"There's more," the lizard snarled. He drew a sharp breath. "Merlin's in danger, too. He's searching for a kreelix, right now, in one of the realms."
"A kreelix?" The wind sister gusted doubtfully, shaking Basil's snout. "They are gone, little hhhwa—"
"No more!" His tail pounded the rock, making it teeter on the cliff's edge. "One has been seen. Dagda told me so! And Merlin's searching for it, looking everywhere. We need to find him before—"
"Rhita Gahhhwr finds the kreelix," finished Aylah, blowing decisively against his back. "Or else that leech could join hhhwith the kreelix, making it more pohhhwerful than ever."
In the darkness beneath a nearby boulder, a wormlike creature twisted its circular mouth. Its body trembled in what might have been a silent, sneering laugh. But its lone bloodshot eye burned with unfathomable hatred.
Basil nodded at the wind sister's words. Then his ears turned with a question. "What exactly makes kreelixes so dangerous? Dagda called them
the greatest mortal foe a wizard can face
."
"Indeed they are," said Aylah with a sudden rush of air. "I hhhwill tell you hhhwhy, but later. Right nohhhw hhhwe must go! I hhhwill carry you, lifting your hhhwings."
Basil nodded gratefully. He stretched out his wings to the fullest. They resembled two ragged leaves; as the wind blew faster, they started to rustle.
"Hhhwhere do hhhwe start to look? Hhhwhat place do hhhwe go?"
"Every place! Aylah, we can't stop until we find Merlin. Wherever he is." His green eyes flamed. "We'll look in every realm. We'll fly all the way around the Great Tree, searching the whole world, if we must."
The wind fluttered, breathing warmly all around him. "You are truly a hhhwanderer, my friend."
With a gentle gust, she tapped his nose. "But you underestimate the size of your hhhworld. Even if hhhwe took many years, hhhwe could never see the hhhwhole Tree. Never! There are realms deep hhhwithin the trunk, and countless branches reaching starhhhward, that no one has ever explored."
She paused, and the wind fell still. All at once, she blew again, more strongly than before.
"Our best hope to find him," she declared, "is to move fast, soaring high above the root realms. I can see far, very far, searching for any sign of the hhhwizard. So hhhwe can look—but only as hhhwe hhhwhoosh past, flying like the hhhwind, never stopping."
Basil shook his snout. "I
must
stop, though. Just briefly."
"Hhhwhy?"
"I promised Dagda." He hesitated, recalling the rumbling voice of Stoneroot. "Promised him I'd taste—actually swallow—a bit of every realm,"
Aylah buffeted him. "To take some of Avalon's magic into yourself?"
He gave an uncertain nod. "I don't know why, exactly. Or what good it does me. But I did promise."
"Then do it you shall, little hhhwanderer. Although it hhhwill delay us a bit, Dagda must have his reasons."
"What reasons, though? He's asking me to slow our search. To endanger Merlin—and also Avalon. For what?"
A windy voice rushed past his ear. "For your future, perhaps."
Basil frowned. How could anyone, even Dagda, have an idea of his future?
"Shall hhhwe?" urged the wind sister.
In answer, he slapped his feet against the lichen-covered rock, unsure where—or when—he would touch the ground again. "All right," he proclaimed. "Time to fly!"
20:
M
UD
What you see is temporary. What you cannot see is eternal. That's why I always prefer to look with eyes closed . . . and heart open.
Suddenly, with a rush of wind, Basil's feet left the rock. Warm air encircled him, buoying him, ruffling the edges of his ears. Then, all at once, he was flying—without any effort, without even a beat of his outspread wings. The cliff where he'd met Dagda shrank beneath him, becoming a mere wrinkle on the mountain ridge; the boulders where he'd lived so long diminished swiftly, becoming just a mass of pebbles.
High into the sky Aylah carried him, supporting his bony wings with her vast, invisible form. At first, he felt unstable, as if he should be doing more to keep himself aloft by flapping his wings, steadying his tail against turbulence, or banking his every turn. Soon, though, he gained more confidence. He could still turn or even dive if he chose, but he simply trusted Aylah to carry him wherever she wanted. All he had to do was keep his wings open—and ride the wind.
"Hhhwest to east hhhwe shall fly," breathed Aylah's voice. "Until hhhwe find him! Even if hhhwe must go all the hhhway around the Great Tree. Is that hhhwhat you hhhwant, little hhhwanderer?"
