The Red Sea (32 page)

Anyway, not all knowledge was created equal. The Tauren had been sitting on the seeds for centuries, clueless as to the treasure they possessed. Surely the ability to free an entire people was worth destroying a storehouse of fruits and herbs.

He paused, box in hand. If the seeds were that old, then maybe the box that held them was, too. Some of the boxes differed in color and size, obviously created at different times. Dante moved from tree to tree, peeling each one open.

"Time to get smarter," he said. "Grab any box that looks faded or dusty."

Blays caught on, rifling through them. An axe thunked into the barrier at the top of the stairs, startling Dante. He moved to it, reinforcing the branches, lashing them at whoever was on the other side, producing a yelp of pain.

The northern edge of the grove held a number of boxes scuffed with age. Dante opened one after another, tossing them aside. The process became so routine that he was in the act of casting away an opened box when he registered the five-pointed star on the side of a round, flat pit.

He laughed, delirious. "I've got them. I've
got
them!"

Blays moved to his shoulder, looked down on the seeds, and thumped him on the back. "I was starting to worry Sando and Aladi sent us here just to stir up trouble between the Tauren and the Kandeans. Now let's get the hell out of here, shall we?"

Most of the boxes contained at least ten of each seed. The smaller seeds were piled up by the dozen. But there were a mere four of the Star Tree pits. As if the Tauren Harvesters had destroyed most of them in a futile effort to grow more trees, then set the remainder aside to wait for new information. And hundreds of years later, they were still waiting.

Dante put two of the seeds in separate pockets, then stuck the box in his pack. Blays moved to the open window on the tower's south face. Dante checked on Winden, who remained breathing but unconscious, and joined Blays. Lanterns glowed far below them, illuminating ten warriors covering the grounds between the tower and the seaside cliffs.

Axes chopped at the wood snarling the stairs. Closer now. Dante thrust his hand at the branches, pouring the nether from a shell into them. They burst downward. A man screamed. The chopping stopped abruptly.

Blays gestured at the other windows. "Open those up, too?"

Dante did so, tapping one of the shaden in order to preserve his strength. Even more soldiers stood watch outside the north, east, and west sides of the High Tower.

Blays grimaced. "Don't think we can fight through all of them."

"Especially not if we're carrying Winden."

"Don't tell me you're thinking about leaving her."

"If it's the difference between living and dying? Wouldn't she rather we get the Star Tree seeds back to her people?"

"I think," Blays said, "she would
rather
not be chucked aside like a worn-out sock."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Dante knew he could perform such an act with no great inner turmoil. It was what logic commanded: when you were given the choice between losing your arm or your head, then you chose your arm, no matter how painful you knew it would be. He liked Winden, but with her in tow, he saw no hope of escaping Deladi.

But leaving her wouldn't only cost Winden. Once, years ago, Dante had let someone close to Blays die. Her death had saved not just Narashtovik, but also the norren. Without question, it had been the right move. Even so, it caused Blays to leave the city. It had taken years (and a new threat to Narashtovik's existence) to mend the friendship.

Dante knew Winden didn't mean as much to Blays. Leaving her behind wouldn't necessarily smash their friendship anew. But he thought it would crack it. Were friendships like bones, where cracks mended over time, and could even make those bones stronger than ever? Or were they more like rock—once they began to shear, there was nothing you could do to stop them from falling apart?

"We'll take her with us," Dante said. "But please, please have an idea with any chance of success."

Blays jogged back to the southern window overlooking the coast. "There aren't as many of them down there."

"Any of them is too many. If a single one spots us climbing down with Winden, they'll have a hundred people on us before we reach the bottom."

"Think you could run a vine down there without it being seen?"

"That's a tall order. People tend to notice things flapping around at eye level."

"Then don't grow it all the way down. You can stop about twenty feet from the ground."

"Could work. The rock's black. But they'd spot us coming down."

Blays grinned. "Not if I'm not there."

"Finally decide to run out on me?"

"Thought I'd drop down and cause a little havoc. They'll have no reason to guard the tower if they think we've escaped it."

"That might actually work," Dante said. "And it beats trying to jump."

He brought the lanterns to the north side of the room and left them there, then returned to the southern windows, which were now in almost total darkness. There were only a few vines draped across the squat daman trees. He coaxed out two, twining them around each other, then slithered them out the window.

