The Raging Fires (21 page)

“You will find that the Wheel itself has not one voice, but several. One, and only one, of those is the voice of complete truth. All the others are to some degree false. If somehow you choose the correct voice, you will be allowed to ask any question and learn the answer. If, however, you choose the wrong one—you will die.”

With a groan, I shook my head. “Is that all?”

“No.” Cairpré paused, listening to the wind whistling on the crags. “The legends say that the Wheel of Wye will answer only one question of any mortal. So, if you get that far, you will be faced with a choice every bit as difficult as the first: the choice of your one question. Choose well, my boy. For after the Wheel has answered, it will reveal no more to you forever.”

Hallia bent close to my ear. “What will you ask, if you are given the chance?”

For a moment, I pondered in the darkness. “The question I want to ask—long to ask. The question that haunts me more than those spirits up there: Is there any way I could regain my powers? Even if I’m never able to follow the pathway of Tuatha. Even if I’m still destined to die in the jaws of that dragon. Those powers were . . . me.” My head drooped. “And yet I can’t ask that question. For the fate of Fincayra, it seems, hinges on my asking something else: Where is the Galator?”

I blew a heavy breath. “So the truth is . . . I really don’t know what to ask.”

I could feel, more than see, Cairpré’s gaze. “Seek your answer within, my boy. For the choice is different for each different person. Take, for example, your sister, who longs to fly like a canyon eagle. No doubt she would ask how the Fincayrans, in ancient times, lost their wings—and how they could find them again.”

Working my stiff shoulders, I nodded. “And what about you?”

“I wouldn’t ask where the kreelixes are hiding, for I think I can learn that on my own. Thanks to old Bachod, who still has more to show me about this place—if this storm ever ends, that is. I’m closer than ever now.
Around the bend, My trail shall end.
No, the question that torments me the most, the one I would ask the oracle, is how to
fight
them.”

His frown deepened. “I couldn’t find anything about that in the texts. All I know is that the weaponry of magic, applied directly, is futile. The ancient mages who battled them must have found something else—something as ordinary, yet as powerful, as air itself. The trouble is, though, nothing but magic seems strong enough to defeat a whole mass of them. And a mass, I fear, is what we will have to face before this is over.”

I listened to the thunder echoing over the mountainside. “If only I understood that phrase, the one at the end of the prophecy.”

“Not the one that predicts that, if you do fight Valdearg, both of you will—”

“No, not that.
A power still higher.”

He nodded, stroking his chin. “It could mean the Galator. Or
negatus mysterium,
I suppose. Or . . . something else altogether.”

Gently, I spoke to Hallia. “Before I go, tell me. What would you ask the Wheel?”

Her voice so soft I could hardly hear it above the storm, she answered. “Whether, in this world or another, I might ever find . . . the joy in Eremon’s dream. How could that ever be? Without his hooves running beside my own?”

The mention of his name suddenly gave me an idea. “It would be much easier for me to climb the cliffs,” I said slowly, with four legs rather than two.”

She stiffened. “That’s true.” A rainy gust swept over us. “And it would be easier still if you had someone with you—someone who knew the trails.”

“No, Hallia.”

“And why not?” Despite the bravery of her words, her voice quavered. “You would rather go without me?”

“I would rather know you’re safe.”

“Merlin. I am coming.”

“But you—”

“Are the only hope you have! Hear me. This mountain has many trails, many caves. But only one is right.”

Knowing she spoke the truth, I could only nod. Slowly, all of us rose to our feet. We stood there, as silent as stones.

Then Cairpré clasped our hands. In a hoarse whisper, he said, “May Dagda be at your side. And at Fincayra’s, as well.”

24:
T
HE
C
LIMB

Anyone who could have seen through the sheets of rain that night might have glimpsed two figures dashing from the ruins of the tumbled hut—at first on two legs, then on four. At the start I felt only my own wetness, and the weight of my sopping tunic and drenched boots. Then, seconds later, the weight began to fall away. I felt warmer and drier than I had all day long. The floppy tunic dissolved, replaced by coarse, thick fur. The boots disappeared, changed into sturdy hooves. My back lengthened, as did my neck. The pounding rain joined with a new and deeper pounding.

