“Lignumis couldn’t turn into a lion, could he?” Tabitha asked.
“I don’t think so,” Brinley said. “That sounds more like something that Belsie—I mean, Belterras, could do. Lignumis is the Mage of Wood. Forests, trees, plants, you know…”
Tabitha was staring stubbornly at the door. Suddenly, she let out a bellowing roar in her own voice, eyes bulging from the effort. Brinley jumped, then started to laugh. Tabitha was bent over with the effort now, face straining with her roar, staring madly at the door handle. The roar grew fainter and fainter until Tabitha was completely deflated, gasping for breath.
The door clicked and swung open.
Tabitha smiled in a self-satisfied way and strode through the door. “I’m definitely doing that to my door when I get a room here. I can, can’t I?” she said as an afterthought.
“Of course you can,” Brinley said, following her through. The room was small—barely long enough for a grown man to lie down in, but it was impeccably well organized. There was a small cot on a ledge built into the wall above their head, where Lignumis must have slept. The space behind the door had been made into a tiny desk, on which a pad of paper, a feather quill, and a pen knife still lay parallel to one another in the center. The whole opposite wall, apart from the small round window, was taken up by tiny doors and drawers with brass hinges and handles with little paper labels of varying colors. Walking over to the window, Brinley had the thought that it would be very bad to fall out of it; the ground looked very, very far away from up here.
Tabitha began reading the labels. “Lignum vite (Ironwood), Garra. Quercus alba (White Oak), Caraway.” After each name, there was a date printed. She moved down the line of drawers. “Dalbergia latifolia (Rosewood), Tarwal Coast. Malus domestica (Rose Apple), Gan-Gara.” She opened one of them. “Oh,” she said tenderly. “How beautiful.” The drawer was filled with wood shavings, a small twig that had been sliced from a branch, an apple blossom, and a drawing of the fruit. As she opened the drawer, the small room filled with the scent of ripe apples. “Look,” Tabitha said, closing the drawer, “there’s a little door beside every drawer, and each one is labeled the same as the drawer that it corresponds to.”
“Open one,” Brinley said, wondering what other wonders Lignumis was hiding.
Tabitha opened the tiny wooden door to reveal a single miniature apple tree. It was the most beautiful apple tree Brinley had ever seen, and although it was only two inches tall, it appeared to be fully grown. Its tiny roots wound down in a round table of black soil on the floor of the little compartment. There was even a tiny little toy shack at the foot of the apple tree. It reminded Brinley of the little houses that people on Earth put in the bottom of fish tanks.
“Amazing,” Tabitha whispered, shutting the tiny door carefully.
“It must have taken him years to collect all of these,” Brinley said appreciatively. “Do you think this can help us?”
Tabitha shrugged. “At least we know he loved trees.”
Brinley nodded. She pulled a small three-legged stool out from under the desk and sat down, taking up the paper and quill. She opened the desk drawer and removed the ink. “Okay,” she said, wetting the pen. “Let’s start from the beginning. Read all the names to me in date order, earliest first. Maybe we can find out what he was working on when he disappeared. I don’t think it will mean anything to me or you, but maybe Belterras might see some pattern in it.”
Tabitha nodded eagerly. “I think I should probably check on all the trees as we go too,” she said. “Just to see them. You don’t think he’ll mind, do you?”
It took them over an hour to copy them all down. When Tabitha had come to the very end of the last row she said, “This is the last one. Oh my.”
“What?” Brinley asked.
“Olea europaea (Twistwood), the Ire.”
Brinley felt a twinge of excitement.
Tabitha opened the drawer. It was empty. There was nothing behind the door either.
“This is what he must have been working on when he disappeared,” Brinley said.
“But why would he want that tree?” Tabitha asked. “You don’t think he actually went looking for it, do you?”
“Look at this wall,” Brinley said. “I think he probably did.”
“You don’t think he’s still there, do you?” Tabitha said.
“Maybe,” Brinley said. “Maybe he went in and never came back out.”
