“We’re nearly out,” said Grimwarden. “Our stonewrights have done a magnificent job venting Nightwish and its myriad passages, but still . . . the air of the underground is never as clean . . . never as sweet.”
The Seven had been given short swords just in case, and Tommy— though his gift was still far from mature—was given an extra quiver of arrows for the journey. Grimwarden led the way, followed by Goldarrow, Claris, Brynn, Mr. Spero, and the Seven. Anna and Miss Finney stayed behind to tend to their duties in Nightwish. Mr. Wallace and a thick-calved female Elf called Mum Bathers, or simply Mumthers as she liked to be called, brought up the rear. Unfortunately for Mr. Wallace, Mumthers liked to talk.
“You just wait, dear,” she said to Mr. Wallace. “When we make camp, I’ll fix us such a stew! Taters, I have, golden and savory. Rubbages and climbing garlic, too. We’ll throw in some salted pork. Oh, my mouth is watering already.”
Mr. Wallace did not reply.
Mumthers waited. And waited.
“Oh,” said Mr. Wallace at last. “I’m sure your stew is delicious.”
Mumthers smiled, gratified. “Oh, it will be,” she replied, taking a very deep breath, which was very deep indeed due to the barrel-like nature of her rib cage. “Why, this stew recipe comes down three generations, it does. My great-gram learned it from an old Taladrim trader out west of the forest, and . . .”
To Mr. Wallace’s great discomfort, Mumthers’s tale went on for quite some time. But even the history of Taladrim stew had to pause when they passed out of the cave into the cool of the night.
“It wasn’t a cave at all,” gasped Tommy. He stared in disbelief at the massive fallen tree from which they emerged.
“Like the redwoods,” said Kat. “My parents took me there when . . . when I was younger.” Her thoughts drifted back to California and the Redwood National Park. She wondered if her parents missed her the way she missed them.
“These are the Silver Mattisbough,” said Grimwarden. “The oldest trees in this world. Sadly there are few left alive, and fewer still seedlings to replace those.”
“When I was a child,” said Claris, “I would come to this part of the forest and play with my friends for hours on end.”
“As did I,” said Goldarrow. “The forest has always been a playground for the Elves.”
“Should be,” said Brynn.
“Grimwarden,” said Mr. Wallace, staring thoughtfully into the blue-green twilight of the deep woods. “By what route will you lead us to Whitehall?”
“The North Strand,” he replied. “Our scouts report the trail clear as far as Amberwood, but there is a Gwar encampment in Bellhollow. We’ll need to duck well east of that.”
“No argument from me there,” said Mr. Wallace.
“If we make good speed, we’ll reach the Spine by sunrise, and follow that craggy hidden path by day . . . at least until the ruins. From there, it’s a more-or-less straight march beneath the pines north to Whitehall.”
Goldarrow stood between Tommy and Jett and put an arm around each of their shoulders. “I wish we were making this journey under different circumstances,” she said. “The Thousand-League Forest . . . well, there is so much that we could see.”
Grimwarden loosed his war staff from its backhanger sheath. “Let us pray that we can all return during happier times.”
Warbling, trilling, chirruping sounds surrounded the Elven party as they trod, the creatures of the deep wood settling in their roosts for the night.
Music in the air, thought Kiri Lee. They had been walking at a brisk pace through the forest for more than a few hours. She wondered what strange crickets, frogs, and birds there might be out in this Elven world. The sounds were all so mesmerizing; Allyra held one magical experience after the next, each an adventure waiting to unfold. Dangerously beautiful, she thought.
“Seems like it’s gettin’ a wee lighter,” said Jimmy.
“We’re still several leagues from the Spine,” said Grimwarden. “A solid day’s walk. We’ll need to find shelter and make camp.”
“Why?” asked Jimmy. “I’m not a bit tired.”
“You have all held up well, considering the terrain,” said their leader. “No, . . . lack of endurance does not yet hinder us, but we will soon lose the blessing of darkness. All it would take is one Gwar scout to note our presence.”
“Just one?” asked Jett. “I know it’s just fourteen of us, but I’m pretty sure we could smoke most any old Gwar scouts. Uh . . . no pun intended, Johnny.”
Autumn laughed out loud. “Get it, Johnny? Smoke?”
