by Jake Halpern
Eventually, Hill woke up and – famished as they were – they all ate again. Alfonso also shared what remained in his backpack: several handfuls of dried fruit, which Hill and Resuza devoured. In between bites, Alfonso thought over Resuza’s story, especially about the events leading to the disappearance of the Foreseeing Pen.
“So in the cave, the Pen just disappeared when Bilblox was holding it?” asked Alfonso.
“Yes,” said Resuza. “Just like that.”
“And where is Bilblox now?”
“We can’t be sure,” said Hill. “But if I had to bet, I’d say he is on Nartam’s ship. That’s where they had kept him before.” Hill paused and asked if he could change the subject. He wanted to hear about his brother.
“He’s alive,” said Alfonso.
It was hard to see Hill’s reaction. Eventually, he whispered in a choked voice, “After all these years. Leif. Is he well?”
Alfonso nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. It broke his heart to be less than truthful with his uncle about such an important matter.
Hill’s voice, suddenly stronger after hearing about Leif, returned. “So what now?” he asked.
“I need the Pen,” said Alfonso. “And I’m assuming if I find it, I’ll find Bilblox. Which ship is Nartam’s?”
“We can lead you to it,” replied Resuza. “It’s the biggest one up there.”
Knowing the response, Alfonso still hesitated before he said, “I’m going alone.”
“No way!” replied Resuza. Her voice was much too loud and they all sat there for a few seconds silently fearing that perhaps, somehow, they had been overheard. “You can’t,” she continued in a whisper. “What could possibly possess you to say that?”
“I want nothing more than for you and Hill to come with me,” said Alfonso. “But it’s too risky. The prophecy says nothing about me destroying the Shadow Tree with help. I have to do it myself, alone. Trust me, I’d rather not. I’d really, really rather not. But if we’ve come this far, I don’t want to do anything to mess things up.”
“You’re too wrapped up in this prophecy,” said Hill. “You need to trust yourself and your instincts. What do they tell you?”
“Not very much,” admitted Alfonso. “That’s why I’m relying on the prophecy.” He paused. “I guess the only thing I know for sure is that I have to find Bilblox. He will know where the Pen is. That much I feel pretty certain about. ”
“You’ve been right before about Bilblox,” said Hill. “Maybe you’re right again.”
“I have to go,” said Alfonso.
“He should use the emergency exit,” said Hill. “Show him the way.”
Resuza stood up and gestured up the tunnel that led directly to the surface above. No one spoke. Alfonso grabbed for their hands, squeezed them once, and his eyes filled with tears. He wanted to say goodbye, but he was afraid his voice would betray him. Instead, he let go of their hands and rushed away.
Chapter 45: A Most Welcome Ally
Kiril’s most trusted aide stood atop a large snow bank, binoculars pressed to his face, scouring the horizon for any signs of life. He was standing a mile due south of the ice moat that ringed Dargora and separated it from the surrounding area. Slowly and methodically, he scanned the edge of the Petrified Forest. Once he saw something move, but it was only a fog wolf dragging some kind of carcass back into the forest. Konrad thought it highly unlikely that anyone would be able to cross the Petrified Forest, alone and on foot, but he kept looking nonetheless. Kiril had told him to be on the lookout for a grown man in his late thirties or a teenage boy. “Leif or Alfonso will come to destroy the tree,” Kiril had told him. “Probably both. Be ready for them.”
Konrad had taken his best men, a battalion of two hundred soldiers known as the “Forlorn Hope.” Konrad had trained the battalion himself. He borrowed their name from Dutch fighters known as the “Verloren Hoop,” who were famous for making the most daring assaults and charging into battle fearlessly even when casualties were bound to be high. Konrad was among the Dragoonya elite who had lived for many centuries by using the ash to extend his life. On and off during this time, he worked as a mercenary and he had fought with everyone from Attila the Hun to Peter the Great. Konrad knew how to train soldiers and the “Forlorn Hope” were the best fighters he had ever seen. As a rite of passage, these men burned their own flesh with fire in order to deaden the nerves and make themselves more impervious to pain. Konrad was very fond of them.
