Shadows on the Stars

by T.A. Barron

  Before pouring the first basketload of dirt over her body, he knelt beside her. Using one of her flint knives, he cut off a single lock of her gray hair. As soft as a fledgling’s tail feather it felt, and he studied it for a long moment before tying it around his ankle.

  At last, when the final stone had been laid, Scree stood grimly facing the mound. He stretched his arms, stiff and bruised from the long day’s work, and rubbed the sore muscles of his thigh—muscles that she had worked so hard to heal. He lowered his head, and in a voice heard only by the wind, he whispered, “Soar high, Arc-kaya. Run free.”

  Then, just behind him, voices suddenly lifted in song. He turned around to see the adult eaglefolk, arrayed in a line that bent like a wing, starting to sing the sacred chants of their clan. Surprised, Scree found himself caught by their music, and lifted by it, as if he were a feather on a breeze.

  As the chanting continued, Scree realized that he’d never heard such beautiful sounds from the mouths of his people. Simple though this music was, and tinged with sorrow, it swept him up and bore him aloft, twisting on currents of feeling that had flowed through eaglefolk for generations.

  In time, the children joined in, hesitantly at first, their voices broken with sobs. But soon they were singing clearly, their small voices blending with the others as smoothly as separate feathers merge into a single wing. And they added more than voices, Scree knew. They added a touch of hope. For the fact that there were still children left meant that this village, and this people, would live on.

  He turned away from the body of Arc-kaya and looked at the faces of the children. They were, as he expected, full of grief and loss, for among those buried had been their mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers. And yet, despite their youth, they also showed hints of the eaglefolk’s legendary ferocity, courage, and will to survive. Especially in the face of Hawkeen, Scree saw those qualities. And something else, too. For in that sad but sturdy youth, whose somber eyes glinted with gold, Scree saw a reflection of himself years ago. Such anguish and resolve, all bound together, seemed terribly familiar.

  What he hadn’t expected was what Hawkeen did next. The lad lifted his chin toward the sky and started to sing on his own, his voice blending the plaintive call of a child with the screeching cry of an eagle:

  High overhead

  In islands of clouds

  Sailed the good ship I knew best.

  Her feathers so soft,

  Her wings wide aloft,

  She carried me safely to rest

  Settled in our downy nest.

  O Mother, my ship,

  My vessel on high,

  You have flown beyond sight, beyond fears.

  I miss you beyond any tears.

  Sleekness and strength,

  So graceful in flight,

  Eagle wings riding the sea—

  You taught me to fly,

  To sail in the sky,

  And grandest of all how to be

  Master of all that I see.

  O Mother, my ship,

  My vessel on high,

  You have flown beyond sight, beyond fears.

  I miss you beyond any tears.

  Mere moments ago

  You promised to take

  Me flying above haze or cloud.

  Two sailors we’d be

  Afloat on the sea—

  But our journey was never allowed:

  The haze has become your death shroud.

  O Mother, my ship,

  My vessel on high,

  You have flown beyond sight, beyond fears.

  I miss you beyond any tears.

  Silent you sail

  Where I cannot go,

  Behind veils of gathering mist.

  Though hard have I tried

  To stay by your side,

  I must fly alone and exist

  Far from the ship I have missed.

  O Mother, my ship,

  My vessel on high,

  You have flown beyond sight, beyond fears.

  I miss you beyond any tears.

  As the boy’s voice trailed off, he started to walk back to the empty nests of the village. But as he turned, his gaze met Scree’s. For an infinite moment they looked at each other, one’s eyes flecked with gold, the other’s rimmed in yellow. Then, as if they had said everything they needed to say, they gave a simultaneous nod. The boy stepped solemnly toward the village, while Scree turned back to the burial mound.

  While the other survivors continued to chant, Scree’s thoughts turned to Arc-kaya. To her kindness, her generosity, and her love.

  Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw the sneering face of the young warrior who had murdered her. It was a face eager for battle. Hungry for blood. And also . . . something else, a strange quality that Scree couldn’t quite identify.

  “I’ll find you, brutal warrior,” he growled under his breath. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done! By the Thousand Groves, you will.”

