I blanched.
Before I could say anything, she declared, “You be a slow learner with stone, too. You would never succeed as a dwarf in the tunnels! Which be why I doubt the prophecy can turn out to be true.”
“What prophecy?”
“That you will one day rebuild a great stone circle, as great as
Estonahenj.”
I sputtered like one of the torches. “Me? Rebuild something of that size? That’s likely! Just as likely as I will pick up
Estonahenj,
stone by stone, and move it across the ocean to Gwynedd.”
Her red eyes gleamed strangely. “Oh, it be prophesied that you will do that, too. Not to Gwynedd, but to a neighboring land called Logres, or Gramarye by some. But that prophecy be even less likely than the other one.”
“Enough,” I declared. I blew on my blistered palm, then reached again for the hammer. “Now I’ve got to get back to my real work. Carving a stone cage, as you commanded me to do.”
“That be a lie.”
My hammer raised, I froze. “A lie? Why?”
Shadows skipped around the room, as her earrings clattered softly. “I commanded you, Merlin, yet that be not my command.”
“You gave me this stone.”
“That be true.”
“You told me to protect the light flyer from harm.”
“That be true.”
“And that means carving something stronger than that crystal cup over there.”
“That be your decision. Not mine.”
Slowly, hesitantly, I lowered the hammer. I set it down, along with the chisel, and moved closer to the crystal. The creature within it trembled like a tiny flame.
“May I ask you a question, Urnalda? About the light flyer?”
“Ask.”
I watched the wavering light of the crystal. “You said it’s one of the rarest creatures in Fincayra. How does it . . . survive? How does it stay safe?”
Urnalda’s face, lit by the torches, showed the hint of a crooked grin. “It be safe by roaming in the bright sunlight where it cannot be seen. Or, at night, by dancing in the places where moonbeams meet water.”
“In other words . . . by being free.”
The shell earrings clinked gently, but she said nothing.
I reached to touch the crystal cup. Spreading my fingers over its glowing surface, I felt the warmth of the creature caught inside. With a sudden flick of my wrist, I turned the cup over.
A shimmering spot of light, no bigger than an apple seed, floated into the air of the cavernous hall. I heard only a faint hum as it rose past my head. The light flyer lifted swiftly to the ceiling, slipped into the mouth of the air tunnel, and was gone.
Urnalda pounded with her fist on the arm of her throne. The two dwarves guarding the entrance instantly lowered their spears, aiming the blades straight at me. Again she pounded. “Tell me why you did that.”
I drew a halting breath, “Well, because even a cage of stone will eventually crumble.
The best way to protect something is to set it free.”
At that instant, blue flame erupted from my staff. The dwarf standing over it yelped and leaped his own height into the air. Even before he fell back to the floor, I could make out the new marking, etched in blue, on my staff. It was a cracked stone.
20:
R
IVERS
C
OOL AND
W
ARM
By the time I found the others at their camp by the headwaters, not far from where I had left them, we had been separated more than three full days. The meadow grasses, painted several shades of green, rippled in the breeze. Seeing me approach, Rhia ran to meet me. Her worried face relaxed as soon as she glimpsed the third marking etched on my staff.
She touched my hand. “I was so worried, Merlin.”
My throat tightened. “With good reason, I’m afraid. You told me I might get lost, and I guess I did.”
“You found your way back, though.”
“Yes,” I replied. “But it took me too long. Ten days, no more, remain.”
Bumbelwy joined us, almost tripping on his cloak as he hopped over the splashing stream. Although he wore his usual stack of frowns, he seemed genuinely glad to see me. He clasped my hand and shook it vigorously, jangling his bells in my ears. Then, sensing that he was about to try again to tell his famous riddle of the bells, I turned and walked away briskly. Both he and Rhia followed. Before long we had put some distance between ourselves and the realm of the dwarves. Yet far more distance lay ahead.
For the fourth Song, Naming, had something to do with the Slantos, a mysterious people who lived at the extreme northeastern tip of Fincayra. While to get there we would not need to climb any more snowbound passes, we would have to cross the entire breadth of the Rusted Plains. That alone would take several days. Then we would be hard-pressed to find a route past the sheer cliffs of Eagles’ Canyon, not to mention the northern reaches of the Dark Hills. And while I knew that danger lurked in all these places, it was the notion of crossing the Dark Hills that left me most unsettled.
