* * * * *
Birdsong came alive with the amber glow in the east, and Sorin was finally feeling the effects of staying awake the entire night. Thomas lay still in the Giant’s arms, but since Relnyn pressed onward, there was hope left.
As they all traveled on, the trees grew progressively larger, their tops unviewable. The trunks were thicker, the bark older and more ragged. Gnarled roots delved deep like fingers into the land, grabbing handfuls of rocky earth. Each successive tree was bigger than the last, and soon they were within a deep, carpeted forest that stretched as far as Sorin could see.
They were rounding a bend in the wide trail, following its downward spiral to the valley floor, when a dizzying sight caught Sorin unaware.
Giant trees, larger even than the ones he had already seen, thrust into the new morning light near the bottom of the valley floor. They were part of a stand, separate from the rest of the forest, taller than the trees around them. Half a dozen of the trees seemed to have blown over, snagging on their brethren, unable to fall to the shade. Sorin could not see what was within the green shadows, but he imagined it was cool and moist. He marveled at the grandiose beauty. Even from a distance, he felt small in a way he never had before.
They came to the bottom of the valley where a downed tree spanned a raging river, the tree’s trunk so wide three Giants could have walked side by side across it.
“My home,” Relnyn announced, his right arm sweeping the valley. “Lockwood.”
On first appearance, all Sorin had seen were the enormous and abundant trees. Upon inspection though, they were arranged deliberately. The fallen trees were diagonal walkways up to high branches; the towering upright trunks were vertical pillars of support. The thick branches were woven together at different intervals above the forest floor, their interconnecting limbs creating a solid floor. Some of the limbs grew upwards, offering walls where Sorin suspected the Giants lived. Lockwood spread far into the valley, the home to thousands of the race. Multiple levels could be seen, and as he neared the city, several Giants tending to their early morning affairs glanced up in interest and then suspicion.
Without breaking his long strides as he crossed the river, Relnyn asked over his shoulder, “You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?”
“No,” Sorin said, wavering under the scrutiny. “You have no sentries of any kind?”
“Oh, they were there, Sorin,” Relnyn said, pointing skyward with his staff. “They were in the trees several valleys back.”
Sorin looked up involuntarily, wondering what else he had missed.
As the tree city loomed ever larger over them, more and more of Relnyn’s race came into view. Some of the Giants were busy maintaining the earth, pouring green liquid around the bases of the trees that comprised their home. Others were looking over the interwoven limbs with a critical eye, all as large as Relnyn but with features as varied as Sorin’s own race.
“Welcome home, Relnyn,” a Giant with massive shoulders and arms said, surprise followed by curiosity evident on his homely face. When he saw Thomas cradled in Relnyn’s arm, he said, “Can I be of assistance?”
“Thank you, Geryck. Find Oryn and tell him to go to Berylyn’s. We have guests.”
Geryck nodded, and leaving his work vanished into the cool blackness of the trees.
“Tether your horses here,” Relnyn said. “They will be safe.”
Sorin did and followed the Giant into the massive, shadowy fortress of interconnecting trees and limbs. Once within the confines of Lockwood, Sorin saw it was much more than a city that nature built. It was the wildness of nature tamed—a vision of the potential hidden within natural life given an evolved organization. No harm came to any of the trees; the caring and firm hands of the Giants guided their growth into whatever form best suited them. No axe had touched the wood; no fire had scorched its greenery. Sorin wondered how they had coerced the woods into this wondrous city, but it was obviously not with damaging tools of any kind.
Sorin walked along the trunk paths, and foreign eyes ran over him. He tried not to look back. Finally Relnyn came to what appeared to Sorin to be the topmost center of that particular group of trees. It opened to the sky, and warm sunshine slid its way down the treetops as the morning progressed. Homes surrounded them, and a large garden was planted in the middle. Small apple and cherry trees grew out of dark, rich soil that constituted the garden, and beds of herbs and vegetables of a wide variety were bursting forth. Sorin was first shocked and then amazed at seeing a garden so far above the ground.
