The Great Tree of Avalon (2 page)

“I don’t give a dragon’s tooth
what
he’s called, just as long as White Hands pays us good as he promised. What’s yer point?”

Using the sleeve of his ragged cloak, Obba wiped some sweat from his eyes. “Me point is, think about what White Hands said.
On top of the flaming clif s, you shall find the child
. Them’s his exact words. An’ then he says to us:
Beware the eagle-mother, who will do anything to protect her young
. Don’t that make it clear ’nuf? The child’s in a nest.”

“Clear as smoke,” his brother retorted, waving away another plume. “Even if thar is some eaglechild hidin’ up thar, it could be the wrong one. Could be any ol’ child—or even the Dark child that everyone’s jabberin’ about!”

Obba reached over and grabbed his sleeve. “Use yer brain, will ye? There ain’t hardly any children bein’ born this year—not in any realm, remember? An’ lots o’ those that are born get killed straightaway, fer fear they could really be the Dark one. So if we do finds any child up here, it’s more’n likely the right one.”

His eyes gleamed savagely, reflecting the flames. “Anyways, we don’t really care, do we? If ol’ White Hands wants to pay us fer a child, we brings him a child. An’ if he wants to believe that the true heir is so young—foolhardy, if ye ask me—that’s his own friggin’ folly! Besides, didn’t his liddle entrails readin’ also tell him the child wouldn’t come into power fer seventeen years? That’s plenty o’ time fer us to vanish wid all our coins.”

A slow grin creased Ossyn’s face. “Maybe yer not such a woodenbrain after all.” Suddenly he yelped, as a clump of hot ash blew into his eye. “Ogres’ eyeballs!” he swore. “Whatever we’re paid won’t be ’nuf.” He swung his fist at the smoky air—and smashed his brother hard on the ear.

Obba howled, then punched him back in the gut. “Ye clumsy troll! Any pay’s too small wid all yer foolishness.” He slumped against a cracked boulder, tugging the hunting bow on his shoulder. “But we won’t get paid nothin’ if we don’t—
ehhhh!
”

He leaped away from the boulder just as three fiery fingers pinched his rear end. Tripping, he sprawled and sent some loose rocks clattering down the cliff. He landed hard—right on his scorched bottom.

“Owww,” he cried, flipping back over onto his knees. “Ye fried me friggin’ bacon!” Obba clutched his sore rear end with one hand, while shaking a blackened fist at the fire plant that had singed him so badly. And so rudely. “Ye cursed plant! I’ll—”

“Shush,” hissed Ossyn suddenly, pointing at the nest above.

A rustle—then a pair of enormous wings slapped the air. Spanning nearly three men’s height, the wings rose out of the nest, glowing orange from the fires below. Upward on the swells they rose, bearing the feather-covered body of an eaglewoman. As she flew, her feathery legs—and sharp talons—hung low, while her head, which kept its human form, turned toward the cliffs. Beneath streaming locks of silver hair, her fierce eyes flashed.

The eaglewoman raised one wing. Instantly she veered away, following the ridgeline. A screeching cry—part human and part eagle, loud enough to freeze the two men’s hearts—struck the cliffs. She sailed behind the rocky rim and vanished into the night.

At last, the brothers breathed again. They traded relieved glances. Then, hit by the same idea, they started scurrying up the cliff toward the nest—although Obba did pause to glare at a certain fire plant. It just sputtered noisily, almost like a wicked chuckle.

Higher and higher the two men climbed. Several minutes later, they reached the top, a long ridge of steep cliffs broken only by a few pinnacles of rock. And by one enormous nest, a mass of broken branches and twisted trunks that the eaglefolk had carried all the way from the lowland forests in their powerful talons. The brothers clambered up the side of the nest. With a wary glance at the sky, they jumped down inside.

Soft, downy feathers broke their fall. Some were as small as their hands; others were longer than their outstretched arms. The feathers lay everywhere—along with heaps of gray droppings and broken bits of shell. Plus hundreds and hundreds of bones, all picked clean by sharp beaks, all gleaming red from the cliff-fires.

And one thing more. There, at the far side of the nest, lay a small, naked boy. Warmed by the smoky fumes from the vents, he needed no covers beyond the pair of large feathers that lay upon his chest. Though he looked like a human child of five or six, he had only just hatched. That was clear from the temporary freckles that covered his entire body below his neck, marking the places where, as an adult, he would be able to sprout feathers at will. Unlike his hooked nose, hairy forearms, and sharply pointed toenails, those freckles would soon disappear.

