Shadows on the Stars (11 page)

Tam, wherever you are right now, I hope you’re still in one piece. And behaving more sensibly than I am.

Raking the air with his hand, he strode off to stay his last night among the nests of this village. Tomorrow at dawn he would leave, hoping that his strength would fully return during his trip to Fireroot. For although he had less distance to travel than Tam, he knew that he had no less danger to face. And he also knew that, like his brother, he simply had to try his best to survive.

9
•
To Live Forever

Reaching up, Tamwyn grabbed hold of a lip of rough brown rock above his head. He pulled, hoisting himself higher, straining his sore arms to gain the upper ledge. Sweat from his brow dribbled into his eyes, stinging.

Just a bit higher,
he thought with fierce determination.
Almost there now.

Suddenly the lip of rock broke off, spraying pebbles into the air and sending him tumbling backward. He slid and bounced down the cliffside, finally rolling to a stop. For a moment he lay on his back, dust swirling about him, listening to the echoing ring from the quartz bell on his hip—and the softer, deeper note from the slab of wood inside his pack.

“Trolls’ tongues!” he cursed, forcing himself to sit up despite his dizziness.

He stared up at the cliff looming above him. So steep, so lifeless. For two days now, all he had seen—other than the smirking face of that hoolah now and then—was rock. Rough brown rock. It was everywhere, rising higher and higher, climbing straight up to the sky just like . . .

He shook his head, sending up a cloud of dirt and dust.
Just like the trunk of a, tree.
Which was, of course, what he was climbing. For this was no ordinary tree. This one, it seemed, went on and on forever. And these endless brown ridges were, in fact, its bark—the crusty surface of the trunk’s lower reaches.

Blinking the dust from his eyes, he peered into the thickening clouds of mist that swirled above him. The cliffs beyond the ledge rose upward until, at last, they vanished in the vapors. How far he’d come he couldn’t guess, but he did feel sure that in the time since he’d left Scree he’d only managed to climb a tiny fraction of the trunk.

Why, he hadn’t even glimpsed the Swaying Sea, which was supposed to be somewhere up here. Nor his true goal, which was not the Sea—or the strange appendage, neither root nor branch, that held it. No, what he wanted to find was the portal that was somewhere near the Sea: the highest portal in the lower realms, which could take him deep into the Tree itself. For he knew that his hopes lay not in climbing up the Great Tree from the outside, as he was doing now—which could take forever—but in finding a passage somewhere
inside.

The same inside passage that, as Tamwyn had learned from bards, his father had hoped would carry him to the very top with the speed of portals. After all, Krystallus had ridden portals to every one of the seven root-realms, even Shadowroot, and survived. Despite its dangers, portalseeking offered the fastest way to move around great distances.

And even the vast distances between the root-realms were small compared to the utter enormity of the upper reaches of Avalon. Why, Krystallus himself believed that the trunk alone dwarfed all Seven Realms put together. And then, if you considered how huge the branches, and all the lands they contained, could be . . .

Tamwyn shook his head, overwhelmed by the mere thought of such magnitude.
And here I am, trying to travel all the way to the top, and to the stars beyond! And to do it in just a few short weeks, before Rhita Gawr can crush us all.

But he knew he shouldn’t think about that now. Better to focus on his next steps. First, he’d find that portal near the Swaying Sea, and enter the trunk from there. Then he’d go to the legendary Great Hall of the Heartwood, deep inside the Tree, which his father had discovered on one of his earlier expeditions—and which Krystallus believed held the key to traveling higher, into the upper trunk and branches. And ultimately, to the stars.

Tamwyn brushed some chips of rock off his eyebrow, then took from his pack the flask he’d made from a supple leaf of leathereed. Unplugging the flask, he took some water—his final sip, just a few piddling drops. Licking the last trace of moisture on his lips, he knew that he would find no more to drink until he reached the Swaying Sea. If he ever got there. And where he’d find his next meal, he could only guess.

What matters more,
he told himself,
is finding that portal.

Closing the flask, he replaced it in the pack. His hand brushed against the slab of harmóna wood and it vibrated again, a low, quivering note. He hadn’t touched it since parting from Elli. And given how upset he felt, even now, he didn’t want to hold the wood in his hands, let alone carve on it again.

