Shadow Tree

by Jake Halpern

  “Kiril, my dear son, you look troubled,” said Nartam. “Pray tell me, why?”

  “The black ash,” said Kiril finally. “It presents certain... dangers.”

  “True,” said Nartam thoughtfully, “But that is only because it is so powerful and, whoever controls this power, will control everything within his grasp.”

  “Perhaps,” said Kiril, “But do you control this Tree – or does it control you?”

  Nartam laughed.

  “Why do you laugh?” asked Kiril.

  “Because it makes no difference,” said Nartam. “We are one now – the Tree and I.”

  Kiril made no reply, except a slight frown.

  “I am unused to seeing you afraid,” said Nartam.

  “Perhaps a little fear would behoove us,” replied Kiril.

  “No,” said Nartam, “Fear is what we must instill in others – not in ourselves. If we allowed it to fester, fear and self-doubt would be our undoing.”

  “If you say so, father.”

  “Come,” said Nartam. “Why don’t you have just a pinch of the black ash – it will ease your mind.”

  Kiril hesitated. Just several days before, Nartam had made it clear that Kiril should never touch the stuff. So why was he offering it now? Was this Nartam speaking or was it the Tree?

  “Maybe some other time,” replied Kiril politely.

  “As you like,” said Nartam. “You know,” he said, taking a step closer to Kiril, “In the past I have been hard on you, I have wounded you, I know, but it was only to make you stronger. You understand that don’t you?” There was genuine tenderness in his voice as he said this, which was exceedingly rare for Nartam. “I hope you do, my son.”

  Kiril rubbed his cheek, momentarily surprised that his scar had vanished. He wanted to say something more, perhaps something pleasant and friendly, but words escaped him.

  Instead, he bowed low.

  “I will need you in the coming days and weeks,” said Nartam. His eyes grew wide and stared into the distance. It was a strange expression, and one that made Kiril uncomfortable.

  “We shall have visitors soon,” said Nartam ominously.

  “Leif and his son?” inquired Kiril.

  Nartam nodded. “Most likely they are on their way. Of course, the Founding Trees know what’s happening – they understand, in their own way, that the roots of the Shadow Tree will kill them. The trees will struggle with each other and we, inevitably, will be pawns in their delicate game of chess.”

  Nartam smiled with a sudden excitement, and his eyes bored into Kiril’s. “My son, it is a thrilling experience, to understand the Shadow Tree the way I do. To be a part of it! It is a wonderful, wonderful thing...”

  Kiril cut him off. It was unnerving to listen to Nartam speak so passionately. His father had always been a coolly rational man, devoted only to the accomplishment of goals and ideas. “How will they attempt to destroy the Shadow Tree?”

  “The same way that Imad did,” replied Nartam. “By using the Foreseeing Pen.”

  “Daros,” said Kiril. “I know where the Pen is.” He watched Nartam’s immediate interest blossom across his face. “I believe that it is here – in Dargora.”

  “Don’t toy with me,” said Nartam.

  “I’m quite serious,” said Kiril, “Alfonso had the Pen, but he gave it to the girl – the one whom we once employed – Resuza.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Fairly certain,” replied Kiril.

  “Hmm,” said Nartam. “Can you find her? I believe she has a sister, a girl named Naomi, if I recall, she was briefly your slave – isn’t that so?”

  Kiril was astonished; Nartam never forgot anything.

  “Naomi is dead,” said Kiril. The lie came to Kiril’s lips so quickly that he never even had a chance to consider why exactly he’d said it or what trouble it might bring. Somehow he just sensed that it might be better for Naomi if everyone, including Nartam, thought she was dead. He did not want her becoming a pawn. “But don’t worry,” added Kiril quickly, “I believe I have already found Resuza. For the moment, I won’t say more – just know that I hope to have the Pen for you within the coming days.”

