Shadows on the Stars

by T.A. Barron

  A moment later, there was a very loud (and for Tamwyn, very satisfying) yelp of pain from the rocks above the ledge. The young man grinned in admiration. Whatever Batty Lad lacked in size, he surely made up for in zeal, at least when he was angry.

  Slowly, he got up again, straightened his pack and sheaths, and started to climb back up to the overhanging ledge. The trudge seemed longer than ever, and the cliff steeper, but eventually he reached the spot. This time, however, he tried to work his way around the side of the ledge, cramming his feet into vertical notches in the rock. Bit by bit, he ascended, dragging himself up the sheer face.

  Finally, with one last tug, he hauled himself past the barrier. A jutting edge scratched against his cheek, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He’d made it! He pulled off his pack strap and collapsed against a smooth, gray boulder, panting heavily.

  Looking to either side, he saw no sign of Henni anywhere. This only improved his mood. In addition, he’d arrived at a flatter area where the trunk seemed to bulge outward. Could it be that his days of hard climbing were almost over?

  He swung his head around and looked at the terrain above him—and his brief moment of joy vanished. The cliffs swooped higher again, reaching endlessly upward, until at last they were swallowed by mist. There was nothing ahead of him but rock, rock, and more rock. No sign of the Sea, or the portal.

  Then, to the west, a patch of mist opened. And he saw it—hardly more than a flash of blue, deeper than the color of sky, against a rim of brown shoreline. But that was all he needed.

  Tamwyn blinked just to be sure. It was really there! So the Swaying Sea wasn’t out of reach after all. All he had to do was climb a bit more, until he approached it. Then somewhere up there, if the bards were right, he’d find the portal that would take him to the Great Hall.

  But where, exactly? The ballads he’d heard were all vague, just calling it the portal near the Swaying Sea, or the portal on the cliffs. Even now that he was in the region, it could take him hours—or days—to find it. Or was it too much to hope that he might have some good luck for a change?

  He sank back against the boulder, rubbing his tired shoulders on its smooth surface. For an instant the oddity of that intrigued him. Why should there be a boulder like this up here, so different from the rising ridges all around? Looking higher on the cliffs again, he glimpsed a few more such boulders above him—all smooth, round, and dingy gray. Strange that he hadn’t seen anything like that down below.

  Ah, well. Just another one of those unanswered questions. His brow furrowed. These days I’ve been finding lots of those. And most of them have to do with myself. He glanced down at his pack, holding the wood that could have become a magical harp. Or with her.

  His gaze moved to the splash of bright blue to the west. The appendage whose broad cup held the Swaying Sea was an unanswered question of its own. Was it Avalon’s highest root, an eighth realm, as some supposed? Those who had visited it, including many of the representatives of Avalon’s diverse peoples who had signed the treaty that ended the War of Storms, described a place much like Waterroot, though smaller.

  Or was it really more like Avalon’s lowest branch? That was the view of many at the school that Tamwyn’s father had founded, the Eopia College of Mapmakers. But who could really say, since no one—save possibly Krystallus or one of the explorers who had gone with him on that final, ill-fated expedition—had ever seen a true branch of the Great Tree?

  Feeling drowsy from all his exertion, Tamwyn gave up speculating. He concluded that someday, if he survived this quest—and if Avalon survived Rhita Gawr—he would just have to explore the Swaying Sea himself. He leaned his head back against the boulder and closed his eyes. He hadn’t planned to nap, not really. Just to rest a bit, to gather his strength before the final push to the portal.

  Mist from the heights drifted lower, surrounding him in thick, gauzy vapors. Closer and closer the mist swirled, until he could feel its chill on the back of his neck. Then he heard a shout—from someone nearby. Someone in trouble. It was a voice he had never heard before. Yet even so, he recognized it instantly.

  “Father!” cried Tamwyn, leaping up from the boulder. Stumbling through the thickening mist, he ran toward the voice. Suddenly he saw his father, or what was left of him. The man’s head, in a swirl of long gray hair, was vanishing into the rocks. No more of him remained—just his face, fast disappearing. Beside him on the ground lay his torch, its flame sputtering weakly.

