Echoes of the Fourth Magic (27 page)

“They stayed a long time,” Arien said when the wizard reported to him. “Do you think they found anything?”

“Oh, no, no,” Ardaz replied. “They were just stubborn, that’s all.”

“Let us hope,” Arien replied. “Go then and inform DelGiudice. He will want to be off right away. And tell the others that they may now leave their rooms.”

“Oh, simply splendid!” Ardaz cried, and he bolted out of the room.

“Take Erinel along with you, and DelGiudice,” Ariel said to Ryell.

“Yes, Eldar,” Ryell answered, “and woe to him if the wood refuses him.”

“It shall not.”

   A short time later Arien and Ardaz saw the three off at the tunnel entrance on the western edge of the valley.

“Well, let’s get moving,” Del said impatiently, “A blindfold?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“No, friend,” Arien said, giving Ryell a sidelong glance. “This time you may travel without one.”

“I’m flattered,” Del stuttered, surprised. “But truly, I’d prefer to be blindfolded. If something goes wrong and I’m caught by Calvans, it’d be better for all of us if I honestly couldn’t lead them back here.”

Ardaz burst out in laughter. “There, Ryell, he has passed your silly little test.”

Arien, too, smiled broadly. “We hoped that you would see this wisdom.” Again he eyed Ryell. “We hoped that you would care enough not to jeopardize our safety.” With that, he tossed a hood to the man. “Farewell, my friend, I look forward to your return.”

“I’ll be back,” Del assured them. “Good-bye for now. And take care of Billy for me!” He shouldered the pack they had prepared for him, donned his hood, and entered the tunnel between Ryell and Erinel.

   “There he goes,” Mitchell muttered, standing with Reinheiser a short distance away.

“It is better that he leaves,” Reinheiser replied. “DelGiudice would fight you if he knew your plans.”

“He’s a cockroach,” Mitchell growled. “And I’m going to come back and step on him.”

Reinheiser merely nodded and let it pass.

   The journey to Mountaingate didn’t seem long at all to Del. He skipped through the tunnel and down the trail full of anticipation, his feet barely touching the ground. He could hardly stand still when the time came for Erinel to remove his blindfold.

“We are at the field, and there lies your destination,” Ryell grumbled pointing to the distant line of trees and obviously glad that this whole thing was almost over.

“Ardaz will know when I return?” Del asked. “I don’t want to be stranded down here.”

“He will know,” Erinel assured him. “And do not worry, someone will be here to meet you and guide you back to Lochsilinilume. Now, off you go!”

“Good-bye, then,” Del said, and he raced off to Avalon and his dream, his heart pounding.

But when he got to the forest, Del found no entrance. The road was gone! Confused, he began searching up and down the line of trees, yet no trail was to be found. In fact, the trees always seemed thickest wherever he searched, as
if they were huddling together before him to block his path. He couldn’t even find any opening large enough for him to enter the wood. “That’s strange,” he whispered.

Under the archway, Ryell fitted an arrow to his bow.

“Uncle, no!” Erinel cried.

“Yes!” Ryell retorted. “It is the will of Arien and all have agreed. Look for yourself, Erinel, Clas Braiyelle will not have him! He is a spy of Ungden, certainly, and we have been deceived!” He drew back on his bowstring and began creeping across the field, Erinel following nervously.

At the wood, Del stood scratching his head. “How strange,” he muttered, mimicking the voice of his new wizard friend. “How very strange.”

R
YELL RAISED HIS
bow and took deadly aim.

“Please, Uncle,” Erinel begged, grasping the arrow, “there must be another way! Surely he will surrender.”

