The Seven Songs by T. A. Barron Page B

She was alive.
    Giving the little shell a quick squeeze of thanks, I replaced it among the scraps of driftwood. Then I ran to my mother’s side. Hesitantly, I reached toward her. Just as my finger touched her strong, high cheek, she opened her eyes. For a few seconds she gazed up at me, looking confused. Then Elen of the Sapphire Eyes blinked, raised herself up on one elbow, and spoke in the voice I had thought I would never hear again.
    “Emrys! It is you.”
    Though gratitude choked my voice, I replied, “It is me . . . Mother.”
    At hearing me say that word, a touch of pink flushed her cheeks. Slowly, she extended a hand. Though her skin felt as wet and chilled as my own, her touch sent waves of warmth through me. She sat up and we embraced.
    After a few seconds, she pushed back. Running her lingers gently over my burned cheeks and eyes, she seemed to be looking under my skin, into my very soul. I could tell that she was trying to feel everything I had felt in the months since we parted.
    Suddenly, as she touched my neck, she caught her breath. “The Galator! Oh, Emrys. It’s gone!”
    I lowered my sightless eyes. “I lost it.”
    How could I tell her that I had lost it on the way to finding my own father? And that, in finally meeting him, I had lost even more?
    I raised my head. “But I have you again. We’re together, here on Fincayra.”
    She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
    “And I have a new name, as well.”
    “A new name?”
    “Merlin.”
    “Merlin,” she repeated. “Like the high-flying hawk.”
    A pang of sorrow shot through me, as I recalled my friend Trouble, the little hawk who had given his life to save my own. I dearly hoped that he was still soaring, somewhere up there in the Otherworld. Even now, I missed the familiar feeling of him strutting across my shoulder.
    And, the truth was, I missed my other friends as well. Friends I had known for a time—and then lost. Cairpré. Honn. T’eilean and Garlatha. Aylah, the wind sister. Even Shim, who had shambled off to the mountains weeks ago. And, yes, Rhia.
    I squeezed my mother’s hand. “I won’t lose you again.”
    She listened to my vow, her expression both sorrowful and loving. “Nor I you.”
    I turned toward the dunes. Bumbelwy sat by the water’s edge, polishing his bells on his sleeve. He seemed determined to ignore the sea gulls who kept tugging on his mud-splattered cloak. The Flowering Harp, along with my staff, remained where I had left them in the sand. Not far beyond, the luscious red flower swayed in the breeze off the sea.
    “Come.” I stood, pulling my mother to her feet. “I have something to show you.”
    We crossed over the rocky peninsula to the fine-grained sand of the beach. As we moved, arms around each other’s waists, I savored the joy of walking with her again. Of being with her again. And when I thought about showing her the Harp, and all that I could make it do, my heart raced.
    I was feeling my own power now, just as she had predicted long ago. She had told me that Tuatha himself came into his powers as he entered his teenage years. So it made sense that I should, as well. After all, hadn’t I already done something that Tuatha, for all his wizardry, had never attempted? I smiled to myself. Even the shifting mists surrounding this isle could not resist me.
    As we neared the Flowering Harp, she gasped in wonder. Given her affection for anything alive and growing, I was not surprised to see that it was not the Harp that had caught her attention. It was the red flower sprouting from the dune. Indeed, the flower seemed even more beautiful now than after it had just emerged. The deep cup of its petals, shaped like a bell, sat gracefully upon its arching stalk. Bright green leaves, perfectly round, ringed the stem like dozens of jewels. Dewdrops glistened from the edge of every petal.
    “I must smell that flower,” she declared.
    “Of course.” My grin broadened. “After all, I made it.”
    She halted,