A Wizard's Wings (35 page)

Awestruck, I spread them wide, closed them tight, then opened them again. Watching their edges glitter in the sunshine, I realized they weren’t made from flesh, blood, and bone, as was the rest of my body. No, these wings were made from something more ephemeral, like air, and more luminous, like starlight.

Trouble whistled in delight and leaped into the air. Then came the greater miracle. I joined him!

Pumping my broad, shimmering wings, I rose into the air above the circle of stones. Higher I climbed, and higher. Wind rushed over my face, flattening my hair and sending streams of tears across my temples. Though my glowing feathers quivered with every gust, the powerful wings kept beating rhythmically. I inhaled with every upstroke and exhaled with every downward
whoosh.

Trouble joined me, coaxing me to climb so steeply I could hardly breathe. Then, together, we veered and plunged straight down, wind coursing over us. Faster we fell, and faster. Grinning, I imagined myself with a long beard, stretched straight out behind me.

Just above the tops of the pillars, we pulled up again. I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the ground. It seemed terribly woozy, ready to give me back all its promised vacation if I would just return to the ground. But I’d never agree to such a bargain. The thrill of flying now flowed through my veins.

“Come join me!” I called to Rhia and Hallia, and they followed me upward. Behind them came more men and women, along with my mother and most of the children. Then birds joined the throng, and the sky was soon filled with eagles, cormorants, owls, and curlews. Even Gwynnia took flight, flapping to catch up with Hallia. In short order, the air above the hillside vibrated with the pulsing of countless wings.

I climbed higher, meeting again with the hawk I knew so well. Around each other we spun, performing twists, turns, and loops. Trouble’s acrobatics were much tighter and sharper than mine, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was that we were flying together, soaring as one.

Vigorously I pumped my wings, then caught an updraft that carried me higher than ever before. Riding the wind, I felt made of air myself. And I recalled again Rhia’s impassioned description of flight:
lifting the spirit along with the body.

Looking at the landscape far below, I viewed almost the entire isle of Fincayra. My sense of loss rushed back to me, for I could see that the mist, flowing outward from the circle of stones, by now reached all the way across the Rusted Plains to the southern shores and western cliffs. Druma Wood gleamed white, as did the giants’ city of Varigal and the remotest lands of the far north. And along every coastline, the ancient mists of the sea were joining with the new, expanding mists of the land.

Yet one aspect of the scene surprised me: Fincayra seemed no less varied than before. Hills retained their old contours, cliffs dropped sharply, and the forests still swayed to the rhythm of the wind. Veering down for a closer look at the western coast, I made out individual boulders and trees, even twisting branches. They were white, and blurry at the edges. But they still existed.

All at once, I understood the meaning of Dagda’s words. Fincayra had, indeed, transformed. My old homeland, that place of vivid colors and magnificent seasons, was gone. But a new land survived, one imbued with mist, and tied forever to the Otherworld. Now Fincayra was really something more—an intricate melding of two worlds.

Sailing above the coastline, I felt the air whistle past me, buffeting my luminous wings. Suddenly I noticed a lone hillside that hadn’t been covered by mist. Thickly forested, it shone brilliant green, right down to the edge of its cliff-lined shore. By some mysterious power of its own, this verdant headland held back the vapors.

Flying closer, I discovered yet another marvel. The forest was thickening even as I watched! With phenomenal speed, oaks and hemlocks and rowans sprouted, their moss-draped branches lifting skyward, their roots expanding as they thrust into the soil. Hefty vines twirled around swelling trunks; boughs burst into leaves, or cones, or red and purple flowers. Shafted by slanting rays, feathery ferns spread across the stream banks, joined by legions of mushrooms and blossoming gorse. Wafts of sweet resins rose off the hill, tingling my nostrils with their wondrous aromas.

In a flash, I recognized the hillside’s contours. This was the promontory that had once been the Forgotten Island! And yet . . . it had been so bare, so devoid of greenery, when I left it.

I banked hard and spiraled downward, until I was gliding just over the tops of the highest trees. There, wrapped around an uplifted rowan branch, I found a single bough of mistletoe, gleaming in the sunlight. The same golden bough where I had planted . . .

