What are those stars?
Tamwyn peered at this star—and suddenly blinked in astonishment. The Heart of Pegasus seemed to be beating! He opened his eyes just a sliver more, as wide as he could stand, to look more closely. And yes, that star was indeed pulsing like the heart of a great steed.
A lizard scurried, just then, across his foot. Tamwyn flinched in surprise. In doing so, he lost sight of the pulsing star. He started to look for it again, but found himself gazing instead at a different constellation.
A darkened constellation.
The black hole that had once been the Wizard’s Staff.
He stared hard at the spot where those seven stars had once burned so bright, hoping to find some clue about what had really happened to them. And what all this had to do with Rhita Gawr.
Something strange caught his attention. Peering closely, he could detect vague circles of light up there. Yes . . . seven of them. And the circles sat in precisely the same places as the lost stars!
Though his whole body shook with excitement, Tamwyn fought to keep himself steady. The stars, or some parts of them, were still there. And if they were still there . . . they could, perhaps, be lit again.
He swallowed. Could only Merlin himself do such a thing?
PUFFIN BOOKS
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First published in the United States of America as The Great Tree of Avalon: Shadows on the Stars by
Philomel Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2005
Published as Shadows on the Stars by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2011
Patricia Lee Gauch, editor
Text copyright © Thomas A. Barron, 2005
Illustrations copyright © David Elliot, 1996
Maps copyright © Thomas A. Barron, 2004, 2005
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE PHILOMEL BOOKS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Barron, T. A.
Shadows on the Stars / T. A. Barron.
p. cm. —(The great tree of Avalon; bk. 2)
Summary: As warlord Rhita Gawr tries to gather enough power to destroy Avalon, Tamwyn—the heir to the powers of his grandfather, Merlin—and his friends embark on separate quests to try to save their world.
ISBN : 0-399-23764-X (hc)
[1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Avalon (Legendary place) 3. Wizards—Fiction. 4. Fantasy.]
I. Title
PZ7.B27567 Sha 2005 [Fic]—dc22 2005047590
Puffin Books ISBN 978-0-14-241928-1
Design by Semadar Megged
Text set in ITC Galliard
Printed in the United States of America
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out , or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
To Mother Earth,
beleaguered yet bountiful
With special thanks, once again, to
Denali Barron and Patricia Lee Gauch,
brave companions to Tamwyn, Elli, Scree . . . and myself.
Seeking the Stars
In truth, I wonder just why I have chosen now to embark on this long and dangerous voyage to the stars. Surely not because my strength is at its peak; surely not because the timing is auspicious. Perhaps I am not seeking the stars after all, but merely fleeing my own past. The stars are bright and far away, but my wounds are dark and ever near.
—Fragment from a letter, dated Year of Avalon 987, left by the explorer Krystallus Eopia, son of the deer woman Hallia and the wizard Merlin
Sway, Broad Boughs
Sway, broad boughs of Avalon
Shielding from the storm—
Bend so far, yet never break:
Ev’ry day newborn, Mystery’s true form.
Rise, tall trunk of Middle Realm,
Stretching ever high—
each for misty, branching trails:
Stairway to the sky,
Stars are flaming nigh.
Sink, great roots of Seven Realms,
Plunging under sleep—
old the farthest, lowest lands:
Celebrate or weep,
Wonders ever deep.
—Ancient ballad of Avalon, believed to have been composed by High Priestess Rhiannon
Prologue: The Greatest Power
Deep underground, in a cavern of dark shadows, something even darker hovered in the air.
Slowly it spun—a venomous snake of smoke. As it twirled, the air around it crackled with black sparks. And wherever its tail brushed against the cavern floor, stones burst apart like trees shattered by lightning, leaving only heaps of smoldering ash.
The dark spiral floated menacingly toward a small, radiant crystal on a stone pedestal. The crystal’s light, frail but still defiant, glowed white with ribbons of blue and green. As the shadowy being approached, it swelled a bit brighter.
“Now observe,” hissed the smoky serpent. “I will demonstrate how to destroy this crystal of élano, just as we will soon destroy our enemies.” The serpent laughed, its voice bubbling like molten rock. “But first, my pet, we will turn its power to our own purposes.”
His back pressed against the cavern wall, Kulwych shifted nervously. The cloaked sorcerer chewed his once perfectly clipped fingernails, then ran his hand across the scarred hollow of his empty eye socket. “M-m-mmmyesss, my lord Rhita Gawr.”
“I have but one small regret,” hissed the spiral as it hardened, coalescing into darkness that was almost solid. “By now, no doubt, you have already dispatched the one who calls himself the true heir of Merlin. And I would have rather enjoyed making him my crystal’s first victim.”
Kulwych bit harder on his fingers. “Er, well, in that case, my lord . . . you’ll be pleased to learn that—”
“He isn’t dead?” spat the spiral. Instantly, it shot at the sorcerer’s face, stopping only a hair’s breadth away from his throat. “Have you failed me, my little magician, my plaything?”
