At my feet lay the body of Dinatius. He may have been broken and unconscious, yet he remained a danger to us all. I’d spared his life, yes. But I wasn’t about to leave him any more opportunities for harm.
I spied a length of red cord, fitted with silver tassels on each end, draped over a sarsen stone. Just the thing! Quickly, I wrapped it around the warrior’s body, taking extra care to press the flats of his blades tight against his sides. Weak from exhaustion and loss of blood, it strained me just to roll him over to secure the knots. I couldn’t possibly lift him again; keeping on my feet was difficult enough. Moments later, he was bound. Though I’d have to watch him to make sure he didn’t cut through the cord, it was the best I could do.
A sudden fear gripped me. Were Elen and the others all right? Even if their cove hadn’t collided with the shore, the impact could have toppled a cliff wall. Children could have been injured—or worse. Anxiously, I scanned the area, searching for the lip of rock that protruded above their beach.
Then I saw where it should have been. The whole section had collapsed, leaving a deep gouge at the edge of the mound. Without even pausing to grab my staff, I stumbled toward the spot. My foot caught on the handle of a dagger and I crumpled, rolling in the loose soil. The gash in my shoulder, blackened with dirt, ached painfully.
Panting, I pushed myself to my feet—when a small, curly head poked above the edge. Lleu! He clambered up the slope, followed by my mother, whose blue robe was splattered with sand. A few seconds later, all three of us embraced, swaying in the wind off the water.
In time, Lleu’s arms released me. He fingered the scab on the side of his head as he gazed in awe at the scattered treasures surrounding us—and at the motionless body of his assailant. Meanwhile, Elen’s sapphire eyes probed my face, then turned to my wounded shoulder.
“This is deep, Merlin.” She tried to clean the gash, using her seawater-soaked sleeve. “Kneel down so I can try to mend you. Oh, what I’d give for a sprig of lemon balm!”
“No, Mother. Clean it, please, but that’s all. I’ve—
ehh!
that hurts—got to go . . .”
“You’re going nowhere, my son, until I’ve dressed this. Why look, it’s bleeding again.” She chewed her lip. “And then you’ll need some rest.”
“Can’t.” Weakly, I shook my head. “Just two days left before the battle! That’s barely enough time, even if I run like a deer.”
“How can you even talk about running?”
With the firm touch of a practiced healer, she pressed down on my good shoulder. My weakened legs buckled, and I collapsed to my knees on the dirt. Reluctantly, I gave in, telling myself I’d leave right after she finished. Even as she coaxed me to lie flat on my back, she peppered me with questions about the ruins, the island, and of course, Dinatius. I did my best to answer, though not before she assured me that the rock slide above the cove, which had opened the passageway for Lleu and herself, had injured no one.
I remember hearing her ask Lleu to fetch some moist kelp and a flask of seawater. I remember listening to the incessant pounding of waves, slamming constantly into the cliffs. And I remember glimpsing the shape of a lone kittiwake, swooping in the early morning light. Then I lost consciousness.
When I awoke, I felt another jolt of fear. Time was running out! To my relief, the sun’s position showed it was only mid-morning. I hadn’t lost more than an hour.
I sat up, rustling the warm yellow vest I was wearing. The astral vest! My mother must have put it on me again. I worked my shoulder—stiff, but much stronger than before. And I felt hungry, more hungry than I’d felt in days.
“So, my son, you’ve awakened.”
Seeing Elen approaching, her robe fluttering, I pushed myself to my feet. Lleu strode behind her, carrying something on a flat piece of driftwood. “I’m feeling much better,” I announced. “Thanks to you.”
She nodded gladly, though her brow remained lined with worry. “Here, we brought you something to eat.” From the driftwood she took a rolled kelp frond, stuffed thick with something juicy. “Mussels and sea grass,” she explained. “The children have been living off it.”
Lleu grunted. “Looks like nose drippings, don’t it? But it tastes passable.”
Without hesitation, I took a large bite of the roll. Tangy flavors of the sea filled my mouth, though the mussels required a great deal of chewing. Fortunately, Lleu offered me another kelp frond, this one holding a melting piece of ice, which I could suck to wash down the mouthful. For several minutes, I ate greedily. All the while, my mother watched me with concern.
“How are the children?” I asked through my last mouthful.
Her expression brightened. “They are, well, children. And very good at it! They’re all well, though a few are sneezing more than I’d like.”
