The Dragon of Avalon (23 page)

Aylah heaved a sigh.

"And that isn't all," he went on. "The worst part isn't being one of a kind. It's not knowing what kind that is! Aylah, so much has happened since that day you saw me hatch—but I still have
no idea
what I am."

The wind sister spun around him for a long moment. At last, she whispered, "You are my friend, little hhhwanderer."

Basil nodded—still feeling glum, but maybe not quite so much. "Yes," he said finally. "That's one thing I do know I am."

"And I knohhhw you are also something else."

"What?"

"Hungry."

"Right! You found—"

"A hhhwonderful meal." She flew into the grove of ironwoods, carrying him on a rapid zigzag through the maze of branches. He swooped under one branch and, the next instant, over another and then through the middle of a forked trunk. Diving beneath a precariously leaning tree, he shot straight through a drooping bunch of rust-colored needles. Then, as needles drifted to the ground, he veered to make a sharp turn past another tree—coming so close that its bark scratched against his tail. Never slowing, he zipped around, over, and under branches, more than he could count. When, at last, his flight came to a halt, he found himself hovering directly in front of a massive old tree with a hole in its trunk as big as a melon. And that hole was jammed with bees.

Bright red bees. Crawling over one another, they buzzed as they swarmed in the hole, moving in and out of the tree.

"Those, my hhhwanderer, are burning bees, whose stings burn worse than fire."

He frowned. "They must be delicious."

Currents of laughter bounced him. "They are not. But their honey is! And it is also rich in healing pohhhwer."

He scrunched his snout. "But to get anywhere near that honey, you have to—"

Without warning, she dropped him. He plunged into a thick bed of needles, deep enough to cushion his fall. Just as he lifted his head out of the needles, he witnessed an amazing event.

A mighty gale-force wind slammed suddenly into the tree. Twigs flew, clusters of needles exploded, and roots popped as the trunk bent backward under the weight of this screaming wind. The hole in the trunk burst apart, spraying honey-soaked shards of bark across the grove.

Then, as abruptly as it had arrived, the violent wind departed. As the trunk sprang back to its upright position, that whirling gust tore through the grove and blew down the valley, carrying along with it countless twigs, shards, needles—and bees. Basil stared in astonishment at the old tree, where golden honey now oozed from the gaping hole.

"Not a single bee left behind!" he crowed. "Aylah, you are incredible."

Knowing he had little time to lose, he waded through the bed of needles and climbed onto a knobby root of the old tree. Taking care not to bump his injured wing, he slid under a broken branch and continued crawling up the root until he reached the base of the trunk. For an instant, he thought back to his glimpse—back at the start of his journey—of the steep cliffs that were really the base of another, far greater Tree. Then, with no further delay, he lunged at the stream of honey dribbling down from the bees' overflowing cache.

Licking the sticky substance with his tongue, he drew back in surprise. This honey tasted very strange—not sweet, but roasted, like charred nectar. Yet it made him feel refreshed—as if he'd swallowed a whole field of zestflowers. It also renewed his strength, so that even his broken wing throbbed a bit less painfully. Best of all, it filled him with warmth, a slowly swelling heat that moved from the tip of his tongue down to the middle of his belly.

He took another lick. This time, his tongue swept up a big glob of honey—and also a tiny fleck of burned dirt that had blown into the bees' hideaway. That was why, when he swallowed, he tasted the soil of this realm.

I am flame!
The voice in Basil's mind crackled and spat like burning coals. Hot do I burn—ever hungry, ever alive. My body is bright light and dark smoke. And my essence is change: ashes to soil, soil to wood, wood to ashes. Transformation is my deepest longing, my greatest power. Nothing resists me forever. All things I can become.

The voice crackled with delight.
For I am flame.

By the time Aylah swept back into the grove to retrieve him, he felt revived by the honey . . . and renewed by the strange new warmth inside him. It felt, almost, as if a different kind of fire had been kindled in his heart: a fire of change.
All things I can become.
Those words echoed in his mind.

He wondered, as he'd done so often, what kind of creature he might really be. Yet this time, aware of the magic of change within him, the focus was different. This time, he wondered what he might someday
become
.

Whatever that turns out to be
, he felt sure,
it will be unique. Like this journey—and like me.