During the Battle of Somnos, it was the Forlorn Hope who led the charge through the breach in the city’s walls and, when the rest of the Dragoonya army broke into a full retreat, it was these same men who held their ground, cutting down waves of Dormians in the counterattack. They only retreated when Konrad ordered them to and they did so reluctantly. “If we’d had another battalion of those men,” Nartam told him afterwards, “We would have prevailed.”
For the moment, the Forlorn Hope were the only soldiers in the Dragoonya army not allowed to use any of the black ash. “The ash is perfect for the rabble – it makes them ferocious yet compliant – but I need you and your men to have your wits about you,” Kiril had told Konrad. “If you catch them with the ash, put them to the sword. They will get their share, once we’ve assessed the proper amount to give. We won’t have them being guinea pigs.”
Konrad had assured him this wouldn’t be a problem. And it wasn’t. His men proved perfectly disciplined and obedient. They were also sharp-eyed and several hours into their watch, they spotted two solitary figures in the distance, heading toward Dargora on foot.
“Are you sure it’s only two people?” asked Konrad.
“Yes,” replied his lookout. “And one of them is waving his arms – as if he wants to be seen.”
Leif Perplexon waded through knee-high snow, waved his arms frantically and shouted as loudly as he could. “I’m right here!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Come on! I thought you were fierce soldiers!”
“What are you doing?” asked Marta. “Are you crazy?”
“No,” said Leif, “Just desperate.”
“They’re going to capture us,” said Marta.
“That’s the idea,” said Leif.
It had taken Leif some time to come to the realization that Alfonso might be alive. Initially, when he and Marta emerged from the makeshift snow cave, he was ready to turn to caring for Alfonso’s body, and preparing both of them for the long voyage home. But when he couldn’t find his body after hours of searching, a kindle of hope lit up inside him. “He must be alive,” Leif told Marta. “He must have turned into a younger person and just walked away.”
“Then where are his tracks?” asked Marta skeptically.
It was true – there were no tracks of any kind in the snow.
“I don’t know,” said Leif, “But we have to look for him. We have to press on for Dargora.”
“If you are set on going, I’ll come with you,” said Marta. “I owe you that much.”
“Marta,” said Leif sternly, “If you try to stop me...”
“Don’t worry I won’t,” said Marta. “Besides, I doubt anyone could stop you.”
And so they pressed on – together. The problem was, without Imad’s compass, and without any trail to follow, they had no idea where they were going. And so they wandered for hours on end. Leif grew increasingly frustrated. By the time he saw the soldiers in the distance, he was willing to take a risk, and a big one at that.
It took several minutes for the group of Dragoonya soldiers to make their way over the snow and ice covered ground – even with the help of dogs and sleds. When they finally arrived, they formed a tight circle around Leif. The soldiers carried a mix of rifles and crossbows. They wore armor made of black leather and silver feathers. Many of their faces were blackened and blistered with gruesome burns. None of them spoke. Finally one of them stepped forward. He was short, but muscular. He wore no hat, despite the cold, and his raven-black hair was plastered to his skull a
nd encrusted with ice.
“My name is Konrad,” said the man. “And I presume you are Leif.”
Leif nodded.
“We have been expecting you,” said Konrad. “But I never imagined that you would give yourself up.”
“Me neither,” said Leif.
“I will say this just once,” said Konrad. “Don’t try anything unwise. My men here are not the gentle sort, if you take my meaning.”
Leif and Marta both looked about nervously. They were surrounded by at least fifty men who looked as if they would be only too happy to kill them. “All I want to do is give you a message,” said Leif. Konrad raised his eyebrow, unconvinced. “I swear it,” said Leif.
“Then speak,” said Konrad.
“My son Alfonso is, at this very minute, heading for your Shadow Tree with the aim of destroying it,” said Leif. “He managed to trick me into thinking that he was dead. He knew it would be a suicide mission and he’s got it in his head that he is going to do this alone.”
“He won’t succeed,” said Konrad. “We have several hundred men guarding the base of the tree. No one can harm the Shadow Tree because it does not wish to be destroyed.”
