Shadows on the Stars (19 page)

“Rhia,” said Elli softly. She chewed her lower lip. “How I love her.”

“That’s the only reason you can see her, you silly wretch.” Nuic’s voice sounded as gruff as ever, but his colors told a different story. As he viewed the old woman, streaks of warm reds and yellows vibrated in his skin.

Shifting his gaze to Elli, he asked, “Want to check on that fool Tamwyn, while we’re at it?”

Surprised, she caught her breath. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Hmmmpff, I don’t know. Boredom, maybe.”

Just then Brionna yanked the tiller hard, bringing the boat around so sharply she threw everyone against the side. Bodies jostled and Nuic howled as Shim rolled on top of him. But as they regained their balance (and in Nuic’s case, composure), nobody berated her. They simply stood in awe. For now they could tell just why she had swerved—not to avoid something, but to
see
something.

“Stars,” said Elli, her voice full of wonder. “Stars upon the sea.”

There, before them, the willows opened into a great circle. Within the ringing boughs, and the shimmering curtain of green, was a pool of perfectly still water that reflected the stars above. And more: Somehow this water held the stars’ light, captured it, and intensified it.

Slowly their boat drifted into the center of the pool, sending out gentle ripples that rolled across the reflected stars. As the ripples passed, they caught the light, becoming luminous rings that expanded ever outward, finally disappearing into the encircling willows.

Elli glanced up at the morning sky, then back at the waters surrounding them. “The sky’s so bright now, it’s hard to see any stars at all. But this pool is like a crystal clear night.”

“With stars so near you could almost touch them,” added Lleu. “And even brighter than usual.”

“It’s like Merlin’s Stargazing Stone,” said Brionna, viewing the stars all around the boat. “But different, too. At the Stone you see everything in the sky, even the tiniest points of light. Here, you see just the brightest stars, but as if you were closer somehow.”

“Hmmmpff,” grumbled the pinnacle sprite. “Which is why the water elves call this place the Pool of Stars. A most unoriginal name, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you, Nuic.” Brionna flashed him a smile almost as radiant as the stars themselves. “Right, Elli?”

But Elli didn’t hear her. Struck by the mention of the Stargazing Stone, she’d been thinking of her blissful moment there with Tamwyn. And his journey, his quest to find the stars. To get, as Brionna had said,
closer somehow.

She turned to Nuic. “Maybe I would like to . . .”

He understood without another word. “Just touch the Galator and think about him. That should do it.”

She stretched out her hand and placed a fingertip on top of the green jewel. Closing her eyes, she thought about Tamwyn: his determination, veering into stubbornness; his gentle nature, capable of surprising wisdom now and then; and his clumsiness, more endearing than he knew. And also his fears—about his feelings for her, she was sure.

You madden me, Tamwyn. Drive me crazy some of the time. Much of the time! But you do intrigue me. I’m still not sure why.

She opened her eyes. Like Nuic, she gazed into the glowing green jewel. Bright colors swirled, then started to coalesce. She thought, for an instant, she could make out Tamwyn—reading something, a letter perhaps. But the image suddenly turned smoky, blurry, impossible to recognize. The jewel flashed once more, deep in its center, then returned to its normal color.

Elli twirled one of her curls, staring at the pendant. “That’s all?”

“Hmmmpff. Your feelings, I suspect, aren’t exactly clear on this subject.”

She frowned, saying no more.

They reached the far side of the Pool of Stars. Silently, the boat glided through the swaying tresses. Elli, like the others in the boat, took one last look at the bright lights in the water, wishing she could touch them. Then the pool, and the stars, vanished behind the greenery.

Onward they sailed through the willows, under aerial roots draped with moss and boughs arching high. In time, the growth began to thin, and the powerful trunks grew farther apart. Then, with a gust of wind that ruffled the elbrankelp sail, they emerged from the Willow Lands into the open sea.

Before them stretched the northernmost reaches of the Rainbow Seas, fading into the distant mist. To the east, a line of sheer cliffs rose out of the waves: Aquator Narrows, the land bridge connecting both halves of Waterroot. Beyond that, Brionna pointed out, there was a touch of color on the horizon, darker and deeper than the waves themselves. That, as she explained, was the very edge of the Flowering Isles, where colorful water plants bloomed all year round. The Isles stretched along the coast for quite some distance, almost to the bluffs where the Eopia College of Mapmakers had sat for centuries.