Del didn’t notice them, though they were only a short distance away. He stood perplexed, staring at the living barrier before him. He had been here just a week ago, had traveled to this very spot down a path through these same woods. Yet now he could see no path. The elves called this place Clas Braiyelle, “home of Brielle,” and such a name carried implications that went much deeper. As Talas-dun was an extension of the blackness of Morgan Thalasi, so Clas Braiyelle reflected the spirit of its namesake. When Del had crossed through here, he had sensed the magical essence that stamped the name of Brielle upon every aspect of Avalon, but only the very eldest of the Illumans, Ardaz, and the rangers could truly appreciate the relationship between the witch and her wood. She could alter the paths and close the borders as surely as she could clench her fist, could see through the eyes of the birds as easily as through her own. They were one, this woman and the land she had nurtured, soulmates and spiritmates journeying the paths of time in perfect harmony.

“Take your hand away,” Ryell commanded, jerking the arrow from Erinel and refitting it to his bow. “Too much
have I heard of this one’s lies, and I shall accept no pleas for surrender. This human will get all that he and his kind deserve.” He turned back to aim, but Del was gone—gone down a path entering Avalon.

“Clas Braiyelle accepted him!” Erinel cried. “He has not deceived us, yet you would have slain him.”

Ryell said nothing, caught somewhere between relief and his unrelenting anger.

   Del trotted down the path, whistling and humming as he went. The sun seemed warmer in here and more friendly, and the breeze that sifted through the trees carried the scents and sounds of springtime and irresistible contentment. For the first time since arriving in this strange new world, he was truly alone, yet he remained unafraid, even unconcerned. He felt at home in these woods, and welcome, oblivious to the fact that Avalon had allowed him entry only when his life was at stake.

He saw the mark of Brielle everywhere that morning, in the flowered embankments bustling with the frenzy of newly awakened insects, in the evergreen groves, dark and proud survivors of winter’s coldest blast, and he heard the rush of her spirit in the song of the streams swollen from the thaw on the mountains. Still, the witch remained ever elusive. Del hadn’t given any thought as to how he would find her; he had just assumed that she would be there to greet him when he entered her domain. But Avalon was a large forest, stretching many miles westward and many more to the south. In his elation at the pursuit of his fantasy, Del hadn’t even considered the scope of the task before him.

He did not see her that morning and was a bit disappointed when he broke for lunch. His mood quickly took a pleasant turn, though, for as he sat in a small clearing munching on a biscuit that the elves had packed for him, several rabbits poked their heads from the surrounding brush to inspect him. Apprehensive for just a moment, they hopped right up to join him.

“So they think I belong here, too,” Del said with a laugh, and he happily shared some of his food.

After lunch, Del said good-bye to his little friends and resumed his quest with renewed optimism. But he searched in vain the rest of that day and far into the night. He sat down with his back propped against a tree, meaning only to take a short break, when weariness finally overcame him. Too exhausted to be concerned with comfort, he fell fast asleep in that position. Again he dreamed of starlit fields and dancing with Brielle to the music of the night, and he was at peace.

The dream was all too short, as wonderful dreams always are, and it seemed only minutes later that the morning sun brightened the eastern sky and dispelled the enchantment. The night had been chilly, for summer was still nearly a month away, and the hard tree merciless on his back. Groaning with every twist, Del dragged himself to his feet and tried to stretch out the stiffness. Although he was certain he’d wear a grimace the rest of that morning, he refused to be daunted. “Today will be the day,” he assured himself aloud.

But it wasn’t. The animals danced in the trees, the sun burned warm in the blue sky above, and the magic of Avalon lay deep all about him. Still Del saw no woman that day, and he heard no singing.

Nor did he find her that night; nor the next day; nor the next night. As dawn broke the fourth morning, utter frustration engulfed him, his determination ebbing away.

He trudged on, fearing that if he stopped, his eyes would ever after turn to Avalon with an unanswered longing. He shut out the beauty of the wood as much as he could that day, narrowing his vision to a single goal and following every trail he came upon with a rushed and determined stride. One path led him to a tangled cluster of white birch trees. The ground around them felt spongy under his feet, even showed open mud at some spots from the overflow of a nearby brook, and fallen branches littered the ground.
Del should have had more sense than to go in, but his frustration had bred a reckless stubbornness. He paid for his foolishness when he lost his footing and, in trying to catch himself, gashed his arm on the sharp point of a broken branch. The wound wasn’t too serious, yet it proved more than his battered emotions could take.

