Earth's Magic (19 page)

Just then a gangly creature landed like a frog in front of them. “Troll care too! Great Wizard have new dangerous job? Me do it. Keep Great Wizard safe.”

Merlin laughed. “Actually, the dangerous job part is mine, but I can’t even get started without your help.”

Grinning from ear to large ear, Troll squatted down on the grass. “How Troll help?”

“Remember the passage we took when we left that volcanic eruption in America and traveled here? Somehow it skirted by a number of Otherworlds, connecting them in a kind of web. Are there other passages like that? I need to get quickly to Africa—eastern Africa, I believe—and I was thinking that if there is a network of such passages, I might be able to leave this part of the mortal world, travel along those passages, and drop back into mortal Africa.”

Troll gave a thoughtful whistle. “Plenty passages but very dangerous. Mama warn me never go near. Me just hop from this world to Troll’s Otherworld. Stay away from scary passages.”

“You couldn’t be my guide?”

Troll turned an even sicklier shade of yellow. “No, no! Need special spirit guide. Like Mole Spirit last time.” Seeing Merlin’s frown, he added, “But me show you entrance.”

“When?”

“Anytime. Plenty entrances near here, but most closed now. Some just good for one Otherworld. Some link to scary passages. When try? Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Leave plenty food time. Important royal missions make Troll hungry.” He scampered off, twirling his royal necklace and watching its rhinestones glitter in the weak sunlight.

By early afternoon, the army was under way again, heading east. Troll assured Merlin that this was the direction they should head anyway, so they might as well stay with the troops for a while. Merlin was glad to delay his parting with Heather for even a few hours, though riding side by side neither of them spoke of it.

Occasionally she reported snips she got from her mental contacts as she tried to keep their minds on other things as much as to pass on information. “Remember little Ivan, in that underground place in Eastern Europe? He’s gotten much better at sending mind messages, though it’s harder for him when he’s scared. He says that horrid things have totally taken over that castle that Morgan used, but that Baba Yaga is setting up all kinds of defenses for their underground fortress. She’s counting on some help from their Otherworld, though she’s being cagey about what.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet Baba Yaga,” Merlin said. “She’s quite a character.”

“I remember at school reading some old Russian folk tales where this witch rode around in a mortar and pestle and had a house on chicken legs.”

“That’s the one, but the reality’s much weirder. And whatever the old tales may say, I’m glad she’s on our side.”

As the army moved on, it was joined from time to time by small contingents sent from villages they passed. Word of a pending battle had spread, and many people wanted to join—partly to protect their homes from the evils they felt encroaching and partly to fight with the legendary King Arthur in what promised to be a historic battle.

By the time they camped for the night, a cold mist had settled on the moorlands. But that did not stop seasoned warriors from setting about training the new recruits, even those who had arrived armed only with pitchforks and staves.

The fog had thickened when Troll padded up to Merlin and motioned for him to leave the group near the King’s tent. Around them, the camp cookfires were adding quavering columns of smoke to the deadening gray mist. Evening sounds of the camp seemed deadened as well. Merlin glanced to where Heather was sitting between Sil and Goldie, alternately throwing scraps of meat and radish to the two dragons. Yapping, Rus would leap up trying to intercept, though when either of his heads caught a radish instead of meat, it was spat out.

Merlin watched as Heather laughed and her braids bounced about with each energetic toss. He ached to hold her one last time but wanted to spare them both a painful parting. Taking up his staff, he slipped away. In seconds the gray curtain closed behind him, muffling even the closest sounds of the camp. Following Troll’s pale shape, he trudged alone over the moors.

Troll had insisted that he not ride his horse, and with the poor light and uneven ground, Merlin decided that was just as well. For a while, the ground was at least flat, but then it began to rise. Tangled brush and stones poking from the shrouded grass seemed to conspire to trip him up. Then, at the crest of a ridge,
the mist thinned. Below them was a low swale. Thin moonlight showed a flat stretch of moorland ringed with low hills.