“Look!” cried Lleu, pointing his long arm at a shape on the western horizon. “Another boat like ours.”

“Not like ours,” Brionna corrected. She swung the tiller, coming about to tack westward. With a
whoosh
, the little sail swung over their heads, making Shim’s thin white hairs blow sideways. “That’s an elven ship, built by the famous shipwrights of Caer Serella.”

“But it does look like ours,” objected Elli. “Right down to the emblem on the sail. See it there? That boat must be no more than half a league away.”

“Try fifty leagues,” declared Brionna. She shook her head in admiration, making her spray-covered hair sparkle. “That’s one of their tall ships. It only seems to be that close because of its size. Why, it’s at least twenty times taller than ours. It has a hull lined with giant paua shells, each as big as a full-grown oak tree. And that sail must be as big as . . .”

“My appetite,” growled Nuic. He leaned against Elli, who lifted him in one arm. “What I’d give for some fresh herbs and berries right now! If these waters weren’t so deep, I’d dive in and—”

“Get eaten by a water dragon,” cautioned Brionna. “Nobody swims here, unless they’re dolphin-fast. Though we’re lucky these dragons don’t fly, they can move amazingly fast through the water.”

She stroked her braid thoughtfully, her brow furrowed. “It is strange, come to think of it, that we haven’t seen any signs of them. Not even their guard patrols.”

“They leave boats alone, don’t they?” asked Lleu. He kneeled at the bow, scanning the waves.

“Sure,” the elf maiden replied, “ever since their truce with Serella long ago. Except, of course, for the War of Storms, when even Bendegeit couldn’t contain their greed. But even in times of pcace, they’re usually all over these waters, patrolling their hunting grounds.”

She pointed south of the tall ship, at a dark, rounded ridge that lifted out of the water like the shell of an enormous sea turtle. “I’m certain their lair isn’t far from here, just around that bit of coastline. Which makes it even more strange we haven’t seen any of them.”

Elli touched the amulet of leaves, and the precious crystal within. “They know we’re here,” she declared. “They’re just making it easy for us.”

“Right,” grumbled Nuic, his colors darkening. “Too easy.”

16
•
Edge of Terror

For Scree, the past three days of trekking through the Volcano Lands of Fireroot seemed more like three years. Three very long years.

Since leaving the portal in the Burnt Hills, the same place where he and Tamwyn had lost their mother years ago, he’d trekked incessantly, pausing only now and then to nap, drink, or eat a scrawny cliff hare. He’d passed through charred vales reeking of sulfurous smoke, scaled sheer cliffs where flame vents erupted without warning, and dodged fire plants whose ghoulish hands reached out to scorch his legs. Since he couldn’t just fly to his destination—a lone eagleman soaring above the peaks would be too easily spotted—he had no choice but to walk.

And to think. All of Scree’s thoughts boiled down to one goal, which burned the terrain of his mind no less than lava had often burned the slopes and crevasses of the Volcano Lands:
Stop the Bram Kaie clan.
He knew what this meant. He’d have to kill its leader, as well as that brutal young warrior, before he himself was killed. But if he somehow succeeded, he’d be helping Tamwyn—and Avalon—while avenging Arc-kaya’s death.

He paused, sweat glistening on his bare shoulders. Though his stamina had steadily improved, he still felt weaker than usual. His hand went to his thigh, kneading the muscles that still ached from that evil shard. Even after so many days, the strength of that leg hadn’t fully returned. Would it ever?

He turned his eagle-sharp eyes on the jagged crater on the ridge ahead, whose jutting stones reminded him of the Crater of the Crooked Teeth where he’d spent so much of his youth. In hiding. Only once had he left the safety of that place for long—and that was enough to come just a feather’s width away from losing both the staff of Merlin and his own life.

Thanks to
her.

“I can still see you, my Queen,” he said in his rough, raspy whisper. “Just as I’ve seen you in my memory hundreds of times.”

His powerful fists clenched, making muscles flex all the way up his arm. Rows of feathery hairs, which covered his skin from his wrists up to his shoulders, stiffened like bristles. “But you didn’t really want me, did you? You
never
wanted me. All you wanted was the staff.”

