Shadow Tree

by Jake Halpern

  Hill used the Pen to burrow a very narrow hole, through the slab of ice overhead, to the surface above. He then withdrew a fork from his pocket and wedged it into the hole – just beneath the surface – so that the pointy tines of the fork would just barely be visible to someone walking up above. The landscape above ground was so uniform, and so blindingly bright and white, that no one would ever notice the small divot in the ground that was the mouth of their emergency exit. A person, if he was looking carefully, might notice the fork, but this was a chance that Hill was willing to take. He wanted to keep all of his options open. This way, no matter what happened – whether they were above or below ground – they’d still be able to find the Pen.

  When he had finished with his work, Hill packed snow and ice around the fork to anchor it in position, and began his crawl back to the slave quarters. As he crawled back, Hill felt his heart pounding and his mind swam with worries and plans. But most of all, he thought about Bilblox. He hoped his friend’s appearance meant that Alfonso was nearby. But the image of Bilblox’s pale, sick face terrified him, and he dared not speculate what it meant about Alfonso’s fate.

  Chapter 16: Hold Your Form

  All around him, children were screaming – at least one hundred of them. It was deafeningly loud, but Alfonso struggled mightily to focus on his breathing; he sucked air in through his left nostril, held it, and exhaled through his right. He had to hold his form. He and Marta were now both young children – no more than seven years old – and whatever happened they could not allow themselves to morph again. That would be disastrous. Under normal circumstances, a mob of elementary-school-age children would hardly be cause for concern – let alone fear – but the current circumstances were anything but normal.

  Presently, he and Marta were at the center of a mob. The children around them were howling like wild dogs. In truth, they looked more like animals than human beings. Their faces were caked with dirt and grime; their clothing, or what remained of it, was ripped and filthy; and they grunted more than they spoke. They stank of sweat and rotten food. They were massed in a great, writhing pack, where they were smashing into each other savagely. Something had happened to these children; they had either done something or witnessed something so terrible that they appeared to have lost their sanity.

  Alfonso and Marta had morphed on the run – in the very last seconds before the mob converged upon them. They had cut it close – too close – and Alfonso was fairly certain that two of the children had witnessed them morph. The children were twin girls – no more than four years old – and both had long, matted, black hair. The girls now stood on either side of Alfonso, pressing up against him.

  “Stop!” yelled a lone voice.

  All at once, the children went quiet and became perfectly still. Alfonso felt a surge of relief. Breathe, he told himself, just breathe. Hold your form.

  At the edge of the pack, a solitary figure stood apart from the others. He was at least a head taller, and perhaps a few years older, than all of the other children. He had a broad forehead, a handsome Roman nose, and a strong chin, but there was something wrong with his eyes – they were slightly too close together. But it wasn’t just that. A careful observer would notice that one of his eyes was blue and the other brown. The effect was subtle, but disturbing. The boy appeared to be in his early teens and, from the way that he carried himself, and from the way that the other children fell silent at his command, it was obvious that he was their leader.

  “Where have the betrayers gone?” asked the teenage boy.

  The children made no reply.

  “They were just here,” said the teenager impatiently, “I saw them with my own eyes – where are they?”

  The children began to murmur, and from the sound of it, they were conversing in several different languages.

  Marta leaned close to Alfonso and whispered into his ear: “Betrayers?”

  “He’s talking about us,” replied Alfonso in a whisper. “We have to find a way out of here.”

  Alfonso looked around frantically. In the distance, perhaps a hundred yards away, was the obelisk. And here lay their sole cause for hope – a large, locked wooden door – at the base of the stone monument. It was an entrance leading directly into the stone tower. If they could only get inside... but how? The door was locked but, if Alfonso could somehow just get there, he felt reasonably confident that he could enter hypnogogia, reach through the solid door, and unlock it from the inside.

  “Are you my father?” asked a slight, trembling voice. Alfonso looked over and saw that it belonged to one of the twin girls. She was speaking directly to him and it was clear that she expected an answer. “My father had a beard just like yours,” said the girl. “Can you turn back into my father? Please?”

  “Please take us away from here,” said the other twin. She was slightly smaller than her sister and appeared more fragile. Indeed she seemed close to tears. “Turn back into Daddy and take us away from this place. Take us away from that awful boy.”

  Alfonso frowned. “I will try,” he told them. “Just keep quiet.”

  “Enough!” shouted the teenage boy. The mob of children drew quiet instantly. “I will find the betrayers myself. I will hunt them down. Betrayers are not welcome here! It was betrayers who left us children here on our own – to die – but we won’t let them forget what they did to us.”

  One of the twin girls, the bigger of the two, clutched Alfonso’s hand and whispered: “I won’t let him hurt you Daddy – I won’t.”

  The other twin girl, the smaller of the two, began to cry.

  “Everything will be okay,” whispered Alfonso. “Please don’t cry – not now.”

  But this only made the girl sob more loudly. The sound of her crying rang out across the silence and attracted the attention of the teenage boy. The boy eyed the girl sharply and then he seemed to notice Marta. What had caught his attention? Soon it became obvious: it was her clothing. When she and Alfonso had morphed, their bodies had changed, but their clothing had remained the exact same size; and so, despite the fact that they were now both young children, they were still wearing oversized adult clothing. Alonso had done his best to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and the legs of his pants, but Marta’s clothing still hung off her body in a ridiculous fashion.