  For his plans had changed. Knowing that he had no hope of finding his brother Tam, who was probably now deep inside the vast expanse of the Great Tree’s trunk, and also knowing that he could spend weeks searching for Brionna and Elli, who could be anywhere in the Seven Realms, he had hit upon a new course of action. It was highly risky, and bold to the point of moronic. But if it worked, it just might give him the chance to upset the wicked plans of White Hands—as well as his master, Rhita Gawr. And if he succeeded, he would be helping, in his own small way, to save Avalon from the gathering storm that would strike very soon.

  He would return to Fireroot—and find the Bram Kaie clan. Whatever it might take, he would track them down and kill their leader, who had made the gruesome pact with White Hands. And, if he could, he would kill someone else as well: the young assassin who had stolen Arc-kaya’s life.

  His eyes glinting like sharpened blades, Scree nodded gravely. Dangerous as this idea was, he knew it was the right thing to do. Even though he couldn’t actually join Tam on his quest, they would at least be working toward the same goals. So while they’d be separated by enormous distances, they would still, in this way, be together. Doing their parts for Avalon.

  He swallowed hard, realizing that this plan appealed to him for other reasons, as well. For one, whether he succeeded or not, he would seem like less of a buffoon. To himself—and maybe also to Brionna. And for another, he could win a small measure of revenge for Arc-kaya.

  For a moment he seemed as hard as the stones that he had carried to the mound. He’d find that brutal warrior, all right. Find him and kill him. And he’d do it the old-fashioned way, with no weapons but wings and talons.

  He glanced down at his anklet of Arc-kaya’s hair. In the late afternoon light, it glowed like a radiant ring of silver. He thought of the truly loving welcome that she’d given him—so very different from the welcome he’d received that day, six years ago, from Quenaykha, the leader of the Bram Kaie clan.

  When he first met her, among the flaming cliffs of Fireroot’s Volcano Lands, it was entirely by accident. They had both been flying low, hunting the same pack of wild boars, when they nearly flew into each other because of a crag that blocked their vision. Right away, he’d found her beautiful—with streaming auburn hair, a shapely form, bright yellow eyes, and a sense of enormous power that guided her every movement. But while Scree was himself a powerful figure, brawny and skilled at hunting beyond his years, down inside he was still just a boy.

  For all his life, he had lived on these cliffs, cut off from other eaglefolk. Because of his promise to Merlin, he had stayed hidden away, especially after murderous ghoulacas had killed his adopted mother and separated him from his brother Tam. So without any family or friends, he lived all alone, sleeping in remote caverns, avoiding contact with others.

  Then he met her. Even in those days, as the newly chosen leader of her clan, she preferred to be called simply Queen. Naive as he was, Scree didn’t understand what this said about her—nor what her true motivations might have been for lurin
g him back to her village.

  He’d been easy prey for her. He understood that now. She had seemed so strong, attractive, and completely self-assured. And also so drawn to him, which had felt as intoxicating as the richest mead. Scree, meanwhile, was lonely, confused, and desperately craving affection. While she had given him that—leading him to a hidden grove of ironwood trees and wrapping him in feathery softness beyond anything he’d ever dreamed—she hadn’t done it out of love.

  No, she had done it out of greed. For she had seen Merlin’s staff, sensed its power, and wanted to own it. When they returned to her village, she had kissed him warmly and promised that he’d be safe, even as she was stealthily signaling to her guards. Bathing in her affection, he hadn’t suspected a thing—until, all of a sudden, he was viciously attacked.

  Only thanks to his superior strength and speed, and his experience battling ghoulacas, did he escape with the staff. Not to mention his life. And from that day to this, he’d cursed his gnome-headed foolishness. For he had made, he knew, the worst mistake of his life, almost losing everything he valued in a single mindless moment.

  Scree straightened his back and turned away from the mound. Raising his gaze to the ridges above the village, he scanned the windblown summit of Hallia’s Peak. And then, peering beyond, he traced the dark brown ridges that rose in the distance.