Still savoring the taste of honey on his tongue, he nodded.
One of a kind.

26:
E
CHOES

The older I get, the stronger my bearing. Not because my ears are any better, mind you—but because I've learned how to listen. Hearing less talk; hearing more truth.

Basil caught one last view of fireroot, as Aylah carried him up into the rust-tinted clouds: a pair of jagged volcanoes that spewed unending streams of smoke and lava. Between their summits yawned a massive crater, blackened by ash and soot. Dozens of rocky pinnacles poked up from the crater's rim; tilted in all directions, they looked like the crooked teeth of a huge, perilous mouth.

"Wouldn't want to land down there," he mused. "We might get swallowed."

Aylah jostled him as she chuckled.

"Are those—yes! I see people walking down there."

He pointed at three people walking along an open stretch of the rim between the pinnacles. Two men and one woman, they all had long, silvery hair. Despite the harshness of the landscape, they strode casually, seeming entirely at home.

All of a sudden, they started running straight at a sheer cliff that plunged into the crater. Rather than slow down as they neared the cliffs edge, they sped even faster. Their silvery hair streamed behind them, bouncing with every stride. When they reached the edge, all three leaped into the air,

Basil caught his breath, certain he was about to see them all die, smashed against the rocks below. Instead, though, all three of them suddenly sprouted enormous wings. Red-tipped feathers covered their backs, while fearsome talons grew from their feet. Leaning into the wind, they soared across the crater and over a flaming river of lava.

"Eaglefolk!" Basil's green eyes watched in wonder. "Look at those wings, so wide and strong."

Aylah swept around her passenger, lifting him higher. "You miss your ohhhwn hhhwings, don't you? Soon, little hhhwanderer, hhhwe hhhwill find Merlin, and he hhhwill heal you."

"Good," he replied, adjusting his broken wing against his back. The movement made the whole wing throb, sending shafts of pain through his ribs and down his spine. Even so, he declared, "But that's our least important goal. Much as I want to be healed, I want even more to warn him about Rhita Gawr. We've lost so much time!"

"Hhhwe hhhwill find him," she promised, yet her voice didn't sound quite certain.

Careful not to move his wing again, he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Maybe we should look in some realm besides the three we haven't checked—Shadowroot, Waterroot, and my old home, Woodroot? I mean . . . as much as I'd like to see all seven realms—is there someplace, other than those three, where we're more likely to find him?"

"No," answered the wind sister, ruffling his ears. "There is no realm more likely than any other. Hhhwe should try those three—and if hhhwe don't find him, hhhwe hhhwill return to the realms you have already seen."

"Again and again, if we must,"

"Yes," she agreed. "And on the hhhway, you hhhwill keep your promise to Dagda."

"Only if it doesn't slow us down."

"Do not hhhworry! Hhhwe hhhwill travel very fast—hhhwith the speed of the hhhwind. And I hhhwill stretch myself out to the hhhwidest, everyhhhwhere we go, to see if Merlin is near."

The clouds thickened around them, weaving a red-tinted shroud. With each passing second, the darkness deepened. While Aylah kept flying, soon Basil couldn't see anything but blackness. Only the continual rush of air against his face, vibrating his cars, assured him that they were, in fact, still moving.

Many minutes passed as they continued to fly. But the darkness showed no sign of dissipating. Rather, it only deepened. It pressed against them, squeezing tighter, like a solid fist.
Never
, he thought,
have I seen a cloud as thick as this.

"It is not a cloud," whispered Aylah, guessing his thoughts. "It is night. The eternal night of Shadohhhwroot."

He stiffened. "You're right! There aren't any clouds now. I don't feel their coolness, their moisture. All I feel is . . ."

"Night." The wind sister surged ahead, never slowing. "In this realm, little hhhwanderer, there is no light, no dahhhwn, no starlit sky. The lands hhhwe are flying over nohhhw have never seen a single ray of light."

He shivered, though not from cold. "How terrible. Nothing but darkness! Every day, every year. Why was this realm so cursed?"

"Only the hhhwind sisters knohhhw hhhwhy it is alhhhways dark in Shadohhhwroot." She slowed slightly, so the air gusted less forcefully against him. "Yet it hhhwas not because of any curse, ohhh no. Hhhwhile this realm holds many terrors, it is true . . . it holds many hhhwonders, as hhhwell."

