Shadows on the Stars (20 page)

He ran a hand through his black hair.
Looks like I can’t keep anyone near me for long. Not Elli, not Scree, not my mother.
He studied the small wooden box that had held the buried scroll.
And not my father.

He reached over to Batty Lad, who was sitting in the emerald green moss by the spring. With one finger, he scratched the creature’s head, still dripping wet from being plunged into the sweet water. Right away, the cupped ears swiveled, while the green eyes glowed brightly. In a whisper, Tamwyn asked, “What about you, my little friend? How long will you stick around with the child of the Dark Prophecy?”

Batty Lad stiffened. “Whatsa this crazy babble-wabble?” He peered doubtfully up at Tamwyn, cocking his mouselike face to one side. “Sometimes you actsa very odd! Absolooteyootly.”

Despite himself, Tamwyn grinned. “Good thing I’ve got you to keep me sane.”

“And me,” piped up Henni, sitting up from blowing bubbles into the pool under the spring. Water droplets glistened on his circular eyebrows. “You’ve got me to keep you crazy.”

Tamwyn nodded, swishing his hair across his shoulders. “So far you’re doing great at that.”

Henni clapped his big hands together. “Good! So where do you want to go next?”

The young man’s brow furrowed. “To a place called Merlin’s Knothole. And, from there, to the stars. If that’s even possible!” He rubbed his chin, reflecting on his chances. “Truth is, I don’t even know if it can be done at all. Can a mere man—”

“A
clumsy
man,” corrected Henni.

“Hush,” snapped Tamwyn. “What I’m wondering is whether
any
man—or any mortal creature—can climb all the way to the stars.”

“Probably not,” said the hoolah cheerily. “Do you know anything else?”

“Nothing useful. Just that we might meet some sort of horse on the way.” He thought back to the words on Krystallus’ scroll. “And that the journey to the Knothole will be somehow
dizzying
.”

“Eehee, oohoohoohoo, that could be a fun ride.”

“Or it could be a death trap.”

The hoolah scratched one of his circular eyebrows. “Haven’t I told you before, oohoo eehee? Death traps are the spice of life.”

Tamwyn, who wasn’t so sure, started to scan their surroundings. Just how was he supposed to find this Knothole, anyway? He studied the wall of green flames that rose so high above them, filling the gap between two root buttresses. It crackled and churned with the fires of élano—the only portal in the Great Hall of the Heartwood. Could that be the way?

No, he knew better. All the lore he’d heard from bards said that this portal led to the root-realms, as well as back to the Swaying Sea, but no higher on the Tree. And besides, hadn’t Krystallus written,
I shall seek out another way?

There was still a chance, of course, that this portal could carry him upward, in some way that had eluded his father. But jumping into any portal was risky business. Even if Tamwyn had his mind completely focused on his destination, the portal could take him instead to someplace far distant. Or back to the living stones he’d just barely escaped.

He turned from the crackling curtain of flames to survey the vast cavern. All around them, great roots rose up from the dirt floor, arching high overhead, twisting and branching until they spread across the ceiling. Veins crossed and recrossed, creating an intricate web of shadowy niches far above their heads. But Tamwyn saw no sign of any exit up there.

And yet . . . his father must have found
some
way to leave the Great Hall, since no one from his expedition ever returned to the Seven Realms. Just where did they go, though? If they went any higher inside the Tree, they must have found a passageway.

His woodsman’s gaze roamed around the room. Suddenly, on the rim of the ceiling, he caught sight of an especially dark spot that he hadn’t noticed before. Set in the notch between two tributary veins, it could have been just another shadow, or a shallow pit. Or something more. He stood, pulled his staff from its sheath, and walked to where he could get a better view. Leaning on the staff, he stared upward.

Some kind of tunnel?
he wondered.
But even if it is, how can I possibly get up there? Flipping fire dragons, if only I could fly!

At that instant, one of the symbols carved into the wood of his staff caught his eye. It seemed to be glowing, though dimly. Was it just the reflected flames of the portal? No, he felt certain. The staff itself was alight.

Startled, Tamwyn sucked in his breath. He recognized that symbol: It was the star within a circle, symbol of the power of Leaping. Whether the legendary staff, Ohnyalei, had been touched by some of his own untamed magic, or whether it had responded to the power of Leaping being invoked by someone far away, Tamwyn had no idea. All he could do was look, amazed, at the glowing symbol.