“We have arrived at our destination,” Relnyn said, slipping through a doorway covered by a woolen sheet.
Sorin entered behind him and faced a wide room with numerous shelves of thin, sturdy limbs. On them were a menagerie of wooden jars, rocks, and colored crystals, and a tinge of earth elements and chemicals laid heavy on the air. Several open windows offered fresh air and illuminated four vacant beds pushed against one of the walls in an orderly fashion—beds larger than some rooms Sorin had been within. The room had a surprisingly organized and sterile feel.
A female Giant with flaming red curly locks occupied a large chair, sipping from a cup. She glanced up and smiled at Relnyn, but her grin disappeared instantly when she saw Thomas. “On the bed, Relnyn,” the Giant said in a husky voice.
“He needs your help, Berylyn. Now.”
Relnyn placed Thomas carefully on a bed almost three times his size. The old man looked shrunken and small, his mouth slack and the circles under his eyes feverish and the darkest purple. He did not respond. There was no hint he was even breathing.
Berylyn delicately but rapidly stripped Thomas of his cloak and shirt. The black veins were a forest-like root system that spread over the entirety of his arm, his shoulder, the left side of his neck, and his chest. The entire network pulsed with venom, the old man’s body scarlet with a sheen of waxy sweat coating his skin. Thomas’s chest rose and fell lightly but the movement was erratic, as if he was weakly gulping for his next breath.
“How did this happen?” Berylyn asked, her voice a worried whisper.
“He fought a dragon several days ago in the mid-country. Unknown to his companion or me, the dragon drew blood. He fell off his horse yesterday and upon viewing the wound I decided to come here.”
“I’ll do what I can,” she said, her voice flat. “This has accelerated beyond easy remedy. There has been no need for an antidote for dragon poisoning here for centuries that I know of.” She went to a shelf filled with books, scanning through them. “This is far and beyond poison oak.”
“Do what you can, Berylyn.” Relnyn patted Sorin lightly on his shoulder. “It’s all we ask.”
“Who is she?” Sorin whispered to Relnyn.
“One of Lockwood’s healers. And a friend to you. If Thomas has a chance, it is in her hands only.”
Thomas moaned weakly, his eyes roaming beneath their eyelids. “What are you doing?” Sorin chided, an edge of vehemence to his question. He looked pointedly at the book.
“What I can,” Berylyn said patiently, her blue eyes scanning page after page. “As it often takes time to destroy, it takes time to heal.”
Sorin was about to retort when a gruff voice behind them stopped him. “I think it best, Relnyn, that our young visitor here see some of Lockwood.”
A balding Giant stood in the doorway, hunched and elderly. He still gripped his staff with strength and purpose though, and his eyes glimmered authority and knowledge. A thick beard clung to his wrinkled face, but it was well kept, as was his green tunic, tan pants, and worn calf boots. A long braid pulled the remainder of his hair back from his shoulders, a few rogue hairs sprouting from his olive-toned, unspotted pate. There was nothing ornate about the Giant, but he carried himself with the grace of one whose wisdom is revered.
“Berylyn must be given time to work her craft,” he said. The Giant acknowledged Relnyn with a nod before leaning over Thomas for his own appraisal of the man’s health. “What caused this?
Is this a concern for Lockwood?”
“No, Oryn, it is not. It is dragon poison. Only he is affected,” Relnyn replied, moving out of Berylyn’s way as she pulled several wooden jars down from her shelves.
“I’d rather not leave his side,” Sorin said, trying to leverage some control.
“A dragon, Relnyn?” The elder Giant ignored Sorin’s plea.
“It attacked A’lum while I was there,” Relnyn answered. When Oryn heard this he turned an appraising eye on the younger Giant. Relnyn looked back before turning back to Thomas. Sorin thought he saw a glimmer of sadness enter the older Giant’s eyes before masking it.
“I wish to speak to you this evening about your travels and what befell our visitors,” Oryn said. “For the time, I must leave for Solstice Dance preparations.” He turned to Sorin. “Berylyn is adept at her art, young master. She has knowledge of both tree and body. If anyone can save your friend, it is she.” He paused, his kindly brown eyes unwavering. “But she needs both space and patience from you.”
