The Great Tree of Avalon (36 page)

A blizzard of spears whizzed through the air. Tamwyn heard Elli scream again, louder than before. A pair of burly arms wrapped around his neck, while someone slammed into his side. He fell to one knee, but twisted out of the neck grip and grabbed one of the gnomes. Holding the squirming warrior by the tuft of hair on his head so that he couldn’t bite, Tamwyn lifted him just in time to meet three flying spears. The gnome shrieked as the spearpoints drove into his chest.

Tamwyn whirled around to see what had happened to Elli. “Nooooo!” he shouted. “Dear Dagda, no!”

She lay sprawled on her back beside the portal. Her eyes stared lifelessly at the clouds, while green flames licked her curls. A broken spear shaft stuck out of her ribs. Blood seeped steadily from the wound, staining her priestess’s robe. Beside her knelt Nuic, his color bloodred, quivering uncontrollably.

In that instant, a new sensation surged through Tamwyn. It wasn’t rage, or sorrow, or the will to live, though it sprang from all those emotions. And from something else, deeper than any emotion—richer, stronger, and wilder.

Power. He felt like a volcano about to erupt—not with lava, but with this indefinable burst of power. It coursed through his veins, pulsed with his heart, and swelled in his lungs. Even as he saw more gnomes pounding toward him, spears raised high, he felt no fear. Only readiness for whatever was about to come.

The power pushed its way to the surface, past bone, muscle, and flesh. It was as if he’d swallowed a star, whose light fought to shine through every pore of his skin. Across his whole body, it radiated, wild and alive.

He felt his skin crackle. And move. No—not his skin, but the mud that covered him.

Suddenly the nearest gnome let out a wail of fright. As Tamwyn spun around, something fell off his back and splatted on the ground. A beetle! Huge and hairy, the gray-colored beetle crawled across the mud, snapping its dagger-sharp pincers.

Before Tamwyn could move again, another beetle dropped off his back. Then came another, from his forearm. More and more fell off—from his neck, his chest, his thighs.

“Ugh,” he moaned in disgust. “Where did
they
come from?”

He shook himself vigorously, sending another fifteen or twenty beetles to the ground. Then he thought of another, even more troubling, question:
Was that all I was feeling . . . a mass of beetles on my back?

Meanwhile, the gnomes had started shouting—cursing, he felt sure. But the tone of their harsh, guttural voices had changed completely. They were afraid now. Already they were retreating, scattering across the muddy plains. Somehow they had gone from the attackers to the attacked.

Are they so afraid of the beetles?
Tamwyn brushed the last one off his arm and looked at them crawling away. Instead of pursuing the gnomes, they just burrowed into the mud with their pincers. They really didn’t seem very dangerous. Grotesque, maybe, but not dangerous.
So what scared off the gnomes?

He turned back to Elli. At the sight of her limp form, soaked in blood, all his confusion was swept aside by a different feeling. Anguish. His stomach twisted inside him.

He knelt by her side and peered into those hazel eyes that now seemed so vacant. Elli hadn’t always been easy to be around, to be sure. Yet some of that he’d brought on himself: Smashing her precious harp was a colossally stupid thing to do. He’d never really told her that he was sorry, either. And now . . . he never would.

He looked at her shoulder, where Nuic so often sat. And he could almost hear her laugh with the joy of a meadowlark when she realized who the Lady really was—and who had been her faithful maryth. No doubt about it, Elli truly loved Avalon! And lately he’d been noticing something else about her, something beyond her hot temper and savage tongue, something that made him feel . . . intrigued.

She didn’t deserve to die!

He slammed his fist against his thigh, spraying Nuic with mud. But the sprite said nothing.

Hearing some movement behind him, Tamwyn turned his head. It was Henni, sitting cross-legged, his face uncharacteristically glum. In fact, Tamwyn had never seen any hoolah look so genuinely sad—about anything. At first he thought that Henni was upset about his own shoulder, which was badly torn and bloody . . . but then he realized that Henni was gazing straight at Elli. Could it be, Tamwyn wondered, that he actually
regrets
what he did to bring us here?

He just grimaced and turned back to Elli.
First my father, then my mother, then Scree. And now her!
It was all coming clear.
This is what happens to anyone who gets too close to the child of the Dark Prophecy.

