Ultimate Magic (11 page)

“Which is what?” She scowled at him so fiercely that the pointed tips of her ears turned crimson. “What exactly is so precious, so important, that it was worth giving away your map?”

“Avalon! All those places that Basil and my fa—, er, Merlin—care so much about. Love so dearly.”

Serella’s face softened. Cupping her hand, she slid it across the canyon wall, filling her palm with mist. The luminous vapors rested inside her hand like a small, glowing cloud.

“This mist,” she said gently, “belongs to Fincayra. It covers these cliffs the way it covers everything else around here. But even if we can’t see the cliffs, they are still there.”

He furrowed his brow. “What are you getting at?”

“Sometimes,” she went on, looking at the small cloud within her hand, “people are like that. All we notice is what’s on the surface—the pain, the mist that covers our deeper feelings. Not the feelings themselves, the hard rock beneath.”

Krystallus swallowed. “You’re saying . . . this isn’t really about the map?”

“Right.”

“And it isn’t really about Avalon?”

“Right . . . at least, that’s not the most important part.”

Krystallus, bewildered, ran a hand over his forehead and through his long white hair. “Then what
is
all this about? If not the map, or Avalon, what else could it be? I don’t have a clue.”

Her eyes, forest green, peered at him. “Go deeper. To the hard rock beneath.”

“Maybe . . . ,” he began, then caught himself. “No, that’s not it.”

Serella’s eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t speak.

He scuffed his boot along the ledge, plowing through the layer of mist. Hesitantly, he asked, “You don’t think this is about Merlin? My relationship with him?”

She merely gazed at him.

“But that’s absurd!”

The gaze didn’t waver.

“Really, Serella. That’s ridiculous. Impossible.”

His brow creased. “How . . . could this possibly have anything to do with Merlin?”

She cocked her head to one side, making her silvery blond hair spill over one shoulder. “He is your father, you know.”

“Even if he never acted like one,” grumbled Krystallus. “Why, even when I was little, he made it clear that I . . .”

“Go on.”

“That I wasn’t as important to him as all his special places! His special world!”

The elf maiden nodded. “Avalon.”

“Yes, Avalon.” He clenched his jaw. “He treated me as badly as . . . well, as . . . his father treated
him
. Made me feel he loved his world, Avalon, a whole lot more than . . .”

“His own son.”

Surprised by the power of her words, he drew a sharp breath. Blinking his eyes, he muttered, “Cursed mist! Fogging my vision.”

“Right,” she said softly. “Mist can do that.”

He stared at her. “I’m a grown man, Serella! Explorer. Founder of a college for mapmakers. You really believe it still hurts me that Merlin loved those places so much? And you really believe that’s why I gave the map away?”

“Not why you gave it away.” She blew slowly on the cloud in her palm, making it melt into the air. “But why you can’t bring yourself to admit that you gave it away to help
Avalon
. The world you love every bit as much as Basil does. And every bit as much as your father does.”

Krystallus scowled. “That’s absurd! Far-fetched. Idiotic.” He squeezed his fists, then slowly relaxed them. “And . . . absolutely right.”

Serella leaned closer and kissed him tenderly on the lips. “That’s what I love about you. You may be a slow learner . . . but at least you’re honest.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you know what I love about you?”

“What?”

“That you’re so easy to beat in a climb!” He gave her rope a tug. “Come on. I’ll race you to that next ledge up there.”

Before he’d even finished talking, Serella had turned to the cliff wall and found her first handhold. Krystallus grinned, then did the same, grasping the rock that lay beneath the mist.

15:
A
N
I
NSTINCT

I would wager a mountain of dragons’scales that rash boldness will always appeal more than wisdom. And if you somehow survive the boldness, you might become a bit wiser.

Like a pair of oversized spiders, Krystallus and Serella climbed the cliff wall. A constant cascade of mist poured over them as they worked their way higher, washing over their heads and backs, soaking their tunics and leggings. As they raced up to the next ledge, their hands and feet barely touched a hold before reaching for the next one.

After several minutes of uninterrupted climbing, neither one of them had pulled ahead. And neither showed any sign of slowing down. Meanwhile, both climbers continued to pant hard, drip with sweat and mist, and strain every muscle from their fingertips down to their toes.