  Nartam smiled. “My son, my son, you are indeed a-”

  Just then, two of the Dragoonya seated at the long table stood up suddenly and looked about anxiously. Both men were bald. Their entirely-white eyes were bloodshot. In unison, they began clawing at their eyes, as if their retinas were burning, but because their fingers had no nails they did not scrape themselves too badly.

  “Stop it!” barked Nartam irritably, “Before you succeed in gouging out your eyes.”

  Kiril shook his head and sighed. Grown men clawing at their eyes were the least of the problems that lay ahead, given the highly potent and addictive nature of the black ash, and it concerned Kiril that Nartam did not sense this. You must be the one man who always sees everything clearly, Nartam had told him. But what was he supposed to do about what he saw?

  “You haven’t told me why you brought him,” said Nartam, as he pointed over to a corner of the cave where a large man lay unconscious on the ground. It was Bilblox. He had been that way for hours, barely moving. He was going through withdrawal and Nartam knew that the longshoreman must be in a great deal of pain. “You must have a reason.”

  Kiril was ready for the question.

  “I came across him on the shores of the Sea of Clouds,” replied Kiril. “He was nearly dead and I left him there. Several hours later, I was struck by a thunderclap of images brought on by taking the Jasber Ash.”

  Nartam nodded. Kiril could tell that the Dragoonya leader was pleased.

  “I know these dreams,” said Nartam. “And Bilblox was in them?”

  “Only in one,” Kiril replied. “In that dream, you were falling into an abyss. He saved you.”

  Nartam stared blankly at Bilblox. “He saved me?”

  “Yes,” Kiril lied. He held his breath and cursed himself for the first lie about Naomi that then led to this second lie. It was a bad idea, but it was too late.

  “Well,” said Nartam, “If that is the case, then I want Bilblox at my side at all times.”

  “At all times... but why?” asked Kiril, with a trace of uneasiness in his voice. “If my dream tells the future, isn’t it just a matter of letting fate run its course?”

  “No, not at all,” said Nartam. “The moment that you had this dream of yours, you acted upon what you saw – you brought Bilblox here because of that dream – and when you did that, you altered the course of fate. It may still happen exactly as you foresaw in your dream, but it may not. In any case, I don’t want to take any chances, so I insist on keeping Bilblox nearby so he is there whenever I may need him.”

  Kiril nodded, but said nothing. Suddenly he had a problem that he had not anticipated. He had lied to Nartam, but because of this lie Nartam now wanted Bilblox at his side at all times, which meant that Bilblox might not be there to save Naomi at the crucial moment. Kiril had made a mistake and he saw no immediate way to undo it.

  “You are truly skilled,” Nartam said. “To turn a man like Bilblox into a slave takes unparalleled skill.

  “Thank you,” said Kiril. He bowed deeply. “You taught me everything, father.”

  Chapter 21: Climbing the Bone

  After the planting of the Shadow Tree, the tension in the slave quarters grew steadily. You could see it on the faces of the slaves, as they wondered what would happen to them. Wild rumors circulated that the slaves would be fed one by one to the Tree. Even the guards appeared uneasy. Hill and Resuza had additional worries as well – namely, Bilblox and Naomi. Bilblox had looked pale and close to death as he sat in the back of the sled. What had happened to him and why was he sitting in Kiril’s sled? His mysterious arrival now presented yet another complication. If they were able to escape, wouldn’t they need to rescue Bilblox too?

  And what about Naomi?

  After her encounter with the old woman, who had call
ed Naomi “her pet,” Resuza constantly searched the slave quarters for her. But the old woman seemed to have disappeared. The slave quarters were enormous, holding thousands upon thousands of slaves, but they weren’t impossibly large. It didn’t seem possible that this old woman could just melt away. And yet she had.

  For both Resuza and Hill, their lives in the slave quarters now seemed to drag on with excruciating slowness, as they waited for something to happen.

  And then it did.