“Get him!” whispered Obba, seizing his bow. “I’ll watch fer danger.”

“Ye mean the mother?” Ossyn shoved his brother jokingly. “Or them fire plants?”

“Move it,” growled Obba. But just in case, before he looked skyward, he glanced behind himself for any sign of flames.

Meanwhile, his brother untied a cloth sack from around his waist. A plume of smoke blew past, but he stifled his cough. Stealthily, he crept across the nest, until he stood right over the eagleboy. His smirk faded as he gazed down at the child. “Do ye really think he’ll pay us all that coin fer jest a scrawny liddle birdboy?”

“Do it, will ye?” Obba whispered urgently. He was watching the billowing plumes of smoke overhead, aiming his arrow at every new movement.

His brother nodded. Swiftly, he grabbed the sleeping child by the ankle, lifted him high, and plunged him into the sack.

But not before the boy awoke. With eagle-fast reflexes, he swung out his arm and caught hold of the sack’s rim. Twisting, he freed one leg, let out a shrieking cry, and slashed sharp toenails across his attacker’s face.

“Ghaaaa!” Ossyn howled in pain. His hand flew to his cheek, already starting to drip with blood. He dropped the sack.

Almost before he hit the nest, the eagleboy wriggled free. His yellow-rimmed eyes flashed angrily, and he jumped to his feet. His mouth opened to shriek again.

Just then a heavy fist slammed into the eagleboy’s head. He reeled, lost his balance, and fell into a heap amid the feathers.

“So thar,” spat Obba, rubbing his fist. “He’ll sleep plenty good now.” He rounded angrily on his younger brother. “Look what ye did, ye clumsy troll! Quick now, stuff him in yer sack. Afore the mother comes flyin’ back.”

Cursing, Ossyn jammed the unconscious boy into the sack. He slung it over his shoulder, then halted. “Wait, now. What about the stick? White Hands said there’d be some kind o’ stick, right here wid the child.”

Obba picked up a branch and hurled it at him. “Ye bloody fool! This whole blasted nest is made o’ sticks! Hundreds an’ hundreds o’ sticks. Jest grab one an’ shove it in the bag. Afore I shove it in yer ear.”

“But what if it’s not the right—”

A loud screech sliced through the night. Both men froze.

“She’s back!”

“Hush, ye fool. I still got two arrows.” Obba crouched down against the wall of the nest. He nocked an arrow, its point of black obsidian gleaming dully in the light of the flame vents. Slowly, he pulled the bowstring taut, waiting for the huge wings to come into range. Sweat dribbled down his brow, stinging his eyes. But still he waited.

“Shoot, will ye?”

He let fly. The arrow whizzed up into the smoky sky and disappeared. The eaglewoman veered, screeched louder than before, and plunged straight at them.

“Bloody dark! Can’t see to aim.”

“Quick, out o’ the nest! Maybe we can—”

A sudden gust of wind blew them backward, as a great shadow darkened the night and talons slashed like daggers above their heads. Ossyn screamed as one talon sliced his arm. He staggered backward, dropping the sack on the downy branches. Blood gushed from his torn limb.

The eaglewoman, eyes ablaze, swooped down upon him. Her wide wings flapped so that she hung just above this man who had dared to try to steal her child. Whimpering, Ossyn looked up into those golden orbs and saw no mercy there. With a wild screech that rattled the very timbers of the nest, she raised her talons and—

Flipped suddenly onto her side, thrown over by the force of the black-tipped arrow that had just slammed into her ribs. Her lower wing dragged across the branches, sweeping up Ossyn’s cowering body. Together, they rolled across the nest, burst through the rim, and tumbled down onto the rocks below. Their shrieks echoed, pulsing in the air.

Then . . . silence. Only the hiss and sputter of flame vents rose from the cliffs.

On wobbly legs, Obba dropped his bow and stepped over to the edge. Looking down into the blackness below, he shook his head. “Ye clumsy fool . . .” He stayed there a long moment, resting his chin on a barkless branch. At last he turned toward the sack that held the limp body of the eagleboy. And slowly, he grinned.

“Well, well, me liddle brother. Guess I’ll jest have to spend yer share o’ the pay.”

He bent to pick up the sack, then stopped. Remembering Ossyn’s point about the stick, he grabbed a straight, sturdy branch from the floor of the nest and thrust it in with the eagleboy. Then he swung the sack over his shoulder, climbed over the side, and skidded down the wall of interwoven branches. Finally, his boots thudded against solid rock.

