The Great Tree of Avalon (26 page)

“By who?”

“By a woman. A woman he loved—and who later bore their child. Their union didn’t last long, mind you. For mysterious reasons, she fled with the child—no one knows where. Not even Krystallus could find them . . . though it is said that he searched everywhere, even among the stars. And that led to his final, fatal voyage.”

Nuic paused, thinking. “Not many people know about all this, which is why even those who know aren’t certain just who that woman was. Some believe she was herself a flamelon, perhaps part of the royal family. And others are sure she was an eaglewoman, who could carry Krystallus to safety before he was killed.”

“And which,” Tamwyn asked in a quaky voice, “do you believe?”

“I’m not sure. But I
am
sure of this: Their child was a son. And he was born seventeen years ago, in the Year of Darkness.”

Tamwyn sucked in his breath. “So their son could be—”

“That’s right,” said Nuic, cutting him off. “Their son could have great powers, only now emerging. Including the power to change into a deer. After all, he would be the grandson of Hallia . . . and the wizard Merlin.”

His colors darkened. “But he could also be the child of the Dark Prophecy.”

22
•
Death Trap

None of the humans in the group slept well that night. Or the next, or the next.

For Llynia, it was because of the difficulty of finding any flat space bigger than a ledge to lie down on, the sound of clattering rock slides that echoed all night long among the ridges, and the thinner air of the high peaks that sometimes made her wake up gasping. Not that she didn’t wish for sleep, to give her some rest from all her aching muscles and scraped elbows and knees. For the Rugged Path was aptly named! And this trek up the mountain passes and glacial valleys, as Tamwyn reminded her each day, was not the fabled path itself—just the quickest way to reach it.

For Elli, the harsh terrain wasn’t a problem. She began to find the challenge of climbing steep slopes hand over hand invigorating . . . although more than once she was tempted to drop a heavy stone on Tamwyn’s head. She still fumed, burning like an ember herself, whenever she thought about his prank with the trick fire. And it made her even angrier when she noticed how Nuic, who rode on her shoulder, seemed to tolerate him. Even
listen
to him sometimes. As she lay on the rocky terrain each night, she tossed and turned, dreaming that she was dodging great fireballs from the sky. Most often they’d miss her, but would destroy, over and over again, her precious handmade harp.

And for Tamwyn, the nights were difficult because he couldn’t distract himself from his own thoughts, as he could when he was busy guiding the group. He could only look up at the stars—and the places where stars used to be—and wonder. About Avalon . . . and about himself. Who he really was. What his fate might be. And whether he was truly destined to bring ruin to Avalon.

Each day proved more challenging than the last. They traversed a wide field of unstable boulders that shook and slid as they clambered across, using their hands no less than their feet. They hiked over a glacier, throbbing with cold rivers beneath its surface, crowned with spires of misty blue ice. And they leaped across several deep crevasses—all except Llynia, who refused to move unless Fairlyn lay down and made herself into a bridge.

Higher and higher they climbed, above the string of lakes known as Footsteps of the Giants. But like all the others they’d seen, these lakes were nearly dry. Instead of their usual turquoise blue color, they were muddy brown, their bottoms covered with webs of cracks. One afternoon, a great winged creature soared overhead, and Tamwyn peered at it hopefully—until he saw that it was just a canyon eagle, not the brother he’d sought for so many years.

As they gained altitude, the high peaks of Olanabram lifted before them. Though still crested with snow, their rocky summits were more exposed than Tamwyn had ever seen. Even Hallia’s Peak, the jagged mountain where Merlin and Hallia had been wed long ago, was almost bare of snow.

Beyond the high peaks, they could just barely glimpse a series of dark brown ridges that ran northward in parallel rows, rising swiftly higher as they faded into the distant, ever-swirling mist. Those ridges, as Tamwyn knew, were actually the bottommost reaches of Avalon’s trunk. For this was the only place in all the root-realms where the Great Tree’s trunk could actually be seen—aside from the Swaying Sea, a strange appendage that some considered Avalon’s highest root, and others its lowest branch.

As he looked at those misty ridges, Tamwyn wondered just how high the Great Tree’s trunk ultimately rose. Did it support branches as vast and varied as the roots themselves? And did the trunk reach past those branches, past the swirls of mist . . . all the way to the stars?

