The Lost Years

  Rhia pulled free, then started to go.

  “Wait! I will come with you.”

  Her whole face brightened. “You will?”

  “Yes . . . but only until our two paths diverge.”

  She nodded. “For a while, then.”

  “And where are we going?”

  “To find the one creature in all the Druma who might know what to do. The one who is called the Grand Elusa.”

  For some reason, I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that name.

  19: HONEY

  As swiftly as the stag, Rhia bounded off. Although my legs still felt stiff, I tried my best to keep up with her through dense thickets and over moss-banked streams. Even so, she often needed to stop and wait for me.

  Because the sun rode high above us, sending shafts of light to the forest floor, I could see obstacles much more easily than the night before. Even so, I stumbled often enough that Trouble finally took off from my shoulder. He stayed close by, flying from branch to branch. And while my shoulder felt grateful for the rest, I did not resent his watchful eye as I had only a while ago.

  Animals of all kinds were on the move. Birds with small gray bodies or bright green wings or huge yellow bills, traveling sometimes in flocks and other times alone, flew overhead. Large-eyed squirrels, beavers, a doe with its fawn, and a golden snake also passed me. In the distance, wolves howled. At one point an enormous shape, black as night, ambled out of the trees. I froze, fearful, until two smaller shapes appeared just behind—and I knew that I had encountered a family of bears. All these creatures shared the same look of fear I had seen in the stag. And all of them, it seemed, were heading in the opposite direction from Rhia and myself.

  Late in the morning, perspiration dripping from my brow, I stepped into a shadowed glade. Cedars, very old from the looks of them, stood arranged in a perfect circle. So shaggy was their bark that at first glance they might have been mistaken for an assembly of ancient men whose long manes and beards flowed down over their stooped bodies. Even the sound of their gently stirring branches seemed different from the whispers of other trees. More like people at a funeral, humming a solemn, mournful lament.

  Then I noticed, in the center of the glade, a narrow earthen mound. No wider than my body, it stretched at least twice my own height in length. It was surrounded by round, polished stones, which glistened like blue ice. Cautiously, I moved closer.

  Trouble flew back to my shoulder. But instead of perching himself as usual, he paced back and forth with sharp, agitated steps.

  I caught my breath. I have been here before. The notion—the conviction—came to me in a fleeting instant. Like a scent of some flower that appears and then vanishes before you have time to find its source, some dim memory touched me briefly and then fled. Perhaps it was only a dream, or the memory of a dream. Yet I could not shake the feeling that, in some way I could not quite identify, this mound within the circle of cedars was familiar.

  “Emrys! Come on!”

  Rhia’s call jarred me back to the present. With a final glance at the mound, and at the mournful cedars, I left the glade. Soon I could hear the strange humming no more. But it continued to haunt the darkest corners of my mind.

  The terrain grew steadily wetter. Frogs piped and bellowed so loudly that sometimes I could not even hear my own breathing. Herons, cranes, and other water birds called to one another in eerie, echoing voices. The air began to reek of things rotting. At last I saw Rhia, standing by the tall grasses at the edge of a dark swath of land. A swamp.

  Impatiently, she beckoned. “Let’s go.”

  I viewed the swamp skeptically. “We have to cross that?”

  “It’s the quickest way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. But we are running out of time—did you see all the animals fleeing?—and if it works it could save us an hour or more. Just on the other side of the swamp are the hills of the Grand Elusa.”

  She turned to cross the swamp, but I caught her arm. “Just what is the Grand Elusa?”

  She shook loose. “I don’t really know! Her true identity is a secret, even to Arbassa. All I know is that the legends say she lives among the living stones of the Misted Hills. That she knows things no one else knows, including some things that haven’t happened yet. And that she is old, very old. I’ve even heard that she was present when Dagda carved the very first giant from the side of a mountain.”

  “Did you say . . . living stones?”

  “That’s what they’re called. I’m not sure why.”

  I glanced toward the murk, studded with dead trees and stagnant pools. A crane cried out in the distance. “Are you sure this creature will help us?”

