by Coleman Luck
When Amanda could breathe again, she started sobbing. Once more came the whisper of Sandalban, but this time it was very weak. “Bellwind’s friend…come quickly. Bring the child. Let him…touch my head.”
Trying to control her sobs, Amanda climbed down and made her way through the bloody dust and broken bones.
“Little girl…dry your tears and turn toward the Mountain. Think of nothing else…than completing your task.”
“But he’s looking for me. He wants to kill me.”
“The One Who Lives Above…He is greater than all. Your life…is in His hands.”
“But I’ll never make it to the Mountain. They’re gonna catch me.”
“While you carry this little one…you are hidden in his light. Your enemies live and see only in darkness. But they sense his presence…and are filled with fear. Remember this. Help may come…in shapes that are unexpected. This much I can tell you, your path…is filled with pain. But at its end…lives joy forever. Trust…and walk on…as quickly and as far…as you can. Now, let him touch me…for my life is slipping.”
Amanda lifted the baby. The little boy reached out both his tiny hands. As soon as he laid them against the broken stone, a wonderful thing happened. The pieces of the sculpture began to glow. Suddenly, out of the destroyed remains there rose the form of a gigantic, shining stallion. Not a stone horse, but a creature with the breath and fire of the stars. As though awakening from a long sleep, he stood and shook himself. Then, raising his head, he gave a joyful cry.
“Father of the Mountain…I come!”
Washed in waves of brilliance, the spirit of the mighty Worwil leaped into the air. Higher and higher he flew until he became a streak of lightning. And when the lightning vanished, thunder roared—the whole stadium began to shake. Huge fissures appeared in the walls. The ground began rising and falling with such violence that all Amanda could do was drop down and try to shield the little boy. Then, with one rolling crash, the building fell away. In a moment all that was left of Sandalban’s prison were great mounds of moonlit stone.
Amanda awoke.
She didn’t feel good. Not good at all. Where was she? Beneath her was a slab of dusty granite. With a jolt of terror she sat upright.
Where was the baby?
Struggling to her knees, she looked around…and saw him. He was playing in the dust under the statue’s head. Though she was stiff and her body ached, she rushed over and scooped him up…then gave him a big hug.
“You gotta stop crawling away like this. You’re gonna scare me to death.”
He smiled and dropped a tiny fistful of dirt on her clothes. Brushing it off, Amanda stared at the shattered ruin. Nothing was left of the stadium but giant piles of rock. After the earthquake she had been afraid to move and had remained on the ground, trying to protect the little boy until they both had fallen asleep.
“Look at this place. We are in trouble. The tunnel’s gone. I don’t even know where it was. And our backpack is buried under a million tons of rock. I’m starving and I’ll bet you’re hungry too. I guess we should try to find the path.”
After placing him in his sling, she began picking her way between the mounds of rubble. Several times she slipped and almost fell. Finally she managed to climb out into the forest. A small stream was nearby, and at the edge stood a scraggly apple tree. Water and half-rotten apples became their breakfast. When they were finished, Amanda climbed onto a stump and tried to figure out where they were, but nothing looked even slightly familiar. And trying to see the Mountain through the trees was useless—they were too thick and tall.
“I guess we’ll just have to walk around the building until we get to where we came in. I hope we can find it.” But by the time she had stumbled three quarters of the way around the giant heap, her legs ached and her arm hurt so much that she wanted to cry. The disease was back and it was a lot worse.
After a short distance they found the entrance to a trail. “Maybe this’ll take us to the path. I sure hope so ’cause I’m starting to feel really bad.” But it was only a narrow animal track that wound through dense underbrush. As she pushed through, Amanda did her best to protect the baby from sharp branches, which meant that she couldn’t protect herself. Soon she was covered with scratches and scrapes. A few more minutes, and the trail sloped downward into a shallow ravine. By then it was clear that it wasn’t leading back to the path, but she was too tired to retrace her steps. All she could do was continue on, hoping for a view of the Mountain. But the view never came.
The ravine broadened into a narrow valley bordered by jagged cliffs. The bushes receded, which made walking easier, but now she felt such pain in her joints that every step was agony. The patches of dead skin were getting bigger, and there were new ones on her chest and stomach. At one point she fell and scraped her knee. The skin broke but there was no blood. Instead, from the wound came a sticky pale-red ooze, and the pain was almost unbearable. Though she cried, she kept going.
In the middle of the afternoon a cold fog began to rise. The night was going to be miserable. Shivering, Amanda hugged the baby. “At-at least…you’re warm. If only…I could…catch my breath. I…just…can’t…seem to get…any air.”
Suddenly she smelled smoke. “S-something’s burning. With my luck…it’ll be…a…forest fire.” The smell grew stronger, and in it was a foulness like charred meat.
The trail led into a mass of tall bushes. As she pushed through, to her surprise she came upon a rusty iron gate. “Look at this. Maybe somebody lives here.” When she tried to open it, it fell to pieces. Beyond lay a path through gnarled trees. Another hundred feet and she came out into a clearing. Squatting in the middle of it was the ugliest house that she had ever seen. Black moss hung from the eaves and all the windows were broken. Once it had been large, but sometime in the distant past lightning had struck and most of it had burned. Now it was a shanty of rotten wood. Through the windows Amanda could see a fireplace. Flames and smoke were billowing into a crumbled chimney.
