Dormia (14 page)

"Hello?" Alfonso called timidly.

There was no reply—just the sound of footsteps getting closer.

An enormous man in a long fur jacket emerged from the gloom. In the dim light, he almost resembled a bear. One of the few signs that he was human was his beard—it came down almost to his waist and it was thoroughly encrusted in ice. The man was breathing heavily, as if he had been walking for some time, and steam rose off him as it does from horses on cold mornings. His coat bulged curiously on the right side. In his left hand, he carried a long, sharp sword.

"What is this?" demanded the enormous man. His bushy eyebrows turned up and his hooded, glittering eyes narrowed in anger.

"I-I-I'm here with Vice Admiral Purcheezie," stammered Alfonso. "I was chasing a penguin and I got lost. Wh-who are you?"

"WHO AM I?" boomed the man. "What kind of question is that? In fact, anyone who asks such a question has no business being on this iceberg at all. Especially a boy like you! Who am I?" The man laughed darkly. "I am Lars—that's who. The real question is:
who are you?
" Lars took a giant stride toward Alfonso, who was still slumped up against the icy wall of the tunnel. It was impossible for him to back away. Lars placed the sharp point of his sword on Alfonso's throat. "Tell me," boomed Lars, "before I slit your throat:
who are you?
"

"A-Alfonso," he replied.

"Alfonso?" Lars repeated. "Never heard of anyone like that."

The tip of the sword pierced Alfonso's skin. He felt a trickle of blood running down his throat. Lars dragged the sword tip down, across Alfonso's medallion, and rested it just above his heart. One thrust and it was over.

Alfonso felt the medallion resting on his heaving chest. It was worth a try.

"I am Alfonso.
Eep, eep, kee.
"

A look of surprise and shock crept across Lars's face. He took a step backwards and withdrew his sword.

"Do you have any idea what you just said?" asked Lars.

"No," said Alfonso weakly.

"Incredible," said Lars. "If you are being truthful, then I have been expecting you for a very, very, very long time."

Lars turned and strode down the corridor from which he came. Alfonso jumped to his feet and raced after him. They made numerous turns along the way and eventually came to a spiral staircase carved into the ice. "I hope you like climbing stairs," said Lars gruffly. "It's twenty flights to the top." With that, Lars turned and began gliding up the stairs, taking two and three steps at a time. Alfonso hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether it was wise to follow this giant man into a remote corner of the iceberg, but he could think of no alternative. He was soon scurrying up the stairs of ice as quickly as he could. After several minutes of climbing, they came upon a large opening that offered a stunning view of the surrounding icebergs—many of which were illuminated in the light of the moon. Alfonso could see the
Success Story
below them, moored to the side of the iceberg. Lars was leading him to the top of one of the iceberg's two giant horns.

"Tell me," said Lars as they climbed, "how is it that a boy like you becomes a Great Sleeper?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's what you said in the Dormian tongue—'
Eep eep kee'—I am the Great Sleeper.
Though I'm not sure if I believe you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," gasped Alfonso as he struggled to keep up with Lars.

But Lars didn't explain. He didn't even turn around. He simply continued climbing.

"Among other things, I'm talking about what you're smuggling," said Lars. His harsh voice echoed throughout the dim staircase.

"You must be mistaken," Alfonso replied. "I'm not smuggling anything."

"You're a poor liar," said Lars. "I know exactly what you are smuggling and you're a fool to have hidden it where you did. Did you really think I wouldn't find it simply because you placed it inside a hat? I found the Dormian bloom within fifteen minutes of boarding the
Success Story.
And your two friends were so deeply asleep in their beds that I could've been singing aloud as I robbed them and they still wouldn't have noticed."

"What have you done with my plant?" asked Alfonso in alarm.

"The plant is not
yours,
" replied Lars. "You're merely the delivery boy—and a poor one at that. Given how careless you seem to be, I can't believe that someone didn't steal it sooner." He turned to glare at Alfonso. "In any case, this Dormian bloom is much safer with me than it is with you." Lars patted his massive fur coat, and the bulge Alfonso had noticed on the right side of the coat made sense: it was the top hat, with the plant inside.

"You can't do that!" yelled Alfonso.