“And Lleu, how about you?”
“Me?” Gingerly, he touched his scab. “I’m all right. Sleepin’ better.”
“So much better, it’s hard to believe.” Elen tousled his curls. “He’s made of strong stuff, this boy.”
“Very strong,” I agreed.
Lleu beamed at me, his round face alight. “Like ye, master Merlin.”
I wiped my chin, then tilted my head toward the spot up the slope where I’d left Dinatius. “What about . . . him?”
“Still unconscious,” my mother replied grimly. “I made myself set the bones of his legs. I should tell you, though, it took all my will not to break them again.”
“I understand, believe me.” Reaching beneath my vest, I felt the soft compress of seaweed she’d placed over the gash. “I’m grateful to those healing hands of yours.”
“They did very little, really.” Her eyes glinted with a mixture of puzzlement and pride. “Once I cleaned them, your sinews practically bound
themselves
together. Yes, and right as I watched! I’ve never seen anything like it, Merlin.”
“Your skill at work, that’s all.”
“No, your magic at work.” She peered at me. “It’s that strong.”
Stiffly, I moved the shoulder. “Nothing would have happened if you hadn’t made me stay for a bit. And really, you did remarkably well for just an hour’s time.”
She winced slightly. “It’s not been just an hour. It’s been a day.”
“A day!”
She nodded. “You passed out, right here, when I started working on you. That was yesterday morning.”
“A whole day!” I turned toward the snowy hills on the eastern horizon. Only a few hours remained. How could I ever get to the other end of Fincayra before sundown? Rhia would be there, waiting, I felt sure—along with anyone else she’d convinced to come. I couldn’t let her down. Couldn’t! Yet . . . what could I do now? It was hopeless!
Elen touched my forearm. “I’m sorry, my son.”
I said nothing, but kept peering at the horizon. The gateway between the worlds . . . the fight to save our homeland . . . the final confrontation with Rhita Gawr . . .
Lleu tugged on my legging. Angling his round face upward, he asked, “Why is you so sad?”
Elen answered for me, patting the boy’s shoulder. “Because there’s no way now for him to do what he feels he must.”
Lleu scrunched his nose doubtfully. “But you said—when you telled us that story about the seven labors of Here . . . ah, whatever his name was—there’s always a way.”
“This time,” she said somberly, “there isn’t.”
My jaw clenched, and I growled in frustration.
There’s always a way.
But what could it be? A cold gust of wind slapped my face, piercing even the vest’s layers of woven flowers. I folded my arms, trying to keep warm. Suddenly I caught my breath. Perhaps . . .
Raising my arms high above my head, I looked up into the cloudless sky. “Aylah!” I cried, my voice wavering in the wind. “Ayylahhhhh.”
I felt no new presence, not even the faintest smell of cinnamon.
“Aylah! Come to me, O sister of the wild wind. Wherever you are, come to me! I need your help.”
Still nothing.
Stretching my arms higher, and every one of my fingers, I tried once more. “Aylah, please! Carry me to the circle of stones, before this day ends.”
Not even another bitter gust answered my call. Dejected, I lowered my arms. My gaze met Elen’s. With a sigh, I said, “It’s useless.”
She gave a slow nod. “If only you could fly, like the people of old. Or use Leaping, like the mage you will surely become.”
“Or maybe . . . ,” I replied, my chest swelling with the strength of a new idea, “like the mage I am
now
.”
She studied me, her expression moving swiftly from surprise to belief. “Why, of course! If you can cause an island to return to its shore . . .”
I slammed my fist into my open palm. “Yes! There’s at least a chance.”
“Takes me with ye,” pleaded Lleu. “If ye be goin’ anywheres, I want to come.”
I gave his woolen scarf an affectionate tug. “No, my friend. This trip’s too dangerous. If my powers go awry, I could end up at the bottom of the sea, or under a pile of rocks somewhere. And if they actually work—well, the perils will be just as great.”
“I don’t care, master Merlin.” His eyes narrowed. “Takes me.”
“Sorry, Lleu.” I glanced at Elen. “I’ll need you to stay here, to take care of her.”
“That will be hard,” she declared, “since I’m coming, too. Now that we’re back on the mainland, and without any more Slayer to worry about, the children will be fine. They’re quite good at fending for themselves. As to the littlest ones, I could ask Medba to watch over—”
“No!” I proclaimed, grinding the heel of my boot into the soil. “Neither of you will come.” I squeezed my mother’s arm. “Please. You must trust me on this.”