He adjusted the pack strap on his shoulder, and straightened his staff and dagger in their sheaths. Then, once again, he started to climb. Hand over hand he pulled himself higher on the rough-hewn rock, moving upward bit by bit. Another handhold broke, scraping his thumb, but this time he caught himself before falling. It took him twenty minutes of hard work to regain the spot below the ledge where he’d tumbled backward.

He paused, breathing hard as he reached up to the ledge to grasp a new hold.
This is tough
, he told himself.
Toughest thing I’ve ever done.
A wry grin creased his dirt-smudged face.
Except for trying to talk with Elli.

His hand found a knob. It was not very big, and almost out of reach, but he managed to clamp his fingers around it. With a grunt, he tried to pull himself up onto the overhanging ledge. Quaking from the effort, he drew his body higher. His bare feet left the rocks below the ledge, so that all his weight hung on the knob. This was just the place he’d been last time, when—

Craaack.
The knob broke off!

Tamwyn roared in anguish as he started to fall. His fingers scraped against the rock, trying desperately to hold on somehow. But he kept sliding backward. He couldn’t stop himself now.

Suddenly a strong hand appeared above him and grabbed his wrist. It clasped tight around Tamwyn’s sweaty skin.

“Henni!” he shouted, relieved even as he flailed, hanging over the ledge. He kicked his legs wildly. “Pull me up, you fool.”

“Hoohoo, eehee, ahahahaha,” chuckled the hoolah, clearly savoring his new position of power. His silver eyes widened, filling his circular eyebrows. “Well, well, clumsy man. Just look at you now.”

“Pull . . . me . . . up,” grunted Tamwyn, trying to wriggle up over the edge.

Henni tilted his head and, with his free hand, scratched his temple below the red headband he always wore. “Er, could you tell me why?”

“Why?” blustered Tamwyn, flailing desperately. “Because I’ll kill you if you don’t!”

“Kill me? Hoohoo, eeheeheehee. Sounds like fun.”

“It won’t be, I promise!”

Henni’s face turned somber. “No fun?” He heaved a sigh. “Oh well, then. What’s the point if it’s no fun?”

With that, he let go. Tamwyn cried out and plummeted backward, smashing into the rocks below, then rolling and bouncing until he finally came to a stop. He groaned and straightened his left leg, twisted beneath him. Weakly, he raised his head. Even through the spinning collage of brown cliffs, he could make out the face of the hoolah above him, grinning happily.

“You, you . . . little heap of dung!” He waved his clenched fist. “Just wait until I catch you. I’ll beat you, chop you, and feed you to a fire dragon! Then I’ll rip you out and do it all over again. And that’s just the beginning!”

“Eeheeheehahaha,” laughed Henni, “You were wrong again, clumsy man. This really
is
fun.”

Tamwyn’s eyes blazed. Then, hearing a tiny whimper from his tunic pocket, he pulled it open and peered inside. “Batty? You all right?”

“Noee no, manny man. Me’s having a very bumpsy-umpsy dream.”

“That,” growled Tamwyn, “was no dream. That was the hoolah.”

Within his pocket, a bright green glow expanded. Then out poked a scrawny, mouselike face with cupped ears, looking very angry indeed. “Batty Lad will teachy him a lesson, oh vessa yessa ya ya ya.”

Tamwyn worked his stiff neck and nodded. “Be my guest.”

With a flash of green from his eyes, Batty Lad lifted his crumpled wings and took off. He whizzed around the cliff for a moment before catching sight of Henni up on the ledge. The little fellow screeched wrathfully, then zoomed after him. Henni’s face looked suddenly worried before he disappeared up the slope.

A moment later, there was a very loud (and for Tamwyn, very satisfying) yelp of pain from the rocks above the ledge. The young man grinned in admiration. Whatever Batty Lad lacked in size, he surely made up for in zeal, at least when he was angry.

Slowly, he got up again, straightened his pack and sheaths, and started to climb back up to the overhanging ledge. The trudge seemed longer than ever, and the cliff steeper, but eventually he reached the spot. This time, however, he tried to work his way around the side of the ledge, cramming his feet into vertical notches in the rock. Bit by bit, he ascended, dragging himself up the sheer face.

Finally, with one last tug, he hauled himself past the barrier. A jutting edge scratched against his cheek, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He’d made it! He pulled off his pack strap and collapsed against a smooth, gray boulder, panting heavily.

