The Seven Songs

  “I will guard it well.”

  “Tell me now, my son. What melodies have you heard within the Seven Songs? Start with the first one, Changing.

  I cleared my throat. “I learned from a butterfly—and from a traitor, a treeling, who redeemed herself—that all of us, all living things, have the potential to change.”

  The old man studied me intently. “It is no accident that this was your first Song, Merlin. I believe you have been hearing its strains for some time.”

  “Yes,” I looked into the dewy boughs for a moment. “I see now why the Greek words for butterfly and soul are the same.”

  “Good. Now tell me about Binding.”

  I glanced at Rhia’s face, pale and still. “The strongest bonds are of the heart. I learned it from watching a pair of hawks soaring together.”

  Trouble pranced proudly across my shoulder, preening his wings.

  “And from a trickster, perhaps?”

  I sighed. “That, too.”

  A shred of mist passed over Dagda’s left hand. With a deft twirl of his fingers, he wove the mist into a complex knot. Then, with a pensive nod, he let it drift away.

  His gaze returned to me. “Next you found your way into the underground realm of my old friend Urnalda. She is wiser than she appears, I can assure you! No doubt she enjoyed the chance to be your teacher.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure how much. I was a rather slow learner. Eventually, though, with the help of a light flyer, I finally found the soul of that Song.”

  “Which is?”

  I pointed to the image of the cracked stone. “The best way to protect something is to set it free.”

  Dagda leaned back, gazing upward into the burly roots of the Tree of Soul. As he raised an eyebrow, a curl of mist spiraled up the trunk. “The next lesson, I believe, came as a surprise for you.”

  “Naming. It took awhile—and a broken bread knife—to teach me that a true name holds true power.” I paused, thinking. “Is my true name Merlin?”

  The elder shook his silvery head.

  “Then would you, perhaps, know my true name?”

  “I know it”

  “Would you tell me?”

  Dagda considered my request for a while. “No. Not yet. But I will do this. If we should meet again at a happier time, when you have won over the most powerful enemy of all, then I will tell you your true name.”

  I blanched. “The most powerful enemy of all? You must mean Rhita Gawr.”

  “Perhaps.” He pointed to the star within a circle. “Now Leaping.”

  “That’s an amazing skill. The Grand Elusa used it to send us all the way to the land of the treelings. Gwri of the Golden Hair used it, too—to give Rhia a vision of the Otherworld Well.” My voice lowered. “And Rhita Gawr used it to send the death shadow to my mother.”

  The silver eyebrows lifted. “To your mother?”

  My boots shifted uneasily on the misty ground. “Well, no. To me. But it felled my mother instead.”

  “So what is the soul of the art of Leaping?”

  My attention turned to the flowing mist that surrounded us. Gracefully, it wound its way around Dagda and myself, touching both of us as it touched the upside-down tree, embracing the great roots that themselves embraced the world above. “Everything,” I declared, “is connected to everything else.”

  “Good, my son, good. Now what of Eliminating?”

  “That one I learned from a sleeping dragon. And from . . . a jester.” I grinned slightly. “They showed me that every living thing is precious somehow.”

  Dagda leaned toward me. “Even a dragon?”

  “Even a dragon.”

  He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You will meet that dragon again, I believe. When it awakens.”

  I caught my breath. Before I could ask anything, however, he spoke again.

  “Seeing. Tell me, now, about Seeing.”

  My tongue worked against my cheek before any words came. At last, in a voice not much louder than a whisper, I said, “The heart can see things invisible to the eye.”

  “Hmmm. What else?”

  I thought for a moment. “Well, now that I know a little about seeing with the heart, I can, perhaps, see better into myself.”

  Dagda’s deep brown eyes regarded me. “And when you look into that place, my son, what do you see?”

  I cleared my throat, started to speak, then stopped myself. Searching for the right words, I paused before starting again. “It’s . . . well, it’s like going down into the Otherworld Well. The deeper I go, the more I discover.” Turning away, I said under my breath, “And what I discover can be truly frightening.”

  The old man watched me with compassion. “What else do you see?”

