Shadow Tree (4 page)

Chapter 5: To Be An Ageling

Within a minute of waking up, Alfonso was in the middle of a panic attack. After his incredibly vivid dream, the blackness he had woken up to felt comforting. However, he soon realized that the blackness was not temporary and instead he was in a place without any light. He also felt stuck, as if his arms, legs and entire body were pinned. He struggled to move, but his muscles refused to obey his brain's instructions. He tried to cry out, but the blackness swallowed any sound. He struggled again and again, and wondered in despair whether he was having any effect.

And then a blinding cascade of sunlight poured upon him. A massive face peered down and a fat, enormous finger stroked his forehead. The person smiled, but Alfonso's vision was too blurry to notice any distinguishing features. Only that the person was a giant. Alfonso tried to release his arms but he still could not control his muscles. His arms squirmed and wiggled spastically. More disturbingly, Alfonso found that try as he might, he could only hold up his head for a minute. All of the muscles in his neck – and indeed his upper spine itself – seemed to have turned into jelly. Something was very wrong with his body. He tried furiously to remember what had happened.

“Come on little guy,” said a voice from above. “I've managed to find exactly what you need – a bit of sunlight. Look at that! You're already out of the coma.”

Alfonso recognized the voice, but he could not recall exactly whose it was. Moments later, two large hands reached down and picked him up, hoisting him out of the backpack – in which he had been sleeping – and up into the cool air of day. The sun was shining and it was very bright. Alfonso blinked furiously, but his vision remained blurry.

“I would say that you are about two months old,” said the voice. “Gosh, I hate being that age. You can't see anything, you can't control your muscles, and you pee on yourself all the time. Still, its better than being a hundred and ten – I've done that too – and believe me it's not fun.”

Marta.

It was Marta talking. Alfonso was certain of it; and she was talking about being an ageling. Suddenly everything was starting to make sense. This is precisely what Alfonso had become – an ageling. The last memory he could recall was of being in Jasber, running through the burning remains of the monastery, with a bag of green ash tucked under his arm. Then he had tripped, fallen, and gotten a great deal of that ash into his eyes. This must have transformed into an ageling and now, apparently, he was a newborn baby. This was, to say the very least, a serious downer. He'd have
to re-learn how to walk, talk, and use the bathroom.

Alfonso tried to talk, but instead he merely burped.

“Take it easy,” said Marta. “First thing's first, you need sunlight - the Abbot says that's the only thing that will make you feel better.” Very tenderly, Marta set baby Alfonso down on a blanket that she had laid across the ground. Alfonso squirmed for a moment and then he closed his eyes and relaxed.

As baby Alfonso rested on the blanket, Marta looked around with some small measure of satisfaction and admired what she had been able to do. She had made it to the foothills of the Urals – largely on her own. The Abbot had escorted Marta and Alfonso for part of the way. He and several of his monks led them out of Jasber, through the maze of razor hedges, and across the Sea of Clouds in a boat. Before they could all set out for the foothills of the Urals, however, the Abbot fell ill with a high fever and the other monks all agreed that he needed to be taken back to Jasber at once. Marta insisted on continuing onward by herself. Alfonso had taken on the form of a baby and Marta declared that she would simply carry him herself.

“You both may die,” warned the Abbot weakly. He was covered with sweat and shaking. “You mustn't do this!” he warned. Marta didn't waver. She explained that Alfonso had saved her entire family and, at the very least, she owed it to him to try and get him better. “So be it,” said the Abbot with a sigh of frustration, “You always were a stubborn child.” He then removed a gold chain from his neck. It had a small, circular Pendant on it, embedded with several emeralds. He handed the chain and Pendant to Marta. “When you are ready to come home,” said the monk, “Build a fire and place the Pendant in the coals. Within a few days time, we will find you.”

Before parting ways, one of the monks grabbed her firmly by the shoulder. He was a big man and very muscular. His name was Michael Papa and, before serving as a monk, he had been one of the “sweepers” who patrolled the labyrinth that surrounded the entrance to Jasber. In fact, he had been one of the so-called “Rogue Sweepers” – one of the very few who were, occasionally, allowed to leave the labyrinth and roam the landscape beyond. It was Michael who had navigated their boat across the Sea of Clouds. “Listen to me and remember this,” Michael said as he pulled Marta close. “Avoid anyone you see – especially the children.”

“The children?”

