Shadows on the Stars (2 page)

“You are fortunate, even if you are a simpleton.”

Kulwych’s lone eye narrowed at the insult, but as he stood again he said only, “Mmmyesss, my lord.”

“Fortunate indeed,” continued the spiraling coil. “You see, my pet, I still require your services, at least until I am strong enough to take solid form. One day soon, however, I shall assume my true shape—and my true role as conqueror.”

“Conqueror,” repeated Kulwych, bobbing his hideously scarred head.

“Yes!” cried the smoky spiral that was Rhita Gawr, with such force that black sparks exploded in the air, sizzling and steaming on the wet stone walls. “And not just of this puny little world, this hollow hull of a tree. Once I control Avalon, the very bridge between mortal and immortal, I will soon control everything else, as well! From the Otherworld of the Spirits to mortal Earth—all the worlds will be mine.”

In a quieter, almost pleasant tone, the dark being added, “And perhaps yours, too, my Kulwych. If, that is, I choose to keep you at my side.”

Slowly, Kulwych straightened himself and brushed some dust off his cloak. His jaw quivered as he said, “Always your faithful servant, my lord.”

“Just be certain it is
always
,” hissed the shadow of Rhita Gawr, sounding more dangerous again. “Or I will do to you what I am about to do to this obstinate little crystal.”

Before Kulwych could even respond, the dark coil snarled viciously, then stretched all the way around the crystal’s pedestal. Circling slowly in the air, it bound itself end to end, like a noose, and began to tighten around its prey. At the same time, it grew flatter, widening so that it looked less like a rope and more like a shroud—dark enough that it couldn’t be described as merely black. Rather, this shroud seemed like the essence of emptiness, so dark that nothing resembling light could ever penetrate its depths, give it shape, or touch its bottomless void.

The crystal pulsed bravely, as relentlessly as a beating heart, even while the shroud closed over it. Tighter and tighter the darkness drew, enveloping the glowing object, squeezing ever closer. Although light still pulsed beneath the shadow, and a few white rays broke through to illuminate the cavern walls, the crystal grew dimmer by the second. The whole cavern darkened.

Standing by the wall, Kulwych watched in fascination. Delightedly, he rubbed his smooth hands together. Here was power, true power, at work! And yet . . . in the back of his mind, he remained uncertain. No one—not even Rhita Gawr—had ever before corrupted a pure crystal of élano. Was it truly possible? Or would the crystal’s stubborn magic prevail? After all, its magic ran deeper than anyone had been able to comprehend, flowing from the very resin of the Great Tree. Why, even Merlin, that sorry excuse for a wizard, had understood that his powers were nothing compared to élano.

The dark shroud continued to shrink, until at last it covered the crystal completely. No large openings were left, not on the top or bottom or any sides, for light to escape. And yet, even now, a faint glow still seeped through some cracks. The crystal continued to resist.

Kulwych leaned closer, his lone eye twitching anxiously.
Trolls’ teeth and ogres’ tongues,
he cursed to himself,
what is happening
?

Tighter the shroud squeezed, like a smothering blanket. But under its folds, the crystal glowed ever so slightly. The vaguest shimmer of light still radiated from beneath the layers of darkness.

Suddenly the shroud crackled with black fire. Heavy, rancid smoke rose from the pedestal. The darkness itself started to pulse, as if it were a fist squeezing the last spark of life out of its enemy.

The cavern’s air thickened, growing steadily more foul. Kulwych choked back a cough. He felt more and more nauseated, until it was all he could do not to retch. He leaned against the rock wall for support, as the sickening air burned his lungs. Near his feet, a stray mouse lost its way, groped wildly for some way to escape, then twitched one last time before it died.

Seconds passed, stretching into minutes. At long last, the shroud of darkness released its hold. It pulled gradually away from the crystal, forming itself again into a spiraling coil that hung in the air, slowly spinning. And on the pedestal, the crystal still glowed—but with a light far different than before.

Dark, smoky red it shone. Veins ran through it as if it were a diseased, bloodshot eye. And with every strangled pulse of its core came a repulsive odor like rotting flesh.

Kulwych took a cautious step nearer. “It is . . . done?”

“Oh yes, my pet magician, it is done.” The voice of the spiral sounded drained, much weaker than before. “You did not doubt my powers, did you?”