  One evening, after a long day of toil, Resuza had muttered goodnight to Hill and fallen into bed. A sudden crinkling noise interrupted her quick descent into sleep. She slammed open her eyes, but saw no one. Eventually, she reached underneath her pillow and pulled out a note. There was a very faint light emanating from dying fires of a distant coal oven and, in this murky glow, Resuza read the note:

  Tomorrow night, at midnight, the main door will be unlocked. I’ve bribed the guard. Climb the yellow pillar to the north of the slave quarters. I’ll meet you at the top. Bring everything and do not linger. They’re coming for you. – Fonzia

  “Fonzia” was the nickname that Resuza had once called her little sister, Naomi. The two girls used it only when they were playing in the woods. It was a secret name. No one else could possibly know about it. This note had many implications, but the most profound of them appeared to be confirmation that Naomi was alive.

  As she sat on her bed with the note lying limply in her hand, Resuza could still recall their parting with startling clarity. It happened early one summer morning in the small town of Tulov where she, her sister, and her parents lived. The entire family was still asleep when the slavers rode into town on their horses. The horsemen had torches and they set fire to all of the homes. Her parents ran out of the house to fight the flame and, when they did, the horseman had killed them. Cut them down with swords. Resuza and Naomi hid in the house for as long as they could, coughing on the smoke, until they were finally forced out into the street. In the chaos, no one saw them emerge.

  “Come on,” Resuza had yelled, “We’ve got to run for the river!” Naomi, however, stood in place, frozen like a statue, staring at the bodies of their dead parents. “Come on!” begged Resuza, tearfully, “We must go before they see us!” Naomi wouldn’t budge. Resuza tried to drag her, but Naomi pushed her away. Just then, a horseman spotted them. They were out of time. Resuza turned and ran as fast as she could, darting in and out of the smoke, zigzagging her way down to the river, where she hid among the reeds. She had simply followed her instincts and ran for her life. There was nothing else she could have done; at least that’s what she told herself again, and again, and again, to assuage her own guilt. The guilt had festered over the years like a wound, especially because she had, eventually, concluded that her sister must be dead.

  Incredible as it seemed, however, the reality was that Naomi was alive and had actually been watching over her. It could, of course, be a trick. This could be Kiril or Nartam toying with her. But why would they bother? After all, Resuza and Hill were slaves – captives – there was no need to trick or trap them; they were already trapped. In any case, heeding the advice on the note – and escaping – seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

  The following evening, at exactly midnight, Hill and Resuza made a run for it. Instead of relying on the uncertainty of a bribed guard, they used their escape tunnel and emerged into the snow directly above the slave quarters on a fiercely cold polar night. For the better part of a half-hour, they crept across the snow, heading north, until they found the one pillar that appeared to have a slight – very slight – yellow tint to it. Then they started climbing, which was relatively easy to do, because the pillar had many holes and crevices to grab hold of. It became increasingly obvious to them that they were climbing a vertical column of human and animal bones – jaws, clavicles, femurs, arms, rib cages, skulls – which had all been fused together into one single column.

  As they went higher and higher, just one thought kept fluttering its way across the synapses of Resuza’s brain: Don’t look down! As she climbed upward, she struggled to stay focused, concentrating on each and every crevice that she used to hoist herself upwards; and yet, despite herself, she involuntarily stole a quick glance downward. What she saw was dizzying enough to make her want to vomit. She and Hill were far above the ground, perched precariously on a narrow stone ledge. They were so high up that only a hundred feet above them was the first layer of impenetrable clouds.

  From this perch, they could see all of Dargora, including the hideous Shadow Tree, which was growing at an astounding pace. Within a few days time it had grown to a height of over two hundred feet and, despite the fact that a small army of Dragoonya soldiers was working around the clock burning the tree’s limbs and collecting its ash, the tree was still growing steadily in size. The other thing that was apparent from this height was that every tree, shrub, plant, and patch of moss within eyesight was now dead. Dargora had never been an especially green place, but there was a modest collection of vegetation here and there – especially in the north of the city where there were a few hot springs – and now all of this was brown, wilted, finished. The roots of the Shadow Tree had spread a ripple of death in every direction.

  “Do you think we’re climbing the correct pillar?” asked Resuza finally.

