Shadow Tree (18 page)

Chapter 30: A Tender Reunion

Resuza woke up slowly, groggily, like an animal waking from hibernation. The delicious warmth of the ship was so unlike the dampness of the slave quarters that it had made her and Hill almost delirious.
How long had they been in this darkened room?
It was hard to tell. Several hours at least, but then several thoughts wandered into Resuza's tired mind and forced her to wake up.
Where was Naomi? Why wasn't she here? Was it her sister who had provided the soft blankets and food they had found?
It couldn't have been anyone else.

Resuza sat up and stretched. Hill began to stir and finally, he sat up as well.

“Naomi still isn't here,” he remarked as he rubbed his eyes.

Resuza shook her head.

“Strange,” said Hill.

“Do you think something's wrong?” Resuza asked.

Hill shrugged. “Who knows?” he said, stifling a yawn. His thoughts were still too muddled to think properly. It had been ages since he had slept so well. “Can you pass that bread? I'm ravenous. We haven't had food this good in months, maybe years.”

Resuza smiled. “The last time it was this good was back at the lighthouse,” said Resuza. “Remember that mutton stew and spiced caramel they had for desert?” As she said this, almost involuntarily, she thought of Alfonso. She remembered sitting with him, in his bedroom in the lighthouse, sipping hot cocoa as the waves crashed below. And she remembered kissing him, ever so briefly. That was months ago and, strange as it was to say, that was her last good memory. The thought both cheered her and depressed her all at once. And now where was Alfonso? No idea. What were the chances that he was even alive? No, she told herself, she mustn't think that.

“I think of that meal at the lighthouse just about every day,” said Hill with a sigh. “But this food is a reminder. If we can get out of here, we'll be eating like that again.”

“If we make it out of here, what's our destination?” Resuza asked.

“Back to the Sea of Clouds,” Hill quickly replied. “We need to find Alfonso.”

With a rising excitement, they began to discuss how they might go about searching for Alfonso. They were so engrossed in their conversation that the telltale sigh of a door opening escaped their attention. It was only when a floorboard uttered a creak that they realized someone had entered their small room. A match flared in the darkness and moved towards a fat candle. The candle wick lit and threw a dull light over several feet. Just behind the candle, her hair flickering in the light, stood a young, thin girl with a nervous expression on her face. Her hands clutched the candle but her fingers were in constant motion.

Resuza stood up and took a step forward. Time seemed to slow down. She had dreamed of this moment for so many years and now that it was actually happening, she felt distant from it, as if she was floating above her body and looking down on the scene.

“Naomi?”

The hands stopped moving and the candle slowly moved up towards the face. Resuza took another step forward and as she did so, Naomi's face came into the light. Resuza stood there, immobile. When she had last seen Naomi, her younger sister had just begun to speak in complete sentences. She was just a toddler. And now she stood in front of Resuza, nearly the same height, with hair that hung straight and long like Resuza.

Naomi looked at Resuza, and smiled. It was a nervous, reluctant smile, but it was a smile nonetheless, and it lit up Resuza's heart like a beacon in the darkness. Resuza covered the distance between them, opened her arms and with a sob she flung them around Naomi's shoulders.

“It's you, it's really you,” she whispered into her neck.

“Yes,” replied Naomi, taking a tender step backwards. “It is really me.”

“Are you okay?” asked Resuza, stifling a sob. “Tell me you're okay. I haven't stopped thinking about you since the day...”

“Since the day that I was abandoned,” finished Naomi. There was a slight edge in her voice. “Yes, I haven't stopped thinking about you either.”

“Naomi,” said Resuza, her voice was ragged with emotion, “We've both been through an awful lot and I am so, so sorry that I left you and I will make it up to you – you will see – I will be there for you now, I promise, I really do.”

These words obviously affected Naomi. Her face tensed up and it looked as if she were about to cry. However, she made no reply, nor did she move to hug Resuza. The two sisters stood in darkness, silently – close but not touching. There was both everything and nothing to say.

