Shadow Tree (13 page)

Chapter 21: Climbing the Bone

After the planting of the Shadow Tree, the tension in the slave quarters grew steadily. You could see it on the faces of the slaves, as they wondered what would happen to them. Wild rumors circulated that the slaves would be fed one by one to the Tree. Even the guards appeared uneasy. Hill and Resuza had additional worries as well – namely, Bilblox and Naomi. Bilblox had looked pale and close to death as he sat in the back of the sled.
What had happened to him and why was he sitting in Kiril's sled?
His mysterious arrival now presented yet another complication. If they were able to escape, wouldn't they need to rescue Bilblox too?

And what about Naomi?

After her encounter with the old woman, who had called Naomi “her pet,” Resuza constantly searched the slave quarters for her. But the old woman seemed to have disappeared. The slave quarters were enormous, holding thousands upon thousands of slaves, but they weren't impossibly large. It didn't seem possible that this old woman could just melt away. And yet she had.

For both Resuza and Hill, their lives in the slave quarters now seemed to drag on with excruciating slowness, as they waited for something to happen.

And then it did.

One evening, after a long day of toil, Resuza had muttered goodnight to Hill and fallen into bed. A sudden crinkling noise interrupted her quick descent into sleep. She slammed open her eyes, but saw no one. Eventually, she reached underneath her pillow and pulled out a note. There was a very faint light emanating from dying fires of a distant coal oven and, in this murky glow, Resuza read the note:

Tomorrow night, at midnight, the main door will be unlocked. I've bribed the guard. Climb the yellow pillar to the north of the slave quarters. I'll meet you at the top. Bring
everything
and do not linger. They're coming for you. – Fonzia

“Fonzia” was the nickname that Resuza had once called her little sister, Naomi. The two girls used it only when they were playing in the woods. It was a secret name. No one else could possibly know about it. This note had many implications, but the most profound of them appeared to be confirmation that Naomi was alive.

As she sat on her bed with the note lying limply in her hand, Resuza could still recall their parting with startling clarity. It happened early one summer morning in the small town of Tulov where she, her sister, and her parents lived. The entire family was still asleep when the slavers rode into town on their horses. The horsemen had torches and they set fire to all of the homes. Her parents ran out of the house to fight the flame and, when they did, the horseman had killed them. Cut them down with swords. Resuza and Naomi hid in the house for as long as they could, coughing on the smoke, until they were finally forced out into the street. In the chaos, no one saw them emerge.

“Come on,” Resuza had yelled, “We've got to run for the river!” Naomi, however, stood in place, frozen like a statue, staring at the bodies of their dead parents. “Come on!” begged Resuza, tearfully, “We must go before they see us!” Naomi wouldn't budge. Resuza tried to drag her, but Naomi pushed her away. Just then, a horseman spotted them. They were out of time. Resuza turned and ran as fast as she could, darting in and out of the smoke, zigzagging her way down to the river, where she hid among the reeds. She had simply followed her instincts and ran for her life. There was nothing else she could have done; at least that's what she told herself again, and again, and again, to assuage her own guilt. The guilt had festered over the years like a wound, especially because she had, eventually, concluded that her sister must be dead.

Incredible as it seemed, however, the reality was that Naomi was alive and had actually been watching over her. It could, of course, be a trick. This could be Kiril or Nartam toying with her. But why would they bother? After all, Resuza and Hill were slaves – captives – there was no need to trick or trap them; they were already trapped. In any case, heeding the advice on the note – and escaping – seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

The following evening, at exactly midnight, Hill and Resuza made a run for it. Instead of relying on the uncertainty of a bribed guard, they used their escape tunnel and emerged into the snow directly above the slave quarters on a fiercely cold polar night. For the better part of a half-hour, they crept across the snow, heading north, until they found the one pillar that appeared to have a slight – very slight – yellow tint to it. Then they started climbing, which was relatively easy to do, because the pillar had many holes and crevices to grab hold of. It became increasingly obvious to them that they were climbing a vertical column of human and animal bones – jaws, clavicles, femurs, arms, rib cages, skulls – which had all been fused together into one single column.