“Yes,” said Michael. “The slave traders have captured so many of the adults in this region that hoards of children roam the hills – and they are wild and as fierce as wolves. They may call for help, but ignore them, or they'll quickly tear you to pieces.”

Marta blanched, but said nothing.

“Good luck,” said Michael.

After parting with the Abbot and the monks, Marta had walked for several days through a pouring rain. Both she and Alfonso got drenched to the bone. Alfonso's health appeared to worsen by the hour. He grew pale and sickly looking. His soft, wet skin glimmered like the moon as Marta held him close to her chest. He shivered constantly. Marta knew she should've been holed up in a cave or even an overhang to keep them both dry, but she had a long ways to go and she didn't want to take too long to find sunlight. According to the Abbot and the monks, it would be seven or eight days of steady walking before they reached the foothills; and so Marta pressed on without resting and the days quickly blended together.

Marta got her first sense that she was being followed just after dawn one morning. She had been cutting across a steep slope, heading north towards what appeared to be a distant area of rolling hills. She had no idea who lived in these hills, but they were green and therefore, they almost certainly received some sunlight. Marta was traversing this steep slope when, some distance behind her, she heard the sound of someone losing their footing. She whirled around and saw someone hurtling down the mountain in a cloud of dirt and rocks. Whoever it was had been following in her footsteps. For several minutes, she stood and listened. Silence. Nothing more.

For several hours afterwards, Marta occasionally thought she heard something and, in each case, she whirled around but saw nothing. She hoped it was fatigue or weakness brought on by so many days of ceaseless walking. But deep down she knew there was something back there, just out of her line of sight.
Perhaps it's just an animal that is following me
, thought Marta.
Maybe a dog or perhaps a coyote
.

The following day she neared her destination. Marta knew she had entered the hill country because the ground had short stubbly grass that cut into her ankles. Just beyond this, Marta saw the beginning of scrubland; short bushes tightly bound together, made of gnarled wood and woven together with tiny branches. She pressed onward, slowly climbing upward, and after a few hours of climbing – rather miraculously – the clouds parted and sunlight poured down from the heavens. She almost wept with relief.

With the sun out and shining, Marta's fear retreated. What's more, she saw no signs of any living soul around her. Marta set Alfonso down on the blanket and rested. At some point, she even gathered up some small kindling and started a fire to cook some potatoes that the monks had given her. She knew it was probably unwise to build a fire, but the thought of cooked potatoes overrode her sense of caution. She built a fire and ate. Then she lay down. An hour passed and then two more. The sky became a spotless blue.

As baby Alfonso lay on his back, on the blanket, he began to feel better. The warm rays of the sun bathed his body in heat. It felt so good. He lay there for a very long while, though it was impossible to say exactly how long. Ever so slowly, the deep cold in his bones began to diminish. He started to feel sensations in his toes and fingertips. Even his vision became less blurry. He relaxed, drifting in and out of sleep. At some point, he woke to the sound of Marta's voice.

“Alfonso,” she said. “Can you hear me? Wiggle your feet if you can hear me.”

Alfonso mustered his concentration, willed his body to do as he told it, and succeeded in wiggling both of his feet at once.

“Good,” she said. “You look much better and I want to see if you can morph. You're an ageling now. You're like me. And you've got learn how to morph. It's not easy. It took me a while to figure it out, but I will try to help you, okay?”

Alfonso wiggled his feet again.

“Okay, good,” said Marta. “Let's start with morphing back into your true age because that's the easiest one to do. It's hard to explain, but it's kind of like your body actually wants to be it's true age, but when you are tired, or scared, or sick, you often end
up becoming a baby or a really old person. So the trick is to picture the last memory of yourself right before you became an ageling. Can you do that?”

Again, baby Alfonso moved his toes and his feet to indicate yes.

“Okay, good,” said Marta cheerfully. “Now your memory needs a cue for this to work properly. For me, smell usually works best – onions and garlic, actually. The Abbot had onions on his breath when he gave me the green ash. Anyway, for you – you were in that burning building just before you became an ageling, right? And there must have been an awful lot of smoke.” Marta then scooped Alfonso up and moved him close to the remains of the campfire that she had built. A few of the coals were still smoking. “Use the smell of the smoke,” said Marta. “Really breathe it in and focus on the smell.”

“Come on,” urged Marta, this time in a whisper. “Smell the smoke. You're in the burning building again, picture yourself running through it, you just tripped and scraped your hands -- go back to that moment! You're not a baby, you're a...”

