The Ancient One (33 page)

A sudden tearing sound ripped the air. A tall, treelike figure studded with knobby blue eyes reached through the transparent dome above them. As the appendage approached, Kate noticed that sunny yellow now replaced its former bone white color.

“Thika,” said Kate, gazing into as many of the round blue eyes as she could.

“Kaitlyn,” the watery voice replied. “This time, hsssh-whshhh, I have no need to ask you for the password.”

“You sound stronger than before.”

“Indeed I am,” sloshed the many-eyed creature. “As are the other Guardians. Though we are told much of the forest land outside the crater has been destroyed, shwshhh, the Wicked One’s power is spent. Already our lake grows cooler. And all this, whhshhh, thanks to you.” Thika swayed back and forth with a series of quick undulations. “I only wish the temperature would never rise again.”

“Yes, I know,” answered Kate solemnly. “I can’t do anything about that now.”

“You have already done, hhsssh, more than you know,” gurgled the Guardian. “For by saving our world in this time you have given the creatures of that later time a chance to save themselves. Hsh-whshh. Let us hope they are wise enough to do it.”

Kate made no reply.

“Hey,” piped up Kandeldandel, tapping his flute impatiently on his leg. “Can’t you talk some other time? We have some important business up there.”

“Whshhh, I see doing battle has not cured you of cheekiness,” said Thika sharply. “But this time you are forgiven. I see you are injured, shhhwhsh, and the Chieftain and Chieftess await.”

“And besides,” added Kandeldandel, “I’m hungry.”

The knobby appendage wrapped itself around the waists of the two travelers, avoiding the Tinnani’s drooping wing. Instinctively, Kate pulled the sphere close to her chest. She barely had a chance to inhale before she was being transported through the deep blue waters of the lake. Upward Thika carried them, until the dome seemed nothing more than a distant bubble below them surrounded by several gangling yellow creatures.

She heard the tearing sound once more, then suddenly she could breathe again. As she turned to Kandeldandel, sitting in a puddle beside her own at the base of the narrow stone stairway, Thika the Guardian bent low before her in what could only be a bow.

“Thank you, shhwsh,” the familiar voice sloshed. “Though you have only two eyes, hssshhwsh, you are now an honorary Guardian.”

“You’re welcome,” said Kate, electing to take the words as a compliment.

With a rip and a pop, the many eyes of Thika disappeared down the hole in the middle of the stone floor. As Kate, dripping wet, rose to her feet, the torch lighting the stairway immediately swelled in luminosity. Kandeldandel stood and shook his feathers like a wet dog, then gestured to Kate to lead the way.

Up the spiraling stairs she climbed, Kandeldandel on her heels. He began to hum a playful tune, no less melodious than that of a meadowlark but with the deeper resonance of an owl. As the ascending torches flamed more brightly, Kate could see the enormously detailed carvings in the black stone of the stairwell. A pictorial history of the Tinnanis since the beginning of time unfolded before her eyes, a tale of mountains rising and forests blooming, of creatures birthing and living and dying, of struggle and harmony, of great migrations, of simple homes under the roots of trees, of loyalty and betrayal, of season following season time and time again.

Nearing the top of the stairs, she heard a faint tapping sound. As she rounded the final spiral, it grew steadily louder, until with a start she discovered its source. A lone Tinnani, shorter and plumper than Kandeldandel, was at work carving a new scene into the stone. He stood upon wooden scaffolding, one chisel in each hand and a sharp-tipped implement held between his teeth. Turning briefly to Kate he grunted in greeting before returning to his painstaking labor.

Peering over his folded wings, Kate examined the new petroglyph. She saw a huge mountain exploding, with the unmistakable image of Gashra raising his arms wrathfully deep inside the volcano. Animals, birds, and people fled from the fiery outpouring of lava, while towering trees collapsed and burned all around. Then, to her surprise, she spotted a small human figure, joined by a flute-bearing Tinnani, scurrying to escape the cataclysm. In the human figure’s hands rested a radiant sphere, drawn larger than life, bearing a jagged crack across its surface.

“Can’t you make me taller?” asked Kandeldandel, scrutinizing the scene from below the scaffolding.

