The Raging Fires (24 page)

It wouldn’t budge. Again I braced; again I lifted. The piece shifted only slightly before slipping out of my grasp. A new segment of the ceiling toppled, crashing on the very spot where Hallia and I had sat just a moment before. Crystals sprayed across the floor. More rumbling shook the collapsing walls. The heat was so stifling I could barely breathe.

I planted my feet at a different angle, hoping for better leverage. Wrapping my fingers around the heavy fragment, I pulled. And pulled. My legs shook. My back strained. My head felt as if it would burst. At last, the piece lifted ever so slightly. With a final groan, I shoved it aside.

Not there! I raised my arms, cursing. Where else could the Galator be?

At that instant, an enormous crack slashed across the floor under my feet. Sulphurous smoke belched out. As I leaped aside, the ceiling exploded in a new storm of sparks. Then, to my horror, I spotted a gargantuan slab of rock working loose above the entry to the chamber. I hesitated, scanning the floor one last time, then threw myself into the passage.

Rolling over the crystals, I turned for a final glance at the crumbling walls. Suddenly I saw a flash of green at the far end of the chamber. The Galator! I started to plunge back in again, when the enormous slab tore loose. It smashed to the floor, sealing the opening. A curtain of molten lava flowed over it.

I reeled as if the slab had fallen on top of me.
Gone. The Galator was gone.

My eyes clouding, I started to stumble down the smoke-filled passageway. Another tremor, more violent than the rest, rocked the cliffs. Vents split open, gushing superheated steam. I pitched to the side, slamming into the wall.
A deer. I must run like a deer.
With all my remaining strength, I tried to run, to become a deer before it was too late.

Nothing happened. I ran harder, my lungs screaming. Nothing happened.

The power! It had vanished! By the new depth of emptiness in my chest, I knew that Eremon’s gift had at last abandoned me. He had warned me that it would run out unexpectedly. But why now?

A row of flaming crystals from the roof of the passageway split open, raining sparks and jagged chips on my head. Another section of wall erupted as I passed. I stumbled forward. My head rattled no less than the rocks. All of a sudden the floor buckled beneath me, knocking me sprawling.

I lay there, facedown on the crystals. Though they jabbed and singed my skin, I felt too weak to rise. I could not run like a deer. I could not even run like a man. Here I would die, buried in lava along with the Galator.

27:
V
ERY
N
EAR

Something hard thudded against my back. A piece of rock, no doubt. Or debris from the shattering crystals. I did not roll over.

A thud came again. And with it, a sound, mixing with the crashing and grinding of the collapsing passageway. A sound I had heard, it seemed, ages ago. A sound like . . . a horse whinnying.

I flipped over. The eyes of a stallion, as coal black as my own, greeted me. Ionn!

His great hoof, raised to strike me again, lowered to the crystalline floor. He shook his mane and whinnied. Half dazed, I raised myself to a crouch. Ionn nudged me with his nose, urging me to stand. I threw an arm around his mighty neck, straightened up, and hoisted myself onto his back. In an instant, we were careening down the passage.

Stone walls broke apart, melting into lava as we passed. The whole passage now glowed brilliant orange—the color of the mountain’s deepest fires. Arching forward on the stallion’s back, I held on as tight as I possibly could, my fingers clawing at his neck. Crystals flared and sizzled. Steam spurted, barely missing us. Yet Ionn never faltered. His hooves pounded against the quaking floor.

Moments later, we burst out of the passage into daylight. The sun—not lava—cast light on me. Ionn started picking his way down the treacherous face of the snowbound cliffs. From behind, I heard a rumble that gathered into a thunderous roar. Turning around, I saw a fountain of molten rock gush out of the glowing passageway.

Above, the cliffs were disintegrating. As lava flowed over them, great boulders exploded into ashes or simply melted away. Snowdrifts burst into steam. Crevasses tore open, splitting the crags. Caves, whether or not inhabited by spirits, collapsed in flames. Dark columns of smoke belched into the sky, while savage tremors rocked the mountain to its very roots.

Ionn continued to work his way downward, staying just ahead of the streaming lava. Icy rocks, kicked loose by his hooves, clattered down the face. Over the quaking slabs and promontories, he followed a trail of his own making. He managed to avoid the wide crevasse we had crossed during the ascent, skirting its edge for some distance until it narrowed and finally faded away. Often he twisted suddenly to stay clear of a glowing lump of lava, sizzling on the rocks, or leaped to the side to find better footing. Yet bit by bit he made progress, pushing farther down the mountain.

