A Wizard's Wings (7 page)

“And, while I’m at it, bring you back a nice big pair?”

She shrugged carelessly, trying not to grin. “If you like.”

I shook my head. “You’re obsessed, Rhia! Even if that rumor is true, there’s a small matter you’re forgetting: that thick web of spells that surrounds the whole island, keeping everyone out. Why, no one’s been there since, since . . .”

“The wings were lost,” she finished. “Think about it, Merlin. Having wings would also help you get around faster.”

I could only grimace. If only she understood why I needed to travel fast! And if only I had some idea—any idea—what to do next.

“It could also solve the ache between our shoulders,” she pressed. “You can’t deny that exists, can you?”

“No.” I worked my shoulders, then lay down on my side, resting my elbow on the rock. “No one knows for sure, though, whether the ache really comes from lost wings, or something else entirely. Maybe it’s just part of being Fincayran.”

“
Hmfff
,” she replied. “Everyone knows it’s true, except maybe young wizards.”

Scullyrumpus broke into such wild cackles that he nearly fell off her shoulder.

“The one thing no one knows,” Rhia went on, “is
why
the wings were lost.”

“That’s right,” offered Hallia, gracefully sweeping her legs around to move closer to the warm globe. “I’ve heard your friend Cairpré say he’d gladly give half his library to find the answer to that question.”

I nodded, remembering my old mentor saying something similar to me. “Cairpré’s theory is that Dagda, long ago, gave people wings. Then something happened that made him take them back forever.”

“Only Dagda himself knows why,” said Rhia, frowning. “The people must have done something really horrible to deserve such a punishment.”

“Really horrible,” echoed Hallia.

Rhia reached out and took the last two sweetberries. She plunked one in her mouth, then tossed the other into the air. Scullyrumpus’ tiny jaws snapped closed, and he grinned crookedly before swallowing.

“Well,” said Rhia, “I think we’ll be going now. I have a little time before heading off to join Mother, and there’s something I need to do first.”

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, something.”

“You have that look of a mischievous fawn,” observed Hallia.

“Do I?” she replied innocently. “Can’t say why.”

Rhia grasped the magical Orb, which instantly stopped radiating heat. As she tied it to her belt, she nodded to her little companion. He chattered something unintelligible while wrapping his paws around her shoulder. Watching them, I thought of how Trouble used to ride on my own shoulder, clasping me tighdy with his talons. And how I still carried him with me in a way, just as I still carried the name he inspired.

With a wave to Hallia and me, Rhia leaped down from the rock and quickly strode down the hill. I nearly called after her. But no—I couldn’t do it. I merely watched her make her way through the tall grasses. A few seconds later, she disappeared into the trees, the Orb of Fire bouncing at her side.

6:
E
SCAPE

Hallia took my hand, and her touch somehow warmed me even more than the Orb. “Tell me what it is, young hawk.”

I sat up, unsure of what to say, or whether to say anything at all. My boots twisted uneasily on the grainy surface of the stargazing stone. The brisk morning air gusted slightly, causing the surrounding forest to creak and clatter. I felt as if the hill where we sat was an island in the middle of a turbulent sea, and that any moment the waves would rise up and overwhelm us.

“Something is troubling you,” she continued. “Something more than you’ve been saying. Is it . . . about us?”

“N-no, not us.”

“Tell me, then. What is it?”

I forced myself to swallow. “It will upset you.”

“It will upset me more to watch you suffer inside.” Her brown eyes, ever welcoming, watched me. “If telling me would help, then do it. Please.”

I drew a breath. “All right then.” I glanced upward at the gray, shadowed sky. “Last night, I saw a vision. A face in the clouds. It was—”

A sudden pounding, rolling out of the distance, arrested me. I listened as it swelled steadily, like a thunderstorm fast approaching. Unlike the rumbling I had heard last night, the sound that had called me to Dagda, this sound had no subtlety. It simply pounded. Before long the boulder beneath us began to shake, vibrating to the incessant rhythm. Hallia squeezed my whole arm as the trees at the base of the hill started swaying dangerously. An enormous limb tore away from an old, leafless elm and crashed to the ground near the spot where we’d slept just a short while before.

I grabbed my staff so it wouldn’t slide off the edge of the stone. The pounding continued to rattle the hillside, more so by the second. Hallia’s expression told me she wanted to bolt, to become a deer and bound away into the forest. But I shook my head, urging her to stay. For I had heard this sound before, many times. It was a sound that had stirred the land of Fincayra for ages beyond memory, for seasons beyond count.

