The Dragon of Avalon (26 page)

Finally, the mist began to thin. Shafts of light tore through, shredding the clouds.

"There!" he cried excitedly. "I see Woodroot."

All he'd actually seen was a vague hint of color. But that was enough. For this was a color he knew well, a color he'd missed more than he even realized.

Green. All shades of green. The color of the forest. The color of his first home.

Slowly the mist revealed the rich green of spruce trees lined with moss, the golden green of meadowsweet sprinkled with fern, and the glistening green of rain-washed hawthorn, maple, and oak trees. Willows swayed gracefully as Aylah passed overhead, while tufted grasses bent their heads in greeting. Everywhere, birds fluttered, deer sauntered, insects whirred, woodland faeries gathered fruit, badgers burrowed under roots, and squirrels leaped from branch to branch.

Woodroot. Remembering that its elvish name, El Urien, meant
deepest forest
, Basil nodded. For nothing could better describe this place. Here grew all kinds of trees—trees so tall that they brushed the clouds, so transparent that they seemed almost invisible, or so liquid that their wood could actually be poured.

But Basil was scanning the forest for something else.
Let's hope
, he wished fervently,
that Merlin is here!

"Listen," said Aylah suddenly.

Basil's ears cocked. Beyond the continuous rush of the wind across leaves and needles and stalks, he heard a different sound, a song so haunting he held his breath, straining to catch more. Somewhere in the glades below was the source of this soulful, sweeping music. But what was making it?

The trees themselves! Their whispering boughs, vibrating with the wind, made this soft, magical music.

"Harmona trees," said the wind sister. "The elves, I am told, are learning hohhhw to craft that hhhwood into lutes and lyres, flutes and hhhwondrous horns."

Instead of replying, Basil took a deep breath, savoring the smells of this realm. Smells he hadn't known, except in memory, for many years. He caught scents of ripe plums, spicy pepperroot, and larkon fruit—whose bright aroma reminded him, somehow, of starlight. He found a hint of the rare Shomorra tree, whose every branch produced a different kind of fruit. And then he caught a trace of an old favorite: the musty, murky smell of deer prints in a marsh.

Drawing another breath, he inhaled more smells—along with something else, something he hadn't expected. A tiny fleck of dirt, caught up in Aylah's wind, had risen into the air just as they soared past. And so, when Basil took that breath, he also took into himself some of the magical soil of this realm.

I am wood
, spoke a richly resonant voice. It sounded like someone's breath blown through a leagues-long wooden flute. And to Basil, who had lived so long among the trees of this realm, it sounded, too, like the voice of a friend.

I am the circle, I am all—life into death, death into life. I am fragrant as crushed spruce needles. Fresh as rain-washed maple leaves. Full as the ripest apples, the stream in spring flood, the doe carrying her yet-unborn fawn. And I am deep, very deep, as the memories of fallen boughs that have landed on my face, melted into me, and made a womb for countless new seeds.

My essence is a book, whose story is life, and whose language is time.
The long, rounded notes of the wooden flute faded, echoing in his mind. Then they rose again for one final phrase:
I am wood.

For a moment, he listened to the echoes of that voice. His broken wing didn't pain him; the search for Merlin didn't call him.

"This realm is your home, little hhhwanderer." Aylah's gentle breath stroked his ears, lightly brushing the small green hairs inside. "You should return here, after hhhwe . . ."

Her voice trailed off. He felt a cold shiver in the air around him.

"I see Merlin!" she cried with a sudden gust of words. "In danger—the hhhworst kind."

An ear-shattering shriek filled the sky. It came from somewhere in the forest below, stabbing at the air like a dagger of sound.

30:
O
NE
L
IFE

Dying really isn't so bad after the first time. But I still prefer to do it as infrequently as possible.

Aylah instantly veered in the direction of the shriek. She turned so sharply that Basil rolled onto his side, jostling his broken wing. Blades of pain sliced through him, cutting from his shoulder down to the wing's bony tip.

"Where is Merlin?" he called through the gusting wind. "What made that sound?"

Below, branches waved and tossed violently as the wind sister swept over the forest. But she didn't answer.