“I get it,” he said, yawning. “Very funny.”
“This is no laughing matter,” said Grimwarden, his words tightly clipped and stern. “These Gwar scouts are the enemy, but we will never take pleasure in killing.” He walked away muttering, “May it never be.”
Goldarrow put a heavy hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Take no offense,” she said. “Grimwarden is quite sick of war, and rightly so. His flesh bears the scars of too many battles to name. He is the greatest warrior in Elven history, but to him that simply means he has lived long enough to witness more horrors than anyone else.”
“Still,” said Jimmy. “Why can we not keep goin’? We can fight if we must.”
“No, Grimwarden is right,” said Goldarrow. “A scout may do irreparable damage in more ways than one. He could belong to a much larger force nearby and cause them to descend upon us like locusts. Or he could be far from aid and simply escape to tell his master where we are . . . where we are going. We might not even see the scout if he has any skills at woodcraft. The lethal damage would be done . . . and we might never know. And then there are the spiders.”
“Spiders?” Kat got the chills.
“While you might dispatch any number of Gwar well enough, you will miss the tiny specks that serve as spies.”
The young lords cast their eyes at the ground. The sounds of the forest grew momentarily louder. How many spiders crept around their feet at this very moment?
“This way,” Grimwarden commanded from up ahead. “I know of a place where we can camp.”
A little later, they stopped to make camp. Tommy thought they’d pitch a ring of tents full of comfy sleeping bags, or at least find a deep cave where they could have a hearty, crackling fire going. Now, more than fifteen-stories high in the top of a swaying tree, Tommy stared frightfully out at the sleepy morning forest and realized just how wrong he had been.
Theirs was not the tallest tree, but, at this height, that didn’t matter much. Still far above the main forest canopy, their treetop allowed a dizzying, panoramic vista of a patchwork quilt made with every shade of green, yellow, and brown. The sky was blue steel. Shreds of dark gray clouds moved slowly across the distant horizon. The horizon . . . where the farthest reaches of the Thousand-League Forest met the sky.
The wide flet upon which the Elves now stood was roughly rectangular with rounded corners, the massive Mattisbough trunk growing through its center, leaving thin walkways on two sides and large open platforms on the other two sides. Waist-high closed railings protected the entire perimeter, and a slanted roof covered it all overhead. Every part of the full structure seemed a natural part of the tree, beams and platforms sanded and cunningly joined to the trunk so that no seams were visible.
Standing on the edge of the flet with just one hand on the railing, Jimmy called back, “Sure’n this is a grand tree house! I canna’ believe how high we are! What say yu, Tommy?”
Tommy slumped down against the trunk wall—as far away from the railing as possible—and mumbled, “Yeah . . . cool.”
Kiri Lee knelt down beside him. “Are you afraid of heights?”
Tommy sat up a little straighter. “No, well . . . yes, but not like normal heights, like on the roof of a house or a normal tree.”
“It’s not so bad,” said Kiri Lee. “You know the Elves are amazing builders. This hidden flet is probably sturdier than most buildings back on Earth.”
Kat stood near the trapdoor entrance and watched Tommy and Kiri Lee talking.
“. . . is completely hidden from below,” Goldarrow was saying to Kat. “It moves and flexes with the wind, but it would take more than a hurricane to knock this—Kat, are you listening to me?”
“What?” Kat startled. “Oh . . . I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something.”
Goldarrow glanced left and nodded knowingly. “I see,” she said. “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Tommy looks as green as you look blue.”
“Thanks,” said Kat. “That helps . . . sort of.”
“Whoa, Autumn!” exclaimed Johnny. “Don’t get too close to that rail.”
“Quiet!” Grimwarden hissed. “We may be hidden from view, but Gwar have keen ears.”
Uncowered, Johnny escorted Autumn away from the flet’s railing. Autumn tried to shake his hands from her arm. “It’s okay,” she whispered.
He looked at her doubtfully.
“Really,” she insisted. Finally he let her go.
“Wow, Johnny,” said Jett, looking over from across the flet. “And I thought my ma was protective.”
“Let it go,” Autumn whispered. This time she put her hand on Johnny’s arm.
“He better not be calling me a mama’s boy,” muttered Johnny.
