by Rohit Gaur
“Just as we thought. You are immune to the venom.”
“Does that mean I’m going in there now?” Tarun gestured toward the wall of fog looming in the background.
“I’m afraid so, Tarun. You’ll need to find your way through the fog to the Tree of Aeran, the tallest in the forest. It’s not far from where we are now, at the highest point of this hill.”
Tarun noticed now that they were perched on the edge of a slope, its incline nearly hidden by the fog.
“You’ll know the tree when you find it since it’s much larger than any other tree nearby. Then you’ll use the rough bark to climb up to the nest of the Valorein hawks where Ganesha’s sacred axe has been hidden.”
“How will I get the axe away from the hawks?”
“I wish I could answer that for you, Tarun. Though you can’t see it now, it’s midday and the sun will be shining brightly on the crown of the tree. The Valorein hawks usually sleep during the hottest hours of the day. If you’re quiet and quick, there is a good chance you can be in and out of the nest without waking anyone.”
“And what if I do wake up a hawk? Will they hurt me? Are they dangerous?”
“If you do wake one up, just be sure you climb down fast.”
Moments later, Tarun was walking right into a wall of fog. He held a hand in front of his face, but could see only the white, misty fog, curling in strange patterns before his eyes. Galerest had warned him that the forest would continue to grow denser as he climbed, so he moved slowly, arms spread out in front of him to ensure he didn’t collide with a tree or bush.
His hands made contact with slimy moss-covered trunks, sharp nettles, craggy branches. He stumbled over roots or upturned stones, his feet catching on fallen sticks or snaking ivy. The forest seemed to be actively trying to slow him down, low bushes or stands of impenetrable trees appearing right in the middle of his path at every turn. Before long, he realized that the forest had completely disoriented him. After the third time he was forced to sidle around obstacles thrown up by the forest floor, Tarun could no longer be sure he was still moving in the direction he had started. Without sun or sky or horizon to orient him, he was simply moving through an endless, featureless landscape. For all he knew, he had walked in a large circle.
Frustrated, Tarun decided to rest for a minute. He bent down and gently explored the ground with his hands before slumping down against a nearby tree. As he contemplated what to do next, Tarun shifted uncomfortably. Something about his position on the ground felt off, his body forced into an unfamiliar posture.
Then, with a prick of excitement, Tarun recognized where the problem lay: sitting on the ground, his feet were elevated. That meant the ground sloped upward in the direction that his legs were pointed. He scrambled up and began walking again uphill. Great fallen logs, deep crevices, rocky outcroppings: the obstacles kept coming, but now he knew what to do to stay on track. When he felt himself turned around, Tarun simply felt for the ground and trusted his body to tell him which way was up. He thought of Galerest using his nose to guide him through the forest and urging Tarun to trust his other senses. You’ll have to figure that out for yourself, he had said. Even deprived of sight, Tarun had discovered he could find the way.
As he ascended, Tarun could sense the fog growing thinner, the dark shapes of the forest becoming more visible. The grade got steeper and soon Tarun was climbing over large boulders, some almost as large as himself.
When the Tree of Aeran finally appeared, Tarun at first believed it to be a tall cliff wall. But as he moved closer, he saw the roughness of the ancient bark, the spread of its gigantic roots in every direction, strips of mossy vines hanging limply all around. It was the largest tree Tarun had ever seen, as wide as a house.
He got closer to the tree and examined its outer shell. Cragged and hard, the bark formed a natural ladder with plenty of divots for hand- or footholds. Tarun had climbed trees before, but none quite like this. Still, he could see it could be done.
The forest around him was still and silent, which he took to be a good sign. He hoped the hawks would be just as Galerest had said: asleep and unaware of the small intruder about to show up on their doorstep.
Taking a breath, Tarun began to climb.
Ganesha concentrated his mind’s eye on Tarun as he took leave of Galerest and wandered through the fog. He watched him give up hope and sink to the ground, then in a moment leap up with the realization that he could find his way. And now, Ganesha looked on as Tarun began the long climb up the tallest tree in the forest.
