The Ancient One (35 page)

Laioni cocked her head to one side. She gazed intently at Kate for several seconds. “You cannot be certain of that.”

At that moment, a lilting song filled the air. Its source was Fanona, still seated upon a massive root. As she lifted her resonant voice, all conversation ceased. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, listening to the young Tinnani whose name meant Song That Never Dies.

The feather falls

drifting down through the clouds

hoping to fly

Away . . . under moon under sun

Touching the boughs

reaching upward like arms

seeking to fly

Afar . . . over trees over peaks

To find the ground

landing soft as a seed

again to fly

Above . . . beyond years beyond stars.

As her last note melted away, Fanona gracefully rose from her seat. Bearing the glowing Touchstone in her hands, she positioned herself just outside the hollow of the Ancient One. “It is time,” she declared.

Then Kate heard a chorus of gentle hooting above her head. She looked up to see a dozen or more owls, of several different sizes and colorings, resting in the lower branches of the great redwood. Some of the owls ruffled their wings and bobbed their heads, while others sat motionless on their perches. All of them watched the scene below with wide, understanding eyes.

She turned for the last time to Laioni. “Good-bye,” she said, her voice barely audible above the calls of the assembled owls.

“
Halma-dru
,” came the reply.

Kate stepped to the base of the massive tree. As she passed in front of the Chieftain, he tugged her sleeve and whispered, “Don’t forget what to bring, it you ever come back.”

Nodding, she ducked into the hollow. She sat there, smelling once again the tree’s moist resins, as Jody entered. He glanced at her doubtfully before squeezing in beside her. She paid no attention, concentrating instead on her echoing memory of Laioni’s final word.

The owls’ hooting abruptly ceased. A sudden flash of red light filled the hollow. Kate felt herself whirling, whirling impossibly fast, before she lost consciousness.

XXXIII:
D
EEP
R
OOTS

Kate awoke, yet her body slept on. Her conscious mind swelled with strange new sensations, alert and aware, while her skin and bones and muscles felt numb, or worse than numb. Her body felt nothing at all, not even the absence of feeling. It was detached. Departed. Gone.

“Where am I?” she cried, and her words rang emptily in the airy darkness.

“What happened?” she called again.

No answer came. She felt as if she were floating somehow. Blackness surrounded her. She could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. Not even the pulse of her own heartbeat broke the omnipresent silence.

Then, a scent. Barely present, neither far away nor near at hand. Elusive. Subtle. Tingling her, tickling her. Fresh and potent, fragrant as crushed pine needles. A wet smell, ripe with resins. Flowing through and around her, holding her essence like water in a cup. The scent of the forest, so strong that it seemed alive.

“Where am I?”

Still no answer. No sound at all.

And then, echoing out of the fragrant air itself, she heard a voice. Deeper than the deepest double bass, the voice vibrated from both above and below.

“I hold you, small friend. I hold you and protect you.”

It was the voice of the Ancient One.

Kate’s consciousness whirled. Could it be true? Was her mind, or whatever was left of her mind, just playing tricks?

“Tell me your wish,” reverberated the voice. The smell of moist resins grew stronger.

“I—I want to go home,” she answered. “To my own time. To the twentieth century.”

The air around her shuddered, as if a powerful wind had shaken the redwood down to the roots. “Are you certain? That is a time of great sadness, great pain.”

“It’s my time,” she answered, “and I want to go there.”

Silence ensued, tense and uneasy, until the Ancient One spoke again. “Not all creatures who stand upright and vertical know they are connected to everything else. Some of your kind know only their loneliness. They have lost their own roots, drifting aimlessly as fireweed seeds. They are angry, and might hurt you if you go there.”

“I know,” she answered. “But they might hurt Aunt Melanie, too, and I’ve got to stop them. I’ve got to.” She felt a piercing, knifelike pain slice through her being. “And they’ll hurt you too. They’ll try to cut you down! You’ve got to take me back. Now. Before it’s too late.”