At length, the slope grew less precipitous. The ground beneath us didn’t tremble so violently. Mosses and grasses appeared between the cracks; a few scraggly pines clung to the mountainside. Although I knew that soon they would be covered by molten rock, the glimpse of green gave me a spurt of hope that we might yet escape.

Into what? Into the valley and fields that I could see below, warmed by the golden hues of the sun? I knew better. My destination lay far beyond, in the land of the dwarves. And the late afternoon light meant that I had barely two days left to get there.

The thought made me cringe. What did time matter now, anyway? I had no Galator—and no powers of my own. Only the prospect of facing a wrathful dragon alone. And yet, to my own surprise, I still felt sure I must try.

Over the continuous rumbling, I heard a shout. I turned, but saw only the narrow, overhanging edge of a crevasse, marked by a pair of twisted pine trees. The shout came again. Then I noticed, just beyond the pines, a pair of hands and a head topped with shaggy gray hair. Cairpré!

“Ionn!” I cried. “Stop here!”

The stallion halted abruptly. Even so, he looked at the oncoming rivers of lava and whinnied excitedly. I slid off his back. As fast as I could, I ran past the pines, then onto the jutting edge. Cairpré hung there, straining to hold on. Locking both of my hands around his wrists, I heaved with all my strength. I could hear the rumbling around us growing louder. At last one leg lifted over the lip of rock, then the other.

His face white with exhaustion, the poet gazed at me weakly. “Can’t . . . stand up.”

“You must,” I urged, hauling him to his feet. He slumped against me, unable to stay upright.

Without warning, a flying lump of lava struck the trunk of one of the pines. Its resiny wood exploded in flames, as the entire top half of the tree split off, collapsing across the overhang. A wall of fire leaped into the air, roaring furiously, cutting us off completely.

As I stared into the scorching flames, another wall of fire ripped across my mind.
The blaze . . . my face, my eyes! I can’t cross that. Can’t!

I staggered, nearly stepping off the edge of the overhang.

“Merlin,” panted Cairpré. “Leave me . . . Save yourself.”

His legs buckled completely. I struggled just to stand. Beyond the blazing tree, I heard the approaching roar of descending lava. And, in my ear, the labored breathing of my friend.

From somewhere I could not fathom, I found the strength to lean his limp body over my back. With a groan, I lifted him and tottered ahead into the flames. Fire slapped my face, singed my hair, licked my tunic. A branch caught my arm, but I shook free. Stumbling, I fell forward.

Onto solid rock. Ionn whinnied, stamping impatiently. Oncoming lava spat at us. I heaved Cairpré over the horse’s broad back, then mounted myself.

Ionn bounded off, widening the gap between us and the molten river of rock. The slope became less steep, giving him sounder footing. Still, it was all I could do to keep both myself and the unconscious poet on his back. Downward he pushed—until, at last, the slope merged into the rocky hillocks. Moments later, we came to the edge of the narrow valley. Ionn instinctively avoided Bachod’s village, crossing onto the higher ground on the valley’s opposite side.

Behind us, the cliffs continued to glow with orange lava. Above, the sky darkened with clouds of smoke and ash. An immense column of steam rose in the distance, perhaps from lava flowing into the sea. Yet the mountain’s tremors had all but ceased. The eruption, it appeared, had spent itself. The land grew steadily quieter.

By a small spring, bubbling through a ring of ice, we rested. I doused Cairpré’s head in the spring, which at first made him cough but soon encouraged him to drink. Before long, he had revived enough to talk, and to share some of his salted meat, though his face remained quite pale. Nearby, Ionn tugged at some clumps of grass.

The poet eyed me gratefully. “That was a test of flames, my boy. The mountain’s as well as your own.”

I tore at a slice of meat. “The greater test is still to come.” I hesitated, almost afraid to ask the question most on my mind. “Did you see Hallia?”

The poet hesitated before finally responding. “Yes. I . . . saw her.”

“Is she all right?’

Somberly, he shook his gray mane. “No, Merlin. She is not.”

I swallowed. “What happened?”

