Climbing up onto one of the cedar tree's roots to inspect his surroundings, he held his small, triangular head high. His thin tail, which ended in a knob the size of an apple seed, tapped against the root, drumming steadily. Against his back, a pair of crumpled wings lay tightly folded. The lizard's green eyes glowed bright as he surveyed his surroundings, never blinking.
A tender, warm breeze swept around him. Smelling of cinnamon, the gentle wind flowed over him like a living breath. And then, with an airy voice, the wind spoke.
"Hhhwelcome into the hhhworld, little hhhwanderer."
The lizard ground his tiny teeth and tensed every muscle in his legs, back, and tail. With a sudden movement he leaped into the air, spun completely around, and landed back on the root facing the other direction. Small though he was, the impact broke off some flakes of lichen, which drifted down into the mosses below. His eyes glowed brighter than ever as he scanned the forest for the source of the mysterious voice. Seeing nothing, he leaped and spun around again.
"No need to hhhworry, little hhhwanderer." The voice spoke soothingly, ruffling the edges of his cupped ears. "I am Aylah, a hhhwind sister, part of the people some call hhhwishlahaylagon. And hhhwhile you cannot remember meeting me before, little hhhwanderer, I have touched you several times, and have alhhhways been your friend."
The lizard listened intently, cocking his ears forward, But he said nothing.
Again the warm wind blew, filling his nostrils with the scent of cinnamon. "Like my sisters, little hhhwanderer, I must move as freely as the air itself, never sleeping, never stopping, never staying anyhhhwhere for long. That is a hhhwind sister's hhhway."
The breathy voice seemed to come closer, to whisper right in the lizard's ear. "But the spirit lord Dagda came to me in a vision, many years ago. He spoke hhhwith me, hhhwanting me to look after you until the day you finally hatched. He never said hhhwhy, my little hhhwanderer . . . but he did say that your life hhhwould be hhhwell hhhworth saving."
At this, the small fellow shifted himself on the root and tilted his head thoughtfully. For the first time, he blinked his eyes. Then he spoke his very first words, in a voice that crackled quietly, like a tiny twig that had burst into flame.
"Thank you . . . friend."
"You are hhhwelcome, little hhhwanderer, you are hhhwelcome." She blew all around him, gently stroking the edges of his ears. Then, with her airy voice, she sighed and spoke again. "I do not know hhhwhether you and I hhhwill ever meet again, little hhhwanderer. The hhhworlds hhhwhere I travel are many and the distances between them are hhhwide. But I certainly hhhwish you hhhwell."
Aylah swept closer, brushing the scales of his back and tail, a whirling circle of wind that tousled the cedar's boughs. "And nohhhw I must go. For I, too, am a hhhwanderer—as hhhwatchful as the stars, and as restless as the hhhwind."
4: NO ESCAPE
Eat or be eaten, they say. Not very encouraging words. And not very accurate, either. For I discovered early on in life that it's perfectly possible to eat a lovely, delicious meal—and then, when it's time for dessert, to get eaten.
YEAR OF AVALON 2
“C'mere, you runt!" The enraged fox charged through the underbrush, snapping twigs and crushing newly opened meadowsweet flowers under his paws.
Spotting the tip of his prey's tail as it vanished under a cabbage plant, the fox shook his own tail angrily. That knocked loose some of the thistles, needles, dead leaves, twigs, and thorns he'd gathered during this frustrating chase. How could a thief so small move so fast? And so cannily, with almost as many tricks as a fox?
Saliva dripped from his jaws. "I'll teach you to steal my meal, runt! That makes you my next meal."
Just ahead raced the thief, whose sharp little teeth still gleamed yellow from the yolk of the pigeon's egg he'd taken from the fox's cache. Now one year old, he looked like a cross between a small green lizard and a bat whose wings had been ruthlessly crumpled. Those wings, flapping against his back as he ran, resembled tattered shreds of skin more than anything that could someday fly. Wheezing from exhaustion, he wished those wings could take flight—here and now.
He dashed through the forest glade, sliding under fallen branches and crashing through thick clusters of fern, trying desperately to keep ahead of his pursuer. Hearing a gust of wind sweep through the trees overhead, his mind flashed briefly on Aylah's words: He never said hhhwhy, my little hhhwanderer . . . but he did say that your life hhhwould be hhhwell hhhworth saving.