  Tamwyn blinked in astonishment. His father was being swallowed, eaten alive! By the Great Tree itself.

  Krystallus tried to speak, but this time his voice sounded inhuman, like scraping rocks. His eyes, as black as Tamwyn’s, opened wide in terror. Tamwyn lurched toward him, arms outstretched—

  But he couldn’t move. The rock beneath him was pulling at him, tugging him downward. He, too, was being sucked down into the rocky ridge! The scraping sound grew louder, swelling all around him.

  He cried out, but all he heard was the grinding scrape of stone against stone. Louder it grew, and louder. Now his legs were inside the stone, up to his knees, his thighs, his waist. Then his chest. His hands, his wrists, and soon, despite his struggles, his shoulders. His neck.

  Glancing over at his father’s face, he caught one final glimpse of the great explorer’s eyes. They shone bright, burning through the mist like black fire coals, full of feeling that would never be expressed. Never be shared. Then the ridge swallowed Krystallus completely.

  And his torch went out.

  “No!” shouted Tamwyn above the grinding noise. Teeth of rock gnawed at the back of his neck, tugging the hair at the base of his skull. “Don’t—”

  All at once, he woke up. It had all been a dream!

  Panting with relief, as cold sweat dribbled down his brow, he surveyed the stark brown ridge around him. It looked the same as before. No mist, no father, no torch.

  And yet the back of his neck still hurt, more every second. Too much for a dream. And what was that grinding, gnawing sound so near?

  He tried to lean forward—but couldn’t budge his head. It was stuck fast to the boulder behind him.

  Not a boulder, he realized with a sudden jolt of terror. A living stone! He’d heard of them in his travels, and in the ancient tales of Lost Fincayra, though he’d never actually encountered one.

  Until now.

  Panic seized him, gripping his heart as fiercely as the stone’s open jaws gripped the hair of his neck. He pulled harder, trying to tear himself away. But he couldn’t break free. Slowly, inexorably, the lips of stone were swallowing his head.

  My powers! I’ll use them, just as I did for Scree. He shut his eyes, trying his best to concentrate, despite the scraping sound so close to his ears, a sound that had grown to a roar. Now he could feel the living stone’s mouth, so close it was starting to tear at his very flesh.

  Help me! he cried to those mysterious forces inside himself, remembering that the only way to guide them was through his deepest feelings. But what feelings did that mean? In the case of Scree, it had been the bonds of two brothers, but right now all he felt was his own swelling panic.

  No time. His powers, still elusive, weren’t coming to his aid. He would die, here and now, ground to bits by the jaws of this creature. Unless . . .

  He drew his dagger from its sheath. Reaching behind his head, he sliced downward, cutting off locks of hair—and a chunk of skin as well. He jerked forward, tearing some more hair.

  Free! He rolled away, stopping an arm’s length below the boulder, near the ledge he had worked so hard to climb. Blood trickled down his neck, and the back of his head stung sharply. But he had escaped.

  He stared at the living stone. Its smooth gray surface had cracked apart, revealing a jagged seam that opened into darkness. Black hair, spattered with blood, clung to the edges. The entire stone vibrated, still scraping its jaws.

  All at once, Tamwyn realized that he could understand its words. Come back to me, it rumble
d angrily. Ton are my food, the first I’ve tasted in centuries.

  No, he answered. I don’t want to die!

  So like a mortal man, said the living stone, its jaws grating. Ever so slowly it started rolling toward Tamwyn, pushing him toward the lip of the ledge. But Tamwyn, for some reason, didn’t want to move—just to listen.

  You churn with motion, you flame with desire, like all your kind. And yet you know less than a tiny mote of dust. Joining me is not to die, but to live forever! That is true, young man, for I have lived ro see the birth of new stars and the death of old worlds. I am the blood of volcanoes, the landing place of lightning, the sediment of eternal seas.

  Despite the stone’s growing nearness, Tamwyn couldn’t resist the sound of its words. He was caught by a strange, dark magic that gripped him, holding fast.

  Join me, mortal man, and live forever. The words grew steadily louder. Join me and be as strong as stone. Join me now.

