The Dragon of Avalon (17 page)

All at once, Basil's thoughts turned to a different question. Cautiously, he asked, "When you said dragons sometimes have the Sight . . . did you, er—was that a way of saying, ummm . . . that I, crazy as it sounds, am really some sort of—"

"Dragon?" The stag shook his massive rack from side to side and answered decisively. "No. Definitely not."

Though he wasn't at all surprised, Basil couldn't help but feel a slight pang of disappointment.
Any
answer to the question of what he really was, no matter how far-fetched, would have been welcome. And for just an instant, despite everything he knew, he'd almost allowed himself to hope that he might one day be something as big and powerful as a dragon.

"What then," he asked plaintively, "am I? Can you tell me that?"

Dagda studied him with eyes unfathomably deep. "I really cannot say what you really are, or what you might become." His bass voice reverberating on the rocks, he added, "But I am sure of this much: Whatever you may be, you are not a mere dragon."

Basil coughed in surprise. "A mere dragon? They're the most powerful creatures alive! They can—"

"Nevertheless," interrupted Dagda, "you are
something else
."

Rustling his scrawny wings, Basil demanded, "What?"

Instead of replying, the stag turned and started to trot slowly around the boulder where Basil sat. As he circled, his hooves clacked on the rocks, sending a few of them skittering down the cliff. He seemed to be sizing up the lizard, measuring him in some way that had nothing whatsoever to do with body length. When, at last, he stopped and spoke again, he asked a question—the last question Basil expected.

"What are your dreams, my son?"

Basil started. Surely Dagda didn't want to know about that terrible dream from long ago! Furrowing his snout, he replied, "You mean my wishes? My longings? I want to know what I am—not just what kind of creature, but what makes me . . .
me
. What makes me, well . . . special."

The stag nodded. "That much I already guessed. No, I meant your dreams that come at night, in your unguarded moments. Call them visions—whether they are beautiful or disturbing." He peered at Basil. "Do you have any dreams of that kind?"

The lizard swallowed. Should he tell? Dagda might be shocked, might lose whatever goodwill he had toward Basil. Too great a risk! Clearing his throat, he answered firmly: "No."

Dagda merely watched him, waiting.

Anxiously, Basil drummed his tail. Though he wasn't sure why, he felt an urge to confide, to trust, in this wise being. "Well . . . yes," he confessed. "I did have one—a truly dreadful one. And it's come back many times over the years."

Dagda continued to wait in silence.

"Merlin was there with me. And—something horrible. A creature with wings. Jagged, bony wings. Like mine, only bigger, darker. It attacked him! It tried to—to . . ." He paused, gathering himself, but when he spoke again his voice was barely a whisper. "To
kill
him."

Basil gazed at the great stag, afraid he had revealed too much. Yet, seeing those rich brown eyes, he decided to say one thing more. "I've always feared," he whispered, "that the creature . . . was really me."

Gusts of wind blew across the cliff, carrying flakes of snow from distant peaks. A timeless moment passed before Dagda responded to what Basil had told him. And when he did respond, it was by saying a single word:

"Beware."

"What?" Basil asked, his voice as shrill as the wailing wind. "Myself? My fears?"

No answer.

"What should I beware?"

"Whatever might diminish you, my son," the stag declared. "Whether it lives within you or without."

The lizard shook his head. "That's not very helpful."

The stag stepped closer. "Perhaps not. But I would, in fact, like to help you—just as you helped me. Without your uncanny Sight, I might have carried that leech much farther, grown weak from loss of blood, or even taken ill from Rhita Gawr's evil toxins."

Coming still closer, he announced, "And so . . . I would like to grant you a boon,"

Basil's heart leaped. Instantly, he knew what to ask for. "The portal! It was here, on this slope, then buried by a rock slide. Could you find it for me? And fix it so I can use it to travel?"

"I could," answered the stag. "First, though, tell me where you want to go."

"Everywhere!" Basil jumped into the air as he shouted, landing with a smack of his tail on the boulder. "I want to see all seven realms—and I have five more to go. I want to explore new places, find someone else like me, and on the way, maybe even find . . ."

Dagda tilted his head, waiting to hear how he finished the sentence.

"Myself."

The stag nodded, bobbing his enormous rack. "A worthy destination."