The seed! This whole explosion of life was the work of that one remarkable seed. Once planted in the right spot, no soil could resist its magic, no winter could dull its vitality.
The rarest of seeds,
Dagda had prophesied,
shall find a home at last.

I circled the hillside, watching my shadow sweep across the burgeoning forest below. Just how, I wondered, was this lone spot able to hold the mist at bay? All around, the land grew whiter, yet this one place grew steadily greener.

Another shadow approached mine, rapidly gaining. I looked over my shoulder. Rhia! Her face glowed as bright as a newborn star. And Scullyrumpus, whose furry head protruded from her pocket, seemed just as enthralled.

She flew alongside me, so close our wing tips touched. Together we soared and spun, our bodies moving in perfect unison. Currents carried us higher, then lower, over the misted lands to the east, and back to the forested mound.

We swooped down, marveling at the thriving trees. Rhia angled her wings, banking close enough to an elm to brush its quivering leaves with her outstretched hand. She made a low swishing sound as she passed, and the elm waved its upper limbs in reply. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud; now my sister could chat with trees from the air.

I flew with her a while longer, then caught a swell that bore me swiftly higher. Like a bubble rising out of the deepest sea, I floated upward effortlessly, passing through alternating layers of cold and warmth. Soon, from on high, I viewed the whole of Fincayra again. Then I spotted Hallia, sailing above a cluster of clouds.

I pumped my wings to join her—when another sight arrested me. The mist shrouding the western sea had parted, just enough to reveal a shining pathway across the water. In the far distance, at the end of that swath of luminous blue, I could see another island, partly veiled by vapors of its own. Subtly, it sparkled, beckoning to me across the sea.

Although I knew only a little about the island, I could feel its pull, tugging me westward. And I knew well its name: Britannia. As well as another name, which it would one day be called in story and song—Merlin’s Isle of Gramarye.

Merlin’s Isle.
As I said the words to myself, a westerly wind gusted, rustling my feathers gently. I yearned to ride that wind, to fly with it across the sea. Stronger it blew, and stronger, pushing me past the coastline. Suddenly I found myself floating over open ocean; Fincayra was rapidly receding. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Hallia, diving into a cloud. Furiously, I beat my wings, fighting with all my will to return.

At last, I broke free of the wailing wind and crossed back over the coastline. Trembling, my wings flapping heavily, I flew back toward Hallia, our home, and whatever lay ahead.

36:
M
ERLIN’S
C
HOICE

Swift as the wind itself, Hallia and I returned to the ring of imposing stones. With a flutter of shimmering wings, we landed in the center of the circle, stirring shreds of mist off the ground. I noticed right away that the air within the ring felt warmer than before, and wondered whether that was due to Dagda’s presence. And I noticed, as well, that the mist had seeped more deeply into the land. The pillars now seemed as soft as clouds; even the stray tufts of grass on the ground had turned from brown to creamy white.

Hallia and I glanced at each other. I sensed the uncertainty in her eyes, doubly so since I felt the same unease myself.

As I folded my wings against my back, a piercing screech echoed across the surrounding hills. I looked upward, but I already knew who had called. As gently as a falling feather, Trouble landed on my shoulder, clasping me once again with his talons.

Rhia arrived a few seconds later, her face still alight from the exhilaration of flying. Scullyrumpus, looking bedraggled but very pleased, climbed up the woven vines of her garb to wrap himself like a thick scarf around her neck.

From across the circle, Dagda approached, followed by a variety of creatures including the bandaged bear, the mossy living stone, several sparrows, and a family of raccoons with five chattering infants who tumbled over one another in their excitement. The silver-haired spirit strode over to us, smiling, his feet moving through the mist as if he were wading in the shallows of a summer sea.

“So,” he said in his deep voice, “now you have flown.”

“Yes,” I replied. “And now I understand better what has happened to our world.”

Dagda nodded slowly. “While I know you still feel more what Fincayra has lost than what it has gained, all the Otherworld is now yours to explore. You can still inhabit your favorite places on this world—yes, Hallia, all those trails and meadows you know so well—but you are also free to discover many more in the misty lands below.”