Shivering, his head against the wall, Kulwych made a frightened gurgle.
The dark being swayed back and forth, sizzling like a tongue of lava. “You have seen my wrath before, haven’t you?”
Kulwych’s one eye darted to the headless corpse of the gobsken on the cavern floor. He tried to speak, but could only gurgle again.
For an endless moment, the smoky serpent hovered, c
rackling in the air by the sorcerer’s throat. Then, with a whiplike snap, it pulled away, floating back toward the crystal. Kulwych gasped and crumpled to the stone floor.
“You are fortunate, even if you are a simpleton.”
Kulwych’s lone eye narrowed at the insult, but as he stood again he said only, “Mmmyesss, my lord.”
“Fortunate indeed,” continued the spiraling coil. “You see, my pet, I still require your services, at least until I am strong enough to take solid form. One day soon, however, I shall assume my true shape—and my true role as conqueror.”
“Conqueror,” repeated Kulwych, bobbing his hideously scarred head.
“Yes!” cried the smoky spiral that was Rhita Gawr, with such force that black sparks exploded in the air, sizzling and steaming on the wet stone walls. “And not just of this puny little world, this hollow hull of a tree. Once I control Avalon, the very bridge between mortal and immortal, I will soon control everything else, as well! From the Otherworld of the Spirits to mortal Earth—all the worlds will be mine.”
In a quieter, almost pleasant tone, the dark being added, “And perhaps yours, too, my Kulwych. If, that is, I choose to keep you at my side.”
Slowly, Kulwych straightened himself and brushed some dust off his cloak. His jaw quivered as he said, “Always your faithful servant, my lord.”
“Just be certain it is always,” hissed the shadow of Rhita Gawr, sounding more dangerous again. “Or I will do to you what I am about to do to this obstinate little crystal.”
Before Kulwych could even respond, the dark coil snarled viciously, then stretched all the way around the crystal’s pedestal. Circling slowly in the air, it bound itself end to end, like a noose, and began to tighten around its prey. At the same time, it grew flatter, widening so that it looked less like a rope and more like a shroud—dark enough that it couldn’t be described as merely black. Rather, this shroud seemed like the essence of emptiness, so dark that nothing resembling light could ever penetrate its depths, give it shape, or touch its bottomless void.
The crystal pulsed bravely, as relentlessly as a beating heart, even while the shroud closed over it. Tighter and tighter the darkness drew, enveloping the glowing object, squeezing ever closer. Although light still pulsed beneath the shadow, and a few white rays broke through to illuminate the cavern walls, the crystal grew dimmer by the second. The whole cavern darkened.
Standing by the wall, Kulwych watched in fascination. Delightedly, he rubbed his smooth hands together. Here was power, true power, at work! And yet . . . in the back of his mind, he remained uncertain. No one—not even Rhita Gawr—had ever before corrupted a pure crystal of élano. Was it truly possible? Or would the crystal’s stubborn magic prevail? After all, its magic ran deeper than anyone had been able to comprehend, flowing from the very resin of the Great Tree. Why, even Merlin, that sorry excuse for a wizard, had understood that his powers were nothing compared to élano.
The dark shroud continued to shrink, until at last it covered the crystal completely. No large openings were left, not on the top or bottom or any sides, for light to escape. And yet, even now, a faint glow still seeped through some cracks. The crystal continued to resist.
Kulwych leaned closer, his lone eye twitching anxiously. Trolls’ teeth and ogres’ tongues, he cursed to himself, what is happening?
Tighter the shroud squeezed, like a smothering blanket. But under its folds, the crystal glowed ever so slightly. The vaguest shimmer of light still radiated from beneath the layers of darkness.
Suddenly the shroud crackled with black fire. Heavy, rancid smoke rose from the pedestal. The darkness itself started to pulse, as if it were a fist squeezing the last spark of life out of its enemy.
The cavern’s air thickened, growing steadily more foul. Kulwych choked back a cough. He felt more and more nauseated, until it was all he could do not to retch. He leaned against the rock wall for support, as the sickening air burned his lungs. Near his feet, a stray mouse lost its way, groped wildly for some way to escape, then twitched one last time before it died.
Seconds passed, stretching into minutes. At long last, the shroud of darkness released its hold. It pulled gradually away from the crystal, forming itself again into a spiraling coil that hung in the air, slowly spinning. And on the pedestal, the crystal still glowed—but with a light far different than before.
Dark, smoky red it shone. Veins ran through it as if it were a diseased, bloodshot eye. And with every strangled pulse of its core came a repulsive odor like rotting flesh.
Kulwych took a cautious step nearer. “It is . . . done?”
“Oh yes, my pet magician, it is done.” The voice of the spiral sounded drained, much weaker than before. “You did not doubt my powers, did you?”
