Shadow Tree

by Jake Halpern

  “Who are they?” asked Alfonso in whisper.

  “I’m not sure,” said Marta. “But the monks warned me about them. They told me that the slave traders got so many of the adults around here that packs of kids now roamed the hills like wolves.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” whispered Alfonso.

  “How old do you think they are?” asked Marta. “I mean the ones you saw?”

  “They were little,” whispered Alfonso. “They couldn’t have been much older than six or seven years old.”

  “Okay,” said Marta. “You know what we’ve got to do right? It’s our only chance.”

  Alfonso nodded.

  “Can you do it?” asked Marta.

  “I think so,” said Alfonso.

  “Okay,” she said, “Let’s do it – and remember to breathe.”

  Chapter 13: The Library

  Many hours later, Leif stirred and began to wake up. For several minutes, he lay motionless on the dusty ground, trying to determine – without moving – whether he was badly hurt. He felt as if he were waking from the deepest sleep of his life. At some point, he began moving his fingers and then, at last, he opened his eyes. He remembered very well what had happened – the opening in the root of the tree, and then the long fall, so he was mildly surprised to see his arm intact and unbroken. He had a painful cut across his entire back, and while his shirt was soaked with blood, the wound seemed to be superficial and he was no longer bleeding.

  So far, so good.

  He stood up and looked around. He was in a long room with no sharp angles or corners. The walls, which were carved out of a finely-polished wood, flowed like a wave. A thick layer of dust lay over everything, and the room felt still in the same way that some caves do, as if no one had passed through here for centuries. Eventually, Leif found the rungs of a ladder inset into the wall. He looked up and became confused. Far above him – perhaps 200 feet or so – he saw, for the first time, a small patch of light. The light was so meager that it illuminated very little. Leif had no idea what this was, but he was intrigued.

  He began climbing. It was steady work, climbing one step at a time, checking each rung first with his hand to confirm that it was steady. Leif assumed that no one had used this ladder in ages and, the higher he climbed, the more nervous he became. After ten minutes of climbing, he reached a wooden trapdoor with his fingertips. The trapdoor was made with several slats of wood, but there were spaces in between these slats, and through these slats light was pouring through. This was the source of light that he had seen from far below.

  Leif pushed up on the trapdoor with gentle and then steady pressure. It creaked loudly, but was unlocked. Dust coated his head and shoulders. He emerged into a circular room lined with bookcases. A movable ladder rotated around the room on an iron rail. Leif looked up and stared in astonishment. The room’s ceiling was several hundred feet overhead – so far above him that he could only barely make it out. Leif tried to grasp where he was. There was only one explanation. Initially, he had fallen into a hole in the ground and now he had climbed up into the trunk of a giant tree – the tree itself was hollowed out and its inner walls were lined with thousands of books.

  As the book-lined walls continued upward, they were joined by what appeared to be light-filled tunnels. These tunnels concentrated light and formed them into rays. Upon closer inspection, Leif realized that the tunnels were actually hollowed-out branches that were channeling light into the main trunk of the tree via an elaborate system of small windows and mirrors. Looking upward, Leif could make out many rays of light crisscrossing the room.

  There were several dozen books scattered across the floor. Some of the books were torn in half along the binding. There were also footprints in the thick dust that covered the floor. Someone had been here recently. This must have been the boy. He was here, looking for something, but what?

  Uncertain of what else to do, Leif began climbing the moveable ladder, because there appeared nowhere to go but up. As he climbed, he read the binding of the books on the shelves: Bektair Aagar, Bo'orchu Cagar, Jamukha Gbosh, Chila'un Obzok... Each book appeared to bear a person’s name. The lower bookcases were filled with identical handwritten books of varying thickness. Leif examined a few. Each book corresponded with the life of a person, although it was presented in a dreary manner. For example, on the spine of one book was written, Jugal Patel. Page after page was taken up intricate logical progressions and what-ifs. Each what-if, was proceeded by a complex notation of symbols and numbers, which Leif could not decipher.