***
On the lowest level of the castle, where Unda’s room should have been, there was nothing but a long, white marble ledge with a pillar on each end supporting the castle above them. Beyond, empty space stretched out in all directions. Carved into one of the pillars were the words, “The true path lies in emptiness.”
“Hmm,” Brinley said. “He must have been quite a thinker.”
Tabitha was reading the pillar on the other side of the landing and chuckling. It read, “Go away, Chantra. I know you hate heights.”
“What do you think it means?” Brinley asked.
Tabitha shrugged. “Maybe we have to take a leap of faith? Just step out there and hope we step into his room?” She walked to the edge and, holding Brinley’s hand for balance, reached into the void with one foot, searching for some purchase. “I don’t feel anything.”
Brinley pulled her back. “I think you’re right, though,” she said. “We probably have to just step off for real. It says the path is in emptiness, and that is definitely emptiness.”
“I’ll do it,” Tabitha said, facing the edge.
“No,” Brinley insisted. “I should. If it’s the wrong thing to do, if it’s dangerous…well, I don’t think the castle will let me die or anything. It seems to respect me, being the Magemother and all.”
Tabitha waved Brinley away. “I can just change into a bird if I fall too far. I’ll do it.” And with that she stepped off the edge. Brinley reached out to grab her but missed, and Tabitha fell out of sight. A split second later she screamed, and then there was a splash.
“Tabitha!” Brinley shouted, leaning over the edge. She couldn’t see anything below.
“It’s okay,” Tabitha said out of the darkness. “Come down!” Her voice sounded very far away. “Don’t worry, just jump off!”
Brinley rolled her eyes, cringing. Trying not to think about what she was doing, she stepped off the ledge. She fell farther than she anticipated, then plunged into warm water. When she surfaced, she could see again; the void had disappeared. They were wading in a deep, clear azure pool under semi-bright light. She could see the white marble ledge above them clearly now; there was a ladder carved into the rock face beside them, which they could use to climb back out. In the center of the pool, a small stone island rose out of the water, which was connected to a high, floating walkway of stone by means of a beautiful bridge. They climbed onto the island and stepped onto the bridge, only to find it guarded at the center by a troll.
“Ooh,” Tabitha said. “Isn’t she lovely?”
“She?” Brinley said incredulously, searching the troll for some hint of femininity.
“Obviously,” Tabitha said. “She’s the prettiest troll I’ve ever seen.”
Brinley wished that she could agree. The troll was almost nine feet tall and built like a house. Its face was covered with a mass of shriveled skin that obscured its features. Brinley was trying her very hardest not to simply turn and run.
“Greetings,” the troll said in a husky voice. It said nothing else. Just stood there, in the way, waiting.
“Ooh,” Tabitha said excitedly, grabbing Brinley’s arm. “It’s a troll bridge! Maybe we’ll have to answer a riddle to pass!”
“Great,” Brinley said, giving the troll a wary look. She hoped that all it would do to them was ask a riddle…Then again, what would it do if they got it wrong?
“Uh,” Brinley said to the troll, “do we have to answer a riddle to pass?”
The troll nodded once.
“And if we fail?”
The troll pointed at the sparkling water twenty feet below. It was a long drop, but the water looked deep. It probably wouldn’t hurt too badly.
“Oh,” Tabitha said. “She throws us in the water!” She seemed to relish the thought. “I’ll go first.” She danced away from Brinley, practically skipping up the bridge. “Tell me your riddle,” she said, placing her hands on her hips defiantly.
The troll cleared its throat. “I grow green. Trees within trees. Taller than peas, shorter than knees. Our heads are the same size, but I fit in your mouth. What am I?”
“Socks!” Tabitha said without pause, and then gave an ecstatic scream as the troll picked her up and threw her over the side of the bridge. She came out of the water laughing and swam back to where Brinley was waiting for her at the base of the bridge.
“Socks?” Brinley asked incredulously.
“I wanted to be thrown! I like Unda,” she added. “He’s fun.” She stepped past Brinley and approached the troll again. This time she whispered, “Broccoli,” and the troll stepped aside. Tabitha, looking slightly disappointed, crossed the remainder of the bridge and waited as Brinley approached the troll.