“No, no,” said Kulwych quickly. “I would never doubt you, just as I would never disobey you.”

“So then,” hissed the dark being, “you would obey my command to lay your hand upon this crystal?”

The sorcerer cringed in horror. He glanced at the dark red object, the color of dried blood. “T-t-touch th-that?” he stammered.

“Yes, Kulwych. Touch it. I command you.”

Shivering uncontrollably, the sorcerer lifted up his arm. The sleeve of his cloak ruffled like a sail in a stiff wind. Then, gritting his teeth, he reached his hand toward the dark crystal. Closer he came, and closer. Meanwhile, the smoky spiral twirled in the air, sizzling softly.

As his hand approached the crystal, Kulwych cast a final, pleading look toward his master. But the shadow of Rhita Gawr said nothing. Perspiration glistened on Kulwych’s fingers as he lowered them toward this thing that looked less like a crystal than a pulsing clot of blood.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch it, the edge of his sleeve brushed against the crystal. Instantly the cloth burst into dark red flames. The sorcerer screeched in fright and drew back his arm, even as the flames went out. Only then did he notice that the flames hadn’t really burned his sleeve—but had, instead, made the cloth disappear.

Kulwych shook his arm in surprise. Where the bottom of his sleeve had been, there were no fragments, no charred threads, not even any wisps of smoke. The entire section of cloth had simply vanished.

He looked over at the smoky serpent that had commanded him. “My lord . . . do you still wish—”

“No,” snarled the dark being. “You needn’t touch it now. You have shown me your loyalty, such as it is.”

Kulwych gulped. Then, turning back to his sleeve, he mumbled to himself, “Ironwool threads, shouldn’t have burned.” Facing the serpent once more, he asked, “Tell me please, my lord, just what is this crystal’s power?”

A low, sizzling laugh echoed in the walls of the cavern. “Behold, the utter opposite of élano!
Vengélano,
I hereby name it: the greatest power in all of Avalon.”

Kulwych just stared at him, confused.

The spiral twirled, hissing with a mixture of impatience and triumph. “Do you not understand, my foolish minion? Élano holds the power to create—which is why that scoundrel Merlin used it to end my Blight centuries ago. Or to heal—which is why a filthy little spring in Malóch can work such strange wonders. Why, even the very dirt of that realm is so rich in élano that it can bring forth new life.”

“But my sleeve just . . . disappeared.”

“Have you no brains at all? That is the power I have unleashed! Where élano creates, vengélano destroys. Anything it touches, no matter how well made, will be instantly unmade.”

Anxiously, the sorcerer squeezed his fingers—fingers that had nearly touched the corrupted crystal.

“Whatever flesh vengélano meets,” crackled the voice, “will simply slice open, or vanish. Blood vessels will bleed without end. Healthy trees will wither, sturdy weapons will crumble, and freshwater streams will turn to poison.”

Kulwych’s lone eye widened in amazement. “So with this new power, we will seize control—” A sharp sizzling halted him mid-sentence. “Er, I mean,
you
will, my lord. Avalon will be yours at last.”

The dark shape swirled around the bloodred crystal, circling it slowly, admiring it as a painter would admire the work of a lifetime, savoring its subtlest detail. “That is true, my pet. But first, before embarking on grander plans, I shall take care of one minor detail.”

“Which is, my lord?”

“I shall destroy, once and for all, the true heir of Merlin.”

The spiral continued to circle. “He is just seventeen years old by my count, barely a newborn to me. But his meager powers should soon start to emerge. And although the day of my triumph grows near, we have much to do before then. This young wizard could become a nuisance, a distraction. Besides, eliminating him will be easy enough, as well as entertaining. Fool that he is, I suspect that he fears his new powers almost as much as he fears me! And so, my Kulwych, I shall relieve him of his worries—along with his life.”

PART I

1
•
A Vast Hand of Darkness

Wind, colder than an ogre’s breath, blasted over the mountaintop. Sharp bits of ice, hurled by the gust, slapped at the broad, flat stone on the summit—and at the two people huddled there.

“So c-c-cold,” said Elli with a shiver. She slid closer to Tamwyn on the sitting stone, so that their shoulders barely touched. Her hair, frosted by the icy gusts, gleamed white under the nighttime stars, making her curls look like wintry waves.