“Somebody does live here. Maybe they’ll help us.” Trying to stop shivering, she called out, “HELLOOO…”
No answer.
Carefully she climbed creaky stairs onto a creakier porch.
“Is…anybody home?” She knocked on the door.
Still no answer.
Almost overcome with exhaustion, Amanda tried the knob. The metal felt greasy, but it turned and the door swung open. Stepping inside, she looked around.
“Is…anybody here? Anybody…at all?”
Before her lay a room of unutterable filthiness. There was no furniture except for a rat-chewed couch facing the fireplace and a broken table lying in a heap near the door. Thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling and the walls were caked with grime. The chimney must have been partially blocked because wisps of foul smoke drifted everywhere. She coughed. The smell was nauseating. At any other time in her life Amanda would have run from such a squalid hovel. But the fire was hot and her body ached so much that the only thing she could think about was getting warm. She walked over to the couch. It was crusted with soot, but she just couldn’t stand up any longer. Holding the little boy so he wouldn’t touch the filth, she half fell onto the cushions.
“Okay…we’ll just stay here for a minute. Then we’ll leave.” But as soon as she sat down, she was asleep.
A crash!
Amanda’s eyes flew open.
It was dark. The only light was coming from the fireplace. She was still on the couch in the filthy room. Suddenly from behind her came a screeching, grating voice, “Well, well, well, so what have we got here?”
18
ABOUT TREES
At the sound of the voice, Amanda jumped up and turned. The quick movement was so painful that she almost fainted. Standing in the doorway was a little man of immense ugliness: black sparkling eyes and a scruffy beard that sprouted in long tufts from his grime-smeared face. The rest of his head was bald. Tattered rags thick with dirt hung from his scrawny limbs. The crash
had come because he had dropped a load of firewood. Amanda was so terrified that she couldn’t move.
Slowly the little man stalked toward her. “Well, well, well, well…an intruder in my house.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Sorry? You saw the signs. They’re everywhere. Keep Out! Private Property! No Trespassing! Intruders Will Be Executed!”
“I didn’t see any of them.”
“Then you’re either blind or stupid. And where did you get that baby? Did you kidnap him? You’re a kidnapper, aren’t you?”
“I’m not. He belongs to…a friend. I’m…taking him home.”
The little man glared at her. Then a shrewd look came into his unblinking eyes. “Are you…ill?”
“Yes. I’m…really sick. We need…help.”
“Is that right? Well, how fortunate you are. First, because I’m a kindhearted man, and even though you’re an intruder I see that you haven’t stolen any of my possessions, So I shall overlook your felonious entry. Second, I happen to be a physician. My name is Doctor Pilfius Bordre Wanderspoon, and I don’t mind saying that I am a medical prodigy of the first order, a learned professor of the physical sciences, a master of the arcane virtues that pertain to the mysteries of primary, secondary, and even tertiary pubescent senescence. In a word, I am an intellectual colossus. But I’m sure you understood the nature of the master who lived here from a single glance at my magnificent library, in which resides the sum of all wisdom.” His hand swept toward the empty walls. But then he leaned close with a menacing look. “You didn’t touch any of my books, did you?”
Amanda was confused and frightened. “No…but…I don’t see any books.”
Instantly his eyes crackled with rage. “No books? Really? You don’t see any books at all? None there…or there…or there?” He dashed from one side of the room to the other pointing at empty space. Miserably she shook her head.
“Well, what exactly do you see?”
“Just…a room…with nothing in it. Except a couch…and a broken table.”
The rage vanished and was replaced with dripping sympathy. “My poor child, it’s as bad as that, is it? The disease has progressed that far? Well, describe my home. How does it appear to you?”
“It’s…old…and…a little…dirty.”
“Dear infected creature, my home is spotless, and you are surrounded with rapacious luxury. The walls are hung with masses of silver brocade, and the floors writhe with the endless intricacies of the finest golden filigree. The stairs are a torrent of marble, and my chandeliers drip with precious stones. You can see none of that?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “Then I have all the information I need to make a complete diagnosis. Many times I have encountered this horrible disease. Oh, yes, thousands of times. In its advanced stages there is a total dislocation from reality. The sufferer believes the exact opposite of that which is actually true. Black becomes white, cleanliness becomes filth, good becomes evil. What am I wearing?”
“Kind of…like…rags?”
“I am dressed in a spotless white smock and trousers befitting a world-renowned practitioner of the medical arts. Here, give me the child and let me examine the skin on your stomach.”
Stepping closer, he reached out grimy hands. The little boy was staring at him intently. For a split second Wanderspoon’s eyes locked onto his. Instantly the man jumped back as though he had come face-to-face with a cobra. Sweat beaded on his bald head. “On second thought, you hold the brat. I can examine you just fine the way you are.” He began circling the girl. “Pitiful, pathetic, vile, horrid. Are you aware that you are dying?”
Amanda gulped, fighting back tears.