Just then Basil noticed something strange. Far ahead, on a ridge darkened by thick groves of spruce and pine, hundreds of birds took flight. Hawks, larks, terns, sparrows, geese, owls, and more winged creatures rose into the air like a ragged, feathery cloud. Screeching and honking, whistling and hooting, the mass of birds lifted out of the deep green trees.

Flying straight into Aylah, the birds were knocked in all directions by the force of her wind. Feathers flew, while birds squawked and piped and screeched in alarm. Yet she didn't slow down at all, carrying Basil at gale speed toward the tree-covered ridge.

"I still don't see him! Aylah, can you tell me where—"

His words halted as he glimpsed, through the mesh of branches on the ridge, a wing—huge, jagged, and dark. The kreelix! An instant later, the distant branches shifted and covered the wing completely. Yet even though Basil could no longer see any part of the monster, he could still hear the echoing memory of Dagda's words:
A kreelix—the greatest mortal foe a wizard can face.

"Aylah, what exactly makes a kreelix so perilous? Those wings?"

"No," she replied. "Hhhworse than its hhhwings, by far, is its unique pohhhwer."

"Surely," he protested, "Merlin's own magical powers can defeat—"

"They cannot!" she shouted. "They are hhhworthless. Don't you understand?
A kreelix devours magic.
Uses its ohhhwn terrible pohhhwer,
negatus mysterium
, to suck the magic out of anyone, no matter hohhhw skilled."

Stunned at this news, he glanced down. Though the wind made his eyes water, he saw, galloping away from the ridge, a pair of golden unicorns. Their hides gleamed as they sped away, fleeing for their lives. "Then how can Merlin possibly fight?"

"Hhhwith his bare hands, if he must. But never hhhwith magic! Even his staff is useless for it, too, is made hhhwith magic."

"So he can use only his mortal strength?" Basil shook his head vigorously. "That won't be enough!"

"I knohhhw," she howled, racing over the treetops. "Hhhwhen a hhhwizard is caught by a kreelix . . ." She whistled angrily. "The hhhwizard usually dies. And that is hhhwithout the interference of—"

"Rhita Gawr," he finished with a snarl. "Do you think that evil spirit is down there right now, helping the kreelix?"

"Hhhwe cannot tell."

Basil stretched his small head forward, as if he could make her fly faster. "What will you do once we get there?"

"Distract the beast, perhaps, so Merlin might escape. Beyond that, I am hhhwholly helpless."

"Helpless?" Basil blinked in astonishment. "But his life's in danger!"

"So is mine, little hhhwanderer. And hhhworse, I cannot even give my life to save his! For if any part of my hhhwind, even the slightest breath, touches the kreelix's fangs—all my magic hhhwill instantly vanish. The kreelix hhhwould barely feel my touch. And since my hhhwhole being is made of magic, hhhwhen I vanish . . . I hhhwill also die."

He released an angry growl, barely audible above the loud whooshing of the wind. "Then," he declared, "I will help him."

"
You?
Hohhhw?"

"I don't know, Aylah. My body's made of flesh and bones, not magic. So at least I can try."

"No, little friend, you cannot! You, too, are made of magic. I see it in the glohhhw of your eyes. Just one touch of those fangs and you hhhwould lose everything. Your magic—and maybe also your life."

His eyes narrowed. "Whatever magic I have is small—very small. Losing it wouldn't hurt Avalon one bit. But losing Merlin? That's something else."

"Impossible," the wind sister countered. "You cannot help him."

In a voice that seemed much bigger than his body, he replied, "Escaping from that windtaker—that was also impossible."

Aylah, racing toward the ridge, waited before answering. "All right," she said at last. "But this is beyond bold, little hhhwanderer. This is crazy."

"My specialty." The memory of the windtaker renewed his confidence, strengthening his small limbs. Then, as they reached the ridge, he suddenly saw the whole hulking mass of the kreelix. Instantly all his confidence vanished.

The kreelix, shaped like an enormous bat, towered over Merlin. Though the wizard's tunic expanded with the rushing wind, he seemed very small—a mere dwarf by comparison. Standing upright on the forest floor with its huge, hooked wings extended, the evil beast was forcing him back against a thick tangle of brush that grew beneath a massive old cedar.