As they went higher and higher, just one thought kept fluttering its way across the synapses of Resuza's brain:
Don't look down!
As she climbed upward, she struggled to stay focused, concentrating on each and every crevice that she used to hoist herself upwards; and yet, despite herself, she involuntarily stole a quick glance downward. What she saw was dizzying enough to make her want to vomit. She and Hill were far above the ground, perched precariously on a narrow stone ledge. They were so high up that only a hundred feet above them was the first layer of impenetrable clouds.

From this perch, they could see all of Dargora, including the hideous Shadow Tree, which was growing at an astounding pace. Within a few days time it had grown to a height of over two hundred feet and, despite the fact that a small army of Dragoonya soldiers was working around the clock burning the tree's limbs and collecting its ash, the tree was still growing steadily in size. The other thing that was apparent from this height was that every tree, shrub, plant, and patch of moss within eyesight was now dead. Dargora had never been an especially green place, but there was a modest collection of vegetation here and there – especially in the north of the city where there were a few hot springs – and now all of this was brown, wilted, finished. The roots of the Shadow Tree had spread a ripple of death in every direction.

“Do you think we're climbing the correct pillar?” asked Resuza finally.

Hill shrugged wearily.

“Where do you suppose it leads?”

“No idea,” replied Hill. “I'm too exhausted to think properly.”

Hill and Resuza surveyed the landscape below. Resuza looked again at the Tree.

“What do you suppose my sister meant when she wrote,
They're coming for you
?” asked Resuza finally.

“I've been asking myself the same question,” replied Hill. He ran his fingers through his long beard and picked out a few pieces of ice that had formed. “It's curious because we have no value to them. We don't know where Alfonso is, I couldn't find my way back to Somnos if I had to, and I am too weary to do much work. They must want something else.”

“The Pen?”

Hill nodded.

“Do you have it with you?” asked Resuza.

Hill stared at her blankly, and then rubbed his hands together, but said nothing; apparently, he did not intend to answer her question.

“Do you?” she pressed.

“No,” said Hill finally.

“The note said to bring everything with us,” said Resuza.

“I know,” said Hill cryptically. “That's why I chose not to bring it with us.”

Resuza rolled her eyes. Without saying any more, she stood up and began to climb. Hill watched as she climbed easily. He sighed and started up after her.

Soon they arrived at the layer of clouds and began to climb through it. It was eerie to be stuck in a thick, white-gray mist, but they welcomed the respite from the constant wind. They climbed without speaking and lost track of time. Hill's mind shut off and he became a machine, taking one careful step after another. Then Resuza uttered a low cry that woke him up.

Hill looked up towards Resuza. It was hard to see her even though she was only several feet away, but her body appeared to be glowing white.

“What is it?” he shouted. “Are you OK?”

She didn't reply and Hill furiously continued climbing until he was directly beneath her. He looked up and saw what had caused her to yell out.

They had emerged above the cloud layer, and the moon bathed them in a milky glow. Directly above them, stuck like a marshmallow on a stick, sat an old wooden ship. As they looked around, they could see other ships suspended on the many pillars that jutted up towards the night sky. They were all different, but most were quite large and big enough to cross the ocean with hundreds of passengers.

It looked as if the Dragoonya had taken several dozen antique warships – the sorts that pirates and old sea captains like Horatio Nelson once sailed – and hoisted them up onto the tops of these massive pillars made of bone. The ships were now homes, the strange equivalent of tree houses, in which the Dragoonya lived. The clouds hovered just beneath many of these ships, which gave the illusion that there was an entire armada of ghost ships floating gently on the clouds. Many of the ships had windows, which were brightly lit, and others even had decorative flags and sails fluttering in the wind. Most ships were connected by a series of swinging rope bridges. All in all, the ships comprised a strangely beautiful city that appeared to rest on the clouds. Hill and Resuza stared at the sight, gaping in awe.

For several minutes they remained motionless, spell-bound. But then the wind picked up again, and they looked up to measure their progress. Their destination, a large warship connected by rope bridges to several other ships, looked to be a short climb away.

“Do you think your sister will be waiting for us?” Hill asked.