“He’s not,” she urged. “Relax.”
Grimwarden went to the rail, reached up to the eave, and released a dark, leaf-patterned tarp that dropped down. He tied it off at the rail like a window shade. As he walked the perimeter, repeating the process, he said, “Young lords, Commander Brynn will give you each a fletroll. You are in great need of rest. And Mumthers will give you something to eat, nothing too heavy. The stew can wait until Whitehall. Sleep well and do not fear anything on the ground beneath us. We have left no sign of our coming, and are unseen from below. Lady Claris has the first watch. We are . . . quite safe. Elloset nyas.”
Brynn brought fletrolls to each of the lords and bade them find a place to rest. She came last to Tommy. He unrolled the mat. Made of tightly woven vines and only an inch and a half thick, the fletroll was surprisingly long and surprisingly soft. Tommy spread his roll out as close to the trunk as possible and lay sideways upon it.
Goldarrow patted Brynn on the shoulder to move her along, then knelt beside Tommy. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked. “You were looking very uncomfortable earlier.”
“I don’t like heights,” he said.
She laughed softly, brushed back a few locks of golden hair, and said, “An Elven Lord afraid of heights is a bit of a . . . a . . . what do the humans call it . . . an oxymoron. This fear will pass, Tommy. You are pureblood from the line of lords. One day soon you will dance upon the treetops.”
Tommy couldn’t imagine doing anything in the treetops except clinging mightily to the thickest branch and holding on for dear life. “But . . . what if we’re attacked? What if”—Tommy swallowed—“the Gwar try to cut down the tree?”
Goldarrow smiled and gently patted Tommy on the shoulder. “On the backside of the tree, there is a tethered line. It descends a thousand feet into the forest. If necessary, we will escape that way. And should the enemy find our tree and attempt to cut it down, we would all be long gone before they cut halfway through a mature Mattisbough trunk.”
She started to stand, but Tommy reached out for her arm. “Mrs. Galdarro . . . I mean . . . Sentinel Goldarrow? What did Grimwarden mean, just a minute ago, when he said something . . . it sounded like a different language. He said Ello-ny-something.”
“Elloset nyas,” she replied. “And yes, it is different. It is old Elven First Voice, we call it. Not the oldest of our languages, but still not spoken much in these later days.”
“What does it mean?” he asked.
“It means God rest you.”
Rest, Tommy thought. Right. Even with his eyes clenched shut, he could feel the slow sway of the tree. He opened his eyes and glanced at the other young lords, just grayish-blue lumps spread across the floor. They were all asleep, and Tommy thought he heard snoring. Probably Jett, he thought. Too deep to be a girl.
None of the others seemed frightened. Tommy tried to convince himself that he had no reason to fear, either. He was among friends, right? But were they really his friends? They’d fought together and traveled together. But really, they’d all just been thrown together. If it all went away . . . all the Elvish stuff . . . and the seven of them were somehow transported back to Earth to the same school, would they still be friends? Tommy didn’t think so. Jett was a football star. He’d have his jock friends and endless stories of game-day highlights. Tommy didn’t think Jett would have time for an average kid.
Kiri Lee was drop-dead gorgeous. She’d be so far out of his league at school, he’d need a ladder just to catch a glimpse of her shadow. Tommy frowned and rolled over to face the tree trunk. No, Kiri Lee would be untouchable.
Johnny and Autumn might be friends. They seemed pretty down-to-earth. They liked afternoons of exploring creeks or fishing or riding bikes. Yeah, Tommy thought. I could probably be friends with them.
Jimmy? Maybe. He had a good sense of humor. But he was moody and seemed too much of a loner, like one of the kids who wore black all the time . . . and eye makeup. Tommy laughed quietly. He couldn’t picture Jimmy wearing eye makeup. But still, there was something about Jimmy that warned you to keep your distance. It was like hearing a snake’s rattle every time you got too close. Jimmy might be a friend, Tommy thought. But not a close one.
That left Kat. Tommy rolled back around to face the others. She’d still be a friend, Tommy thought. In fact, he couldn’t think of any of his friends back on Earth who had seemed so genuine. Kat was on his mind all the time, too. He wasn’t sure why, then immediately shook the thought out of his mind.
