by Jake Halpern
“You were right,” said Resuza. “But where are we?”
“Beyond the edge of Dargora,” replied Naomi. “Not far from the Petrified Forest.” As she said this, she turned and pointed at a curtain of massive trees, all made entirely of stone, about a mile away. The stone branches glistened with ice. The woods were both surreal and eerie. It looked as if someone had taken a primeval forest, turned it into stone, and then sprayed it with liquid ice. Cyclones of snow swirled in-between the tree trunks. Long shadows darkened the forest floor. The whole place was deathly still because, even when the wind howled fiercely, not even the smallest branch on the smallest tree moved by so much as an inch.
“You can go in there,” she said ominously, “But the trees will see you.”
“See us?” said Resuza.
“Yes,” replied Naomi, “And so will the Fog Wolves.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Hill uneasily.
“Ask him,” said Naomi, gesturing toward Bilblox.
Bilblox seemed lost in thought, as if he were struggling with a difficult choice and couldn’t quite make up his mind.
“We cross the forest,” said Bilblox finally. “We’ve made it through worse places than this. We’ve got plenty of supplies. We’ll make it.”
“What about the trench?” asked Naomi.
“The trench?” inquired Resuza.
“Yes,” said Naomi. “There’s a giant trench that surrounds the city. It’s impossible to cross, except at one heavily guarded bridge. You can’t see it until you’ve nearly fallen in, but it’s between us and the forest.”
“Delightful,” said Hill wearily.
“I’ve got rope and a grappling hook,” said Bilblox confidently. “We’ll be fine. Let’s go.” He turned in the direction of the forest.
“Not yet,” said Hill.
“What is it?” asked Bilblox. He seemed annoyed.
“I’ve got to go back for something,” said Hill. “One last thing.”
“It’s too late for that,” said Bilblox, “Come on, we gotta go.”
“No,” said Hill stubbornly, “Impossible.”
“Are you sure you remember where it is?” asked Resuza.
Hill nodded.
“What is it?” demanded Bilblox.
“Something we’ve had for a long time,” said Hill cryptically. “I’m not leaving without it.”
“Fine,” said Bilblox with a heavy sigh, “But let’s be quick about this.”
“There’s no us,” said Hill resolutely. “I’m going alone.” He refused to make any eye contact, and instead stared into the distance.
“How long will you need?” asked Bilblox.
“Give me two hours,” said Hill. “If I am not back after that – go on without me.”
Hill walked for a half-hour, which then dragged into a full hour. His pace gradually slowed. The impact from the hard landing had caught up to him and his body protested with every step. The cold settled into his bones and he soon lost feeling in his toes and fingers. Still he trudged onward. At last he stopped in an area of rock, snow and ice. The snow gathered in little eddies behind rocks, and the ice was blue and treacherous underfoot. In the near distance, he could see a door down to the slave quarters. It boggled his mind that he would ever, purposefully come back here, but here he was.
Hill approached a large boulder, about twenty feet in height. Aside from two pillars in the distance, this boulder was the only landmark of note in the area. Once he reached the boulder, Hill bent over and began to examine the ground. He did this for several minutes, shivering as he worked, until suddenly he saw what he was looking for – a gleaming, silver fork. Hill dropped to his hands and knees and began pawing at the snow. He dug downward through the snow until he hit a chunk of ice about the size of a soccer ball.
“Need help moving that?”
Hill looked up.
It was Bilblox.
“I thought I told you to stay put,” said Hill.
“I never was good at taking orders,” said Bilblox with a smile.
Hill frowned.
“Watchya diggin’ for?” asked Bilblox.
“None of your business,” said Hill.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Bilblox. “All of our crummy lives are wrapped up in that Pen.”
Hill looked stunned.
“W-w-w-what makes you so sure it’s a Pen under there?” stammered Hill.
Bilblox reached down with one hand and picked up the hunk of ice; then, with the other hand, fished out a shiny silver Pen. He studied the Pen carefully turning it back and forth in his giant hands.
“You knew all along didn’t you?” asked Hill. “You knew I’d hidden it and I wouldn’t leave Dargora without it. But how?”