Gently, he took Elli’s hand. It still felt warm with life. He squeezed it slightly . . . and then caught his breath. A pulse! A real pulse—very weak, but there nonetheless.

He grabbed Nuic by the arm. “She’s still alive! Nuic, do you hear me? Still alive! Is there any way to save her? Anything we can do?”

The old sprite’s bloodred color darkened. “No, no. Too far gone. Nothing can save her now, not even a mountain of healing herbs.”

“Wrong you are, ancient sprite.”

Nuic, Tamwyn, and Henni all jumped at this strange new voice. It spoke in the Common Tongue, but with a lilt that seemed more like music than language. And the voice sounded soft, as well, as if someone very large were whispering right into their ears. Yet there was no one, large or small, to be seen.

“Who are you?” croaked Tamwyn.

“See now you shall,” the voice declared in its resonant whisper. “Behold the mudmakers.”

Nuic’s color flashed a surprised golden yellow, then returned to red.

All at once, the stump-shaped mound beside the portal began to bulge at the top. Its sides rippled, then started to bubble like a thick brown stew on the boil. Then, slowly at first, it lengthened, growing taller and straighter. It grew to Henni’s height, then Tamwyn’s, then kept on growing. Finally, when it reached almost twice the height of Tamwyn, a rounded head rose out of what seemed to be shoulders. It had enormous, deep-set eyes, as dark brown as everything else on its body. A thin, curving line opened as its mouth. Meanwhile, from the creature’s sides appeared four slender arms with huge hands, each of which had three delicate fingers as long as a man’s forearm.

The creature peered down at the three of them gathered by Elli’s body, then bent several long fingers. “Appear rarely we do, very rarely.” This time Tamwyn caught the distinct feeling that the voice was feminine.

“Yet come always we shall to greet another Maker.”

Once again, Nuic flashed a surprised yellow.

Puzzled, Tamwyn shot him a glance. But the sprite just ignored him and kept staring up at the gigantic brown being who towered over them.

“Aelonnia of Isenwy am I, guardian of Malóch’s southernmost portal. And these,” she whispered with a wave of one great hand, “are the other mudmakers of our clan.”

They turned to see dozens more tall brown figures striding gracefully toward them across the plains. As the mudmakers walked, their wide, flat feet squelched noisily. Soon they stood in a circle around the portal, swaying slowly like poplar trees in a breeze.

“Can you save her?” pleaded Tamwyn. He squeezed Elli’s hand more tightly. “You said there was some way to save her.”

“A way there is,” answered Aelonnia. “But surely, as a Maker, you know that already.”

“But I
don’t
know! And she’s dying! I’m just Tamwyn, from Stoneroot—a wilderness guide when I can find the work.” He frowned. “And some other things you don’t want to know.”

Aelonnia bent her enormous body until her head hung just above his. “No.” Her voice vibrated like the lowest strings on a colossal lute. “You are a Maker, a man of wizard’s blood. How else could you have given life to the mud a few moments ago?”

Tamwyn’s head was spinning. “Me? Life? Mud?”

“The beetles, you fool,” grumbled Nuic. “Are you really so stupid?”

“Yes,” Tamwyn declared. Then, lifting his face again to the mudmaker, he said, “Just tell me what to do for Elli! The rest can wait.”

Aelonnia reached out two of her arms and spun him around so that his back was to Elli and the flickering flames of the portal. Gently, she turned his head slightly to the left. “That way lies the Secret Spring of Halaad, whose location is hidden to all but our clan—or a true Maker such as you. Heal your friend, it can! Yet go swiftly you must, very swiftly. For I feel her life melting away into the soil, even now.”

“Hurry!” shouted Nuic, his body rippling red and orange.

Tamwyn looked out at the rolling morass before him, stretching as far as he could see, and swallowed. He knew what he must do. He just didn’t know if he could do it.

35
•
The Secret Spring

Tamwyn drew a deep breath and started running. The circle of mudmakers parted to let him pass. As his feet clomped clumsily over the morass, sinking up to his calves in muck, he wished that all those enormous brown eyes weren’t watching him. Now they could see what he really was—a clumsy, thickheaded man, and no more.

And yet he knew down inside . . . he had to run like a deer. Had to! It was the last chance for Elli. The
only
chance.