"I can do whatever I like!" growled Lars. The staircase they had been ascending ended abruptly in a cavernous room with open windows that looked out on all sides. The space was barren except for a few bearskin rugs, a copper urn that contained a roaring fire, and a rack containing six or seven gleaming swords as well as a wooden walking stick. Moonlight and a biting wind poured into the room. Lars took off his coat and, sure enough, there was the top hat snuggled inside. Lars placed the top hat gently on the floor. Then he walked across the room and took a short sword from the rack. He placed it on the ground and slid it across the ice toward Alfonso.

"Pick it up!" ordered Lars.

"Why?" asked Alfonso.

"You'll see," replied Lars.

Alfonso reached down to the ice and picked up the sword. It felt cold, heavy, and quite clumsy in his hands. He struggled to raise it up so that the tip pointed toward the ceiling.

"
Eep eep kee,
" Lars muttered to himself darkly. "We'll see about that." Lars's eyes closed and then seconds later opened again. His eyes stared blankly at Alfonso. Air poured from his nostrils in a drowsy sigh. Suddenly, he charged. In a wild frenzy of movement, the enormous bearlike man thrust out his sword and sprinted across the room toward Alfonso with the unmistakable intent of killing him. Alfonso saw him coming, but he was too paralyzed with fear to move. He simply stood his ground as if death were inevitable. At the last possible moment, however, something very unexpected happened. Despite the fact that his heart was pounding rapidly, Alfonso felt a ripple of extreme fatigue pulse through his body and his eyelids began to shut. An instant later, he was asleep.

His sleeping-self quickly sprang into a defensive position, crouching down low, so that his head was no higher than Lars's kneecap. In response, Lars hesitated for a brief moment, and in that instant of indecision, Alfonso dropped his sword, dove toward the ground, and somersaulted deftly in between Lars's massive legs. Lars spun around, blinked rapidly, and charged again. This time Alfonso darted over to the rack of swords, grabbed the wooden walking stick, and charged directly at Lars. Just before the two collided, Alfonso planted the walking stick into the ice—exactly as an Olympic pole-vaulter would do—and vaulted clear over Lars's head. Alfonso soared through the
air, hit the far wall with his feet and then sprang off into a backflip, after which he gracefully landed on his feet.

The battle went on for several more minutes. The various skirmishes soon formed a pattern. Each time Lars charged it seemed certain he would kill Alfonso, but at the last minute the boy would always escape. After ten minutes or so of the most ferocious fighting, Lars set down his sword, breathing heavily, and yelled, "Enough!" This shout roused Alfonso from his sleeping trance.

"Do you have any memory of what just happened?" gasped Lars.

"No," said Alfonso. His voice was trembling with fear. "What happened?"

"You were in mortal danger and so, as a Dormian, your greatest defense mechanism kicked in: you fell asleep," Lars explained. "You performed remarkably well. How long have you been practicing those moves?"

"I don't know," replied Alfonso timidly. "I've never been in a fight in my life, but I can't vouch for my sleeping-self."

"You're too young to move so expertly in your sleep," muttered Lars. "Few can move so quickly, let alone a boy. Once, in my youth, I remember a Dormian knight who moved with as much speed, but he was a master sleeper at the height of his powers. And now you are already his equal. How do you explain this?"

"I can't," said Alfonso.

"And the plant that you carry," continued Lars, "did you grow it yourself?"

Alfonso nodded.

"I cannot believe it, but I must," said Lars. "You are indeed the Great Sleeper. What a frightful twist of fate. The last city of Dormia is in the hands of a mere boy."

Lars gave a weary, half-defeated sigh.

"Come along now," he said finally. "I have much to tell you and the hour is late."

L
ARS PICKED
up the two swords that were lying on the ground and returned them to the rack. He strode across the room and peered out a large open window onto the sea below. Moonlight illuminated his face. He stood there for almost ten seconds, silent as a ghost, until he finally turned to face Alfonso.

"You're a Dormian, aren't you?" asked Alfonso.