Konrad’s quiet confidence rattled Leif, and he wondered for a second whether he was doing the right thing. The Shadow Tree sounded even worse than he imagined. Still, he continued.
“Those men won’t do you any good,” replied Leif. “The tree can only be cut down at a place where it has a gash in its bark, just above a small knot, which is situated halfway up the tree’s trunk. Alfonso will float right over your soldiers’ heads and destroy the tree before they even know what’s happened.”
“Float?” asked Konrad skeptically.
Leif nodded his head, then closed his eyes, and for a full ten seconds he levitated off the ground. “Yes,” said Leif as he returned to the ground, “Just like that.”
It was Konrad’s turn to be flustered. He turned to one of his officers and conferred with him quietly. Eventually, Konrad returned his attention to Leif.
“How do you know all of this?” asked Konrad.
“Trust me,” replied Leif, “I am a Great Sleeper, I know.”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” said Konrad. “Why would you betray your own son?”
Leif paused and took a deep breath. He knew that everything depended on how he answered this question. “I spent almost a year carrying a Dormian Bloom halfway across the globe and delivering it to Jasber,” he explained. “As reward for a job well done, I spent several more years in solitary confinement as their prisoner. Now my son, my one and only child, has to set off on a suicide mission at the bidding of the Founding Trees. There is only so much loss that any man can take. I have given enough. I will not give up my son. Can you understand that?”
There was a long silence.
“I can,” said Konrad finally. He turned and gave several hand signals to his men. Seconds later, the soldiers were quickly mounting their sleds. “So you’ll help me stop Alfonso, if I spare his life?” asked Konrad. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” said Leif, “But I insist on being the one who stops Alfonso.”
Konrad’s head tilted slightly. It was hard to tell whether he was agreeing to Leif’s demand or simply listening.
“What about the girl?” asked Konrad, pointing to Marta. Marta had morphed back to the form of her true age, nine years old.
“She comes with me,” said Leif. “No other explanation is necessary.”
Konrad stared at Leif. After a few seconds, he nodded.
“Get on the sled,” he ordered.
“Where are we going?” asked Leif.
“To the Shadow Tree,” replied Konrad. “Where else?”
Chapter 46: A Perplexon
Alfonso walked for roughly half an hour before he rounded the top of a tall snow bank. From this perch, he caught his first glimpse of the Shadow Tree in the distance. Something he could only describe as lightning flashed inside of him. He closed his eyes and in his mind he saw the oily, bumpy branches of the Tree turning towards him.
It knew he was coming.
Alfonso took a deep breath. He looked up to the night sky, and saw the twinkling lights of the ships hanging in the air like kites. He continued his careful trek towards the Tree. It was puzzling that he saw no one around. Where were all the guards he assumed would be swarming Dargora? Soon enough, he had his answer – or at least a partial answer. As he crested another small bluff of snow, the Shadow Tree came into full view. Around the base of the Tree was a huge mob of soldiers – at least a thousand of them – and they moved in an undulating, serpent-like motion. It resembled a dance, although no dance had ever filled Alfonso with such dread.
High above them, in the upper canopy of the tree, soldiers with torches were lighting branches on fire. The trunk of the tree never caught fire; it seemed impervious to flames. The branches, however, were another story; they squirmed and wiggled, as if they didn’t want to be set ablaze, but once they caught fire they burned like firecracker fuses – sizzling, smoking, and disintegrating quickly. Then a cascade of black ash would fall down to the ground below and the men would momentarily stop their dance and fight ferociously, trampling one another in order to get their ash. All in all, it was a horrifying sight.
What now?
Alfonso studied the trunk of the tree closely. He could see the knot with the gash above it – just like on his stick that he had assembled, using the wooden sides of the blank picture frame. This had to be the tree’s weak point. Although he had a sudden urge to fling himself at the Shadow Tree – to be done with this tension once and for all – he forced himself to sink to the ground. He watched the terrifying parade of soldiers, and the ash falling to the ground. He looked up and saw that a light mist of clouds had parted, revealing a moon that flung shadows across the flying ships. Just above the Shadow Tree was the largest of the ships, a man-of-war from the 1700s lit up from end to end with red pinpricks of light. It was Nartam’s ship – he was sure of it.