Stomp
,
squelch
,
stomp
,
squelch
went his feet. No traction here. He’d run like a deer once before, in that valley, though he didn’t really know how. But that was, at least, on solid ground. Here, nothing was solid! Just spongy. Every single step was a chore. His thighs were aching already, and he’d only gone two dozen paces. How could he possibly change himself to run with the speed and grace of a bounding stag?

You can change anything, Tamwyn. Anything! Your path through the forest, or your path through life.
The words of the Lady of the Lake—Rhia—came back to him in a flash. She seemed very close, as if she were really riding on his shoulder, much as Nuic had ridden on hers.

He plodded on.
Stomp
.
Squelch
. Mud oozed between his toes, clung to his soles, caked upon his ankles and calves. At this rate he’d never reach the healing spring in time!

Desperately, he tried to imagine the way a deer would run. So fast, they bounded, and so easily, they almost seemed to be running on air. No—running
as
air. Part of the breeze, the wind. Light as the air itself.

He remembered that fluffy white seed, borne by the wind, that he’d raced in that valley. Faster he ran, and faster. His feet seemed a bit lighter now, his strides a touch easier.
Like a windblown seed.
He leaned farther forward, stretching his neck and reaching ahead with his arms.
Like the wind itself.

Stretching . . . reaching . . . running with the lightness of the wind. His knees bent backward. His strides grew longer, surer, and stronger.
Stretching.
Suddenly he felt his hands touch the ground. Or were they really his hands?
Reaching.
His back pulled longer, as did his neck.
Running.
His nose lengthened, merging with his chin. Wide, sensitive ears pressed flat against his head, just behind his rack of antlers.

He was a deer!

With grace and power, Tamwyn flew across the muddy plains. His hooves touched down only lightly, and only long enough to leap again into the air. Bounding and gliding, bounding and gliding, he raced across the flats, feeling the wind ruffle his fur.

Moments later, he smelled something new, a scent quite different from that of wet mud. It was merely a faint tingle, not so much a smell as a feeling. And yet he knew at once what it was: the intimate touch of magic on the air.

Following the scent, he veered a bit to the right. As with the rest of southern Mudroot, there were no landmarks to be seen, just ever-rolling plains. No trees, no hills, not even any more mounds of mud that were really creatures in disguise. What sort of people were these mudmakers? And with what strange powers?

Brown, brown, brown. Even the overcast sky took on the color of this land. Behind those thick clouds, Tamwyn knew, only two stars remained in the Wizard’s Staff. And he wondered whether Avalon’s chances to survive this time were any greater than Elli’s.

Loping across the plains, he followed the scent of magic. Stronger it grew, and stronger, until he felt its tingle not just in his nose but in his throat, his lungs, and even his hooves. Finally, it grew so strong that he could almost chew and swallow it like wet grass or juicy sprigs of fern.

But he saw no spring! No sign of water at all. Nothing but endless, rolling flats of mud.

He slowed to a trot, concentrating with all his might on the scent. He bore to the left, then a little to the right, then left again. The strange tingling swelled even more.

Suddenly, the air around him shimmered, as if he’d stepped right through an invisible curtain. There, just ahead, he saw a slight depression in the land—a depression that simply hadn’t been there seconds before. He raised his large ears, and caught the unmistakable trickle of water. The spring!

He bounded over to the spot. It was really nothing more than a pool, bubbling fresh from the depths of Avalon. A little pool—nothing more. But he had no other hope, so he pushed all doubts aside.

Tamwyn moved around the edge of the pool, eyeing it closely. As he walked, his back arched upward, his neck shortened, and his hooves flattened into feet. The transition happened so smoothly that he barely noticed it until it was over. Then, with the whiff of magic still tingling his nose, he knelt by the side of the little spring.

He unstrapped his water gourd from his belt. His hand brushed against his tiny quartz bell, making it clink softly, and he wondered whether he would ever see the rocky hills of Stoneroot again. He submerged the gourd until it filled completely. Just before he capped it, an impulse grabbed him—and he took a swallow.

His eyes popped wide open with the taste. This wasn’t water! This was something that sparkled inside his throat, his chest, his weary legs. A fountain of feelings exploded inside him. The exhilaration of his first climb to the ridge high above Dun Tara’s snowfields. The shock of his plunge headfirst into an icy river, when he rescued a green-throated duck caught by the current. The thrilling burst of flavor when he bit into a spiral-shaped larkon fruit and tasted its liquid starshine. All these feelings and more swept through him in that instant.