Shadow Tree (9 page)

Leif nodded his head and couldn't help but smile. This was precisely what had happened.

(‡
⅞) If A.P. travels to the Boundary Waters for a canoe trip, on his fifth birthday, he shall have an ear infection.

This too had happened. “Amazing,” muttered Leif.

Leif paused and realized he could read these for several hours and just delay the inevitable moment. He sighed deeply and flipped to the end of the book. The last page was filled with row after row of what-if scenarios, but it was different than the ones before. It appeared to be written hastily, and almost in panic. At the top was written:

Addendum
The Perplexons & the Shadow Tree

There was also a brief note:

Note Bene
: If the cursed Tree is allowed to grow, there will be famine, the likes of which the world has never seen. Millions will die (between 7,865,234 – 44,324,210 or so says the Pen).

“
Hmm,” said Leif. He kept reading.

If the Tree is planted, you will know, for the earth will shake with great tremors. If this happens, there are two scenarios in which it may be destroyed...

“Great tremors?” said Leif. This made no sense, but he read on.

Scenario I.
L.P. reunites with his son, M, and C.N.T at the obelisk. Together they set off for Dargora through the clouds. They arrive at the southernmost edge of the Petrified Forest where the three rivers converge, near the caves where the fog wolves live. From there, L.P., his son and M escort C.N.T. through the forest to ensure her safety. Where the forest ends, C.N.T. continues alone to Dargora. She recovers the Pen from its hiding place within the anatomical snuffbox. In broad daylight, she destroys the Shadow Tree. (
‰ ⅞)

“L.P. must be me,” said Leif to himself. At a glance, this scenario seemed favorable. He and Alfonso didn't have to go into Dargora and C.N.T. took care of destroying the Shadow Tree. Still, there were so many questions. What, for example, was the “anatomical snuffbox”?
And who in God's name was C.N.T?
There was nothing to do but keep reading...

Scenario II.
A Perplexon will rejoice with friends in the dark of the chasm. He will then destroy the Tree by himself. A Perplexon will succeed, but he will also die. (‡‰
№⅞)

“
‘A Perplexon' must be Alfonso,” muttered Leif. He recoiled. His heart was pounding and his breath seemed to stick in his throat. He struggled to regain his composure. He began to process the significance of this what-if. The prophecy was clear, in the second scenario, Alfonso died. This meant that – at all costs – Leif could not let his son enter Dargora and attempt to destroy the tree. He needed to find Alfonso and quickly. But how? And where? The prophecy. The answer had to be in the prophecy. Leif quickly took another look at what was written. The first prophecy said that Leif would reunite with his son “here” and then showed the following picture...

The question was: What was this thing? And, more importantly, where was it? It appeared to be a tower of sorts, covered with ornate carvings. There was nothing in the background – no context or setting at all. But what about those carvings? Leif squinted closely at the drawing of the obelisk and saw that the following pattern was repeated again and again on the obelisk itself. It appeared to be a map of sorts. It showed a bunch of islands and rivers in the form of curlicues. In the center was a small white hole. Leif stared at it closely...

Clearly this pattern meant something, but what? He simply needed more time to solve this puzzle.

Leif took the small framed canvas with nothing on it and tucked it under his arm. He was taking this with him, though he couldn't say why. Then he took hold of Alfonso's book, and tore out the page listing “Scenario I” and “Scenario II.” Finally, he took the book, kissed it gently with his lips, and tossed it into the fire.

Chapter 14: Tricks of the Mind

Bilblox lay face down in the snow, jaws clenched, eyes firmly shut. The coldness of the snow offered his only relief from the excruciating pain in his head; for Bilblox, it felt as if someone were slicing his brain in half, very slowly, with a red-hot knife that had been heated on the coals of a fire. Time ticked away slowly, imperceptibly – perhaps it was hours, perhaps it was days that passed – it was impossible to tell. Eventually, mercifully, the longshoreman fell into a very dark and prolonged sleep. When he finally rose from his slumber, Bilblox heard the sound of swords – and a great many of them – being drawn from their scabbards. He forced himself to pry open one of his eye. The light from the sun was blinding, but as the world around him came into focus, he saw that he was surrounded. There were four dozen soldiers, all dressed in leather armor adorned with feathers – the trademark garb of Dragoonya horsemen. Kiril was standing with them, looking remarkably at ease.

“Where did they come from?” groaned Bilblox.

“From an outpost just south of Dargora,” replied Bilblox. “I got them while you were sleeping.” Kiril reached down to his waist, unfastened his pouch, and dipped his fingers into the small bag. “Care for a pinch of ash, my friend?” asked Kiril. He drew close to Bilblox, squatted down on his haunches, and whispered soothingly, “Would you like to put the ash in your eyes – or shall I help you?”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” whispered Bilblox.

