that? How could she be so sure? With a shiver, he declared, "I don't believe you."
"Perhaps not. But wonder you do, I can tell." Her resonant whisper softened. "Tell me, little one, why do they matter so much, my words?"
"Because they do!" he blurted. "Wouldn't it matter to you if you had no family? No race? No identity?"
"An identity you have," she declared, bending her rounded head lower. "But unlike any other it is. True that must be—whether or not any more of your kind exist."
Basil's cupped ears trembled. "What am I, though? If there are no others like me . . ."
"Then," finished the mudmaker, "you are a mystery beast."
"That much I already knew." He gave a halfhearted chuckle and tucked his wings against his back. "Now, tell me. Do you always talk with people about—well, about what they . . . um, well, what they—"
"Truly are?" Her fingers stroked the air ever so gently.
Hesitantly, he nodded.
"No, little one. But with you . . ." She paused, tilting her massive brown head. "Strange magic do I see in your eyes. Yes, strange magic indeed."
Uncomfortable with this whole conversation—and not at all sure what to make of this tall, sinewy creature—he decided to change the subject. Right now.
"Never mind about that," he snapped, drumming his tail on the boulder for emphasis. "Why did you say what you said before? About Aylah—that I shouldn't expect her to answer me. What did you mean?"
The mudmaker sighed. "Only that a wishlahaylagon she is, a wind sister of the sky. Always moving, never at rest." Her delicate fingers swept through the air like swirling wind. "Answer the call of other creatures they do only quite rarely."
Feeling the truth of her words, Basil blinked his green eyes. Quietly, he asked, "So I shouldn't hope . . . to meet her again?"
"Hope you may, little one," Aelonnia whispered. "But only because, here in Avalon, anything is possible. How else to explain the magical mud of my realm? Power it holds, thanks to Merlin—power to make new creatures."
"Creatures? From mud?" In a flash, he remembered what the gossiping crows had said. "So it's really true?"
Aelonnia's deep-set eyes seemed to smile. "Like you, little one, the mud of my realm is more than it seems. For all the elements of élano it contains—including the magic of Mystery."
"Mystery?"
"Yes, little one. A gift from the gods that is, a gift to Avalon."
Before Basil could respond, a loud, heartrending wail erupted from the snow by Aelonnia's feet.
"Oh, terribulous painodeath! My endalife, tragicmost, all too soonswift. Such a dastardous fate, horribulous end!"
Peering over the edge of the boulder, Basil looked for who was dying—for surely nothing less could cause such mournful keening. What he saw, rolling in misery in the snow, was a creature unlike any he'd ever imagined. Dark, rounded, and sleek, the creature resembled a seal—except that he had three claws on each fin, plus a row of several tails, each one coiled into a spiral. Suddenly the creature wailed again, his long whiskers quivering.
"Mepoorme, to shriveldie so soon! And I still so youngsweet, almost a barebaby."
With a groan, the mudmaker stooped down and picked him up. "There now, little ballymag. Stop your whining, you must."
"Is he going to die?" asked Basil, his eyes wide with concern.
"Yes!" shrieked the ballymag. "Oh, such agonywoe, such painodeath."
"No," declared Aelonnia, sounding rather annoyed. "Perfectly fine, he is. Misses the mud of our realm, he does. When home to Malóch he returns, all well will he be."
Puzzled, Basil scrunched his lizardlike nose. "You mean he's just homesick? Making so much fuss?" Seeing Aelonnia nod, he asked, "Why didn't he just stay in Mudroot?"
Aelonnia's round shoulders shrugged. "A friend of Merlin and Hallia he is, from long ago."
"Tried to cookpot and swalloweat me, Merlin did!" wailed the ballymag. "But I somehow survivedstill." His head drooped, and tears welled in his eyes. "Only to die here today, in
"Perhaps not. But wonder you do, I can tell." Her resonant whisper softened. "Tell me, little one, why do they matter so much, my words?"
"Because they do!" he blurted. "Wouldn't it matter to you if you had no family? No race? No identity?"
"An identity you have," she declared, bending her rounded head lower. "But unlike any other it is. True that must be—whether or not any more of your kind exist."
Basil's cupped ears trembled. "What am I, though? If there are no others like me . . ."
"Then," finished the mudmaker, "you are a mystery beast."
"That much I already knew." He gave a halfhearted chuckle and tucked his wings against his back. "Now, tell me. Do you always talk with people about—well, about what they . . . um, well, what they—"
"Truly are?" Her fingers stroked the air ever so gently.
Hesitantly, he nodded.
"No, little one. But with you . . ." She paused, tilting her massive brown head. "Strange magic do I see in your eyes. Yes, strange magic indeed."
Uncomfortable with this whole conversation—and not at all sure what to make of this tall, sinewy creature—he decided to change the subject. Right now.
"Never mind about that," he snapped, drumming his tail on the boulder for emphasis. "Why did you say what you said before? About Aylah—that I shouldn't expect her to answer me. What did you mean?"
The mudmaker sighed. "Only that a wishlahaylagon she is, a wind sister of the sky. Always moving, never at rest." Her delicate fingers swept through the air like swirling wind. "Answer the call of other creatures they do only quite rarely."
Feeling the truth of her words, Basil blinked his green eyes. Quietly, he asked, "So I shouldn't hope . . . to meet her again?"
"Hope you may, little one," Aelonnia whispered. "But only because, here in Avalon, anything is possible. How else to explain the magical mud of my realm? Power it holds, thanks to Merlin—power to make new creatures."
"Creatures? From mud?" In a flash, he remembered what the gossiping crows had said. "So it's really true?"
Aelonnia's deep-set eyes seemed to smile. "Like you, little one, the mud of my realm is more than it seems. For all the elements of élano it contains—including the magic of Mystery."
"Mystery?"
"Yes, little one. A gift from the gods that is, a gift to Avalon."
Before Basil could respond, a loud, heartrending wail erupted from the snow by Aelonnia's feet.
"Oh, terribulous painodeath! My endalife, tragicmost, all too soonswift. Such a dastardous fate, horribulous end!"
Peering over the edge of the boulder, Basil looked for who was dying—for surely nothing less could cause such mournful keening. What he saw, rolling in misery in the snow, was a creature unlike any he'd ever imagined. Dark, rounded, and sleek, the creature resembled a seal—except that he had three claws on each fin, plus a row of several tails, each one coiled into a spiral. Suddenly the creature wailed again, his long whiskers quivering.
"Mepoorme, to shriveldie so soon! And I still so youngsweet, almost a barebaby."
With a groan, the mudmaker stooped down and picked him up. "There now, little ballymag. Stop your whining, you must."
"Is he going to die?" asked Basil, his eyes wide with concern.
"Yes!" shrieked the ballymag. "Oh, such agonywoe, such painodeath."
"No," declared Aelonnia, sounding rather annoyed. "Perfectly fine, he is. Misses the mud of our realm, he does. When home to Malóch he returns, all well will he be."
Puzzled, Basil scrunched his lizardlike nose. "You mean he's just homesick? Making so much fuss?" Seeing Aelonnia nod, he asked, "Why didn't he just stay in Mudroot?"
Aelonnia's round shoulders shrugged. "A friend of Merlin and Hallia he is, from long ago."
"Tried to cookpot and swalloweat me, Merlin did!" wailed the ballymag. "But I somehow survivedstill." His head drooped, and tears welled in his eyes. "Only to die here today, in
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