Basil only nodded. Yet his expression of stern resolve showed the slightest hint of a grin. Here he was, sailing on wings infinitely wider than his own, riding on the back of the breeze.
Yes, Aylah. This is what I want.
Currents of snow-chilled air, rising from the mountains below, buffeted his wings. He looked down, studying the landscape. There, towering above the rest of Olanabram's high peaks, stood the immense, snowy summit where Merlin and Hallia had been married. Across his mind flashed memories of their wedding, and all the creatures he'd seen there—ranging from a tiny light flyer, as small as a windblown spark, to the giant Shim, as huge as a hillside. A sylph . . . a clan of deer people . . . a fire angel. And that dragon, Gwynnia, with her nasty little offspring.
Basil gazed down at the mountains, which gleamed as if they were made more of light than rock. And at the shining glaciers of the Dun Tara snowfields. Even the feathery backs of the eaglefolk, soaring along the ridges far below, radiated light.
This brightness didn't fade as Aylah's warm wind carried him higher. All of Stoneroot seemed to shine. The immense circle of stones that was the heart of Elen's sacred compound looked as luminous as a ring of fire. The neighboring fields, home to bell-ringing farmers and animals, glowed like large green lanterns.
"Light is really part of this realm," he mused, squinting at the radiant landscape. Now he understood why he'd seen a brilliant flash at the very instant he swallowed that piece of crystal and heard the words
I am stone.
"Stars shine the brightest on Stoneroot, more than any other root-realm," Aylah replied. "Many hhhwonder hhhwhy, but only the hhhwind sisters can explain it."
"Can you tell me?" he asked eagerly.
"No, I cannot. My sisters and I have promised not to reveal that secret to anyone." Then she added, after nudging him with a gentle gust, "Perhaps you hhhwill be the first of your kind to go to the stars, great explorer. Then you, too, hhhwill knohhhw hhhwhy."
Basil, though, had stopped thinking about the stars. That phrase
of your kind
rang in his ears. Just what kind was that? He might never know. After his conversation with Dagda, he knew that he wasn't related to dragons. But to what species
was
he related? Would he never see someone like himself? Or find out who his parents were? Or, for that matter, whether he had any parents at all?
The sudden roar of a rockfall shook him out of his thoughts. Having spent so many years among loose stones that could crush anyone who happened to be in their way, he instantly turned to the source of the sound. Strangely, it hadn't come from down below, in the mountains—but from somewhere higher, right at his altitude. How could that possibly be? There weren't any rocks way up here!
Puzzled, he peered in the only direction that wasn't crystal clear sky, at a thick wall of mist rising upward from the northernmost peaks. Then, through some gaps in the mist, he glimpsed patches of brown. Rocky cliffs!
Gradually, the mist shredded, revealing more of the cliffs—impossibly tall, dreadfully steep. Rows of dark brown ridges climbed straight up, higher and higher, far above Basil's head.
The trunk
, he realized in awe.
I'm looking at the trunk of the Great Tree.
He craned his neck, gazing upward, but he couldn't even begin to see how high those cliffs ultimately rose. All he could tell was that, somewhere far above him, they faded into the swirling mist. He tried to imagine, much higher still, the Tree's enormous branches reaching toward the stars.
Turning his gaze back to the realm below, he tried to guess how fast he was flying. Much faster than he'd ever flown before, that was certain! Way down on the grasslands near the southern marshes, he spied a pair of trolls—not quite as big as giants, but easily recognized by their rounded backs and hunched posture—running after a band of smaller creatures that looked like gnomes. Within seconds, Basil had left them all behind. He then spotted a herd of black oryx galloping eastward with the speed of antelope, their long straight horns stabbing the air with every bound. Barely a heartbeat later, Basil had caught up to them and flown past. Only an enormous canyon eagle, who was also riding the wind, kept pace.
"Alas, little hhhwanderer," said Aylah. "I see no sign of Merlin, as far as I have looked across this realm. Hhhwe must look further, keep going."
Despite the seriousness of her point, Basil didn't feel dismayed. "Yes," he agreed, "we must keep going."
Before long, the rugged eastern edge of Stoneroot came into view. Beyond that lay a sea of shadowy mist, where strange shapes constantly arose, shifted, and vanished. Dragons' heads formed and then shrank down to nothingness; noble birds started to fly, but their wings suddenly warped into bent, crooked twigs. Soaring above the dark mist, Basil couldn't shake the feeling that those shapes were more than random images—that they were, in fact, mocking him.
