The Eternal Flame (29 page)

“Perhaps, one day, humanity might return to Avalon. That would be possible only after your race has learned how to tame its impulses toward arrogance and greed, which will be extremely difficult. Yet it is possible, nonetheless.”

The young man peered up at Dagda—yearning, but afraid, to hope.

“And so, Tamwyn, even though the doorway will close behind you, it remains open just a crack.”

“A crack,” he whispered. “So our chances are very small.”

“As small as a spark,” offered Gwirion, rustling his fiery wings.

Tamwyn turned and gazed into the eyes of his flaming friend, grateful for all he saw there.

“You must remember this, however.” The voice of Dagda had deepened, sounding both stern and somber. “This task must be done completely or not at all. Those humans who refuse to leave, who will not follow you to mortal Earth, will never be able to have any children of their own. Thus the last traces of humanity in Avalon will disappear.”

Somberly, Tamwyn nodded. “So the message I bring my people holds grief as well as hope, loss as well as gain. I may have rekindled the stars, but I will soon darken many people’s lives. Maybe I really am, more than anything else, the child of the Dark Prophecy.”

Lorilanda’s radiant face grew larger and closer than ever before. “No, my dear Tamwyn, you really are, at your core, the true heir of Merlin. The true savior of Avalon. But in order to succeed, you must also bring about Avalon’s end—not as a world, or as an ideal, but as a particular kind of place.”

“Yes,” agreed Dagda. “The one place in the whole universe where humanity and all other creatures live together in harmony.”

“It is aplace that existed for a time,” Lorilanda whispered gently. “And may yet exist again.”

Her eyes gleamed anew, with a light that came from somewhere beyond the stars. “That is why, even as you are the child of the Dark Prophecy, you are also the true heir of Merlin.”

With that, both her face and Dagda’s began to shrink. They compressed farther and farther, until all that remained was a single, glowing spark. It floated in the sky—luminous, lovely, and alone. Tamwyn knew that it would remain there until his task was done.

He turned to Gwirion. “Farewell, my friend. I know you cannot come with me to Earth. But you’ll be with me nonetheless.”

Gwirion’s flames crackled. “You, too, in your own way, are a Starkeeper.”

Tamwyn smiled ever so slightly. “May your story be long and glorious.”

“As may yours! And, by the fires of Ogallad, may we meet again.”

The flaming wings opened, and Gwirion took flight. At the same time, the great dragon tilted his wings and plunged downward, bearing Tamwyn on his final journey home.

35
•
Out of Avalon

Moments later, Tamwyn and Basilgarrad descended from the sky above the Plains of Isenwy. When the survivors of the battle saw an enormous green dragon approaching, the last, scattered skirmishes abruptly ceased. Battlers froze; weapons fell still. All eyes turned upward, and the air filled with shouts of wonder and fear.

At first, the gobsken cheered raspingly, certain that this was, indeed, Rhita Gawr himself—and that he had arrived just in time to save them. And to secure the victory that had nearly been lost. Meanwhile, eaglefolk called among themselves as they circled the battlefield, preparing to fight this new foe. The remaining ghoulacas reacted differently: At the first glimpse of the dragon, they shrieked and tried to escape from this huge winged predator. Elves and Drumadians raised their swords and bows, grimly ready for a final battle that they knew they could not win. Yet a few of the elves, who were most learned in the long history of Avalon, marveled at the dragon’s resemblance to the famous Basilgarrad, hero of the War of Storms and friend of Merlin. Flamelons, for their part, immediately guessed that a warrior dragon had decided to join the conflict, though none of them knew which side it might favor.

The shouts only grew louder as Tamwyn and the dragon landed on the mud flats just outside the battlefield. Gobsken, gnomes, and ogres, seeing a man standing boldly atop the dragon’s head, knew at once that this great beast had not come to help them. Most of them shrieked with fright and ran off, while others fell to their knees and begged for mercy.

At the same time, the surviving allies of Avalon cried out with joy. Then they began to gather around the new arrivals. From the oldest man to the youngest woman, from the tallest giant to the smallest faery, they surrounded Tamwyn and Basilgarrad, jostling each other to look more closely—without getting too near to the immensely powerful dragon.

