by Jake Halpern
The surrounding landscape looked familiar to Kiril, but only vaguely so. Truth be told, his memories of leaving Jasber were vivid but incomplete. He recalled a stormy boat ride—he even recalled how the boat looked and smelled—but he had no recollection of the route that the boat had taken. Fortunately for Kiril, he had found the mosaic map in the Terminus; this had given him all the information he needed to find his way.
Kiril glanced over his shoulder. He was almost there. Just a mile off his bow he saw a series of sheer, algae-covered cliffs that pierced the waters and rose like a giant mossy tombstone jutting out from the sea. It occurred to Kiril that after centuries of wandering the globe, he was on the cusp of returning home. He briefly allowed his thoughts to shift to his mother and father.
Although his mother had died outside of Noctos after she and her children had been branded as Gahnos and cast out into the snow, his father, Kemal, had remained in Jasber. Typically, Kemal spent part of the year in the Hub, maintaining the Jasber Gate, and the rest of the year back in Jasber with his family. Kiril often wondered what had become of his father. Did he travel to Noctos to search for his family? Did he seek vengeance against those Dormians who had mistreated the Gahnos?
Very occasionally, Kiril allowed himself to wonder what his father would say about the man Kiril had become. Certainly his father would disapprove, but then again, his father had been fortunate. He had not witnessed the slow, agonizing death of his family. Kiril had witnessed this. And this was the kind of thing that changed a person. Kiril knew this, but it could not be helped. They had done this to him. The people of Noctos. The Dormians. He could not forget this as much as he sometimes wanted to. And this, of course, was the curse of living for six hundred years in fine health. Kiril's memory was stunningly lifelike in its intensity. He could recall the last breaths that his mother had taken as if it had been yesterday. He could see her face, feel her breath, smell her perfume. It was fresh in his memory. Always fresh. And this freshness was what fueled his undying bitterness. Kiril's only reprieve was exacting vengeance. This was his tonic, his drug. It was one of the few things that made Kiril feel truly satisfied—that and rubbing the ash into his eyes.
As he neared the cliff-hung island that was his destination, Kiril caught sight of something that gave him pause. A heavy fog was rolling in, and visibility was very poor, but Kiril could have sworn that he had seen an empty rowboat drifting several hundred yards off his starboard bow. This was very odd. The Sea of Clouds was an extremely remote and untraveled corner of the world. No one sailed these waters except for fools, bandits, and naive adventurers hell-bent on courting death. What was this boat doing here, so close to Jasber?
Kiril stopped rowing and strained his eyes to see through the fog. The boat reappeared for an instant, and Kiril saw the distinct image of an old woman sitting in the stern. An instant later, the boat disappeared. The fog began to grow even heavier and Kiril knew that he ought to be going. His eyes ached from a combination of nervousness and prickly fear, as if he had just seen an apparition. He was tired and his mind was playing tricks on him. That was the only explanation. "I'm seeing things," muttered Kiril as he picked up his oars and began to row away. "Fatigue always brings out the ghosts."
Kiril navigated his boat into a protected inlet along the coast of the island. The water here was calm, so calm that he was actually able to see his own reflection in the glassy surface. It was startling. His slender, youthful face had turned gaunt, and his raven-black hair was now gray. All this had happened in just a few months. More than anything else, however, Kiril noticed the awful scar along his face. It looked larger and uglier than before. Inevitably, he thought of the man who was responsible for giving him this grotesque mark.
***
Leif Perplexon was one of the most worthy adversaries Kiril had ever faced. It wasn't because he was skilled with a sword, or a gun, or a weapon of any sort. He wasn't especially fast or strong. But his stamina was astounding. Kiril had followed him day and night for the better part of a year as Leif made his way from Alexandria to the Urals. Leif hardly ever rested or slowed his pace in the least. Several times along the way, Kiril lost his trail, but then he always picked it up again. As they entered the Ural Mountains, Kiril's hopes began to rise. He knew that he was on the cusp of rediscovering Jasber. He was close—so close—and then disaster struck. Kiril was following Leif too closely along a series of cliffs and, for some reason, Leif turned around. The two men faced each other several feet apart.
