Free The Great Tree of Avalon by T. A. Barron Page A

pool. Both little men, no bigger than ripe pears, buzzed into the steamy air. They waved their arms frantically, fluffing up the sleeves of their ruffled white shirts.
    “Forget about the drought,” Llynia barked. “Haven’t you heard? I am the Chosen One—the next High Priestess. And I have an important journey tomorrow. So do as you’re told.”
    The faeries retreated, hovering over the spigots. As they twisted each spigot all the way open, Llynia smiled in satisfaction. Yes, the next High Priestess . She dearly loved the sound of that! Think of all the good she could do for the Order and those loyal to her . . . and all the justice she could bring to her enemies.
    She sank deeper and smiled broader. As her lower back submerged in the healing warmth, then her spine, then her shoulders, then at last her neck, she gazed all around. Candlelight, reflected dimly on the spirals of lavender-scented steam, softened her surroundings. She could barely see the glint of stars above, barely hear the gentle rustling of vine leaves, dripping with dew, just above her head.
    Why, with all this steam, she almost couldn’t count the number of steps in the cascade that emptied into her pool. But she knew well there were seven, carefully designed and engraved to represent the seven Elements of Avalon: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Life, LightDark, and last of all, Mystery— what Elen had once called “the seven sacred parts that together make the Whole.”
    Down that winding stairway of stones, the cascade flowed, pouring into her pool water from the glaciers of Stoneroot’s high peaks. That cool water mixed with hot water from the spigots, drawn from simmering springs that bubbled up from the depths of the Great Tree. And her pool also held a third, very precious kind of water: Through a tiny silver faucet near her head came a thin trickle, glowing with élano, from the fabled White Geyser of Crystillia. Together, these waters produced the perfect balance of temperatures, powers, auras, and nutrients.
    The perfect bath.
    Llynia stretched out her hand, pressing her fingers into the thick, luxuriant moss that lined every edge of the pool. This moss, she knew, had been specially bred, over long centuries, to maximize its healing oils—which could strengthen sore muscles, mend bruised skin, and ward off fatigue.
    Dozens of faeries lifted off from the shelves lining the walls and buzzed about the pool, carrying pouches of scented soap, herbal creams, and magical bubble mixtures. Their translucent wings—tinted silvery green, like most faeries—made that melodious hum that only faery wings could produce. Llynia couldn’t imagine any sound more lovely, rising and falling against the continuous thrum of the cascade.
    No , she thought, not even the song of a museo could better this. Besides, no one ever hears museos anymore.
    A female faery, wearing a yellow robe that reached down to her ankles, landed on Llynia’s brow. The creature plunged her tiny hands into her leather pouch and pulled out a heap of light brown cream. It smelled faintly of cocoa and cinnamon.
    “Ear wash, m’lady,” the faery sang out. As Llynia leaned one side of her head on the moss, the faery began to rub the cream into every part of her ear, inside and out, pushing aside the hair still wet from her latest shampoo. The cream, as Llynia knew, was meant to improve her hearing. But right now she just enjoyed the cool feel of it on her ears, and the gentle massage of the faery’s hands.
    Meanwhile, other faeries zipped to and fro through the clouds of steam. Several carried colorful powders to go into the bath—powders meant to prevent muscle cramps and promote flexibility. Two faeries had almost finished the final scrub of Llynia’s toes, while another pair (with unusually large wings) carried a satchel of herbs to the base of the cascade and dumped them into the pool, causing a sudden foaming of pink bubbles. Yet another faery, a husky little male wearing a bright