He waited for any reaction from the soldiers below. When none came, he grew the vine onward, letting it wind into the folds and crags of the tower. A minute later, it was forty feet long, snaking past two levels of enclosed windows. The axe-men still hadn't resumed their attack on the barrier across the stairs. Either they'd given up, or they'd gone in search of another Harvester.

"Twenty feet from the ground." Dante moved back from the window. "You're sure you can handle the drop?"

"I'll be fine. Weight's weird in the shadows. Meet me at the canoe, all right?"

"Here." He handed the seed in his right pocket to Blays. "In case I don't make it out."

Blays weighed the pit in his palm. "I'd like to assure you this is an unnecessary gesture. But there
is
half an army down there."

"Take it to Kandak. If they can't grow it, find some way to get it to Spearpoint."

Blays pocketed it, glanced out the window, then hugged him. Blays stepped back and vanished.

Dante stuck his head in the corner of the window. From what he could see of the vine rope, it was barely wiggling. He waited there until Blays had likely gotten to ground level. With the warriors showing no signs they'd seen a thing, Dante went back to Winden.

Her condition was unchanged. His supply of nether was getting thin, but he still had some left in the shells. He harvested forth another length of vines, winding them around Winden's arms and legs. He carried her to the window, set her beside it, and waited.

Something heavy slammed into the branches enclosing the stairs, startling him. A man yelled orders from behind the barricade. An axe went to work for a while, replaced in time by the squeak and crack of metal bars leveraged against the growth.

A shout rang out from outside the tower. Down in the yard, men moved about in confusion. The voice went on: "They've escaped! To the west! For Kaval's sake, they're killing—"

Blays' Taurish was accented, but the soldiers were listening to the words, not the person delivering them. A sergeant dashed in, gestured broadly, and ran west toward the woods. Soldiers streamed after him. A bell clanged from the west, though Dante had no way to tell whether that was Blays, or the reaction to him.

The attack on the staircase barricade redoubled. With no desire to tip them off to the fact that some of the interlopers were still in the tower, Dante made no effort to stop them. He scanned the grounds below. Only two soldiers remained on sentry. Concluding these were the best odds he was likely to see, Dante lifted Winden to the window, wrapped a vine around his left arm, and swung his legs over the side.

Shadows arced from his hands. Below, both guards crumpled. Hanging tight to Winden, Dante poured nether from the dwindling shaden into the vines, extending them as fast as he could. He reeled down the side of the tower. Palms sweating like mad, he tightened the plants around his arm, dangling like a spider nearly two hundred feet in the air.

He dropped past one set of windows, then another. A lot of yelling was going on to the west, but the southern yards remained clear. Halfway down, he started paying more attention to the top of the tower than the bottom. If the soldiers hacked through the barricade and found the vines out the window, they could dash him to the ground with a single hack of their axes.

He was still looking up when his feet touched the bottom.

He untangled himself, then withdrew the vines from Winden and heaved her over his shoulder. He circled toward the east, away from the hubbub. The only people who'd seen them inside the tower were now dead. If he could get back to the inn, he could rest there until Winden woke up, then rendezvous with Blays where they'd stashed the canoe.

A warrior trotted around the east side of the tower. Dante pierced the man's skull with a bolt of nether, dropping him like a sack of onions. Winden was slipping down his back. He bounced her higher up and got a better grip.

Feet scuffed on stone. A squadron of soldiers rounded the tower, halting in surprise.

"Intruders," Dante said in Taurish. "To the west!"

He pointed that way. One of the men took a half step, but a second trooper was gazing down at the warriors Dante had just killed. Dante gathered the nether.

"All hands!" the trooper bellowed. "All hands to—"

Dante silenced him with a spear of nether that entered his mouth and exited the back of his neck. But the others were already calling out, drawing swords. Dante sprinted west. If he could get into the woods, he might be able to slip away. He hadn't taken two steps before another squad appeared from that side.

Men charged him, swords drawn. He drew the last of the nether from his shell and lashed out. The nearest six men flew backwards, their heads rolling away like coconuts. This was a needlessly horrific gesture, but Dante hoped it might dissuade the others from following.

He was growing weak. He couldn't kill them all. Even more would be upon him in moments. There was only one option left. He turned south and ran as fast as Winden's weight allowed.