To cross the plains, we rose each day at dawn, when the first morning birds and the last evening frogs sang together in chorus. We stopped only occasionally to pick berries or roots—and once, thanks to Rhia’s ability to speak the buzzing language of bees, to eat a bit of honeycomb, dripping with sweet syrup. She also seemed to know just where we might find water, leading us to hidden springs and quiet pools. It was as if she could somehow see into the landscape’s secret mind as easily as she could see into my own. The moon offered enough light to trek into the night, so trek by moonlight we did, across the sweeping plains. Yet the moon, like our time, was quickly disappearing.
Finally, after three long days, we reached the edge of Eagles’ Canyon. We sat on the rocky rim, gazing out over the broad stripes of red, brown, maroon, and pink that lined the cliffs and buttresses. Gleaming white pinnacles protruded from the opposite wall. Far below, a shallow river snaked along the base of the cliffs.
Tired though I was, I couldn’t help feeling a rush of strength when I recalled the stirring cry of the canyon eagle that had marked the beginning of the Great Council of Fincayra. If only I could soar like an eagle myself! I could sail over this colorful gorge, as swiftly as the wind. Just as I had done, ages ago it seemed, on Trouble’s feathered back.
But an eagle or a hawk I was not. Like Rhia and Bumbelwy, I would have to descend into the canyon by foot and find some route up the other side. With my second sight, I followed the line of cliffs, searching for some way to cross. We were, at least, far enough north that the walls were not completely impassable. Farther to the south, they lifted into a yawning chasm that sliced through the very center of the Dark Hills.
Rhia, the most surefooted of the three of us, led the way. She soon discovered a series of narrow ledges that crisscrossed the cliff walls. By following each ledge until we found a place to drop down to the one just below, we gradually moved lower into the canyon, sometimes sliding on our backs, sometimes climbing over crumbly outcroppings. Finally, soaked with perspiration, we reached the bottom.
The river, though muddy, was much cooler than we were. Bumbelwy, sweltering under his thick cloak, plunged straight in. Rhia and I followed suit, kneeling on the round stones that lined the river bottom, soaking our heads and rinsing our arms, splashing water on each other. Once, though I could not be certain, I thought I heard the distant screech of an eagle from somewhere above us on the cliffs.
At last, feeling refreshed, we began the arduous climb out of the canyon. Before long I needed to use both hands, and thrust my staff into the belt of my tunic. As the slope grew steeper, Bumbelwy’s grumbling grew worse. Yet he struggled to keep up, climbing just below Rhia, finding his handholds in the footholds she had just vacated.
As we scaled a particularly steep buttress, my shoulders ached from the strain. I leaned back as far as I dared without losing my grip, hoping to glimpse the top of the canyon wall. But I found only more layered maroon and brown cliffs rising far above us. Glancing below, I viewed the muddy river, which seemed no more than a thin trickle on the canyon floor. I shuddered, tightening my grip on the rock. For as little as I wanted to climb upward, I wanted even less to tumble so far downward.
Rhia, who was slightly to my left on the buttress, suddenly called out. “Look! A sharr. On the pink rock there.”
Careful not to lose my balance, I turned to find a light brown, kittenlike animal, basking in the sunshine. Like a cat, it lay curled in a little ball, purring quietly. Unlike a cat, it had a pointed snout, lined with soft whiskers, and two paper-thin wings folded across its back. The delicate wings fluttered with every purr.
“Isn’t it lovely?” asked Rhia, gripping the wall of stone. “Sharrs are found only in high, rocky places like this. I’ve seen only one before, from much farther away. They’re very shy.”
Hearing her voice, the sharr opened its blue eyes. It tensed, watching her intently. Then it seemed to relax. The purring resumed. Slowly, Rhia shifted her footholds. Then, grasping the crumbling cliff with one hand, she reached toward the creature.
“Careful,” I warned. “You might fall.”
“Shhh. You’ll frighten it.”
The sharr shifted slightly, placing its furry paws on the rock as if it were preparing to stand. Each of the paws had four little toes. As Rhia’s hand came nearer to its face, the sharr’s purring grew louder.
Just then I noticed something strange about the paws. At first I couldn’t identify what it was. For some reason, they seemed a bit . . . odd.
All of a sudden, I knew. The toes were webbed. Like the feet of a duck. Now, why would a creature of the high, rocky canyons have webbed feet? In a flash, I understood.