An eagle glided past, nearly brushing Serella’s back with an outstretched wing tip. The bird’s mighty screech echoed across the cliffs. Yet even that explosion of sound didn’t break the racers’ concentration. Without a second’s pause, they kept on climbing.

For years, they had raced each other, challenging themselves to go higher or faster or deeper, in many varied places. Whether they climbed the misty cliffs of Fincayra, swam between the islands of the Rainbow Seas, dived for luminous fish in the Swaying Sea, or hiked to the summits of Stoneroot’s high peaks, they always raced. Not merely to win, but to enjoy the exhilarating sense of pushing themselves to their limits.

At last they neared the ledge. Krystallus jammed the toe of his boot into a notch, transferred his weight to that foot—then heard a loud
craaack
. Suddenly the notch broke off, sending shards of rock bouncing down the cliff into the canyon far below.

Krystallus cried out in surprise. He leaped aside and groped desperately for a new hold. Just as he started to slip—

Found it! His fingers plunged into a narrow seam, sturdy enough to hold his weight so that he wouldn’t join the shower of shards. While his elven rope, secured to the cliff face, would have kept him from tumbling all the way down to the canyon floor, it couldn’t have kept him from being badly injured. Or, even worse in his mind, from losing this race to Serella.

Hearing his cry, the elf maiden did something she hadn’t done since their race began. She paused. Not for long, just for a heartbeat—enough time to be sure that her favorite climbing partner was not going to fall to his death. But that brief pause was enough to give Krystallus the edge.

He continued to climb, never hesitating. By the time Serella resumed, he was already a few hands’ lengths ahead. Though they moved upward at an identical pace, finding new holds beneath the layer of mist, he maintained his slight lead.

Krystallus’s fingers grasped the lip of the ledge. He pulled himself up, despite the quaking muscles of his arms and shoulders. With a groan that mixed exhaustion and pride, he lay flat on his back, both his legs still dangling over the edge. As thoroughly tired as he was, he still had enough strength to grin.

Right after that, Serella hoisted herself onto the rocky ledge. Like him, she collapsed onto her back; like him, she panted ceaselessly. But unlike Krystallus, she didn’t grin.

Instead, she wore a full-blown smile.

“Not fair!” she exclaimed through heaving breaths. “I think . . . you staged . . . that whole thing. Just . . . to slow me down.”

“Think so?” He raised himself up on one elbow and gazed at her. Panting heavily, he asked, “Isn’t that why . . . you kissed me . . . back at the start? A trick . . . to wreck . . . my concentration?”

Serella, too, propped herself up on an elbow. Green eyes glittering, she replied, “Smart man.”

“Well, then, I guess . . . I owe you one.”

She cocked her head, puzzled. “You mean . . . a trick?”

“No.” He slid nearer on the ledge, sending a wave of mist across her body. “I mean this.”

He leaned over and gave her a kiss, alive with passion.

“There,” he announced, pulling away. “Now we’re even.”

“No.” She shook her head, scattering the mist that had settled on her hair. “I think I won.”

He grinned once more. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

“You’re doing fine.”

Abruptly, his joviality vanished. “Not really, Serella.” He glanced at the eagle, now merely a distant silhouette gliding through the canyon, then turned back to her. “What you said to me back there—you were right. About . . . my father. And how much I love Avalon.”

She sat up, pulling her knees toward her chest, all the while studying him. “You want to help somehow?”

He nodded, swishing his long mane against his shoulders. “It’s too late, I fear, to help Basil. And too late to do anything with that map. But it’s not too late—”

“To do something utterly crazy,” she completed. “Am I right?”

“My specialty.” Though he tried to sound lighthearted, he didn’t succeed. “It’s a long shot. But it could, perhaps, be useful.”

“What are you thinking?”

Krystallus drew a deep breath of misty air. “I’ve been hearing, for some time now, about strange things happening in the Haunted Marsh.”

“The Marsh?” Despite being a veteran explorer of treacherous places, Serella frowned. “That’s the last place you should go if you want to do something helpful. It’s just a wasteland—and a death trap.”

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Krystallus replied, “That . . . and maybe something more.”

