Merlin. “To the lair of Bendegeit, highlord of the water dragons. Now, I must warn you: He is a jealous, wrathful, vindictive monarch, ruthless beyond measure. But he also holds a power that no one else possesses—the gift of Undersight.”

“Which is?”

“The power,” Merlin explained, “to see beneath the surface, to the true causes of things.”

“I will go,” vowed the dragon.

“Be careful, though! As hard as it will be to win his help, there will be one thing even harder.”

Basilgarrad’s ears swiveled. “What is that?”

“To avoid battling him or his guardians.” Merlin stepped toward his gargantuan friend. “Water dragons are just as vicious and irascible as fire dragons, I’m sorry to say. The only difference is that, instead of fire, they breathe—”

“Ice,” the dragon finished. “Blue ice. I’ve already learned that—the hard way.”

The wizard lifted his bushy brows. “You’ll have to tell me about that experience.” Lowering his voice, he added, “If we both survive the next one.”

“Are you sure that portal’s safe enough to travel?” asked Nuic, eyeing the feeble flames.

“No,” declared Merlin. “But I am sure it’s our only chance.”

“Hmmmpff. This sounds like one of your plans, all right! Stay here and die from the blight, or go and die in the portal.”

“That sums it up quite well,” he answered grimly.

The portal crackled and sputtered like a dying man’s cough. Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the flames, then looked again at Basilgarrad. With a nod, he spun around and faced the fire that would carry them to their destination—or their death.

12:
G
REEN
F
LAMES

No flame is brighter than hope. It both lights the mind and warms the heart . . . even when there is nothing left to burn but darkness itself.

His face lit by the flickering green flames of the portal, Merlin slid his staff into his belt. With one hand, he held onto Rhia, who carried Nuic in the bend of her arm. His other hand took Lleu’s.

“Clear your minds completely,” he warned. “Think of nothing but the magical essence élano, lifeblood of the Great Tree of Avalon. And why we must find it—to save our world! Don’t let your thoughts stray, for even a second, or you’ll die quickly and painfully.”

Under her breath, Rhia added, “Or slowly and painfully.”

Merlin squeezed her hand. “Stay with me, and you’ll be fine. All of you.” Yet he didn’t sound wholly convinced. “Come now, let’s go.”

As one, they walked to the edge of the pit. Green fire, sputtering and flaring, lapped at their feet. Merlin glanced to his left and right, then took a deep breath.

“Now.”

With that, the companions jumped into the air and dropped into the pit. Crackling flames rose over them—and they vanished.

Green fire overwhelmed them, consumed them—and then, at last, became them. Through the living veins of the Tree they flowed, turning sharply here, falling steeply there, riding deeper and deeper into the inner heart of their world. Onward and inward they rode, carried by the crackling sparks of élano: part light, part life, part mystery.

At some points, the fires dimmed, slowing their journey. Once, the flames nearly faded away, but returned again just in time to carry them onward. Yet there could be no doubt that the portals—and maybe the Tree itself—were weakening.

Throughout, a rich, resinous smell filled their awareness—the smell of the woodland, of trees, of forest life renewing for ages beyond count. That smell, even more than the flames, seemed to be the essence of their journey, the constant reminder of the fragile beauty surrounding them.

Suddenly, with an explosion of sparks, they tumbled out of the portal onto a floor of solid rock. It took them a moment to untangle themselves and clamber to their feet, and another moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim, milky light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Where are we?” asked Rhia. Her voice echoed and reechoed around them.

“Alive, first of all,” said Lleu, straightening his twisted tunic. “And that’s a blessing.”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbled Nuic. Even in the milky light his small body looked very dark.

“We are in a cavern,” announced Merlin, “deep under the surface. Whether it’s the
right
cavern, I’m not sure.” Glancing back at the portal, whose flames sputtered feebly, he frowned. “Let’s find out quickly, before that portal dies.”

“Leaving us stranded down here forever,” added Nuic glumly.

Merlin pulled his staff from his belt and held it before his face. Gently, he blew upon its gnarled handle. Instantly, the staff began to glow like a powerful torch, sending light of its own in all directions.

What a cavern! Huge, arching buttresses, twisted like enormous roots, soared overhead, joining somewhere too high to be seen. All around the companions, smooth rock walls undulated, rising and falling as if they were frozen waves. At the base of one of those walls, the portal’s fire burned, spitting green sparks onto the floor.

Yet the light from that fire didn’t explain the dim white light they had noticed when they first arrived. It was Merlin who first realized where that light originated. Peering at the cavern walls, he nodded. For there, embedded in the rock, were thousands upon thousands of luminous crystals.

“Crystals of élano,” he said in a hushed whisper. “All around us.”

Holding his staff high, he strode to the nearest wall. Gently, he laid his open hand against the rock. Milky white light shone right through his palm and each of his fingers, illuminating all the bones and muscles under his skin. The rock felt warm—not only the warmth of heat, a physical sensation, but also the deeper warmth of something spiritual: a sense of belonging to the wide universe, a feeling of contentment, a glimpse of the rhythmic patterns of life.