Shadow Tree (24 page)

Chapter 41: The Distress Beacon

Alfonso's heart was barely pumping blood. It would have taken a highly skilled doctor with a stethoscope to hear
the faint beating. In the bitter cold Alfonso's skin was a grayish-blue. His lips had turned almost black and his body looked so stiff that anyone would conclude rigor mortis had set in. Alfonso's brain just barely sensed the wind whistling far above and the snow softly falling across his body. Alfonso willed himself to stay like this. He needed his father to
be
convinced of his death, so that Leif would give up, turn around, and let Alfonso do what he had to do.

Leif wept over Alfonso's body for almost an hour. Marta sat by his side, stony faced.
Did she know?
Impossible to say. Finally, she persuaded Leif that they needed to build a snow shelter if they wanted to survive the cold. Marta built the shelter and, after some time, she convinced him to come inside.

Once Leif entered the snow shelter, Alfonso set his mind to morphing. He pictured the scene inside the burning armory and imagined the scent of the smoldering timbers. He willed himself back into that moment, back to that point in his life, back to being fifteen years old. Anybody looking at Alfonso morph back into life would have witnessed an unforgettable scene. Tiny ribbons of color wormed their way from Alfonso's heart, through his circulatory system, into the far reaches of his body. These arteries then fed frozen veins to restart the entire body. His color changed from a dirty white to a slight pink and then back to normal. His lips lost some of their black color, but not all, and they remained cracked and sore. Alfonso was happy not to have a mirror – he felt terrible and he figured he looked even worse – but he was fifteen again.

Alfonso rose to his feet. The wind blew loudly and there was no chance that his dad would have heard him getting up. Alfonso briefly felt an urge to run to his dad, to ease the incredible pain he would be feeling, and to tackle the destruction of the Shadow Tree together. Alfonso even took two steps in the direction of the cave before stopping.

No.
He couldn't take that chance. The Shadow Tree was his burden, and he had to face it. Alfonso stood in the darkness for a few minutes more. He was feeling better, enough to tolerate eating a handful of dried fruit and to drink some water. That done, he stood quietly for a moment.

He was alone, surrounded by hundreds – perhaps thousands – of miles of the most inhospitable terrain on earth; and yet, even in these most dire of circumstances, there was so much to admire: the delicate build-up of snowflakes on his boots, the shrill yet melodic rush of wind across the snowdrifts, and even the absolute stillness that occurred whenever the wind died down. Alfonso checked the strange-looking compass from Imad's library. The hand was pointing northeast. This was something new. For most of his journey the compass had been pointing due north. Why the sudden change? He shrugged. Northeast it would be.

His thoughts drifted back to Imad's antechamber and the final door. Again he pictured the waves. He knew exactly what he had to do. It was all so perfectly laid out it was as if Imad had planned it all – or, at the very least, foreseen it all. Alfonso shouldered his backpack and with some effort entered hypnogogia. He locked his concentration on a single snowflake. The snowflake seemed to slow down, as if in slow motion. Alfonso watched it flutter, watched it rotate slowly on it axis. Then, slowly, Alfonso expanded his realm of concentration, allowing himself to become aware of other snowflakes around him. He tried to imagine these snowflakes as tiny tiles or pieces that he could manipulate and, sure enough, the snowflakes seemed to respond to the power of his will. The bits of snow jostled and shoved each other, like huskies getting ready to pull a sled. Gradually, they took on a strange momentum, and began to move together in a rhythmic fashion. Snow from nearby drifts joined this nucleus, and the particles grew into a massive body that unfurled like a great ripple in a small pond.

Then a wave formed. It was a curious wave – it simply curled and undulated as if it were about to crash, but it never did. When it had grown to a height of about twenty feet, Alfonso climbed tiredly to the top. To his surprise, the footing was surprisingly firm, even though the wave itself felt rather mushy.

He rode the wave of snow slowly at first, but then as his confidence grew, so did his speed. The wind bit at his cheeks, and Alfonso shivered. He
had been outside and exposed to the elements for over twenty-four hours – he was utterly exhausted – but he couldn't help smiling. He was surfing on a wave of snow that was rolling northeast across the landscape faster than the speed of a car. It was exhilarating. By this point, the pitch-black sky had begun to lighten and what passed for dawn in this bitterly cold world was near. Alfonso slowed down and turned his focus to the world around him. If there was any time to discover the true location of Dargora, it would be now. Due north, the horizon lightened even more, and all across that section of the sky, a diffuse light began to spread.

