Daphne and the Silver Ash: A Fairy Tale

by Joseph Robert Lewis

  Chapter 7

  Ancient and Weary

  The new tunnel was very similar to the old one, so similar that Daphne was almost afraid she had returned to the way she had come in. The walls and floor here had once been solid stone, but the earth and roots had conspired to crack the old blocks apart and many of them now lay in broken piles on the ground. But the twists and turns were new and this tunnel angled up and down where the old one had been mostly level, so she marched on and on, wondering what she was looking for and when she would find it, if ever.

  After walking around one bend after another, picking her way through the rubble, and ducking under fallen beams for more than an hour, Daphne heard a cough. It wasn’t merely a noise that sounded like a cough. It was most certainly and clearly a throat hurling up some dribble of water or speck of dust that it had not meant to inhale. She stopped to listen. There was a second cough, and then the wet noise of a throat being cleared, and then silence.

  Daphne didn’t dare to make a sound, not even to ask Serafina what she thought of the coughing that had echoed down the tunnel toward them. So with nothing else to do, she shrank the lantern light floating above her hand to a ball no larger than an apple and on she went.

  Around the next bend there came a gleam of dark red light playing on the rocky walls, the first hint of light that Daphne had seen in hours that was not her own. She closed her hand, dousing her lantern, but still the strange crimson light wavered on the wall up ahead. At the turn in the tunnel she poked her head out carefully and saw a vast chamber yawning before her, a great black space like the salamanders’ lake except that this one soared up and up into the darkness where the deep red light could not reach. But plunging down from those dizzying heights were hundreds of roots, pale white roots, large and small, straight and crooked, all curling through the open air down to the floor of the cavern like a curtain of ropes or vines.

  Daphne’s eyes grew wide.

  The roots of the Silver Ash! We’re here. We made it.

  The roots fell in a wide twisting tangle that spread across the chamber forming a web, and tied up within the knots and folds of that web was something vaguely round and rather enormous.

  Because she saw the mess of roots to be web-like, her mind first went to spiders.

  Is that what this is? A huge red spider? Are those its legs curling around there and there?

  But the longer she stared, the less spider-ish the creature appeared, and with only the dim red light oozing from its skin she could not guess what it might be.

  Then the thing coughed, louder and harsher than before. It went on and on, becoming a sharp hacking cough that made the creature shudder and tremble violently. And as it shook, Daphne was able to see its shape a bit more clearly.

  A serpent!

  “Hello!” Serafina called out.

  Daphne froze, her heart pounding in her chest, and she whispered, “What are you doing?”

  But the phoenix ignored her and called out again, “Hello there! Good day to you, old friend. I am the—”

  The serpent uncoiled itself from the tree roots as quick as lightning, slipping to the floor of the chamber and slithering to the tunnel entrance before Daphne could even think of running back into the shadows. She gripped the wall beside her for support. The beast towered over her many times her own height, its head as large as an ox, its eyes as large as her own face, and its body as thick as the Silver Ash itself. Now face to face, she saw the creature’s black scales shimmering with gold edges and flecked with ruby red specks. Its dark armor gleamed in the darkness, its white eyes glowed in the shadows of its brows, and the huge feathery frill around its neck flashed and rippled like the waves of the sea reflecting the light of the setting sun.

  A slender black tongue flicked in and out of its closed mouth. Flick, flick. Its enormous scaled head swayed gently as it loomed over her. Watching her. Waiting.

  And then it spoke, its eyes unblinking, its mouth never opening. A thunderous voice, very deep and very male, rumbled up out of the earth from nowhere and everywhere as it said, “Hello, little girl.”

  Daphne swallowed. Fear kept her hand tightly gripping the rock beside her, but a tiny flicker of anger sparked in her heart as well.

  Only Father calls me little girl.

  “My name is Daphne. Who are you?”

  “Who am I? I am the feathered serpent and the malice striker. Shesha and Jormangandur. Naga and Draco. Your people call me by many names, but never by mine own. I…am Ophion.”

  She expected him to go on, to say more, but clearly nothing else needed to be said. He was Ophion. She pointed up at the pale roots of the Silver Ash. “What are you doing here? What were you doing up there?”

  The serpent’s milky eyes narrowed with amusement. “Can you guess, child?”