As he looked, Merlin felt Troll plastering himself to his side. “See mounds? Most entrances to Faerie. Some to other places, scary places. One should work.”

“Which?” Merlin asked, studying the ominous dark shapes.

“Don’t know. Troll too scared. Great Wizard never scared. He feel which one right.”

Merlin didn’t want to admit that Troll’s faith in his fearlessness was sadly misplaced. “Right. Thank you for leading me here. I’ll find the right one. You go back now. And I have another duty for you. I want you to keep Heather safe. Got that?”

Peeling himself away from Merlin’s side, Troll grinned. “Me guard! Nothing bad get her. She safe when Great Wizard return.”

If
he returns
, Merlin thought, but formally shaking Troll’s large webbed hand, he urged him to hurry back down the slope. “I’m counting on you, Troll,” he said as the pale, scuttling figure was swallowed up in the mist.

The little valley ahead of him seemed clear, but when Merlin reached the bottom, mist was all around him again as if he’d dropped into a gray pool. Cautiously feeling the ground ahead of him with his staff, he moved forward. Squinting into the grayness, he thought he saw a flicker of light. Moving grayness blotted the light out, then revealed it again. He headed toward it. Now, through the shifting mist, he picked out three figures. They faded in and out of sight, but finally he was close enough to focus on them. Three women, dressed in rags, shawls, and outlandish necklaces of bones and feathers, were standing around a fire.

His skin prickled with energy as if he was standing too close to a lightning strike. These were spirits, powerful spirits. But were they good or bad?

“A foolish question, boy,” a stout, motherly-looking woman said as if she had read his mind. “There is no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ except that you mortals make it so. We are what we are.”

Answer carefully
, Merlin told himself.
Spirits like this can be very dangerous
. “Then perhaps I can ask your help. Do you know what I need?”

“Of course we know,” a much older-looking woman said. “Knowing is what we do. You want to learn how to get somewhere that you’d be a great deal wiser not to go.”

“Sister,” the youngest woman interrupted. Merlin thought her almost pretty in a haggard sort of way. “Sister, my thumbs are prickling again.”

“Oh, you and your thumbs,” the middle woman spat. “Hypochondria, that’s what you’ve got. Hypochondria.”

“I do not!” the young one protested. Then she gestured at Merlin. “This one’s all right. It’s not coming from him. But
she’s
on her way now.”

“Bother!” the old one exclaimed. “Well, we figured she’d find us again eventually. Come here, boy. Stand over by me.”

Racked with uncertainty, Merlin moved to stand beside the old crone. As he passed it, he glanced down at the fire. A small black pot bubbled on it, releasing vile-smelling bursts of steam. He saw tails of something writhing in it as well.

For minutes, Merlin heard no sound on the moors but the bubbling pot and the wheezing breath of the ancient woman hunched over her cane beside him. Then he heard the swish of cloth. The mists parted slightly to show a cloaked figure approaching. Another woman, and when she stepped into the firelight, Merlin knew her.

“Morgan,” he whispered.

She turned green eyes upon him. A smile twisted over her beautiful, pale face. “Merlin, I had hoped to find you again
before you could do any more damage to my plans. And now I have. But whatever are you doing out here with this lot?”

“Not the sort of question I care to answer, Morgan.”

“No matter. Come with me now, won’t you? Maybe we can talk this out. You continually make a great deal more of our differences than you should.”

“Oh, do go away, girl,” the plump middle woman snarled. “He’s come here to visit us, not you.”

“Oh, has he? Well, I’m afraid that nice little visit must be cut short. And I forbid you three to help him!”

“Forbid?” the crone snapped. “That is no way to speak to your elders and betters, girl!”

Morgan laughed. “Older maybe. But not better. I have a great deal more power and knowledge than you three hedge witches will ever have!”