As Alfonso admired the majesty of this polar sunrise, the clouds in that direction cleared momentarily. He gasped. In the far horizon, above the clouds, he clearly saw several ships that appeared to be flying through the air. They were old vessels from the 19
^th
century, with tall masts and tatters of rigging like strands of hair. The largest had several decks stacked on top of each other, each one larger than the one beneath. Even from the long distance, Alfonso could tell they were being maintained. Each shimmered in the morning light as if freshly painted. Alfonso wondered if he was hallucinating from a polar sickness – perhaps it was a strange type of blindness. But then he saw that each ship was not actually flying. Instead, each sat at the top of a pole, some of which were curved slightly, like tusks.

Dargora
. He took a deep breath. He was close.

Alfonso felt sick in the pit of his stomach. At first he assumed it was just exhaustion coupled with nerves. Then he felt himself slipping out of hypnogogia involuntarily. The wave of snow dissipated beneath him and he crumpled to the ground. Exhausted, he staggered onward. He was so tired he nearly tripped over several large rocks that lay half-buried in the snow. Several feet beyond this, he suddenly noticed the precipice of a great chasm. The chasm was very deep and it went for miles in either direction like a great trench or perhaps even a moat. It formed a perfect defense – just the thing to stop an advancing army.

His heart sank. There was no way in his condition that he'd be able to cross it. He looked in both directions, hoping there was a bridge he might cross. Just then, something in the sky caught his attention. It looked like a large bird, but he realized it was something manmade – a piece of cloth, perhaps. He walked towards it. It seemed completely out of place, but it was hard to avoid the conclusion that this was a kite on a string, and the string descended into the trench below.

Obviously it could be a trap, but that didn't appear likely. The Dragoonya were not the type to spend their leisure time flying kites, or even to imagine that a kite could be used to lure someone closer. No, something else was going on. Alfonso walked along the edge of the trench until he came to the spot where the string was descending downward. He reached out over the precipice, grabbed hold of the string, and began hauling in the kite. Moments later he was holding the thing in his hands. He studied it closely.

Something about the shape of the kite looked familiar. At first glance it resembled the head of a bird with a hole for an eye. No, that wasn't it. Alfonso studied it further, and suddenly smiled from ear to ear. He recognized the shape. It was a near perfect rendering of the State of Minnesota and the hole at the top was in the exact location of his hometown, World's End. Only one man in the entire world would make such a whacky, goofy distress beacon. Then he recalled the words in “Scenario II” of Imad's prophecy: “
A Perplexon will rejoice with friends in the dark of the chasm.
”

“Uncle Hill!” Alfonso screamed into the bottom of the trench.

No response.

“Uncle Hill!” he screamed again.

Silence.

He looked again at the kite and realized there was no way it could be anything but his Uncle Hill. He shivered and walked back to the rocks buried in the snow. He opened his backpack. There were two coils of rope. He took out one of the coils, wrapped it carefully around the largest rock, and threw the loose end over the edge. Moments later, he began rappelling downward.

Chapter 42: Old Friends

Blackness. Not even the slightest trace of light. Bilblox could hear the wind howling, but that was the only information he could gather from the outside world. Bilblox let out a long, heavy sigh. Once again, he was locked up. There were heavy iron handcuffs around his wrists and manacles around his legs.

Bilblox had been in prison several times before. He'd been jailed in Fort Krasnik for brawling, and of course he had been imprisoned in Somnos after it was discovered that he'd burned a leaf from the Dormian Bloom; but this was different. When the door to his cell closed this time, the click of the lock had been louder and more menacing than he remembered.

He stared into the darkness for so long that he couldn't tell whether he was awake or asleep. It all became one long, rolling wave of semi-consciousness. His dreams were scattered and empty, just scenes of devastation. It felt like watching a silent movie that flickered on for only seconds at a time. He closed and opened his eyes but nothing changed.

And then abruptly, it did change. He opened his eyes from a fitful sleep and saw a glow of light coming from the far corner of his cell. The glow emanated from a lantern.
Sitting next to the lantern, with his back propped up against the wall, was Kiril. Bilblox blinked. He was amazed to see Kiril and equally amazed that his eyesight was still working. Kiril had given him the potion so nonchalantly that he figured it wouldn't last very long.

“I thought you could do with a bit of light,” said Kiril.

“Yes,” said Bilblox as he struggled to adjust to the light. Kiril handed Bilblox a flask of potion and Bilblox took it eagerly. However, before he brought it to his lips, he looked at Kiril suspiciously.

“Go ahead, drink it.” said Kiril casually, “It's the same thing I gave you before. I promise.” He smiled. “Your suspicion is comforting – it shows how much you and I have in common.”

Bilblox studied him for a second, and then lifted the flask to his lips. He drank deeply.

“You're wrong,” said Bilblox, once he finished. “We ain't got nothin' in common.”

“Listen...” persisted Kiril.

“Naw,” said Bilblox with a violent shake of his head. “Spare me the whole bit where you tell me that we are both black sheep who been vilified, but really we're a bunch of swell guys who gotta band together and we're in this thing together. That's not your way. You got no interest in helpin' me or anyone else but yourself.”