Tamwyn raised his torch, shimmering with magical fire, high into the air. Beneath him, the scales of Basilgarrad’s head and wings shone like emeralds aflame. Almost at once, the crowd fell silent.

He hesitated before speaking, searching the mass of faces before him for the one he most wanted to find. But Elli was nowhere to be seen. Had she, he wondered, perished in her quest? Or was she still alive, but far away from here?

“Avalon is saved,” he declared at last, his voice ringing across the battlefield. “But that is true only because of the heroism of everyone here on the ground—and of my brave friend Basilgarrad in the sky.”

The great green dragon snorted with approval, as a murmur of wonderment arose from the crowd.

“Rhita Gawr has been banished to the Otherworld,” Tamwyn continued. “The doors of flame have been closed behind him. And Dagda and Lorilanda have celebrated this moment by reshaping the very stars of the Wizard’s Staff.”

He pointed his torch, as if it were the burning arrow of a compass, at the new constellation. Above all the gasps and exclamations, he announced, “Behold! A great torch on high, shining down on Avalon. The gods have named it the Eternal Flame, for it burns as bright as our highest aspirations.”

For a moment Tamwyn’s face reflected the stars’ radiance. Then his expression turned grim. “Yet all is not well in our world. The scourges we have just survived will someday return, unless . . .”

He paused, gathering the strength he needed to finish the sentence. “Unless humanity leaves Avalon.”

To the stunned audience, he explained his tragic revelation. He told how the stars were, in truth, doorways to other worlds, and how the Great Tree connected all of them. He described his conversation with Dagda and Lorilanda—about Avalon, its many wonders that came with great fragility; and about humanity, its many gifts that came with great frailty. He explained that humans alone could tip the balance between good and evil, and conveyed the bitter promise that any people who did not choose to leave this world would never bear children. Finally, he revealed the possibility, slim though it was, that one day in the future, humanity might be allowed to return.

“And so it is,” he concluded, “that to save our wondrous homeland, we humans must leave it.”

He strode across the dragon’s massive snout, then nimbly climbed down. Planting his bare feet on the muddy ground, with the torch blazing beside him, he studied the anxious men and women. At last, he raised his voice again.

“Who will join me, for the sake of the world we love?”

For several seconds, no one stirred, let alone responded. Then a lone voice broke the silence, a voice Tamwyn had been longing to hear.

“I will go with you,” declared Elli. She pushed her way through a knot of flamelons, emerged from the crowd, and stepped over to Tamwyn’s side. In a whisper, she added, “Anywhere you want to go.”

He merely gazed at her, his eyes alight.

“What you did up there,” she said, “was a miracle.”

“No more than what you did, Elli.”

“Hmmmpff,” grumbled Nuic from his seat on her shoulder. “I’d say you two amateurs are just lucky to be alive.” Yet even as he spoke, his color deepened to a proud shade of purple.

Tamwyn, however, was too focused on Elli to notice. Gently, he ran his fingers through her curls. “I missed you.”

“And I missed you.”

Elli glanced over at Basilgarrad, who was lifting his gigantic wings to fold them upon his back. “Where did this magnificent dragon come from? Did he just appear out of nowhere?”

“Well, you’d be surprised.” He turned and winked at the dragon, whose enormous green eye winked back. “Very surprised.”

“All right, be mysterious if you like.” She shook her head. “What I care about most is that he came in time to help you defeat Rhita Gawr.”

“That he did.” Tamwyn’s face suddenly fell. “I only wish . . .” He swung his pack around and started to open it. “That your harp hadn’t been smashed in the battle.”

“Smashed?”

“Yes. Rhita Gawr’s tail—” He caught himself, awestruck. For within his pack, the slab of harmóna wood gleamed without a single crack anywhere. More than that, the sound box he’d been carving had been finished, and the strings from Palimyst had all been attached. The harp was done!

In a flash, he remembered the feeling of Dagda’s arm wrapping around his shoulder. And he guessed that, in that instant, the spirit lord had repaired and completed the instrument. He wondered what musical magic Dagda might have also added to the wood—and knew that he and Elli would enjoy finding out, when the time was right.

He closed his pack again. “Guess I was wrong about that.” He smiled playfully. “Just like, when we first met, you were wrong about me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t wrong,” she replied, giving him a nudge. “You
deserved
those black eyes. Both of them.”

