Shadow Tree (23 page)

Chapter 39: Father & Son

Nartam stood by the large window in his room, which had once been the captain's quarters of the ship. He looked down on the world below in a daze. Strong winds were gusting from the south, howling across the Petrified Forest, pushing the clouds northward and swirling them about like wisps of milk in a freshly-stirred cup of tea. When he tired of looking out the window, Nartam paced back and forth across the creaking wooden floor of his room. There was no furniture – no bed, or sofa, or table, or chairs – just a large vacant space. This was because Nartam was restless. He could no longer lie down, or sit still, or even stand in one place for more than a few seconds before his limbs began to twitch – slightly at first and then violently. If he forced himself to stay still, his muscles would go into spasms. Twice he had lost control of his arm and punched his fist through a wall made of solid oak.

There was only one explanation for his restlessness, of course, and that was the black ash from the Shadow Tree. Nartam had taken too much of it lately. But this was understandable, he reasoned, because he had to test the outer limits of what the ash could do. Lately, he had been conducting little experiments. Just the day before, he had taken a dagger – so sharp that a man could use it to shave – and used the blade to slice off the index finger on his left hand. Truth be told, it didn't hurt all that much because one curious side-effect of the black ash was that it seemed to deaden the nerves in the limbs. A man using the black ash could hold his hand in a roaring fire for ten seconds without flinching. In any case, Nartam had taken the severed finger, dipped it in the black ash, and then pressed it back onto the flesh of his bloody hand. The veins in his finger had wriggled about, like thin translucent worms; then the bones began to fuse; and finally, a fresh layer of skin grew in a matter of seconds. Within five minutes he had regained full use of the index.

Nartam was stronger than he had ever been in his entire life – this much was clear.

As he paced back and forth, Nartam's thoughts remained fixed on Alfonso. Most likely he would arrive on the new moon, as the Shadow Tree predicted. Nartam's dreams had been filled with images of the full moon illuminating the night sky. This had to be what it meant. The boy was coming. Nartam was certain of it. The Founding Trees would send him – and his father, Leif, as well – pushing them northward like pawns. This thought made Nartam smile. In Dormia, Great Sleepers were always hailed as heroes – even saviors and martyrs – but the truth was they merely did the bidding of the Founding Trees. Once or twice, Nartam had wondered if the same was now true of the Shadow Tree – whether it secretly exerted more control over him than he cared to admit. In any case, most Great Sleepers gradually came to realize that they were really servants, one might even say, slaves. Leif had realized it during his long captivity in Jasber – and soon Alfonso would as well.

Nartam was summoned from his thoughts by a knocking at the door.

“Come in,” he beckoned.

The door swung open and Kiril entered. His second in command looked preoccupied. And why was he avoiding eye contact? Nartam stared at Kiril. He had survived for so long because of a well-cultivated paranoia, and this sense was telling him to beware.

Nartam shook his head. Impossible. Kiril was not like others. He was his son.

“Hello Kiril, my son,” said Nartam in a soft voice.

“Hello father,” replied Kiril. “You summoned me?”

“Yes,” said Nartam, “Come have a word.”

Kiril walked across the room, but stopped several feet short of Nartam, as if not wanting to draw too near.

“You do not have the Foreseeing Pen.” Nartam's tone was flat and neutral. It was a statement, not a question.

Kiril nodded.

“What happened?” asked Nartam.

“We captured Hill and Resuza,” replied Kiril matter-of-factly. “They had the Pen. I saw it with my own eyes – and then it disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” replied Nartam. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I don't... I'm not exactly sure,” said Kiril. “But I will find it.”

“Where is Bilblox?” demanded Nartam.

“I have him,” said Kiril. “I will return him to you at once.”

Nartam nodded. “Good. He is important.”

He turned away from Kiril and looked out the window at the Shadow Tree below.

“So the Pen just...disappeared,” said Nartam softly. “That's most unfortunate.” He turned slowly to look at Kiril. “Or convenient, depending on
how you look at it.”

“Convenient?” asked Kiril, a trace of surprise in his voice.

“Come now my dear, dear child,” said Nartam softly, almost in a purr. “What do you take me for? We both know perfectly well what that Pen can do and how powerful it is. So if you tell me that you almost had it, and then it mysteriously disappeared, don't place yourself above suspicion. Don't forget, I am your father. I know you better than you know yourself. And I love you – even if you have deceived me. You know that, don't you?”

“Are you suggesting I am hiding it from you?” asked Kiril. His face reddened.

“Don't be too hard on yourself,” said Nartam. As he said this, he took out his hand and tenderly stroked Kiril's face. “You wouldn't be the first son to betray his father. I am no fool. And neither are you. In fact, what I always admired most about you, my son, is that you never allowed anyone or anything to become dear to you. That is what makes a man strong. And that is what kept you safe... until now.”