Tarun had more wisdom and personal strength than one might assume on first meeting him, Ganesha realized. Already he was proving himself more self-reliant than he had first seemed—sometimes, inner qualities emerge only after they are tested. And now, Tarun faced the most difficult test thus far.
You must cut the bonds of attachment that keep you grounded, in order to climb to your highest potential, Ganesha murmured to himself and to Tarun, willing his words across the expanse of time and space that separated them. Trust in yourself, like I have entrusted you.
Ganesha felt his message, thrown to the winds, snag on the barb of Tarun’s mind. Unconsciously, indirectly, it sank into the deeper recesses of Tarun’s awareness, shoring up his resolve and his inner assurance.
And, Ganesha understood, his willingness to climb higher.
It was surprisingly easy going up the tree: grip by grip, foot by foot, Tarun pulled himself swiftly up the side of the trunk. The fog was still thick enough to prevent him seeing how far up he was climbing, so he concentrated his eyes on the reddish brown bark and its undulating pattern. The nearness of the other trees kept the air free of gusts of wind, which, Tarun reflected, might have complicated things.
The fog continued to thin as Tarun ascended and soon the light began to turn warmer and more yellow. The sun was peeking through the haze. The temperature rose, and combined with the exertion of the climb, began to make Tarun sweat. A drop trickled down his forehead over his nose and then—plop!—right off the end. He looked down as it fell between his feet into the shrouded mists below. He tried not to think about how far that bead of sweat would fall.
With the greater visibility provided by the sun and the dissipating fog, Tarun could now see about twenty feet above him the point at which the trunk cleaved into separate branches. Nestled among them, he could see the underside of what appeared to be a large nest.
He pulled himself up a few more feet and then scanned the area above him. Letting his eyes travel up one of the branches, he spied three dark figures perched on different segments. The hawks appeared to be unmoving, though Tarun guessed that they probably were sleeping as Galerest had predicted. He glanced at the other branches: each one held at least a few drowsing birds, several dozen in total. Though they were several hundred feet away, Tarun could gauge that each one was probably his size—or larger. He would not want to confront one of these menacing creatures on his own.
I’d better hurry, he thought, looking around. Already he could sense that the sun had passed midday and was heading into late afternoon. Twilight would soon be upon them and Tarun wanted to be long gone before the hawks woke up, hungry and ready to hunt.
Pulling himself up to the lip of the nest, he cautiously and carefully peered over the edge. Soft, mewling noises emanated from a small litter of infant hawks, featherless and pale pink. Tarun froze: everything he had ever read suggested avoiding the young of wild animals. Nothing could rival the protective rage of a parent defending a child. Still, the infants all appeared to be sleeping as well, and no mother hawk loomed nearby.
But where was the axe? Galerest had told him it would be in the nest, but all Tarun could see on the inside was the sleeping baby birds.
Only one way to find out, he thought.
Creeping over the edge of the nest, Tarun eased himself gently inside among the sleeping birds. He looked carefully around the bottom of the nest, but all he could see was twigs and leaves.
Stepping carefully to avoid direct contact with the birds, he moved toward the center and, from the corner of an eye, glimpsed a piece of metal glinting from a shaft of sunlight that had pierced through the crown of leaves. The axe stood upright on a branch on the far side of the nest, unguarded and unwatched. The fog must be effective at keeping people away, Tarun thought, for them to leave the axe unguarded like this. Whatever the reason, he knew he had best grab it and depart as quickly as possible.
He tiptoed across the nest, climbed over the lip, and out onto the branch. He knelt in front of the axe and pried it loose from where it had been jammed into a small crevice. Turning around, he made his way back the way he had come, over the lip and across the nest.