She drew a long, hesitant breath. In a faint voice, she said, “I do trust you, my son. Even as I fear for you.”
“Much as I fear for you, and everyone else in this land. Which is why I must do this.” With a wave at Dinatius, lying on the dirt, I added, “He’s the one person I will bring along. That way, wherever I end up, he’ll be with me—not with you.”
Glumly, she nodded, as did the small boy at her side.
“I’ll see you again,” I declared, not entirely believing my own words. “Both of you.”
With that, I turned and started pacing across the slope. As I reached Dinatius, he moaned and stirred slightly, rolling his head on the soil. For an instant I paused, watching him, then bent to retrieve my staff. Grasping the cold wood of the shaft, I jammed its tip into the ground. The wind pressed against my back, whistling in my ears. But I stood firm, just as I intended to stand before Rhita Gawr.
For some time I remained there, as rigid as the staff itself, pondering the highest of the magical arts—the power of Leaping oneself. I couldn’t be sure I was really ready. My gaze wandered to the upper rim of the mound, and I felt a sudden urge to climb up there and check the wreath of mistletoe for any signs of life from my magical seed. But I resisted, knowing I needed to concentrate on the one task that mattered.
Leaping. All the way to the circle of stones.
The gusts swelled, causing me to clasp the staff even more tightly. My hand, I realized, was wrapped around the mark of Leaping itself, burned deep into the hemlock: a star within a circle. Much time had passed since Gwri of the Golden Hair gave me that mark—and also predicted that a bough of mistletoe awaited me here. Yet the moment of our meeting glowed as bright in my memory as the shimmering circle of light that always surrounded her. She had told me then that the true magic of Leaping lay in the hidden connections that bound all things to one another, even things as diverse as air, sea, mist, soil, and every person’s hand. For all those things and more have a part in what she called
the great and glorious song of the stars.
I thought of the great stone pillars, so far from this spot, where I needed to go. Once they had witnessed the Dance of the Giants, and in just a few more hours they would witness the meeting of two worlds. Dagda’s warning echoed in my mind: Fincayra’s only hope lay in enough of its people, from many different races, coming together at the circle of stones. But in the time since Dagda had spoken, I hadn’t been able to do anything at all to help that happen. Rhita Gawr, through his puppet Dinatius, had seen to that.
And yet . . . one chance remained. Yes, and her name was Rhia. I looked eastward, toward the distant hills, certain she was on her way, right now, to the circle. Even if she hadn’t found a single ally, she would come. Alone, if necessary.
Who else could I count on? Not Shim, who might well have fallen prey to Urnalda’s schemes. Not Hallia, who could still be searching the dragon lands in the far north. Not Cairpré, who, like my mother, would be elsewhere. And not my shadow. That I regretted especially, for as rudely and impertinently as it often behaved, it was still part of me. I dearly wished I hadn’t driven it away.
I sagged a little, leaning against my staff, as I thought about Hallia.
Like honey on a leaf.
The phrase, which rang so true on that day in Druma Wood, seemed hollow now. Not because Hallia and I loved each other any less, or no longer yearned to run together as deer, but because the ground had shifted beneath our bounding hooves. Our whole world, our whole future, was now uncertain. But no! We could never live apart from each other, just as we could never live apart from our homeland.
Our Fincayra.
Planting my boots securely, and making sure that one of them was touching Dinatius, I gazed up at the crystalline sky. It was time to go. Slowly, I opened my heart, my mind, my spirit to the magic of Leaping. I summoned its powers, calling to all the places where it lay hidden—the embracing air, the bottomless sea, the mist ever swirling, the wondrous soil, and my own living hands.
At first, I felt nothing beyond the chill of the ocean wind, which blew my hair and flapped my vest. Then, gradually, from some strange quarter, I felt a hint of warmth. It wasn’t in the air, nor outside me at all. Rather, it swelled within my veins and pores and very bones, filling me like a drinking horn. Steadily it gathered in force, a wave of warmth that flowed through my whole body.
Send us there
, I beseeched.
Send us to the circle of stones.
A sizzling flash of light exploded in the air, encircling us like a blazing cloud. An instant later, it vanished—as did we.