The Raging Fires (7 page)

The nudge came again. “Rhia,” I grumbled, not bothering to roll over. “Isn’t it enough you insisted on following me—” I paused, correcting myself before she could. “Guiding me, I mean, when it made things that much worse for our mother? You don’t have to come over here and kick me, as well.”Again—this time harder. “All right, all right,” I admitted. “I know you promised her you’d turn back at Urnalda’s lands. And, yes, I did agree to the idea! But I agreed because you could save me half a day or more. Not because you’d keep me up all night!”

When I felt another nudge, I flipped over and angrily grabbed—

A hedgehog. Hardly bigger than my fist, it curled itself even tighter, burying its face in a mass of bristles. Embarrassed, I grinned. Poor little creature! It was clearly frightened. Probably cold, too.

I hefted the prickly ball. Though I couldn’t see its face, I recognized the darker markings of a male. No more than a few months old, most likely. The little fellow could have been lost, separated from his family. Or simply cold enough that he had abandoned any caution for the warmth of my back.

Holding him in my palm, I started gently stroking along his spine. While I had learned much in the last year about the language of trees (having moved well beyond the simple swishing of beeches, I could now carry on a rudimentary chat with an elm or even an oak), I still knew practically nothing about the speech of animals. Even so, I managed to produce a piping
yik-a-lik, yik-a-lik,
which I had once heard a mother hedgehog sing to her brood.

Very slowly, while I continued stroking, the ball began to uncurl. First came the leathery pads of the rear feet, each no bigger than my thumbnail. Then came the front feet. Then the belly, swelling like a dark bubble in a peat bog. At last an eye emerged, then the other, blacker than the shadows of night surrounding us. Finally came the nose, sniffing the skin of my thumb. As I stroked more vigorously, he released a tiny, throaty sigh.

Rhia would enjoy this little creature. Even if it meant waking her—and admitting my own folly. I could already hear her bell-like laugh when I told her that I had mistaken him for her foot.

Sitting upright on the bed of needles, I turned my second sight toward the cluster of fern where she had fallen asleep. Suddenly my heart froze. She was gone!

Setting down the hedgehog, I ignored his plaintive whimpers as I clambered to my feet. My second sight stretched to its fullest, peering through the shadowy branches and dark trunks of the grove. Where had she gone? Having trekked with her so often, I was accustomed to her daytime roamings, whether to forage for food, follow a deer’s tracks, or plunge into the cool water of a tarn. But she had never before left camp at night. Had something sparked her curiosity? Or . . . brought her harm?

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Rhia!”

No reply.

“Rhia!”

Nothing. The forest seemed unusually quiet. No branches clacked or groaned; no wings fluttered. Only the continuing whimpers of the hedgehog broke the silence.

Then, from somewhere beyond the ferns, came a familiar voice. “Do you need to be so loud? You’ll wake every living thing in the forest.”

“Rhia!” I grabbed my staff, sword, and leather satchel. “Where in Dagda’s name are you?”

“Out here, of course. Where else did you expect me to watch the stars?”

Buckling the belt of my sword, I hurried through the mass of ferns. As often as I ducked to avoid the pine boughs, a jagged limb would clutch at my tunic. All of a sudden, the trees parted. A chill breeze splashed my face. I stood at the edge of a small, rock-strewn meadow.

To my left, a spring bubbled out of the ground, forming a pool enclosed by reeds. Beside it rested a flat slab of moss-rimmed stone. There, her arms wrapped around her shins and her face turned skyward, sat Rhia.

As I approached, whatever frustration I harbored melted away. She seemed so at peace, so at home. How could I blame her? I leaned my staff against the stone, sat down beside her—and gazed.

Stars, an immense swath of them, arched above us. Like singers in a grand, celestial chorus, they marched across the sky, linked through outstretched arms of light. It reminded me of the phrase, carved into the wall of the great tree that was Rhia’s home—as well as my own memory:
The great and glorious Song of the Stars.

Rhia continued scanning the sky, her curls sparkling with starlight. “So you couldn’t sleep? Neither could I.”

“You found a better way to spend the night than I did, though. I was just tossing around on pine needles.”

“Look there,” she cried, pointing to a plummeting star. Brightly it burned for an instant, then swiftly vanished. “I’ve often wondered,” she said wistfully, “whether a star like that one falls somewhere in our world, or in someone else’s.”