Just as he had made it almost halfway across, Tarun caught the tip of his foot on a jutting twig on the bottom of the nest. Though he caught himself before falling over completely, he couldn’t prevent himself from stumbling directly into a peacefully sleeping baby bird. With a squawk the bird lifted his head, startled by the rude awakening. His eyes burst open and, seeing the intruder, began to issue panicked cries that stirred the other sleeping birds. Slipping the axe into his belt, Tarun threw caution to the wind and made a dash for the edge of the nest, hopping quickly over the alarmed birds. Before leaping over the edge, he dared a glance to the branches above. The hawks, hearing the disturbed noises from below, had begun to awake from their midday rest.
A moment later, the tree was alive with shrieking birds.
Chapter 10
A NARROW ESCAPE
Laying flat on her back, Parvati heard the latch slide and the creaking door swing open. It was the morning of her second day in the cell. She had paced, watched from the window, examined every minute corner, and ignored the plates of food they brought her. It was a small and ineffective act of resistance, but she found satisfaction in it despite the growing hunger pains in her side.
This time, however, the soldier who brought in the tray was not one of the original kidnappers, but someone else: a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, dressed in the same loose-draped brown pheran as the other militants, a rifle slung casually on his back. He seemed timid, avoiding Parvati’s eyes as he walked into the room and placed the tray on the ground, gathering up the other untouched tray, piled with cold stew and brittle rice.
“You must eat something,” the boy said softly, still not meeting her eyes.
Parvati looked at his young features, the tousled black hair, sunburnt face. Where did this boy come from? she wondered. Where was his mother? Who did he belong to?
She sat up slowly. “You remind me of my son,” she said finally. “He’s about your age.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She surveyed the tray: more stew, bread, a glass of water. She picked up the water and took a brief sip.
“Does your mother know you’re here?”
The boy soldier looked at her with steady eyes, but didn’t say anything.
She tried again, with a little more brightness: “Do you go to school?”
“Eat something,” he repeated, pointing at the tray.
Parvati picked up a roll, tore off a small piece, and placed it in her mouth. She chewed and smiled at the boy. “I’m Parvati,” she said, holding out a hand.
The boy hesitated and then held out his hand as well.
“I’m Hassan.”
Tarun dug his nails into bark as another hawk swooped by him, clipping him with its wings and screeching in his ear. He was scrambling down the side of the immense tree, descending faster than he would have liked. The awakened hawks had spotted him immediately as he climbed out of the nest, and now they circled around him in dizzyingly fast loops, inching their buffeting wings closer with each revolution. Before long, he knew one of them would dare to make full contact, pushing him off balance or simply grabbing at his shirt, and then there would be nothing to do but fall into the mists below.
His foot slipped out of a narrow crevice but he caught himself: he was trying to go too fast. But the hawks whizzed past his field of vision, shouting fierce messages in words he could not quite understand. He needed to get out of the tree quickly, so he had little choice but to keep moving quickly, hoping that his hands and feet would hold steady.
A wing clipped him again, more bodily, brushing along his back in an effort to buffet him from his hold. Tarun could see that the hawks were not used to catching prey clinging to the side of trees. Their wings were so long that they could not fly in too close, nor could they find an easy perch on the vertical trunk. He was protected, marginally, by their anatomy.
Although his panic had initially prevented him from processing the noises around him, in a split second, he permitted himself to step outside the present moment and listen carefully to the screeches and squawks emerging all around him. Tarun could sense in a dim way that the sounds made by the hawks carried a note of frustration as well as anger. Indeed, the more he listened closely the more he somehow seemed to know—without conscious translation—what the hawks were urging to one another: “Get in closer!” “Sweep him off!” “No, grab him!” He wondered briefly how exactly he knew all of this, but the split second of reflection ended abruptly as a talon scraped along his shoulder, bringing him crashing back to the present.
Getting braver, the hawks moved in closer, lashing out long claws at Tarun’s exposed back. Don’t think, just climb. Down, down, he moved nimbly, his body on autopilot as he forced his mind to concentrate rather than panic. He heard another winged body moving in, so he clung hard to the bark and kicked out his leg blindly behind him. With an oomph, he made contact with the passing bird and it screeched a mad reply in retreat.