  At that instant, Tamwyn felt something brush against his hand still holding the dagger. It was the stone! He shook himself, breaking out of his trance.

  He spun sideways, rolling on the very lip of the ledge. With a bound, he leaped past the assailant and landed just beyond it. There he stood, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. That had been close—too close.

  “Good-bye, living stone. You’ll just have to go on eating dust.”

  He turned to go, when the creature released a roar of rage that echoed across the cliffs. And then the living stone did what Tamwyn had least expected. It started rolling up the slope, straight at him—much faster than before, crushing pebbles under its weight.

  Tamwyn ran. All around him, more gray boulders sprang to life. They came crashing down from the heights, bouncing across the ground, pursuing him from all sides. He sprinted along the flat part of the ridge, dodging them and hurtling out of reach. The whole area roared with rocks being smashed and split apart, as if the cliffs themselves were exploding in wrath.

  Suddenly, just ahead, he saw a flash of green flames. The portal! He pounded toward it, preparing to leap inside—when he heard another sound, the shrieking wail of someone about to die.

  Henni. Tamwyn swerved to miss an oncoming boulder, then halted. He spotted the hoolah, writhing on the ground, his foot caught in the crushing jaws of a living stone. Batty Lad was there as well, buzzing around frantically, but to no avail. In a few more seconds, Henni would be swallowed.

  Damn that hoolah!

  Back across the ridge Tamwyn charged, right into the oncoming boulders. He veered, sidestepped, and leaped over the attackers, finally skidding to a stop at Henni’s side. The hoolah released another howl of pain.

  Without thinking, Tamwyn raised his dagger and stabbed at the stone. The blade just snapped off, falling into the dirt. He grimaced, cursing himself. How could he have been so stupid?

  Just then the living stone opened his mouth to bellow in rage. Just for an instant, and barely a crack—but that was enough for Henni to wriggle free. He clutched his sore foot with his oversized hands and glanced up at Tamwyn.

  His expression serious for a change, Henni rasped, “You saved me, clumsy man.”

  Tamwyn scowled, thrusting the remains of his broken dagger into his pack. “Everybody makes a mistake now and then.”

  “Oohoo, eeheeheehee,” laughed the hoolah, having already forgotten his pain. “Let’s do that again.”

  “Let’s not.” Tamwyn grabbed him by the arm and yanked him upright, even as the living stone started after them. At the same time, three more boulders rolled toward the spot.

  They leaped away just as all the enormous stones crashed into each other. Jagged shards flew everywhere. Batty Lad squealed in fright at the explosion and dived into Tamwyn’s tunic pocket. Meanwhile, Tamwyn did his best to guide the limping Henni toward the tower of green flames.

  They ran, spun, twisted, and ran some more, dodging their rolling pursuers on every side. Henni chuckled constantly, despite his injury, enjoying what seemed to him a great game of tag. But his companion knew that losing this game would mean losing their lives.

  Just as they neared the portal, an especially large boulder came hurtling down at them. It slammed through the air, roaring like a wrathful dragon. Tamwyn poised himself to jump, grabbed Henni by the neck, and shouted, “To the Great Hall of the Heartwood!”

  The boulder flew past, whizzing right through the spot where Tamwyn’s head had been only an instant before. Yet there was no impact, no cry of pain. For no one at all remained.

  10 • The Great Hall of the Heartwood

  A great fist of green flames squeezed Tamwyn tight.

  There was a loud crackle, an explosion of light—and then, in the span of a single heartbeat, his skin, bones, and organs condensed down to nothingness. All he could feel, all he could sense, was green fire, searing his very soul.

  And yet, at the same time, that fire welcomed him, warmed him, and held him. For he had joined with the Great Tree as wholly, as seamlessly, as a shred of mist joins with a cloud.

  Into the tree he spun, riding rivers of flame through canyons of glowing brown. Deeper, deeper, and deeper still—into the very heart of the Tree, the living world that bound all creatures mortal and immortal. As small as a torch beside a star was he, when compared to Avalon itself, yet having entered its inner rivers of élano, he belonged to the Tree no less than its powerful roots.