"Who are you?" demanded Leif.
Kiril remained cool, and assured Leif, as calmly as he could, that he meant no harm. He suggested, as was his usual tactic, that he was protecting the interests of Dormia. Leif appeared convinced until out of the blue he charged Kiril. Kiril reached for his sword, but then stopped himself. The whole point was to follow Leif to Jasber, not kill him. A brutal fight ensued. Under other circumstances, Kiril would have been able to subdue Leif easily, but two things were working against him. First, he was exhausted from the walking he had done. Second, there was the fact that Kiril's rations of the purple ash had been cut severely. He still had the ash in his blood, but not much of it, and he was feeling weak. After many centuries of life, Kiril was slowing down—the grim specter of mortality had reappeared.
At one point, Kiril appeared to be on the cusp of beating Leif. He had managed to bash Leif in the head several times with a rock in the hopes of knocking him out. At the last minute, however, Leif used his long legs to kick Kiril away. Kiril stumbled backwards, fell off the cliff, and landed twenty feet below on a small ledge.
Kiril survived, but Leif vanished.
Weeks later, Kiril was forced to bring the news to Nartam that he had failed and lost their last chance of reaching Jasber. "You have failed me," said Nartam quietly. He drew close to Kiril. He held a dagger in his hand. Kiril sensed what was coming and he braced himself. Nartam took the dagger and in a slow, deliberate motion, he sliced a hideous snakelike gash across Kiril's face. Kiril shuddered in pain. His cheek tore open and blood gushed out. And then something miraculous happened—something that only happened when the magical power of the purple ash was coursing through your veins. The bleeding stopped. The skin around the gash closed. And in a matter of seconds, a purplish scab formed and hardened.
"Däros, Däros, Däros—forgive me!" cried Kiril.
"I forgive you," said Nartam soothingly. "And when we get more ash, I will give you enough so that this revolting scar will vanish from your face altogether, but until then, this scar will mark your failure—and remind you of what we must do now."
"Tell me what must be done," said Kiril eagerly. "I will do it."
Nartam nodded with satisfaction and outlined his plan. He began by explaining something that Kiril already knew—namely, that the Founding Trees of Jasber and Somnos were botanical cousins and their life cycles were roughly synchronized. In other words, when one tree died, the other usually followed suit. It only stood to reason that the Founding Tree of Somnos would soon wither, and, when it did, a new Great Sleeper would emerge in order to deliver a Dormian bloom to Somnos's gates. This new Great Sleeper, explained Nartam, would most likely be a relative of Leif Perplexon. "Don't ask me why this is so," added Nartam. "It has always been this way with Founding Trees that share a life cycle. They summon Great Sleepers from the same family. I have seen it happen several times over the course of my very long life."
"It will be Leif's child?" asked Kiril.
Nartam nodded. "The parent is often called first, and then the child. And you say that he is just a young boy? Excellent—he will be easy to follow. How marvelous, isn't it? For the first time in my very long life, the jewel of Dormia—Somnos—is almost within my grasp."
"I will observe the child in the place where he lives," said Kiril.
"Yes," said Nartam. "Then you must follow him to Somnos and lead our attack on the city. Yet before the city burns, you must obtain something very important—a cannister of Colossal Carpath
ian fir seeds from the Arboreal Research Vault. I want those seeds," said Nartam very slowly and deliberately. "Everything depends on those seeds."
Kiril said nothing for a moment. Then slowly, the realization dawned on him. "You intend to use them to grow a Coe-Nyetz Tree!"
As a boy in Jasber, Kiril had heard the legends about this tree. It was grown by taking the seeds of a Colossal Carpathian fir and infusing them with the ether from the Founding Tree of Jasber. Only the ether from this particular Founding Tree was powerful enough to do the trick. Once grown, the tree was a monstrosity. It sucked life out of the soil and, instead of spreading life wherever it reached, its root system resulted in devastation. Or so the legend went. No true scholar in Jasber really believed it. The Coe-Nyetz Tree was just a myth—and now he said as much to Nartam.