“That's all behind us now,” replied Kiril calmly, “Let us focus on the matter at hand. That's the sensible thing to do, isn't it?”

Bilblox grunted.

“What you are feeling now is the withdrawal from the green ash – and it will get much worse before it gets better,” continued Kiril. “The pain is just beginning. You are still lucid – you can hear me – which means your mind has not yet begun to play its tricks. That will happen soon, very soon, and this is when men go mad. That is when you will beg me to end your misery. Trust me, my friend, you don't want to go down that road.” Kiril then reached into the pouch and took out a generous dollop of the green powder. “Take it,” said Kiril, “For your sake – not mine.”

“No,” whispered Bilblox.

“Just yesterday you were asking for it,” said Kiril, “Why now the sudden change of heart?”

“I waited too long,” said Bilblox hoarsely. “I should have... Alfonso... I should have...” But he didn't finish his sentence; instead, he passed out and his head fell heavily against the snow.

“Is he dead?” asked one of the Dragoonya horsemen.

“No,” replied Kiril, “He is just in terrible pain.”

“What shall we do with him?” asked another of the horsemen.

“Put him on a horse,” said Kiril. “He's coming with us.”

Bilblox felt as if he were falling and the sensation continued for hours. He kept falling through darkness, wondering at what moment his body would crumple upon impact with a hard surface. Perhaps this was the sensation of dying – to fall without end.

But then the falling stopped, seemingly without impact. He was lying face down in pebbly sand. Water covered him, and then retreated. The cries of grown men playing a game echoed in his ears. He couldn't decide whether he was underwater, still falling, or very much alive on a beach.

Bilblox lifted his head and then moved to a sitting position. He was on a beach near the water and several hundred feet away he saw a massive freighter lying on its side.

“Well I'll be,” whispered Bilblox. “The
Nyetbezkov
.” It was the place where he and Alfonso had first met, during a game of ballast. Alfonso had just begun learning how to become a Great Sleeper, and Bilblox had taken him under his wing.

Ropes dangled from the Russian ship and Bilblox could see longshoremen scurrying up and down. They were clearly playing ballast.

Bilblox smiled and then waved his hands. He tried to stand but somehow was unable to do so. He tried to yell towards them, but no sound came from his throat. A sudden itch erupted on the palm of his hand, and it quickly turned to pain.

Suddenly panicked, Bilblox thrashed around but was still unable to stand. He heard a low-pitched buzz that became louder and louder. Bilblox glanced out to see and saw the origin of the noise. It was a ten-story tidal wave about a mile from shore. It was heading straight towards them.

Bilblox screamed mutely. He opened his mouth again and again and tried to force out a sound – any sound. The tidal wave picked up the
Nyetbezkov
as easily as an egg shell and swept it towards Bilblox. At the last minute, with the wall of water almost on top of him, Bilblox was aware of a presence sitting calmly to his left. It was Judy, Alfonso's mother.

“Shall we leave?” she asked Bilblox. “World's End is much safer, and you still need to save Alfonso.”

As he awoke, Bilblox could still hear the sound of the tidal wave in his ears. Soon it turned to cheering, just as his headache returned with great ferocity. Bilblox cracked open one eye and then the other; he found himself slumped over in the backseat of a small sled that was being drawn by a team of three white stallions. The only other occupant of the sled was a man, standing up proudly, clutching a small leather pouch in his right hand and pumping his left fist in the air triumphantly.

The man was Kiril.

Kiril glanced over at Bilblox, noticed that he was awake, and yelled over the roar of the crowd, “Hello there Bilblox, good to see you up, you have been out cold for almost two days.” Then he added, “Quite a sight, isn't it?”

Bilblox took in his surroundings for the first time. He could still see quite well – so the power of the green ash was obviously quite long lasting – but his headache had returned and he knew that it would not go away unless he took the ash again. Bilblox looked around. The sled was making its way down a long snow-covered thoroughfare that was lined with tens of thousands of people who were all cheering raucously. Some of the people in the crowd were clearly Dragoonya soldiers, dressed in full battle gear, but the vast majority of them appeared to be wretched prisoners dressed in rags – filthy, half-starved, and wild-eyed. There were feeble old men, toothless old women, and even children, clamoring about on all fours, mouths hung wide open like mangy, famished dogs. Bilblox mustered his strength, sat up in his seat, and looked out at the people around him. They were not just cheering – they were screaming madly – and a few appeared to be foaming at the mouth.

“Who are all these people?” asked Bilblox hoarsely.

“Most of them are slaves,” replied Kiril.

“Why are they cheering?”

“Because,” replied Kiril, “This whole city has just been given new life.”

