by Obert Skye
On the other side of the stream was a tremendous monastery-style building. It was five stories high and as wide as a football field. Its roof was made of thick yellow thatch, and there were dozens of windows and chimneys. Myriads of colorful flags hung from the edge of the roof.
From where Leven stood he could see five sets of doors, all equally spaced apart. The side of the great building was white, but dark beams ran through it, making Leven feel like he was back in Germany. The whole thing looked ancient, and it was covered with great cracks as well as decay and rot.
“Unbelievable,” Leven whispered, starting to walk again.
“You’re not going in there, are you?” Clover asked nervously.
“Of course,” Leven said. “The path leads right to it.”
“But can’t you feel that?”
Leven stopped again and contemplated what he could or couldn’t feel. He could hear Tea birds singing and the wind playing with all the trees. He could see that the sky was still off color and something was wrong with the smaller sun—it was drooping in the center like a fat, middle-aged man. He could see the snow-covered mountain peaks above the monastery. And he could feel the temperature trying to make up its mind, and the soreness in his feet and legs, but he was pretty sure Clover wasn’t talking about that.
“Feel what?”
“It’s heavy,” Clover said. “Something is in that building, and it isn’t nice.”
“I feel fine,” Leven insisted. “And we certainly didn’t come all this way to turn around when we felt scared.”
“Not scared,” Clover said, clinging to Leven’s right arm. “Wrong.”
Leven walked straight to the middle set of doors and stopped. He looked down at the wooden doorknobs; carved on each one was a figure of a key. He reached out and turned the right knob. The knob turned and the door clicked open.
Leven looked down at Clover and shrugged.
He pushed the door open further and it squealed like a pig with a complaint. Leven stopped pushing and Alder was quiet once more.
Leven stepped inside.
“Hello,” he hollered out. “Is anyone here?”
There was no answer, only the sound of Clover, who was trying to be brave by listing things that made him happy.
“ . . . cold pickles, red shoes, pants with lots of pockets . . .”
“Shhh,” Leven insisted.
“ . . . not being told to be quiet, daytime television . . .” Clover said softly.
“Seriously,” Leven said.
Clover shut up.
Just inside the door there was a wide hall with numerous doors leading off of it. Leven opened the first one and saw a bed with a moldy, straw-stuffed mattress, a small table, and a wardrobe. He checked the next door and found the same.
“So was this like a boarding school?” Leven asked.
“You told me not to talk,” Clover said, hurt.
“Not to talk needlessly,” Leven clarified.
“Then yes,” Clover said crisply. “I believe it was a school of some sort.”
Farther down, another wide hall intersected with the main one. It too was loaded with doors. Some of the doors were shut, but a number were hanging open, exposing empty rooms similar to the ones they had already seen.
“I wonder who lived here,” Leven whispered, continuing down the main hall. “Should we check all the rooms?”
“Why?” Clover asked.
“What if what we’re looking for is in one of them?”
“It isn’t,” Clover said.
“How do you know?”
“Because look.” Clover hopped down to the floor and stood in front of Leven. He pointed down the long hall to where the back doors would have been if they were still there. Through the open space Leven could see the base of a very large tree.
“Do you think?” Leven whispered reverently.
“I wouldn’t point at just any tree.”
Leven ran, swooping up Clover with his left hand as he passed him and tossing him up onto his right shoulder. He sped down the hall and out the opening.
Leven stopped and took it all in. He was in a giant courtyard. On all sides there were buildings just like the one he had burst out of. The courtyard they surrounded was overgrown, and there were brick paths crisscrossing it. There were also many spots where thick tree roots shot up straight or arched up and back into the ground. But the most prominent feature was the tree. A single tree stood four stories tall right in the middle of the open space. It had long, knobby, leafy branches that twisted queerly out from the trunk and up into the sky. The bark of the tree looked almost gold, and the odd-shaped branches outlined shifting objects.
It wasn’t the biggest tree Leven had ever seen, but it was the most impressive.
The path of glass wound right up to it and circled its base.
“So do you talk to it?” Clover asked.
“I’ve never done this before,” Leven said. “Remember?”
The two of them walked slowly down the broken glass path. There was no wind or noise in the courtyard; the massive buildings blocked off all such things.
“I mean, do you bow?” Clover asked. “Or curtsy?”
“Isn’t curtsying what girls do?”
“Great,” Clover blushed. “No wonder they always made fun of me.”
Leven stood beside the tree. Its trunk was at least ten feet in diameter, and the gold bark looked fuzzy close up. Dark ivy was woven into the bark, some strands climbing all the way up into the branches.
“Does it talk?” Leven asked.
The tree just stood there, its branches creaking.
“Maybe this isn’t the one,” Clover said. “I mean, it looks old, but oldest? I’m not sure.”
Leven walked slowly around the tree, glass crunching beneath his feet. He looked up and down at the markings and branches on the tree and at the soil it was stuck in.
“The roots are huge,” Leven said, bending down and touching one of the protruding roots.
The tree’s roots shot out from its base and then turned straight down into the soil. Each one looked to be at least three feet in diameter.