“Well, when the eruption first started, I was a good way up the slope, waiting for Bachod.” He paused, weakly running his hand across his brow. “We were supposed to meet there. He was late, and I was growing concerned. The lava mountain seemed to be waking up. All of a sudden, he appeared. Riding on the back of one of those infernal creatures! Rags and rat holes, I was a fool to trust him.”

He grimaced. “I did my best to escape, but he finally chased me to the edge of that precipice. Clumsy me—I fell over, barely catching myself.
The vision grows dim, Though ever more grim.
He dismounted, drew his sword on me—when suddenly Hallia bounded over the crevasse. Seeing her, Bachod cursed and leaped onto the kreelix again. Off they flew, chasing her up the slope.”

My jaw dropped. “Up the slope? But the lava . . .”

“She knew just what she was doing. If she led him down into the more level terrain, she would have had fewer places to hide. Higher on the slope, she could avoid him longer, buying me a little more time.”

“Buying your life with her own,” I added bitterly. “So either Bachod got her, or the lava did.”

“I fear so. Neither of them came back. But Bachod, I presume, survived. He probably just left me for dead and went about trying to save as many of his kreelixes as he could. Their hideaway, I’m sure, was somewhere up in the cliffs.”

He twisted a willow shoot with his finger. “I’m sorry, my boy. Dreadfully sorry. I haven’t felt this wretched since . . . I parted from Elen.”

The pain in his voice seemed to echo somewhere inside me. For several minutes, we sat in silence, hearing only our own thoughts and the swirling waters of the spring. In time, Cairpré offered me a few slices of dried apple. I chewed for a while, then told him about my discovery of the Wheel of Wye’s true voice, my choice of a question—and the incomplete answer. His fists clenched as I described the destruction of the oracle, as well as the Galator.

As I concluded, a slight breeze wafted over us, fluttering my charred tunic. “If I’m going to face Valdearg, I must leave soon.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, my boy?’

I splashed some cold water on my face. “Yes. I only wish I knew what to do when I get there. If, that is, I can make it past Urnalda. After the way I escaped from her, she’ll probably want to punish me herself before turning me over to Valdearg.”

The poet broke an apple slice in two. “I’ve been thinking about your last encounter with her. It doesn’t make sense that she, as a creature of magic herself, would use
negatus mysterium
against you.”

“She sees me as her people’s archenemy! Or, at least, as their only shield against the dragon. And she’s arrogant enough to use any weapons she might have against me.

He frowned, but said nothing.

“If only there were some way I could convince Valdearg that he shouldn’t be fighting me—but Bachod, who killed his young, and Rhita Gawr, who made it possible.”

Cairpré gnawed on the dried fruit. “Dragons are difficult to convince, my boy.”

“I know, I know. But doing that could be my only chance of stopping him from devastating everything! I certainly can’t defeat him in battle. Not without the Galator.”

“It’s just possible that the wheel, like most oracles, might have meant more than one thing by what it said.”

I leaned closer. “What do you mean?”

The poet’s eyes lifted toward the cliffs, glowing now both with trails of lava and the light of the setting sun. “I mean,” he answered slowly, “that it said the powers of the Galator were very near. That could have meant the Galator itself was near—as, indeed, it was. Or it could have also meant
its powers
were very near. Nearer than you knew.”

“I still don’t understand.” Rising, I stepped over to Ionn. The stallion raised his head from the tufts of grass and nickered softly. Running my hand along his jaw, I pondered Cairpré’s words. “We knew so little about the Galator’s powers—except that they were great.”

He stroked his chin. “Were they any greater, do you think, than whatever power brought you and Ionn back together after so many years? Than whatever power gave you the strength to carry me through those flames?”

“I don’t know. I only know that any powers I can find, I’m going to need.” Drawing in my breath, I pulled myself onto the stallion’s back. He gave his head a bold shake as he anticipated my command. “Let us ride, my friend. To the land of the dwarves!”

28:
G
ALLOPING

Down the narrow valley we rode, and into the night. Ionn’s massive hooves thundered in my ears, reminding me of the erupting mountain we had fled. As he pounded over the stones, weaving among the hillocks, his black mane no longer glowed with the reflected light of lava. How often, as a child, I had clung to that very mane . . . I wondered whether this ride, out of one set of flames and into another, would be our last.