The Raging Fires (23 page)

Concentrating, I forced myself to think. The voices spoke for different kinds of truth—each one important, each one precious. Like the separate parts of the story circle that Hallia, Eremon, and I had created together on the day we met . . .

Truth of the heart, the mind, the hand, the spirit, the unknown. How I could I possibly pick only one? What was the truth of the spirit without the truth of the heart? And the heart without the mind?

My thoughts raced, even as the voices, the walls, the wheel all roared at me. The floor shook beneath my feet. What had Cairpré told me?
One and only one, is the complete voice of the truth.

But which one?

Heart . . . Hand . . . Unknown . . . Mind . . . Spirit . . . which to choose? The walls bent and swayed. I could barely keep my balance. The crystals burned like stars.

Stars! That phrase again flowed through my memory:
the great and glorious Song of the Stars.
All words, Gwri had said, played some part in the song. All words, all voices . . . Could that be the answer? Perhaps the voice of truth was
not
one of the voices I was hearing after all! Perhaps it was another voice entirely—the only voice that could be called
the complete voice of truth.

“All the voices!” I cried. I raised my hands to the revolving wheel, shouting at the top of my lungs. “All the voices are true!”

Instantaneously, the walls and floor stopped shaking. The light from the crystals dimmed; the buzzing ceased. The Wheel of Wye, however, started spinning faster than ever before. Soon it became a blur, then a shadow. At the same time, the clamoring voices became less distinct. The faster they spun, the more they melted together. When, at last, the wheel was nearly invisible, the voices had merged into a single, resonant tone. Then the oracle spoke—in one unified voice.

“Aaask whaaat youuu wiiill.”

Hallia stepped to my side. “You did it, Merlin! But remember, now. You have only one question.”

I pushed some straggly hairs off my brow. “I know, I know.”

But which one to ask? I had come here, originally, to find the Galator. And yet, with all my heart, I wanted to find my own powers again. They might give me at least a chance against Valdearg. Perhaps I wouldn’t even need the magical pendant after all.

I chewed my lip. Tuatha, so long ago, had carried both his own powers and the Galator when he faced the dragon. The problem was—which one did he need most? Or, perhaps . . . which one did Fincayra need most?

“Aaask nooow.”

Working my tongue inside my mouth, I turned back to the spinning Wheel of Wye. This choice tormented me even more than the first. How could I be victorious without the pendant? Yet how could I be myself without my powers?

“Aaask nooow.”

“Great wheel,” I began, my throat suddenly dry. “I seek the powers of . . . the Galator. Where can I find them?”

“Thooose pooowers aaare veeery neeear.”
The wheel spun all the faster.
“Youuu caaan fiiind theeem iiin—”

Something as fast as lightning shot out of the passageway behind us and struck the axis of the wheel. Scarlet light exploded in the cavern, or perhaps just in my head. As the axis splintered, an ear-splitting crack rocked the chamber, fading into a distant rumble that seemed to emanate from far beneath us. The voices halted, as did the wheel itself. The five faces on the spokes froze in lifeless stares. Dumbfounded, Hallia and I gazed at the black shape that had lodged like an arrow in the middle of the axis.

A kreelix.

26:
T
HE
E
ND OF
A
LL
M
AGIC

Are ye lookin’ for somethin’, me dears?”

We whirled around to see an old man, standing behind us in the entry to the chamber. Bachod! The glowing crystals around him shone no less than his eyes. For this Bachod looked altogether different from the haggard waiter of the tavern. He stood perfectly straight, his arms folded upon his chest, watching us in the way an owl observes its prey before swooping down to crush its skull. Yet I couldn’t mistake his crackling voice, limp moustache, and white hair that brushed the shoulders of his robe.

Crouching by his side, ready to spring at an instant’s notice, rested another kreelix. Even with its wings folded on its back, its massive body filled much of the passageway. As it opened its bloodred mouth, baring its three deadly fangs, Hallia and I shrank back. I nearly tripped over one of the piles of bones.

Bachod smirked. “I’m so sorry yer little conversation with the turnin’ wheel never finished, me dears. Me furred companion, ye see, jest couldn’t stop itself in time. Ye needn’t worry, though. It won’t be botherin’ ye anymore.”

“You stopped it!” I cried. “Ended its magic! Just when it was going to tell me where to find—” I caught myself before saying more.