Hill was only half paying attention to any of this. He was on full alert and listened for other noises that might indicate that Naomi did not come alone. At first he sensed nothing, but then he heard something that made his heart sink. There was someone else in the room and whoever it was had just shifted their weight from one foot to another right by the entrance.

He stood up noiselessly and leaned over towards Resuza. He patted her lightly on the shoulder, but she did not respond. She appeared to be in a trance, staring
at her long-lost sister.

“We're ready,” Resuza said finally. “We'll go wherever you take us, all that matters is that we stick together.”

“Good,” said Naomi, she too was still struggling to control her emotions. “That's good.”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Hill loudly. Naomi was startled.

“Wait for what?” asked Resuza somewhat annoyed.

“There's someone else in this room,” Hill said. “You there – by the doorway – who are you?”

Another match flared near the doorway and a suddenly visible hand lit a candle. “After all we've been through, don't ya think I should get a tender reunion?”

Bilblox stood at the doorway and smiled at the three of them.

“Bilblox!” Resuza yelled. “You're here – you're alive!” She ran to him and flung her arms around his thick neck. “But how?”

“It's a very long story,” said Bilblox slowly, carefully, as if he were choosing his words with great care. “And I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Naomi and the fact that the Dragoonya have taken such a liking to her.” As he said this, Bilblox looked at Naomi intensely – almost glaring at her – daring her to contradict him.

“We saw you on a sled with Kiril,” said Resuza. “To tell you the truth, you looked almost dead. How did you get out of all that?” She stared into his eyes as if trying to read his mind. Then she noticed something else had changed too.

“And your eyes are different. Can you
see
?”

Bilblox nodded. “I've had quite a few changes,” he started. He looked at the floor. “I'm sorry – it's too long of a story and we don't have time for it now. We gotta get out of here – and quickly.”

For several seconds, nobody moved. Hill sensed something was wrong, but he didn't know what to do. Bilblox was one of his most trusted friends and he had saved Alfonso's life many times over. On their original voyage to Somnos, when Hill had questioned Bilblox's loyalty, Alfonso correctly defended him. Still, despite all this history, something felt wrong. Hill glanced at Naomi. The young girl appeared outwardly calm, but she wouldn't look him in the eyes.

“Are you ready?” Bilblox said. “We gotta go.” He stared at Hill intently and raised his eyebrows to the door. Hill began to say something, but Bilblox shook his head, as if to say:
Not here – not now
. Hill was confused and more than a little nervous. Was it possible that someone was eavesdropping on this conversation? Was there a subtext here? Was there something that Bilblox was not saying – some unsaid message that Hill was missing? Or was it a trap? Was it possible that Bilblox had betrayed them – perhaps for some ash – after all, how was it that Bilblox could see again? And what about Naomi? She would never betray her own sister, would she?

“Let's go – now” Bilblox repeated.

Hill nodded. He had many questions, but clearly he would find no answers in
this small room.

“We have nothing of value,” he said in a clear, direct voice – just in case others were listening. “We just want to leave.”

“I know,” said Bilblox. He walked to Hill and gave him a strong hug. Just as he was about to let go, he drew close to Hill's ear.

“Be strong, my old friend,” he whispered. “Have faith.”

Bilblox turned and walked out the door, followed by Resuza. Naomi followed behind, and Hill was the last one out of the room. Before he left, he glanced back at the tiny room that had been so comfortable. He had a sinking suspicion that it would be a long time before he would find similar surroundings. At last, he turned and followed the others. It was pitch dark, and as they walked up the stairs, the creak of the wood sounded like gunshots in the cold air. Hill's heart pounded as if at any moment he expected the shouts of Dragoonya soldiers.
It's coming, the ambush is coming,
Hill kept telling himself. But it never came.

They made it onto the deck of the ship. It was so dark that they could barely see each other even though they were only feet apart. The wind howled and tore at their exposed faces. Although it made sense for them to escape under the cover of darkness, Hill was nonetheless amazed that he and Resuza had slept as long as they did. It felt like only a few hours, but clearly, they had slept the entire day after arriving at the ship the night before.

