Shadow Tree

by Jake Halpern

  Bilblox reached for a cup, but suddenly Nartam grabbed the longshoreman’s wrist and said, “No, no, no this won’t do.”

  Bilblox stood still, uncertain of how to react.

  “Kiril, be a good chap and give me the keys to these handcuffs,” said Nartam. “Bilblox here is my guest, my lucky totem, and I simply won’t have him sipping tea in my quarters with both of his hands cuffed like a common criminal.”

  Again Kiril nodded. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys, found the proper key, and handed it to Nartam.

  “Much obliged,” said Nartam. He then knelt down on one knee and used the key to unlock the handcuff on Bilblox’s left wrist. Bilblox let out a small, barely audibly sigh of relief. Nartam took a little longer with the second handcuff. He seemed to be fumbling with the key and yanking the handcuffs back and forth; then suddenly, after it was too late to act, Bilblox saw what Nartam had done. He had not unfastened the second handcuff, but left it as it was – firmly locked around Bilblox’s right wrist – and, instead, he had fastened the opened handcuff to the brass handrail that was bolted into the wall. Bilblox was now, in effect, chained to the wall.

  “What gives?” demanded Bilblox.

  “Sorry old chap,” said Nartam as he rose to his feet and took a step back, “But I can’t have you running off on me, now can I?”

  “I ain’t gonna be able to save your life if ya got me chained up like a dog,” said Bilblox, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. “Right?”

  Instead of immediately responding, Nartam turned to look at Kiril. His trusted deputy stood paralyzed, unsure of what to do. Nartam turned back to Bilblox and smiled.

  “Oh come now,” he said. “We both know perfectly well that you are not going to save my life. Who do you take me for? It was just a bunch of rubbish Kiril made up so that I would keep you around. The prophecy was quite clear, you are going to save the girl’s life – or at least try to. Isn’t that so?”

  As he said this, Nartam pointed out a glass door, just ten feet away, that led out on to a small, open-air balcony. At first neither Bilblox nor Kiril saw what he was pointing toward – all they could see was blackness – but then, all at once, they saw the outline of a figure standing, in the darkness, on the other side of the glass door. The figure was standing on the balcony, huddled in a fur coat. Nartam picked up a lantern, which hung from a hook on the wall, and carried it over the glass door so they could all get a better view. Moments later, Naomi’s face became visible.

  “I believe this is the spot where someone is destined to give her a shove – isn’t that so Kiril?” asked Nartam.

  Kiril stared out at the balcony and had a strong feeling of déjà vu. There was Naomi, dressed in furs, standing on a snowy platform, on the edge of a ship. It was exactly like his vision. This had to be the spot where.... Where he – Kiril – pushed her into the abyss. But how? And why? And could this fate be altered?

  Kiril took a step toward the door, instinctively wanting to do something, but then Nartam raised a finger and said, “I am sure that you are eager to speak with her, though is it really wise to go near her – given what the prophecy says?”

  Kiril froze. “The prophecy?” It was the first time that he had spoken and, as he did so, he seemed hesitant and a bit confused. “What I had was a vision and...”

  “That’s not what I am talking about, my son,” interrupted Nartam. “I am talking about a prophecy – a prophecy from Imad’s library, which told me the story of Bilblox’s life – all that has happened and all that may happen to our beloved longshoreman.”

  “Yeah right,” said Bilblox with a snort. “The story of my whole life. That’s a good one. And what about your life? I’m guessin’ you read your own future as well? You know everything that’s gonna happen – is that it?”

  “No, not my life,” replied Nartam calmly. “Imad, clever chap that he was, knew the trouble that might happen if I got hold of my own prophecy and so he had the foresight to remove it from his little library. But I assure you, I know most everything about your life, Master Bilblox. Of course, some things are left to chance, and can play out in a number of different ways, but other things are fairly certain. Would you like to hear about the manner in which you will die? It’s at sea, in a shipwreck, fitting for a longshoreman, no?”