But now, as he raced to stay alive, those words seemed hollow, fraught with irony. My life worth saving? To be somebody's next meal, perhaps. But that's nothing special!
Indeed, his first year after hatching, much of which he'd spent being chased, had taught him one basic rule of life: Whatever is bigger than you wants to eat you. And this fox was no exception.
Worse yet, the fox had already proved much more determined than most of the enemies the lizard had made in a year of scrounging meals from badgers' dens, birds' nests, and squirrels' hideaways. This chase had continued now for most of the morning—and the fox showed no sign of losing interest. While they had covered only a small fraction of Woodroot's forests, it felt as if they had traversed the entire realm. Truth was, this time the lizard's pursuer wanted not just to eat him, but to eliminate him. This chase was less about getting a meal than about getting revenge.
The little fellow clambered onto a rotting tree limb, swathed in turquoise-tinted moss. Then, spying a hollow trunk nearby, he darted into it, hoping to confuse the fox. Out the other side he ran, right into a thick patch of red-topped mushrooms. Dank and woodsy they smelled, emitting perfume so potent that the lizard started feeling dazed, almost giddy, as he dashed among the trunks of this miniature forest. But not so giddy that he forgot that he was running for his life.
As he was about to race out of the mushroom patch, he sensed something above him. Veering sharply to the right, he scurried into the open—just as the fox pounced on the exact spot where he would have been if he hadn't changed direction. Too close! Frantically, he hurtled across a bed of pine needles, sticky with resins, then tore into a clump of ferns.
Glancing behind, he saw the enormous forepaw of the fox about to slash at the ferns. Changing direction again, he sprinted down a leaf-covered slope that dropped into the bank of a splattering stream. Suddenly—a shadow moved over him. The fox had pounced again!
Little legs whirling, the lizard turned sharply. He shot sideways, careening on the bank. But the soil, so slippery from spray, wouldn't hold his feet. He skidded, then flipped over, rolling helplessly down the slope.
The fox, sensing victory at last, landed on the bank and instantly lunged at his prey. Eager to tear this bothersome thief to shreds, he opened his slavering jaws and waved his bushy tail like a flag of triumph. He stretched his neck toward the rolling lizard, slammed his jaws shut, and—
Missed.
The lizard dropped into a dark hole. Down he plunged, into the moist soil of the stream bank. Even before he landed with a splat on the muddy bottom, the meeting point of several tunnels, he heard the fox's angry cursing and stamping.
"I'll get you, lizard. Get you and eat you and then vomit you up and eat you all over again! I'll chew your ugly little head, pop out your eyes, make bird bait from your heart. I'll squash you, stomp you, maim you, mangle you, and pummel you! I'll . . ."
On and on the fox ranted. Meanwhile, the little green lizard, panting in the darkness, sat back on his tail and lifted his face toward the hole above his head. His green eyes glowed with new radiance, something close to satisfaction.
"Too bad, you fat old furball," he called in his small, crackling voice, still out of breath from the chase. "Maybe next time you'll move faster than a boulder rolling uphill!"
This sent the fox into a spasm of uncontrolled rage. He lifted his head and roared with frustration. His paws pounded the turf, digging madly at the hole. Dirt, pebbles, and spittle rained down on the lizard below. But he didn't care.
His foe's fit of agony was, for him, more lovely than the song of a meadowlark.
The lizard chortled happily. "What a delightful outing! I should do this more often."
"Yesssss," hissed a menacing voice behind him. "Yesssss, you mossssst definitely should."
Whirling around, he found himself facing a wide, triangular head with two yellow eyes, each slit vertically by a shadowy, quivering pupil. The head did not move, but a thin black tongue danced around the edge of the mouth. The eyes slowly widened, beckoning. And the lizard found himself paralyzed—partly with fear, partly with some other feeling he couldn't name.
"Ssssso glad you came," hissed the river snake. "Ssssso deliciousssssly glad."
Still, the lizard couldn't make himself move. No amount of will could even lift one of his legs. Something in the shimmering eyes of this creature made him want to stay right here, for all time.
A chunk of dirt tumbled down the hole, kicked loose by the still-ranting fox up above. It struck the lizard squarely on the top of his head. Instantly, he awakened, freed from the snake's hypnotic gaze.