Bachod shook his head, swaying his white locks. “Mayhaps I can help ye, me lad. Save ye some time an’ trouble.” He reached into the folds of his robe. With a flourish, he pulled forth a pendant on a leather cord. Its jeweled center flashed with a stunning green radiance.

“The Galator!” I started toward him, when the kreelix’s vicious snarl stopped me. “How—how did you get it?”

“I stole it,” answered Bachod with pride. “With some help from a cunnin’ friend of mine.”

My cheeks burned. “You mean Rhita Gawr!”

His dark eyes glinted with satisfaction. “He taught me about
negatus mysterium,
ye see. An’ how to breed an’ train the kreelixes to do our work.”

“And what work is that?” demanded Hallia, her voice shaking with rage.

“The work of destroyin’ magic!” Bachod tossed the glowing pendant into the air. It twirled, sparkling, then fell back into his hand. Gripping it tightly, he sneered, “Magic’s the plague of this island. Always has been! Whether from wizards, or pendants, or oracles like this turnin’ wheel. It’s all evil, an’ dangerous, an’ worst of all, against nature.”

He turned to the kreelix crouching beside him. “That’s why these beasts are so useful. For destroyin’ the plague.” With a glance at me, he chortled. “Or them who spread it—like young wizards.”

I almost grabbed a bone from the floor and threw it at him. “So you were the one who tried to kill me.”

“Twice, yes—our beasts tracked ye down. Ye may have escaped those times, but never again.” He tugged on his sagging moustache. “Me friend, the one ye mentioned, seems to be feelin’ a bit angry with ye.”

My boot ground into the crystals of the floor. “As I am with him.”

“That’s yer concern, not mine. Me own concern is magic. Nothin’ less than the end of all magic, me dears, can bring lastin’ peace to this island. An’ that’s the work of us who understands.”

“Us who understands,”
I repeated scornfully.

With his free hand, Bachod drew a curved sword from his belt. The blade glinted in the light of the crystals. Seeing it, my heart thundered. For at the base of the blade, burned in black, was an emblem of a fist crushing a lightning bolt.

“Clan Righteous?”

“Yes, me lad! There’s only three of us—two bein’ up on the cliffs right now, tendin’ to the kreelixes—but ye can expect more precious soon.” He smiled grimly. “Precious soon. Fer when the word gets out that we’re freein’ the land from magic, most of Fincayra will rise up to join us.”

“You’re wrong,” I declared. “About Fincayra—and about magic, too. Magic is a tool. No different from a sword, or a hammer, or a cooking pot, except that its powers are greater. And like any other tool, it can be misused. But whether it’s ultimately good or evil—well, that depends on the person who wields it.”

Hallia nodded. “And don’t think wizards are the only ones with magic. No! It lives in quiet places, too—from the hollow log of a tiny light flyer to the meadow grazed by deer people.” Her eyes seemed to sizzle. “You have no right to destroy all that . . . and so much more.”

Bachod grimaced. “I’ve every right. Every right, ye see! An’ when Rhita Gawr an’ I are finished, Fincayra will have no magic left.”

“No!” I glared at him. “It will have no
defenders
left. Don’t you see? You’ve been duped, old man! Rhita Gawr is just using you. That’s right. To help him wipe out all those who might have any power to stand against him.”

He waved his hand contemptuously. “Magic has twisted yer mind.”

“It’s true,” I protested. “Listen! Rhita Gawr could just walk in and declare this world his own if there were no wizards, no Galators, no . . .” I caught myself. “No dragons.” I glanced at Bachod’s boots, knowing that his heels would show slashes from the sharp stones of this floor, just as Eremon had predicted.

“It was you, wasn’t it, who killed the young dragons?”

Bachod smirked. “Of course, me dears. I hadn’t planned on wakin’ up their father jest yet—but it’s jest as well. Havin’ him burn a few towns will remind people about the plague.”

He studied his sword, flashing in the light of the crystals. “Valdearg’s time will be comin’ soon enough. Jest as yers will! An’ yer friend the bard, a few minutes from now, when I meet him fer a little, ah, stroll up the cliffs.” His smirk broadened. “He thinks he’s been learnin’ about the kreelixes from me, ye see. That he has, me dears, but jest a little bit. All the while I’ve been learnin’ more from him. Much more. He’s told me plenty already about the hidin’ places of magic.”