"Wonders? Not likely." He shuddered. "I've never much liked the dark, Aylah. For a little fellow like me, it can be more dangerous than a flock of dactylbirds."

"Ahhh, but even a dactylbird is not hhhwholly evil."

"You don't know them like I do! They can make a wrathful dragon seem like a songbird."

"But the dark, little hhhwanderer, can hold surprising virtues. That is hhhwhy the museos, hhhwhose songs are so very soulful, come from Shadohhhwroot. Hhhwhy some elves have chosen to live not in the forests of hhhWoodroot, but in the dark valleys below the Evernight Peaks. And hhhwhy this realm's true name is Lastrael, the elvish hhhword for
hidden treasures
."

Unconvinced, he shook his head. "Sorry, Aylah. You'll never persuade me. Take me down there so I can taste the soil, but I don't want to stay long."

She blew upon his face, so hard his eyes watered. "For a brave hhhwarrior hhhwho destroyed a hhhwindtaker, you sound rather hhhworried."

"We're flying into a realm of total darkness! I'm just being sensible, that's all." He blew a breath back at her. "Now, take me down so I can keep my promise to Dagda—though I don't expect to find anything special about this place."

"All right, my hhhwanderer. And hhhwhile you are doing that, I hhhwill scour the landscape for Merlin."

"But how? You can't possibly see him."

"True. Even my sight cannot see in such dark. But the hhhwind can also feel and hear, and hhhwith those senses I hhhwill search."

Abruptly, she descended, carrying him down toward the dark landscape. His heart beat fretfully, but he tried to push back his fears.
Steady, now. What could be worse about Shadowroot than what we've already survived?

As the wind swirled around him, fluttering the loose scale on his neck, he tried his best to calm himself. He knew that Aylah would never knowingly put him in danger. And he also knew that he had no choice but to go wherever she took him.

Her flight slowed. Into his ears, she whispered, "The place you hhhwill land is called the Vale of Echoes. Make no sounds, little hhhwanderer, no sounds at all. For in this valley a single sigh hhhwill be as loud as a hhhwindstorm."

He swallowed, unable to shake his sense of foreboding. "Aylah," he asked, "do you really need to . . . ah, leave me . . . down there?"

A sharp smell of cinnamon pricked his nostrils. "I hhhwill return for you soon. And besides, hhhwould you be a true hhhwanderer if you saw all the realms but one?"

"I guess not," he admitted. "Though there isn't much to see."

"In this realm," she replied, "you don't see hhhwith your eyes. You must see instead hhhwith your mind, as you do in a dream."

At the mention of that word, he started. Dark wings, bony and jagged, moved through his mind. And there was Merlin—dying! By whose doing? His own? He heard, in his memory, the deep voice of Dagda:
Beware. Beware. Beware.

"I am about to leave you, little friend. If I have aimed hhh well, you hhhwill soon feel beneath you the soft leaves of ravenvine."

"
If
you've aimed well?"

Suddenly he felt a tangled mass of leaves brushing against his belly. He skidded across them, as the wind abruptly ceased. A few seconds later, he slid to a stop.

Yet even as his body's motion ended, a burgeoning sound began. Quietly at first, like a distant breeze, the rustling noise swelled. Except there was no breeze—only the sound. It grew and grew, getting steadily louder, shaking the ravenvine leaves with its vibrations.

Certain that a storm was fast approaching, sweeping toward them in the blackness, Basil braced himself. Judging from all the noise, it was going to be a furious gale. Anxiously, his feet grasped the vines beneath him.

In a flash, he remembered.
You idiot! This is the Vale of Echoes.
That approaching storm was really just the sound of his own landing! He was hearing the echoes of his body sliding across the leaves.

Almost as soon as he realized the truth, the sound started to fade. Rapidly it quieted, until it was less a gale than a rustle. Then a whisper. Seconds later, it had melted away into silence.

All right
, he thought, knowing that the wind sister was now far away.
I'm here—alone.

But in truth, he was not alone. At that very moment, he was being watched. Only a few paces away crouched three mangy bloodboars, among the most vicious beasts in the realm. Relying on their supreme sense of smell and their powerful eyesight, they could locate any prey in the dark. Then their terrible tusks and sword-sharp teeth would take care of the rest.