"The cliffs!" he yelled in Mallish, his voice echoing across the heights of the tower. "I'll be at the cliffs!"

An arrow whisked over his head. Uselessly, he ducked. Winden's weight shifted forward and he nearly toppled over. Another arrow clacked off the stones ahead of him. Most of the soldiers were content to hang back and let the archers do the work, but a few swordsmen sprinted after him. The cliffs were forty feet away now. He threw daggers of nether over his shoulder with his free hand, slaying two more pursuers. He reached the edge of the land before the others could catch up.

It was a twenty-foot drop to the sea. Dante bowed his legs and leaped.

He plummeted toward the surf. Waves smashed into the rocks below, sending spray dozens of feet into the air. If he landed in the water, he'd be pulverized, flushed out to sea to feed the fish and the crabs.

Dante sent his mind into the base of the cliffs. A stone ledge flew outward like a dresser drawer. He landed hard, ribs creaking. His left arm went numb at the shoulder. Pain flashed up his spine. Winden rolled toward the edge of the shelf. He grabbed her and hauled her back toward the cliff. At his insistence, the rock receded, forming a hollow. Dante crawled inside, Winden in tow, and withdrew the shelf back into the cliff.

His left arm throbbed with pain. Every breath was a stab in the ribs. He couldn't spare any nether to heal himself. If something else happened, or Winden's condition worsened, he might not have enough strength to go on.

Light shined on the waters. Voices yammered back and forth, words lost in the boom of the waves. Spray spattered inside the hollow. The air was warm enough, but he was getting soaked. The wind wasn't helping. He strained his ears, fighting to hear as many words as he could. He couldn't make out much, but they didn't sound orderly or directed. They sounded confused. He didn't think anyone had seen him land on the shelf.

Lights continued to flash across the waves. After a few disorganized minutes, a beam cut down from above, illuminating a precise section of ocean. The beam lingered before slowly moving on, enacting a methodical outward sweep from the base of the cliffs. Now and then a man called for it to stop and it held position for several seconds before continuing.

When it was closer, Dante used its illumination to investigate Winden. She hadn't suffered any visible injuries in the fall. He moved into the nether within her organs, confirmed nothing was fatally wrong, and withdrew.

In time, so did the light. The voices above him persisted. The ache in his shoulder and arm dulled somewhat, but the hitch in his side was still as bad as the moment after he'd landed. It was hard to focus.

He frowned. His hold on the nether was slipping, but he hadn't so much as touched the ether. Supposedly, it was even better for healing. He was able to summon the tiniest bit, but try as he might, he couldn't figure out how to make it patch the crack in his ribs.

He used his surplus of time to sort through his options. There was no chance of swimming away. Even without Winden weighing him down, and his ribs hampering his every stroke, the ocean's surges were far too powerful. He couldn't climb up; the grounds were still patrolled and surely would be until morning. After a good rest, he might be able to tunnel away to the forest west of the tower or the city to the east of it.

That would require hours of sleep. Between his physical aches, the cramped location, and the crash of the waves—which was irregular but ceaseless—he wasn't sure sleep would be possible.

Then again, what else could he do?

He arranged himself in the least uncomfortable position he could attain, wrapping his islanders' cloak around himself. If he died now, would he find himself in the Pastlands? If so, he suspected it would be a new incarnation of that realm—he suspected that death would alter the state of his mind enough to conjure up a fresh set of dreams and worries. Likely, he'd find himself in an unfamiliar place, with no recollection of how he'd come there, or even that he was dead.

He didn't like the idea of that. The Pastlands were a lie. A trap that preyed on the weaknesses of the human mind. Sooner or later, though, he'd riddle his way out into the Mists. Would he emerge into the Mists of his people, the dead of Narashtovik? Or would he find himself among the Dresh and the islanders? If so, was what they called the Worldsea the place where all souls mingled? It seemed as if you lost your memory there too, however. Possibly your entire personality. If he died, then, one way or another, he would be lost forever.

Death wasn't an option. As he combed through the possibilities for survival, he drifted off.

His feet. They were wet. He sat up, momentarily afraid he'd pissed himself in his sleep. But the water was cold. As he processed this piece of information, a wave splashed against the entrance, flooding the cubby with a thin layer of sea water.