“Kiril,” replied Bilblox.
“He knows we have it?”
Bilblox nodded.
“For crying out loud!” said Hill angrily. “Enough playing games! Why didn’t you come clean with me?”
“How about you?” asked Bilblox. “You’re the one who said you’d just be gone two hours and that, if you weren’t back, we should go on without you. What was that all about? We both know you had no intention of comin’ back, did ya? Ain’t that right, buddy?”
“That tree,” said Hill shakily. “We have to cut it down.”
“Hill, listen to me, I have a plan,” said Bilblox. There was urgency and a trace of desperation in his voice. “You’ve got to trust me!”
“You keep saying that,” fumed Hill, “But you’ve given me no reason to do so!”
“Man, oh man,” said Bilblox with a rather sad smile, “You’ve known me all these years Hill old boy and you still don’t really know me at all – do ya? Remember during the trip to Somnos, when the avalanche almost killed us? You were ready to drop me like a hot potato. Only Alfonso trusted me. And that turned out pretty well, didn’t it?”
Hill frowned.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll trust you. What’s this plan of yours?”
“It’s still a bit of a work in progress,” admitted Bilblox.
“Go on,” said Hill.
“Well, it starts with you lettin’ me keep the Pen.”
“Forget it,” said Hill.
“What are you thinkin’?” asked Bilblox. “You’re just gonna stroll towards the Shadow Tree all by your lonesome and destroy it? Have you seen all those people guardin’ it? If not, I’ll clue you in. The whole Dragoonya army is crazy with that stuff, and the Shadow Tree is doin’ somethin’ to them, controllin’ them. You’ll die way before you get close to it.”
Hill said nothing but held out his hand. “Give me the Pen back.”
Bilblox looked down at the Pen, which was still nestled in his beefy palm.
“What happens when you press the emerald button?” he asked.
“Try for yourself,” replied Hill with a shrug. “Hold it down for a few seconds.”
Bilblox pressed the button and held it down. Seconds later, a green light shone from the tip of the Pen and the three dimensional image of the skeleton’s hand appeared.
“Holy smokes!” said Bilblox. “That’s quite a trick.”
“I’ve been trying to figure out what it means,” said Hill.
“Ain’t ya ever done studied magic tricks?” asked Bilblox with a laugh. “I thought you were into that kinda stuff.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Hill.
“Have a look,” said Bilblox, as he tilted the Pen so Hill could have a better look at the glowing three-dimensional image of the hand. Once again, Hill studied the skeletal hand with the numbers etched on and in-between the fingers.
“It’s the old coin spinning trick,” said Bilblox.
“Huh?”
“It must be the oldest trick in the book,” said Bilblox. “That and Three Card Monty is the bread and butter of any decent swindler. As a kid, on the docks of Fort Krasnik, you know how many suckers gave me coins that twirled b
etween my fingers before disappearin’?”
“I don’t follow,” said Hill.
“The fingers and the slots between the fingers are all numbered,” explained Bilblox. “Like the slot in-between the middle finger and the ring finger – we call that slot ‘twenty-three’ for short, ‘cause it’s in-between fingers two and three. You follow? That’s the slot where most coin tricks start. The numbers are how you keep track of the moves you need to make in a given trick when you’re spinnin’ coins.”
“Spinning coins?” said Hill quizzically.
“Or Pens,” said Bilblox. Hill nodded his head slowly. “I’m not exactly sure what the circle is about,” added Bilblox, “Probably a variation in a particular trick – like the coin has to end up there or somethin’.”
“I’ll take the Pen now,” said Hill.
“Sure,” replied Bilblox. He pressed the emerald button again and the glowing three-dimensional image disappeared. Then, in one amazingly fluid motion, he rolled the Pen onto his fingers and made it dance across his fingertips in a blur of motion. For a brief moment the Pen disappeared – Hill gasped – and then the Pen reappeared. As soon as it did, Hill snatched it away and stuffed it back into the coat of his pocket.
Bilblox smiled, looked upward at the sky, and studied the moon thoughtfully. It was almost full.
“Hill old boy,” said Bilblox.