  “That’s rich,” said Bilblox, but there was a hint of uneasiness in his voice. He sensed that something terrible was about to happen and that he needed to get himself free as quickly as he could. He jerked his right arm and shoulder violently, in the hopes of pulling the brass rail out of the wall, but the rail barely budged and he only succeeded in tearing the skin on his wrist.

  “Let the girl inside,” said Kiril as calmly as he could. “Whatever it is that you want I can help you get – I can give to you – but there is no reason to make the girl suffer.”

  “You speak as if you are in control,” replied Nartam as he walked across the room toward the wooden chest. “Or perhaps you think I am in control. Neither is accurate. All of this has been ordained many thousands of years ago. It is what Imad wrote in his prophecies.”

  “Imad’s prophecies – but how?” asked Kiril. “You found them?”

  “Yes, yes – quite right,” said Nartam calmly, with the cool air of a school teacher. As he spoke, he opened the wooden chest, and took out a gleaming metal battleaxe. Bilblox thought he was seeing things, but it looked as if the hand holding the battleaxe grew thicker, as if responding to the weight of the weapon and of the prospects for an imminent fight.

  Nartam smiled again, in that strange, ash-induced way which made his face look plastic.

  “While you chaps were gallivanting around, having your fun in the wilderness, I made a trip of my own to Straszydlo Forest. You see, it has long been known that Imad hid his prophecies near to where he hid his sphere. Of course, no one knew where his sphere was hidden, until Alfonso found it in Straszydlo Forest. I suppose I owe a debt of gratitude to Alfonso. In any case, I simply retraced Alfonso’s footsteps, did some poking around in the woods, and eventually found my way into Imad’s library. That’s where I read about Bilblox and how he would hide the Foreseeing Pen in his anatomical snuff box.”

  “Anatomical snuff box?” said Kiril.

  The wind gusted outside. Naomi made her presence known by pounding on the door. It appeared to be locked from the inside with a bolt.

  “Kiril, my son, go ahead and open the door,” said Nartam politely. He was now walking back across the room with the battleaxe in hand. “It’s time.”

  Kiril didn’t move.

  “Or perhaps you want to ask your friend Bilblox for a hand,” said Nartam, as he continued toward them, casually raising the battleaxe up over his shoulder, as if preparing to strike someone or something with it. “As it so happens, I too was going to ask Bilblox for a hand.”

  Suddenly it all clicked in Kiril’s mind – he understood what Naomi had tried to tell him with her drawing in the snow and he grasped, with sudden horror, at what Nartam was about to do.

  Chapter 48: Answering the Call

  Alfonso couldn’t believe it, but he appeared to be staring at an elevator. It was descending downward through the fog via a series of ropes and pulleys. Alfonso had watched the egg-shaped object rise and descend twice from the ship that he suspected contained Nartam’s quarters. Each time the elevator reached the ground, it let out more Dragoonya soldiers. They seemed to be leaving Nartam’s ship; very few went up.

  As it neared the ground, Alfonso began his approach. The wind and snow had caused him great suffering, but at the moment it was welcome. He walked in a wide circle towards the elevator so that the soldiers disembarking would have their backs to him. The oval landed and the doors opened, disgorging a dozen Dragoonya soldiers. As he expected, no one was waiting to board. Alfonso rapidly began to close the distance to the oval. When he was several feet away, the elevator’s circular door began to close, and Alfonso had to dive through the doorway in order to
make it. As he struggled to his feet, the elevator began its ascent. Alfonso’s sigh of relief was cut short when he realized he wasn’t alone.

  At the other end of the oval elevator was a barrel-chested man with enormously thick arms. He had a bald head, a toothless mouth, and a shockingly red face, as if he had spent time too close to a fire. The skin around his eyes was stained black with traces of ash. The man was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall. His teeth were chattering and he was foaming at the mouth, but he did not appear to notice Alfonso. The doors shut and the elevator began moving upward. Alfonso tried to stand perfectly still. There was a small window nearby and he glanced out of it. He saw the Shadow Tree; but what caught his attention was the mob at the base of it. The number of soldiers around the tree had doubled. There were now at least two thousand soldiers, all doing their dance – running, jumping, pushing, clawing, and convulsing forward in a counter-clockwise motion. Just half-an hour ago, there had only been half that number. It was startling. And there were more coming. In every direction, as far as he could see, little specs of figures were converging on the tree. It was as if the tree was calling for help and its devotees were answering the call.