“The girl,” said Kiril slowly. “Naomi.”

“Yes,” said Nartam. Nartam drew closer and whispered into Kiril's ear: “You were wise to hide her.”

Kiril said nothing. His feet were rooted to the ground as if made of stone.

“But you were very foolish to lie to me and think you could get away with it,” said Nartam.

Blood drained from Kiril's face.

“What kind of monster do you take me for?” said Nartam with a sad shake of his head, as if he were reading Kiril's thoughts. “Am I the sort who murders children? I beg you to recall that it was the Dormians who cast you – as a child – into the snow to die and it was I who saved you.”

“What do you want from me?” asked Kiril.

“Bring me Bilblox,” whispered Nartam. Suddenly all the tenderness was gone from his voice. “
Now.
”

Kiril nodded, spun around, and left the room. He ran back toward his quarters, cursing himself for his stupidity. He was not his usual self. He had let the Pen slip through his fingers, and now Nartam was manipulating him. He owed Nartam everything, but he never let anyone manipulate him. That was Kiril's talent but somehow his talent was failing him.

When he made it back to his quarters, as expected, Kiril found the door broken down and the place ransacked. His possessions were all in disarray. Drawers were open and tables overturned. A great wooden wardrobe in the far corner of the room had been knocked over and all of Kiril's clothing was strewn across the floor – robes, coats, pants, shirts, scattered about. He had instructed Naomi to stay and hide, but she was gone.

Staring at the clothing strewn across the floor, Kiril realized that he was quite cold.
He found a pair of wool pants and a heavy winter kimono. Kiril hadn't laid eyes on the kimono for ages. He had gotten it centuries ago, in the mid 1600s, while exploring the coast of Japan with a Portuguese merchant vessel. At the time, Kiril was looking for a Great Sleeper, whom he never found, but along the way he had befriended a Japanese woman – he could no longer remember her name, but he could still picture her face. The woman had given him the kimono. The kimono was too big, too long in both the torso and the sleeves, but it was warm and light. He remembered wearing it during a particularly deadly but victorious battle. Good. It would restore his confidence for what was to come.

After dressing, Kiril paced back and forth rapidly, considering his next steps. Naomi was gone and Nartam had taken her – but where? Dargora was vast – she could be in any one of a thousand places. Looking for her would take far more time than he had. Kiril looked around his quarters again, this time, taking his time. The door to his quarters was broken down. Naomi had locked herself inside, as Kiril had instructed her to do. The door itself was massive, made of heavy teak, and reinforced with a latticework of steel ribs. It would have taken a while to knock down a door of this size and strength. That meant that Naomi had time before Nartam's guards seized her. He had taught his young apprentice to think quickly, and to always leave a way out. Had she learned his lesson?

Kiril walked to the small alcove where Naomi slept. The bed was made. Several heavy blankets, each one made of rabbits' fur, were folded neatly at the far end of the bed. The pillow was perfectly fluffed. Everything was as it should be. Naomi was meticulous with her things – much like Kiril. Slowly, without even fully realizing it at first, Kiril became aware of a faint whistling sound. The window directly above Naomi's bed was slightly ajar – just an inch or two. This was odd. Naomi, being a thin girl, was always lamenting how cold it was. She never opened windows, not even a crack.

Kiril leaned towards the window and opened it further. Frigid air roared in, but Kiril did not flinch. He leaned out the window. The clouds had cleared and below him Kiril could see Dragoonya burning freshly-cut limbs from the Shadow Tree. He glanced carefully around and paid special attention to a narrow ledge directly below the window. A faint image, almost imperceptible, had been traced in the snow that accumulated on the ledge. It was the outline of a large hand.

Kiril examined it closely. The hand was much larger than his, and lying where the palm would be was a tiny nub of lead. It was a Pencil tip. His mind raced and then, quite suddenly, he knew. He'd only met one man with a hand that large: Bilblox. Naomi was trying to tell him something. She was such a clever girl. The answer had to be right here. He knew it. The Pencil tip. What did it mean? What was Naomi trying to tell him? What had she seen? She had been standing very close to Biblox, back in the cave, when he made the Pen disappear. She had seen something – but what?