Looking to either side, he saw no sign of Henni anywhere. This only improved his mood. In addition, he’d arrived at a flatter area where the trunk seemed to bulge outward. Could it be that his days of hard climbing were almost over?

He swung his head around and looked at the terrain above him—and his brief moment of joy vanished. The cliffs swooped higher again, reaching endlessly upward, until at last they were swallowed by mist. There was nothing ahead of him but rock, rock, and more rock. No sign of the Sea, or the portal.

Then, to the west, a patch of mist opened. And he saw it—hardly more than a flash of blue, deeper than the color of sky, against a rim of brown shoreline. But that was all he needed.

Tamwyn blinked just to be sure. It was really there! So the Swaying Sea wasn’t out of reach after all. All he had to do was climb a bit more, until he approached it. Then somewhere up there, if the bards were right, he’d find the portal that would take him to the Great Hall.

But where, exactly? The ballads he’d heard were all vague, just calling it
the portal near the Swaying Sea
, or
the portal on the cliffs.
Even now that he was in the region, it could take him hours—or days—to find it. Or was it too much to hope that he might have some good luck for a change?

He sank back against the boulder, rubbing his tired shoulders on its smooth surface. For an instant the oddity of that intrigued him. Why should there be a boulder like this up here, so different from the rising ridges all around? Looking higher on the cliffs again, he glimpsed a few more such boulders above him—all smooth, round, and dingy gray. Strange that he hadn’t seen anything like that down below.

Ah, well. Just another one of those unanswered questions.
His brow furrowed.
These days I’ve been finding lots of those. And most of them have to do with myself.
He glanced down at his pack, holding the wood that could have become a magical harp.
Or with her.

His gaze moved to the splash of bright blue to the west. The appendage whose broad cup held the Swaying Sea was an unanswered question of its own. Was it Avalon’s highest root, an eighth realm, as some supposed? Those who had visited it, including many of the representatives of Avalon’s diverse peoples who had signed the treaty that ended the War of Storms, described a place much like Waterroot, though smaller.

Or was it really more like Avalon’s lowest branch? That was the view of many at the school that Tamwyn’s father had founded, the Eopia College of Mapmakers. But who could really say, since no one—save possibly Krystallus or one of the explorers who had gone with him on that final, ill-fated expedition—had ever seen a true branch of the Great Tree?

Feeling drowsy from all his exertion, Tamwyn gave up speculating. He concluded that someday, if he survived this quest—and if Avalon survived Rhita Gawr—he would just have to explore the Swaying Sea himself. He leaned his head back against the boulder and closed his eyes. He hadn’t planned to nap, not really. Just to rest a bit, to gather his strength before the final push to the portal.

Mist from the heights drifted lower, surrounding him in thick, gauzy vapors. Closer and closer the mist swirled, until he could feel its chill on the back of his neck. Then he heard a shout—from someone nearby. Someone in trouble. It was a voice he had never heard before. Yet even so, he recognized it instantly.

“Father!” cried Tamwyn, leaping up from the boulder. Stumbling through the thickening mist, he ran toward the voice. Suddenly he saw his father, or what was left of him. The man’s head, in a swirl of long gray hair, was vanishing into the rocks. No more of him remained—just his face, fast disappearing. Beside him on the ground lay his torch, its flame sputtering weakly.

Tamwyn blinked in astonishment. His father was being swallowed, eaten alive! By the Great Tree itself.

Krystallus tried to speak, but this time his voice sounded inhuman, like scraping rocks. His eyes, as black as Tamwyn’s, opened wide in terror. Tamwyn lurched toward him, arms outstretched—

But he couldn’t move. The rock beneath him was pulling at him, tugging him downward. He, too, was being sucked down into the rocky ridge! The scraping sound grew louder, swelling all around him.

He cried out, but all he heard was the grinding scrape of stone against stone. Louder it grew, and louder. Now his legs were inside the stone, up to his knees, his thighs, his waist. Then his chest. His hands, his wrists, and soon, despite his struggles, his shoulders. His neck.

Glancing over at his father’s face, he caught one final glimpse of the great explorer’s eyes. They shone bright, burning through the mist like black fire coals, full of feeling that would never be expressed. Never be shared. Then the ridge swallowed Krystallus completely.