  I heaved a sigh. “How little I really do know.”

  Dagda reached toward me, taking my hand in his own. “Then, Merlin, you have learned something invaluable.” He drew me nearer on the floor of mist. Shreds of vapor curled about us both. “Truly invaluable! Until now, you have been searching for the souls of the Songs. But knowing how little you really know—having humility—that, my son, is the soul of wizardry itself.”

  Puzzled, I cocked my head.

  “In time, I believe, you will fully understand. For humility is nothing more than genuine respect for the wondrous, surprising ways of the world.”

  Slowly, I nodded. “That sounds like something Rhia would say.” Looking again at her lifeless form, I asked anxiously, “Can you still save her?”

  Dagda gave no answer.

  “Can you?”

  For an extended moment, he watched me in silence. “I know not, my son.”

  My throat constricted as if Balor still held me in his grasp. “I’ve been such a fool! I’ve caused so much harm.”

  Dagda pointed a finger at a rolling ribbon of mist, which instantly straightened. At the same time, he glanced at another wispy line, which suddenly changed into a tight little ball. Then, turning back to me, he smiled sadly. “So you have come to see both the dark and the light within yourself. The dragon as well as the star. The serpent as well as the dove.”

  I swallowed. “When you first greeted me, you said I might come to know the true source of your power. Well, I’m not sure, but I think your power is quieter, subtler than other kinds. It is guided by your head and your hand, but it springs from your heart. Really, your power is about the seventh Song. Seeing not with the eyes, but with the heart.”

  His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

  “There was a time,” I continued, my voice a mere whisper, “when I would have given anything to see again with my own eyes. I still want to see that way again. Very much. But now I know there are other ways to see.”

  Lightly, Dagda squeezed my hand. “You see well, Merlin.”

  He released his grip, then observed me for a long moment. “And I will tell you this. As much pain as you have known and are yet to know, wondrous things await you, young man. Truly wondrous things.”

  34: ELIXIR

  Dagda’s deep eyes turned to the trunk of the tree, sparkling with diamonds of dew. He followed the column higher and higher, to the gnarled roots that melted into the mist far above. His gaze lingered there momentarily, as if he could see through the mist into the lands beyond. At last he spoke. “Now for your friend, bound to you by love as well as by blood.”

  He reached for Rhia, lying on the vaporous ground, with his uninjured arm. She seemed so still, so silent, the color drained from her skin as well as her garb of leaves. My stomach churned in anguish, for I suspected that her body had grown too cold for even the greatest of the spirits to revive. Hadn’t Gwri told me that Dagda, for all his power, could not bring back to life someone who had died?

  Ever so gently, he lifted her limp hand, closing his eyes as he did so. He seemed to be listening for something far away. Then, without opening his eyes, he gave me a command. “You may release her, Merlin.”

  I hesitated, suddenly fearing that this would surely m
ean her death. Once her spirit had left me, once it had flown, I could never hope to see her live again. As much as I yearned to hear her laugh again, still more I feared that by letting her go I would lose her forever.

  “Merlin,” repeated Dagda. “It is time.”

  At last, I released her. Deep within, I could feel her spirit stirring subtly. Then it began to flow out of me, at first like a trickle of water, gathering strength, until finally it felt like a river bursting through a dam. My sightless eyes brimmed with tears, for I knew that whether or not Rhia survived in mortal form, she and I would never be so utterly close again.

  Slowly, very slowly, I exhaled. Shreds of mist knitted themselves in the air between us, creating a shimmering bridge linking my chest and hers. The bridge hovered, glowing, for barely an instant, before fading away completely.

  Just then I noticed the gash on the side of her head. It started closing, healing from within. As the skin pulled together, the bloodstains, now more brown than red, evaporated from her curly hair, her neck, and her suit of woven vines. Color began to flow into her cheeks. Her garb softened, as the green vitality returned to every leaf and stem.

  Rhia’s forefinger trembled. Her neck straightened. Then, at last, her gray-blue eyes opened, along with Dagda’s. Gazing up into the roots draped with mistletoe, she drew a halting breath of her own. Turning her face toward Dagda, she smiled, even as she burst into speech. “You live with a tree, just like I do!”