  Those ridges lifted steadily starward, climbing higher and higher until they vanished in ever-swirling mist. Scree knew that none of his own people, not even the legendary flyers Hac Yarrow and Ilyakk, had ever flown as high as the places that his brother was now seeking. They hadn’t even attempted to fly up to the branches of the Great Tree, considering such a journey beyond the natural reach of their kind. And yet that was just what Tam was trying to do—to voyage not just to the branches, but onward to the stars.

  Tam, wherever you are right now, I hope you’re still in one piece. And behaving more sensibly than I am.

  Raking the air with his hand, he strode off to stay his last night among the nests of this village. Tomorrow at dawn he would leave, hoping that his strength would fully return during his trip to Fireroot. For although he had less distance to travel than Tam, he knew that he had no less danger to face. And he also knew that, like his brother, he simply had to try his best to survive.

  9 • To Live Forever

  Reaching up, Tamwyn grabbed hold of a lip of rough brown rock above his head. He pulled, hoisting himself higher, straining his sore arms to gain the upper ledge. Sweat from his brow dribbled into his eyes, stinging.

  Just a bit higher, he thought with fierce determination. Almost there now.

  Suddenly the lip of rock broke off, spraying pebbles into the air and sending him tumbling backward. He slid and bounced down the cliffside, finally rolling to a stop. For a moment he lay on his back, dust swirling about him, listening to the echoing ring from the quartz bell on his hip—and the softer, deeper note from the slab of wood inside his pack.

  “Trolls’ tongues!” he cursed, forcing himself to sit up despite his dizziness.

  He stared up at the cliff looming above him. So steep, so lifeless. For two days now, all he had seen—other than the smirking face of that hoolah now and then—was rock. Rough brown rock. It was everywhere, rising higher and higher, climbing straight up to the sky just like . . .

  He shook his head, sending up a cloud of dirt and dust. Just like the trunk of a, tree. Which was, of course, what he was climbing. For this was no ordinary tree. This one, it seemed, went on and on forever. And these endless brown ridges were, in fact, its bark—the crusty surface of the trunk’s lower reaches.

  Blinking the dust from his eyes, he peered into the thickening clouds of mist that swirled above him. The cliffs beyond the ledge rose upward until, at last, they vanished in the vapors. How far he’d come he couldn’t guess, but he did feel sure that in the time since he’d left Scree he’d only managed to climb a tiny fraction of the trunk.

  Why, he hadn’t even glimpsed the Swaying Sea, which was supposed to be somewhere up here. Nor his true goal, which was not the Sea—or the strange appendage, neither root nor branch, that held it. No, what he wanted to find was the portal that was somewhere near the Sea: the highest portal in the lower realms, which could take him deep into the Tree itself. For he knew that his hopes lay not in climbing up the Great Tree from the outside, as he was doing now—which could take forever—but in finding a passage somewhere inside.

  The same inside passage that, as Tamwyn had learned from bards, his father had hoped would carry him to the very top with the speed of portals. After all, Krystallus had ridden portals to every one of the seven root-realms, even Shadowroot, and survived. Despite its dangers, portalseeking offered the fastest way to move around great distances.

  And even the vast distances between the root-realms were small compared to the utter enormity of the upper reaches of Avalon. Why, Krystallus himself believed that the trunk alone dwarfed all Seven Realms put together. And then, if you considered how huge the branches, and all the lands they contained, could be . . .

  Tamwyn shook his head, overwhelmed by the mere thought of such magnitude. And here I am, trying to travel all the way to the top, and to the stars beyond! And to do it in just a few short weeks, before Rhita Gawr can crush us all.

  But he knew he shouldn’t think about that now. Better to focus on his next steps. First, he’d find that portal near the Swaying Sea, and enter the trunk from there. Then he’d go to the legendary Great Hall of the Heartwood, deep inside the Tree, which his father had discovered on one of his earlier expeditions—and which Krystallus believed held the key to traveling higher, into the upper trunk and branches. And ultimately, to the stars.

  Tamwyn brushed some chips of rock off his eyebrow, then took from his pack the flask he’d made from a supple leaf of leathereed. Unplugging the flask, he took some water—his final sip, just a few piddling drops. Licking the last trace of moisture on his lips, he knew that he would find no more to drink until he reached the Swaying Sea. If he ever got there. And where he’d find his next meal, he could only guess.