“Like what?” she asked with a scowl.

“Almost a year ago, one of my best young mapmakers, Vespwyn—”

“I met him,” she interrupted. “He was with you that time we trekked to the birthplace of sylphs in Airroot.”

“Right. Well, you remember, then, he had the heart of a true explorer.”

“As much,” she admitted, “as anyone who is not an elf.”

Ignoring her jab, he continued, “Vespwyn told me that he’d passed near the borders of the Marsh several times in recent years, and he’d witnessed something disturbing. Not just the usual moaning and groaning of marsh ghouls—who aren’t, in any case, as thoroughly bad as most people think. No, this was something worse, much worse.”

“What?” asked Serella, her tone skeptical.

“He didn’t say. The only words he used were ‘dark—too dark’ and ‘trouble for Avalon.’ He insisted on finding out more. And, over my objections, on going alone.” Krystallus pinched his lips, then said, “He never came back.”

“So you want to find out what happened to him. That’s understandable. But he could have died a thousand different ways in that horrible place! What’s the point of risking your life, too?”

“It’s those words—
trouble for Avalon.
Vespwyn didn’t say such a thing lightly. For him, protecting this world was the highest ideal anyone could live by. In that way, he was a lot like my father.”

Serella blew a long breath. Softly, she said, “Just as you are.”

He shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. Although Merlin would never agree, that’s certain! Nothing I can ever do will change his opinion of me. Nothing. But anyway, that doesn’t matter.”

Watching him, she raised an eyebrow.

He squared his shoulders. “All that matters is helping Avalon survive! And when I put together what Vespwyn said with the rumors I’ve heard for too long now, I need to investigate. It could be nothing. Or it could be important—a key to our world’s troubles.”

She brushed a spiraling curl of mist off her nose. “I can tell you need to do this.”

“I need, at least, to try.”

She nodded. “I only wish I could come with you. But I have to lead that expedition to High Brynchilla, you know, and the ships are sailing tomorrow.”

“I know.” Reaching out his hand, he took hers, weaving his fingers into her own. “You’ll still be with me.”

“How will you get there?” she probed. “That swamp is about as accessible as a fire dragon’s throat.”

“The portal in northern Malóch. Just inside the desert, near the place bards call Hidden Gate. I can trek from there.”

“Too bad you don’t have a magical map to guide you,” she said teasingly.

“Right.” Humor played across his lips. “Next time I do something rash, I’ll check with you first.”

“No, you won’t.”

Serella waved her hand through the vaporous air, sending a small gust of wind toward the cliff wall. Its layer of luminous mist rippled and parted, revealing the moist rock underneath. She watched the undulating mist, her face solemn, then turned back to Krystallus.

“And that,” she added, “is another thing I love about you.”

16:
W
INGS

Returning home can sometimes be the strangest journey of all.

Basilgarrad flew over the high peaks of Olanabram, his enormous wings stretching wider than the blue-tinted glaciers below. Much as he would have liked to fly even faster, the dragon held his glides between strokes as long as possible, riding on the whistling wind, so that he wouldn’t outpace Marnya and Ganta. As it was, he could hear their labored breathing not far behind as they struggled to stay with him.

Below, his shadow floated over the glaciers, snowfields, and summits of the peaks. Basilgarrad watched the changing scene, noticing how his jagged wings seemed to twist, shorten, and expand as the shadow moved across the steepest slopes. Just as he reached Hallia’s Peak, the summit where he’d parted with Merlin all those years ago, he felt a familiar tap on the edge of his ear.

“Good to be back here, old chap.” The wizard’s voice, spoken right into the huge, pointed ear that he was holding tightly, rang louder than the whistling wind. Merlin ran his hand affectionately over the long green hairs that lined the ear’s edge, as if he were stroking a puppy. “We’ve seen quite a few adventures down there, haven’t we?”

“We have,” boomed Basilgarrad, nodding his massive head as he flew. “Starting with your wedding.”

“Right! I’d almost forgotten you were there—seeing as how you came disguised as a puny little lizard with dried up leaves for wings.”

The dragon’s throat rumbled with laughter, sounding like an approaching thunderstorm. “The smallest package can sometimes hold the biggest surprise.”