"It's no myth," replied Nartam with a smile. "I know. I was alive. I was there when Resze did his experiment and grew his Coe-Nyetz Tree. Much of northern Asia and Europe turned into a vast wasteland. I was living in Barsh-yin-Binder at the time. I still remember how the trees wilted and the crops all turned a sickly gray. The peasants all said that this plague came from the north, from the great Siberian tundra, and so my men and I rode toward the heart of it. Eventually, we found the place where Resze had grown his Coe-Nyetz Tree. Resze was a Dormian scientist and a fool! By the time that we arrived he was in the process of destroying it. My men and I tried to save it, but we were too late. Yes, that tree existed once, in an imperfect state. It can again, and this time, it will be perfect. Most important, it will not be destroyed."
Kiril was confused. "But why would you grow a tree like that?"
"Violence in the name of survival can be honorable, even beautiful," replied Nartam softly. "And make no mistake—without the ash, we will die quickly. The Coe-Nyetz Tree produces an endless flow of it. You can burn one of its limbs and, unlike the Founding Trees, the burned limb will grow back. When we came upon its remains, I saw the ash everywhere. There was so much of it that entire fields had turned purple." Nartam leaned in closer and his white eyes gleamed fiercely. "If we control this tree, then we control the entire area that it affects—Asia, even Europe. No more scrabbling like paupers. We would have everlasting life and dominion over the riches and miserable lives of those two continents. We will teach the world to ignore us at their own peril."
Kiril nodded. "And the seeds to this Carpathian fir are in the Somnos vault?" he asked. "And you're sure about this?"
"You forget, my son," replied Nartam calmly. "I was once a respected Dormian scholar. I studied the Founding Trees. In my youth I traveled to Somnos and saw these seeds with my very own eyes. They will be there. Rest assured, they will be there."
Kiril nodded his head deferentially, but he seemed unconvinced.
"And what of Jasber?" asked Kiril finally. "How will we get there? In order to grow a Coe-Nyetz Tree, don't you need ether from Jasber's Founding Tree? That was how the myth ... I mean story ... that is how it was always told to me. And we've missed our chance..."
"You will make amends for your failure," said Nartam curtly. "Once the city of Somnos has fallen, we will excavate the entrance to the Fault Roads. The people of Somnos were never so keen on closing these roads and it should be easy to find a way into them. Then you will guide us through the Jasber Gate. You will take us to your old home. You will help us grow the tree that gives bountiful ash. You shall save us all."
And the plan had almost worked.
Kiril had found Leif Perplexon's son, Alfonso, and had followed him all the way to Somnos. Kiril's army had attacked the city in full force. During the battle, Kiril's trusted lieutenant, another Gahno by the name of Konrad, had raided the Arboreal Research Vault and obtained the proper canister of seeds. But then, at the crucial moment, the Dormians had staged an astoundingly fierce counterattack. Kiril's army faltered and then broke into retreat. In the chaos of that retreat, Kiril stumbled upon Konrad. "Hold on to the seeds," Kiril told him. "I am going back into Somnos."
Konrad looked at him uncomprehendingly. Konrad was short and sinewy, all coiled muscle. His black hair lay wet against his head, and his chest heaved with exertion. "No," he protested. "We're in full retreat. You'll be killed if you go back."
"Perhaps," said Kiril, as he ran a finger along the scar that marred his face. "But perhaps not. I must find a way into the Fault Roads. I cannot fail. Not again."
"What shall I do, master?" asked Konrad.
"Find Nartam," said Kiril. "And tell him I've gone after his ether."
***
The hull of Kiril's rowboat scraped to a halt. Low-lying, gloomy clouds hugged the island, muffling all sound. Anyone else in this particular inlet would have been overcome with a deep melancholy. But Kiril's mood was a strange mix of euphoria and despair. The details of his plan were crystallizing in his mind. He would soon be back in Jasber, walking down the ancient streets. But first he would swing by the lonely cottage at the heart of the labyrinth. He would pay his old friend Leif Perplexon a very quick visit—and finish matters between them.