  Her bell-like laughter rang out. I joined her, while Dagda erupted with a full, resonant laugh of his own. As he shook with mirth, the great tree, too, began to sway on the misty plain. Droplets of dew fell from above, spinning and shining in the air. Even Trouble, perched on my shoulder, piped a joyous whistle. It seemed to me that the universe itself had joined in our laughter.

  Her eyes alight, Rhia sat up and swung her head toward me. “Merlin, you did it. You saved me.”

  “No. Dagda saved you.”

  “Not without your help, young man.” The elder pushed a few silver hairs off his brow. “By holding so lovingly her spirit as well as her body, you kept her from truly dying, long enough that I could still revive her.”

  His gaze moved to Rhia. “And you helped, too.”

  “I did?”

  The old man nodded slowly. “Your spirit is a radiant one, Rhiannon. Exceptionally radiant. You possess a force of life that is as powerful as the one I placed in one of the Treasures of Fincayra, the Orb of Fire.”

  Rhia’s cheeks flushed.

  I recalled the glittering orange sphere that I had rescued from the ruins of the Shrouded Castle. “It has something to do with healing, doesn’t it?”

  “Healing, yes. But of the soul, not the body. For the Orb of Fire, in the hands of someone wise, can rekindle hope and joy, even the will to live.”

  Dagda turned to me. “You, Merlin, know more than anyone how bright the spirit of your sister shines.”

  I realized that I could still feel, deep within me, a touch of Rhia’s spirit. A bit of my sister had remained with me. And, I knew, always would.

  “Yes,” declared the frail, silver-haired man. “Your training as a wizard has only begun. Yet embracing the wisdom, as well as the spirit, of your sister has been part of it. An important part.”

  “My eighth Song, you could say.”

  “Yes.”

  I looked at Rhia. “Aylah tried to tell me, but I didn’t understand. Now, though, I think I have a glimmer.”

  She touched her amulet. “Or you could say . . . an instinct.”

  Trouble made a clucking sound that resembled a laugh.

  Passing my hand through the mist rising from beneath us, I searched the face of Dagda. “I have an instinct that Fincayra is my true home. And yet . . . I have another instinct that it’s not. Which one is right?”

  The old man gave a sad smile. “Ah, you are learning! Just as true love often melds both joy and grief, true instinct often mixes contrary feelings. In this case, though, I can help you. Humans are not meant to live long on Fincayra. As much as you have come to feel at home there, you must one day return to Earth. You may stay a while longer, for you still have work left to do, but ultimately you must leave.”

  I bit my lip. “Can’t you just allow me to stay?”

  Compassion in his eyes, Dagda shook his head. “I could, but I will not. The worlds must remain apart, for each has its own fabric, its own spirit, that must be honored.” He sighed gravely. “That is why I am forced to wrestle with Rhita Gawr on so many fronts. He would pull apart the fabrics of Otherworld, Earth, and Fincayra—in order to weave them into his own twisted design. He wants only to rule them all, as his kingdom.”

  “Is that why the Fincayrans lost their wings?” asked Rhia, glancing at the swirling clouds. “They forgot how to honor the fabric?”

  “Your instincts are indeed strong, Rhiannon. You are on the right track, but the rest you must discover for yourself.”

  “Dagda, may I ask you something?” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “There’s a prophecy. It says that only a child of human blood can defeat Rhita Gawr or his servants. Is that true? And if it is, is the human child one of us?”

  The elder ran his hand over a sprig of mistletoe hanging nearby. “Though I cannot tell you all you wish to know, I can say this. The prophecy carries much weight. Yet while it was your sister who vanquished Balor, the only person who can stop Rhita Gawr in Fincayra is you.”

  I tried to swallow, but my throat had tightened again. Suddenly I remembered the death shadow, plunging down the throat of Elen. When I spoke, it was in a whisper. “If I must die fighting Rhita Gawr, you must tell me this. Is there any way—any way at all—that our mother can still live?”

