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been all my life.”
    Garlatha leaned closer. “Is it true what I have heard? That the rarest of all the trees, whose every branch yields a different kind of fruit, can still be found there?”
    Rhia beamed. “What you have heard is true. The shomorra tree is indeed there. You might even say it’s my garden.”
    “Such a garden you have, then, my child. Such a garden you have!”
    My frustration growing, I pounded my staff on the soil. “I have a gift to bestow upon this very garden.”
    Neither of the elders seemed to hear me, as they continued to ask Rhia questions about Druma Wood. They seemed more interested in her than in me. Me, who had brought them something so precious!
    Finally, T’eilean’s muscular arm reached for a spiral-shaped fruit dangling from a branch overhead. With a graceful sweep of his hand, he plucked it. The pale purple color of the fruit glowed in his palm. “A larkon,” he intoned. “The loveliest gift of the land to our humble home.” He observed me quietly. “I remember that you enjoy the flavor.”
    At last, I thought. Even as I extended my hand to grasp the fruit, however, T’eilean swiveled and handed it to Rhia. “So I am sure that your friend will enjoy it just as much.”
    As I watched her take the fruit, my cheeks burned. Before I could say anything, though, he plucked another spiral fruit and offered it to me. “We are honored that you have returned.”
    “Honored?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. I felt tempted to say more, but restrained myself.
    T’eilean traded glances with Garlatha, then brought his gaze back to me. “My boy, to welcome you as a guest in our home is the greatest honor we can bestow. It is what we did for you last time, and it is what we do for you now.”
    “But now, T’eilean, I carry the Flowering Harp.”
    “Yes, yes, I have seen as much.” The corners of his mouth drooped, and for the first time he seemed to show the weight of his many years. “My dear boy, the Flowering Harp is the most wondrous of all the Treasures, blessed with the magic of the seed itself. Yet in our home, we do not welcome guests for what they carry on their backs. We welcome them for what they carry elsewhere.”
    Riddles! From someone I had thought a friend. Scowling, I pushed some straggly hairs off my face.
    T’eilean drew a long breath before continuing. “As your hosts, we owe you our hospitality. As well as our candor. If the weight of the Harp lies upon your back, then so does the far greater weight of healing our lands before it is too late. Much depends on you, my boy. Surely, you have precious little time for visits with simple folk like us.”
    My jaw clenched.
    “Forgive me, but I am only trying to be truthful.”
    “Wait, Merlin,” protested Rhia.
    I did not hear the rest of her words, for I had already stepped over the stone wall. Alone, I strode off across the plains, the strings of the Harp jangling against my back.

3: W ARM W IND
    With nothing but the stars for my blanket, I spent that night curled up in the hollow of a stream bank. Rushes, moist with dew, lay under my head. With one hand, I could touch the splashing water that cascaded over the steps of stones carpeted with green moss. With the other, I could feel the Flowering Harp and my staff resting among the reeds.
    I should have felt glad to be alone. Free of what the world called friends. Yet stroking the magical strings at this spot, bringing this stream to life, had given me no joy. Nor had watching the rushes and mosses spring from the dry soil. Nor had even spotting Pegasus in the midnight sky, though it had long been my favorite constellation, ever since the night my mother had first shown it to me.
    This night, sleeping fitfully, I did not ride upon Pegasus’ winged back as I had so many times before in my dreams. Instead, I found myself in a different dream. I sat upon a scarlet stone, watching my mother approach. Somehow, my eyes had healed. I could see again. Really