Bilblox felt too weak to say anything or even contemplate a reply. Instead, he tried to get a sense for the “city” that was around him. There were no buildings to be seen. The only structures were a series of pillars that resembled massive bones; each was firmly anchored into the icy ground and disappeared into the cloud-filled sky.

“What is this place?” asked Bilblox finally.

“Dargora,” replied Kiril.

“When did we get here?”

“Early this morning,” replied Kiril. “We've been home for almost a full day and you've been out cold the entire time.”

Kiril guided his sled for another mile or so, down a snow-covered road, lined with a series of tall, proud evergreen trees. On either side of the road, beneath the trees, were throngs of screaming slaves. Eventually, the sled arrived at a large, empty clearing, roughly the size of a small city park. The perimeter of this clearing was roped off and guarded by several hundred Dragoonya soldiers. In the center of the clearing was a large stage made of ice. On the stage stood a small muscular man who held a large bronze canister in his hands. Kiril eyed him appraisingly, then stepped down from his sled, and walked briskly over to the stage.

“Hello Konrad,” said Kiril, as he greeted the man. “How are you my old friend?”

“Amazed,” replied Konrad, his voice choked with emotion. “When your note arrived by the bird, I was.... well, stunned. You did it –
you did the impossible
.”

Kiril nodded proudly, pleased by the praise from his oldest and most trusted lieutenant.

“What about the girl?” asked Kiril. “Have you found her? Is she alive?”

“Not to worry,” said Konrad. “I found her. She is fine and overjoyed to hear of your return.”

“Good,” said Kiril softly.

Just then a slender teenage boy, with sickly pale skin and two white eyes, strode onto the stage and embraced Kiril.

“You have done very well my son,” said the boy.

“Thank you Nartam,” replied Kiril, bowing his head before the person whom he had long considered both his king and his father. It was strange for Kiril to see Nartam this way – as a boy, really – but he tried to limit his reaction. No doubt it would all seem normal in time, thought Kiril. Nartam reached up and ran his finger across Kiril's face. “Your scar is gone,” observed Nartam, “No doubt thanks to the green ash.”

Kiril nodded. It was, of course, Nartam who had given him this scar as punishment for his failure to follow Leif Perplexon all the way to the gates
of Jasber.

“I hope you haven't gotten greedy with that ash,” said Nartam.

“Not at all,” said Kiril.

“Hmm,” said Nartam. He seemed unconvinced. “Well, in any case, let us accomplish at last what we have waited ages to do. You have done this.
You
. Today they cheer for you – not for me.”

Kiril studied Nartam closely. He seemed proud, but did the pride mask a deeper jealousy? Kiril couldn't suppress his feelings of uneasiness.

“It is said that whoever plants the Shadow Tree is bound to it forever,” said Nartam. “The planter and the tree are joined. Centuries ago, when Imad destroyed the Shadow Tree that Resže planted – Resže died with the tree. Resže wrote in his notes,
We are one.
So it will be once again.”

Kiril understood what Nartam was telling him and what he now had to say.

“I insist that you have the honor of planting the tree,” said Kiril.

“Are you completely certain, my son?” asked Nartam. “It was
you
who made this possible?”

Kiril looked his father in the eyes.
He's not really asking me
, thought Kiril.
He's telling me
.

“Of course,” said Kiril. “The honor must be yours.”

“My planting this tree will change everything,” said Nartam rather cryptically. “You understand that, don't you?”

“I think so,” said Kiril.

“I will still be king,” said Nartam, “But I will also be the servant of this tree – just as the Great Sleepers of ages past were servants of the Founding Trees.”

“Does that mean that I will also be a servant of the Tree?” asked Kiril.

“No my son,” said Nartam. “You must
not
be. That is why I am telling you this. And, when we burn this tree, I forbid you from using any of its ash.
You must be the one man who always sees everything clearly
. Do you understand?”

Kiril nodded.

Meanwhile, back in the sled, Bilblox watched Kiril carefully. Bilblox was trying to grasp what was taking place – or what was about to take place. He saw the small, muscular man open the bronze canister and hand the teenage boy something about the size of a nut or perhaps... perhaps a seed. Then he saw Kiril offer his pouch of green ash to the teenage boy. It was at this moment that Bilblox realized that right here and now, on this stage of ice, the boy was about to plant the Shadow Tree.

This was the moment.

Bilblox lunged for the door of the sled, but his legs remained stubbornly in place. He looked down and, for the first time, noticed that his right ankle was manacled and chained to the sled. Bilblox thrashed about madly, trying to rid himself
of the chain, but it was no use. And at last, as he finally grasped that he was trapped – and that he had failed, failed spectacularly – the haggard longshoreman looked up into the crowd, into the faces of countless screaming slaves and momentarily locked eyes with one slave in particular. She was a teenage girl with matted blonde hair and, as he saw her, his lips involuntarily formed a single word: Resuza.