“Yes?”
“At some point, I do believe I’m gonna need that Pen back.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” replied Bilblox.
Chapter 36: The Knothole
“Come on,” said Alfonso. “We have to find a tree to climb – that’s our only chance.” He broke into a sprint, charging down the path toward the wolves. The others followed him unquestioningly. After three or four minutes of running they came to a clearing. Here the tunnel of fog opened up into a bigger space, about the size of a tennis court. The snow was firmly packed and solid to walk upon. It was also covered with thousands of bones. Some were small enough to have come from rodents; others were much larger. Mixed into the debris were a few human skulls. Apparently, this is where the fog wolves dined on their victims.
In the center of this clearing stood, an enormous tree, whose trunk continued upward through the ceiling of fog above. Alfonso led the way through the graveyard of bones and over to the base of the tree. Even though the tree was made entirely of stone and resembled a pillar from afar, it looked quite different up close. The tree’s exterior had a rough surface – with many furrows, cracks, and crevices – that resembled bark. The tree also had a series of small, stone bumps, each the size of a doorknob, which formed a pattern that spiraled its way up and around the base of the tree like a string of Christmas lights.
The surface of the tree, with all of its bumps and cracks, made it readily apparent that the tree could be easily climbed. Although they had never seen her climb a tree, Korgu bounded up, jumping from one crack to the next until she paused on the lowest limb. She growled at them to follow her. Without saying a word, Marta and Alfonso both simultaneously reached out to touch the tree.
“No,” hissed Kolo, “Not a good idea.”
“We don’t have a choice,” said Marta.
“They won’t like it,” said Kolo, almost in a whimper.
Marta was startled to see the boy, who had so recently been such a bully and a tyrant, now reduced to a sniveling child. Why was he so spooked? What had he seen in this forest? The whole thing was unsettling.
“You can stay here if you like,” said Nathalia. “But we’ll take our chances climbing.” With that, Nathalia began climbing up the side of the tree with great agility. Alfonso and Marta followed closely behind her. Leif waited for a moment with Kolo; he couldn’t help but feel a small measure of sympathy for the boy. It was hard to explain why. On some level, Leif knew that Kolo had seen or witnessed something terrible – perhaps many things – and that this experience had taken a toll on him, twisted him even. The thought of this weighed on Leif. “We’ve got to go,” said Leif kindly, “Come on Kolo.”
“No,” said Kolo resolutely. “If the trees don’t get me, your son will.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Leif said as calmly as he could. “Alfonso will not harm you, I promise. Now come, follow me.” Leif turned to the tree and began to climb it, gesturing for Kolo to follow. He was just a little ways up the tree, when the wolves drew near. There was a great clattering sound, as if all the bones on the floor of the clearing were trembling. Kolo turned to Leif, his face stricken with terror.
“Come on!” screamed Leif.
Kolo shook his head. For a moment, it looked as if he would simply stand there and let the wolves devour him, but instead he scrambled across the clearing and dove head-first into the fog. And then he was gone – vanished – enveloped by the fog.
Leif was out of time. The only thing to do now was climb. He clamored upwards as quickly as he could. Leif proved an able climber and soon reached the ceiling of fog, which they pushed through, and continued upward. The fog was damp and cold and it made the climbing more treacherous so everyone went slowly. Visibility was nil. Leif climbed for many long minutes, and it seemed clear that in this part of the forest, the fog was especially thick. Eventually he caught up with the others. Someone asked where Kolo was. Leif shook his head grimly and explained, “He wouldn’t come.”
They were all still in the thick of the fog, struggling upwards, when the wolves returned en masse. Everyone heard them all at once because the animals made quite a ruckus. There was no growling or howling or anything like that. The only sound from below was the sickening snapping and crunching of bones. The wolves were feeding. Then, at last, there came a cry; but it was not that of a wolf, but of a person. Someone below was shrieking and they all knew it was Kolo. High above, in the fog, clinging to the tree, everyone pressed their faces to the stone bark and gritted their teeth.
“May God have mercy on him,” said Leif softly.