  Rich, resinous smells surrounded him. Entered into him. Became him. As he traveled steadily deeper, the Tree was all he knew, all he felt, all he was.

  Suddenly the pulsing river of green veered sharply. He spun upward, spiraling, toward a mass of bright flames. They crackled, restoring his body instantaneously as he shot through.

  He landed face-first on hard ground. And he knew from the sharp squeak in his pocket that Batty Lad had arrived, as well. Then Henni thudded beside him, rolling across the dirt.

  Tamwyn sat up, checked to be sure his staff and pack had both survived the journey, and looked around. They were inside a cavern. But this was unlike any cavern he’d ever seen before. He gazed upward, astonished, at the Great Hall of the Heartwood.

  Supported by enormous, rootlike buttresses, the ceiling arched high above his head—so high that this place seemed like a grand temple within the Tree. Countless veins twisted and twined across the ceiling’s surface, creating a pattern as intricate as a faery queen’s filigree. Like the floor where he sat, the spaces between the webbing were filled with some sort of hardpacked dirt, or maybe matted bark, that shone reddish brown.

  As he often did in caverns, Tamwyn released a loud whoop, wanting to hear the echo. But this cavern was so vast, with so many niches in its webbed walls, that his voice simply disappeared, swallowed by the space around him.

  “Oohoo, eehee, look at this.”

  Tamwyn trained his gaze on Henni, who had climbed partway up one of the root buttresses, and was now hanging upside down. Apparently the hoolah’s narrow escape from the living stone was now nothing more than a memory, if that. Even the bruises on one of his feet didn’t seem to concern him. For he hung there, his sacklike tunic falling over his face, tittering with glee and swinging playfully.

  “You should try this, clumsy man. Everything looks better upside down.”

  “No thanks. Unlike you, I value my head.”

  Henni stopped swinging—looking, for once, sincerely puzzled. “Er . . . why?”

  The corners of Tamwyn’s mouth turned up slightly. “Nothing you’d understand, my friend.”

  “Oh well, eeheeheehee. Then it can’t be anything important.” He went back to swinging. “Besides, if I ever fell, I’d just land on you.”

  “Hmmm, I guess it’s time for me to move.” Tamwyn stood, adjusted his staff, and walked over to the portal through which they’d just arrived. But he stopped a pace away, for he could sec now that this was no ordinary portal.

  Many times taller and broader than any others that he’d seen, this tower of green fire filled a good portion
of one wall of the cavern, and the entire space between two vertical buttresses. Layers of undulating flames shimmered up and down its surface, making it ripple like a radiant curtain. It wavered, sparked, and crackled, pulsing with the pure energy of élano. Its top narrowed to a peak, giving it the look of an enormous archway.

  For some time Tamwyn pondered the Great Hall’s portal, puzzled by its vast size. Suddenly he punched the palm of his hand, recalling some of the lore that he’d heard. While all of Avalon’s portals could take travelers to a few other root-realms, and sometimes to random destinations as well, no single portal could reach every other portal—except for this one. It was said that this one alone could carry a traveler to all Seven Realms, as well as to the Swaying Sea. Or at least to six of the realms, for the only portal in Shadowroot, at the Lost City of Light, had been destroyed long ago by the dark elves.

  Looking up at the wall of green flames, Tamwyn pushed some black hair off his brow. His thoughts turned to the explorer who had discovered this place, the first person to travel through its portal: his father. As the bards often sang, Krystallus first came here sometime in the Year of Avalon 700s, at the height of his career as the greatest mapper of the Seven Realms. He had vowed someday to return—and surely did, on his final expedition: his journey to the stars.

  The same journey that Tamwyn himself now hoped to make—before time ran out for Avalon.

  Tamwyn’s throat, already dry, seemed coated with sand. So it’s possible that my father stood right here, not so long ago. With his famous torch in hand.

  Something made him need to swallow, despite the dryness. I wonder if he ever thought about his wife, Halona, after everyone gave her up for dead. And about . . . his son.

  Just then he noticed a new sound, apart from the ongoing crackle of the portal and Henni’s inane chuckling above him. It was very soft—just a whisper, a bubble, a gentle gurgle. He caught his breath. A spring!