The Raging Fires Read Online Free

the great spirit Dagda himself. Yet my mother realized, I felt sure, that he had never lost sight of how little he really did know. As much as he had taught me during the past year about the mysteries of magic, he never began one of our tutoring sessions without reminding me of his own limitations. He had even confessed that, while he knew that I must follow a series of intricate steps in making my first instrument, he wasn’t at all certain of their meaning. Throughout the process—from choosing the proper instrument to shaping the wood to firing the kiln—he had behaved as much like my fellow student as my mentor.
    Suddenly something nipped the back of my neck. I cried out, brushing away whatever insect had taken me for a meal. But the culprit had already fled.
    My mother’s blue eyes gazed down at me. “What’s wrong?”
    Still rubbing the back of my neck, I rose and stepped free of the burly roots. In the process, I almost tripped over my scabbard and sword that lay in the grass. “I don’t know. Something bit me, I think.”
    She cocked her head questioningly. “It’s too late for biting flies. The first frost came weeks ago.”
    “That reminds me,” said Cairpré with a wink at her, “of an ancient Abyssinian poem about flies.”
    Even as she started to laugh, I felt another sharp nip on my neck. Whirling around, I glimpsed a small, red berry bouncing down the grass of the knoll. My eyes narrowed. “I’ve found the biting fly.”
    “Really?” asked my mother. “Where?”
    I spun to face the old rowan. Raising my arm, I pointed to the boughs arching above us. There, virtually invisible among the curtains of green and brown leaves, crouched a figure wearing a suit of woven vines.
    “Rhia,” I growled. “Why can’t you just say hello like other people?”
    The leafy figure stirred, stretching her arms. “Because this way is much more fun, of course.” Seeing my grimace, she added, “Brothers can be so humorless at times.” Then, with the agility of a snake gliding across a branch, she slid down the twisted trunk and bounded over to us.
    Elen watched her with amusement. “You are every bit a tree girl, you are.”
    Rhia beamed. Spying the berries in the hollow, she scooped up most of what remained. “Mmmm, rivertang. A bit tart, though.” Then, turning to me, she indicated the tiny instrument in my hand. “So when are you going to play that for us?”
    “When I’m ready. You’re lucky I let you climb down that tree on your own power.”
    Surprised, she shook her brown curls. “You honestly expect me to believe that you could have lifted me out of the tree by magic?”
    Tempted though I was to say yes, I knew it wasn’t true. Not yet, at least. Besides, I could feel the deep pools of Cairpré’s eyes boring into me.
    “No,” I admitted. “But the time will come, believe me.”
    “Oh, sure. And the time will come that the dragon Valdearg will finally wake up and swallow us all in a single bite. Of course, that could be a thousand years from now.”
    “Or it could be today.”
    “Please, you two.” Cairpré tugged on the sleeve of my tunic. “Stop your battle of wits.”
    Rhia shrugged. “I never battle with someone who is unarmed.” Smirking, she added, “Unless they boast about magic they can’t really use.”
    This was too much. I extended my empty hand toward my staff resting against the trunk of the rowan. I concentrated my thoughts on its gnarled top, its carved shaft, its fragrant wood that carried so much power. Out through my fingers I sent the command. Come to me. Leap to me.
    The staff quivered slightly, rubbing against the bark. Then, suddenly, it stood erect on the grass. An instant later it flew through the air, right into my waiting hand.
    “Not bad.” Rhia bent her leaf-draped body in a slight bow. “You’ve been practicing.”
    “Yes,” agreed my mother. “You’ve learned a lot about controlling your power.”
    Cairpré wagged his shaggy mane. “And much