“Well, now,” interrupted Domnu. “Our second guest is awake.” She glanced sharply at the stallion, then slid over to us. Bending toward Hallia, she ran a hand across her wrinkled scalp. “A deer woman, is it?” She clacked her tongue knowingly. “I can always tell by the chin. Bristling bones, I know that shape! So adorably tapered.”
Though Hallia stiffened with fright, she did her best to hold her voice steady. “I am, indeed, a deer woman . . . of the Mellwyn-bri-Meath clan.” She looked away. “And I beg—no, demand—that you set us free. Imm . . . immediately.”
“Demand? Did you say demand?” Once more, the hag started walking in a circle, examining us like a hungry wolf. “Best to make no more demands, my pet. Poor manners, truly poor. I will decide what to do with you in time, just as I will decide how to teach a certain horse a lesson.”
At that, the stallion stamped again on the stone floor. He snorted proudly.
Domnu stopped circling. Her dark eyes narrowed. From the edges of the room, the blue light swelled strangely, crackling like the flames of a heatless fire.
“I understand, my colt.” Her voice sounded soothing—and altogether menacing. “You simply need a change. A different perspective on life.”
She raised an index finger. Briefly she inspected it, watching the blue light shimmer across her skin. Then she licked it slowly and deliberately. Finally, she held the wet finger before her lips and blew ever so gently.
The stallion reared back, whinnying loudly. He kicked his immense hooves in the air. Suddenly he shrank down into a small, sharp-nosed beast, as thin as a serpent, with dusty brown fur and tiny black eyes. A weasel. The little creature gave us a baleful look, then scurried across the floor, disappearing in the blue flames.
Hallia gasped and clutched my wrist.
Domnu flashed her misshapen teeth. “Poor little colt. This will give him a chance to rest.” Her eyes darted back to us. “Of course, I made certain he has no teeth. That way he won’t be tempted to use them, shall we say, inappropriately.”
“You wretch!” I exclaimed. “That was a terrible thing to do! The horse was only being—”
“Disrespectful.” Domnu’s face shimmered in the rising blue light. “And I trust that you will not do the same.” Thoughtfully, she scratched the prominent wart. “Especially since I plan to feed you a sumptuous meal.”
She clapped her wrinkled hands together. Instantly, a full-blown feast appeared on an oaken table in the middle of the floor. Before us lay steaming breads, milk pudding, baked apples, buttered green vegetables, river trout, flasks of water and wine, and an enormous pie that smelled like roasted chestnuts.
My mouth watered. My stomach churned. I could almost taste that pie. Yet one glance at Hallia told me that she felt as mistrustful as I did. We shook our heads in unison. Clambering to my feet, I helped her stand, although she teetered unsteadily. While Hallia looked in the direction of the departed weasel, my own gaze met Domnu’s. “We do not want your food.”
“Really?” She stroked her scalp. “Perhaps you would prefer venison?”
I scowled. “I would prefer hag.”
The blue light at the edges of the room flared, but Domnu watched us impassively. “Surprising, my pets, that you aren’t hungry. After all, you have been here for quite some time.”
“Some time?” I glared at her. “How long have we been here?”
Domnu started circling again, her feet slapping on the stones. “Oh, how adorable your kind can be when it gets willful! Like little sparrows who are angry that they cannot yet fly! But yes, my pet, it was quite some time ago that my little whirlwind came to fetch you. I was beginning to worry that you might not wake up at all, at least not while I was still in the mood for charioteering.”
She scratched a mass of wrinkles by one ear. “I even laid a wager—against myself, there being no one else around just now—that you would never wake up. Though I lost that bet, I also won, if you take my meaning. An admirable outcome.” She cackled softly. “I do so love to win.”
“How long?” I demanded.
Still circling, Domnu yawned, revealing all her twisted teeth. “Well, now, I should say that it has been at least two days.”
“Two days!” I exclaimed. “So I have only three days left!”
“Left, my pet? Do you have some sort of appointment?”
I stepped in front of her, halting her pacing. “I do. An appointment with—” I caught myself, not sure that I should reveal any more. “With someone important.”