  Hill shrugged wearily.

  “Where do you suppose it leads?”

  “No idea,” replied Hill. “I’m too exhausted to think properly.”

  Hill and Resuza surveyed the landscape below. Resuza looked again at the Tree.

  “What do you suppose my sister meant when she wrote, They’re coming for you?” asked Resuza finally.

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question,” replied Hill. He ran his fingers through his long beard and picked out a few pieces of ice that had formed. “It’s curious because we have no value to them. We don’t know where Alfonso is, I couldn’t find my way back to Somnos if I had to, and I am too weary to do much work. They must want something else.”

  “The Pen?”

  Hill nodded.

  “Do you have it with you?” asked Resuza.

  Hill stared at her blankly, and then rubbed his hands together, but said nothing; apparently, he did not intend to answer her question.

  “Do you?” she pressed.

  “No,” said Hill finally.

  “The note said to bring everything with us,” said Resuza.

  “I know,” said Hill cryptically. “That’s why I chose not to bring it with us.”

  Resuza rolled her eyes. Without saying any more, she stood up and began to climb. Hill watched as she climbed easily. He sighed and started up after her.

  Soon they arrived at the layer of clouds and began to climb through it. It was eerie to be stuck in a thick, white-gray mist, but they welcomed the respite from the constant wind. They climbed without speaking and lost track of time. Hill’s mind shut off and he became a machine, taking one careful step after another. Then Resuza uttered a low cry that woke him up.

  Hill looked up towards Resuza. It was hard to see her even though she was only several feet away, but her body appeared to be glowing white.

  “What is it?” he shouted. “Are you OK?”

  She didn’t reply and Hill furiously continued climbing until he was directly beneath her. He looked up and saw what had caused her to yell out.

  They had emerged above the cloud layer, and the moon bathed them in a milky glow. Directly above them, stuck like a marshmallow on a stick, sat an old wooden ship. As they looked around, they could see other ships suspended on the many pillars that jutted up towards the night sky. They were all different, but most were quite large and big enough to cross the ocean with hundreds of passengers.

  It looked as if the Dragoonya had taken several dozen antique warships – the sorts that pirates and old sea captains like Horatio Nelson once sailed – and hoisted them up onto the tops of these massive pillars made of bone. The ships were now homes, the
strange equivalent of tree houses, in which the Dragoonya lived. The clouds hovered just beneath many of these ships, which gave the illusion that there was an entire armada of ghost ships floating gently on the clouds. Many of the ships had windows, which were brightly lit, and others even had decorative flags and sails fluttering in the wind. Most ships were connected by a series of swinging rope bridges. All in all, the ships comprised a strangely beautiful city that appeared to rest on the clouds. Hill and Resuza stared at the sight, gaping in awe.

  For several minutes they remained motionless, spell-bound. But then the wind picked up again, and they looked up to measure their progress. Their destination, a large warship connected by rope bridges to several other ships, looked to be a short climb away.

  “Do you think your sister will be waiting for us?” Hill asked.

  “I hope so,” Resuza replied. As she said this, she couldn’t help feeling nervous about the upcoming encounter. It had been so many years. Resuza had tried to protect her during that time. After the Dragoonya had captured Naomi, Resuza followed them all the way to the gates of Dargora, pushing herself to the brink of death before finally turning back. Later on, when she was working for Kiril, Resuza had made Kiril promise to take care of Naomi. Resuza had been Kiril’s loyal servant until, during the battle of Somnos, she defected and switched sides in order to help Alfonso. She simply couldn’t stand the thought of betraying Alfonso who had been such a loyal friend to her. It was only later, in the hours after the battle, that she began to wonder about her sister. What had become of Naomi? What would Kiril do with her? Would he kill her?

  Once again she had abandoned her sister. Resuza had always intended to return to Dargora and set her sister free, but it hadn’t worked out that way; in fact, now it was Naomi who was helping Resuza make a break for freedom.

  “Come on,” said Hill. “We’re almost there.”