“Thanks to our wings,” said Rhia gratefully.

“That is right, Rhiannon. Because of your wings, you may venture into the Otherworld, even during your mortal lives. For the doorway that was breached shall, in time, open even wider. Spirit creatures of all kinds will voyage here, walking and flying and swimming in this realm, just as you may do in the realms below.”

Hallia tapped her foot excitedly, sending up puffs of white vapor. “So my people will still be able to run, as deer, across our sacred lands?”

The elder smiled at her tenderly. “That will never change. But now, when you take the form of men and women, you may do something new. You may soar, as gracefully as hawks, in lands you have yet to discover.”

On my shoulder, Trouble puffed out his chest feathers and ruffled his wings proudly.

“What about that place all alive with trees?” asked Rhia. “There wasn’t any mist at all there.”

“None at all,” I echoed. “It almost seemed . . .”

Dagda lifted a silvery eyebrow. “Seemed what?”

“Well, like the whole place was separated somehow from the rest of Fincayra. Just as it was when it was still the Forgotten Island. Only now, it’s covered with greenery.”

“Quite so.” He watched me closely. “You have seen the magic of your seed, Merlin. Planted in the place of its destiny, it has worked wonders untold.”

“But how,” I pressed, “does that land push back the mist? Why hasn’t it been swallowed like everywhere else?”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Because the place you have renewed will become a world of its own.”

I pondered his words. “You mean, a new Fincayra?”

“In a sense, yes. The cosmic balance requires a place that stands apart, a place that remains not wholly of Earth and not wholly of Heaven, but somewhere in between. That kind of world resembles mist itself—not really air and not really water, but something of both, and something else all its own. So when Fincayra has fully joined with the spirit world, this new land shall become that
in between place
.”

Hearing the phrase our mother so often used to describe Fincayra, Rhia and I traded glances.

“And that land,” continued Dagda, “no longer cursed or forgotten, shall at last have a name of its own.” He paused, savoring the word before he uttered it. “Avalon. Its name shall be Avalon. And it shall have a destiny no less wonderful than the seed that gave it new life.”

Trouble lifted his talons and paced a little, finding a spot closer to my head. Feeling his soft feathers brush against my cheek, I recalled the wind on my face during our first moments of flight together. And I felt again the freedom, the sheer thrill of it all.

The wise spirit looked directly at me again. “Now, my son, tell me what else you saw.”

I worked my tongue, which felt suddenly dry. “I saw another land, one that calls to me.” Swinging my face toward Hallia, I drank from the depths of her liquid brown eyes. “But I cannot go there without you.”

For what seemed an endless moment, she studied me. At last, her voice cracking, she replied. “And I cannot go there with you, young hawk. My life, my people, are here. All our stories, past and future, are here.”

“Come with me,” I pleaded.

“Stay with me,” she replied.

Several seconds passed. Neither of us spoke, or said a word.

Dagda took a step closer. “The choice is yours, Merlin. You are not required to go. Since Fincayra no longer exists as a world unto itself, the ancient prohibition against a son or daughter of Earth remaining here no longer applies.”

I swallowed. “What then are my choices?”

He spoke slowly, as if each syllable carried the weight of an entire world. “You, like Rhia and Hallia, have three choices. Hallia has already made hers clear: to stay here in the Otherworld, a world that includes more, much more, than can ever be described.”

The hawk perched on me whistled enthusiastically, strutting across my shoulder.

“Or you may go to the new world of Avalon.” With a glance toward Rhia, he added, “I should tell you that your mother, with whom I spoke just before you returned, has decided to go there. As has your friend Lleu, the young girl Cuwenna, and several other children.”

“That’s my choice, too,” announced Rhia. Curled around her neck, Scullyrumpus nodded vigorously, slapping his long ears. Then Rhia stiffened. “That is,” she added, “if . . .”

“Yes,” Dagda agreed, laughing. “You may keep your wings.” His gaze swung back to me. “Your wings are yours in either of the first two choices. But not the third. For that is to return to mortal Earth, to the land called Britannia.”