Then, to his even greater amazement, his bare feet started lifting off the floor!

Higher and higher he rose, flailing arms and legs to keep his balance. He floated steadily upward, while both Henni and Batty Lad stared at him in astonishment. Soon he was more than his own height off the ground. He held tight to the staff, even when the magic that was lifting him tilted him way over to one side so that he was floating nearly horizontal in the air. No matter how hard he kicked, he couldn’t turn himself upright again.

“Eehee, eehee, that looks like fun,” crowed Henni. He rubbed his hands gleefully and rushed over to stand under Tamwyn. Then, jumping as high as he could, he tried to grab hold of his foot.

“Stop that, you bung-brained idiot!” shouted Tamwyn, flailing desperately.

“Take me with you,” pleaded Henni. “I want a ride, too.”

Tamwyn fought—unsuccessfully—to keep himself from rolling over in the air. “This isn’t a ride, you fool! This is some kind of magic I can’t control. It could vanish just as fast as it—”

All at once, the light disappeared from the staff. Tamwyn spun around and then plunged down—right on top of Henni. The staff clattered on the chamber floor, the hoolah shrieked, and Tamwyn howled. And over by the bubbling spring, little Batty Lad shook his furry head.

“Silwilly creatures,”‘ he muttered, straightening his crumpled wings. “Theya should know theya can’t really fly, yessa yessa ya ya ya.”

It took several seconds (and several kicks and punches) for Tamwyn and Henni to untangle themselves. At last, both of them lay back on the floor, panting heavily. Tamwyn’s vision finally steadied, and he looked again at the dark spot on the ceiling.

“I’ve got to get up there,” he muttered. “If only—” He caught himself, having learned anew the dangers of making wishes. Especially with whatever powers were burgeoning inside himself, powers he still couldn’t control. For a while after he’d used them to save Scree’s life, he’d felt better about having them. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. It was almost as if he held a whole new person down inside, different in every way from his former self, struggling to burst free.

But was that something he really wanted?

Tamwyn shook his head, rubbing it into the reddish brown dirt. Turning to the thin fellow sprawled beside him, he asked, “You’re still crazier than a catnip faery, you know that?”

“Sure. And you’re still stupider than a headless troll.”

“All right then, we understand each other. Now tell me, Henni.” He pointed up at the ceiling. “Do you think you could climb to that dark place up there?”

The hoolah’s brow crinkled. “Looks pretty difficult. Impossible, maybe. Foolish even to try.” He grinned broadly. “Just my kind of thing.”

“Good,” declared Tamwyn. “Here’s the plan, if you can remember it.”

He sat up and tugged at the length of twine that he always wore around his waist, equipment he’d found helpful more than once as a wilderness guide. As he unwrapped the twine and securely tied one end around his waist and the other around Henni’s, he explained that this might save someone’s life in case of a fall. Though Henni protested, saying that falling was part of the fun, he eventually relented. A moment later, they were roped together. With Tamwyn’s staff back in its sheath, and a disturbingly gleeful grin on Henni’s face, they began to climb up the nearest buttress. As they moved higher, Batty Lad circled them, chattering anxiously all the time.

For Tamwyn, scaling the tangled, twining veins wasn’t the most difficult part. It was keeping Henni, who was climbing behind him, from making a sport of letting go of the buttress and swinging freely from the twine. It only happened once, when they were halfway up to the ceiling—and it took all Tamwyn’s strength to hang on by his fingers and toes while the hoolah whooped and giggled below him. Only thanks to Batty Lad, who dived at the giddy creature’s head, buzzing him angrily, did Henni finally swing himself back to the buttress.

Another harrowing moment came when they crossed a place where the wood was as smooth as newly sculpted clay—and Henni thought it would be entertaining to yank on the twine as hard as he could. But the most terrifying moment of all for Tamwyn came when Batty Lad’s wing clipped his nose, making him sneeze so hard he almost fell. Somehow he managed to hold on, though only just barely. Yet at long last, they made it to the notch on the ceiling that held the dark spot.

“By the Thousand Groves!” Tamwyn hooted in delight.

For it was, in fact, a tunnel, heading diagonally upward into the Tree. But it really wasn’t much of a tunnel—more like a hole in the ceiling where a crack in the Tree’s trunk had broken through, or a trickle of water had opened a gap over time.