“Is that so?” asked the hag, with a chilling stare. “Too bad. So too bad. I had thought you might be on the way to meet Valdearg.”
I winced. “Yes. That’s true. And that is why I was seeking you, Domnu.” I straightened my back. “For I have come at last to collect . . . the Galator.”
A strange half-grin spread over her face. “How interesting. I was seeking you for the very same reason.”
“What do you mean?”
Blue light danced across her brow. “You see, my pet, the Galator has been stolen.”
20: IONN
My knees nearly buckled. “Stolen?”
Blue flames swelled around the room. Wispy shadows, as thin as dead trees, danced across the flagstone floor. “Yes, my pet. The Galator has been stolen. Bones! Breaded bones! Taken from me, its rightful owner.”
“No.” I placed my fists on my hips. “I am its rightful owner. Not you.”
Domnu waved a hand carelessly. “Well, technically, I suppose, you have a claim to it.”
“A claim!”
“You might even say that you own it. Still, what is more important, I possess it. Or, at least, used to possess it. Whoever stole it will have to return it to me.” She squeezed her hand tightly. I heard the distinct sound of bones cracking and splintering, as if she were crushing someone’s skull. “And,” she added in a low growl, “I will make certain it does not happen again.”
Hallia, her doe eyes fixed on Domnu’s feet, asked tentatively, “Who . . . would have stolen it?”
Domnu opened her right hand, palm up, and blinked. A silver chalice, brimming with red wine, appeared. Intertwining snakes decorated its rim. She took a slow sip, finishing with a smack of her lips. “The question, my pet, is not who would have done it, but who could have done it. My home, while humble, is reasonably well fortified.”
My gaze roved over the table arrayed with the feast. Then I looked to the horizon, where the chariot drawn by the stallion had first appeared. Only the ring of blue fire now marked the place. I could hardly believe that I had been convinced I was about to be trampled. Yet it had felt utterly real. No doubt being crushed under those wheels would have felt equally real. “I can’t imagine anyone stealing into your lair. Your magic is too powerful.”
The hag stopped in the middle of another sip. She glowered at the chalice, which began to melt into a puddle of molten silver, bubbling and steaming, in her palm. Then, with a blink, the remains disappeared. She turned her eyes, which seemed darker than night itself, toward me.
“Just the point, my pet. Whoever stole the Galator was not troubled at all by magic. No, he or she had access to a weapon I have not encountered in many, many ages. A weapon that erases magic itself.”
I caught my breath. “You mean . . . negatus mysterium?”
Shimmering in the blue light, she nodded. “Because I was confident—too confident—that no more of it remained in Fincayra, I was unprepared. Never again! The person who wielded it simply waited until I left the lair, which I do once every few decades, then pulled loose a few threads of my magical weavings—and walked right in. The negatus mysterium erased any signs.”
Her bent teeth showed themselves in a sinister grin. “There was one flaw, however.” She leaned closer, her voice a hushed whisper. “You may recall that the Galator will only serve its owner if it has been freely given. Which, in this case, it certainly was not.”
Running my hand along the leather cord of my satchel, I pondered her word
s. “So whoever has the Galator cannot use it.”
“Precisely, my pet. That mistake is also revealing. It tells me that the thief is someone who knows a good deal about magic, but who is also greedy, arrogant, and impulsive.”
I reached inside my satchel and felt the one remaining string from my psaltery. It felt so stiff, so brittle. “I know who the thief is.”
Domnu peered at me skeptically. “You do?”
“Yes.” Feeling the emptiness within my chest, I nodded. “The same person who stole my powers.”
“Explain yourself, my pet.”
I traded glances with Hallia. “Before I do, I need your commitment. No treachery this time.”
She flashed a mouthful of broken teeth, lit by the flickering flames. “What’s wrong, my pet? Don’t you trust me?”
“No! And I never will.” I watched her warily. “But I might agree to collaborate with you—for a while.”
Domnu growled softly. “An alliance, then?”
“An alliance.”
“What are the terms?”