  “No . . . but she might. That is, if she doesn’t eat us first.”

  I rocked back on my heels. “Eat us?”

  “The legends say she is always hungry. And fiercer than a cornered giant.”

  Trouble cocked his head toward Rhia. He piped a long, low whistle.

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Trouble promises to keep us safe. But this is the first time I’ve heard that note of worry in his voice.”

  I sniffed. “I feel sorry for the Grand Elusa if she should try to eat Trouble. This bird doesn’t know the meaning of fear.”

  “That’s why I’m not happy to hear him sounding worried.”

  With that, she turned again to the swamp. She stepped on a slab of caked mud, from which she leaped to a rock. As I followed, I noticed we had left our footprints in the mud, but dismissed any concern about leaving tracks. We were already so deep into the forest, it could not matter.

  We hopped from rock to log to rock again, making our way slowly across the swamp. Snags reached out to us with long, withered arms. Strange voices, somehow different from birds or frogs, echoed across the murky water, joining the occasional whistle from Trouble. Often, as we struggled to keep to the shallower places, something would slap the surface of the water or seem to stir within its darkened depths. I could never quite tell what might be causing such disturbances. Nor did I really want to know.

  At length, the swamp faded, even as gray mist began to thicken the air. We came to a wet field of tall grasses, which gradually lifted into solid ground. Ahead of us stood a steep, rock-strewn hill, where vaporous arms unfurled toward us.

  Rhia halted. “The Misted Hills. If only I could find a cluster of sweet berries! We could use an extra dose of strength for the climb.” She glanced at me uncertainly. “And for whatever else lies ahead.”

  As we started to ascend, Trouble lifted off from my shoulder. He flew in silence, making slow, stately circles in the air above our heads. Although I guessed that he was scanning the forest for any sign of danger, he also seemed to be enjoying himself, savoring the freedom of soaring on high.

  Boulders, some as big as Rhia’s whole house, appeared here and there among the trees. The trees themselves grew farther and farther apart, their gnarled roots grasping the hillside. Yet despite the greater distance between the trunks, the forest didn’t seem any lighter. Maybe it was the shadows of the immense boulders. Or the curling mist surrounding them. Or something else. But the forest felt increasingly dark.

  As we labored to climb the steep slope, doubts flowed over me like the mist. Whatever kind of being this Grand Elusa was, she certainly didn’t pick such a place to live because she enjoyed having visitors. And what if the goblins in the forest found us first? I clutched the Galator beneath my tunic, but I did not feel any better.

  Suddenly, a great gray stone loomed directly before me. I froze. Perhaps it was only a trick of the mist, confusing my second sight. But it looked less like a boulder than like a face, craggy and mysterious. A face staring straight at me. Then I heard, or thought I heard, a grinding sound, almost like someone clearing his throat. The boulder seemed to shift its weight ever so slightly.

  I didn’t wait to learn what happened next. Up the hill I raced, tripping over roots, rocks, a
nd my own feet.

  At last I topped the rise. Above my panting, I heard an angry, buzzing sound. Bees. Thousands of bees, swarming around the broken trunk of a dead tree. Although it was hard to be certain in the mist, it looked as if the tree had broken off, probably in a storm, not long ago. What was not hard to tell was that the bees were not pleased about it.

  Rhia, hands on her hips, watched the furious buzzing with interest.

  Reading her thoughts, I shook my head. “You’re not thinking,” I panted, “about going after their honey . . . are you?”

  She grinned slyly. “A person can never get enough honey! It would take just a minute to fetch some. It wouldn’t slow us down.”

  “You can’t! Look at all those bees.”

  Just then Trouble dropped down, enjoying a final flying swoop before landing on my shoulder. This bird clearly loved to fly. As he settled in, he gave a satisfied chirp. I felt surprised at just how familiar, almost natural, it felt to have him there. So different from yesterday! He folded his banded wings upon his back, cocking his head toward me.

  On a whim, I winked at him.

  Trouble winked back.

  Rhia continued to examine the broken trunk. “If only I could find some way to distract the bees, just for a few seconds. That would be enough.”