  Daphne peered up into the shadows of the roots, straining to see anything in the darkness. Gradually, a shape appeared within the tangled web, a single thick root, the tap root. It was almost as thick as a tree itself, though much smoother and straighter than the other gnarled roots around it. Daphne frowned. There were two black marks on the tap root, two long black gashes across it, and a thick white syrup was dribbling down from them. She looked up at the serpent again and saw the white stain at the corner of his mouth.

  “You’ve been drinking the sap of the Silver Ash? Is that why it’s dying?”

  Laughter boomed from the walls. Ophion shook his huge head. “That is not the tree’s sap. That is my venom. That is why the tree is dying.”

  Daphne let go the rock wall, all fear gone now and replaced with rage. “Why? Why would you do that? Don’t you know you’re killing one of the great spirits? One of your own? Her name is Bryn. And you’re killing the entire city of Trevell. Thousands of people live there!”

  “I care nothing for humans or cities.” The serpent swayed above her, his tongue dancing in and out. “Tell me, little girl, do you know what this tree is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know it to be a tree, which it is. An immortal tree. But it is so much more,” Ophion purred. “Imagine that your world of earth and water is a ball of wool. Rough and heavy and filthy. But my world, the spirit world, is a gossamer ribbon of the finest lace draped over the wool. The slightest puff of wind should send the lace hurtling away into the cosmos, free and wild. But no. Some immortal hand chose to bind the great spirits to the earth, to pin the lace to the wool. These trees are the pins, the anchors, that hold me here, trapped in this miserable flesh. These are my prison bars. My shackles!” The chamber shuddered and small stones clattered to the floor.

  Daphne glanced at the tree’s roots. “I didn’t know that. How many spirit trees are there?”

  “Once they were legion, scattered all across this world. But no more,” Ophion said. “I have devoured them all. This is the last. And when it dies, my spirit will fly free of this hideous world forever.”

  “You want to die?” Daphne blinked, uncertain that she had understood him correctly.

  “Yes.” The word shook the cavern and sandy earth trickled down from the high, unseen ceiling. “For countless eons, I have crawled upon this earth, unable to escape the pointless cycles of life and death around me. I am fixed. I do not change. I do not grow or age or die. I was here at the beginning and now I am here at the end. I am ancient and I am weary. Go back to your city, girl, to await its doom. But you need not fear. It will take me a hundred years or more to devour this tree, and you’ll be long gone by then.”

  “No! I’ve come to save the tree! You must stop poisoning it!”

  Ophion loomed over her, his forked tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air around her. “What are you, girl?”

  “What do you mean?” Suddenly she realized that his filmy white eyes were not looking at her, had never looked her even once. The serpent was blind.

  “I smell something...something not human about you.”

  Daphne squeezed her golden hands into fists. “What you sme
ll is the phoenix spirit, Serafina. Because you poisoned the tree, she was afraid to be reborn in it, so she gave her spirit to me instead. But it’s a poor match. She’s meant for birds and airy things. Her spirit is wearing out my heart, and if we can’t save the tree for her rebirth, then both she and I will die.”

  The monster’s tongue stopped flicking. He turned to face her, his sightless eyes gazing at the wall above her head. The shining feathers framing his face fluttered rapidly, and then they froze. “Really?”

  Daphne didn’t like the way he said really. A moment before he had sounded tired and angry, ancient and deadly, but now, with that one word, he sounded eager and curious. And that made him seem more deadly still. “Yes, really.”

  “Serafina will die with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Soon?”

  “Days. Maybe hours.” Daphne bit her lip, trying to focus on the giant serpent and not on how little time she had left. Time she might have been spending with Justin and Violet. But here she was, deep underground, arguing with a very large snake.

  “How wonderful,” Ophion said. “You were very brave to seek me out here, little girl.”

  “Daphne!”

  “Indeed. I will reward your courage.” A deep-throated chuckle rumbled from the walls. “I shall spare your tree, spare your city, and spare all those who dwell there.”

  Daphne stared at the gleaming coils of the spirit beast. She didn’t dare to breathe. “Do you swear it?”

  “I swear it by whatever gods you believe in or ancestors you revere. I have no need to devour the tree now.”

  “But what about setting your spirit free from this world?”

  Again the serpent’s low laughter rolled through the earthen walls of the cavern. “You shall do that for me.”

  A blinding crimson light erupted from the serpent, pouring out of every obsidian scale and ruby feather. Daphne threw up her arms to shield her face, to cover her eyes. She ground her teeth, waiting, waiting, waiting for the serpent to strike, to swallow her whole. But the light faded and she remained undevoured.