Only a few feet above the fog, he realized that he would be less visible once he got under. New energy rushed into him as he worked to get himself below the line of misty white rising rapidly as he descended.
But as he dipped into the fog, he heard a new kind of sound, a screech of urgent alarm. Then another jarring yell. Tarun didn’t stop to look but the realization washed over him: the hawks can’t pass through the fog either.
As he descended down into the fog, the noise of the hawks receded. A wave of relief washed over him as he laughed to himself. The fog which was meant to keep outsiders from getting in had also prevented the guards from keeping the outsiders from getting back out. The castle moat meant to protect against invaders now kept the kings guard’s bottled up inside. The Serpentine probably hadn’t considered that, Tarun thought. They probably figured no one would get this far.
Now under cover of fog, the remainder of the descent was easy and quick. As his foot touched the curving root, then the hard ground, Tarun took a moment to rest his aching arms and legs and his rashy, burning hands. When he felt ready, he set off through the fog again to find Galerest.
On the way back down the hill, Tarun felt more confident about how to find his way, feeling the slope of the ground and keeping mental track of the direction of his steps. The fog still lay thick in the air but now when a large clump of brush or nettles thrust itself in his path, he simply unhooked Ganesha’s axe and took a few swipes, clearing away all obstructions with the work of a few moments. Even though he couldn’t be sure he was heading in the exact direction from which he had come, Tarun felt more sure-footed, less easily lost or sidetracked. His shoulder ached from the gash drawn by the hawk, but the pain lessened as he walked.
It was the work of another hour to find his way to the edge of the fog and then circle around it to locate Galerest. He was sitting meditatively upon a log, his back to Tarun. When he heard Tarun approaching, he turned around to spot him holding the axe jauntily in one arm and striding forward with purpose. He stood up and held out a hand.
“Well, well. Tarun, slayer of hawks, champion of the forests. The wayward hero returns from battle victorious.”
He pulled Tarun in for a close hug and whispered in his ear: “I knew you could do it.”
“Well, I didn’t know it!”
“I think you do now,�
�� Galerest replied with a smirk.
Back on board the Needle, Radigar patted him on the back in congratulation.
“Well done, boy-o! Knew you had it in you. Tell us the story, then. Have it out.”
Tarun had already told every detail to Galerest, but he enjoyed telling it all over again. He described his fateful stumble that awakened the nest, the quickness of his descent, his rescue by the venom-laced fog. He mentioned his strange ability to sense what the hawks were shouting as they attacked him, despite not knowing or understanding the language they were using.
“It’s strange, isn’t it, how I knew?”
Radigar gave Galerest a knowing look.
“Yes, Tarun, it is strange,” Radigar said. “Strange to you, at least. If you don’t mind, could ye give me yer arm, lad.”
Tarun held out his arm, a puzzled expression on his face. Radigar examined it closely, drawing Tarun’s eyes down as well. He was startled by what he had not noticed before now: the hairs on his forearm had grown thicker, fluffier, each one split into multiple strands.
“What’s happening to me?” he asked, distress entering his voice, the elation of his recent triumph clouding over with new anxiety.
“Nothing to worry too much about, Tarun,” Galerest assured him. “You’re transcending. It happens to everyone who travels into the Veiled Lands.”
Tarun remembered Ganesha’s warning: he needed to return home before transcending completely or he would be stuck permanently that way.
“Do you know . . . ?” he started to ask, but felt unsure how to finish correctly. “What will I . . . ? I mean, who will I . . . ?”
“Well, Tarun, by the looks of it, I’d say yer destined for a flying type,” Radigar said.
“A what?”
“You’ve got the makings of a bird, I’d say. Feathers coming in nicely, too.”
Tarun looked again at his arm: the hairs did resemble tiny feathers.
“So that’s why I could understand what the hawks were saying.”