  Alfonso stared at the tree below, transfixed, until he felt the elevator begin to slow. He glanced around the cabin quickly, looking for a place to hide. There was none. The only thing that he found was a pile of thick overcoats, laying on one of the elevator’s benches. The man with the barrel chest remained comatose. Alfonso rushed over to the pile and looked for a coat that would fit. At last he found something that was close enough. The overcoat was lined with fur and had an enormous hood that could cover his entire head. The coat smelled putrid – a mix of sweat and vomit. Still, it didn’t matter. Alfonso knew it was a temporary disguise, and with any luck, it would do the trick.

  Moments later, the door opened. Alfonso did not wait to see who would enter. Instead, he lunged through the door with an air of being in a terrible hurry. He wore the overcoat and the hood covered his head and face. He stepped outside onto a platform built on the deck of a Dragoonya ship and came face to face with a pack of Dragoonya soldiers waiting to board. The soldiers didn’t pay him any attention. They simply pushed him out of the way, rushed for the elevator’s door, and crammed into the cabin. When it became clear that there wasn’t room for all of them in the elevator, they began to fight. They’ve all gone mad, thought Alfonso. And they’re headed for the tree.

  The deck of the ship was strangely empty and the door leading down into the living quarters was ajar. Far below he could hear the muffled sound of shouting. Something was wrong. Alfonso was unarmed, but a thought occurred to him, and he quickly assembled the wooden stick with the compass embedded in its base. The wood appeared solid and strong – it would do for the moment. He grasped his weapon and walked cautiously down a curved staircase.

  On the icy ground far below, a convoy of dogsleds raced toward the Shadow Tree. The sleds were less than half a mile from their destination and, as they approached, soldiers cleared the way. At the head of this convoy was Konrad, snapping his whip, goading his dogs, and screaming for soldiers on foot to clear a path or be shot. The soldiers on foot were all gravitating toward the Shadow Tree. They were drunk on the black ash to the point of being almost mindless, but even in this state, they were able to register that these men on sleds were the Forlorn Hope and they were not to be crossed.

  Leif and Marta sat on the back of Konrad’s sled, horrifed at the scene. The soldiers on foot – the ones now scampering out of their way – did not resemble soldiers at all. Their arms and legs moved spastically, like men having fits of epilepsy. Many of them wore no hats or helmets and their heads and faces were bulbs of gleaming flesh – they had no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes and no beards. Many appeared to have no teeth or fingernails either. Quite a few of them were walking with their eyes closed, clutching the shoulders of those around them. They moved together – not like individual people – but like a single organism that reacts, moves, and thinks as one. Even the strange noises that they made, a mix of grunting and growling, seemed to be synchronized. In the middle-distance the Shadow Tree loomed, its uppermost branches wriggling and crackling as they broke their sheaths of ice.

  Leif was terrified, not only at what he saw, but at the prospect that this madness would spread. Is this the fate that awaited the rest of the world? Yes, at last he saw, this would be the price of him saving his son’s life. It was an awful realization to behold.

  Eventually, the convoy reached a point where it could get no closer to the Tree. As fearsome as it was, the Forlorn Hope regiment only had a few hundred men, and they were greatly outnumbered by the thousands of soldiers who were converging on the Shadow Tree. Konrad saw this and he whistled for his men to stop. He took out a pair of binoculars and, with great care, studied the tree and then scanned the sky.

  “I don’t see him,” said Konrad.

  “He’ll be here soon,” said Leif. “I’m sure of it.”