He paused, contemplating. "If I grant you this boon, I will make two requests."

"Name them," said Basil eagerly.

"First, in every realm you visit, I want you to find something."

"A treasure?"

"Of a kind, yes." Dagda's lips curled in a slight grin. "I want you to find . . ."

Basil braced himself, expecting the worst. Whatever the spirit ford wanted him to find, it would not be easy.

"A grain of sand."

Basil blinked, unsure he'd heard correctly. "A . . . what?"

"A single grain of sand, or soil, or rock. A piece of that magical place."

Relieved, the lizard sighed. "Well, that won't be too hard."

"And then," Dagda continued, "I want you to swallow it."

"To
what?
"

"Swallow it, my son. Take into yourself that grain of sand—and whatever secrets it holds." The stag's round eyes gleamed. "You see, I want you to do more than just travel through your world. I want you to
become
your world. Make it yours! Taste it, swallow it whole. Its wonders. Its mysteries. Its secrets."

"Like this?" Basil whipped his tail against one of the boulder's quartz crystals, whose facets had endured so many brutal mountain storms that they had started to splinter and crack. A small sliver of the crystal broke off, sparkling as it flew through the air. With the ease of a practiced hunter of insects, he spun around and snapped his jaws closed. Then he swallowed his prize—a tiny piece of Stoneroot.

Instantly, the light of crystals flashed inside his mind.
I am stone
, declared a deep, rumbling voice, rich and wise with years.

I have burned in the belly of a star
, the voice continued,
flowed in a river of lava, inhaled bolts of lightning, and exhaled precious gems. Time has ripped me apart, melted me down, blended me together, compressed me flat, then stretched me tall. Yet I have endured. For I am stone—the body of mountains, the basin of oceans, the birthplace of crystals.

Basil sat on the stone, blinking with astonishment. He could still hear the faint echoes of the rumbling voice.

Catching his eye, Dagda said approvingly, "Yes. Like that."

"But how—"

"Just consider it part of my gift to you, my son." The stag's head lifted high. The wound at the base of his antler had stopped bleeding, though it remained swollen and discolored.

"You said," prompted Basil, "there were
two
requests?"

"Yes," answered the stag, his expression suddenly grave. "Here is the second."

He glanced around the area again, then stepped so close that his nose nearly touched the lizard's snout. Basil could feel Dagda's warm breath upon his face. When, at last, the spirit lord spoke, it was in the quietest of whispers—and Basil understood immediately that Dagda didn't want to risk the possibility that Rhita Gawr, if he was still nearby, might hear his words.

"Find Merlin," the stag said urgently. "You
must
find Merlin."

Basil looked up at him, puzzled. "To warn him about my dream?"

"That—and more." Dagda's eyes narrowed grimly. "He must be warned that Rhita Gawr has . . . The stag coughed, as if the words hurt his throat. "Entered Avalon! Merlin is the one person who can lead all of the peoples of this world—to find the evil spirit, and then to fight if necessary. And Merlin is
also
the one person Rhita Gawr will most want to destroy."

He paused, peering into Basil's green eyes. "So you see . . . all of Avalon is in danger now. But no one—no one—is in greater danger than Merlin."

The lizard gulped. "Do you know where Merlin is now? Which realm?"

Dagda shook his head, then whispered, "He could be anywhere in Avalon—any of the seven realms. But I do know this. He is, right now, searching for a terribly dangerous creature. A kreelix—the greatest mortal foe a wizard can face."

Hearing this, Basil scowled. As if things weren't bad enough already! Cocking his head, he asked, "Could you tell me more? I've never heard of a kreelix."

"That, my son, is because they disappeared long ago. No one had seen one since the last days of Fincayra, and everyone assumed that Avalon was free of them. Until recently! Now one has been sighted, and Merlin has set out to find it—and to stop it from wreaking terrible havoc."

Narrowing his eyes further, Dagda spoke in a half whisper, half growl. "What you need to know is that a kreelix possesses wings—huge, jagged, and bony. It uses them to crush, or even smother, its prey."

Basil shuddered. He moved away, stepping backward on the boulder. "So my dream . . ."

"Could be a vision of the future. Merlin's future."

Deep furrows lined Basil's brow. "I must find him. Must warn him!"