They continued along a wooden deck, exposed to the night sky, until they came to a rope bridge that swung in the breeze. It was impossible to see where the bridge led because it disappeared into a bank of fog. Naomi paused for only a second before climbing onto the rope bridge, which was swinging in the wind.

“Where does this lead?” Hill whispered. He remembered seeing other ships connected to each other, but he had no idea in what direction they were headed. He turned to Bilblox with a concerned look.

“Don't worry,” replied Bilblox, who was still behind him. “Everything will be fine. Naomi knows these ships inside and out.”

“Can we trust her?” Hill asked.

Bilblox paused. “You can trust me,” he replied.

Chapter 31: The Fort

Osoba was not a young man, almost sixty years old, but he had never felt better. Like the other Dragoonya soldiers at the Fog Wolves' Fort, for the last week he had been on a steady diet of nothing but black ash – no meat, no bread, no ale, not even any water – just the ash from
the newly grown tree. Each night, the captain gave them their rations and the soldiers took turns rubbing the fine, black ash into their eyes. The effect was immediate and miraculous. Within a day, Osoba felt incredible; the arthritis was gone from his joints, the cough vanished from his lungs, and the cold brittle feeling that resided deep in his bones had vanished.

Osoba had to admit there were some drawbacks. His eyes had turned a rather sickly white, much of his hair had fallen out, and his fingernails were gone, making it slightly uncomfortable to grip his sword. And his mind felt curiously dull, as if in hibernation. It was probably just a short-term side affect. The soldiers also seemed quick to anger. Already, there had been three or four fights at the fort, and in
one of these brawls, a soldier had died. But this was always what happened whenever a very coveted commodity was in short demand – whether it was gold, food, or black ash. It couldn't be helped.

Tonight he and another guard, Uzależniona, were charged with manning the gate to the fort. Lately, the night shift was much better than the day shift. Ever since the new tree had been planted, and its roots had ravaged the land, people had begun to show up at the fort – refugees, entire villages of people on the brink of starvation – but they only came during the daylight hours. At night, they retreated back to the other side of the river, back into the dead pine forest. They were too frightened to stick around at night, because that's when the clouds rolled in and the fog wolves came out to prowl for food. So the nights tended to be quiet. And this is why Osoba was startled when he saw a lone figure emerge in
the distance, walking slowly through the snow toward the fort.

“Do you see that?” asked Osoba.

“Yes,” said Uzależniona, who already had a crossbow out and was aiming it directly at the approaching figure. “It looks like an old woman.”

Osoba squinted into the distance. The snow was swirling and it was difficult to see, but Uzależniona appeared to be right, it was an old woman. And she was carrying something. Something small.

“She has a baby,” said Osoba.

“What in holy hell is she doing out at this time of night?” asked Uzależniona. “She must be out of her mind.”

“Turn around!” yelled Osoba. “We're not taking slaves tonight.”

The old woman either didn't hear Osoba, didn't understand him, or simply didn't care. She continued marching forward and she was moving more quickly now. It almost appeared as if she were running. It was bizarre to see an elderly woman moving so quickly with a baby in tow.

“Halt!” screamed Osoba at the top of his lungs.

The woman broke into a run, charging the gate in a dead sprint. For a moment, Osoba and Uzależniona were too stunned to react. The woman was now a dazzling blur of motion. Uzależniona aimed his crossbow and started to squeeze the trigger. But before he could fire, the woman hurled the baby up into the air, and then dove into a somersault role. Half-horrified and half-stunned, Osoba gawked at the sight of an infant flying through the air. Then something totally astonishing happened; midway through the air, the infant changed forms, literally morphing into a nearly full-sized man. This newly-formed man landed on the ground gracefully, just a few feet from where Osoba was standing, and then kicked him in the head so quickly and so ferociously that Osoba flew backwards and was unconscious by the time that his body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

After kicking the Dragoonya guard in the head, Alfonso spun around quickly to make sure that Marta was okay. She was fine. In fact, she was standing over the body of the other Dragoonya guard, the one who had shot at her; he too was now slumped on the ground, knocked unconscious. Marta had the man's crossbow in her hand.