“Normally I would agree with you,” admitted Kiril. He shifted his body, trying to find a more comfortable position, as he leaned against the stone wall. “But not today.”

“No?” said Bilblox doubtfully. “So why are you here?”

“Unofficially,” said Kiril. “I'm here to ask you again –
where is the Pen?
”

“I ain't got a clue,” said Bilblox.

“Don't be a fool!” said Kiril. “Have you seen what that Tree is doing? It's not too late for us to do something about it.”

“
Us
?” said Bilblox with a snort.

“Do you have it?” persisted Kiril.

“I ain't got it,” said Bilbox. “How many times do I have to tell you? You can question me and beat me all you like, but you won't squeeze blood from this turnip.”

The two men sat in silence for a long minute or so.

“So,” said Bilblox finally, “Why are you here – officially?”

“Nartam asked me to get you,” said Kiril.

“That seems easy enough,” said Bilblox. “So why do you look so bent out of shape?”

“He's holding Naomi as a hostage,” replied Kiril flatly. “And I doubt he'll return her until he has his Pen.”

“As a hostage?” said Bilblox. “What the heck happened between you and Nartam anyway? You two used to be as thick as thieves, other than the occasional fight in which he'd cut your face with a knife. Is that what this is all about?”

Kiril said nothing.

A sudden look of understanding dawned on Bilblox's face. “It's the Shadow Tree ain't it?” he asked. “Of course it is. That's why ya wanted the Pen in the first place. Ironic ain't it? You gave up two years of your life for that Tree and it's given you nothing but grief. It almost makes me feel sorry for you. Almost.”

Kiril made no reply.

“So tell me
why
Nartam wants to see me?” asked Bilblox.

“He says he wants you by his side,” replied Kiril.

“By his side?” said Bilblox quizzically. “Ha, that's a good one, but I don't buy it. Tell me something else, Kiril, buddy – why is it that Nartam has taken such a keen interest in me lately. Why was he callin' me his lucky rabbit's foot before – what was all that about? That guy looks crazier than usual.”

“You really want to know?”

Bilblox nodded.

“He thinks you're going to save his life,” replied Kiril.

Bilblox half-choked in a snort of laughter. “Why on earth would he think that?”

“Because I told him so,” explained Kiril angrily. “I told him that I had a vision in which you save him. You see, I needed an excuse to keep you around, so you could...”

“Be your pawn,” finished Bilblox.

“No,” said Kiril, “I brought you here to help Naomi.”

“I never took you for the sentimental sort,” replied Bilblox.

“I'm not,” said Kiril.

Kiril rose to his feet and walked over to where Bilblox was standing. He then reached into his pocket and took out a large brass ring that jangled with skeleton keys. Kiril searched until he found the key he wanted and then knelt down, and used the key to unlock the manacles on Bilblox's feet. Kiril then walked back across the cell and used another key to open the door. “You're free to go,” said Kiril. “I have to leave the handcuffs on until we reach Nartam's quarters – as Nartam requested.”

Kiril led the way out of the jail cell and walked down a long hallway and up a narrow set of stairs. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath their feet and, every minute or so, the entire ship shuddered as icy gusts of wind slammed against its sides. They continued onward until they came to the door leading into Nartam's chambers.

Bilblox raised up his wrists, indicating that he wanted Kiril to unlock his handcuffs.

“What's your plan?” whispered Kiril.

“It doesn't concern you,” replied Bilblox.

Kiril leaned in close to Bilblox's ear.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I'll be blunt, because I know that's the only way you'll understand me. I am the
only
person that stands between you and a life of blind obedience to your new master Nartam...”

“Spare me the whole song and dance,” interjected Bilblox. “I don't want to hear it.”

Kiril pushed Bilblox forward and while doing so, reached into his pocket for the key to unlock Bilblox's handcuffs. The sleeve of his kimono got in the way and he roughly flung it back. At that moment, he felt a sharp bite on his wrist as if he has just been stung by a hornet. He looked down at his hand and saw it was covered in blood. Kiril quickly pulled back the sleeve and saw that something sharp and metallic – a tiny blade – was sticking out of the sleeve of the shirt. Kiril often stitched small knives and vials of poison into his clothing – so that if he were ever in dire circumstance he could kill his enemies. Apparently, when he had rolled up the sleeve, the blade had cut his wrist. It was a peculiar, crescent-shaped wound.

Kiril froze.

“What happened?' hissed Bilblox.

Kiril stared at the wound on his wrist. This was, without a doubt, the wound in his vision. It was
his
arm. And, apparently, it was
his
hand that would push Naomi into the abyss.

Just then, the door to Nartam's chamber swung open and there, standing in the doorway, was Nartam.