  Rhia turned anxiously from me to Dagda. Trouble paced across my shoulder, fluttering his wings.

  The old man drew a long breath. “You still have time, though not much. Only a few hours remain before the moon’s fourth quarter expires. And when it does, so will your mother.”

  “The Elixir,” I pleaded. “Can you give it to us?”

  Dagda reached down to a burly branch. Carefully, he touched one of the dewdrops with the end of his finger. As it came free, it covered his fingertip with a thin, glistening cup. Using his other fingers, he removed the cup. It sat upright in the palm of his hand, like a tiny, crystalline vial.

  He winced slightly. At the same instant, the little vial filled with a single drop of red fluid. Dagda’s own blood. When the vial brimmed full, its mouth sealed tight.

  “There now.” He spoke thickly, as if he had been weakened by his act. Quivering slightly, he handed the vial to me. “Take it.”

  Even as I opened my leather pouch and placed the Elixir inside, I felt Trouble’s talons digging into my shoulder. The hawk nuzzled his soft feathers against my neck.

  Dagda knew my question before I could ask. “No, Merlin, he cannot join you. Your friend Trouble gave his mortal life at the Shrouded Castle to spare yours. He belongs here now.”

  The hawk whistled faintly. As the mist billowed around us, the gaze from his yellow-rimmed eyes met my own. We looked at each other for the last time.

  “I’ll miss you, Trouble.”

  The bird nuzzled my neck again, then slowly moved away.

  Dagda’s expression, too, showed pain. “It may not lighten your heart now, Merlin, but I believe that one day, in another land, you will feel the grip of a different bird’s talons on your shoulder.”

  “I don’t want a different bird.”

  “I understand.” The elder stretched his one able hand toward me, brushing my cheek. “You must take separate paths now, I am afraid. Though no one knows all the turns those paths may take.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Not even me.” Dagda lifted the mantle of mistletoe from my shoulder. “Go now, my children, and be brave.”

  Trouble’s final screech sounded in my ear, even as the swirling mist swept over me like a wave, swallowing everything.

/>   35: A WIZARD’S STAFF

  The flash faded into darkness. The only light came from the sprinkling of stars overhead. I found myself still kneeling, with Rhia still sitting by my side. Yet jagged rocks and steep cliffs replaced the steaming mist; a circle of polished stones replaced the Tree of Soul. Not far away, the corpse of a huge warrior lay still and silent.

  I took Rhia’s hand. “We’re back at the Well.”

  “Too true, too true, too true.” The hunched figure of Bumbelwy approached in the near-darkness. “I never thought you’d return. And I see you’ve brought back the body of—”

  “Rhia,” she interrupted. “Alive and well.”

  Bumbelwy froze midstep. Even in the dim light, I could see his eyes grow wider. Then, for a brief instant, his mouth and multiple chins turned upward ever so slightly. It lasted only a fraction of a second. Yet I felt certain that he had actually smiled.

  I turned my gaze toward the sky, searching for any sign at all of the moon. Yet I could find nothing. Nothing at all. I bit my lip. If only I hadn’t wasted those precious minutes with Rhita Gawr.

  Rhia suddenly pointed to a faint glimmer of light that had just emerged from behind a cloud. “Oh, Merlin! That’s all that’s left of the moon. It will be gone before dawn!”

  I leaped to my feet. “So will our mother, unless we can get to her first.”

  “But how?” Rhia stood, facing the southern sky. “Arbassa is so far away.”

  As if in answer, the entire ridge shook with a sudden tremor. Then came another, still stronger. Another. Another. Rocks tumbled down from the cliffs on both sides of us. I pulled my walking stick out of my belt and leaned on it for balance. Then my second sight perceived a new shape rising on the horizon. Like a swiftly growing hill, it blocked out the stars behind. Yet I knew at once that this was no hill.

  “Shim!” I shouted. “We’re over here!”

  A moment later, the giant’s immense form towered above the three of us. As his feet crushed against the loose rocks, he lowered a great hand. Quickly, Rhia and I climbed into his palm, followed reluctantly by Bumbelwy.