Racing across the soaked field, I spotted a pair of sheep ahead. I did not go around them, as I would have only a moment before. Instead, I leaped from the turf and sailed over them, as easily as a drifting cloud.

For I could, once again, run like a deer.

Hallia and I bounded up the road toward the end of the valley, splashing through puddles and leaping across gullies that flowed like rivers. Oh, the new strength in my shoulders and hips! The new suppleness of my body! As I ran, the driving rain seemed less to wash off me than to part and fall around me. My nose tingled with aromas of seawater, gulls’ nests, and cliff lichen. Best of all, I could truly hear again—not with my ears, but with my very bones.

In time the road narrowed until it was nothing more than a winding gully. Rocks huddled at the sides like crouching figures; water coursed over our hooves. Hallia, more surefooted than I, took the lead. Her ears sniveled constantly, ever alert. Together, we began to pick our way up the increasingly steep slope.

The wind howled constantly, as rain slashed against my nose, my eyes. Bounding over some rocks and around others, we climbed steadily higher, the torrent raging around us. Now that I was no longer running, water rushed over me, flowing down my ears and back and rear-angled knees. I felt as if I’d stepped into a waterfall. My tail, compact as it was, moved constantly, shifting my weight just enough to help me balance on the slippery rocks.

Despite the darkness, I could see better than I had expected. My eyes discerned the jutting edges of outcroppings, the faint shadows of what might have been caves. Even so, I felt grateful for the frequent flashes of lightning as we made our way slowly upward. Often the wind gusted unexpectedly, nearly knocking me over. Several times the rocks under my hooves suddenly wrenched free, sliding down the slope. Only the quick instincts and sturdy legs of my stag’s body saved me from falling.

All the while, I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that we were not alone on this stormy slope. Someone, I felt certain, was watching. From those caves, perhaps.

Hallia, climbing just above me, leaped from a long, narrow slab to a flat ledge. Without warning, the slab broke loose. Grinding against the rocky slope, it slid straight at my hind legs. I had no time to do anything but leap. The slab grazed me slightly, but I landed on a sturdier spot, my hooves beside Hallia’s own.

Her black nose nudged my shoulder. “You’re more a deer by the minute.”

I felt as if I’d sprouted a new point on my antlers. “I’ve been watching you, that’s all.”

Another round of thunder rolled down the cliffs.

She stiffened, her ears erect. “They’re here. Close by. Can you feel them?” Before I could even nod, she bounded away, hooves clattering on the rocks.

Higher we pushed, over steeper and steeper terrain. The wind blew colder, chafing our hides, as the rain took on the sharp edges of sleet. Soon ice appeared, under ledges and along cracks, making the footing more treacherous than ever. Slowly, we struggled upward—one hoof at a time, one rock at a time.

Hallia turned to the right, following a barely visible trail. I felt it more than saw it, my hooves fitting into subtle grooves worn by many hooves before. Meanwhile, the temperature dropped still more. Even as we worked our way upward, sweating with effort, the chill air made us shiver.

We reached a tall pile of rocks, leaning like a dying tree, just as the first hailstones smacked against the slope. As well as our backs. In seconds, the hail—bigger than acorns—started pouring down. Striking like hundreds of hammers, the pellets inundated us. I yelped as one struck the tip of my nose. Hallia pressed close to me as we shrank next to the jumble of rocks.

All at once, the entire pile gave way. Rocks smashed down the slope, nearly taking us with them. Pummeled by hail, we bolted higher. The wind screamed—as did something else, something more like high, shrieking laughter.

A cave loomed ahead, dark against the whitening slope. Instinctively, we dashed toward it—when several pairs of eyes appeared, glowing like torches. More laughter! We veered away, straight into the wind, our hooves sliding on the icy rocks. Thunder pounded, drowning only briefly the raucous laughter from the cave.

Hail! Battering us, biting our hides. My shoulders ached from cold; my ears heard only that hideous sound.

Just ahead of me, Hallia suddenly swerved at the edge of a deep crevasse. Like an unhealed gash it cut across the slope, blocking our ascent. Standing on its lip, she glanced back at me, eyes wide with flight. I knew instantly that she hadn’t expected to find the crevasse—and didn’t know where to cross it.