“Do we chop it down?” Clover asked.
Leven leaned in and touched the bark. The tree felt warm, like the hood of a vehicle that had just been running. Waves of energy passed from his hand to the trunk.
“I don’t think so,” Leven said.
“Maybe we climb it,” Clover suggested. “We could make an amazing fort in this tree.”
“Shhh, quiet,” Leven requested. “Let me think.”
“That’s the second time you’ve ‘shhhhed’ me,” Clover pointed out. “I know I’m not exactly the perfect sycophant, and I probably deserve it, but—”
“Shhh.”
“Third time,” Clover said, and he disappeared.
Leven rubbed his right hand on the tree. He looked for an opening or some other indication of what he was supposed to do. He had no doubt about it being the right tree. Standing there beneath its branches, Leven felt as if the tree were part of him. Something on the tip of one of the low-hanging branches shimmered under the afternoon sun. Leven walked over and touched the tip of the branch. A hard silver drop was pushing out of the end of the branch like a leaf.
Leven twisted the drop, and it popped off. He tried to bend it, but it was solid. He bent down and tapped it against the glass on the ground.
“A tree that grows metal,” Clover said from on top of Leven’s head.
The tree creaked and crackled some more.
“Do you think it’s trying to say something?” Clover asked.
“I don’t know,” Leven replied. “I don’t speak tree.”
“I bet their language involves a lot of clicking and snapping.”
“Shhh.”
“It’s beginning to hurt,” Clover complained.
“Sorry,” Leven said. “But I’m having a hard time thinking straight. I kind of feel like I’m going to throw up.”
The tre
e creaked loudly, followed by a pop. Instantly roots shot up from the ground and twisted around Leven. Leven hollered as the roots lifted him up a few feet and turned him around as if examining him. Leven felt exposed and helpless. No gifts came to him, and his body grew cold. After a couple of minutes the roots set him down and disappeared back under the soil.
“What was that?” Clover asked.
Leven was standing and dusting himself off. “I have no idea.”
The tree creaked loudly again, as if telling someone something.
“Okay, okay,” a strange voice said. “I’ll show myself.”
Leven looked up into the branches of the tree and saw a long, fat, sage-green sycophant sitting there. He was wearing a shimmering green robe and small gray moccasins on his feet. His eyes were bright red and glowed slightly in the afternoon light.
“Hello,” Leven said. “I’m—”
“Be quiet,” the sycophant said impatiently. “I know who you are. We’ve actually talked before. But I had my foot on your head that time, and you were less than interesting. I’m sorry to see you’ve made it.”
The tree creaked.
“Sorry,” the sycophant apologized to the tree. “I dealt with him the best I could. I didn’t want to talk to him in your presence.”
“I don’t understand,” Leven said, looking at the sycophant and then back at the tree.
“Most nits don’t. I am Frond,” the sycophant said pompously. “And I speak for the oldest tree.”
Leven just stared, his gold eyes letting off light.
“Okay, then,” Frond said, clearing his throat. “You’ve made it back.”
“I was here before?” Leven said, confused.
“In one of those rooms way over there,” Frond said.
“When I traveled through the puddle I came here?” Leven asked angrily. “And I wasted all that time coming back?”
The tree creaked.
“That voice was you?”
“Yes, it was me,” Frond said to Leven. “You had to finish some things up. Nobody just approaches the tree without being in the right mind. Besides, the tree wasn’t sure you were the one.”
The tree smacked Frond in the back of the head with one of its low branches.
“I take it back,” Frond said. “He was sure; I wasn’t—Alderam Degarus.”
Clover appeared, hanging on the back of Leven’s left shoulder.
“You shouldn’t have brought your sycophant with you,” Frond said. “This was a journey to make alone.”
“You never mentioned that,” Leven pointed out. “And Clover goes wherever I go.”
The tree creaked, and Frond turned to argue with it. “I’m getting to the point. Do you not wish me to use my own words?” The tree creaked again. “Okay, give me some credit.”
“Are you okay?” Leven asked.
“Don’t interrupt,” Frond insisted. He then patted the tree and looked at Leven. “Go ahead.”
“Go ahead what?”
“You must have questions.”
“What am I doing here?” Leven asked impatiently.
Frond swung down from the branches and dropped to the ground in front of Leven. “Since the creation of Foo, a sycophant has been assigned to speak for the tree. I have held the position longer than any. The language is old and complicated.”
“No offense,” Leven said, “but that doesn’t answer my question. Besides, what does the tree want with me?”
“It’s an honor just to gaze at him,” Frond said with affection. “An honor.”
“I’m sure it is,” Leven admitted. “But Foo is falling apart. What does he want from me?”
“He wants you to leave,” Frond said impatiently.
Again the tree smacked Frond and they argued like two old women. “I don’t want to do this. It’s not right. Do you know what it means?”
“Should I give you two some time alone?” Leven asked.
“Yes,” Frond said quickly.
He was smacked again. Frond breathed in deeply and tried to compose himself. He smoothed out his little robe and sighed.
“Do you know about duty?” Frond asked.