“And when you are dead, do you want to know what you’re going to look like?”
Rushing over to the firewood, he picked up a log, then ran back and stuck it in front of her. She thought she was going to faint. It was cut from one of the white trees. Beneath the bark she could see the shadow of a face. A girl’s face. And there was no life in it.
“Go ahead, take a good look. Very soon that will be you. And as you die, you’ll be in excruciating, mind-wrenching, gut-ripping agony.”
He threw the log into the fire.
“But I am such a merciful man. Whenever I find someone like you in the forest, as an act of kindness, I cut them into pieces and burn them up. Perhaps I should do that right now and put you out of your misery.”
Amanda’s legs collapsed. Landing on the couch, she stared at the burning log.
“Ah, has my penchant for honesty overcome you? Has the plenitude of my propinquitous rationality given you pause? Forgive me, my dear child. As a physician, I know well the value of a positive outlook in the direst of circumstances. How else can one travel through this horrendous morass that we call living, which concludes in an endless nonsentient void? So, no matter how hopeless and utterly vile your situation, never give up! Push on! Keep a stiff upper lip! Hope for the best! Think good thoughts! Pray for that miracle that will never come! However, while you’re praying, I would suggest that you consider a medical reality. Wherever you’re going, forget it. You’ll never get there. Look at your stinking arm. Look, look, look.”
Amanda stared at her arm. From her hand to her shoulder it was covered with thick white bark.
“Now, if you don’t mind, as you continue to maintain an uplifting, positive attitude, I’d appreciate it if you’d walk into the yard and turn into a tree out there. Then, when I chop you down my spotless floor won’t get covered with human sawdust.”
She began to cry. What he had told her was true. She was dying. The journey was over. Her arms and legs were so stiff that she could barely move them.
Wanderspoon bent close, being careful not to touch the baby, who continued to stare at him. “My poor young friend, who could have sent you alone into this awful wilderness? Well, whoever it was they knew that you would die here. A kind of human sacrifice, I suppose that’s what you are. Someone gave you this infant to take somewhere. Well, they didn’t do it themselves, did they? Child abuse, that’s what it is. Double child abuse. And I cannot abide child abuse. If you’re going to kill a child, do it quickly, do it mercifully. Be humane about it. Don’t let it suffer. Don’t send it on useless journeys. Whoever did this is an evil coward.”
As she listened to the droning voice, Amanda was overwhelmed with the blackest despair that she had ever known. Like foul smoke, it choked her mind, making it impossible to think. All she could do was cry as she stared into the leering face. But then the sly look returned to Wanderspoon’s eyes.
“However, there may be one glimmer of true hope, a single pustule the size of a rat dropping. But hope is hope and it must never be discounted. If we hurry, there might be someone who can keep you from suffering inordinately as you disintegrate into a foul-smelling, deciduous stalk of wood. Have you ever heard of the Worwil?”
Amanda was so startled that she stopped crying. “Yes. One of them sent me on this trip.”
“Aha.” The little man’s eyes glittered. “Well, that explains everything. Most of them have gone bad, you know. Utterly rotten and evil. But there may be one who can still be trusted. Her name is Melania. She’s called The Healer. Have you heard of her?”
“I have.” Suddenly Amanda felt hope. Sandalban had told her that help would come in strange shapes, and no stranger shape could there be than this repulsive little man. “The Healer…could she…make me well?”
“Oh, that’s far too much to ask. Your case has advanced beyond extremity. I don’t know what she can do. Probably nothing. In fact, I’m not even sure she’s still alive. I’ve had no contact with her in at least five centuries. But because I’m a noble and compassionate man, perhaps I’ll help you try to find her.”
“Would you? Oh, please…” She started crying again.
“Stop that! Crying only makes it worse. The disease loves to be watered with tears.”
With a great act of wil
l, Amanda forced herself to stop.
“We’d better get going. Considering your advanced decrepitude, there’s no time to lose. Come along. My wagon’s outside.”
The simple act of rising from the couch made her groan and stagger.
“Now, don’t do that! Don’t fall over on me! If you fall over, I’ll leave you right where you are until you’re dry enough to chop into firewood.”
“I’m…okay. I’m not…gonna fall.” But when she tried to walk, it was impossible to bend her legs. As she held the baby, she realized that her arms were frozen in a cradled position. Wanderspoon gave her no assistance at all. Instead, as she struggled, he berated her.
“Come on, you can do better than that. Keep moving, lazy girl. We’ve got to get out of here. Pretty soon you’ll be completely stiff, and what am I supposed to do then? Do you think I want a dead tree cluttering my immaculate house? There’s not even enough wood in you to make a decent pile of kindling.”
Inch by inch Amanda crept out onto the porch. Nearby stood a broken-down wagon pulled by a ragged donkey. The back of it was filled with chopped logs from white trees. Rushing over, Wanderspoon began throwing them to the ground. When he was finished, he motioned to her.
“All right, get over here and lie down. The road we’re going to take is dangerous. Not good to travel after dark. I’m risking my life for you. Bad things are loose in the world. For two nights I’ve heard them. They haven’t been this way in a thousand years. Then two nights in a row. Now, I wonder what they want.”