Suddenly Alfonso's body began to change – the baby fat shrunk from his legs and arms, his torso stretched like taffy, his legs grew long and muscular, his hair turned darker and thicker, and his face grew long and narrow. Marta gaped as she watched Alfonso's jawbone triple in size in the span of five seconds. It was incredible – and more than a little spooky. She herself had morphed countless times, but she'd never witnessed anyone else do it. Alfonso lay gasping and shivering on the ground, covered only by a thin blanket. Marta took Alfonso's jacket from the pack and threw it on him.

“Don't move,” Marta whispered into his ear, “You must lie perfectly still or your body will morph back.”

She leaned close to him and stared into his eyes to keep him centered. Alfonso looked confused and panicked. Marta felt the same way, and struggled to keep her emotions in check.
Please let this work, please let this work, please let this work,
she repeated over and over.

Chapter 6: Vision Returns

At first, Bilblox was only aware of a deep ache in his back, as if someone had pounded on it many times. But that feeling quickly gave way to something much nicer, the feeling of sun on his face. He wondered whether he was dead, especially because when he opened his eyes, he could see the sparkling blue sky. If this was heaven, he was already enjoying it – after all, he could finally see again.

But if he was in heaven, why was he now staring at Kiril's face? Bilblox's head felt muddled and cobwebbed.

“Welcome back,” Kiril said. At first his voice sounded distant but then it became stronger.

Bilblox said nothing. Gradually, he made out where he was: on a makeshift sled of lashed together pine branches and none other than Kiril was pulling him. They were in a snowy ravine surrounded by spindly pine trees, and the early morning sky shone a bluish-purple. Of course, all these details affected Bilblox in an intense way, because it was the first time he could see anything for over a year; and that meant, he realized, that Kiril had forced him to take the ash. A split-second later, he realized it meant he was strong again.

His initial impulse was to leap off the sled and attack Kiril but he knew he needed to get a better sense of his capabilities. Plus, Kiril was watching carefully. “Feeling a little better now?” Kiril inquired.

Bilblox peered at Kiril through half-opened sensitive eyes. His mind struggled to keep up with the enormous amount of information conveyed by being able to see. Despite his situation, Bilblox felt like leaping up from the sled and running around like a joy-filled child. It was one of the happiest moments of his life. He could
see
.

Although he tried to contain his happiness given how he had received his sight, it was all too obvious.

Kiril smiled at Bilblox. “I can't quite imagine how you feel, since I've never been blind,” he said. “However, I can greatly sympathize, given how sick and old I had been feeling before taking the Jasber ash.”

This also was quite obvious. Kiril's stature and appearance were that of a man in the prime of his life. He had the look of a panther coiled into the body of a man. Everything about him – the way he leaned over with his hand on Bilblox's shoulder, his easy stance in the snowdrift, and the way he effortlessly kept the sled moving – everything pointed to a man at the peak of his physical and mental skills. Even the scar that once marred his face – twisting along his jaw like a snake – had miraculously disappeared.

Kiril stopped pulling the sled and Bilblox slowly rose to his feet. The two adversaries stood facing each other in the ravine. The wind had died down and the forest was quiet. Bilblox took stock of his situation. Overall, he felt good. The ache in his hands and shoulders from rowing across the Sea of Clouds had disappeared, and there was no trace of the unbearable headaches. The skin on his face felt taut and smooth, and deep inside he sensed the presence of strength he thought he had lost decades ago. He realized that in his whole life, he had never felt better.

“Why did you give me the ash?” Bilblox rasped. His voice sounded hoarse and raw, as if worn out by screaming.

“You should be thanking me for saving your life,” Kiril replied. “I found you unconscious at the beach, and your pulse was erratic. You had at most a half hour before you froze to death.”

“Why?” Bilblox repeated, his elation giving way to anger. “Why did you save me?” He tensed his entire body, ready to leap at Kiril at a moment's notice.

“We can spend the next hour destroying each other,” said Kiril
in a conversational tone. “But I think you'll find we're evenly matched, given
that we've both just taken the Ash. Still, I won't stop you from trying to escape. Go ahead. You'll suffer and then starve to death in a few days.”

Bilblox stared at Kiril. There was a reason his enemy had saved him, first in the waters near Jasber and then as he lay dying on the beach. But why?

“I won't betray anyone,” said Bilblox. “You must've already figured that out.”

Kiril nodded with his head to one side – calm, relaxed, unruffled by his wild surroundings -- like an 18
^th
century nobleman on a gentlemanly expedition.