He blew a cloudy breath, then winced as a chunk of ice bit into the back of his neck. “I know it’s cold. But it’ll be t-tolerable again, once this cursed wind settles down.”

Elli’s teeth chattered. “Can’t you just make the wind let up? With your new powers?”

He winced again, this time for another reason. His gaze strayed to the gnarled staff he’d set beside the stone—a staff that had been entrusted to him, though he really wasn’t sure why. He thought about Elli’s words, and frowned.
New powers? If only she knew the truth.

Was it time, perhaps, to tell her what was really happening inside him? What it felt like to have these strange, often violent powers surging through his body—appearing when he least expected them, didn’t want them, and couldn’t even begin to control them?

Before he could speak, the wind suddenly died. Ice and snow ceased flying; the mountaintop fell silent. All around, the ghostly heads of nearby peaks glistened in the starlight, though none of those summits rose higher than Elli and Tamwyn. For they were sitting atop Hallia’s Peak, the highest point in all seven rootrealms of Avalon, so high that it was the only place where the Great Tree’s trunk could actually be seen.

Tamwyn studied the vista. There were the other peaks of Olanabram, and beyond, the starlit ridges rising steeply upward that he knew were the bottommost reaches of Avalon’s trunk. As a wilderness guide, he’d always been struck by the stark contrasts of mountains—starting with their howling storms that could melt instantly into profound stillness, a quiet so deep you could almost feel its weight upon the air. He also loved how, by day, the ridges shone with light, sliced by the shadows of clouds. And how, on nights like this, they rippled like a glowing sea beneath the stars.

Turning back to their sitting stone, he gazed at the frosted rocks that surrounded them, looking like thousands of miniature snowcapped peaks. Only the sitting stone itself had no trace of snow. Tamwyn slid his feet, bare as always, over its smooth surface, feeling the strange warmth of this stone that no wind could ever chill.

For this was Merlin’s Stargazing Stone, touched long ago by the magic of the great wizard himself. And its eternal warmth, strong enough that ice and snow never stayed on its surface, was but the least of its wonders. Even now, it gleamed mysteriously—as well as darkly, for it was nearly as black as the gaping hole in the starry sky above their heads.

The hole where, less than a month before, the seven stars of the Wizard’s Staff constellation had abruptly disappeared.

The hole that had brought Elli and Tamwyn to this remote summit. And to the Stone itself.

For this was not only the best spot in Avalon to view the stars—or a gap between the stars. More important, it was the one spot where anyone from any realm could come and ask for a vision. Such was the lasting gift: of Merlin.

And so they had trekked all the way here, joined by their closest companions, who were now exploring the summit to pick a suitable place to camp (or, like the shrunken giant Shim, already sleeping soundly by a nearby hot spring). Elli and Tamwyn’s goal was simple: to call for a vision that would reveal the truth of what had happened to the vanished stars. Elli had insisted that Tamwyn, with his emerging powers, should be the one to ask for it. And while he’d at first resisted, he had finally agreed.

“So are you ever going to do it?” Elli turned from the starry sky and nudged Tamwyn impatiently. “Or are you just going to sit here like a mindless lump of snow?”

He shook his long black hair, irked at her tone. Even though he guessed that her impatience was really masking her worries about the hole—and what it meant for Avalon—she had about as much patience as a hungry raccoon.

“Well?” she demanded. “What are you waiting for?”

“You know, Elli, you are the single most impatient, stubborn, thick-headed, exasperating . . .”

She cut him off with a fetching grin. “We’re so much alike, aren’t we?”

Despite himself, he almost grinned back. For he knew she was right. And, to his surprise, he wasn’t angry anymore. Right now, instead of berating her, he mainly wanted to hug her. Just how did she do that—changing his feelings as fast as a mountain storm? On top of that, she could somehow see right into him, as if he were a clear alpine pool—even when he himself felt hopelessly murky.

He blew a long sigh. Although he had no idea where their relationship might go, it had definitely come a long way from the pair of black eyes she’d given him when they first met.

He reached over and lightly touched the simple yellow band she was wearing around her wrist, a sturdy bracelet of astral flower stems that he’d woven for her last week. But when their eyes met, he could see that she had other things on her mind. Worrisome things.