"Do you think there is any way to convince the Zjhon the statue is deadly?" Catrin asked.
"Hmm. There is always the possibility, but I think it highly unlikely one could accomplish it in time. The energy shed by Istra does not pass through rock and soil freely, but some does penetrate, and it's possible the statues will detonate during this pass even if they remain buried. Exposed, they are an immediate threat and could discharge at any moment."
Catrin could find no words to respond. She struggled to find some solution, anything that would prevent massive loss of life, but she doubted they would ever be able to get close to the statue . . . unless they were in shackles.
The rustling of leaves beneath their feet was the only sound. Some foliage still clung to the trees, but the forest floor was thick with them, and silent movement was nearly impossible. Ahead of them materialized a tree that was larger than most and bore a roughly triangular opening in its trunk. Over the opening hung several skins that had been stitched together, and Barabas pulled them aside.
"Welcome to my abode."
"Beautiful," Catrin said. "It's amazing you found such a tree."
"Amazing? Certainly not. I asked the forest for shelter, and it provided for me--just as it should be," Barabas replied, and her confused look seemed to surprise him. "When I need meat, I ask the herd, and a sacrifice presents itself. If I have need of fire, then the forest provides me wood. Whatever I need of nature, I have but to ask. Too many have forgotten this. They just take what they want from the land without any thought or respect, and they strip her of wealth that cannot be replaced. Surely you remember this at least."
"I'm sorry, Barabas. I've much to learn," she said, and he sighed heavily.
"Truly, heart of the land, you've chosen a trying time to embrace ignorance."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Each of us is uniquely qualified for some task. We have but to find it.
--unknown philosopher
* * *
The interior of the tree was as remarkable as its outer appearance. The wood within was polished and richly grained, but most astonishing was the formation of shelves and a sleeping crevice large enough for Barabas. A ring of stones formed a small fire circle in the center of the chamber, and in the domed ceiling, a funneled opening bore a layer of soot. Catrin suspected the opening continued to open air and formed a natural chimney. Little else adorned the relatively small living space, and they stood elbow to elbow as Barabas tucked dried fruits and meats into his pack. He allowed Catrin no more time to contemplate his dwelling as he urged them back into the night.
"We've no time to dally. We can travel within the forest to the center of Astor, and from there, we will need to skirt between smaller areas of woodland. We are certainly not the most conspicuous of bands," he said with a chuckle and immediately set off at a pace that was difficult to match. Catrin's legs burned from the exertion, and she tired long before Barabas. He seemed to sense her fatigue, and not long before she would have had to ask for a rest, he simply stopped and lowered himself to recline against a towering elm. Catrin and Benjin joined him, and they ate in the stillness.
The forest was a riot of scarlet and umber, and the quiet murmur of the life within it was like the heartbeat of the world. Tranquility such as this could not be constructed; it could only grow naturally. All of man's attempts at beauty and grace paled in comparison to the architecture of life. Even creatures that were at times frightening and strange had their own unique elegance. A small lizard scurried through the leaves, and its rough, angular hide so closely resembled tree bark that it could become nearly invisible. Catrin admired the function of its form, and she recognized its beauty, even if the thought of touching it made her skin crawl.
When she considered Barabas, she was faced with an enigma, and she struggled to understand his place in her world. It was not that he seemed out of place. On the contrary, he could almost become a part of the scenery--much like the lizard. Taken out of his element, he was remarkable and unusual, but within his world, he was simply a part of nature. Eventually, her curiosity won out over her fear of being uncouth.
"I mean no insult by this question, Barabas, but may I ask what manner of man you are?" she blurted, and the words did not sound at all like what she had intended. "That is . . . I mean . . . You're very different from everyone I've ever met, and I'd like to understand you better." Still, she felt clumsy and rude, but Barabas just let his infectious laugh roll from him, as if he had no such inhibitions or insecurities. She envied him.
"You tickle me, heart of the land. Truly you do. You are wise beyond your years, and yet you've not the knowledge most would require to become wise. It amazes me. Your very existence is a paradox," he said, shaking his head. "Do not fear you will offend me with your questions. I'll answer them as best I can. As to what manner of man I am, some would label me druid, others shaman, and still others see me as a madman. I see myself as a part of life, a piece of the whole. Like a thread in a tapestry, I am not important in and of myself, but without me and the rest of the threads--the tapestry--would cease to exist. Do you understand?"
"I think I do, but how did you come to be this way? Did your parents teach you these things?" she asked, and she was unsettled to see a flash of pain in his eyes.
"The land raised me and provided for me. I never met those who brought me into this world, but men and women have helped me, and they have taught me much. They influenced much of what I am, and I've always tried to take with me the best of all the beings I encounter, just as pieces of you will always go with me from now on. The memory of you is a part of me, and the memories of all my teachers, human and otherwise, are parts of me. The land and the animals have taught me as much, if not more, than my human mentors."
Catrin was not sure she understood any more about Barabas than before she asked, and she hoped his words would make more sense in time.