  With a sudden screech, Trouble took off again. He flew straight into the swarm. He swooped and dived among the bees, batting them with his wings, then raced away into the mist. The swarm sped after him.

  “Madness! That bird likes a fight as much as you like . . .”

  I didn’t bother to finish, since Rhia was already scaling the severed trunk in search of the bees’ stores of honey. I listened for any buzzing, but heard none. I ran to join her. As I pulled myself up on a low branch, the trunk cracked and wobbled unsteadily on its base.

  “Careful, Rhia!” I called. “This whole thing could topple over anytime.”

  But she could not hear. Fully occupied, she was already leaning over the jagged top of the trunk.

  Standing on the branch, I leaned over beside her. A golden pool of honey, surrounded by walls of honeycomb as thick as my chest, lay beneath us. Bits of broken branches, bark, and honeycomb floated in the heavy syrup. I plunged in my hand, scooped out a heaping handful, then drank the sweet, gooey liquid. I had never in my life tasted such satisfying honey. Rhia apparently agreed, since she was busy feasting with both hands at once, her cheeks and chin dripping.

  “We should go,” she declared at last. “Have your last swallow.”

  Seeing a large chunk of honeycomb floating just below me, I grabbed it. As I tugged, however, the honeycomb refused to budge. Bracing myself, I pinched it as hard as I could and yanked with all my might.

  At that instant, the object rose out of the pool with a deafening howl. I suddenly realized that I had been holding not a honeycomb but the tip of a huge, bulbous nose. Rhia shrieked as I jerked sideways to get away from the head, covered with honey, that was lifting toward us. Just then the base of the thick trunk cracked, tilted, and split apart. It toppled over the side of the hill, taking both of us with it.

  20: SHIM

  Rhia and I cascaded down the slope. Ahead of us the weighty log, loaded with honey and whatever had boiled up from its depths, rolled and bounced down the ridge, gathering speed as it descended. Finally it smashed into a gigantic boulder, splintering into bits.

  When at last I stopped, the world around me kept spinning for some time. Half dazed, I made myself sit up. “Rhia.”

  “Over here.” She lifted her head from the grass just below me, her brown wisps of hair matted with honey and twigs.

  Simultaneously we turned to the moaning sound coming from the wreckage of the trunk. Rhia reached for me, wrapping her forefinger around mine. We stood and carefully crept closer.

  What we saw was a little mound, completely covered with honey, sticks, and leaves, lying beneath the boulder. Then the mound rolled over, shook itself vigorously, and sat up.

  “It’s a man.” My words were filled with awe. “A tiny little man.”

  “A dwarf,” corrected Rhia. “I didn’t know there were any dwarves left in Fincayra.”

  Two pink eyes popped open in the mask of honey. “You both is wrong. Totally, horribly, disgustingly wrong! I is no dwarf.”

  Rhia looked quite skeptical. “No? Then what are you?”

  The little man blew a blast of honey out of his bulbous nose. As more honey dripped off his chin, he licked his fingers, palms, and wrists. Having cleaned his hands, he looked nervously from one side to the other. “You isn’t a friend of the king’s, is you?”

  Rhia scowled. “Of course not.”

  “And what about your black-haired friend there, who pullses on other people’s noses?”

  “He’s not either.”

  “Certainly, definitely, absolutely not?”

  Rhia could not keep herself from grinning. “Certainly, definitely, absolutely not.”

  “All right then.” The little man struggled to unstick himself from the ground so that he could stand. He strode up to Rhia. Although he came to only just above her knee, he threw his head back with pride.

  “I is no dwarf. I is a giant.”

  “A what?” I exclaimed, starting to laugh.

  The little man glared at me, pink eyes shining. “I is a giant.” Then his pride seemed to melt away. His face fell, and his shoulders drooped. “I is just a very, very, very small giant. I wishes, I truly wishes, that I could be big. Like a giant should be.”

  “I don’t believe it.” I stooped lower to get a better view. “You don’t look like a giant to me. Not even a small one.”