"Indeed you must." The stag hesitated, glancing around once more, then whispered urgently: "The gravest danger of all—the worst nightmare—is if that leech, Rhita Gawr, finds the kreelix before Merlin does! For then Rhita Gawr could give the kreelix greater strength, as well as greater intelligence—something Merlin would never suspect. He would encounter a kreelix more powerful than any wizard has ever known. And the result could be . . ."

"His death," finished Basil grimly.

"One advantage we have," said the stag, "is that the leech does not yet know about the kreelix. So you must move with haste as you search! Yes, even as you remember to swallow one grain of sand from every realm."

Not far from the stag's hooves, hiding in a tiny crack beneath a boulder, a dark creature stirred. Its bloodshot eye burned intensely. For it had learned much of importance. And now, if it succeeded in its plan . . . the fearsome kreelix would soon be joined by a powerful ally. One who feasted on blood.

Unaware of the leech, Basil declared, "I must go. Now."

"Wait," replied the stag, returning to his full, resonant voice. "Before you depart, I must ask you something."

Uncertain what it could be, the lizard asked, "Which is?"

"Your name. Tell me your name."

"Basil. I'm called Basil. But don't ask me why."

The stag's ears swiveled. "From the smell of basil leaves, I would guess. One of your first magical scents, perhaps. Am I right?"

"Y-yes . . . but how did you ever—"

"A lucky guess, my son." From deep in the stag's throat came a sound like a satisfied chuckle. "And now, my good Basil, it is time for us to part. I must go to Elen, to guide her to the Otherworld. And you must start your search . . . wherever it may lead."

Grimly, the lizard nodded. "Wherever it may lead."

"Farewell, good Basil." Flexing his powerful legs, the stag whirled around, stamping his hooves so hard that stones splintered beneath them. He started to pace away, his gait quickening to a gallop across the cliff.

"Wait!" cried Basil, suddenly alarmed. "What about the portal?"

Dagda stopped. Swishing his antlers through the air, he turned back around. "You won't be needing that," he declared, a strange gleam in his brown eyes.

"But how—" protested Basil, waving his little wings.

"There are other ways to travel," said Dagda. "Some of them are slow . . . and others are fast—as fast as the wind."

19:
T
IME TO
F
LY

Journeys take endlessly varied forms. They are the ultimate shape-shifters. Only one thing do all journeys have in common: Somewhere, perhaps when you least expect it, they begin.

Instantly, a warm breeze swept over Basil, filling his lungs and fluttering his wings. The smell of cinnamon tickled his nostrils. Fresh wind encircled him, whirling constantly: an airy embrace.

"Hello again, little hhhwanderer."

"Aylah!" shouted Basil, so delighted he jumped off the crystalline boulder and landed on a rock at the very edge of the cliff. Small shards broke off and tumbled down the steep walls, clattering noisily. "I'm so glad to see—er,
feel
—you again. I've missed you."

"And I have missed you, little hhhwanderer. Though I have traveled many places, even farahhhway hhhworlds, I have thought of you often."

"Faraway worlds?" asked Basil, amazed, as Aylah wrapped an invisible knot of air around his tail. "I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. You did tell me, long ago, that you're a ceaseless traveler."

"As hhhwatchful as the stars, as restless as the hhhwind," she whispered in his ear. "Now, though, I am here at your side. For Dagda summoned me, hhhwanting me to take you on a journey."

At the mention of the great spirit's name, Basil turned to the spot on the cliff where he'd been standing only a moment before. But Dagda, in the form of a mighty stag, had bounded off. No sign of him—or the evil leech who had clung to his antler—remained.

As much to himself as to the wind sister, Basil muttered, "I hope Avalon will be all right."

"As do I, little hhhwanderer." The cinnamon scent grew stronger as Aylah brushed past his face. "For this is the hhhworld between all hhhworlds, a bridge hhhwhere all magic meets."

"But Aylah . . . Rhita Gawr is here! In Avalon! I saw him—in a strange sort of way. Disguised as a bloodthirsty leech. Believe me, Aylah. He's
here
."

The swirling wind grew colder, frosting Basil's ears. "That is dreadful news, little hhhwanderer. Dreadful beyond hhhwords. Avalon is in grave danger."