“Or into a river beyond,” I offered. “A great, round river that carries the light of all the stars, flowing endlessly into itself.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And maybe that river is also the seam binding the two halves of time. You remember that story? One half always beginning, the other half always ending.”

Propping my elbows on the stone, I leaned farther back. “How could I forget? You told it to me on the same night you showed me how to find constellations not just in the stars themselves, but in the spaces between them.”

“And you told me about that horse—what was his name?”

“Pegasus.”

“Pegasus! A winged steed, prancing from star to star. With you hugging his back.” She laughed, a bell pealing in the forest. “How I’d love to fly like that myself!”

I grinned. “It reminds me of the thrill—the freedom—of my first time on horseback.”

“Really?” For the first time since my arrival, she turned from the glittering vista. “When did you ever ride horseback?”

“Long ago. So long ago! It was a great black stallion, belonging to our . . . father.” I didn’t say the rest: before Rhita Gawr corrupted him, filling him with the wicked spirit’s lust to control Fincayra. Those words still left such a hateful taste in my mouth. “I don’t remember much about that horse, except that I loved to ride him—with someone holding me, of course. I was so small . . . but I loved the sound of his hooves beneath me, pounding, pounding. And the warm breath from his nostrils! Every time I visited him at the castle stable, I brought him an apple, just so I could feel his warm breath on my hand.”

Softly, she touched my shoulder. “You really loved that horse.”

I sighed. “It’s all so blurry now. Maybe I was just too young. I can’t even remember his name.”

“Maybe it will come back to you in a dream. That happens sometimes. Dreams can bring back the past.”

My teeth clenched, as I thought about the only dream that brought back the past for me. Over and over and over again. How I hated that dream! It struck at unpredictable times—but always carried me to the same place. Beyond the swirling mists surrounding Fincayra, across the sea, to a ragged village in the land called Gwynedd. There, a powerful boy—Dinatius by name—attacked me. In my rage I called upon my hidden powers and caused a fire, a fire that exploded out of the very air. The blaze! It scorched my face, searing the skin of my cheeks and brow. I lost my own eyes in those flames—while Dinatius, I fear, lost his life.

The dream always ended in the same way: Dinatius, shrieking in mortal agony, his arms crushed beneath the blazing branch of a tree. I always woke up the same way, as well. Sobbing, clutching at my sightless eyes. Feeling the pain of those flames. And what made the dream worse was that it was true.

Even as I shuddered, Rhia twirled one of her fingers around my own. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I didn’t mean to upset you. Were you thinking about . . . the dragon?”

“No, no. Just dragons of my own.”

She released my finger and ran her hand across the stone’s rough surface. “The worst kind.”

I swallowed. “The very worst.”

“Sometimes those dragons are different from what they seem.”

“What do you mean?”

She faced me squarely. “The Galator. You know it could help you defeat Valdearg. Why, it could be your only chance! So why aren’t you going after it first? Before you have to face him?”

My cheeks grew hot. “Because there’s no time! Why, you heard—”

“Is that all?” she interrupted. “Your only reason?”

“Of course it is!”

“Really?”

“Of course!” I pounded the stone with my fist. “You don’t think I’m doing this because I’m scared of . . .”

“Yes?” she asked gently.

“Of Domnu.” I stared at her, amazed. How could she have known? Just the thought of that treacherous old hag made me shudder. “Cairpré was right. You really do know how to see under someone else’s skin.”

“Maybe,” she replied. “Sometimes it’s easier to see someone else’s dragons than your own, that’s all. As to this one, I don’t know whether you should go right to Urnalda’s lands, or not. Time is short, as you said. But I do know that you’re scared of Domnu. Very scared. And you need to know it’s affecting your thinking. And, more than likely, your sleeping.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “You’re a lot of trouble, you know. But every once in a while . . . you’re almost worth it.”

“Thanks,” she said, returning the grin.

My brow furrowed. “I think, though, I still should go straight to Urnalda. There’s my promise to her—and she needs the help now. Remember her words?
My people be attacked, this very day, as never before.”

“If you do manage to help her somehow, she doesn’t seem the kind of person who’s going to give you any thanks.”