  “But I is!”

  “Then I’m a fungus.”

  “And why is a fungus going around pullsing other people’s noses?”

  Rhia burst out laughing, shaking every leaf on her suit of vines. “Leave him alone, Emrys. If he says he’s a giant, well then, I believe him.”

  Seeming vindicated, the tiny fellow patted his bulging belly. “I is having a nicely meal, too, bothering nobodies, until I is interrupted.”

  “My name is Rhia. What’s yours?”

  Glancing nervously over his shoulder, he muttered, “Can’t be too careful these dayses.” He took a tiny step closer. “My name is Shim.”

  I observed him suspiciously. “And tell us, Shim, do you always go swimming in your honey when you drink it?”

  “Certainly, definitely, absolutely! If you would like not to get stingded by the bees, that is the best way to do it.”

  Amused, Rhia smiled. “You have a point. But getting out again must be difficult.”

  The little giant sputtered, “You is, you is, makings fun of me!”

  “Not at all,” I teased. “You’re not funny in the least.” I tried my best to hold back my laughter, but it spewed out of me all at once. I roared, clutching my side.

  The tiny fellow darted up to me and kicked me as hard as he could in the foot. My mirth vanished. With a growl, I started after him.

  “No, stops! Please, stops!” cried Shim, hiding behind Rhia’s legs. “I doesn’t mean to hurts you. Really, truly, honestly.”

  “You certainly did!” I tried to grab hold of the sticky mass behind Rhia. “When I catch you I’ll pinch more than your nose.”

  “Wait,” commanded Rhia. She held me by the shoulder. “We don’t have time for this. We’ve dawdled long enough!”

  Reluctantly, I backed away. “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, those bees will be coming back any second, with their stingers ready for battle.” I shot a glance at Shim. “If I were you, I’d take a good bath before they descend on you.”

  The pink eyes swelled in fright. “On me?”

  “Certainly, definitely, absolutely.”

  The little giant gasped. “I truly hates to get stingded!”

  With that, he tore off into the swirling mist behind the boulder. He had only just disappeared, however, when he screamed with terror. Rhia and I both ran to
see what had happened.

  A few seconds later, we too screamed. We fell, spinning head over heels, into a deep pit plunging straight into the ground. Eventually, we rolled to a stop. The world had gone totally dark.

  “Ohhhh, my head,” I grumbled.

  Something wriggled beneath me. “Gets you off me, you fool!”

  An arm or a leg, sticky and caked with dirt and leaves, struck me square in the face. “Ow! Watch out, you blundering ball of honey!”

  “Stop it,” cried Rhia. “We must find our way out of here.”

  “Where is here, anyway?” I asked. “We must have fallen into a hole. A deep one. So deep I can’t even see any light up there. And feel the floor! It’s all poky, not like normal rock.”

  “I caaan aaanswer yooour queeestion,” boomed a thunderous voice from deeper in the darkness. “Youuu haaave fouuund my laaair.”

  “Whose lair?” we all asked at once.

  A long pause ensued.

  “The laaair of the Graaand Eluuusa.”

  21: THE GRAND ELUSA

  The chamber’s walls seemed to shake with the force of the voice.

  Rhia pressed against my side. I tried my hardest to see, but my second sight was useless in such total darkness. For an instant I considered breaking the promise made at Caer Myrddin and tapping whatever powers I might still possess. To protect us however I could. But the very thought rekindled all my old fears, and I sat frozen.

  “Is you,” whispered Shim into the darkness, “the creature who, who, who eatses everything?”

  “I eeeat whaaatever I choose.” The deep voice echoed, its vibrations continuing to pummel us. “Nooow teeell meee whooo youuu aaare, befooore I eeeat youuu.”

  Bravely, I cleared my throat. “I am called . . . Emrys.”

  “Emryyys of wheeere?”

  This time my voice was weaker. “I don’t know.”

  “And I am Rhia, of Druma Wood.”

  After a silence, the Grand Elusa boomed, “Whooo eeelse is heeere?”

  No answer.