  (‰⅛†) If J.P. turns left down Folken Lane, he will meet a friend who will introduce him to the proprietor of a small coin shop, thus leading to J.P.’s career as a dealer of antique coins.

  Immediately below that came another progression:

  (‡⅝ ) If J.P. turns right down Folken Lane, he will proceed to buy a loaf of bread that shall turn out to be exceedingly hard, causing J.P. to be in bad humour for several hours afterwards.

  Leif paged through several more of these books before continuing his climb. They all detailed intricate cause and effect relationships, and each book focused on just one person. At first it was all very exciting – this idea of seeing someone’s life unfold on the printed page – but it soon grew tiresome. Leif hoped for something more exciting. He stopped when he reached a section with names beginning with the letter “B.” He stepped off the main ladder and tiptoed along a narrow ledge. He passed Bidderbold, then Bijorge, and then found himself at Bilba, Sven. The name after that was Bimox, Jon. But in between these two books was an empty space. It appeared as if once, perhaps not long ago, a book sat here.

  “Bilblox’s book,” whispered Leif to himself. The longshoreman’s full name was “Paks Bilblox” and this is where his book ought to be. Could it be? But where’d it go? Did the boy take it? Impossible to know. Leif stood on the ladder for a long time, lost in thought, until finally he remembered that he had business to take care of and, reluctantly, he resumed climbing upward.

  Leif continued his ascent until he came upon an opening that led into a cozy nook. The nook, as far as Leif could tell, was situated inside a large knot in the tree which had been hollowed out and turned into a small office of sorts. The room contained a desk, a fireplace, and a few bookshelves. The fireplace was lit with a strange, green flickering fire which created no smoke. There were no burning logs, briquettes, gas tubes, or anything at all that appeared to be fueling the fire. Above the desk hung a picture with a sturdy frame made of thick tree limbs. The frame was old and worn and, along one edge, it had two deep claw marks. The canvas itself was blank. “Huh?” said Leif to himself. “What kind of artwork...?”

  Leif walked over to the desk and took the picture down from the wall. As soon as he did, a parcel wrapped in thick brown parchment fell out. Apparently, someone had hidden it there, tucking it away behind the back of the picture frame. Leif presumed that this was the thing that he was meant to burn. He studied the parcel closely. It felt light and brittle in his hands. The parchment was yellow and ancient looking. It appeared as if the whole thing might disintegrate into dust at any moment. Leif walked over to the strange green fire that was crackling in the fireplace. It was scorching hot. Leif took the package and held it over the flames. As he did this, he recalled Imad’s warning: Take what you find and burn it there. Don’t open it or... or God help us all.

  Suddenly, Leif had a very strong hunch about what the package contained.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Leif aloud. “He leads me right to it and then tells me not to look inside.” Before he could second-guess himself, Leif ripped off the parchment covering the parcel. Inside was an old, leather-bound book and, on the front cover, in thick block letters were two words: ALFONSO PERPLEXON.

  “Ah, give me a break!” said Leif angrily. “What am I supposed to do with this?” He sighed heavily. He started to open the book, then slammed it shut. “No I can’t,” he said. “I’ll regret it, I know I will.” Inste
ad, he held the book up to the fire, allowing a green flame to blacken its cover. The pages started to turn a golden brown, the way slices of white bread do in a toaster. Then, suddenly, Leif pulled the book back into his arms and fanned out the embers that had started to form on its pages. His mind was racing with thoughts. What if the book contained some vital information about where Alfonso was? What if his son was in danger? Perhaps the book could help Leif find his son – perhaps even rescue him? Could he really walk away from such information? But what about Imad’s warning? Imad knew what the book said. Presumably, Imad had written these books himself. Given that, wasn’t it foolhardy to ignore Imad’s advice – his warning?

  Desperately, Leif yanked open the front cover of the book. The title page had the following inscription.

  The Life & Times of

  Alfonso H. Perplexon

  A Concise Listing of Prophecies, Scenarios, & Unusual Permutations

  Like the other books in the library, the ensuing pages contained row after row of neatly written “what if” scenarios. The beginning was filled with scenarios Alfonso had already encountered.