My fists clenched. “If together we can regain the Galator, then I can use it to battle Valdearg three days from now. If I should survive, the Galator is yours. I forfeit any claim to it.”
Her dark eyes widened. “And if you should not survive?”
“Then it’s yours, as well. You may have to argue with Valdearg about it, but I won’t be around anymore to trouble you.”
“Hmmm. Tempting.” She studied me severely. “One more term should be added, however. If you can, with my help, regain the Galator, you must show me something.”
Puzzled, I cocked my head. “What could I possibly show you?”
The hag hesitated, patting her hairless head for several seconds. “Oh, nothing serious, really. Just a trifle.”
“What?”
She bent so close that our noses nearly touched. “I want you to show me how the pendant—especially that green jewel in its center—works.”
I stepped backward, almost bumping into Hallia. “You—you don’t know? With all your powers?”
Domnu hissed. “Would I ask you if I did? I only know what any wandering bard could tell you. That its powers are truly vast. And utterly mysterious.”
Remembering Cairpré’s description, I quoted, “Vast beyond knowing.”
“Quite so. No doubt I could divine all its secrets in a little time. Say, a millennium or two. But someone who knows you made me think you might be able to help me do it faster. Bones! Boiling bones! What was his name? That little fellow who is always playing games with Rhita Gawr.”
“Dagda.” My face reddened. Little fellow! “His battles with Rhita Gawr are no game.”
The hag cackled quietly. “Such naïveté! Charming, my pet, charming.” Taking no heed of my contempt, she continued. “One day, perhaps, you will learn that everything is a game. A serious game, perhaps, such as charioteering. Or a meaningless game, full of frivolity—such as life.”
I planted my boots, grinding my heels on the stone floor. “You’ll never convince me of that.”
She waved at the air, her hand awash in blue light. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt you will live long enough to learn any better. Even so, I will take the risk that Dagda’s remark was true. He told me that, one day, the half-human named Merlin would truly master the power of the Galator.”
Surprised, I caught my breath. “Well, I accept your term, though I doubt that prediction will come true. How can it? In all the time I wore the pendant, feeling its weight on my chest, I learned only this: Whatever its magic really is, it has something to do with . . . an emotion.”
Suddenly unsettled, Domnu tugged on the folds of her neck. “What emotion?”
“Love.”
She made a face like someone who had swallowed curdled milk. “Bones! Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Well . . . as I said, the risk is mine. I’ll just need to find some other way to unlock its power. So there we are, my pet. Allies—for the time being.”
“Wait.” I glanced toward the flickering lights. “I, too, have an additional term.”
The hag eyed me with suspicion. “What is it?”
“Before we go any further, you must return that stallion to his original form.”
Hallia started. Her brown eyes gazed at me in astonishment—and, though I couldn’t be sure, a touch of gratitude.
“The horse?” asked Domnu. “Why should I?”
I sucked in my breath, remembering the feeling of running upon my own hooves, my own four sturdy legs. “Because you need my help.”
The hag grunted. “I suppose I do. All right. Though I doubt that fool beast has learned his lesson yet.”
She flicked a finger toward the edge of the room. Suddenly a loud neigh sounded, followed by galloping hooves. The black stallion ran over, keeping his distance from Domnu. Cautiously, he approached Hallia, nuzzling her outstretched hand. Then, his tail swishing, he sidestepped over to me. Gently, I laid my hand on his gleaming coat, feeling its silken surface. He whinnied softly in response.
“He knows you,” observed Hallia.
I stroked his black mane, inhaling the horse’s familiar smell. Slowly, the edges of my mouth curled upward. “As I know him. His name is . . . Ionn. Ionn y Morwyn. He was my father’s horse, and my own first friend.”
Domnu shrugged. “How touching. Very well, then. I might consider throwing the horse into the bargain. A sturdy beast, but he’s been nothing but trouble to me from the day I, well, rescued him from that drafty old stable.”
Ionn gave a loud snort, but she didn’t pay any attention. “What I really need is something more docile and obedient—a goblin, perhaps—for my chessboard. So I suppose if you agree to our little alliance, the stallion is yours.”
