A Wizard's Wings by T. A. Barron Read Free Book Online

Otherworld, I am trying to ward him off, to prevent him from crossing over. But even with the help of many brave spirits, I cannot contain him. I fear he will succeed, sending his own deathless troops into Fincayra as soon as the doorway opens. He covets your world, for it is the very bridge between Earth and Heaven.”
    I stood rigid on the stone. “But can’t you pursue him after he comes here?”
    The luminous eyebrows drew together. “That I cannot do, even at the risk of losing Fincayra. You see, Rhita Gawr expects me to follow him, leaving the Otherworld unprotected. I have learned he will take only part of his army into Fincayra, leaving the rest behind, so he can seize the chance to conquer the spirit world as well.”
    “But if Rhita Gawr can have troops in both places, why can’t you?”
    “Because,” came the solemn reply, “our numbers are too few. And I have other reasons as well—reasons that even Rhita Gawr cannot comprehend.”
    “Can’t you do anything to stop him?” I beseeched.
    His face grew stern. “I am doing all I can.” His shining eyes dimmed slightly. “And there is also this: If I were to send spirits through the doorway, I would be violating one of the most basic principles of the cosmos. The worlds must stay apart, or cease to exist.”
    “But Fincayra will cease to exist!” I shook my head, as the wind whipped my cheeks and brow. “Dagda, forgive me. It’s just . . . so much.”
    His voice rolled again over the hills, though it sounded somehow closer, almost at my side. “I forgive you, my young friend.”
    Taking an unsteady breath, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
    “I had hoped to prevail without your help, to halt Rhita Gawr before he ever reached your world. But that hope has failed.”
    “And now there is no other.”
    “No,” he corrected, “there is still one hope, though it is frail indeed. If enough Fincayran creatures, not just men and women but many more besides, amass at the stone circle in time, they might find some way to turn back his invasion. Many lives may be lost, with much suffering, but that is our only chance.”
    “Then we’re doomed,” I lamented. “Even if there were two years, instead of two weeks, to gather everyone in Fincayra, it couldn’t be done! Don’t you know how much bitterness and suspicion there is here? Ever since the days of Stangmar, most races live in fear of each other.” I thumped my chest. “And of my race most of all.”
    “This I know well,” answered Dagda ruefully. “And it began long before the days of your father’s rule. Long before, in days now forgotten . . . but that does not concern us now.”
    He paused, and I felt that his vaporous eyes were peering right through me. “Only someone who is known to all those races can possibly rally them—someone who has labored with dwarves, walked with marsh ghouls, spoken with talking trees and living stones. Someone who has swum with mer folk, flown with wind sisters, and stood upon the shoulders of giants.”
    I stepped backward, right to the edge of the stone. “You can’t mean . . . No, I can’t. No.”
    The glowing face, rippled with streaming clouds, watched me impassively.
    “It’s not possible!” I knelt on the boulder, clasping my hands. “Even if I could assemble an army, I wouldn’t know how to lead them. I can fight, sure, but I’m still not a warrior. No, no, I’m something else—a seer, maybe, though not with my eyes. Or a healer, or some sort of bard.”
    “Or a wizard,” declared Dagda. “And a man who loves peace far better than war. But there are times, I must tell you, when even a peaceful man must stand in the path of harm to the land he loves. And yes, to the people he cherishes.”
    I wrung my hands together, lowering my head. After a long moment, I lifted my face again. “Only two weeks? That’s next to nothing.”
    “It is all we have,” declared the visage on high. “To prevail on winter’s longest night,