“What had nine lives?” the troll asked.
Brinley waited for the rest of it. Then, when nothing more was forthcoming, said, “What, that’s it?”
The troll nodded.
She thought for a moment. It couldn’t be that simple, surely, but she couldn’t think of any other answers. “A cat?” she offered. The troll reached for her and she danced backwards. “Agh! No, wait! I get it. Had! Had! A dead cat!”
The troll, who had already picked Brinley up, lowered her back onto the bridge sullenly and stepped aside.
“Aw,” Tabitha said, watching the troll with a sympathetic look. “You could have let her throw you just once…”
The bridge led to a circular stone room situated high above the water. The room itself had an open feeling, with low stone walls interspersed by marble columns that held up a domed roof. There was a round bed in the center, and a simple table beside it. Looking around the space, Brinley could see why Unda might have liked it. It was like being in the ocean. Suspended in space with water all around. Compared to Chantra’s room, however, there was a notable lack of personal possessions. “Tabitha,” Brinley said. “I need your help, you know.”
Tabitha had taken a running start at the bed. “I just want to see if it’s as good as Chantra’s,” she called, and then launched herself into the air. She landed with a solid thump on the bed that made her knees buckle. “Ouch! It is definitely not as good as Chantra’s.” Tabitha got off the bed, glaring at it suspiciously, and then pulled off the covers. A second later she had peeled back the thin mattress pad as well.
“Tabitha,” Brinley said. “What are you—oh, my.”
Beneath the mattress, Unda’s bed was little more than a giant box full of identical black books. They had hard covers, with no writing on the spines.
“There has to be a hundred of them,” Tabitha said, picking one up.
“More than that,” Brinley said. “What’s in it?”
The cover was completely blank, but when Tabitha opened to the title page, they found the word “Thoughts” written in blue, flowing letters. Tabitha turned to the first page and read aloud:
I think that life may be symbolic of something greater. What we call life exists because of language, and all language is symbolic. The word “understanding,” written here, is obviously not the thing itself. Thoughts are symbolic also—perhaps because they are so imbued with language. The thought “I can fly” is not the thing itself; I cannot fly. Religions then, are symbolic also, because they are—when they are not being anything else—structured systems of thought and belief. Perhaps life is symbolic. Is it too far-fetched to dream that a world built of symbols may be, when viewed from some celestial height, no more than a symbol itself? A cosmic expression of deity? A note from one god to another, or, more likely, a play written by the only being that truly exists to create a story in which he is not alone…
When Tabitha finished reading they stared at one another in silence. “Do you have any idea what that means?” Tabitha said.
“It means that Unda was a thinker,” Brinley said. “Beyond that, I don’t have a clue.”
“I’m not a thinker,” Tabitha said with a sigh, and she put the book back as if she were suddenly worried that it might be dangerous. “We had better cover these back up.”
Brinley laughed and helped her replace the mattress. “You’re probably right, Tabitha. Maybe if we had a year or two, we could read all those, but I don’t think that would be enough time to understand them.”
Brinley sat on the bed and put her head in her hand thoughtfully. They needed something else. Something simpler. She glanced around the room again, noting its emptiness. “There’s not much else to see here, is there?” she said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tabitha said. “Look at this.”
Tabitha was pointing to what was by far the most interesting thing about the room. Namely, that every square inch of walls, pillars, and ceiling was covered in a giant mural. The mural had clearly been drawn by Unda himself over a period of years, as the complexity and realism improved dramatically from one side to the other. Tabitha was pointing at what looked like his best work, on a pillar next to his bed.
Brinley chuckled. “Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit,” Brinley said.
“Do what?” Tabitha asked, looking startled.
“Never mind. It’s just something my dad says.” As she said it she thought of the nightmare of him sinking into a black hole. She shook the thought away and returned her attention to the mural.