Meanwhile, back in the tunnel, Hill and Resuza waited irritably in the gloom of the storage depot cave. Hill consoled himself with the realization that now at least he was warm – thanks to the fur overcoat that Alfonso had lent him. Hill burrowed his hands into the coat’s pockets and, as he did this, he felt a crumpled piece of paper with the tips of his fingers. Hill pulled out the wad of paper, unfolded it, and read it. It was a curious document with two headings labeled “Scenario I” and “Scenario II.” The first scenario was hard to follow; it described someone named “C.N.T.” crossing the Petrified Forest, infiltrating Dargora, and destroying the Shadow Tree. This had to be the prophecy that Alfonso had spoken of! Although he read the first one with great interest, it was the second scenario that grabbed Hill’s attention:
Scenario II. A Perplexon will rejoice with friends in the dark of the chasm. He will then destroy the Tree by himself. A Perplexon will succeed, but he will also die. (‡‰№⅞)
Hill felt his chest tighten as he realized what his nephew intended to do. The boy has set off on a suicide mission, Hill thought to himself with great alarm. He believes this is the only way to destroy the tree. Then another thought dawned on Hill: Perhaps this is the only way to destroy the Tree. After all, this shred of a prophecy had already correctly predicted that Alfonso would reunite with “old friends” in the “dark of the chasm.” It had predicted their reunion at the bottom of the trench. Hill forced himself to read the note over and over. Then something else occurred to him – another thought all together – and he gasped.
“What is it?” asked Resuza. “What’s wrong?”
“Alfonso,” said Hill, his face stricken with panic.
“What about him?”
“He’s made a terrible mistake,” said Hill. “He has misunderstood the prophecy...”
“Hill?” Resuza was suddenly concerned. He wasn’t making any sense.
“Let’s go,” announced Hill. “We don’t have much time.”
Chapter 47: A Helping Hand
“Come in my friends,” said Nartam as he opened the door. “This is a most welcome visit.”
Bilblox studied Nartam carefully. He looked so young – no more than sixteen years old – there were pimples on his face, the faintest trace of a moustache, and he stood barely five and half feet tall. He was a fraction of Bilblox’s size. It seemed absurd to be afraid of this boy and, for a second, Bilblox wondered what would happen if he smashed Nartam with one of his massive fists. But something told him that defeating Nartam couldn’t possibly be as simple as this.
“Shall we have a spot of tea?” Nartam asked as he gestured toward a small table at the far end of the room, on top of which rested two burning candles, several porcelain cups, and a tall copper samovar, steaming with the scent of mint and cardamom. There was also a gold urn, filled with a heaping pile of iridescent black ash, which gleamed and twinkled in the flickering light.
“Why not?” said Bilblox with a shrug. “Some tea might do me good.”
Kiril nodded, but said nothing. He looked quite pale, visibly shaken, but there was no time for Bilblox to ask him what was wrong.
“Have you seen a ghost?” asked Nartam playfully. “You’re not yourself, Kiril. You need a rest?”
Kiril nodded and then shrugged, as if it was nothing to be concerned about.
“You fellows have been on quite the adventure together – haven’t you?” asked Nartam cheerily as he poured himself a cup of tea. “And it is so heartening to see that you have become fast friends. Long journeys will change a man’s perspective on many things, wouldn’t you agree, Kiril?”
“When you two were gallivanting about,” continued Nartam, “I was making a trip of my own – a little walk in the woods, you might say.”
Nartam smiled again and led the way across the room. It was very dark in the room. Three small lamps cast a murky glow across his spacious but empty quarters. Bilblox noticed that there was hardly any furniture at all in the room other than a large wooden chest in the far corner of the room. The walls were barren except for several long brass handrails that were bolted to wooden window frames – these rails were, no doubt, vestiges of the days when this ship sailed the seas and sailors needed something to grasp in stormy weather. Nartam continued over to the table where the tea was brewing and gestured for them each to take a cup.