The tree seemed to sigh deeply, and she could almost feel lacelike branches stirring around her. “Perhaps. Perhaps. But first you must go deeper within me. You must understand things you never understood before. It will be hard for you, very hard. For you are of a race that has forgotten how to stand still. To stop all running, all racing, all searching—to sink instead your roots in a single place, to watch seasons roll past by the thousands. And to stand tall and straight, anchored equally in earth and sky, to bend with the wind but not to break, to bear your own weight gladly.”

As she listened to the low, richly toned voice, Kate began to hear something else, something even deeper than the voice itself. It was a coursing sound, like the surging of several rivers. She realized with a start that it must be the sound of resins moving through the trunk and limbs of the tree. And, strangely, through her own self as well.

Then she heard something more. With all her concentration, she listened to a distant gurgling sound. It came from far below her, rising from the deepest roots of the tree. They were drinking, drawing sustenance from the soil.

Another sound joined with the rest, completing the pattern, making music both rhythmic and delicate. Like an intricate fugue, it ran from the tips of the remotest needles all the way down the massive column of heartwood and through the fibrous filament of bark embracing the body of the redwood. Back and forth, in and out, always changing, always the same. This was the sound, Kate realized at last, of the tree itself breathing. The sound of air being cleansed and purified for all the creatures of the forest. The sound of life being exchanged for life, breath for breath.

“Great tree,” spoke Kate in wonder. “I feel so young, and you are so very, very old.”

A full, resonant laughter filled the air, stirring even the sturdiest branches. “I am not so young as you, perhaps, but old I surely am not. The mountains, they are old. The oceans, they are old. The sun is older still, as are the stars. And how old is the cloud, whose body is made from the vapors of an earlier cloud that once watered the soil, then flowed to the river, then rose again into the sky? I am part of the very first seed, planted in the light of the earliest dawn. And so are you. So perhaps we are neither older nor younger, but truly the same age.”

As she listened to the rhythmic breathing of the tree, Kate felt herself beginning to breathe in unison. A sense of her body was slowly returning, a body that bent and swayed with the fragrant wind. Every element of her being stretched upward and downward, pulling taller and straighter without end. Her arms became supple, sinewy limbs; her feet drove deeply into the soil and anchored there. She stood enormously tall and strong, while humility and peace flowed through her veins. Centered and surrounded, sturdy and whole, she felt content beyond human experience.

A sweep of time swirled past, seconds into hours, days into seasons, years into centuries. Spring: azaleas blossoming and pink sorrel flowering. Summer: bright light scattering through the morning mist, scents of wild ginger and licorice fern. Autumn: harsh winds shaking branches, gentle winds bearing geese. Winter: ceaseless rains, frosty gales, more rains brewing. Again and again, again and again. Seasons without end, years beyond count.

Fire! Flames scar her outer bark, charring even her heartwood. But she survives, standing tall, saddened by the loss of a few less sturdy friends. Winds, powerful winds. Healing the scar, she grows new girth above the burn to balance better her colossal weight. Near to the ground, a radial crack develops, very small at first, becoming a home for generations of insects and a restaurant for generations of birds. Young redwoods sprout at her base, yearning for life, full of green vitality.

White rot infects her, stinging with pain, lasting many cycles of seasons. Winds and rain. Winds and rain. Hail as big as spruce cones. Internal stresses creep into the body of a large lower branch until, with the next wild wind, it splinters and breaks apart, rocking her very roots.
Hooo-hooo, hooo-hooo.
Fire again! This time much more is lost—bark, sapwood, heartwood. Some of the old fire scar is obliterated by the new. Healing, waiting, balancing in the shifting soil, standing sturdy throughout. Winter, spring, summer, autumn. New growth works its way across the scar.

A lone Tinnani stands beneath her boughs, spreads his white wings in awe. Welcome, Little One. The Tinnani lowers his head sadly, departs from the grove. Gale winds, broken branches. Mist, mist, mist. An earthquake shatters the stillness one winter morning. As the earth trembles, the great roots grip tightly, feeling the strain, yet hold firm.
Hooo-hooo, hooo-hooo.
Rhododendrons, azaleas, salmonberry, huckleberry. Five-finger fern takes root at her base, mingling with mosses and maidenhair. A doe and her spotted fawn step serenely into the glade, nibbling at the ferns.