With that, the three around the fire broke into cackling laughter, sounding like a flock of tortured crows. Finally, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, the plump witch said, “You impudent, arrogant upstart. We three talk with whomever we wish, whenever we wish. And frankly, dear, we don’t give a damn about this old battle of yours. We don’t care which side wins. We don’t take sides.
We
were around before there were sides.”

Morgan angrily flipped her black hair back from her face. “So, then don’t you three meddle with this. Turn him over to me and go about your petty spell making.” Morgan snapped a whip of green light toward Merlin. The youngest witch kicked a spume of dust against it, and the coiling light vanished. Shrieking in outrage, Morgan countered with a barrage of green flame, which the plump witch spat on and put out.

Merlin was wondering if he should wade into the fight when he felt the crone tugging at his sleeve. “Come with me,” she whispered. “True, we don’t take sides, but that pushy brat ticks
me off. My sisters can handle her. I’ll show you where you need to go. Hurry.”

She hobbled ahead as the cold mists closed tightly around them. All sound of the conflict behind them was swallowed up. She moved surprisingly quickly for someone of such seemingly great age, and Merlin almost had to run after her. Suddenly she stopped.

Ahead of them, a black earthen mound rose out of the mist. Lifting her cane, the crone smacked it against the side of the mound. With a muffled rumble, a portion of the earth dropped away, revealing a deep black opening.

“Lots of passages start in these mounds,” she said. “Some even the likes of us don’t care to mess with. But this one will take you where you need to go, if you’re lucky.”

Merlin looked into the gaping black hole and smelled the cold, damp rot that welled out of it. “Don’t I need some sort of spirit guide to travel in these?”

She gave a dry, grating laugh. “What you need is a dose of self-confidence, boy. You took care of that guide business the moment you accepted your name.”

Just then, Merlin ducked as a great, pale bird swooped out of the opening. An owl, he thought. He looked more closely as the creature swooped around the witch, then dove back into the hole.

No, Merlin realized. A hawk.

“Get going, boy,” the old woman said. “Me, I got to get back to my sisters. Don’t want to miss all the fun and games.”

Merlin watched as she hobbled off into the mist. Then, taking a quavering breath, he stepped into the darkness.

P
ASSAGES

D
imly, Merlin could make out the bird fluttering in front of him. Then the creature landed on the floor of the passage and oddly seemed to grow. The outlines wavered and expanded, glowing faintly with an inner light. Soon he found himself looking at a man. No, not quite a man. The body was a man’s, dark skin contrasting with the white kilt worn around his waist. A wide beaded collar hung on a well-muscled chest. But the head was that of a hawk.

The beak opened, and a harsh voice said, “Welcome, brother. I am Horus and am here to guide you.” Horus partially turned, then immediately swung back. “Guide
you
but not
that.”

Merlin looked behind him. Snaking around the outer edge of the doorway was a long silver neck. “Sil! What are you doing here?”

“Sorry. Heather told me to watch over you.”

“That was thoughtful,” Merlin said, trying to keep his voice calm. “But I’ll be fine on my own. You must go back now.”

“Can’t. I promised. Dragons never break promises.”

Helplessly, Merlin turned back to the glowing man in front of him. The other shrugged. “He’s an Otherworld creature, but not from one of the worlds that’s linked through these passages.
If he comes like he is, he’ll be detected, and we need secrecy.” Then he looked directly at the dragon, whose bulk now almost completely blocked the doorway. “Are you certain, lizard, that you must come?”

“Yes. But it’s
dragon
, not lizard, birdbrain.” The red eyes glowed and the silver horns glinted as Sil’s scaly head bobbed up and down.

“Come in this form, then.” The hawk-headed man made a swift gesture with his hands. With a squeal, the dragon suddenly shrank until he was only a few inches across. Cautiously, Merlin bent down and lifted the tiny silver dragon. It squirmed in his hand, and he saw that a clasped silver pin was attached to one of its sides.