“I hope so,” Resuza replied. As she said this, she couldn't help feeling nervous about the upcoming encounter. It had been so many years. Resuza had tried to protect her during that time. After the Dragoonya had captured Naomi, Resuza followed them all the way to the gates of Dargora, pushing herself to the brink of death before finally turning back. Later on, when she was working for Kiril, Resuza had made Kiril promise to take care of Naomi. Resuza had been Kiril's loyal servant until, during the battle of Somnos, she defected and switched sides in order to help Alfonso. She simply couldn't stand the thought of betraying Alfonso who had been such a loyal friend to her. It was only later, in the hours after the battle, that she began to wonder about her sister. What had become of Naomi? What would Kiril do with her? Would he kill her?

Once again she had abandoned her sister. Resuza had always intended to return to Dargora and set her sister free, but it hadn't worked out that way; in fact, now it was Naomi who was helping Resuza make a break for freedom.

“Come on,” said Hill. “We're almost there.”

Resuza nodded and began to climb. She went faster now, and Hill did the same. In no time at all, they were at the intersection of the pillar and the ship's hull. Outlined in the hull they saw a rectangular door. It had no knobs or levers and no obvious way to enter.

Resuza looked at Hill. “What should I do?” she asked.

Hill shrugged his shoulders. “Push?”

Resuza tentatively pushed on the door. Although the wood had warped and made the door tight, it soon opened. Resuza listened, hoping to hear her sister's voice, but she heard only the wind.

“Naomi?” she whispered loudly.

There was no answer.

“It could be a trap,” she said.

“I know,” replied Hill. They both stared into the dark opening, trying to find any reassuring sign at all.

Resuza sighed.

“Well, we can't wait here forever,” she announced. “Let's go.” With that, Resuza and then Hill climbed into the pitch-black hull of the ship.

Chapter 22: Kolo

Inside the uppermost floor of the obelisk there was an observatory, equipped with shiny brass telescopes, giant wall-maps, old dog-eared atlases, several desks stacked with papers, a few leather chairs, numerous old rugs, and six perfectly round skylights that allowed crisscrossing beams of sunlight, each swirling with dust, to illuminate the entire space. The ceiling was covered with a vast canopy of gauzy spider webs. Clearly, no one had been here for a very long time.

At first glance the observatory appeared to be a celestial lookout, a place to watch the stars, but a closer examination proved that it was truly a watchtower meant to monitor the movement of passing travelers on the forests and plains below. Indeed, there was an entire library of books, organized by date, with careful notations on which armies, merchants, and lonely travelers had passed through here.

Currently, the observatory was packed with roughly one hundred children – and Alfonso and Marta – both of whom had taken the form of adults in their twenties. Among the children was the teenage boy who had once been their leader. Now, instead of giving orders and issuing threats, he sat quietly, seemingly awed and intimidated by his surroundings. Several hours before, when Alfonso had ordered the boy to drop his rock, the boy had caved. Immediately after that, he had become a meek figure – shoulders slouched, head down, face pouting – like a child who had been severely scolded by his teacher. The transformation was dramatic. At first, Marta had insisted on tying him up.

“It's not necessary,” said Alfonso cooly

“Why not?” asked Marta. “He tried to kill me!”

“He won't bother anyone now,” said Alfonso confidently. As he said this he looked the boy directly in the eyes. “He is just a coward – a scared boy playing bully – nothing more. Trust me, I know the type, you can find them in any schoolyard.”

Marta frowned. She didn't trust the boy, but she went along with it. As the children settled down in the observatory, Marta asked them questions. “How long have you been without your parents?” she asked one of the children, a small sallow-faced girl with clumpy brown hair.

“They took mama away to be a slave when my sister and I were three or maybe four years old,” replied the girl.

“Who did?” asked Marta.

“The feathered horsemen,” replied the girl.

“She means the Dragoonya,” interjected the boy who had once been the leader. He looked about uneasily, unsure of himself. “They didn't bother with us because we were too small to do their work.”

“Instead we had to do
his
work,” said the girl with the clumpy hair as she pointed accusingly at the boy.

The boy said nothing in his own defense, he simply looked away.

“What's your name?” Marta asked the little girl.