Feeling Ionn’s warm breath on my neck, I nodded. “Except that he isn’t mine. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. This horse belongs to himself. And only to himself.”
Ionn nuzzled my shoulder. I continued to stroke his mane, recalling the times I had clung to it as a child. Then, on an impulse, I took an apple from the bowl on the table. The stallion nudged it with his nose, breathing warm air once again on my hand. Wrapping his lips around the fruit, he took his first bite, crunching loudly. Hallia watched, a spare smile on her face.
“So be it, my pet. I will set the horse free.”
I watched Ionn take another bite, then turned back to the hag. “Then we are allies.”
Domnu reached for one of the still-steaming loaves of bread on the table. Tearing off a chunk, she gave half to me and half to Hallia, who took it reluctantly. “Here. If we are going to be allies, even temporarily, you will need your strength.” She pulled off another chunk and popped it into her mouth. “Mmmm. Not bad, if I do fffay fffo myfffelf.”
Ionn finished the last of the apple, rubbing his soft nose against my wrist as he chewed. At the same time, I took a bite of the bread. Instantly, my mouth filled with its rich, roasted flavor. Before I had even swallowed, Ionn butted my shoulder with his nose. Grinning, I reached over to the bowl and gave him another apple. As he ate, so did I. In time, Hallia too began to nibble.
Together, she and I moved toward the oaken table. With a clap of Domnu’s hands, three wooden chairs appeared. Hallia and I fell to the food, eating and drinking ravenously, until we could hold no more. Domnu, for her part, ate the entire pie in just a few seconds, dribbling chestnut sauce on herself. Then, seeing my look of disappointment, she waved her hand. A new pie, speckled with blueberries, suddenly filled the dish. Somehow both Hallia and I found room for hefty slices.
At last, Domnu pushed back her chair. “Now tell me about this person who stole your powers. And why you believe it’s the same vermin who took the Galator.”
With the back of my hand, I wiped some of the buttery sauce from the trout off my chin. “I speak of Urnalda, enchantress of the dwarves.”
Domnu scoffed. “That old sorceress of the tunnels? She has the arrogance and the
greed, to be sure. But she lacks the patience, the cunning, and most of all the understanding of magic. I doubt she could wield negatus mysterium, dangerous stuff that it is, without destroying her own magic in the process.”
“She used it against me!” I stood, my hands pressed to my ribs. “All my magic, all my power, is gone now.” I swallowed. “She even took my staff.”
The hag’s ancient eyes examined me. “Not true. I perceive magic in you, even now.”
Sadly, I traded looks with Hallia. “You must be sensing the magic that was given to me by . . . a friend. Yet that magic allows me to do only one thing.”
“Which is, my pet?”
Hallia shot me a warning glance.
“To know . . . a kind of glory.” I drew a slow breath. “Though even that won’t last much longer.”
Domnu’s scalp furrowed more deeply. Behind her, the blue flames writhed and twisted, throwing shadows over her burly hands. “Neither will you, I expect. You are quite determined to confront this dragon of yours, I can see that clearly. Well, now, tell me. Do you recall that prediction about you I made when we last met?”
I shuddered, still hearing the sting of her words. “You said that I would bring ruin, utter ruin, to Fincayra.”
“That’s right, my pet. Don’t take it too hard. Besides, I now think my prediction was a bit too harsh.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Shadows fluttered like ghouls across the table-top. “Not because the notion itself was flawed, mind you. But because I now sincerely doubt that you will live long enough to cause much more trouble.”
I could only grimace.
“In any case,” she went on, “we must consider how to use your remaining time most productively.” The flames surrounding us sputtered and crackled. “No, no, I think you would only be wasting what little time is left by seeking out Urnalda.”
“But why? I’m sure she’s the one.”
The hag shook her head, causing ripples of blue light to flow like waves across her scalp. “There is, I suppose, a chance you are right. I sincerely doubt it, though. Still, you have given me an idea. Bones! I should have thought of it sooner. There is a place—an oracle of sorts. It can answer any question, any question at all, posed by a mortal creature. That rules me out, I am afraid. But it ought to work for you.”