His heart jolted. The tide was rising. Another few minutes, and they'd be swept out of the shallow cavern altogether. Seeing no lights searching the darkness, he risked poking his head out of the cave. No silhouettes watched from above. He reached for the nether, but he hadn't slept nearly long enough to tunnel away.

He could only see two options. First, carve a few handholds into the rock, climb west of the tower, and try to slip away through the woods. Doing this, there was no chance he could carry Winden. He was so tired and banged up he wasn't sure he'd make it himself.

Second, he could use his remaining strength to elevate the cavern. And give Blays that much more time to find them.

He moved back into the hollow and gazed down at Winden. "It would be a great help if you chose to wake up." She did no such thing. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're flinty-eyed. A realist. You'd want me to go, wouldn't you? There's no sense in
both
of us dying, is there?"

She continued to breathe in and out.

"Really, it's your own fault we're in this mess. If you hadn't participated in Niles' lie, things would never have come this far." He rubbed his sore shoulder. "Besides, there are a lot more lives at stake than ours. We have to get the seeds out of here. And I have to help grow them."

He bowed his head and moved toward the entrance. Another wave sloshed inside, seeping over the stone toward Winden's sandaled feet. Another ten or twenty minutes, and the tides would take her away.

Dante stepped back from the entrance. Swearing steadily, he raised a layer of stone over the lower two feet of the opening, blocking out even the unruliest waves. With nothing else to do, he gazed out to sea.

Ten minutes later, a pebble sailed through the cave and plunked him in the forehead.

He leaned outside. Below, a man on a canoe did battle with the waves. Seeing him, Blays flashed a grin, put a finger to his lips, and gestured up at the cliffs.

Dante nodded. He pointed inside the cave and mouthed the word "Winden." Blays squinted, then nodded back. Dante had suffered a few scrapes in the fall, but they'd scabbed over. He cut his arm and summoned every shadow that would listen. He sent them into the stone, rebuilding the shelf he'd used to catch himself. It grew over the water like a branch. Blays maneuvered beneath it, paddling hard to prevent himself from being lobbed against the rocks.

Dante went in for Winden. When he took her up, pain blazed in his ribs like a flaming spear. He dropped to one knee, hissing. Catching his breath, he gathered his strength. And lifted.

Blays was right beside the shelf. The higher swells threatened to batter his canoe against it. Dante moved to its ledge, waited for the canoe to rise, and stepped over the gunwale. He collapsed to the bottom in a controlled fall, holding tight to Winden. When the stars of pain faded from his eyes, he took up an oar, paddling one-handed. Blays drove his paddle into the sea with military precision. The cliffs drifted away behind them.

Lanterns burned around the tower, but the search of the sea had ended. Blays and Dante fought free of the eddies closer to shore and hove southeast, putting plenty of space between themselves and Deladi's bay.

"What took you so long?" Dante said.

Blays glanced over his shoulder. "First there was the matter of stealing the boat. Then came the business of waiting for the hundreds of people hunting you to move along."

"Did you hear me, then?"

"Hear you? I spotted the cave. You have a habit of seeking them out to hide in. Not unlike a number of other nasty creatures."

"Before I jumped, I yelled for you," Dante said. "I said I was going to the cliffs."

Blays laughed. "I didn't hear a damn thing. But it was hard to miss the million-odd armed men shining their lanterns down at the sea. There were so many lights it looked like the stars had come down to see what all the fuss was about."

"Well, I'm glad you got here before the tide could finish us off." Dante winced and set down his paddle.

"You all right?"

"A little beaten up. You?"

"Same." They were sailing past the bay now and Blays kept up his water-eating pace. "I suppose the assassination attempt is off."

"After tonight, there's no way we can get near Vordon. I say we hike back to Kandak and grow us a Star Tree. By then, Deladi may have settled down enough to come back and take a shot at him."

Blays turned and gave him a long, assessing look. "Agreed. Before that, though, we need to find a place to sleep. You look like something the dog coughed up."

Despite the day's hardships, Blays was able to paddle for another hour before finally relenting and turning toward shore. They landed on a gritty beach and dragged the canoe into the trees. Dante's mind and body were leaden. He helped lift Winden out of the damp canoe, broke off a few fronds to sleep on, and fell unconscious.