  What matters more, he told himself, is finding that portal.

  Closing the flask, he replaced it in the pack. His hand brushed against the slab of harmóna wood and it vibrated again, a low, quivering note. He hadn’t touched it since parting from Elli. And given how upset he felt, even now, he didn’t want to hold the wood in his hands, let alone carve on it again.

  He adjusted the pack strap on his shoulder, and straightened his staff and dagger in their sheaths. Then, once again, he started to climb. Hand over hand he pulled himself higher on the rough-hewn rock, moving upward bit by bit. Another handhold broke, scraping his thumb, but this time he caught himself before falling. It took him twenty minutes of hard work to regain the spot below the ledge where he’d tumbled backward.

  He paused, breathing hard as he reached up to the ledge to grasp a new hold. This is tough, he told himself. Toughest thing I’ve ever done. A wry grin creased his dirt-smudged face. Except for trying to talk with Elli.

  His hand found a knob. It was not very big, and almost out of reach, but he managed to clamp his fingers around it. With a grunt, he tried to pull himself up onto the overhanging ledge. Quaking from the effort, he drew his body higher. His bare feet left the rocks below the ledge, so that all his weight hung on the knob. This was just the place he’d been last time, when—

  Craaack. The knob broke off!

  Tamwyn roared in anguish as he started to fall. His fingers scraped against the rock, trying desperately to hold on somehow. But he kept sliding backward. He couldn’t stop himself now.

  Suddenly a strong hand appeared above him and grabbed his wrist. It clasped tight around Tamwyn’s sweaty skin.

  “Henni!” he shouted, relieved even as he flailed, hanging over the ledge. He kicked his legs wildly. “Pull me up, you fool.”

  “Hoohoo, eehee, ahahahaha,” chuckled the hoolah, clearly savoring his new position of
power. His silver eyes widened, filling his circular eyebrows. “Well, well, clumsy man. Just look at you now.”

  “Pull . . . me . . . up,” grunted Tamwyn, trying to wriggle up over the edge.

  Henni tilted his head and, with his free hand, scratched his temple below the red headband he always wore. “Er, could you tell me why?”

  “Why?” blustered Tamwyn, flailing desperately. “Because I’ll kill you if you don’t!”

  “Kill me? Hoohoo, eeheeheehee. Sounds like fun.”

  “It won’t be, I promise!”

  Henni’s face turned somber. “No fun?” He heaved a sigh. “Oh well, then. What’s the point if it’s no fun?”

  With that, he let go. Tamwyn cried out and plummeted backward, smashing into the rocks below, then rolling and bouncing until he finally came to a stop. He groaned and straightened his left leg, twisted beneath him. Weakly, he raised his head. Even through the spinning collage of brown cliffs, he could make out the face of the hoolah above him, grinning happily.

  “You, you . . . little heap of dung!” He waved his clenched fist. “Just wait until I catch you. I’ll beat you, chop you, and feed you to a fire dragon! Then I’ll rip you out and do it all over again. And that’s just the beginning!”

  “Eeheeheehahaha,” laughed Henni, “You were wrong again, clumsy man. This really is fun.”

  Tamwyn’s eyes blazed. Then, hearing a tiny whimper from his tunic pocket, he pulled it open and peered inside. “Batty? You all right?”

  “Noee no, manny man. Me’s having a very bumpsy-umpsy dream.”

  “That,” growled Tamwyn, “was no dream. That was the hoolah.”

  Within his pocket, a bright green glow expanded. Then out poked a scrawny, mouselike face with cupped ears, looking very angry indeed. “Batty Lad will teachy him a lesson, oh vessa yessa ya ya ya.”

  Tamwyn worked his stiff neck and nodded. “Be my guest.”

  With a flash of green from his eyes, Batty Lad lifted his crumpled wings and took off. He whizzed around the cliff for a moment before catching sight of Henni up on the ledge. The little fellow screeched wrathfully, then zoomed after him. Henni’s face looked suddenly worried before he disappeared up the slope.