“Damn it!” he cried aloud. “Where are you, Brielle? Why can’t I find you?”

“So, ’tis for meself ye be seeking,” came a melodic whisper behind him.

Del stood as if turned to stone. A huge lump welled in his throat, his stomach knotted, and such a great fit of panic swept over him that he had to fight for his breath. It was she, he knew, and he had to face her. He had longed for this and feared it all at once. A million unanswered questions stood behind him, the realization of his fantasy or the greatest disappointment in his life. With all his willpower, he fought off the tension that gripped him and, still trembling, turned to meet his dream.

Del thought he had prepared for this moment, but when he saw her now, wearing a white gossamer gown, her blond hair hanging loosely about her shoulders and her green eyes ablaze with the light of the morning sun, he was truly overwhelmed.

“And ye’ve been looking for me long?” she asked.

Forever, Del thought, only managing to stammer out, “Four days.”

“All ye needed do was tell it to the wind,” she said.

“The wind?”

“Ayuh,” Brielle answered. “If ye speak out yer thoughts in me wood, I shall hear.”

Del realized then that in the days he had spent in the wood, he had not mentioned Brielle’s name at all. Despite his nervousness, or perhaps because of it, he began to laugh.

Brielle responded with a polite smile, though she didn’t quite understand what he found so humorous. Then she saw the blood on Del’s sleeve and quickly and determinedly
took hold of his arm, turning it so she could better inspect the wound.

“Ye’ve hurt yerself.”

“It’s nothing,” Del replied, and he pulled away from her, embarrassed by the injury and by his stupidity for letting it happen in the first place. “Just a scratch.”

“A wee bit more than a scratch, me eyes say to me,” Brielle scolded sarcastically, making it clear to Del that he was behaving like a child and she would treat him accordingly. Del recognized the insult and admitted that she was right; the cut should at least be cleaned and dressed. He nearly laughed again at her suddenly motherly tone.

“Come,” she said, extending her hand, more of a demand than a request. “I will tend to it.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Del mumbled under his breath.

Brielle eyed him sharply. “Must I tell ye again that in me woods yer words reach me ears?” But her wrath was feigned and Del recognized the smile behind her scowl. This time he did laugh out loud, and Brielle joined him.

She led him to a small hillside of soft grass and scattered flowers, topped by a thick row of lilac bushes. She bid him to wait and skipped away under the shadows of the trees.

Del lay back on the slope, letting the sun warm him as he tried to sort out the jumble of emotions playing through him. In truth, he didn’t know what he was feeling, recognizing only that when he looked at Brielle he was both calmed and excited. It amazed him how comfortable he felt with her, at how quickly the first-meeting jitters had faded away—for both of them, it seemed. And yet when he looked at her, he consciously had to remember to breathe and his voice threatened to crack with every syllable. Above the confusion, Del understood one thing for certain: He was happy. Just looking at the Emerald Witch of Avalon thrilled him like never before.

Brielle soon returned to the hillock bearing a small wooden bowl filled with a muddy paste, pungently sweet,
like the essences of all the aromas of springtime blended together. She explained to Del that it would cleanse his wound and help it to heal, and his arm felt better as soon as she put it on.

The two sat in silence on the grass, letting the sounds and workings of the awakening wood drift by them like the lazy clouds overhead. The witch seemed content and at ease, the serenity and natural order of this land was her strength and her magic. After a few minutes, though, Del began to grow edgy, his eyes drawn more and more toward Brielle. He became self-conscious of the silence, wondering if Brielle expected him to start a conversation. Though he wanted to say something, everything he could think of, like mentioning the beautiful weather, seemed a ridiculous cliché.