The pain in his ribs awoke him hours later. Surf washed on the beach. The sun was up. And so was Winden.

"Blays told me what happened," she said. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

Dante shrugged. Pain stabbed his ribs; he clutched at them. This provided a nice distraction from the guilt of having almost abandoned her.

"We're not above all kinds of dirty tricks," he said. "Not if it means living to see the next sunrise. But once you're with us, we're behind you all the way."

She turned west, toward Deladi. The trees were much too thick to see the tower. "You want to go back to Kandak?"

"For now." Dante gestured to the nether and found it renewed. Shadows zipped from the undersides of the leaves and sank into his shirt over his damaged ribs. The pain eased. "Our first order of business is to grow a Star Tree. Once that's accomplished, then we can throw our newly-saved lives at Vordon."

"About that." Blays padded up to them, eyelids puffy. "Growing a Star Tree would be a pretty big deal, wouldn't it? The kind of thing that might convince other peoples that we're on the side of right."

Dante drew back his head. "And if they're not impressed by the accomplishment, we could offer them a deal: if you don't support the Kandeans, you don't get any fruit."

"That sounds less like a deal and more like blackmail."

"Why do they deserve the fruit? It's a fair exchange. If they can cure the ronone, they won't have to trade for shaden anymore."

"I didn't say I disagreed. I just like to know the difference between shaking someone's hand and twisting their arm."

Dante raised an eyebrow at Winden. "What do you think?"

She considered this. "Control of the Star Tree would finally give others a reason to ally with Kandak rather than the Tauren. But it would also give Tauren a reason to take Kandak for good."

"I can't tell if that's a yes or a no."

"This idea, we should bring it to Niles. He knows more about the others than I do."

Dante prevented his eyes from rolling. "I have some experience with warfare. To beat a more powerful foe, you isolate them from their allies while finding ways to enlist more of your own."

"This sounds wise," she said. "But he is the one who negotiates Kandak's alliances."

"He's wanted our help all along. He should take our advice."

She tipped her head in a way that neither agreed nor argued. Dante healed his sore shoulder, then tended to the numerous cuts and aches the others had suffered. They'd left some of their packs in the inn and the rest in the tower, including almost all their food. All they had left was a box of san paste spiked with shaden. They gathered fruit from the shore, then began the hike up the long slopes toward the Dreaming Peaks.

Dante hadn't gotten as much sleep as he would have liked, but compared to the absurdly long, insanely dangerous activities of the previous day, the march through the grasslands felt like an outing to the beach. As the afternoon waned, they veered toward Iladi Forest to make camp in the cover of the trees.

After they'd hacked out shelters and fed themselves, Dante got out one of the Star Tree seeds and sat next to Winden. "Want to give this thing a whirl?"

"We can't grow this so close to Tauren territory," she said. "But you mean to learn how it's done?"

"Exactly. The Dresh made it sound like harvesting the Star Trees is a real process. It'll take us days to get back to Kandak. We might as well make use of them."

He laid out the four seeds. They were all roughly the same size. Each bore a star on one side. With no obvious difference between them, he put three away and set the fourth between himself and Winden.

Dante sent his mind into the curve of the seed. The outer layers held traces of nether, no more or less than an average rock, leaf, or bone. But he found a small chamber inside the seed. Filled entirely with shadows. There was another chamber beside it. And others after that.

They were arranged in a spiral. As he moved inward, he counted eleven shadow-filled chambers. A twelfth lay at the very center of the seed. This chamber was no larger than the pip of an orange. Unlike the others, it was empty.

He withdrew and gestured to Winden. She send her focus within it, exploring. A minute later, she sat back, lips pursed.

"Remind you of anything?" Dante said.

"A shaden. The spiral, it's just like it."

"The Star Tree on Spearpoint looked like it was made out of shell. Is it possible the ancient Dresh harvested the shaden into the tree itself?"

Winden laughed. "I should know this? If so, I could have saved us a great deal of time."

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Did you see how the central chamber is empty? If we fill it with nether, I think the seed will sprout."

"Could be."

"All the others are filled. Isn't it the obvious step?"

"That's what it suggests," Winden said. "But it may not be so straightforward. Harvested plants—the further they are from their origins, the more difficult they are to grow. If the Star Trees are truly part shaden, nothing about the seeds will be as they seem."