Obba stood on top of the cliffs, checking warily for flame vents. And, even more, those pesky fire plants! Then he spied what he wanted—a spiral-shaped tower of rocks on the ridge of cliffs—and off he strode.

Now fer the easy part
, he told himself. No more crawling or climbing! All he needed to do was follow the ridgeline to that tower. Why, he could almost just ignore the putrid flame vents . . . and pretend he was out for an evening stroll. Like some village elder, maybe. An elder who would soon be very, very rich.

So why not enjoy himself a bit? He stopped, dropped the sack, and uncorked a small tin flask. Firebrew, the locals called it. With good reason! He took a sizable swig, feeling the burn go right down his gullet. And then another.

Aye, that’s better.

He burped and grinned again, this time a bit crookedly. Peering down at the sack on the rocks, he thought it might have stirred a little. One swift kick with his boot took care of that. The boy inside groaned, and the sack lay still as stone.

Again he took up the load. Strange, walking seemed a bit trickier now—as if some little tremors were making the rocks wiggle under his feet. No cause for worry, though. As long as he kept his distance from the steep edge of the cliffs, he’d be fine.

Now he could see the flecks of green flame at the base of the spiral tower. Just like White Hands had said. That old schemer sure did have this whole thing figured—the cliffs, the child, even the eaglewoman. Obba nodded grimly, patting the strap of his empty quiver. And he recalled the final instructions:
Just bring the child through the portal of green flames, say the chant, and let my power guide you home.

A pair of sizzling fingers sprang out of a crack and clutched at his boot. Obba sidestepped, nearly tripping. Those tremors again! The whole ridge seemed to wobble under his feet. With a glance at the spiral tower, he wondered how it stayed upright in all this swaying.

Ah, but he had other things to think about now. More important things, like his payment. He could almost feel the heft of those coins, hear them clinking in his palm—his share as well as Ossyn’s. Ha!
An’ he called me woodenbrain.

All of a sudden he stopped short. There was the tower, all right, just ahead. Looking taller than he’d guessed—as tall as a full-grown oak tree. And it seemed more rickety than ever. But what was that? Moving in front of the green flames?

Obba blinked. Someone else was there!

He stared at the figure, dark as the smoky night, as it moved closer to the spiral tower of rocks. When it approached the flickering green flames at the tower’s base, he could see at last what it was.

A woman! Young. Peasant stock, by the looks of her shredded robe and scraggly red hair. Obba smacked his lips. Now things were really looking up! Maybe he’d have a bit of fun before heading back through the portal with his prize.

Quietly, he slunk closer, ducking behind a blackened boulder. He studied his prey. She was facing the green flames, with her back to him. Probably warming her hands. Suddenly he roared and charged straight at the poor woman. Startled, she screamed and whirled around, nearly losing the bundled infant she held in her arms.

Just a few paces away, he halted. With a lopsided leer, he dropped his sack, which hit the ground with a thud. Then, arms open wide, he rasped, “C’mere, me liddle flower.” His crooked teeth glowed green. “Time fer gettin’ warm on this cold night.”

She shook her wild red mane. “Go away!” she cried in the Common Tongue, though with an accent that Obba hadn’t heard before. “Before you meet the greater cold of death.”

“So yer a bold one, eh? Jest how I likes me flowers.”

He moved closer, knowing that she was trapped between him and the tower. Even if she did know that the green fire was really a portal, she wasn’t likely to try to escape that way, unless she knew the special chant to protect a baby. By the wizard’s beard, this was going to be easy!

She scowled at him savagely. “Come no closer, man! Or I shall . . . I shall . . .”

“Shall what, me blossom?” For the first time, he noticed her eyes: fiery orange, upturned at the corners. Flamelon eyes.
So, she isn’t human at all. Jest one o’ them fire-people.

“Now c’mere, afore ye gets me angry.” He stooped to grab a rock. “So I don’t have to hurt yer liddle one.”

“No!” She clutched her bundle more tightly.

Obba advanced on her. “Time fer pickin’ flowers, heh heh.”

“Go away, I said!” Trembling, she raised her left hand, as her fingertips began to glow like fire coals. Bright orange they turned, sizzling and crackling with growing heat, preparing to hurl a firebolt into the very heart of her attacker. Her arm straightened, her fingers pointed, when—

Obba’s rock flew into her forearm, cracking her bones. She cried out in pain as the glow faded from her fingers. Stumbling backward, she fell, dropping her baby on the ground. She crawled toward the shrieking bundle.