They continued upward and, just a few minutes later, broke through the fog and emerged into the clear, crisp air of night. There was a half moon in the distance that offered a fairly good light. Alfonso reached into his coat and took out a small pair of binoculars – the ones he had found in the airship. What he saw was breathtaking. All around, as far as he could see, were the stone shafts of the other trees, emerging from the fog and stretching up into the sky. Those trees with branches on top looked spectacular in the moonlight – somewhat skeletal like ordinary deciduous trees in winter – but their long delicate limbs were more silver in color, almost iridescent, shimmering and ghost-like in the moonlight. Alfonso noticed that all of the trees had the same curious pattern of bumps, resembling door knobs, which spiraled up their trunks. There was, however, no time to dwell on such matters. From down below, Alfonso could still hear the frenzy of the wolves mashing their food. The only sensible thing to do right now was to keep climbing until, perhaps, with a little luck, they could find a ledge or perch on which to rest.
They climbed for another ten minutes or so before coming upon the giant knothole. Alfonso had, of course, seen knotholes in ordinary trees – hollow spaces in the side of a tree where a branch had decayed and fallen off – but he had never seen one like this. The knothole was a great dimple in the side of the tree, so large, that it almost resembled a cave, the depths of which were shrouded in dark shadows. Alfonso clamored into the space, sighed exhaustedly, and slumped to the ground. The others soon arrived as well and, together, they all collapsed. They were so exhausted, they could barely move – even to unclench their aching fingers. No one spoke. Everyone simply pondered their predicament, trying to think of a way out. Far below, they could hear the sounds of the wolves still gorging themselves.
The wind began to pick up and everyone made their way inside the knothole – everyone but Korgu, who remained perched on the ledge. She refused even to look inside, and kept stretching a paw to see if there was some other place to go. She made no sound at
all, which was very unusual. The innermost hollow of the knothole was both dark and surprisingly warm. The air was moist and smelled oddly boggy, ripe with the scent of decay. The ground here was softer, more like clay than hard stone. It was a relief to be in a sheltered place and yet there was something spooky about being inside the tree.
“Alfonso,” said Marta, with a glimmer of hope in her voice, “Can’t you climb the fog – you know, like you did in Jasber – when you rescued my parents from the roof of their house?”
“Yeah, I have been thinking the same thing,” said Alfonso. “I’m pretty confident that I could make it all the way to Dargora.”
“By yourself?” asked Nathalia.
Alfonso nodded.
“Forget it,” said Leif. “That’s not an option.”
A tense silence ensued.
“Has anyone brought food?” asked Marta finally. “I’m famished and I’ve always fancied having a picnic inside a giant stone tree.”
“We have some food,” replied Leif, who was eager to change the subject. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a round, wooden container of tough biscuits, known as hardtack, which he had brought with him from the flying ship. As he was passing the container to Marta, the container slipped through her hands, fell to the floor, and wobbled deeper into the knothole. It eventually toppled over and came to a rest in one of the shadows. Marta chided herself and sighed. She wasn’t eager to venture any deeper into the knothole, but her hunger got the best of her. Slowly, she tiptoed after the container of food. What happened next everyone present would remember for the rest of their lives. The stone wall at the back of the knothole split open in the middle, with the upper half of the wall folding upward and the lower half dropping downward – opening much the way an eyelid would – revealing a gelatinous, quivering, ten-foot-high, bloodshot orb. Marta stared at the thing for a moment before grasping that it was, in fact, a giant eyeball. This wasn’t a knothole, she realized, it was an eye socket.
“Uh, ah-,” stammered Marta. She was too terror-struck to scream. The others looked over towards the strange noises she was making. Leif reacted first. He lunged for Marta to pull her back. They all scramblied out of the knothole. Korgu, who was in a frantic state, was now trying to get inside to see what was going on. In the chaos, Leif tripped over Korgu and lurched forward, slamming into Nathalia. Everyone struggled to regain their balance, desperately reaching out to grasp something – anything at all – but for Nathalia there was nothing to grab and she stumbled backwards. For a moment, it looked as if Nathalia might steady herself, but her momentum was too strong and, instead, she pitched backwards off the ledge.