At last, on their eleventh day of trekking, they reached the entrance to the Rugged Path. It sat near the top of a windswept ridge, shielded by a mass of jagged outcroppings that blocked it from view. In fact, the cave was impossible to see without standing almost on top of it. Stalactites, sharper than dragon teeth, hung down from the cave’s roof, which made it look like a black mouth of stone ready to swallow anyone who came too near.

“
That’s
where we’re going?” Llynia’s face, which was red with starburn (all but her chin), reddened some more. “Into there?”

Wearily, Tamwyn nodded. He set down his load, now just a few flasks of water and some dried herbs, and blew a frosty breath in the chill mountain air. Then he waved below them, at the white expanse of snowfields, glaciers, and moraines that seemed to stretch on endlessly, unbroken but for the few summits of faded gray rock that lifted out of the snow. “You can try searching down there for a portal if you’d like. Maybe you’ll find a friendly snow leopard who can help.”

Llynia knitted her brow. “But you don’t even know if this is the right path!”

“Or if it goes the right direction,” chimed in Elli. She picked up a pebble and threw it into the gaping mouth. It slid and clattered for many seconds, then all sound abruptly ceased. It had been swallowed.

“This could be nothing more than . . .” Llynia wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her badly frayed robe. “Than a death trap.”

“Ooh, really?” Henni dropped his load on the rocks. Silver eyes shining, he sauntered over to the cave entrance and looked inside. “I’ve never met a death trap I didn’t like.”

“A hoolah’s motto, if I ever heard one,” said Tamwyn. “All right, then. You can go first.”

Henni’s long arms reached up high, so that his big hands could grab a pair of stalactites. He then lifted up his legs and swung there, oblivious to the danger of falling into this cave that plunged down into the heart of the mountainside. “Eehee, eehee, hoohooheeheeha-ha-ha!” he laughed, his silver eyes gleaming. “Here I go, clumsy man.”

“Wait!” shouted Tamwyn. He strode over to the cave entrance. “I’m tempted to get rid of you, believe me. But just in case this really is a death trap, I’d rather you live for a little while longer.” Seeing Henni’s puzzled look, he added, “So I can kill you myself later on.”

The hoolah giggled, swinging from the stalactites.

“So,” Tamwyn continued, “I’m going to ask Batty Lad to fly in and check it out first.” He shook his pocket, but the sleeping beast didn’t stir. “He was out late hunting last night, I guess. Not many insects up here for his—
yaaaaaaaaaah!
”

Before Tamwyn could do anything to stop him, Henni kicked out his legs and wrapped them tight around the young man’s waist. Then the hoolah lurched backward and went tumbling down into the cave—taking Tamwyn with him. There was a sound of screams, shattering stalactites, and then silence.

23
•
The Rugged Path

Down, down, down plunged Tamwyn and Henni, roaring wildly. The young man was roaring with rage, the hoolah with glee. But both of them shared the same fate: Now nothing could stop their fall except the bottom . . . if indeed there was a bottom.

Right after tumbling into the cave, they smashed through a row of jagged crystals, snapping them like icicles. Then, for a moment that seemed endless, they fell freely, whizzing deeper into this world of darkness. Suddenly they slammed into a wall where the passage turned. The impact drove Tamwyn’s shoulder deep into Henni’s chest. The hoolah screeched in pain and lost his grip around Tamwyn’s waist.

Hurtling deeper into the mountain, Tamwyn thudded against a limestone column, breaking the stone into bits—along with every bone in his back, he felt sure. Down he tumbled, sliding at terrifying speed down a long chute, around a bend, and straight over a gap that could have been a side tunnel or crevasse.

Slam!
Tamwyn smashed face-first into another wall. He rolled, scraping his face against some sharp stones, then spun downward again.

He fell, twirling as freely as a snowflake in a storm. Then his shoulder hit an outcropping. He whirled—and slammed into something hard, both legs twisted beneath him. He felt, vaguely, something wet running down his forehead and into his eyes.

Onward he rolled, gaining speed again, into the gullet of the mountain.
Thwack!
A sheet of rock exploded over him. The force propelled him into a dizzying spin. By now he could barely think, barely stay conscious.

Crash!

Tamwyn burst through a row of stalactites—and into daylight. He was tumbling, rolling down a hillside of something softer than stone. With a sudden crack, he bashed into a solid object, and stopped.

•  •  •

There was no way to tell how much time passed before he opened his eyes again. And felt the bolts of pain surging through his whole body. Every bone, every limb, every spot on himself, including his eyelids, felt broken, bruised, and battered.