“Don’t, Rhia! It’s a shifting wraith!”
Even as I started to shout, however, the sharr began to transform. Quick as lightning, the wings evaporated, the blue eyes reddened, the fur became scales, and the cat’s body changed into a serpent with daggerlike teeth. The air crackled as it threw off a brittle, transparent skin, like a snake that is shedding. All this happened in the blink of an eye. Hearing my shout, Rhia had barely enough time to duck before the serpentine creature, jaws open wide, leaped at her face, claws extended. With a savage scream, the attacker flew just over her head, plunging into the canyon far below.
Although its jaws missed her, the shifting wraith’s tail whipped against her cheek. Thrown off balance, she lost her footing. For an instant she clung to the buttress with one hand, swaying precariously. Then the stone beneath her hand crumbled. She fell, right on top of Bumbelwy.
Clinging tight to the rock face, his fingers turning white, the lanky jester howled at the impact. Yet somehow he held on, managing to break Rhia’s fall. Still, she was left hanging upside down on his back, struggling to right herself.
“Hold on, Bumbelwy!” I cried, watching them from above.
“I’m doing my best,” he groaned. “Though that’s never good enough.”
Suddenly, the stone supporting his hands broke loose, splitting into shards that clattered down the cliff. The two of them screamed in unison. Arms and legs flailing, they slid down the rock face, striking a narrow ledge that stopped their fall. There they hung, high above the canyon floor.
Like an ungainly spider, I climbed down the cliff, my staff swinging from my belt. Rhia and Bumbelwy were sprawled below me on the ledge, moaning painfully. The jester’s bell-draped hat lay beside him, covered with red dust. Rhia tried to sit up, then fell back, her right arm dangling at her side.
Working my way across the narrow ledge, I reached her at last. As I helped her sit up, she gasped when I brushed against her twisted arm. Her eyes, full of pain, searched my face. “You warned me . . . just in time.”
“I wish it had been a few seconds sooner.” A sudden flurry of wind sprayed us with dust from the cliff wall. After it subsided, I took a pinch of herbs from my satchel and dabbed the scratch on her cheek.
“How did you know it was a wraith?”
“The webbed feet. Remember when we found that alleah bird in the forest? That was when you showed me that shifting wraiths always have something odd about them.” I indicated myself. “A lot like people, I suppose.”
Rhia tried to lift her arm and winced painfully. “Most people aren’t that dangerous.”
Moving carefully on the ledge, I came around to her other side to get a better view of the wounded arm. “It looks broken.”
“And let’s forget about poor old Bumbelwy,” the jester whimpered. “I did nothing useful. Nothing at all.”
Despite her pain, Rhia almost grinned. “Bumbelwy, you were wonderful. If my arm weren’t ready to fall off, I’d give you a hug.”
If only for a moment, the dour jester stopped moaning. He blushed ever so slightly. Then, seeing her injured arm, he frowned with his brow, cheeks, and chins. “That looks rather bad. You’ll be incapacitated for life. Never able to eat or sleep again.”
“I don’t think so.” Gently, I laid the arm across Rhia’s lap, feeling for the break.
She winced. “What can you do? There’s nothing—oh, that hurts!—around here to use for a splint. And without two—oh!—arms, it’s going to be impossible climbing out of here.”
“Impossible,” echoed Bumbelwy.
I shook my head, knocking some pebbles from my hair. “Nothing is impossible.”
“Bumbelwy’s right,” protested Rhia. “You can’t fix this. Oh! Even that satchel of herbs . . . can’t help. Merlin, you should leave me here. Go on . . . without me.”
My jaw clenched. “Absolutely not! I’ve learned more about Binding than that. We are together, you and I, like those two hawks on the wind.”
A frail light flickered in her eyes. “But how? I can’t climb . . . without my arm.”
I stretched my sore shoulders, then drew in a deep breath. “I’m hoping to mend your arm.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bumbelwy crept closer on the ledge. “To do that you’d need a splint. A stretcher. And an army of healers. It’s impossible, I say.”
Feeling the break, I placed my hands gently on top of it. Although it made no difference to my second sight, I closed my eyes in concentration. With all my power, I imagined light, warm and healing, gathering within my chest As my heart brimmed with the light, I allowed it to flow down my arms and into my fingers. Like invisible rivers of warmth, the light flowed out of me and into Rhia.