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Authors: T. A. Barron
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the Otherworld to consult with Dagda—and return alive. Even he was susceptible to hubris. And it killed him.”
The Flowering Harp felt suddenly heavier, the sling digging into my shoulder. “How did he die?”
Cairpré leaned closer. “I don’t know the details. No one does. All I know is he overestimated his own power, and underestimated Rhita Gawr’s most fearsome servant, a one-eyed ogre named Balor.”
He shook himself. “But let us speak of more pleasant things! My boy, tell me about the Harp. You’ve made quick work of the Dark Hills if you’re already down here in the plains.”
I shifted uncomfortably, rubbing my hand over the knotted top of my staff. As I felt the deep grooves, the scent of hemlock spiced the air, reminding me of the woman whose fragrances had filled my childhood. The time had come to tell Cairpré what I wanted to do—and what I had left undone.
Taking a deep breath, I declared, “I haven’t finished my work in the hills.”
He caught his breath. “You haven’t? Did you meet trouble? Warrior goblins on the loose?”
I shook my head. “The only trouble is of my own making.”
The bottomless pools of his eyes examined me. “What are you saying?”
“That I’ve discovered something more important than my task.” I faced the poet squarely. “I want to find my mother. To bring her to Fincayra.”
Anger flashed across his face. “You would place us all in danger because of that?”
My throat tightened. “Cairpré, please. I will finish the task. I promise! But I need to see her again. And soon. Is that so much to ask?”
“Yes! You are putting all the creatures of this land at risk.”
I tried to swallow. “Elen gave up everything for me, Cairpré! She loved her life here. Loved it to the depths of her soul. And she left it all just to protect me. During our time in Gwynedd, I was—well, her only companion. Her only friend. Even though I never did much to deserve it.”
I paused, thinking about her sad songs, her healing hands, her wondrously blue eyes. “We had our problems, believe me. But we were much closer than either of us knew. Then one day I left her there, all alone. Just left her. She must be miserable, in that cold stone room. She might even be sick, or in trouble. So while I want to bring her here for me, it’s also for her.”
Cairpré’s expression softened slightly. He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Merlin. I understand. How many times I myself have longed to see Elen again! But even if we put aside the Dark Hills, to bring someone here from the world beyond the mists—well, to do that is impossibly dangerous.”
“Are you certain? The sea has spared me twice.”
“It’s not the sea, my boy, though that voyage is dangerous enough. Fincayra has its own ways, its own rhythms, that mortals can only guess. Even Dagda himself, it is said, dares not predict who may be allowed to pass through the curtains of mist.”
“I don’t believe it.”
His gaze darkened. “There would be dangers to anyone brought here from outside, and dangers to the rest of Fincayra as well.” He closed his eyes in thought. “What you may not understand is that anyone who arrives here—even the tiniest little butterfly—could change the balance of life on Fincayra and cause untold destruction.”
“You’re sounding like Domnu,” I scoffed. “Saying I’m going to be the ruin of all Fincayra.”
He swung his head toward the village gates, no longer aglow with golden light. Beyond them, the Dark Hills rolled like waves on a stormy sea. “You could be just that. Especially if you don’t finish what you’ve begun.”
“Won’t you help me?”
“Even if I knew a way, I wouldn’t help you. You’re only a boy. And a more foolish one than I had thought.”
I pounded my staff on the ground. “I have the power to make the Harp work, don’t I? You yourself told the Great Council that I have the heart of a wizard. Well, perhaps I also have the power to
The Flowering Harp felt suddenly heavier, the sling digging into my shoulder. “How did he die?”
Cairpré leaned closer. “I don’t know the details. No one does. All I know is he overestimated his own power, and underestimated Rhita Gawr’s most fearsome servant, a one-eyed ogre named Balor.”
He shook himself. “But let us speak of more pleasant things! My boy, tell me about the Harp. You’ve made quick work of the Dark Hills if you’re already down here in the plains.”
I shifted uncomfortably, rubbing my hand over the knotted top of my staff. As I felt the deep grooves, the scent of hemlock spiced the air, reminding me of the woman whose fragrances had filled my childhood. The time had come to tell Cairpré what I wanted to do—and what I had left undone.
Taking a deep breath, I declared, “I haven’t finished my work in the hills.”
He caught his breath. “You haven’t? Did you meet trouble? Warrior goblins on the loose?”
I shook my head. “The only trouble is of my own making.”
The bottomless pools of his eyes examined me. “What are you saying?”
“That I’ve discovered something more important than my task.” I faced the poet squarely. “I want to find my mother. To bring her to Fincayra.”
Anger flashed across his face. “You would place us all in danger because of that?”
My throat tightened. “Cairpré, please. I will finish the task. I promise! But I need to see her again. And soon. Is that so much to ask?”
“Yes! You are putting all the creatures of this land at risk.”
I tried to swallow. “Elen gave up everything for me, Cairpré! She loved her life here. Loved it to the depths of her soul. And she left it all just to protect me. During our time in Gwynedd, I was—well, her only companion. Her only friend. Even though I never did much to deserve it.”
I paused, thinking about her sad songs, her healing hands, her wondrously blue eyes. “We had our problems, believe me. But we were much closer than either of us knew. Then one day I left her there, all alone. Just left her. She must be miserable, in that cold stone room. She might even be sick, or in trouble. So while I want to bring her here for me, it’s also for her.”
Cairpré’s expression softened slightly. He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Merlin. I understand. How many times I myself have longed to see Elen again! But even if we put aside the Dark Hills, to bring someone here from the world beyond the mists—well, to do that is impossibly dangerous.”
“Are you certain? The sea has spared me twice.”
“It’s not the sea, my boy, though that voyage is dangerous enough. Fincayra has its own ways, its own rhythms, that mortals can only guess. Even Dagda himself, it is said, dares not predict who may be allowed to pass through the curtains of mist.”
“I don’t believe it.”
His gaze darkened. “There would be dangers to anyone brought here from outside, and dangers to the rest of Fincayra as well.” He closed his eyes in thought. “What you may not understand is that anyone who arrives here—even the tiniest little butterfly—could change the balance of life on Fincayra and cause untold destruction.”
“You’re sounding like Domnu,” I scoffed. “Saying I’m going to be the ruin of all Fincayra.”
He swung his head toward the village gates, no longer aglow with golden light. Beyond them, the Dark Hills rolled like waves on a stormy sea. “You could be just that. Especially if you don’t finish what you’ve begun.”
“Won’t you help me?”
“Even if I knew a way, I wouldn’t help you. You’re only a boy. And a more foolish one than I had thought.”
I pounded my staff on the ground. “I have the power to make the Harp work, don’t I? You yourself told the Great Council that I have the heart of a wizard. Well, perhaps I also have the power to
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