Then, suddenly: A sound unlike any other sound ever heard fills the forest. Piercing, screeching, banishing forever the centuries of stillness. A shudder, a scream of pain erupts from her whole being. Stop! Stop, please. Go away, leave in peace. The pain deepens. The sound grows louder.

It is the sound of chain saws.

XXXIV:
N
EW
L
IGHT
IN THE
F
OREST

Dazedly, Kate shook her head. The ridge of hard wood pushing against her back told her she possessed a human body again. Instinctively, she reached to touch her long braid, feeling the strands of hair between her fingers. In the dim light she could see Jody seated across from her, looking rather dazed himself.

The hollow. They were once again in the hollow. The gargantuan trunk of the Ancient One embraced them both. She could still feel the watery breathing of the redwood pulsing through her veins. She could, even now, hear the rumble of its deep voice echoing in her ears.

Then she heard something else. A whining, screeching, screaming sound.

“No!” she cried, leaping to her feet and springing out of the hollow.

Billy, wearing his weather-beaten hard hat, held his chain saw firmly as it tore into the flesh of the Ancient One. His red T-shirt, wet with perspiration, hung untucked around his waist. He leaned into the saw, spraying chips of bark and sawdust into the air.

Even as her eyes adjusted to the light outside the hollow, Kate instantly perceived the plight of the great tree. A huge notch had already been cut in the trunk, opposite the side where Billy now worked. Yet she hesitated, feeling helpless to stop the big man. Looking around desperately for anyone or anything that might help, she could see no more than a few half-melted hailstones on the ground, evidence that the storm had passed some time ago. But she saw no one else in the grove. No sign of Aunt Melanie, nor even another logger.

“Stop!” she cried at the top of her lungs, trying to attract Billy’s attention. “Please, stop.”

But he could not hear her over the roar of the chain saw. Sawdust continued to fly, as he ripped ever deeper into the trunk of the redwood.

Then she spotted a two-gallon can of gasoline, resting on an exposed root a few feet behind Billy. She lunged for it. Lifting the can with both hands, she raised it over her head. Stepping as close to Billy as she dared, she threw it at his broad back.

“Oww,” cried the surprised logger. He straightened up, yanked the saw out of the tree trunk, cut the engine, and whirled around. Seeing the gasoline can at his feet, his eyes flashed with anger and immediately focused on Kate.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“Stop cutting,” pleaded Kate. “You can’t cut down this tree.”

“I can cut anything I want,” retorted Billy. “Now get out of my way. It’s dangerous this close, and you’re gonna get hurt.”

As he placed his heavy boot on the engine housing, preparing to start the saw again, Kate stepped closer. “Please stop. Please.”

“Out of my way,” the man growled. “I’ve got work to do. I’d still have help, too, if that old aunt of yours hadn’t talked Frank into convincing the other guys to quit.” He grasped the handle of the starter cord. “Never saw such a bunch of chicken hearts in my life. Those that weren’t scared off by the storm—just because Harry got too close to some lightning bolt—were scared off by Frank’s baloney. Can’t believe they bought that line about not doing anybody any good. Even Sly fell for it.” He shook his head in dismay. “Well, that leaves me, and I’m gonna get at least a few of these mothers before the day is out. Already close to finishing off this big one here.”

“But—”

“Get away!” commanded Billy.

Kate stood immobile.

“I said, get away.” Billy dropped the starter cord and pulled her by the arm to the other side of the grove. “Now stay here.”

“I’ll watch her for you,” said someone walking toward them.

“Jody!” exclaimed Kate. “He’s going to—”

“Shut up,” said the boy with a scowl. Turning to Billy, he declared, “I’ll make sure she won’t bother you.”

“All right,” grumbled the logger. “But don’t mess it up like you did last time.”

Jody’s face reddened. “I won’t.” Then, as Billy turned to go, Jody caught his arm. “But first, can I start your saw for you? I always liked that big model, and my granddad never lets me start his.”

“Oh, all right,” replied Billy, striding back to the tree. “Just make it quick.”

“But Jody,” cried Kate. “You can’t!”