“Basia,” replied the girl.

“Everything will be okay now,” said Marta and, as she said this, she reached out and clasped the girl's hand. Basia smiled and her eyes filled with tears. Their conversation was interrupted by several of the smaller children who had begun to cry.

“They're hungry,” explained Basia. “We haven't eaten in a very long time.”

“There's food here,” said Marta. “I saw a room filled with provisions several floors below.”

“What kind of food?” asked Basia hopefully.

“I'm not sure,” said Marta, “But come with me and we can have a look.”

“That's a good idea,” said Alfonso.

Marta stood up, gestured for the others to follow, and then headed toward the stairs. The other children followed eagerly. Marta currently had the physical appearance of an adult – in reality, of course, she was not even ten years old – but the other children deferred to her because of her calm and confidence. It seemed miraculous to Alfonso that, just a few hours previously, these same children had been chasing Marta with the aim of killing her.

“Do you need help?” asked Alfonso.

“No, I'll be okay,” replied Marta as she took Basia by the hand and disappeared down the stairs. The other children followed en masse. The teenage boy stood up, as if to follow them, but Alfonso shook his head. “Not you,” said Alfonso. “You stay here with me.”

The boy sighed heavily, as if in protest, but he did as he was told. For several minutes neither of them spoke. “What is this place?” asked Alfonso finally. “Do you have any idea?”

“It's an old Czuczke watchtower,” said the boy.

“Czuczke?” inquired Alfonso.

“Yes,” said boy, “They were traders and hunters and they set up these watchtowers along their trading routes. At least, that's what my brothers told me, before they were taken...” The boy frowned and then grew quiet, as if he were angry at himself for revealing so much of his own story.

Alfonso studied the boy closely. He was filthy. He had food stuck in his teeth, months of dirt packed under his fingernails, and a dark coating of dust, sweat, and grime covering his face. It was hard to tell exactly how old he was. He had the look of a boy who was large for his age – perhaps a ten year old who was big enough to pass for fourteen. But he wasn't dumb. Alfonso felt certain of this.

“What's your name?” asked Alfonso.

“What does it matter?” asked the boy angrily.

“If we're going to talk, it helps to know each other's names,” said Alfonso. “Mine's Alfonso.”

“Okay, fine – mine's Kolo,” said the boy grudgingly. “So tell me, Alfonso, what are you going to do with me?”

“Well one thing is for certain,” said Alfonso. “I'm not leaving you here with
these kids.

Kolo shrugged, as if he didn't care.

“What happened to your brothers?” asked Alfonso.

“What does it matter to you?” asked Kolo.

“Just answer the question,” said Alfonso.

“Slavers took them,” said Kolo sourly.

“Took them where?”

“To their city,” Kolo replied. “The one they call ‘Dargora'.”

This got Alfonso's attention.

“Why didn't they take you?” asked Alfonso.

Kolo said nothing.

“I asked you a question,” said Alfonso.

“I begged them to take me too,” said Kolo finally. His face contorted in pain, as if recalling this memory dredged up some deep bitterness in him. “I tried following the convoy, but the guards threw stones at me. I followed anyway, at a distance. I wasn't the only one. A bunch of us kids did this – a gang of us – we didn't know what else to do.”

“Then what happened?” asked Alfonso.

“I – we – followed them for a long time, until we came to a junction with three rivers.”

“How long did you follow them for?” asked Alfonso.

“I don't know, a long time – until we were nearly dead,” said Kolo. “We tried to make it through the stone forest, but couldn't.”

A stone forest
. This was it, Alfonso thought. The petrified forest that Resuza talked about...

“Why not?” asked Alfonso.

“Because of the fog wolves,” explained Kolo. “They come out each night and roam the forest. We hid from them for a while, but they found us.” The boy shuddered suddenly, as if chilled. “I was the only one of our group to make it back.”

“And since then you've been ruling over these kids and trying to kill strangers by throwing stones at them?” asked Alfonso pointedly.

“I'm not going to lie to you,” said Kolo. “I have done some bad things since then – really bad things – but
you
would have done the same things if you were me. Sometimes that's the only way to stay alive.”