Kiril stepped out of the boat and drew it onto the pungent dried kelp that littered the shore. A tiny, rust-flecked snake curled around a submerged rock near his ankles. Kiril sighed heavily. In that instant, the image of his mother's face leapt into his mind, and it came with such suddenness that Kiril almost flinched.
"Mother, I have come home with malice in my heart," whispered Kiril to himself. "Please forgive me for what I must now do."
CHAPTER 42
A SURREAL DINNER
LEIF WAS AT HIS DINING ROOM TABLE in World's End, Minnesota. To his left sat his wife, Judy, and his father-in-law, Pappy. To his right sat his son, Alfonso, and his long-lost brother, Hill, who was now a grown man in the very prime of his life. Across from him were his parents, Stephanek and Kata, whom he had not seen since he was six years old, when he left Somnos. All of them were carrying on—talking, joking, laughing, even toasting glasses—as if there were nothing in the least bit strange or impossible about this gathering.
"I say, this is magnificent lamb kabob!" gushed Stephanek. Stephanek looked much older than Leif remembered him. His hair was thinner, his face was pudgier, his eyelids droopier, but there was no mistaking him—this was Leif's father. "I don't know what kind of spices you use, Judy, but they are simply wonderful," Stephanek was saying. "Every time we come over for dinner I think I gain another few pounds."
Leif took a bite of his lamb and realized, at once, that it was the best he'd ever had. He was also overwhelmed with happiness that his parents had met Judy and his son, Alfonso. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but no one seemed to notice.
"I wish Stephanek liked my cooking half as much as he likes yours," said Kata. Leif's mother had barely aged a day. She was a bit thinner perhaps, and a bit grayer, but otherwise unchanged. "You must share your recipes, Judy."
"Of course I will," said Judy with a fond smile. "After all, you're family. I hope you have room for dessert: blackberry tart and vanilla ice cream. Leif, Alfonso, and I picked the berries yesterday!" Judy stood up, but before heading into the kitchen, she leaned over and whispered to Leif: "Someone on the back porch is waiting to speak with you."
Leif smiled. It was probably an old friend. "Please excuse me," he said. "I'll just say hello."
He made his way to the back porch and there, in the moonlight, he found a large hulking man. The man was standing with his back to Leif.
"Can I help you?" asked Leif with a smile.
The man turned around slowly and revealed himself. He was dressed in a simple monk's robe with ordinary features—other than the one very large, bloodshot eye situated directly in the center of his forehead. Leif recoiled at the sight of this Cyclops.
"Well, hello there," said the monk in a friendly manner, as if he were just a neighbor stopping by. "As I'm sure you realize, none of this is really happening. What's more, this is your dream. I really have no business being here, and I certainly haven't come to cause any tro
uble. After all, I've been dead for a very long time."
"Who are you?" asked Leif. He couldn't stop staring at the monk's eye. It twitched furiously whenever the monk spoke.
"My name is Imad," replied the monk calmly. "Many centuries ago I lived in the city of Jasber. But that is neither here nor there. My interest is in you. I am simply curious regarding your intentions. Will you stay in this ditch below the razor hedges and willfully ignore the world outside?"
"What does it matter to you?" asked Leif sharply.
"It matters quite a bit," replied Imad. "I must say, I'm surprised that a Great Sleeper like you would give up so easily." Imad clucked his tongue. "Such a disappointment."
Leif took a deep breath. He sensed that Imad was manipulating him, trying to draw him out of his dream and back into the labyrinth. But why?
"Do you know what's coming?" asked Imad pointedly.
Leif made no reply.
"A cataclysm," continued Imad matter-of-factly. "All of Europe and Asia will suffer terribly—to the point of extinction. It will be the end of life as you know it. It will be the World's End."
"Why are you telling me this?" asked Leif.
"Because," replied Imad, "you are among the few who can stop this from coming to pass."
"What makes you so certain?" asked Leif.