The footsteps of a giant.

Out of the mist-shrouded forest, a shape gradually appeared. Like a hillside itself, it rose above the trees. In time, I could make out the giant’s wild hair, enormous shoulders, and gangly arms, though I couldn’t yet discern any features of the face. All the while, the pounding, pounding, swelled louder. Now I could see enough to know it was a male, wearing a baggy yellow vest and wide brown leggings, in the custom of the residents of Varigal. He lumbered toward us, wading through the forest much as a man would stride through a field of wheat.

At last, I saw his eyes, wide and reddish pink. And a cavernous mouth full of misshapen teeth. Above that hung a nose that bulged like a swollen potato—a nose I couldn’t help but recognize.

“It’s all right,” I assured Hallia, clasping her shoulder. “It’s my friend Shim.”

“Young hawk, what about that vision?”

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

With a few more enormous strides, Shim reached the base of the hillside. Bending a pine tree aside with his huge hand, he stepped out of the forest. As he released the tree, cones and needles rained down, bouncing through the branches. He took another step closer, planting his massive foot on the slope, and his weight caused the stargazing stone to shift. My staff nearly rolled off again, but I seized it just in time. At last, the giant (as well as the hillside) stood still.

Gingerly, Hallia and I rose to our feet. We found ourselves facing the tip of his bulbous nose. “Well met, old friend,” I declared, swaying from the force of warm air from his nostrils. “It’s good you found us atop this hill, so we can look you in the face, instead of staring up at your hairy toes.”

To my surprise, he didn’t laugh at the joke. Nor did he even so much as grin. Rather, his whole face twisted into an uncharacteristic frown. He blinked once, nearly brushing Hallia with lashes as big as oak saplings. Then, in a voice that bellowed hoarsely, he spoke.

“I is, this oncely time, not happily to see you, Merlin. Or you, missly maiden Hallia.”

At my feet, my shadow stirred, waving one of its arms.

Understanding, the giant nodded. “Or you, wizardly shadow.”

The dark form assumed a dignified pose, holding its chin out with pride.

Ignoring the shadow, I demanded, “Why? What’s wrong?”

Shim’s eyebrows, as thick as forested knolls, drew together. “The wickedly king, the one you calls Stangmar, escapes this morning! Nobodily knows where he is gone.”

My knees suddenly weakened. I stumbled, almost stepping off the edge of the boulder. Hallia caught my arm, then directed her own disbelief at the giant. “Are you sure? Wasn’t he held in one of those caverns in the far north? No one’s ever escaped from there.”

“I is sure,” Shim answered. “Certainly, definitely, absolutely. With his barely hands, he kills two prison guards, maybily three, gettings out.”

I slapped myself on the forehead. How could all this be happening?
Stangmar—free.
What would he try to do? Join forces with Rhita Gawr once again? Or, wait. Was he already part of the wicked spirit’s plans?

Shim scrunched his nose, clearly finding the whole business distasteful. “I hears more badly news, Merlin. The guard who still survives said Stangmar’s bent on findings somebodily. Yes, and that somebodily now is in gravely danger.”

My fist clenched. “You mean me.”

“No,” countered Shim. “I means someone else. Your motherly, Elen.”

“Mother!” I cried, my heart pounding. “You’re certain?”

Shim nodded glumly. “The guard says Stangmar didn’t know she’d returned to Fincayra till yesterdaily. Then, when he finds out she’s here, he gets angrily—very angrily.”

I groaned. “He thinks she betrayed him. Helped his enemies, including me. He’ll be out for revenge. We must find her!”

Hallia’s bare foot stamped on the rock. “Wait, young hawk. Rhia knows where she is, remember? If we can just find her, she’ll take us straight to Elen.”

“Rhia, the woodly woman?” asked Shim. “I sees her while I comings here—not fars away.” His massive lower lip protruded thoughtfully. “She is draggings something heavily, a greatly bird maybe, just over theres.”

Bewildered, I followed the line of his pointing arm. “A bird? What could she be doing?”

“I will takes you theres,” offered the giant, his whole frame swaying like a huge tree. “That’s the quickliest way.”