  The teenage boy began walking toward them. As he approached, the children scrambled to clear a path for him. It had begun to rain and a fine mist filled the air. The boy smiled as he drew closer. His face was damp and his hair slick. His blue eye surveyed the scene – taking everything in – his other eye, the brown one, remained motionless, as if it were dead.

  “Where did you get those clothes?” demanded the boy. He was addressing Marta; he apparently had not noticed Alfonso.

  “I found them,” replied Marta. Her voice was small, but defiant. Alfonso hoped she had the good sense not to pick a fight with the boy. But this was Marta after all – she was not easily bullied.

  “Where?”

  “On the ground,” replied Marta.

  “Liar!” screamed the boy.

  The boy was close now – just a few feet away from Marta. Something bad was about to happen. Alfonso could feel it. Alfonso concentrated on his breathing – in left nostril, hold, out right nostril... But it was no use. He was distracted – both scared and angry all at once – and he could feel his body being tugged from the inside.

  “Tell me the truth!” demanded the boy. “Tell me the truth and I won’t punish you.”

  “I don’t remember,” said Marta. “Where did you get your clothing?”

  The boy stepped forward and struck Marta hard across the face, causing her to topple backwards. There was an instant movement from the mob and, all at once, children were running for cover. The teenage boy snatched a rock up off the ground – a big hefty, hunk of stone – and raised it up over his head as if to clobber Marta.

  “Don’t do it!” pleaded one of the twins, the larger and bolder of the two. “She’s a mommy –
I saw her – she just changed into a kid’s body!”

  “Then she’s a witch!” screamed the teenage boy. “Everyone pick up stones – we must stone the witch!” All of the children rushed to pick up stones. They looked more terrified than bloodthirsty. “On my command!” shouted the teenage boy.

  “But maybe the witch knows where our parents are,” said one of the children, a redheaded girl, the smallest of the group, who was no more than four years old. “I don’t want to throw stones at her.”

  “You must do as I say,” said the teenage boy. “Now everybody throw your stones on three – one, two...”

  Marta screamed.

  But the blow never came. Instead there was another shout – a deep, loud, authoritative shout: “No – don’t you dare!” Everyone looked to see who had barked this command. They all saw a tall, powerfully-built man in his twenties. His eyes were piercing and deadly serious. “Drop that rock right now little boy,” said the man. The teenage boy looked around nervously, as if to see what the other children were doing, and whether they might come to his aid. “They won’t help you,” said the man. “This is between you and me.”

  Chapter 17: Great Tremors

  Leif slowly climbed up the ladder that rose up the interior wall of the tree. His mind was deeply troubled. Most of all, he wanted to see Alfonso. He wanted to hug him tight and promise that nothing bad would ever happen to him again. But after reading the prophecies, he didn’t know if he could promise anything at all. He vowed over and over to himself that his only goal was to make sure Alfonso lived. That was it.

  After several minutes of climbing, Leif ran out of breath. It wasn’t just the physical exertion or even his mild fear of heights – it was a general sense of doom. Sweat dripped from his chin and slowly soaked his hair. Finally, he reached a trap door, which he pushed open. Warm sunlight shone directly on Leif. It was near sunset and the sky was awash in soft, golden light. How long had he been inside this tree? Hours, days, a week? Leif basked in the light. After the unremitting gloominess of the Sea of Clouds and the dark of Straszydlo Forest, the warmth of the sun felt wonderful. Leif pulled himself up onto a small observation perched at the very top of the tree, which offered spectacular views of the surrounding landscape.

  Unbroken forest stretched for miles and miles. In the far distance, he thought he glimpsed the Sea of Clouds, and in the other direction, Leif saw foothills rising to the jagged High Peaks of the Ural Mountains. A slight buzzing noise interrupted his thoughts and Leif turned in the direction of the distant Sea of Clouds. He saw something he must have missed initially. Now he eyed it closely and, hard as he tried, Leif found it difficult to grasp what exactly he was staring at. It was a curious circular object that hovered just above the trees, less than a mile away. The vessel, if you could call it that, had a huge oval balloon with a small wooden cabin on top. The cabin had two masts, each jutting off the roof at forty-five degree angles, and holding sails that hung down like floppy elephant ears. At the back of the balloon was a spinning propeller. The underside of the balloon had two large fins that appeared to function as rudders. To call it awkward-looking would be an understatement, but one thing was pretty clear – Leif was staring at a flying ship.

  Leif stared at the ship for several minutes, trying to decide what to make of it. The skin of the balloon was a dark gray, and it did have an ominous air to it, but the aircraft did not appear to have any guns or weapons. The design was unique, something that likely was conceived as a test model, and which was never mass produced.