“No, no,” said Kulwych quickly. “I would never doubt you, just as I would never disobey you.”
“So then,” hissed the dark being, “you would obey my command to lay your hand upon this crystal?”
The sorcerer cringed in horror. He glanced at the dark red object, the color of dried blood. “T-t-touch th-that?” he stammered.
“Yes, Kulwych. Touch it. I command you.”
Shivering uncontrollably, the sorcerer lifted up his arm. The sleeve of his cloak ruffled like a sail in a stiff wind. Then, gritting his teeth, he reached his hand toward the dark crystal. Closer he came, and closer. Meanwhile, the smoky spiral twirled in the air, sizzling softly.
As his hand approached the crystal, Kulwych cast a final, pleading look toward his master. But the shadow of Rhita Gawr said nothing. Perspiration glistened on Kulwych’s fingers as he lowered them toward this thing that looked less like a crystal than a pulsing clot of blood.
Just as his fingertips were about to touch it, the edge of his sleeve brushed against the crystal. Instantly the cloth burst into dark red flames. The sorcerer screeched in fright and drew back his arm, even as the flames went out. Only then did he notice that the flames hadn’t really burned his sleeve—but had, instead, made the cloth disappear.
Kulwych shook his arm in surprise. Where the bottom of his sleeve had been, there were no fragments, no charred threads, not even any wisps of smoke. The entire section of cloth had simply vanished.
He looked over at the smoky serpent that had commanded him. “My lord . . . do you still wish—”
“No,” snarled the dark being. “You needn’t touch it now. You have shown me your loyalty, such as it is.”
Kulwych gulped. Then, turning back to his sleeve, he mumbled to himself, “Ironwool threads, shouldn’t have burned.” Facing the serpent once more, he asked, “Tell me please, my lord, just what is this crystal’s power?”
A low, sizzling laugh echoed in the walls of the cavern. “Behold, the utter opposite of élano! Vengélano, I hereby name it: the greatest power in all of Avalon.”
Kulwych just stared at him, confused.
The spiral twirled, hissing with a mixture of impatience and triumph. “Do you not understand, my foolish minion? Élano holds the power to create—which is why that scoundrel Merlin used it to end my Blight centuries ago. Or to heal—which is why a filthy little spring in Malóch can work such strange wonders. Why, even the very dirt of that realm is so rich in élano that it can bring forth new life.”
“But my sleeve just . . . disappeared.”
“Have you no brains at all? That is the power I have unleashed! Where élano creates, vengélano destroys. Anything it touches, no matter how well made, will be instantly unmade.”
Anxiously, the sorcerer squeezed his fingers—fingers that had nearly touched the corrupted crystal.
“Whatever flesh vengélano meets,” crackled the voice, “will simply slice open, or vanish. Blood vessels will bleed without end. Healthy trees will wither, sturdy weapons will crumble, and freshwater streams will turn to poison.”
Kulwych’s lone eye widened in amazement. “So with this new power, we will seize control—” A sharp sizzling halted him mid-sentence. “Er, I mean,
you will, my lord. Avalon will be yours at last.”
The dark shape swirled around the bloodred crystal, circling it slowly, admiring it as a painter would admire the work of a lifetime, savoring its subtlest detail. “That is true, my pet. But first, before embarking on grander plans, I shall take care of one minor detail.”
“Which is, my lord?”
“I shall destroy, once and for all, the true heir of Merlin.”
The spiral continued to circle. “He is just seventeen years old by my count, barely a newborn to me. But his meager powers should soon start to emerge. And although the day of my triumph grows near, we have much to do before then. This young wizard could become a nuisance, a distraction. Besides, eliminating him will be easy enough, as well as entertaining. Fool that he is, I suspect that he fears his new powers almost as much as he fears me! And so, my Kulwych, I shall relieve him of his worries—along with his life.”
PART I
1 • A Vast Hand of Darkness
Wind, colder than an ogre’s breath, blasted over the mountaintop. Sharp bits of ice, hurled by the gust, slapped at the broad, flat stone on the summit—and at the two people huddled there.
“So c-c-cold,” said Elli with a shiver. She slid closer to Tamwyn on the sitting stone, so that their shoulders barely touched. Her hair, frosted by the icy gusts, gleamed white under the nighttime stars, making her curls look like wintry waves.
He blew a cloudy breath, then winced as a chunk of ice bit into the back of his neck. “I know it’s cold. But it’ll be t-tolerable again, once this cursed wind settles down.”
Elli’s teeth chattered. “Can’t you just make the wind let up? With your new powers?”
He winced again, this time for another reason. His gaze strayed to the gnarled staff he’d set beside the stone—a staff that had been entrusted to him, though he really wasn’t sure why. He thought about Elli’s words, and frowned. New powers? If only she knew the truth.