“Do you know how to use this thing?” asked Marta.

“Sure,” said Alfonso. He took the crossbow, aimed it, put his finger on the trigger, and indicated that this is what you squeezed to fire the weapon. “Can you do that?”

Marta nodded somberly, and Alfonso remembered, that despite her appearance, which was still that of an elderly woman, she had only been alive for nine years – almost all of which she had spent sitting in a chair on a remote island.

“Be careful with it,” said Alfonso, as he handed it back to her.

“Don't talk that way to me,” said Marta, “I'm old enough to be your grandmother.” Marta smiled and her face was a leathery contortion of a thousand wrinkles. The old lady's face then morphed slightly, becoming even more shriveled and wrinkly, as if she had aged five more years in the span of three seconds.

“Cut it out,” said Alfonso, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Come on,” said Marta teasingly, “Lighten up.”

“Yeah sure,” said Alfonso with a smile, “But please grow back some teeth – you're freaking me out grandma.”

Marta closed her eyes and morphed again into the form of a woman in her mid twenties – tall, lean, and very athletic. She was quite pretty and it was bizarre to Alfonso that the little girl, the pretty twenty-something, and the old woman were all Marta.

“Come on,” said Alfonso, “Let's see if we can find any kerosene.”

Alfonso and Marta worked quickly to tie up and gag the guards. Then Alfonso grabbed a set of keys from one of the guards, and after fumbling with them for a while, used the keys to unlock the back door to the fort, which was a massive slab of steel on a set on three rusty hinges.

The doors creaked open slowly. They paused for a second to listen, and continued through the gate into a huge room with stone floors, high vaulted ceilings, and a hearth with a large crackling fire. Along the perimeter of the room there were a series of jail cells, each of which was occupied by twenty or so prisoners. The prisoners were well-clothed, most of them were men dressed in furs, but their faces were so gaunt and desperate-looking it was soon apparent that they had not eaten in some time. Most of the prisoners were asleep, though a few stared hopefully at Marta and Alfonso. One of the prisoners, a short man with an enormous beard, stood up, walked over to the door of his cell, and opened it; amazingly, the cell was unlocked. The man whispered eagerly, “Have you come to take us to Dargora?”

“No,” said Alfonso. “We're not Dragoonya, we're just...” Alfonso hesitated, uncertain of what to say.

“Visitors,” said Marta, finishing his sentence.

“What kind of visitors?” asked the bearded man skeptically.

“The kind who don't need to answer questions from prisoners,” said Marta as she raised her crossbow at the man.

Alfonso had to suppress a smile; he was impressed. You didn't mess with Marta.

“Oh,” said the man with the beard. He sighed dejectedly, walked over to the fire, warmed his hands for a moment, and then returned to his cell. “No disrespect intended,” said the man. “I just fear we will all starve if we do not get there soon.”

“What's the difference?” asked another man in the same cell, whose face was hidden in the shadows. “They will work us to death soon after we arrive.”

“No,” said the bearded man, “No one dies in Dargora any longer. Now that they have the ash.”

The man whose face was hidden in shadows snorted, but made no reply.

“Why are you here?” asked Alfonso. “If you want to go to Dargora, what are you waiting for?”

“You can't just cross the Petrified Forest on your own,” said the bearded man with a nervous laugh.

“Why not?” asked Alfonso.

“You'll drown in the snow drifts,” said the man with the beard. “Either that or-”

“Or what?” said the man, whose face was hidden in shadows.

“Or the fog wolves will find you,” said the bearded man gravely. “They run through the forest every night to get their meat.”

Marta and Alfonso exchanged glances.

“I don't get it,” said Marta, “Are you slaves then?”

“Not yet,” said the bearded man. “We hope to be.”

“Hope to be?” inquired Alfonso.