Side by side, we tried to work our way along the edge. But the crevasse grew only wider. Only in the instant of lightning strikes could we even see its opposite side. Then . . . yes! It melted away at the base of a sheer outcropping. Muscles straining, we climbed upward. Unstable rocks broke loose under our hooves. Clouds of white came with every frosted breath. Finally, we reached the top—only to find ourselves staring down into the same crevasse as before.

Laboriously, we backtracked, trying to keep our balance on the wind-whipped face. Tiny icicles began forming on my eyelashes, blurring my vision. My lungs stung as the temperature dropped further. Snow started mingling with the hail, coating the treacherous rocks.

At the base of the outcropping, Hallia leaped over a crusted slab. As she landed, her hooves skidded in the snow. Helplessly, she tumbled down the slope, rolling over the rocks. Just at the edge of the crevasse, she managed to plant her hooves and arrest her fall. In the flash of lightning that followed, I saw her leap away, a trail of blood running down her thigh.

A moment later, I reached her side. “Are you hurt?”

“N-n-not badly,” she answered, as a brutal shiver coursed through her body. “But I’m lost, Merlin! This crevasse . . . I don’t remember it! And we must find a way to cross it soon—or head back down.”

“We can’t do that!”

“Then we’ll die,” she cried over the wailing wind. “There’s no way to—”

Another clap of thunder cut her off. Then more laughter rang out, piercing us like hunters’ arrows. The skin under my eye began to throb—whether from the battering of hailstones or the presence of Rhita Gawr, I could not tell.

The hail slackened, but more snow, thick and wet, fell on us. Rocks, and the gaps between them, were fast disappearing under the blanket of white. In a few moments, the entire slope, and any hope of finding the oracle’s cave, would be utterly buried.

Suddenly, a brilliant flash lit the mountainside—revealing a shape, bold and broad, standing beside the crevasse. Both Hallia and I caught our breath. Though it was difficult to see through the swirling snow, it looked almost like a figure we knew well. Almost like . . . a stag! Yet I couldn’t be sure. Were those antlers atop its head, or horns, or something else entirely? Before the lightning vanished, the figure turned and charged off, skirting the edge of the crevasse.

“Eremon!” cried Hallia, leaping after him.

“Wait,” I called. “It could be just a trick!”

But the doe paid no heed. She bounded off, cutting through the swelling drifts. I ran behind, following her tracks, only hoping we weren’t chasing death itself.

Along the edge we raced. Sometimes we veered so close that I could hear rocks, kicked loose by our hooves, skittering down into the depths. The crevasse, even in lightning, showed only shadows—and no place narrow enough to cross. And as the snow deepened, so did my fears. If the wicked spirits meant to trap us, to strand us without any hope of finding our way, this was just the way to do it.

Abruptly, Hallia stopped. My hooves skidded, and I nearly slammed into her from behind. We stood, panting, on a slab jutting into the crevasse. Nothing but darkness loomed before us. The figure—whatever it was—had disappeared.

“Where,” I huffed, “did it go?”

“Eremon. I’m sure it was him. He jumped from this spot. Then . . . vanished.”

I shook the snow off my rack and leaned into the dark abyss. “It’s a trick, I tell you. We can’t jump into that.”

Her round eyes met mine. “There’s a ledge over there, I’m sure. That’s why he jumped when he did! Come—it’s our only chance.”

“No!” I stamped my hoof. “It’s madness!”

Ignoring me, she crouched, shuddered once—and sprang. Her legs exploded, her long neck stretched forward. Snow spewed my face as she faded into the darkness. I heard a thud—then nothing.

“Hallia!”

“Your turn,” came her cry at last, her voice nearly smothered by the storm. “Come, Merlin!”

I crouched, my heart slamming against my ribs. I tried not to look down, but couldn’t help myself. The shadows within the crevasse seemed to reach for me, to snatch at me. “I—I can’t. It’s too far.”

“You can! You are a deer.”

A shiver ran up my flank. “But I can’t see the other side . . .”

Another gust of snow slapped me, almost throwing me off the edge. Under my hooves, the slab teetered, ready to fall at any instant. Without thinking, I pushed off with all my strength. I flew through the air, suspended by nothing but whirling snow, and landed with a thump on a ledge beside Hallia.

Her shoulder rubbed against my own. “You flew! Really flew! Like the young hawk of your name.”