He turned and left, but before the curtain fell back into place the Giant uttered, “I’ll see you tonight, Relnyn.”
Pouring a yellowish liquid into Thomas’s mouth and ignoring the room’s other occupants, Sorin let himself be escorted from the room. He did not have much choice; Relnyn’s strong hand guided him into the circular garden whether he liked it or not.
Walking up the trunks was easier than going back down. Momentary glimpses of the forest floor hundreds of kingsyards below seized his chest as dizziness gripped his temples.
“When my ancestors first moved here,” Relnyn explained, noting Sorin’s discomfort, “they first slept on the ground. After time and with some help from the local inhabitants, they discovered how to culture plants and trees, how to weave that life within our own, and how to see its preservation whenever possible. Lockwood is the result. We take pride in our city, but we have so few outsiders here we often forget the heights. To us, it is as natural as our own two feet.”
Tempered by vertigo, Sorin ignored the height. “How did this place come to be built?”
Relnyn laughed. “It was not built, at least not in the sense you use the word. What you see here, the confines of Lockwood, is nature. It grew this way; it did all the work. We care for it, nurture it, and maintain it, but a part of it is not ours. That part belongs to the wilderness and these mountains. We are merely allowed to stay.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sorin allowed.
“To learn something of it, however, requires we walk a bit. Care to join me?”
Sorin followed Relnyn down the last few diagonal walkways until they reached solid ground again. The Giants passing by had differing reactions to Sorin’s presence—some with chiseled faces of stone who ignored his passing, others intrigued, following his every move. Relnyn and Sorin departed the enormous city and followed the nearby river upstream, walking along a beaten dirt path that wound along the northern bank. Moisture hung heavy in the cool air, its sweetness fermenting the world. Long strands of moss grew on many of the fir trees, hemlocks, and cedar. The sound of rushing water was nearby. The sun crested the valley’s rim to chase the night’s shadows away.
Sorin had been awake for an entire day but this interaction with nature invigorated him. Their path meandered into a gentle slope and deviated into the thick canopy of evergreen trees. Birdsong and faint animal noises met him, and he was reminded of Thistledon and its forests. The valley wood consumed the two as they journeyed, and the morning gave way to fleeting moments of sunshine and warming temperatures.
The forest foliage thinned. Sorin heard water rushing again, but it was louder than before, its power radiating not only through the air but also through the ground at his feet. The wide path stretched forward through green carpet to a sight Sorin would never forget.
To the right of the lush, dewy meadow, a large waterfall crashed, its spray a canvas the sunlight painted myriad colors upon. Ahead was a copse of red-barked trees, their height, trunks, and limb spans dwarfing even those of Lockwood. Their tops seemed to penetrate even the puffy white clouds meandering in the heavens. At the end of their boughs were dark green leaves like those of a cedar tree. They occupied the bulk of the valley, casting continuous shadow as they hoarded the sunlight, and darkness hid the secrets of their depths. Vertigo seized Sorin again but for a very different reason; he was in the presence of trees ancient beyond his understanding.
Tall cliffs rose to either side of them, a natural prison for the valley and its occupants. All brush, vine, and lesser tree appeared to respect the enormous trees, unwilling to place roots in the soil that surrounded the monoliths.
“These are the Sentinels,” Relnyn said, thrusting his staff skyward as if needing to point out the obvious. “They are the oldest beings in these mountains; they are the oldest trees anywhere probably. Their great height was as you see it even when Aerom walked the world. They are the last remnants of an ancient forest whose origins and even name are lost to all but these mountains and their secrets.”
Sorin breathed in the Sentinel’s cool touch. “How are they different than the trees that make up your home?”
“They are the same species, although our homes are much younger,” Relnyn said, looking upward enraptured. “It is said the Sentinels gave the first of my race seeds to plant. Those seeds became Lockwood.”
“They look to be in a perfect circle. Who planted them that way?”