  (⅛) If A.P. refuses to go to school on 7th of April, he will fall asleep at lunchtime and sleep-walk to school.

  Leif nodded his head and couldn’t help but smile. This was precisely what had happened.

  (‡⅞) If A.P. travels to the Boundary Waters for a canoe trip, on his fifth birthday, he shall have an ear infection.

  This too had happened. “Amazing,” muttered Leif.

  Leif paused and realized he could read these for several hours and just delay the inevitable moment. He sighed deeply and flipped to the end of the book. The last page was filled with row after row of what-if scenarios, but it was different than the ones before. It appeared to be written hastily, and almost in panic. At the top was written:

  Addendum

  The Perplexons & the Shadow Tree

  There was also a brief note:

  Note Bene: If the cursed Tree is allowed to grow, there will be famine, the likes of which the world has never seen. Millions will die (between 7,865,234 – 44,324,210 or so says the Pen).

  “Hmm,” said Leif. He kept reading.

  If the Tree is planted, you will know, for the earth will shake with great tremors. If this happens, there are two scenarios in which it may be destroyed...

  “Great tremors?” said Leif. This made no sense, but he read on.

  Scenario I. L.P. reunites with his son, M, and C.N.T at the obelisk. Together they set off for Dargora through the clouds. They arrive at the southernmost edge of the Petrified Forest where the three rivers converge, near the caves where the fog wolves live. From there, L.P., his son and M escort C.N.T. through the forest to ensure her safety. Where the forest ends, C.N.T. continues alone to Dargora. She recovers the Pen from its hiding place within the anatomical snuffbox. In broad daylight, she destroys the Shadow Tree. (‰ ⅞)

  “L.P. must be me,” said Leif to himself. At a glance, this scenario seemed favorable. He and Alfonso didn’t have to go into Dargora and C.N.T. took care of destroying the Shadow Tree. Still, there were so many questions. What, for example, was the “anatomical snuffbox”? And who in God’s name was C.N.T? There was nothing to do but keep reading...

  Scenario II. A Perplexon will rejoice with friends in the dark of the chasm. He will then destroy the Tree by himself. A Perplexon will succeed, but he will also die. (‡‰№⅞)

  “‘A Perplexon’ must be Alfonso,” muttered Leif. He recoiled. His heart was pounding and his breath seemed to stick in his throat. He struggled to regain his composure. He began to process the significance of this what-if. The prophecy was clear, in the second scenario, Alfonso died. This meant that – at all costs – Leif could not let his son enter Dargora and attempt to destroy the tree. He needed to find Alfonso and quickly. But how? And where? The prophecy. The answer had to be in the prophecy. Leif quickly took another look at what was written. The first prophecy said that Leif would reunite with his son “here” and then showed the following picture...

  The question was: What was this thing? And, more importantly, where was it? It appeared to be a tower of sorts, covered with ornate carvings. There was nothing in the background – no context or setting at all. But what about those carvings? Leif squinted closely at the drawing of the obelisk and saw that the following pattern was repeated again and again on the obelisk itself. It appeared to be a map of sorts. It showed a bunch of islands and rivers in the form of curlicues. In the center was a small white hole. Leif stared at it closely...

  Clearly this pattern meant something, but what? He simply needed more time to solve this puzzle.

  Leif took the small framed canvas with nothing on it and tucked it under his arm. He was taking this with him, though he couldn’t say why. Then he took hold of Alfonso’s book, and tore out the page listing “Scenario I” and “Scenario II.” Finally, he took the book, kissed it gently with his lips, and tossed it into the fire.