“Yes,” said the man whose face was hidden in the shadows, “I have been asking myself the same question. For years we ran from the Dragoonya whenever they came on their raids, trying to capture us, and now we come begging to be taken. Ironic isn't it?”

“What choice do we have?” asked the bearded man. “Everything within a thousand miles of this place is dead.”

“Including our wives and children,” said the man whose face was hidden in the shadows.

No one spoke after that.

Alfonso and Marta searched the premises further, and saw no sign of guards. It was a sign of how things had so quickly changed. In one corner of the main hall, they found a steep, spiral staircase that led to the smaller second floor.

“What's upstairs?” asked Alfonso.

“Don't know,” said the man with the beard. “I haven't been up there.”

“We're looking for kerosene,” said Alfonso. “Is there any up there?”

The man with the beard shrugged.

“Come on,” said Alfonso. “Let's have a look.”

Marta shook her head.

“Come on,” insisted Alfonso. “We'll be quick.”

Marta sighed and together they quietly climbed the staircase, pausing frequently to listen for any noise. It was quiet. Eventually, they reached a wooden door. Marta turned the doorknob and the door suddenly swung heavily towards them. As it did so, something heavy that had been leaning against the door fell onto them. Marta gasped and shrugged the weight off. It appeared to be the body of a large man. Alfonso ducked and stared mutely as the man tumbled down several steps until coming to rest. The man – dressed in the uniform of the Dragoonya – was dead, and had likely been so for several hours. Daggers stuck out of his back like thorns and around his neck were several long chains of gold and inset diamonds.

“We should leave,” whispered Alfonso.

Marta nodded.

And yet neither one turned to go down the stairs. The doorway had opened into a small banquet hall lit dimly with a few candles. Marta took a step into the banquet hall, and felt Alfonso slide into the hall just behind her. It was so quiet that it seemed to be empty, until they saw about two dozen Dragoonya soldiers lying flat on their backs around a grand fireplace that contained only embers.

Suddenly, something moved directly to Marta's left. It was a skeletal-thin man with sickly, sallow skin. He grabbed Marta by the throat. The hand couldn't quite clench her throat because it was twitching spastically – as if zapped by electricity. The man's hand continued to twitch until, in one especially violent spasm, all five fingernails popped off, like windows on a cheaply-made toy car. The soldier released Marta's throat to look at his hand. In a nervous gesture, he ran his hand across his scalp, pulling out a huge clump of hair that peeled off as easily as Velcro. He cleared his throat, moved his tongue around his mouth, and spit out several horribly decayed, yellowish orange teeth.

“That's a rather nasty habit,” whispered Marta as she crunched up her nose. “Would you mind not doing that again?” Then she hit the man hard in the stomach. The man crumpled, dropping down to his knees. Marta had knocked the wind out of him and he was both stunned and gasping for breath. He was also staring at Alfonso. “We have... been... expecting you,” gasped the man. His lips were so horribly chapped that when he smiled, blood formed at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, yes... Lord Nartam... said you would... be coming.” The man reached out his hand quickly, but Alfonso struck first, punching the man squarely in the chest, causing him to fly backwards. Two more men, who were lying nearby, had also woken up and were now scrambling to their feet. Then both men fell to the ground. Alfonso spun around and saw Marta holding the crossbow.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” said Marta with a trace of irritation in her voice. “But, no – the Great Sleeper always has to have his way.”

A number of soldiers, who had been lying inert on the floor, were now also scrambling to their feet.

“Run!” yelled Alfonso.

Marta sighed, as if she were more annoyed than scared, and then said: “Yup, that sounds like a good idea.”

Marta and Alfonso turned and ran down the stairs, with the yells and screams of the ash-fed Dragoonya right behind them.

When they arrived at the main hall, the would-be slaves clamored out of their cells. The bearded man was the first among them. “Good heavens,” he said. “What's going on?”

“Good news,” shouted Marta. “We've spoken with the Dragoonya and twenty of you fellows will be given the chance to be slaves – the first twenty to reach the top of the stairs.”