Read Online The Seven Songs by T. A. Barron - Free Book Online Page B

bring my mother here.”
    His hand squeezed my shoulder so hard I winced. “Don’t say such things, even in jest. It takes far more than heart to be a true wizard. You need the spirit, the intuition, the experience. You need the knowledge—enormous knowledge about the patterns of the cosmos and all the arts of magic. And, even more, you need the wisdom, the sort of wisdom that tells you when to use those arts, and when to refrain. For a true wizard wields his power judiciously, the way an expert bowman wields his arrows.”
    “I’m not speaking about arrows. I’m speaking about my mother, Elen.” I drew myself up straight. “If you won’t help me, then I will find another way.”
    Cairpré’s brow creased again. “A true wizard needs one thing more.”
    “What is that?” I asked impatiently.
    “Humility. Listen well, my boy! Forget this madness. Take the Harp and return to your work in the hills. You have no idea of the risks you are taking.”
    “I would take many more to bring her back to me.”
    He looked skyward. “Help me, O Dagda!” Returning his gaze to me, he asked, “How can I make you understand? There is a proverb, as old as this island itself, saying that only the wisest shell from the Shore of Speaking Shells can guide someone through the mists. It sounds simple enough. And yet no wizard in history—not even Tuatha—has ever dared to try. Does that give you some sense of the danger?”
    I grinned. “No. But it does give me an idea.”
    “Merlin, no! You mustn’t. On top of all the other dangers, there is yet another. To you. Attempting such an act of deep wizardry will tell Rhita Gawr exactly where you are—and more, I’m afraid. When he returns, bent on conquering this world and the others, he will pursue you. Mark my words.”
    I tugged on the sling of the Harp. “I don’t fear him.”
    Cairpré’s brambly brows lifted. “Then you had better start. For with hubris like that, you will offer him the sweetest revenge of all. Making you one of his servants, just as he did your father.”
    My stomach clenched as if I’d been struck. “You’re saying I’m no better than Stangmar?”
    “I’m saying you are just as vulnerable. If Rhita Gawr doesn’t kill you outright, he will try to enslave you.”
    Just then, a man’s shadow fell upon us. I whirled around to face Bumbelwy. Apparently he had finished his recital and approached us and we had been too absorbed in conversation to notice that he had been listening. He bowed awkwardly, causing his hat to fall to the ground with a noisy rattle. He retrieved the hat. Then, shoulders slumped, he faced Cairpré. “I did miserably, didn’t I?’
    Cairpré, still glaring at me, waved him away. “Some other time. I’m talking with the boy right now.”
    Turning his frowning chins toward me, Bumbelwy said glumly, “You tell me, then. Did I do miserably or not?”
    Thinking that if I answered him, he would leave, I frowned back at him. “Yes, yes. You were miserable.”
    But he did not leave. He merely bobbed his head sullenly, clanking the bells. “So I botched the delivery. Too true, too true, too true.”
    “Merlin,” growled Cairpré. “Heed my warnings! I only want to help you.”
    My cheeks burned. “Help me? Is that why you tried to dissuade me last time from going to the Shrouded Castle? Or why you didn’t tell me that Stangmar was really my father?”
    The poet grimaced. “I didn’t tell you about your father because I feared that such a terrible truth might forever wound you. Make you doubt, or even hate, yourself. Perhaps I was wrong in that, as I was wrong in thinking you couldn’t destroy the castle. But I am not wrong in this! Go back to the Dark Hills.”
    I glanced at the village gates. Shrouded by shadows, they stood as dark as gravestones. “First I am going to the Shore of Speaking Shells.”
    Before Cairpré could respond, Bumbelwy cleared his throat, making his multiple chins quiver. Then he swirled his cloak