But that was enough for Tamwyn. He squeezed himself into the hole, showering his face with loose dirt. Then, overcoming a moment’s hesitation, he wriggled higher so that Henni could follow. Last of all, Batty Lad zipped in to join them.

Inside, everything was dark. And damp, as well. All around, they heard the sound of running water coursing inside the walls, dripping from above, percolating in hidden cracks. Tamwyn paused to let his eyes adjust, then spied a thin sliver of light far above. He started crawling higher, bracing his arms and legs so that he didn’t slide down backward. At one bend in the tunnel his head bashed into a knob of dangling roots, where a large clump of dirt exploded in his face. The bruise on his head was much easier to bear than Henni’s raucous cackles behind him. But he held his temper in check and kept on climbing.

The light, green and flickering like the fire of portals, grew stronger. The tunnel bent again, and Tamwyn had to push his way past a mesh of fingerlike roots. Suddenly he saw the source of the light—a narrow hole up ahead. Finally he reached it and climbed through, showering himself and the others with dirt. He fell onto a hard surface.

Another tunnel! But this one was much larger—and horizontal, almost like a road running through the heart of the Great Tree. Its rounded walls were ribbed with parallel grooves, and it was high enough that he could stand without hitting his head.

Tamwyn stood, shook the dirt out of his hair, and peered at the tunnel walls. For they pulsed with a light of their own, as radiant as if they were made of condensed élano. They reminded him of the crystal in the amulet of leaves worn by the Lady of the Lake, with its radiant tones of green amidst gleaming white. Like these walls, and like the flaming portals, that magical light spoke of power. Of life. And, most of all, of the Drumadians’ seventh Element, the one named Mystery.

Tamwyn debated for a moment which way to go, since left and right looked very much the same. Finally he chose left, for no better reason than the fact that his left arm had always been his strongest. They started down the tunnel, road, or whatever it was, with Tamwyn walking before Henni and Batty Lad flitting behind. Although he hadn’t the slightest clue where this passage might lead, that concerned Tamwyn less than the fact that it was completely level. At some point, he’d need to find a way to climb higher—much, much higher, to Merlin’s Knothole and beyond.

But how? Tamwyn could hardly imagine the difficulties of climbing so far upward. For now, the best he could do was to follow this passage straight through the trunk.

It wasn’t long before he noticed something else. Something strange.

The tunnel’s walls and floor kept changing in color, shape, and texture. At irregular intervals—sometimes, just a few paces apart; sometimes, half a league—the tunnel would go from bright green to reddish yellow to translucent lavender and back again to green. Meanwhile, its surface changed from grooved to knobby to so jagged that Tamwyn had to step carefully despite his thickly callused feet.

All the varied surfaces seemed like wood, with embedded grains of fiber. But they looked and felt like drastically different
kinds
of wood. There were even wooden crystals sprouting from the ever-changing walls: red cones of fragrant cedar, black cubes of gleaming ebony, brown spirals of mahogany, white crowns of ash, and green spheres of juniper. The only thing about the tunnel that remained constant was its underlying radiance, the pulse of élano within.

What’s going on here
? puzzled Tamwyn as he trekked. Shouldn’t the trunk of the Great Tree be pretty much the same throughout, like the trunks of the trees he’d seen toppled by storms and avalanches? What could have caused all these stripes of different colors and kinds?

On and on the tunnel ran, without any sign that it might ever end. Or climb upward. After they had traveled for what seemed like several hours, having crossed through hundreds of changes in the tunnel walls, they paused to drink from Tamwyn’s flask. The sweet water from the Great Hall refreshed them, to be sure, filling them with the strength of a hearty meal.

But over time, as more hours passed, their bodies wearied again. This tunnel seemed endless! Tamwyn pulled the staff out of its sheath so he could lean on it now and then. Henni drooped, his oversized hands nearly brushing the floor as he walked. And Batty Lad finally gave up flying, choosing instead to ride in Tamwyn’s pocket.

The strange stripes continued, some studded with wooden crystals, some undulating with swirls of grain, and others as smooth as blown glass. Occasionally they passed smaller side tunnels, though all of them angled downward and consequently didn’t seem worth exploring. Finally, they entered a section of the tunnel that struck Tamwyn as the most unusual yet. It was black, but not the shining black of ebony. This stripe was dull and sooty, like charcoal. And it smelled of ancient fires.