The craftsman scowled at him, then went back to work. Kate grinned at Kandeldandel before continuing up the last few stairs. As she topped the stairway she confronted the entrance to the great chamber. She realized instantly how little of it she had seen on her first visit.

Lit by powerful torches, the rounded ceiling revealed an intricate engraving of a single majestic tree, whose many branches bore fruits and flowers of all sizes and descriptions. Its stature reminded Kate of the Ancient One, although she had never heard of any tree bearing such a wide variety of fruits. Then at once, she understood. Instead of bearing the normal fruits of the forest, this gargantuan tree supported all the living beings ever found in this world. Thousands upon thousands of creatures, from a tiny ant to a great woolly mammoth rested upon the branches. Elk and spider, butterfly and bear, mushroom and hornet, fern and salmon, Tinnani and human, each held a particular place in the pattern. Each stood as a separate individual, each stood as a member of the whole. The numberless branches of this tree wove back and forth in a complex interlocking design, bristling with energy and vitality. For this was the Tree of Life.

As she proceeded toward the chamber, she walked beside the circular stone fountain in the center of the floor. Its meager trickle instantly shot skyward in the form of an energetic geyser. Instead of clear water, however, the splashing fountain radiated a spectrum of intense colors. Flashing prismatic hues in every droplet, it shimmered like a cascade of liquid light.

“The Rainbow Fountain is restored,” said Kandeldandel approvingly.

Kate nodded, but already her attention was caught by the assemblage of white-feathered figures she could see through the nearby archway of inlaid yellow and black stone. Passing beneath the archway, she entered a high-ceilinged chamber whose walls displayed a repeating motif of tall trees tended by soaring Tinnanis. As she entered, the flickering torches suspended from the chandelier flamed strongly, revealing the careful craftsmanship of the walls as well as the recessed stone ceiling, a vaulting dome of glittering concentric circles. After long absence, bright light again graced the central chamber of Ho Shantero.

Tinnanis filled the chamber, many more than the last time Kate stood within its walls. Some wore streaks of gray or red on their white plumage, some stood slightly taller than the rest of the crowd, some carried infants not much bigger than Arc upon their shoulders. All of them hushed with a brief fluttering of feathers when Kate stepped into the room. Kandeldandel, strutting behind her, puffed out his chest and held his head high. Watching the pair with wide owl eyes, the Tinnanis parted as they approached, clearing a pathway that led to the three carved thrones at the far end of the room.

The rounded body of the Chieftain filled the central throne of white whalebone, while the more slender Chieftess sat erect in the transparent throne to his left. The crystalline seat to the right remained empty, but next to it a frail white form lay on the bench of polished black stone.

As Kate drew nearer, the reclining form seemed to solidify, to harden before her eyes. Fanona. She was tall, like the Chieftess, with the same large, knowing eyes, and two small silvery tufts protruding from the top of her head. The Chieftess glanced in the direction of her daughter, whereupon a slow smile crossed her face.

Kate stood before the Chieftain and Chieftess, bowed slightly, then held in her outstretched arms the glowing red sphere. The Chieftain, dangling several mousetails from his mouth, reached his own hands toward it, quivering with anticipation.

“The Broken Touchstone,” announced Kate.

“Dewiffud mby Kootwyn, mmmff, da Conquawa, mmmff,” replied the Chieftain.

“It’s best not to make pronouncements with your mouth full, dear,” chided the Chieftess gently.

Glancing at her sharply, the Chieftain swallowed with all the subtlety of a croaking bullfrog. Then he wriggled in his throne and repeated, “Delivered by Kaitlyn the Conqueror.”

“Call me Kate, please,” she said as she handed him the sphere.

The Chieftain took it carefully in his hands, talons retracted so as not to scratch its surface, and studied it momentarily. Then he lifted it into position at the top of his throne. As it came into contact with the cup-shaped pedestal, the Broken Touchstone flashed brilliantly, causing the assembled Tinnanis in the chamber to cluck and hoot in admiration.

“Guests,” bellowed the Chieftain. “Bring in the guests.” Pausing for a second, he added, “And bring some more oysters while you’re at it.” Turning to Kate, he said, “We are most grateful to you.”

“And to you,” declared the Chieftess, looking straight at Kandeldandel.

At her words, Kandeldandel shifted nervously, dropping his flute with a clatter on the stone floor. Seeing this, the Chieftain closed his eyes and shook his white head in dismay.

