The Eternal Flame by T. A. Barron Read Free Book Online

or despair shall sprout
From Merlin’s magic seed?
    Exhausted in spirit as well as in body, Tamwyn forced himself to stand upright on the ledge. Yet another rocky cliff rose above him, though not quite as steeply as some that he had climbed. The pervasive mist seemed to thin a bit, shredding itself like morning haze in the day’s first light.
    That was when he saw something new—something that made him rock backward, so much that he nearly fell right off the ledge. A splash of green, as well as a hint of lavender, gleamed through the vapors. And even more striking than the colors themselves was their position: They seemed to stretch not so much upward, like the formidable cliffs, but more outward, reaching to the side for a great distance, as far as he could see.
    Tamwyn licked his salty, dirty lips. Could it be? He might actually have made it to the first branch.

6 • Wood Chips
    Tamwyn scaled the cliff, climbing hand over hand with renewed vigor. Sweat dribbled down his brow, streaking his face with dirt, but he didn’t mind. He was thinking about just one thing: topping this rise.
    As he pulled himself up the final ledge, a new landscape opened up before him. His grimy lips lifted in a grin, for he could see enough beyond the shredding mist to know that he had, indeed, reached the first branch.
    And what a landscape it was! Sharp, steeply cut valleys, running right beside each other, stretched in long green rows as far as he could see. From where he stood now, atop one of the parallel ridges that divided the valleys, he could make out three or four of the green swaths on each side. And each of those valleys, like the ridges that divided them, ran straight to the hazy horizon. The look of these slim ridges reminded him of something, though he wasn’t sure what.
    Tamwyn peered down into one of the valleys below. Thick, lush grasses rippled in the buffeting breeze like the hides of galloping horses. It almost seemed as if the land itself were loping.
    Adjusting the pack strap on his shoulder, he walked down from the ridge to explore the upper rim of the valley. Soft grasses soon replaced rough rock under his feet. Ahead, he could see several deep gullies that ribbed the slope. Within them, dense rows of lavender-colored bushes lined cascading streams where water sparkled in the starlight.
    He smacked his dry lips. A drink from a fresh water stream would taste wonderful right now.
    As he reached the first gulley, he pushed his way through the bushes toward the stream. A sharp chirp from a nest hidden in the shrubbery made him halt. Seeing a sudden flash of brilliance from the nest, he realized that it held a fledgling prism bird, whose wingfeathers would someday catch the light as it soared, painting the clouds with radiant color.
    He sat down on the muddy bank of the stream, peeled off his pack and the torch, and plunged his whole head into the water. He lifted his head, black locks dripping wet—and then plunged his head back into the stream again. Finally, cooled and rinsed, he cupped his hands and took several long, lovely sips.
    At last, he sat cross-legged on the bank. Curious, he broke off a lavender leaf and chewed it to see if it had any flavor. Instantly he spat it out on the mud. For it had a flavor, all right, one that came perilously close to goat dung.
    Scanning the ridgeline above him, he followed it down the full length of the valley. He spied several steaming pits, deep green in color, that dotted the rim. Sniffing the air, he caught the sharp, sweet aroma of resins, much like he would have found in a forest of pine and spruce. Could those be boiling pits of sap, bubbling up from below?
    Then, near a jagged outcropping of stone that resembled an uplifted hand with fingerlike spires, he noticed some movement. Creatures! Gigantic in size, with hunched, hairy backs, they looked almost as gnarled and weathered as the rocks themselves. Brawny arms hung from their massive shoulders, while their heads tapered