The large, yellow-rimmed eyes narrowed. “It’s me you’re going to get in the end, though, Queen. I’ll be a present for you.” He saw, in his memory, the face of Arc-kaya, as she lay dying in his arms, and he added: “And for that murdering warrior of yours.”

Suddenly a flame vent blasted out of the rust-colored rocks by his feet. He leaped to the side, just in time to avoid being scorched by crackling yellow flames. But even as a plume of black, sulfurous smoke belched out of the vent, he caught sight of a small furry body darting between two rocks.

Rolling over with an eagleman’s agility, he shot out one leg so fast that his toes grasped the animal’s tail. Scree lay there, back against the rocks, and bent his leg to see just what he’d caught. His stomach rumbled hungrily; it had been more than a day since his last cliff hare.

There, dangling before him was a strange combination of a furry marmot, a scaly snake, and a long-tailed mouse. It writhed madly, squeaking with rage. It had a black tail as long as its slender body, grayish brown fur, and six feet covered with tiny orange scales that flashed like fire.

“You’re an ugly little something, aren’t you?” Scree peered into its angry eyes as the animal squirmed before him. “Can’t say I’ve seen your kind before. Or eaten anything like you.”

The creature bent itself double, trying to snap at Scree’s foot with its toothy snout. But it couldn’t quite reach high enough. All its snapping was useless.

Scree shook his foot. “I’ll bet you’d taste pretty good, roasted over that flame vent with a pinch of char-lichen to spice you up.” He licked his dry lower lip. “Pretty good indeed.”

He frowned. “But I won’t find out today, I guess. For all I know, you could be the last of your kind.”

Abruptly, he rolled over and released his grip. The surprised creature hesitated for an instant, then scurried to dive into a crack underneath a rock.

Scree bounced back to his feet. With a squeeze to his weak thigh, he started off again. He trekked up the ridge, following the trail of a now-dry sulfur spring. Puffs of yellow dust rose into the air with every step.

He veered to the side to avoid a bubbling pit of ash, whose frothy gray fluid gurgled and belched. Then, topping the ridge, he slid down a thin chute of obsidian, as smooth as black glass. Landing on his feet at the bottom, he gazed up at the next ridge ahead. Dark with fire-blackened rocks, it loomed as large as a fire dragon’s back, but with an added edge of terror.

For behind that ridge, Scree knew, were the people of the Bram Kaie clan. He’d be greatly outnumbered, that was certain. He needed to surprise them. And even then, he’d have but one chance to succeed.

All of a sudden he heard a distant screech that echoed over the volcanic peaks. He ducked into the shadow of a charred boulder just as a cadre of four warriors, all with black-tipped wings and red leg bands, sailed out of an ashen cloud. They cried triumphantly and then plunged toward the blackened ridge. But not before Scree glimpsed what they were carrying—an object so large that it took two of them to carry it in their talons.

It was a corpse, smeared with blood from the tips of its battered wings to the stubs of its severed legs. The corpse of an eaglewoman.

A plume of fetid smoke blew past, searing Scree’s eyes. He waved it away, trying to get a better look. By the time the air cleared, though, the warriors had vanished behind the ridge. But he’d already seen enough.

Angrily, his hand raked the air. And then, every muscle tensed, he started to climb. He kept to the shadows, moving with utmost stealth. For he was going to the place where Quenaykha ruled, the place where he’d fight what would most likely be the last battle of his life.

17
•
Memories of Avalon

Before he’d read the scroll from his father, Tamwyn could taste only the wondrously sweet water from the spring that bubbled forth in the Great Hall. Now, though, he tasted something else—something much more bitter.

He smoothed the crumpled paper and rolled it up again. Then, retrieving the lock of his father’s hair, he tied it around the scroll and shoved them deep inside his pack. As he did so, his finger brushed against the slab of harmóna. Even so gentle a touch made the magical wood hum in response, as if he’d plucked the strings of an arboreal harp. Its grains sang for several seconds, and the sound was so resonant that the tiny quartz bell on his hip vibrated, echoing the note.

Tamwyn merely scowled, closing the flap of his pack. The harp’s yearning note made him think of Elli, and the confusion of feelings she stirred inside him. And the bell made him think of Scree—the years he’d searched for him in the wilds of Stoneroot, the thrill of finding each other at last, and now the sting of being separated again.