Chapter 40: The Trench

Hill and Resuza sat huddled at the bottom of an icy canyon. When they looked up, all they could see was a narrow slice of the sky because, on either side of them, walls of sheer ice rose upward. The sides of this canyon were studded with small notches and outcroppings and, from these notches, hung icicles – gigantic, gleaming, slabs of ice that likely weighed several tons each. If one of these missiles fell, it could easily crush a car or even a small house; and every so often, as powerful gusts of wind blasted through the canyon, an icicle would break free and explode on the floor of the canyon. When this happened, enormous shards of ice would rip through the air with enough force to decapitate a horse. Such was life at the bottom of the giant trench that circled Dargora and protected the city like a castle moat. It was a dismal setting and, quite plainly, this was the place where Hill and Resuza were expected to die.

After being captured, Kiril and his men marched them across the snow until they reached the precipice of the trench. Here was an old rope ladder, staked into the ground, and draped over the edge and down into the trench below. “Go on,” Kiril had told them, “Climb down.” Several soldiers held crossbows and old rifles, which they pointed menacingly at Hill and Resuza. Hill nodded somberly. He seemed to understand that this was a death sentence. Resuza stood frozen in place, apparently in a state of shock. One of the soldiers, who appeared to be a halfwit, was staring at Resuza and gnawing on his own lip with great relish – as if it were a very tasty morsel of food.

“Come on my dear,” said Hill softly, “We better do as he says.”

Together they descended the rope ladder, deeper and deeper into the trench. Once or twice, as they descended, they paused when they heard the sound of icicles falling and shattering on the ground below. When they finally reached the floor of the trench, they both stared at the rope ladder dangling loose against the ice wall. Someone whistled from far above them, and the ladder rose quickly. It snagged on a piece of ice, sending down pieces of rope and shards of ice. The Dragoonya were obviously impatient to leave. They pulled harder on the ladder and it broke in two, with the lower half falling to their feet. The sound of the rope hitting the ice echoed with an awful finality.

“Bilblox betrayed us,” said Resuza dully, as if she were only half conscious.

“It would appear so,” said Hill.

“And Naomi,” said Resuza. There were tears in her eyes. “It was a trap all along.”

“We don't know that,” said Hill.

“It's my own fault,” said Resuza softly. “I never should have left her in the first place. But it all happened so fast! And I tried to find her. I did. And I spent all that time with the Dragoonya in Barsh-yin-Binder, trying to get back to her. I even double-crossed you and Alfonso on the way to Somnos. It was all for her....”

She sat down on the ice and buried her head in her hands. Her body shook with deep sobs. It was an awful sound, one Hill hadn't heard from Resuza. She had always been the optimist, but suddenly she sounded broken.

He sat down and put his arms around her. She sobbed even louder.

“We're going to die,” whispered Resuza. “But worst of all, I'll die knowing that my sister hates me.”

Hill said nothing except hugged her tighter. As he sat there holding Resuza, his mind passed quickly over the last months of captivity to a happier time back in Somnos. He closed his eyes and thought of the house he had helped design, the waterfall out back, and the lush grounds that made it a tropical paradise in the middle of the Ural Mountains. But most of all he thought of his wife Nance. After a certain point in his early 40s, Hill had given up on the idea that he would ever find someone. He was content enough living in Chicago and repairing antique watches. There was no reason to keep searching, so he had stopped.

However, his sleeping-self had other plans. It tapped into the deep awareness that binds Dormians to the Founding Tree, and started the process of bringing the Dormian Bloom to Somnos. And even though his path had led him here, to his current situation, marooned in a polar crevasse, he wouldn't take it back for a second. He had found his native land, and he had contributed to making it better. He had saved it and while doing so, he had saved himself. He had met the love of his life, and even if fate would not allow him any more time in her company, no one could take away those blissful years together in Somnos. Hill smiled through cracked and broken lips. A profound tiredness had settled onto his shoulders, and he was unsure of whether he'd be able to shake it off. Perhaps this was the end.

He sighed.
Not yet
, he thought.
Not yet
. He looked at Resuza. She was silent, nearly catatonic, and her clothes were covered in shimmering snow crystals, making her look like a statue chiseled from ice. Hill stood up and rummaged through the supply pack Bilblox had given him. He removed a small pocket knife, gathered up the remnants of the rope ladder and with the knife in hand, began cutting off slender strands of twine. Once this was done, he tied these strands together so that they formed a single line. Next he took off his coat and used his knife to cut out a piece of cloth from the lining of his coat. He cut the cloth very, very carefully, and paused on many occasions – as if to contemplate the exact shape of the material that he was cutting. He also cut out a small hole in the upper portion of the cloth. When this was done, he took out two wooden rods, which were built into the frame of his backpack, and fastened them to the piece of cloth using small bits of string.

“What are you doing?” asked Resuza finally. Her voice sounded distant, as if all of the months of strain had changed the way she spoke.

“Trying one last trick,” said Hill with a faint smile. “And hoping for a bit of luck.”