  Chapter 14: Tricks of the Mind

  Bilblox lay face down in the snow, jaws clenched, eyes firmly shut. The coldness of the snow offered his only relief from the excruciating pain in his head; for Bilblox, it felt as if someone were slicing his brain in half, very slowly, with a red-hot knife that had been heated on the coals of a fire. Time ticked away slowly, imperceptibly – perhaps it was hours, perhaps it was days that passed – it was impossible to tell. Eventually, mercifully, the longshoreman fell into a very dark and prolonged sleep. When he finally rose from his slumber, Bilblox heard the sound of swords – and a great many of them – being drawn from their scabbards. He forced himself to pry open one of his eye. The light from the sun was blinding, but as the world around him came into focus, he saw that he was surrounded. There were four dozen soldiers, all dressed in leather armor adorned with feathers – the trademark garb of Dragoonya horsemen. Kiril was standing with them, looking remarkably at ease.

  “Where did they come from?” groaned Bilblox.

  “From an outpost just south of Dargora,” replied Bilblox. “I got them while you were sleeping.” Kiril reached down to his waist, unfastened his pouch, and dipped his fingers into the small bag. “Care for a pinch of ash, my friend?” asked Kiril. He drew close to Bilblox, squatted down on his haunches, and whispered soothingly, “Would you like to put the ash in your eyes – or shall I help you?”

  “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” whispered Bilblox.

  “That’s all behind us now,” replied Kiril calmly, “Let us focus on the matter at hand. That’s the sensible thing to do, isn’t it?”

  Bilblox grunted.

  “What you are feeling now is the withdrawal from the green ash – and it will get much worse before it gets better,” continued Kiril. “The pain is just beginning. You are still lucid – you can hear me – which means your mind has not yet begun to play its tricks. That will happen soon, very soon, and this is when men go mad. That is when you will beg me to end your misery. Trust me, my friend, you don’t want to go down that road.” Kiril then reached into the pouch and took out a generous dollop of the green powder. “Take it,” said Kiril, “For your sake – not mine.”

  “No,” whispered Bilblox.

  “Just yesterday you were asking for it,” said Kiril, “Why now the sudden change of heart?”

  “I waited too long,” said Bilblox hoarsely. “I should have... Alfonso... I should have...” But he didn’t finish his sentence; instead, he passed out and his head fell heavily against the snow.

  “Is he dead?” asked one of the Dragoonya horsemen.

  “No,” replied Kiril, “He is just in terrible pain.”

  “What shall we do with him?” asked another of the horsemen.

  “Put him on a horse,” said Kiril. “He’s coming with us.”

  Bilblox felt as if he were falling and the sensation continued for hours. He kept falling through darkness, wondering at what moment his body would crumple upon impact with a hard surface. Perh
aps this was the sensation of dying – to fall without end.

  But then the falling stopped, seemingly without impact. He was lying face down in pebbly sand. Water covered him, and then retreated. The cries of grown men playing a game echoed in his ears. He couldn’t decide whether he was underwater, still falling, or very much alive on a beach.

  Bilblox lifted his head and then moved to a sitting position. He was on a beach near the water and several hundred feet away he saw a massive freighter lying on its side.

  “Well I’ll be,” whispered Bilblox. “The Nyetbezkov.” It was the place where he and Alfonso had first met, during a game of ballast. Alfonso had just begun learning how to become a Great Sleeper, and Bilblox had taken him under his wing.

  Ropes dangled from the Russian ship and Bilblox could see longshoremen scurrying up and down. They were clearly playing ballast.

  Bilblox smiled and then waved his hands. He tried to stand but somehow was unable to do so. He tried to yell towards them, but no sound came from his throat. A sudden itch erupted on the palm of his hand, and it quickly turned to pain.

  Suddenly panicked, Bilblox thrashed around but was still unable to stand. He heard a low-pitched buzz that became louder and louder. Bilblox glanced out to see and saw the origin of the noise. It was a ten-story tidal wave about a mile from shore. It was heading straight towards them.

  Bilblox screamed mutely. He opened his mouth again and again and tried to force out a sound – any sound. The tidal wave picked up the Nyetbezkov as easily as an egg shell and swept it towards Bilblox. At the last minute, with the wall of water almost on top of him, Bilblox was aware of a presence sitting calmly to his left. It was Judy, Alfonso’s mother.