“Oh, she would—in her own way. She’s crusty, all right. And easily angered. But you can trust her, at least. Not like Domnu! All Urnalda really wants is to keep her people safe.” I reflected for a moment. “Even if I could regain the Galator, I couldn’t possibly do it in time to help her. On top of that, I never did find out how it works. So even if I found some way to get it back from Domnu, how much better off would I be?”

I glanced at the sea of stars above us. “There’s also this: Maybe Urnalda knows something about the dragon that could help. In the same way the Galator helped win the last battle. She is, after all, an enchantress.”

My gaze met Rhia’s. “And, finally, there’s one more thing.” I took a long, slow breath. “I’m scared of Domnu. Just as much as I am of that dragon.”

Sparks danced on her head as she nodded sympathetically. “Her name—what does it mean?”

“Dark Fate. That’s all anyone needs to know about her! She calls on magic so ancient that even the most powerful spirits—Rhita Gawr, or Dagda himself—just leave her alone. And as much as I’d like to see her humbled, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Just then my staff slid off the stone. I reached down among the grasses to fetch it—when something pricked the back of my hand. I jumped, startling Rhia so much that both of us nearly tumbled off.

At that instant, I started to laugh. I lowered my hand into the grass. And I picked up the little hedgehog, stroking his bristly back.

7:
S
TONE
C
IRCLE

Through most of the following day, we trekked north through Drama Wood. Thanks to Rhia’s knowledge of the hidden pathways made by fox paws and deer hooves, we covered much ground. And quickly. Only twice did our speed slacken: in crossing a thick stretch of thorny brambles, as high as our hips in places, that ripped our clothing and raked our shins; and in climbing a buttress of rock whose shadowed face already wore a slick layer of ice.

Most of the time, though, Rhia’s relentless pace left me breathless. She charged up hills, leaped across rivulets, and ran effortlessly through glades of oak, beech, and hemlock. Half deer herself she seemed, as I struggled to keep up with her. Whenever she spotted some tangy mushrooms or sweet berries, I felt doubly grateful—since they staved off our hunger and also gave us a chance to pause.

Yet I never complained about our pace. Urnalda’s urgent plea still rang in my ears. Time leaned on me, as heavily as a toppled tree. If only I could get there faster! And if only I had a better idea what to do once I arrived.

Early that afternoon, we entered a grove of cedars that skirted the base of a hillside. Suddenly, the wind grew stronger. Branches waved wildly, slapping and scraping. Trunks twisted and moaned. Rhia halted, listening intently to the cacophony around us, looking grimmer by the minute.

At length, she turned to me. “The trees—I’ve never heard them so agitated before.”

“What are they saying?”

“Turn back! Over and over they keep saying
the boy of the wizard’s staff will
. . .” She paused, working her tongue.
“Will die. As surely as a sapling smothered in flames.”

I cringed, touching the still-tender scars on my face. “But I can’t turn back. If I don’t face Valdearg, then you and everyone else—including every tree in this forest—will have to face him. The Druma will be a graveyard.” The spicy scent of cedar pricked my nostrils. “If I must die, though, I only wish . . .”

I paused, listening to the clacking and creaking of the trees. “That I could be certain I will slay him, too.”

Rhia’s gray-blue eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

“The question,” I said gravely, “is how. I’m not ready to battle a dragon. Let alone slay one! Never will be, probably. Not after what happened . . . back there at the rowan. No, I’m still just
the boy of the wizard’s staff.
Not a true wizard.”

A branch snapped just above us, splintering as it struck the ground at our feet. Rhia, biting her lip, turned to go. Buried in my thoughts, I followed.

In time, the sound of our boots squelching through muddy soil replaced the wailing of the branches. Puddles filled every path. Trees grew sparser, except for the whitened skeletons of those whose roots had long ago drowned. Water birds whistled in the rising mist, while the first traces of a rotting smell fouled the air.

I turned to Rhia as we walked. “Is this the great swamp at the Drama’s northern edge? Or a different one?”

She planted her boot of woven bark against a mound of peat, testing its firmness before plodding across. “It’s part of the great swamp. But more than that I can’t say. We’re much farther east than the stretch I usually cross, since I took the most direct route. I thought it would save some time.” Her voice dropped. “I hope I was right.”