One formation, shaped tike a lizard's head, grew to enormous size, then opened its gargantuan jaws. Out of the gaping mouth poured a thin wisp of vapors that quickly coalesced into a tiny egg. The egg cracked open and started to suck into itself the lizard's ears, eyes, and snout. Before long, the entire head had disappeared. Then, all of a sudden, a long tongue of mist reached out and wrapped around the egg, squeezing tight. The tongue compressed, strangling the egg—until, at last, it exploded into thousands of vaporous teardrops.
"Look not for long into the mists, little hhhwanderer," whispered Aylah. Her cinnamon smell grew stronger, sharper. "They reveal no future but their ohhhwn."
With effort, Basil tore his gaze from the shifting images. Lifting his sights, he saw, beyond the mist, the first hint of a brown, rolling coastline. Mudroot! Somewhere down there lived Aelonnia, the tall, graceful, and deeply mysterious creature he'd met at Merlin and Hallia's wedding. Could she actually make living creatures out of the mud? It just didn't seem possible.
Maybe, he suddenly wondered, the mudmakers had also made
him
? But no—he'd been born in Woodroot, not Mudroot. And besides, Aelonnia would surely have said something if he'd been one of her people's creations.
As Basil, borne by the wind, flew over the coastline, what he saw erased any question that this was indeed the realm of Malóch. That name, in the language of Lost Fincayra used by bards and mapmakers, meant simply
land of mud
. And there could be no better name for this place. As far as he could see stretched brown plains, with no trees or rocks. And no sign of Aelonnia's people anywhere. Except for some scattered brown mounds, a few glittering springs, and some triangular holes that were surrounded by odd, intricate markings, this land consisted of nothing but mud. Unbroken expanses of mud.
"I need to go down there," he said without much enthusiasm. "To keep my promise."
"This realm does not hhhwelcome strangers easily," the wind sister warned, slowing their flight over the muddy expanses.
"Oh, come on," Basil replied. "It doesn't look at all dangerous. Just, well, muddy. Very muddy."
"You should knohhhw by nohhhw," she whispered, whooshing around him, "things are not alhhhways hhhwhat they seem. As far as the hhhwind may blow, it is not as far as the distance between hhhwhat appears and hhhwhat is real."
Basil, strangely touched by her words, didn't reply. Perhaps, he wondered, Aylah herself was really more than she seemed.
"Set me down anyway," he said at last. "Just for a moment."
"Are you sure, little hhhwanderer? Perhaps hhhwe should stop at some, but not all, the realms? To save time in searching for Merlin! Besides, the realm of Airroot, hhhwhere hhhwe go next, is much safer."
Basil ground his teeth. "No, I promised Dagda."
"Ahhh," the wind sister sighed. "Then there is no swaying you."
"Right. But I'll be quick, so we can get back to searching." He jabbed the air with his right wing. "Let's try over there, by that triangular hole. I want to see what those markings are."
Wavering with uncertainty, she carried him lower. As they neared the dark opening, she slowed, then stopped, so Basil could steer himself. With a few flaps of his wings, he swooped down to the ground, landing on a low brown mound near the hole. All around him, the strange markings curled across the mud, making twisted patterns that looked almost like writing. Some parts of the patterns were as wide as deer paths; others were as slim as the tracks of snakes.
Peering closely at the patterns, he noticed another kind of mark in the mud. Footprints! They dotted the ground, especially near the edges of the hole. Though many were only faintly visible, he could tell they were larger than bear prints, with three toes apiece.
Who made these? And what's the meaning of these patterns?
Glancing over at the hole, he realized it probably wasn't a good idea to wait around here to find out. Best to fulfill his promise and then leave.
Spreading his wings, he jumped off the mound and landed on the soil beside the opening. High above his head, the wind gusted, making a sound like a worried sigh. Bur Basil didn't pay any attention. His mind was focused on the unappetizing notion of swallowing some mud.
Gingerly, he sniffed the moist ground. Surprisingly, it didn't smell like the mud he remembered from the stream banks of Woodroot. While it held aromas of moisture and rich soil, it also smelled of . . . something else. Something fiercely wild, yet unmistakably familiar. Weighty with age, yet curiously young.