* * *
"We should've brought this thing up in pieces," Strom said through gritted teeth. "We could've assembled it once we got it all up there." Milo and Gustad launched into their usual debate, and Strom was frightened by the fact that he was beginning to understand them. Sometimes he was even tempted to interject his own thoughts, but it just seemed like asking for trouble.
"I'm losing my grip," Osbourne said. "We need to put it down."
"Be careful of the lenses, boys," Gustad said.
"We know. We know," Strom said as they eased the looking glass to the stairs. All of their effort had gone into reconstructing this ancient relic, and though they could see little through the parabolic lenses when in the workshop, Milo remained convinced it would work. He said it had been found atop Limin's Spire, and there it could be used to see the stars. Looking up, Strom gave up trying to count how many more stairs they had left to climb.
"We must get the looking glass to the spire before nightfall," Milo said, as he had a number of times before.
Strom was tempted to go get some big, strong men to carry the looking glass, but he knew he could not. No one else knew how much work went into repairing this relic, and he could not trust anyone else to handle it. Thinking back to the feeling of success he'd had when they finally produced a workable lens, he smiled. Though they never achieved a perfect pour, Strom was proud to have gotten close. The imperfections in the first lens were few, and there was a perfectly clear area in the center. The second lens was even better, for which Strom was thankful; there was barely enough material left to make even one more pour. Milo was insistent that they not resort to remelting glass, and Strom often wondered what it was he feared.
"I'm ready," Osbourne said.
Grunting, they lifted the looking glass and, once again, began to climb.
"This thing better work."
* * *
After a few days in Barabas's company, Catrin came to see him as a guardian of the land, and that image pleased her. It seemed at times that he spoke to the trees and the soil itself, as if asking directions, and he would move of
f with confidence. Catrin had her own way of communing with the natural world, but she did not receive coherent thoughts. Instead, vague impressions brushed against her consciousness. She tried to listen in on his conversations with nature, but they were simply beyond her grasp, as if she were listening for something that could only be seen.
On the fifth day of their journey, though, vague impressions became an almost overwhelming expression of emotion. Tears streamed down her face as waves of joy mixed with sadness washed over her. It came from all around her yet felt as if it were her own. When she glanced at Barabas, she saw his eyes welling, and Benjin sniffed.
"You sense it, heart of the land?" he asked, and she nodded, mute. "What of you, Guardian? You sense it as well?"
"I feel joy and sadness all around us, and . . . I think . . . a melody," Benjin said.
"Hmm, indeed. The dryads are singing a farewell dirge, which does not bode well for our travels. I know not what danger they anticipate, but I've never heard the virgin forests sing of such an end. It's as if the trees expect to be wiped out almost completely."
"That's horrible! We must save them," Catrin cried, but Barabas laid a hand on her shoulder.
"It's not all sadness, heart of the land. You can sense the joy as well. In death, there is rebirth, the chance to begin anew. The forest prepares for a catharsis rather than extinction. I will miss the trees; they have been good to me, and I love them dearly. But I know they will return someday, and so will I, and then we will once again breathe the same air. Still, in this time of peril, I fear the implications this will have on our journey."
His words created an anxious mood, and they moved in wary silence, alert for any signs of danger to the trees and themselves. It was not until late that night that the first signs of trouble showed themselves. The air had become unseasonably warm--not balmy but well above freezing--and distant thunder told of storms. Occasionally they saw far-off flashes of lightning, but it was the growing orange glow on the northern horizon that alarmed them. Within a short time, the acrid smell of smoke assaulted them. The forest was afire, and Catrin knew they were but kindling before the fury of the inferno. Dried leaves would need little urging to ignite, and the glow became brighter as the night wore on.
"Should we flee the forest now? I don't want to be burned alive," Catrin said, reluctantly revealing her fears.
"The trees will guide us and will warn me if we are endangered. For now, I sense the danger is greater beyond the trees. If we go into the open now, I fear things will not go well."
"I trust you, Barabas, and I trust your instincts, but can you be sure the trees will know when we must leave?"
"Nothing is certain, but I trust them more than I trust myself," he said.
She tried to have faith, but fire struck her with a primal fear.
"The winds are from the west at the moment," Benjin said, "but if they turn to the south, we could be in trouble. Stay aware of the winds, and we will know when the fires will approach."
"Well said, Guardian."
Catrin tried to share their confidence but found it difficult to sleep with the smell of fire in her nostrils. When morning arrived, a haze hung over the land until the winds picked up and clouds of smoke rolled across them. The winds were still mostly out of the west, but they seemed to be taking a southerly turn. By midday, the fires came into view, and the devastation was appalling. Flames climbed high into the sky and became so intense that tornados of fire raced through the hills, leaving nothing but smoldering ash in their wake.
Large embers and bits of ash clogged the air, and the smoke threatened to choke them, but still Barabas kept to the trees. He skirted around the fires and always seemed to find some stretch of land that had not yet been burned until they reached a hillside that was nothing but cinder. Hot embers lay under a blanket of gray powder, and they picked their way through the remains of the fire. The soles of their boots were poor protection from the intense heat, and they moved as quickly as they could to reach an island of trees that lay beyond the hill.
