The Great Tree of Avalon Read Online Free Page B

realm—something that was, at once, more alluring than the scent of honeygrass sprinkled with dew, and more frightening than the look of an old troll’s eye.
    Finding Scree. The work of guiding people through uncharted parts of the realm allowed Tamwyn to keep searching for his lost brother. But since the start of the drought, fewer people had been venturing into the wilderness. And so, until he could guide again, he’d been trying out other kinds of work.
    Such as weaving thatch. Yesterday, when he’d wandered into this village, he’d assumed that by helping Lott he could learn the work of a thatcher. As it turned out, all he’d done was the work of a freight ox. Except that even a freight ox was smart enough not to climb ladders.
    Tamwyn licked his dry lower lip, tasting the bitter mix of salt and soot. He was thirstier now than he’d been even in the hottest days of summer. Hang the drought! Right now, he’d give anything to be drinking from the water gourd that hung from his belt—but that was empty again. Or even better . . . from a clearwater stream, one that tumbled through lush grasses. Or through white lilies, like that stream he’d found last year by the—
    “Move!” Lott thundered again from below, making all three of his chins jiggle. “That thatch won’t carry itself to the top.”
    “Right, Master Lott.”
    “And don’t you drop another bale, or you’ll lose not just your pay, but your supper.” He spoke that last word with something close to reverence; his chins turned up in a triple grin. “The wife promised me grilled rabbit tonight, since I’ve been working so hard on this roof.”
    Tamwyn bit his tongue.
    “Think I’ll just check on her right now,” Lott announced. “Could be she’s needing some help in the kitchen. Mmmm . . . grilled rabbit.” He smacked his lips, then shot his laborer a murderous glance. “And by the time I get back, you’d better be done.”
    “Right.” The very mention of food had reminded Tamwyn that he wasn’t just thirsty, but hungry as well.
    Oh, for a fistful of fresh moonberries, all plump and juicy! But grilled rabbit... he could almost smell it, simmering on the fire, dripping with juices. Like any bear or hawk he’d seen in the wilderness, he didn’t mind eating the meat of another creature—just as long as the food had been killed swiftly, prepared without waste, and eaten with the usual words of thanks. He almost grinned, wondering whether a hungry bear ever paused to say the Drumadian Grace.
    Before he could eat and drink, though, he’d have to finish. He’d promised Lott that he’d do the job. And if Scree had taught him anything, it was that promises matter. Eaglefolk were nothing if not true to their word! Except that Scree himself had promised, on the day their mother died, that the two brothers would never be separated.
    Tamwyn wiped the sleeve of his brown tunic across his brow, brushing away whatever had made his eyes water. He shifted the bale on his shoulder and climbed up another rung. And another. Several flakes of soot settled on his eyelashes, but he ignored them. At least they weren’t lice.
    Just three more rungs to go. Then I can dump this load for good.
    Shaking with the weight, Tamwyn heard the jangle of the sack of nails in his hand. Like the bells, small and large, that chimed and clanged and rattled throughout the villages of Stoneroot, there was something oddly comforting in that sound. Tamwyn couldn’t explain why, but he felt grateful that he’d spent so many years—ever since he’d lost Scree—in the land of bells. That was one of Stoneroot’s most recognizable qualities: as traditional as the houses made with roofs of thatch and walls of flatrock; as noticeable as the northern mountains that could be seen from almost any part of the realm.
    Bells. They hung from the necks of plow horses, and even from the plows themselves. They jangled with the steps of pigs, sheep, and goats. They topped the stone