Just as the snake hurled himself forward, deadly jaws opened wide, the lizard darted out of the way. The snake skidded past, coasting on the mud. Seizing his chance, the little fellow dashed down one of the tunnels—hoping it would lead somewhere more friendly than a predator's gullet.
Racing as fast as he could, the lizard rounded a bend. His tiny feet slapped on the muddy floor, even as the immense bulk of the river snake slithered behind him. Ahead—a fork. He dived into the left branch, which sloped sharply downward. Barely able to control his momentum, he slammed against one wall, bringing down a shower of dirt. Right behind him, the snake hissed with annoyance and readied for the final lunge.
Hurtling down the tunnel, the lizard saw shredded rays of light ahead. An opening! Covered by a thick mesh of river grass, the bright spot wavered, shifting with shadows. Though he couldn't see what lay beyond the opening, he knew it couldn't possibly be more dangerous than what lay on this side. Or could it? This day had grown worse by the minute.
The snake's wrathful hiss echoed inside the tunnel. Feeling the sinewy reptile's cold breath upon his tail, the lizard gathered all his remaining strength and threw himself into the opening.
Whoosh. Grasses, wet from spray, slashed at his face as he flew past—and into the light. He rolled down a pad of sopping leaves, right to the bank of the stream.
Just uphill, the fox heard something stir by the riverbank and pulled his face out of the hole where he'd been digging furiously. His dirt-coated snout trembled with rage. The instant he saw the lizard roll to a stop by the water's edge, he didn't hesitate a single heartbeat. He simply pounced.
Right on the back of the snake! The reptile had emerged from his tunnel just as the fox leaped. The two of them rolled farther down the bank, locked in combat even before they stopped their slide. Roaring and hissing, tearing at fur and scales, they fought wrathfully. While the snake coiled around the fox's neck, squeezing tight, the fox snapped his jaws on his assailant's tail, ripping away flesh. Flecks of mud, along with wet leaves, sprayed everywhere.
Immediately below the battlers, the little lizard with the cupped ears cowered at the water's edge. Blocked by the stream below and unable to swim, he had nowhere to escape. Unless both predators died in their fight, he would still end this day being someone's meal.
The fox, struggling to breathe, clawed frantically at his foe. Then, with one powerful shrug, he threw off the snake, whose long body splatted against the ground. Before the snake could slither away, the fox leaped over and bit off the reptile's head. Dark, bluish blood seeped out of the severed form, staining the wet soil.
Even as he spat out the snake's head, the fox turned to face his original prey. His eyes smoldered like fire coals. The lizard swallowed, knowing that he'd run out of ways to escape. Except possibly . . .
At the instant the fox pounced, the lizard did something utterly unexpected: He jumped into the rushing stream. While the fox looked on, seething with frustration, the small green body submerged in foam and disappeared into the swirling currents.
5: BASIL
Did I make that wish? Or did the wish make me? To this day, I can't say for sure.
Rushing currents carried the little lizard downstream. Pounded relentlessly by water, flung against river stones, whipped by eelgrass, and spun around by eddies, he grew weaker by the second. And colder, as well, from the icy stream.
Hard as he tried to churn his tiny legs, stiff from cold, he couldn't push himself onto the bank. The ragged folds of skin on his back, so unlike wings, merely dragged him down like the sopping sails of an overturned boat. So did his oversize ears, which filled with water and weighed down his head. Breathing was nearly impossible: His few instants above the constant swirl came without any warning and with barely enough time to cough before he was submerged again.
Finally, the stream swung around a sharp bend where auburn reeds grew thickly under a sheer cliff. Caught by the reeds, the half-drowned lizard was tossed out of the surging current and into calmer shallows, where he lay motionless for several minutes. At last, he forced himself to move again and weakly paddled toward the shore. Fortunately for him, a dense patch of basil grew along the bank. When he reached the leafy herb, whose green color almost matched his own, he collapsed.
His head spun; his chest ached. He coughed, vomited water, and coughed some more. The smell of basil—so strong it seemed to shout—wafted over him. He wished the smell, both sweet and tart, were even stronger, knowing that it would provide the best possible camouflage against enemies. Then everything went dark.