"Of course I am," replied Lars. "I am a Dormian knight from the Order of the Wanderers. For many years, we have been waiting for the arrival of you and your plant. And to think it is being carried by a
child—
"

"I'm not a child!" said Alfonso defiantly. Normally, Alfonso would have been far too afraid to speak up like this, but he had
just been attacked—and apparently he had put up a rather good fight—so he spoke his mind.

"Hmm," said Lars, though he said nothing further. He simply stroked his beard, rubbing out the small icicles and clumps of snow that had formed within the tangles of his hair. "It is our duty, as Wanderers, to spread out across all corners of the earth and wait," explained Lars. "We wait, and wait, and wait until a Dormian bloom is hatched. Of course, hardly any Wanderers ever live to see a Great Sleeper or a Dormian bloom. After all, a new bloom comes along only once every few centuries. In any case, when this happens, it is the duty of the Wanderer to help the bloom find its way back to Dormia. We're not nearly as strong as we once were, but we do our best. As I'm sure you know, the bloom has great powers, but in order for them to be fully realized, it must be planted in Dormia, in one of the eleven ancient cities. There, the plant will grow from a sapling—a Dormian bloom—into a Founding Tree of Dormia."

For a brief moment, Lars allowed himself to smile, as if he were involuntarily being whisked away into the memory of a far better time and place. "As a boy, I used to play with my friends around the base of it," he continued softly. "The trunk was so thick it took almost two minutes to run around. The leaves of this tree were like the sails of the greatest sailing ships. And the roots! They worked magic on the ground: they turned frozen earth into ripe, fertile soil. They are the lifeblood of Dormia. Without them, the entire place will wither and die..." His voice trailed away.

"You see," Lars continued, "a typical tree will live for many hundreds of years. When it starts to die, somewhere in the
world—
outside Dormia
—a person will grow another bloom. This person may have only a tiny amount of Dormian blood in his or her veins. We really don't know much about
how
or
why
a given person becomes a Great Sleeper, but when this happens, that person must bring his or her bloom directly to Dormia, where it is promptly planted in the ground. Usually, within a year's time, that bloom grows with astounding speed and matures into a thousand-foot-tall Founding Tree. In effect, it replaces the Founding Tree that has just died.

"Of course, timing is crucial with all of this. If the Dormian bloom is not delivered in time ... well, a great many Dormians will starve in the cold. This has happened more than once. Four of the eleven cities of Dormia—Prenjuk, Majlom, Zuydhoek, and Quartin—all perished because a Great Sleeper didn't show up in time. My mother's family hailed from the city of Quartin and all of them, every last one of them, perished. People who freeze in this manner tend to get colder and colder and then, just before death comes, they actually feel a burning, searing heat. It becomes so agonizing that they actually rip away their clothing for relief.
What a miserable way to die!
Trust me, Alfonso, that's not the sort of thing anyone wants on their conscience. No matter the cost, no matter the hardship, the bloom must be delivered."

"So you won't be keeping the bloom?" asked Alfonso.

"No, but I had to test you," snapped Lars. "You are the Great Sleeper—a Dormian with extraordinary powers, especially in combat. It's hard to believe—I've never heard of a Great Sleeper being so young. It's far too much responsibility for someone your age. After all, the Great Sleeper automatically
becomes the leader of the Dormian knights. Strange as it sounds, by ancient law, you are now the head of my order."

Lars stepped away from the window. He walked to the far end of the room, took a seat on one of the bearskin rugs, and began to warm his hands over the fire crackling in the copper urn. He tossed a few pieces of charcoal onto the flames and then grabbed an old brass teakettle and hung it from a hook that dangled above the urn. "Come have some tea," said Lars. Suddenly his tone was much friendlier. "Your ship leaves in just over an hour and you must return before then. I know Vice Admiral Purcheezie well—she will leave even if you are not onboard."

"Will you give me my plant back?" asked Alfonso cautiously.

"I will," said Lars. "But first we must talk. I have much more to tell you."

Alfonso walked across the room and sat down facing Lars. The warmth of the fire felt good and for the first time in hours he relaxed a little.

"Tell me," Lars began, "have you received any training in the art of sleep trances?"

"Well, my uncle Hill—he's Dormian—he taught me this trick where I can fix a clock or clean my room by meditating before I go to sleep," explained Alfonso. "It works most of the time."