In just a few more seconds, Basil could see, all Merlin's routes of escape would be cut off. If he went forward, it would only be into the kreelix's fatal embrace; backward, into the impenetrable brush. And if he used any magic at all, it would be instantly swallowed. His wizard's staff lay useless in a patch of ferns, having been cast aside.

As the kreelix slowly advanced, moving with the adeptness of a highly intelligent killer, its leathery wings whipped at the air and its bloodred mouth snarled. Within that mouth, three fangs arched toward Merlin. Saliva dripped off their sword-sharp tips, gleaming like deadly poison.

The dream!
All at once, Basil remembered it—the wings, the stench of death, his own helplessness and despair.

So it was true. All true. Merlin is going to die . . . here and now.

The terrible reality paralyzed him, clutching at his heart. All his blood ceased flowing. His lungs stopped breathing. If it weren't for the persistent ache of his broken wing, he wouldn't even know that he had a body at all.

Wait
, he realized.
That ache . . .

His wing really was broken. He
did
have a body, a life, of his own. And he had something more, as well: the choice of how to use it.

He took a slow, ragged breath. Aylah, meanwhile, circled the area, whipping the branches with her wind, trying to distract the kreelix. But the monster paid no heed. It continued to advance on Merlin, rustling its dark wings menacingly.

Suddenly Basil understood something else. It was those wings—so huge and terrifying—that he'd seen in his dream. Not his own! And if the kreelix's wings meant deathly attack . . . his own wings, even if they were small and wounded, could mean something different. Very different.

"Aylah, bring me closer!"

"Are you sure, little hhhwanderer?"

"Yes. Do it now."

Swirling madly, the wind sister lowered him toward the confrontation. Merlin's sleeves fluttered, while the assailant's leathery wings billowed like sails. Yet neither the wizard nor the kreelix seemed to notice. They continued to glare at each other, watching for any weakness.

Basil's mind whirled like the wind, trying to decide what to do.
How can I help? I can't fly, can't stop that thing. I'm just one person, just one life—

His thoughts halted, caught by that final phrase. And he remembered what Dagda had said at Merlin's wedding:
One life, no matter how small, can make a difference.

The old cedar creaked loudly as it swayed above Merlin's head. As if in answer, the kreelix let loose another shrill, ear-piercing shriek. The horrible noise made the wizard stumble back another step, so that his back jammed against the wall of brush. Thorns tore at the cloth of his tunic, while branches raked at his hair.

"Nohhhw he is trapped," wailed the wind sister.

"Drop me, Aylah!"

"But little hhhwan—"

"Drop me
now!
”

With a final gust to guide him toward Merlin, the wind sister released him. Suddenly he was plunging downward, spinning as he fell. Air rushed over him, whistling in his ears, but it was not the warm, embracing air of his friend. Instinctively he tried to spread his wings to slow himself, until a sharp pain erupted in his shoulder.

Down he tumbled, unable to aim where he might land. Confused images spun below him—a bloodred mouth, a tattered tunic, a tangle of brush, a daggerlike fang that dripped saliva.

All at once, he slammed into something hard. A branch of the cedar tree! Taking the impact on his back, he struck with such force that all his breath burst out of him. He heard the crunch of his broken wing even as brutal pain shot through his whole body. Needles, brittle and sharp because the old tree was on the verge of dying, sprayed into the air and jabbed against his scales.

Through the cedar's branches he plunged, smashing into bark, twigs, needles, and cones on the way. Down, down, down. At each new impact, he flailed his little legs, trying to grab hold, throwing his back into the effort despite the painful throbbing of his wing. But he kept falling through the old tree, bouncing from branch to lower branch with a cascade of dead needles.

Finally, he hit a bough squarely on his underside. With all his remaining strength, he squeezed tight with his legs, hoping to straddle the branch. But he started to slide off sideways, rapidly losing his hold. Just before he lost his grip and slipped over the edge, he swung his tail up, throwing his weight in the opposite direction.

It worked. He lay atop the bough, stationary at last. Panting with exhaustion, aching all over, the little green fellow who had fallen from the sky peered cautiously over the side.

What he saw made him want to freeze—or, if he moved at all, to crawl away and hide somewhere. The kreelix stood right below him! Just under the end of the branch, the beast's mouth opened wide, exposing its three murderous fangs. Its eyeless face seemed to be laughing, gloating in triumph.