Hallia tilted her head skeptically. “I’d rather run, thank you.” Before I could protest, she cut me off. “It can’t be far. I’ll follow you.”

“Then I’ll run with you,” I declared. “Shim! Show us the way.”

He answered by swinging himself around. His elbow struck the stargazing stone, nearly dislodging it and sending several smaller rocks tumbling down the hillside. The forest below shook as he took his first heavy step. Then another, and another. Somehow, Hallia and I kept our balance. We started to run after him, plunging down the slope, our legs slicing through the stiff grasses.

As if we weren’t two creatures running over the land, but one connected being that flowed like a wave across a pond, we loped faster and faster. Our bodies leaned forward, our arms reached the ground, our neck muscles lengthened. Hallia’s robe and my tunic melted away, replaced by glistening fur the same color as the grass. Arms became legs, while feet transformed into hooves, moving with the land as much as upon it.

My head, crowned with a rack of antlers with five points on each side, turned toward my companion. She moved effortlessly, springing through the air with every step. She was still Hallia, to be sure—the wide eyes told me that—but she was, in some irrefutable way, more herself now than she could ever be in her woman’s form. Like the wind she ran, the most graceful creature I had ever known. And despite the lingering dread I felt over Shim’s news as well as last night’s vision, I was deeply glad, once again, to run beside her.

We followed Shim into the trees, leaping over the branches that his enormous legs had broken loose. The ground rocked beneath us, but I never felt imperiled, for my stag’s legs tensed and flexed with ease, treating the land as an extension of my body. Once again I noticed the Drama’s vitality, as if it refused to accept the onset of winter. Even amidst its leafless branches, bright mosses bloomed; among patches of ice, fresh water flowed. As I ran, I heard a dragonfly’s whirring wings, smelled a sprig of scented fern, and felt the hidden passageways under the soil where tiny animals burrowed and ancient roots stood secure, as they had for centuries upon centuries.

We entered a clearing, wet with the spray of rushing water. Shim’s bare feet, covered with curly hair, stopped just before us. Hallia and I slowed, first trotting and then walking. Our backs narrowed and lifted upright; our chins withdrew. We stepped forward, walking on two legs once again.

Before us, the clearing fell away sharply, making a cliff that overlooked a loudly splattering stream. There, at the edge of the Cliff, stood Rhia. She seemed in deep concentration, giving barely a glance to the giant towering above her, and no notice at all to the two people standing by his ankles. It looked as if she was, as Shim had said, holding a sizable bird upon her back. Then I realized that it wasn’t a bird at all.

It was a pair of wings! Made from the broad, reddish-brown leaves of marshland cabbage, woven into a frame .of flexible willow shoots, the wings had clearly taken a substantial amount of work. Her craftsmanship was evident, too, in the frilled strips of lichen that dangled from the outer rims like colorful flags. Right now, she was busily tying the whole thing to her back, using some of the same bright green vines that served as the threads of her gown.

I shook my head. How many days (or weeks) had she spent building her contraption? No doubt she’d chosen this cliff carefully to try it out, storing it nearby while she worked on it. And she probably would have tried it out yesterday if she hadn’t taken so much time to prepare our dinner.

But for the steady rumble of Shim’s breathing, we watched in silence. I chewed my lip. Did she really know what she was doing? Yet I knew better than to try to stop her. She was, after all, Rhia.

Her jaw firmly set, she backed away from the cliff. Meanwhile, Scullyrumpus, wearing an expression of self-importance, scurried down her leg and placed himself at the edge of the precipice. As Rhia came to a halt, she quickly untied the Orb of Fire from her belt and set it down on the grass. Then she stood alert, her eyes fierce with determination. Slowly, she spread her arms out wide, extending the wings to their fullest. The frills of lichen fluttered in the breeze.

Scullyrumpus, his ears standing erect, glanced behind himself at the churning waters below. All of a sudden, he waved his paws. “Start flyfly! Start flyfly!”

Rhia leaned forward. She started running and flapping her makeshift wings, causing a loud rustling. As she reached the edge, she leaped upward, floating in glorious freedom above the stream, her wings sweeping the air. She was aloft! Joyous, she released a cry of exhilaration and flapped again—when a hole suddenly burst open in one wing. Several willow shoots sprang loose, tearing the fabric of leaves. In midair, she careened wildly to one side and plummeted downward, disappearing behind the cliff. Scullyrumpus started jumping up and down, shrieking.