  Near the base of the Shadow Tree itself, the soldiers were so numerous, and their chests were pressed together so tightly that many of them found it difficult to move or even breathe. At the very base of the tree, however, there was a clearing where only the biggest, fiercest, and most berserk soldiers dared go. These soldiers pushed, kicked, punched, elbowed, embraced, bit, and choked one another in a frenzied melee that resembled a cross between an insane celebration and a fight to the death.

  Hill and Resuza stood at the very edge of this madness. They wore heavy fur coats, which they had found in the snow, cast off by soldiers who – in their ash-induced euphoria – were too far gone to realize that they were quickly succumbing to frostbite. It had taken every bit of strength for Hill and Resuza to fight their way to the base of the tree and, now they paused to assess their next steps. Resuza wasn’t sure of Hill’s ultimate intention, but it seemed clear that he was determined to climb the Shadow Tree. And she was determined to go with him. She had quite enough of being sidelined.

  The distance between them and the trunk of the tree was only twenty feet. The men brawling in this space were monsters – they could easily rip both of them from limb to limb – but they were so enraptured that they could hardly be called observant. Resuza sensed an opportunity, but they would have to be very fast.

  She grabbed Hill by the hand and motioned for him to crouch down with her.

  “Keep your eyes down,” she yelled into Hill’s ear. He nodded. Although there was no black ash in the air at that moment, it was only a matter of time. Resuza watched and waited. Inside the clearing, just a few feet away, a giant of a man was jumping up and down on the chest of another man who, himself, was consumed in wild fits of laughter. After taking a kick to the head, the laughing man reached up with both hands, and pulled the giant down on top of him. The two of them, sandwiched together, began to roll around on the ground. Instinctively, those around them stepped back. An opening formed.

  Resuza darted forward, half-pulling a slower Hill. Both of them leapt over the two giants rolling on the ground, crouched again to avoid a slow-moving but powerful fist, and fell heavily onto a fat, oily root that extended from the base of the tree. The berserk Dragoonya saw nothing. Resuza frantically motioned Hill up the wet, rutted bark. She helped push him up the first several feet. A hand grabbed a thick strand of her blonde hair. In one smooth motion, Resuza grabbed a dagger holstered across her arm, and cut off the hair that had been grabbed. She fell back against the Shadow Tree, turned to grab hold of the sinewy bark, and began climbing upwards as quickly as she could.

  Chapter 49: Patricide

  Kiril curled his hands into fists so tightly that they turned a blotchy white. He watched in a daze as Nartam approached Bilblox. The longshoreman remained helpless with his left hand chained to the wall and Kiril finally understood what was about to happen. He realized now why Naomi had placed the Pencil-tip in the snow, within the crude drawing of Bilblox’s hand. Somehow, and Kiril could not begin to fa
thom how, but Bilblox was hiding the Pen within his own hand!

  “Stop!” yelled Bilblox. “Don’t do it!”

  Nartam did not hesitate at all. Instead he picked up his pace, and swung the battleaxe in a wide arc so that it whizzed through the air toward Bilblox’s left wrist. At the last possible second, Bilblox jerked his hand upward. The blade of the axe clanged loudly against the metal of Bilblox’s handcuff and bounced away. Bilblox yelled in pain. His wrist was severely bruised, but still intact. Nartam tried to hold onto the battleaxe, but its momentum caused it to ricochet wildly through the room.

  Kiril eyed the battleaxe and then looked over at Naomi. She was making her way along a narrow ledge alongside the exterior of the ship, clearly heading for the window that had been smashed in. She was climbing over a series of jagged slabs of glass, which stood vertical, like shark fins. If she slipped, she could easily cut herself deeply and sever a major vein or artery. Kiril could help Naomi or Bilblox – but not both – and, given the prophecy, it was not even clear that he should rush to help Naomi. However, there was no time to think all these matters through. He could only rely on his centuries-old instincts. Kiril made a split-second decision and rushed toward Naomi. Using the tip of his boot, he kicked away the glass, and then opened up his arms. Naomi needed no more encouragement and she leapt through the open window into Kiril’s arms. She was safe. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this – and yet it had.