At length he peered again at Kate. “You have saved our realm from destruction,” he continued. “The Wicked One is defeated, the Touchstone is returned, and most precious of all,” he said with a wave toward the black stone bench, “our daughter Fanona is nearly revived.” Shifting his gaze to Kandeldandel, he studied the musician for a moment, his face showing both amazement and pride. Then he declared, “And you, Kandeldandel Zinzin, have brought honor both to yourself and your proud family.”

The musician straightened his back and stood as tall as he could manage. This time he did not drop the flute. He bowed to the enthroned Tinnanis and hooted softly, “I was glad to be of service, Your Wingedness,”

The chamber instantly echoed with a loud chorus of cheers, hoots, and hurrahs that shook the chandelier. Tinnanis bellowed and screeched, celebrating their great victory. They danced together in small circles, tossing loose feathers into the air. Then the Chieftess, who had been pensively fingering the string of gleaming pearls around her neck, snapped her jaw and raised her ruby-studded scepter. Silence descended.

“We are joyous,” said the Chieftess in her clear, ringing voice, “for all the reasons you have heard. Yet we cannot forget that our joy is also mixed with sadness.” She gazed again about the room, with the expression of someone who knows both triumph and tragedy. “While we cherish our victory, it came only at great cost. Much of the lowland forest beyond the walls of our crater is now lost, buried beneath a blanket of molten stone. Regeneration will require many lifetimes, and our friends who died cannot ever be returned. Many of our favorite places are wiped away forever.”

She sighed, as her round eyes scanned the many faces filling the room. “And we have also lost something else. None of you, not even the youngest, will ever live to see the final healing of the Touchstone. The missing Fragment will never be found, for the only clues to its whereabouts were destroyed with the Stick of Fire.”

The Chieftess focused on Kate, who averted her eyes. “Your sacrifice was great, but it was even greater than you know. For with the loss of the Fragment, the Touchstone must remain forever diminished. Though our daughter Fanona grows stronger by the minute, and will one day assume her place on the throne, she will never nurture the forest with the power that was prophesied.”

She glanced toward the Touchstone. “But saddest of all is the glimpse of the future that I have seen in my dreams. Though the Halamis who survived will leave, seeking new lands to the south, other humans will eventually arrive. They will exist here, yet not live here. The forest to them will be only a tool, a meal to be consumed. They will not know it as a friend.”

Ruffling her white wings, the Chieftess turned once again to Kate. “As the people without wonder arrive, I am afraid that the Tinnanis will be forced to leave. For, just like the trees, we cannot survive very long in such a world. Though I do not know with certainty that we will need to depart, my heart has little hope that we can stay.

“All that will remain are a few tokens of our past, such as this island, which will stay afloat for a while after we have abandoned it. Yet when the power of the Wicked One rises again several centuries from now, do not expect to find any Tinnanis residing in the realm of Ho Shantero.” She hooted once softly. “Though I have lived now for many thousands of years, I never have known a time of such grief,”

Kate, along with the rest of the room, stood in stony silence. A grass-caped Tinnani flew to the throne of the Chieftain bearing a tray of raw oysters. Uncharacteristically, he pushed them aside, grumbling something about indigestion. At that moment, two familiar faces appeared in the crowd, pushing their way toward the front.

“Laioni!” Kate cried, reaching to hug her friend tightly.

“You’re safe,” bubbled Laioni. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Kate looked deep into her smiling eyes, then at the bandage around her thigh. “I thought I’d never see
you
again.”

“You should not have burned the stick.”

“I did what I did,” answered Kate.

Then the joy in Laioni’s face evaporated, and she pulled back from the embrace. “Most of my people, you know, were killed in the eruption.”

“And your mother?”

Laioni’s eyes grew misty. “My mother too. And my grandmother and baby brother. They should have stayed here in the crater instead of trying to return to the village. My father, they say, has survived, but he is busy organizing the few others who lived so we can find a new home. Almost everyone I knew is gone.”

Kate said softly, “They have joined Toru.”

The Halami girl stiffened. “Did you see him?”

“I—I don’t know, for sure.”

“Then,” said Laioni, “I will keep hoping he is alive. Perhaps we will find each other again, even if it’s a long time from now.”