  After some debate, Leif decided that he should signal the ship in the hopes that whoever was flying it might help him – at the very least – get out of this forest. He knew he was taking a risk, but given the situation, it seemed like a risk worth taking. He began to wave his arms frantically and shout as loudly as he could. A minute or so later, a dark cloud appeared on the horizon. The cloud came from the north. It appeared to be a storm, a bad one, and it was moving quickly. Still, for it to cover the northern horizon so rapidly was unusual. Leif turned to go back down. The cloud made him uneasy, and he felt a sudden rush to return to the library.

  Before he could climb down, however, he heard a deafeningly-loud WHOOOSH. All at once, every tree around him began to whip ferociously back and forth. The observation deck vibrated and began to come apart. Far below, Leif could hear the land groaning as the ground became gelatinous and waves rippled across the earth. The clumsy airship was caught by the wind and it hurdled topsy-turvy towards Leif. For a moment, Leif thought the airship might actually collide with the observation deck, but several hundred yards before reaching him, the airship went down into the treetops, where it finally was snagged by a thick tangle of tree branches.

  Leif dropped to his stomach and held onto the observation deck with all his might. Branches of all sizes tore off trees and whirled around; one of them slammed into Leif’s forehead, and then everything went black.

  Leif never knew how long it was that he lay unconscious. When he finally came to, however, he felt something sharp pressing against his throat. He blinked his eyes in a daze, and when his vision finally returned, he saw that someone was towering over him and holding the point of a sword to his neck.

  “Were you the one shouting and waving your arms?” the person asked in a low, almost conversational voice. “What the devil were you up to?”

  Leif concentrated and tried to focus his blurry eyesight, enough at least to make out this person’s features. She was tall with dark hair that shone almost as if wet. Her face was angular, with a sharp nose and chin, but was still quite pretty. Her eyes were a pale blue and she stared at Leif with a fierce gaze.

  “Who are you?” Leif asked.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I am the one with the sword,” said the woman. “So I’ll be the one asking the questions.” She withdrew her sword, enough so that Leif could breathe more easily, and took a small step backwards. However, something about the way she moved gave Leif the impression she wasn’t well. Her motions were jerky, as if perhaps she had suffered multiple sprains.

  “Sorry,” said Leif. “It’s just that... I’m stranded in these woods. In fact, I signaled you because I was hoping that you could give me a ride.”

  The woman snorted. “My ship is in a pretty bad way,” she said. “I’m not sure it can fly and, even if it could, why should I help you?”

  “Because I have to find my son,” said Leif, and despite himself, his voice trembled with emotion. “I could really use some help.”

  The woman took another step back and let out a long, weary sigh. “What is your son’s name?” asked the woman finally.

  “Alfonso,” replied Leif.

  The woman arched her eyebrow, as if she were surprised, and yet doubtful. “Alfonso,” she repeated slowly.

  Leif nodded.

  “I thought you looked familiar,” said the woman finally.

  “Huh?” said Leif.

  “Never mind,” replied the woman, and as she said this, she returned her sword to its scabbard and offered Leif a hand in order to help him to his feet.

  “Who are you?” demanded Leif.

  “It doesn’t matter what my name is,” she replied crisply.

  “I am...” began Leif.

  “I know who you are,” said the woman.

  Leif felt something wet on his hand and saw that he had blood on his palm. At first he assumed the blood was his, but then he realized it had come from the woman’s hand.

  “Are you all right?” asked Leif. “Are you injured?”

  “I am fine,” replied the woman dryly. “I was in a bit of a fight and I have a few wounds that aren’t fully healed yet. But I’m fine. And if you don’t mind, let’s get going before the tremors start again.”

  “The tremors,” said Leif, almost to himself. The word hammered away at his brain – tremors – and suddenly there could be no doubt; that’s what he’d just felt. Leif recalled the words of the prophecy: If the Tree is planted, you will know
, for the earth will shake with great tremors.

  “I have to go,” said Leif nervously. The woman did not bother to respond because she was already on the move – scampering from tree branch to tree branch – moving with great agility despite her wounds, heading back toward her flying ship.

  Chapter 18: Naomi

  Resuza’s younger sister, Naomi, was an unusually small girl for her age. She was almost ten years old, but she could easily be mistaken for a six-year old. Her bones were thin and delicate, her face long and slender, and when she moved in quick, darting movements, she resembled a greyhound. She was a thin girl, even in the best of times, but there was a wiry strength to her that was quite similar to her older sister. She projected a tense, keyed up manner, which was very much in evidence as she sat on her bed staring at the closed wooden door to her room.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Someone was hammering on the other side of the door. Ordinarily, no one ever knocked – instead, they simply entered at will – after all, Naomi was a slave, and slaves were not allowed to have any privacy. Not that there was much for her to enjoy in the privacy of her room. The enclosure resembled a jail cell. The walls and floor were made of solid oak; there were no windows; and the door was a massive slab of timber reinforced with iron crossbars and bolts. The door was unlocked, Naomi could leave at will, but there was nowhere to go. Escape was an absurd notion because Dargora was surrounded by nothing but hundreds of miles of desolate, windswept fields of snow and ice. Of course, it could have been worse. Naomi could have been one of the common slaves who worked in the caves, boiling blubber and feeding coal into ovens. Fortunately, however, Naomi was a skilled slave who was given certain luxuries – like bread, heat and private sleeping quarters.