Tamwyn tried to roll on his side, but the sharp pain in his back and thigh made him roll right back. He just lay there, eyes closed.
Nothing could make me move now
, he told himself weakly.
Nothing.

Suddenly he remembered just what had happened to him. And he knew that, yes, there was one thing important enough, one motivation strong enough, to make him stir his broken body.

Revenge.

He opened his eyes. After wiping away the dried blood that stuck to his eyelashes, he forced himself to raise his head and focus on his surroundings. He lay on a hillside of pale green grass. A narrow cave—the bottom end of the Rugged Path—opened under the brow of the hill. Below it, a trail of dirt, broken rocks, and crystals littered the grassy slope.

Above Tamwyn’s head, a tall chestnut tree lifted a delicate tracery of branches. A bird—some sort of grouse—rested on a lower bough. And there, sprawled on the tree’s roots, was that blasted hoolah!

With all his strength, Tamwyn made himself roll over. He started to crawl to the hoolah, one agonizing bit at a time. “I’ll get you now, you pickled pile of twisted turds! You worthless, bog-brained waste of a—”

“Oohoo, eehee, that was some ride!” Henni roused himself and pulled his red headband off his eyes. He sat up, leaning on a bruised elbow—just in time to see Tamwyn bearing down on him. He started to roll away.

Not quick enough. Tamwyn grabbed him by the collar of his sack-shaped tunic and shook him hard. “Remember what I said about letting you live so I could kill you later?”

“Yes, eehee, that was funny.”

“Well, forget it!” Tamwyn growled, his eyes ablaze. “I’m not waiting any longer.”

Henni just grinned, crinkling his circular eyebrows. “Good, oohoo eehee. Dying is something I haven’t done yet.”

“I mean it, hoolah!” Tamwyn twisted up his collar. “You went too far this time.”

Suddenly a tall shadow fell over Tamwyn. He caught the smell of summer lilacs, piercingly sweet. Without releasing his grip on Henni, he turned, even though it pained every muscle in his neck and back.

Fairlyn stood above him. Though some more of her branches and twigs were broken, and bark had been scraped off her trunk, there was an unmistakable look of gratitude in her brown eyes. And standing beside her, seemingly unbruised, was Llynia. The priestess was actually smiling.

“Tamwyn,” she said, “you did it.”

He blinked at her, not knowing what was more strange—to hear her call him by name, instead of “lowly porter,” or to see her so happy.

“I did?” he asked uncertainly. “What?”

“Brought us here, of course.” She placed her hand upon Fairlyn’s slender trunk. “You found the path to Woodroot. My quest will succeed, I’m sure now. And all my hopes . . .” She stopped herself. “But look at you two, you’re all covered in bruises and blood.”

Tamwyn took a deep breath, despite the throbbing ache of his ribs. “Oh, I’ll be fine.”

“So will I,” added Henni, “if I’m not about to be killed, eehee eehee.”

Tamwyn just growled and tightened his grip on him. Then, facing the priestess, he asked, “You’re not hurt?”

Llynia smiled again. “No, no. Thanks to the sturdy boughs of my maryth here, who held me the whole way down. And to the bravery of you two, as well.”

“Bravery?”

“In going down first, of course! You cleared the way for us all. That was so courageous of you both, to dive right into the cave like that.”

Tamwyn traded a glance with Henni, who looked just as surprised as he did. “Er, well, we didn’t exactly . . .”

“Don’t be modest now,” she declared. “You did a great service there, for both me and the Society. If Elen the Founder were here, she’d embrace you in thanks.”

“Not too hard, I hope,” muttered Tamwyn, rubbing his ribs.

Llynia drew herself up regally. “You have proved that my faith in you was justified.”

“Faith?”

“Why, yes, in your ability as a guide.”

Tamwyn would have laughed if his chest didn’t hurt so much.

“I always knew you could rise to that challenge,” she continued on in a dignified tone. “As the
Cyclo Avalon
says about the true believer’s faith:

“Harder than stone,
Stronger than bars;
Deeper than seas,
Higher than stars.”

She patted Fairlyn’s trunk. “And even though my dear friend here didn’t always share my faith in you, what you did has given her a great gift, as well. The sight of her homeland! She hasn’t seen her beloved Woodroot for many years now, since she first joined me at the Great Temple.”