Before he could answer, another voice rang out. They turned to see someone else emerge from the throng of people.

“I will join you,” declared Lleu. As the lanky priest strode toward them, the silver-winged falcon on his shoulder piped a whistle of agreement.

More people followed. Some were old enough to be graying, others looked quite young. Many hobbled weakly or wore bloody bandages from injuries sustained in the battle. Several couples came forward, though most of the survivors were single men and women.

Among them, toward the end of the procession, was Morrigon. Although his thin frame made him look more like a windblown tree than a man, he carried himself proudly. When he approached Lleu, he glared at the priest, angrily squinting his bloodshot eye. Nonetheless, he joined the group around Tamwyn.

Last of all—to the surprise of many, especially Elli—came a young woman wearing the tattered robe of a Drumadian priestess. Llynia, too, tried to walk proudly. In fact, she did her best to look perfectly regal, thrusting out her chin. Yet that very chin glowed green in the starlight, spoiling the effect. And as soon as she neared Elli, she averted her gaze.

At first, Elli couldn’t help but feel satisfied at seeing the priestess finally humbled. But her satisfaction soon gave way to sympathy. For she noticed, in Llynia’s hand, a small bough studded with purple buds.

Then someone else stepped toward Elli. It was not a human, but an elf, who strode with a graceful air despite her solemn expression.

“Brionna,” exclaimed Elli, “I am so glad to see you!” She threw her arms around the elf maiden’s neck. “I thought maybe you had—”

“Died,” finished Brionna. “For a moment there during the fighting, part of me did die. Then unexpectedly, life returned.”

She placed her slender hands on Elli’s shoulders. “You and your companions will surely grieve to depart from fair Avalon. But you should know that many of us who stay behind will also grieve. I shall miss you, my good sister.”

Elli blinked to clear her vision.

Tamwyn tapped Brionna’s shoulder. “Is Scree here? Have you seen him?”

The elf lowered her arms and turned to face him. “He was here,” she said grimly. “And he saved my life. But then he left to fight Harlech, that murderer.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I haven’t seen him since.”

Worriedly, Tamwyn scanned the crowd gathered around them. He spotted several eaglefolk who were standing next to Basilgarrad, examining his great wings with open admiration. Scree, though, was not among them. Nor was he anywhere else to be seen, on the ground or in the sky.

As he continued to search, Tamwyn’s gaze fell upon the tall, stately form of a mudmaker. He knew, without doubt, that it was Aelonnia of Isenwy. Her brown eyes gazed back at him, while her long fingers drummed against her sides. Then he heard her resonant, lilting whisper, as she spoke directly into his mind.

“Truly a Maker you are, Tamwyn of Stoneroot, as I told you when first we met. Yet believe me you did not.”

No,
he replied through his thoughts.
I guess I just wasn’t ready.
He exhaled slowly.
Which is how I feel right now.

“Were you ready to climb to the highest reaches of the Great Tree?” she asked in response. “To defeat Rhita Gawr? To rekindle the stars? No, but succeed you did. Earned my trust, you have, and now you must trust in yourself.”

With that, Aelonnia bent forward in what Tamwyn knew was a respectful bow. He started to bow in return, when a shadow suddenly fell over him. He looked up—

Into the face of Shim. As enormous as it was, there was no mistaking those wild eyes, that mop of white hair, and that nose which even now seemed too big for its face.

“Shim!” he cried. “You’re a giant again.”

“Nicely, isn’t it?” he bellowed. “And me hearing’s come back, laddy. Probably thanks to me old ears getting so bigly! So now I can hears most anything that someone might utterly.” He winked at Brionna, who, like Elli, was also peering up at him. “Even the softly voice of me little niece Rowanna.”

He thumped his chest triumphantly, rattling his cloak of woven willows. “Bigly I is now, and bigly I will remain foreverly after.”

Then a look of anxiety, which seemed most odd for a giant, came across his face. He glanced over his shoulder at a female giant with a mouth that was so huge it was beyond enormous. Seeing that she was standing a good distance away, he breathed a sigh of relief that nearly knocked Tamwyn and the others to the ground. And then he added, as softly as he could manage, “Just so long as I stays away from Bonlog.”

Basilgarrad, who had been listening, released a deep, rumbling chuckle.