  Daphne lowered her arms and blinked away the splashes of light still playing across her eyes. When her vision returned, she saw the cavern was empty. The monstrous serpent had vanished. Cautiously she stepped away from the wall and walked toward the center of the vault, toward the roots of the Silver Ash. Her toe bumped against something soft and she looked down at a small black snake lying still on its back. She nudged it once, twice, but it did not move.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh no!”

  “Yes, yes!” Ophion’s voice boomed through the chamber from nowhere and everywhere. “I can feel it, I can feel you both, and I can feel us growing weaker. The time is short, the time is near, and soon we shall all fall and sleep forever. Yes!”

  In the darkness a dim red light remained and Daphne hastily swept her hands over herself, hoping she was wrong, hoping that she would find no new changes. Her hands stopped at her throat. There, instead of smooth golden skin she found a thick frill of ruby feathers all around her neck, framing her face. As she explored the frill, her fingers collided and she felt something else. Scales. Hard black scales covered her arms up to her elbows, and they covered her legs up to her knees, as smooth as glass and as tight as a second skin.

  “What have you done?” she whispered. Her words echoed across the vast, empty chamber.

  “I have kept my word,” the serpent answered.

  “What have you done to me?!” Daphne felt the tears burning her eyes.

  “You know what I have done,” the serpent said. “Rejoice, little girl. You have saved your city and saved your people.”

  Daphne trembled, fighting back the tears.

  “No, no!” Serafina wailed. “We want to live! I want to live!”

  Ophion did not answer, but Daphne could feel the spirit of the serpent writhing in her heart, coiling and nestling in her chest like a lead weight, cold and hard.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to fall to the floor and scream and kick until the universe gave in and put everything back the way it had been.

  Just two days ago! Two days ago everything was fine. And now, this!

  But she didn’t cry and she didn’t scream. She blinked and she swallowed and she stared down at the scales on her arms. Inside she still felt as light as a feather, ready to leap and fly across the rooftops, but something had changed. Now she felt as hard as steel on the outside, unbreakable and invincible. The longer she stared at her hands, the more her fear melted away to reveal a sharp desire in her heart to break and wound and shatter… something.

  Then the phoenix shrieked, her spirit fluttering and flying about Daphne’s breast in a wild panic and Daphne began gasping for breath as she felt Serafina’s fear washing over her like a freezing wave. And no sooner had that happened then the spirit of the serpent reared up within her like a pillar of stone, aching to fall back into the dust and vanish from the world and all its cares. The two spirits roared at each other and at Daphne, the one screaming for light and life and fire and freedom, and the other commanding silence and darkness and nothingness.

  Daphne couldn’t hear herself think, could barely feel her heart racing in her chest. She was caught between a hurricane and an earthquake and neither cared that they were crushing her between them.

  So she ran.

  She ran down tunnel after tunnel, her feet flying with the effortless grace of the phoenix and propelling her forward with the unstoppable power of the serpent. She sped on and on, wishing that she could escape the voices, escape the maelstrom of emotions pouring out from the two spirits inside her, but nothing would calm them and nothing would free her from them.

  Still she ran.

  She ran blindly, not knowing or caring where she was or where she was going. She ran full of fear and anger and sorrow, and the only clear glimmer of thought in her mind was that she wanted to see the sun again. Her arm struck a stone here, her foot struck a stone there, but her armored skin crashed through them all as though they were as fragile as new-fallen snow. And then finally, finally, a tiny ray of pale white light fell across the tunnel ahead and she ran faster than before. When she reached the light, she leapt with all her strength and burst up through the earth and stone, tumbling and rolling into a dusty little garden where nothing grew, not even weeds.

  Daphne lay on her back, her chest heaving, her eyes smarting from the sudden glare of the sun in her face. And for a moment, the two spirits quieted their battle of wills.

  “Please,” Serafina whispered. “Go back to the tree. He can’t poison the tree anymore. Perhaps now, with Bryn’s help, I can be reborn there. Perhaps I can leave you. Perhaps we can put things back as they were before.”

  Ophion growled and hissed. “If you go back to that tree, I will fill you with such rage as you have never known, such wrath as you cannot comprehend, a madness that will drive you ravening across this city until you have destroyed that tree and every other thing in your path with your bare hands, little girl. So lie still and await our oblivion.”

  Daphne clenched her teeth and stood up.