A brief change in the ambient sound, a flash of light. Tommy turned his head and saw Claris emerge from the trapdoor, where nearby there was a pile of ropes and timber. She didn’t use the rope ladder?! Just the thought made Tommy feel sick.
Mr. Wallace and Grimwarden met her there. They whispered, but Tommy heard them.
“All clear?” asked Grimwarden.
“Not quite,” she replied. “We’re safe enough. But two miles east there is a Gwar search party. They are organized and systematic. I watched them map out a fair stretch of the wood before I returned.”
“Even if they come this way,” said Mr. Wallace, “they will find nothing.”
“Agreed,” said Grimwarden. “Still, we will need to alter our route to the Spine.”
“There is something else,” said Claris. “They have spiders with them.”
“Warspiders?” Grimwarden kept his voice low in spite of the revealed threat.
“Yes,” she replied. “But they are young, not a third of their mature size. Still.”
Grimwarden nodded. “Understood,” he said. “We will be wary.” He turned to Mr. Wallace. “You have the next watch. Be careful.”
“I will,” he replied. “Should I monitor the enemy’s movements?”
Grimwarden nodded. “From a safe distance.”
“Of course.”
Tommy watched the Sentinel descend. Mr. Wallace didn’t use the rope ladder, either. Tommy shivered, but not from cold. When the trapdoor closed, a breeze rustled one of the shades so that Tommy saw a crack of the afternoon sky. Once more he was awed and frightened by their height. He rolled back to face the trunk again. What am I doing here? he thought sadly. Hundreds of feet up in a tree . . . in another world? His stomach tightened and churned. He thought of his parents, his home back on Earth. What have I done? All at once regret poured over him like a dark waterfall. He’d made an awful, awful decision. I don’t want to be a lord. I just want to be a normal kid. I want to go home and play catch with Dad. I’ll even eat Mom’s meat loaf . . . and love it. The tree shuddered. And she can be as overpr
otective as she wants.
But the pangs of regret were made all the more miserable by the certainty that he could not change his decision. It was too late. Exhausted both mentally and physically, Tommy fell into a hard sleep. So deep was his slumber, in fact, that he didn’t hear Mr. Wallace come back, nor Brynn when her turn at the watch was over, nor when Mr. Spero’s turn began.
Outside the flet, the sun had dipped below the eastern horizon. Night had come swiftly.
9
High Treason
“KIRI LEE,” whispered Goldarrow, gently shaking the young lord. “Kiri Lee, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.”
Startled, Kiri Lee opened her eyes wide. She gasped and frantically crawled backward until her back hit the trunk of the tree. “No, no!” she whispered urgently. “You stay away! You’re not real. You’re . . . not . . . her!”
“Not who?” Goldarrow asked, cautiously approaching. “Kiri Lee, it’s me, Goldarrow.”
Just then Mr. Spero opened the trapdoor and emerged. Kiri Lee screamed, “No! Not him, too! Stay away from me!”
Shocked and dismayed, Mr. Spero held up his hands in a pleading manner, rooted at his spot by the trapdoor. “Keep her quiet.”
Claris and Brynn rushed over to Kiri Lee. The other lords began to wake up.
“Kiri Lee, there is no danger here,” said Grimwarden from the other side of the flet. Mr. Wallace stepped away from the group gathering around Kiri Lee, but froze when Grimwarden lifted one of the shade tarps and proclaimed, “Vex lethdoloc vitica anis. Senesca, mi’jena, baden wy feithrill adin ny!”
The moment the Guardmaster spoke the First Voice phrases from ancient Elven scriptures, Kiri Lee snapped out of the waking dream and began to weep. And Mr. Wallace fell to his knees and shook as if struck by sudden cold. But Grimwarden had not seen. He had joined the others around Kiri Lee.
Still rattling the sleep from his mind, Tommy sat up on his fletroll. “What’s all the noise about?” he asked, squinting at the light from the now raised tarp. Ignoring the hushed conversations to his left, Tommy stared with drowsy fascination at the opening just above the rail. There seemed to be something there, a small patch of prickly-looking black. It reminded Tommy of one of the stickerballs from the sweet-gum trees in his grandmother’s backyard. That or a small sea urchin.
Venom and Song Page 10