“No one knows. Some believe the One that gave life to all forests was once at their center, the Sentinels the offspring that grew from the One’s dying roots. Others say an early sect of Ashnyll planted them long ago, and it was the Sentinels’ calling that brought us back after the War of the Kingdoms. No matter—the Sentinels are the stark beauty of nature personified, and it is for this reason I have brought you here.”
Sorin peered just beyond the trunks nearest him. “What is at their center now?”
“That you will see tomorrow night at the Solstice Dance,” the Giant said. “If you go.”
“If the Sentinels gave you seeds, why isn’t Lockwood here?”
“The trees asked for their privacy,” Relnyn said without a glance.
“They asked?” Sorin questioned, containing a laugh of disbelief.
Relnyn touched the young man’s shoulder in a gentle act of astuteness. “All living things are aware. The forms of sentient awareness are different and often alien to us, but mostly they just require someone to listen with utmost care. Animals and plants converse in their own way; they speak to their own. But if you listen—really listen—they tell you what they need and want.” He paused. “The Sentinels are the same. When my ancestors learned to finally listen, their lives were changed. The Sentinels’ only request was to leave this part of the valley as their own.”
Movement in the trees caught Sorin’s attention. Half a dozen Giants circled the Sentinels quietly at various heights, some hoisted on sturdy limbs near the forest floor, others tending to the ancient beings with careful grace in the uppermost reaches. They removed dead branches, sealed small rents in the bark, relocated any detrimental insects, and helped new growth ease into the world. They were caretakers, and Sorin found their task daunting and wondrous.
A snatch of morning song came to them, innocent and youthful. A young Giant was singing softly on a branch above them, her beautiful voice carrying through the clearing. The song was a separation of sorrow but one interlaced with hope.
Sorin was involuntarily drawn closer to the Sentinel. “What is she doing?”
“Touch the staff in my hand.”
Sorin did. The wood was smooth as it glimmered with an ethereal inner light that absorbed the sun’s rays, but it shocked him to find it was warm. He moved his hand down the metal-shod staff; the warmth never deviated.
“How can wood be warm like this?”
“It’s alive. Not alive like you know it, but alive in a different way. It is bonded to me. You hear her song?”
Sorin nodded, looking anew at the female Giant in the tree.
“She has cared for that tree and its life since she was very young, and this is her rite of passage into adulthood. The Sentinel knows this, knows her, and for her service it relinquished a part of itself to serve her in the years to come. She will carry the staff all her years, as I will mine, and it offers encouragement and care in whatever dark hour she may find herself. As long as the staff touches the earth, it is connected to the life that infuses the land and also to the Sentinel that is the staff’s parent.”
“What if you become separated from your staff?”
“I’m not sure. To my knowledge, it has never happened. Since the Giants moved here, we have had no reason to worry. We have few possessions, but the staff is a part of us, like your arm or your leg is a part of you. To lose our staff would be like losing an appendage.”
Sorin considered this. For all their size and strength, the Giants were a race of careful introspection and grounded ideals that only wanted to be left alone and serve the land and each other. None of the stories he had heard about their ferocity and single-minded willingness to destroy was true. Their way of life was appealing, one Sorin wished had been granted him in Thistledon.
A question that had plagued Sorin all night rose again to the surface. “Why didn’t you kill the crag cat? It suffered before dying.”
Relnyn sighed. “For centuries, the Giants have lived apart from the other races, intent on knowing ourselves better. After the War of the Kingdoms and our own treachery at the hands of the Wrathful, my forefathers swore to never again harm another life. We had been used, you see, deceived, and our strength and size brought misery and sorrow and woe to a great many. Never again, our ancestors swore. After time, our way of life became pacifistic, devoted solely to all living things—all except the Darkrell, who follow those same values but can ignore them with the change of the wind. The trees you see here have benefited us as we have them. In short, I would not intentionally harm any living entity—including the crag cat.”
“But you did wound it. It was pained and dying anyway from your kick.”
Song of the Fell Hammer Page 19