“What kind of duty are you talking about?” Leven questioned.
Frond sighed. “Sometimes one is forced to do things because of duty. I’ve always done as I was told, but this is the one time I wish I could stay quiet. You understand that I speak for the tree but not for me.”
“Nice to know,” Leven said, looking at the tree.
“Do you know where you’re standing?” Frond asked.
“Before the oldest tree.”
“Yes, but look at the soil.”
Leven looked down at the soil and glass and grass. He toed the dry dirt and small bits of dead grass broke off.
“I can see the soil,” Leven said.
“Of course,” Frond continued. “Do you know where the roots of this tree reach?”
The tree creaked, and Frond argued with it for another couple of seconds.
“Geth is the lithen?” Frond finally asked.
“Yes,” Leven answered. “What’s—”
“His roots intertwine with those of the oldest tree,” Frond said reluctantly.
Leven looked around at all the roots running through the courtyard.
“Had that tree just been planted, and the seed pure, it would have secured the desolate fate of Foo forever,” Frond said. “But Sabine was foolish enough to curse Geth, placing him in the very seed that otherwise would have ended it all. His act was more foolish than he can ever know.”
“Sabine’s dead,” Leven said. “He’s dead like six times over, so I don’t think it really matters to him.”
“Had that tree grown to fruition, it would have held Reality to Foo by the roots of this tree. No need for dreams to bind us together.”
“So you’re with the Dearth?” Leven said angrily.
“No,” Frond snapped. “I speak for the tree. And the tree believes that Foo must be restored, no matter the cost. The Dearth wishes for the end of everything—nothing but soil.”
“So why am I here?” Leven asked.
“You’re Leven Thumps.” Frond began to cry. “You’re from the line of humans who were directly woven into the fabric of Foo from the beginning. You’re the last, save your father, who apparently was too weak from the beginning.”
“How do you know?” Leven asked.
“Foo has been aware of his dreams,” Frond said. “They are as weak and selfish as the Dearth’s. You, despite your age, have thought only of others since the moment you were chosen. Foo must have that, and your father lacks it even until this day. I saw how he treated you just now.”
“That was you following us?” Leven asked.
Frond nodded and scratched the back of his right ear with his left foot.
“So what do I do?”
“I have protected this tree for hundreds of years,” Frond said sadly. “As did my father before me and his father before him. My grandfather was alive when they built these great buildings, cutting the tree off from all wind. His branches hear no Lore Coils, and the wind delivers no news of trouble or pain. He has stood here holding the soil of Foo taut and keeping things in place. But now the balance is too far gone; the siids wobble and fade, and even the sky grows mushy. The Dearth has stolen all sustenance from the soil, and the tree has fed off of nothing but dreams for the last many years. Now even the dreams have stopped. Look at his leaves.”
Leven and Clover looked at the leaves of the tree, which began to curl and yellow as they stared.
“In another day, his branches will be completely bare and his trunk will begin to harden. It’s over.” Frond began to sob, looking and sounding like a completely different sycophant from the one they had first met.
“This is uncomfortable,” Clover whispered into Leven’s right ear. “Maybe we should just back away slowly.”
“I still don’t understand why I’m here,” Leven pressed.
“The tree pr
oduces metal,” Frond said, drying his eyes. “It is a miracle if you believe in those things, or a marvel, if you prefer. The seven keys that were designed to protect Foo were fashioned from the metal this tree made. He has also produced the metal that will finish him off.”
Frond looked up at the tree. After a moment of silence, an axe dropped from the leaves. Frond picked up the axe and reluctantly lifted it toward Leven. The tree pushed the sycophant forward with the end of one of his branches.
“What?” Leven asked. “I’m supposed to chop it down?”
Frond handed him the axe.
“This tree wants me to chop it down?”
“It is the only way,” Frond cried. “Foo will be restored once the tree is gone and a new one is planted.”
The tree shivered, and a large seed fell to the ground in front of Leven. Leven leaned down and picked up the seed.
Leven hefted the axe. “I chop down this tree and Foo is restored?”
Frond nodded.
“That’s it?” Leven asked.
Frond nodded again.
“The Dearth will be pulled from the soil?”
“Yes.”
“The balance will be restored and the dreams will re-commence?”
“Plant the seed and Foo will be as it was in its beginning days,” Frond wailed. “Clean, with no darkness.”
“And Reality?”
“They will never know what happened,” Frond said. “But their dreams will be stronger and more powerful than they have been in a long time. You will have saved them all and they will have no knowledge of it.”
“All that by just chopping this tree down?” Leven asked, confused. “There has to be a catch.”
“There is,” Frond said. “You and all those you’ve traveled with will die.”
Clover gasped. “Does that mean me too? ’Cause technically I haven’t ‘traveled with’ him; I’ve led the way.”
The tree poked Frond. “All right,” he admitted, “those you’ve traveled with won’t die. I made that part up.”
“I take it you don’t want me to chop down this tree,” Leven said compassionately.
“Don’t try to understand me,” Frond shrieked, baring his teeth. “I do as I’m told, but only if I am told by the tree.”