Bilblox kept staring at Kiril. Finally, he broke the stare and looked into the forest. The image was so beautiful that tears filled his eyes and ran down his face.

“You should've let me die,” Bilblox said. “I've never hated being able to see as much as I do at this moment.”

“There's plenty of time to die,” Kiril softly replied. “But let's get through this forest, and then we'll talk about what happens next.”

Kiril picked up his carrying bag, dropped the reins of the makeshift sled and began walking up the path. Bilblox watched him. His brain ached from a swirl of confusion, shame and excitement. Obviously Kiril had plans for him, but after all, why did this have to be a one-way street? Bilblox was not passive, nor was he any longer blind. He was a Magrewski longshoreman at the peak of his strength, and he could have plans too. Perhaps that was the best option: go along and see where Kiril was taking them. And then strike at the right time. What was it that people always said about revenge – ah, yes, it was a dish best served cold.

Bilblox permitted himself a smile, his first in many days. He walked quickly to catch up to Kiril.

Although he walked quickly, almost a trot, it took Bilblox several minutes to reach Kiril. The Dragoonya leader walked effortlessly through the snow-filled forest, as if walking on a paved sidewalk. Kiril heard Bilblox pushing through the snowdrifts behind him, and he slowed down.

“Now you're being reasonable,” said Kiril. “I won't deny we're enemies, but in these circumstances it just makes sense to work together, doesn't it?”

Bilblox said nothing, although Kiril took this as agreement.

“What happened to your scar?” asked Bilblox. “It's gone.”

“Thanks to the green ash,” replied Kiril. “I rubbed a little ash into the scar and it healed. You too will be healed my friend. Good things will happen if you only trust me.” Kiril stopped suddenly and turned in his tracks and once again, they were face to face. He smiled – startling Bilblox – and stuck out his hand.

“We'll stick together,” suggested Kiril, as he extended his hand. “At least until we make it through this forest.”

Bilblox nodded slowly and extended his hand as well.

Several hours later, as afternoon swiftly turned to evening, Kiril and Bilblox sat around a lively fire. It dispelled the gloom surrounding them and its warmth loosened their tongues. Kiril spoke about his journey along the Fault Roads, as the prisoner of Colonel Treeknot and Josephus. Bilblox was wary, but it all seemed perfectly ordinary. Never once did Kiril ask about Alfonso or what happened in Jasber. But then, the conversation did turn and Bilblox found himself trapped, not knowing whether to speak or remain silent, whether to run or just bury his head in shame.

Kiril had been speaking about old times – his role leading the Dragoonya sneak attack on Somnos. And then he brought up Alfonso's name for the first time.

“It was quite a weapon your friend had,” Kiril remarked. “That sphere turned the battle around.”

Bilblox nodded, suddenly aware he was on dangerous ground.

“I've often wondered where he found it. You certainly can't find that type of thing in World's End, Minnesota. No – that was something he found closer to Somnos, right?”

Kiril looked at Bilblox and it was clear he was fishing for information. Bilblox grunted, but made no reply.

“We Dragoonya will have to keep a sharp eye out for him,” said Kiril in a soft voice. “A Great Sleeper with that type of weapon is rare heaped upon rare.” Kiril looked at Bilblox. “Of course you know that, and don't worry, I'm not expecting you to tell me where he is. But in fairness, you should realize it's rather important for me to find Alfonso's weapon. We'll hunt him down.”

“You're fools then,” said Bilblox angrily, “He doesn't-”

Bilblox stopped. His cheeks turned red. He had walked right into Kiril's trap.

“He doesn't...what?” asked Kiril. He stared deep into Bilblox's eyes.

“Ah, I see,” said Kiril. “He doesn't have the sphere any more. Well, that's interesting indeed. I wonder who does?”

Bilblox bit his lower lip. Kiril was a snake, a master of seeing through people. He wished he were back in the boat, waiting to die, instead of sitting here next to the warm fire and feeling this man bore into his deepest thoughts.

“Who has it?” Kiril wondered. “He wouldn't give it to just anyone. Hill, of course, but that's not Hill's style.” He stopped abruptly, stood up and looked into the inky darkness just beyond the fire.

When he turned back, Kiril was smiling. “Of course,” he said. “Of course he gave it to the girl – that's precisely the sort of sentimental, ill-advised thing he would do.” He glanced at Bilblox and knew the first battle was over and he had won.

“That's very interesting information you've given me,” Kiril said. “Now I wonder where she is?”