The remaining trees stood as a bastion of hope. Some part of the virgin forest remained unmolested, and yet as they drew closer, the song of the dryads grew stronger. The land resonated with it, and it was clear the danger was not past. When they were nearly halfway across the field of ash, darkness washed over them. Banks of ominous clouds rolled eastward, and they blotted out the light. No lightning brightened the landscape, but a heavy rain began to fall.
Rain seemed like a boon at first, for it doused the embers and cooled their feet, but the steady fall intensified and became a downpour, and the distant trees disappeared in the haze. The group struggled through clinging mud, and Catrin often lost her footing. Unseen stumps and roots were concealed under a blanket of ash, waiting to snag the unwary, and the wet ash was deadly slick in places. As they moved with dreadful slowness, fears blossomed in Catrin's mind. The song of the dryads did nothing to assuage them.
At one point they stopped and huddled together. The winds shrieked and tore at them, and only the support of Benjin and Barabas kept Catrin on her feet. Later the rains abated, and they were left to slog through knee-deep mud. It was excruciatingly slow, and their goal was just beyond their reach. Unburned trees loomed ahead of them, and they drove themselves onward as if that stand of ancient trees would be their salvation.
The rumble began so low that they thought it was the rains, but it grew louder until it became an ear-shattering roar. The ground trembled, and through the mist came a wave of death. It came from high in the mountains where the storm had rapidly melted the snow, and the burned-out landscape offered nothing to slow it. Nothing stood between the flux and them, and the flood gained momentum as it roared across the land.
"To the trees!" Barabas shouted over the clamor, and they tried to run, but the mud clung to them and made their legs and boots heavier and heavier. Each step was a struggle, but fear drove them, and as the massive wave crested the hills above them, they reached the first of the remaining trees. Catrin was about to discard her staff and climb when Barabas grabbed her by the waist and tossed her high into the air, far higher than she would have thought possible. Branches rushed toward her at alarming speed, and she latched onto one as she reached the top of her arch.
Barabas gave Benjin a boost to begin his climb, and Benjin was barely above Barabas's head when the flood reached them. It happened so fast that it didn't seem real. A wave of brown and gray rolled across the land and wiped it clean. It overtook Barabas before he could climb to safety, and Catrin cried out as he was washed away.
"Worry not, heart of the land," she heard him yell as he was carried beyond her sight. The dryads continued to sing their farewell, and many of the trees succumbed to the deluge. The sight of the massive trees being washed away was awful, but the slow tilting of the tree they were in was terrifying. Catrin and Benjin climbed higher, but the mighty tree leaned farther, and the roiling flow grew ever closer. When the tree broke loose from the soil, it moved in a lumbering circle, slowly spinning in the current. Its top remained above water, though, and they huddled in the branches. Other trees and debris battered them, and Catrin used her staff to fend them off.
Cradled by the limbs, she sensed the dryad with her, protecting her in one last dying effort. Catrin sent her thanks into her physical bond with the tree, and she felt she could lend her strength to the dryad. Her energy poured into the bark and into the flesh of the tree. She was not sure if it was due to the effort of the dryad or pure luck, but they dipped into the roiling waters on only two occasions, and each time they were thrust back into the air.
As the flow diminished, the tree became wedged against a tangle of downed trees and vegetation that was knotted between a pair of hillocks. Catrin and Benjin held on to one another and lent each other warmth and strength as they waited out the flood.
When the waters receded, the landscape was nightmarish. What had been lush forest was now a wasteland, and not a single tree remained standing within their
sight. Mud and rock clogged the valleys, and large sections of land had been ripped from their moorings, leaving huge gashes in the countryside. Benjin helped Catrin climb from the twisted mass, and they fought to break free of the mud.
Night closed around them, and they shivered in the cold air. No dry wood could be found for a fire, and they kept moving just for the sake of the warmth the activity provided. Catrin feared if they stopped, they would never rise again, and despite her nagging exhaustion, she pushed on, determined to live. She couldn't allow those who had died for her cause to have died for naught. She did not add Barabas to her mental list, for she felt he was still alive. It was not merely a foolish hope; she could sense him. She could not tell the direction in which he lay, though she had some clues about that, but she just got a general sense that he lived, as if he sent reassurance to her across the distance between them.
She and Benjin listened for anyone who might be in need of help, but the night was eerily quiet; only the sound of draining water disturbed the stillness. When morning arrived, it brought bright sunshine that seemed inappropriate in the face of such carnage. It almost seemed the sky should mourn the losses on the land below, but it acted of its own accord and blinded them with its glare. By midday, they found a hill that still bore trees, and they climbed to its top. There they built a small fire and tried to get warm.
Though no longer completely sealed with wax, the packs had kept out most of the water and mud. They shared some dried beef strips from Benjin's supply. Despair washed over Catrin as they ate. Even though they were alive, she felt lost. If Barabas did still live, it was doubtful he would find them, and they were now faced with traveling on their own. Benjin's presence was all that kept her from spiraling into a deep, dark depression, but he seemed to be struggling with demons of his own, and neither of them spoke for the rest of the day. No words seemed suitable for such dire circumstances.
The Dragon Writers Collection Page 87