He lay there, unconscious, for the next two days. Occasionally he would awaken for a few seconds—barely long enough to lift his head and smell the heavy scent of basil that shrouded him. Then he'd drop his head and fall into darkness again.
Once, in a brief moment of consciousness, he stirred, as a heavy wind whipped through the basil leaves. Just for an instant, he thought he heard, in a familiar, airy voice, those words from distant memory: a life hhhwell hhhworth saving.
A life well worth saving! Ridiculous! His whole life he'd spent hiding, being hunted, or trying to steal somebody else's food. Unlike many of Avalon's creatures he'd seen, he wasn't magical. Not at all. Even a lowly sparkworm, who could glow dimly at night, had more magic than he did. Why, he couldn't even fly! Nor even say what kind of creature he really was—just a scrawny lizard with round ears and useless wings.
All he knew with certainty was that he wasn't the least bit worthy of Aylah's words. Those words, like her acts of kindness toward him, were as fleeting as a breeze. The sweetness of basil now tainted by something more bitter, he lost consciousness.
In this state, he never knew how many predators crawled or slithered or flew nearby. Disguised by the herb's color and, even more, by its smell, he evaded the hungry river otter who swam past, the yellow-tailed fisherhawk who swooped above the shallows, and the tan-coated bear cubs who splashed through the reeds. Even the vengeful fox, still stalking his elusive prey, passed just a tail's length away—but didn't notice him.
Finally, he awoke. Vaguely aware that he needed to find some food, he concentrated on a damsel fly hovering lazily just above his snout. At just the right moment, he reared up and snapped his jaws. But as weak as he was, he moved far too slowly. The fly easily evaded him, darting out of reach.
Dejected, hungry, and weak, he crawled slowly to the edge of the herb patch. There he found a small pool, no more than a puddle, which still held a bit of water from the spring floods. The potent smell of basil still surrounded him, so he felt safe enough to crawl into the open, sliding onto the sand beside the pool.
Maybe, he thought, he'd find some slow-moving grub or drowned beetle in there—something he could eat. Yet as soon as he raised his head to look into the pool, the only creatures it held—a flock of spray faeries with bright silver wings that flashed like liquid stars—lifted off immediately, wings hum
ming.
The lizard watched the delicate, silvery creatures rise into the sky, climbing in unison as if they were raindrops pouring upward. Then, all at once, they called on their particular faery magic and melted into the air, completely invisible. So beautiful, he thought, gazing at the sky. So magical. Then, glumly, he shook his head. And for me, so impossible.
Lowering his head, he gazed into the pool. But for the gentle ripples caused by the faeries' wings, the water sat very still. And beautifully clear. Light from the stars of Avalon, which brightened every dawn and dimmed every evening, sparkled on the surface.
Suddenly, without any forethought, the little reptile felt compelled to make a wish. Leaning over the edge of the pool, so that he could see the full reflection of his face, he said in a small, reedy voice: "Hear me, stars of Avalon. Hear me, if you can. I want to be . . ."
He paused, hesitant to say the next word. And then he spoke it, as ardently as he had ever spoken anything.
"Special. Just . . . special. Not big, or powerful, or anything like that. But someone who, well, matters. The same way a new day matters. Or a fresh rain. Or even . . . a faery's magic."
At that instant, something fell on him, as fast as lightning. A beak! Catching the lizard firmly by the tail, the slender, gold-colored beak lifted him high into the air, where he dangled helplessly.
He hung upside down, writhing madly to free himself. But whenever he twisted, the beak merely gripped his tail more tightly. Meanwhile, two yellow-rimmed eyes above the beak studied him with obvious interest. Recognizing those eyes and the plume of white feathers rising over them, the lizard froze. Struggle, he knew, was useless. For he'd been caught by one of the realm's most feared hunters, a bird known for deadly, ruthless efficiency. A great blue heron.
This is what I get for making a wish, he grumbled to himself.
Still inspecting her catch, the enormous bird hunched her head down on her grayish-blue shoulders. Then, with one deft motion, she flipped her beak upward, hurling him into the air—and kicked out one of her long, bony legs. Immediately she caught him again, this time in the tight grip of her foot. Standing on one leg in the reed-choked shallows, the heron continued to peer closely at him. As she turned his scaly little body from side to side, her plumed head tilted in puzzlement.