There on the pillar beside his bed, Unda had painted the likeness of himself in a little forest clearing, playing a game like chess with a creature that looked very much like—
“The troll,” Tabitha said. “The bridge troll.” Tabitha’s face fell. “Unda must not have had many friends. That is Unda, isn’t it?”
Brinley nodded. She recognized him from the vision she had seen a few weeks prior when she had been with her mother in the throne room below them.
“Oh my,” Tabitha said. “Look at this!” She had lowered herself gingerly onto the firm bed and folded her arms behind her head.
“Tabitha, this is no time for a nap.”
“No, look!” Tabitha grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the bed beside her. She pointed at the ceiling. “See?”
There was a mural on the ceiling above them inside the dome, around which the pillars were set. The mural depicted a very beautiful lake surrounded by trees. It reminded Brinley of the intricately painted ceilings in medieval castles.
“Well,” Brinley said, “it is pretty.”
“It’s important,” Tabitha insisted. “I’m sure it is. If this was my room, I would paint my very favorite thing on the ceiling. I’d paint a swan, of course, or maybe a unicorn, though there aren’t any unicorns left in the world, but they’re still one of my favorite—”
“Tabitha,” Brinley interrupted, “what are you talking about?”
“Well,” Tabitha said, “if you were painting your own room, where would you put your very favorite picture?”
Brinley thought about her bedroom back on Earth. She had several of her own drawings pinned up around the walls, but her favorite was pinned to the ceiling above her bed. It was a drawing of her father bending over their old GMC, wrenching on the engine. The shading in that piece was some of her best ever. She’d put it there because she liked looking at it right before she fell asleep.
“You’re right,” she said to Tabitha. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. What is it, then?”
“It’s a lake, silly,” Tabitha said, giggling.
Brinley punched her playfully. “I know it’s a lake. But which one? Did he make it up or was this his favorite lake? If it was his favorite, and my mother knew that, then it would have been a good place to hide him, don’t you think?”
“Hmm, maybe. Except for the fact that it’s painted on the ceiling in his bedroom.”
“Right,” Brinley said. “That might give away the secret to anyone trying to find him. But then, nobody can come here except the Magemother and the mages, and, you know, people I say can come here.”
“But the Magemother was hiding him from one of the mages. Lux,” Tabitha pointed out.
“Right.”
They stared at the lake for a while, deep in thought.
Finally, Tabitha said, “I don’t recognize it. Do you?”
“Nope.”
“Do you think that Animus or Belsie might recognize it?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” Tabitha asked. “They’ve lived on Aberdeen longer than anybody.”
“Because,” Brinley said, “the painting has been changed.”
“What?”
“Look.” She showed several places where the paint was heavier, around the bottom of the lake and across the whole left side. If it hadn’t been for her own artistic talents, she would never have noticed the subtle changes in the color.
“Part of it was painted over by someone else long after the original work,” she finished.
Tabitha looked very impressed. “Do you think that the Magemother did it to throw off Tennebris and hide where she really put him?”
Brinley shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. Or Unda did it himself.”
Tabitha was inspecting the lake again. “We still have the whole right side of the painting,” she said. “That has to help, doesn’t it? You could show it to Animus and Belsie and everyone and maybe they will be able to tell which lake it is. And you can draw it too, so that we can have a copy with us when we go looking for it. We are going to look for it, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Brinley said. “I guess those rocks on the right are pretty unique. It’s better than nothing.” She plucked the pencil from her hair, took out her notebook, and settled down to draw.
Tabitha nodded. “Much better.”
It felt good to draw. She was worried at first. It had been a while since she had done it. So much had changed in her life that she hardly felt like the same person anymore. She would not have been surprised if she had forgotten how to draw altogether, but luckily that wasn’t the case. In a minute the page was covered in a rough outline of the lake, and she could tell that it was good. An hour later she had a near perfect copy of the right half of the painting. Hopefully it would be good enough for someone to identify it. If not, it was going to be a long, boring chore to visit every single lake in Aberdeen.
Magemother: The Complete Series (A Fantasy Adventure Book Series for Kids of All Ages) Page 39