With that, he grabbed the cord of the Galator, allowing the pendant to swing freely. Sparks of radiant green reflected on the walls of the chamber, dancing with the silvery glow of the crystals. Bachod’s grin broadened. “But first, me dears, ye get to watch me destroy this wicked thing.” He clucked in anticipation. “I’ve been so waitful fer the right moment, an’ I do believe it’s now. With ye both as me audience.”

“No!” I cried. “You can’t!”

“The Galator is as old as Fincayra itself,” pleaded Hallia.

Bachod had already begun uttering a command to the kreelix. The beast’s pointed ears stiffened and its shoulders tensed. The dagger-like claws raked against the floor of the cavern. It turned to the Galator, luminous and mysterious, and exposed its fangs.

“Now ye shall see true power,” promised the white-haired man, swinging the pendant. “The power of
negatus mysterium.”
He chortled softly. “Watch, me dears, as this green glow dies ferever.”

Just as he started to utter the final command to the kreelix, I leaped at him. The kreelix screeched, sending a blaze of scarlet light rebounding off the walls of my mind, as well as the cavern. Simultaneously, Bachod toppled over backward. The Galator flew through the air, landing somewhere near the motionless wheel. Even as I fell to the floor, Hallia, springing like a deer, was at my side. Before we could press the attack, however, the kreelix swatted us with an enormous, bat-like wing.

We hurtled into the crystal-covered wall. Sharp facets tore our legs and gouged our backs before we rolled to a halt. Barely had we regained our feet, when a sudden tremor jolted the chamber, knocking us down again.

Several crystals on the ceiling flickered, then exploded, showering the wheel with flaming embers. At the same time, a second tremor rocked the chamber. A great chunk of black rock broke loose from the ceiling, smashing into the crystalline floor only an arm’s length from my head. The wheel itself shuddered and creaked as the axis fell away completely. The whole structure tilted forward, tottering precariously on its rim.

Bachod struggled to his feet, then kicked the kreelix in the side. It snarled, but didn’t lash out. “Ye foolish beast! Yer power struck the crystals instead! An’ who knows what that could—”

The Wheel of Wye crashed to the floor. Spokes and rim shattered, sailing in all directions. More crystals exploded overhead. Jagged cracks snaked across the walls of the chamber. Then—vents of steam burst open, hissing and snapping. Hotter grew the air, and hotter still.

A sly grin on his face, Bachod mounted the back of the kreelix. “So ye want the Galator, me dears? Well, it’s yers ferever more! See how long its magic keeps ye safe now.”

The kreelix spread its wings, flapped, and shot into the passageway. At the same instant, another section of the ceiling broke loose. With a burst of sparks, it landed on the remains of the wheel. Flames leaped, blazing with a fury that I had not seen since the fire that had cost me my eyes. I turned to Hallia, even as the wall behind us cracked and buckled, spraying us with chips of stone. Then, to my horror, a sizzling, orange liquid—brighter than the flames around us—started bubbling out of the cracks. Lava.

“Go!” I commanded. “You can still escape in time to warn Cairpré. Run like a deer!”

She glanced up at the crumbling walls. “What about you?”

“The Galator! I’ve got to find it before—” The wall arching over us shifted, groaning like a dying beast. A spurt of lava erupted from a crack. “Before it’s lost for all time.”

Hallia seized my arm.
“You’ll
be lost for all time if you don’t flee now!”

I pulled free. “I, too, can run like a deer. Remember? Please, Hallia. I’ll be right behind you.”

Her brown eyes, glowing with a light as rich—and unfathomable—as the Galator’s, studied me. “All right, but be quick! Even a deer can’t run through lava.”

“Then, if I have to, I’ll fly. Yes—like a young hawk.”

She grinned fleetingly, even as she leaped to her feet. Dodging a patch of flaming, sputtering crystals, she dashed for the door. She melted into a tan-colored streak that bounded, hooves pounding, down the passage.

Hastily, I sprang to the spot where the Galator had fallen. A spark struck the back of my neck, burning my skin. I brushed it away—just as a plume of fire erupted by my boot, scorching my leg. Blood from the crystals’ scrapings dripped down my forearm. Yet none of this mattered. Only the Galator mattered.

Plunging into the wreckage, I leaped over a smoldering crystal. Wildly, I turned over every piece of fallen stone I could find, searching for the pendant. Then I realized that a broken fragment from the wheel’s rim now covered the place where it had fallen. Planting my boots, I tried my hardest to lift the fragment.