by Allan Cole
Pip frowned. “Yer not thinkin’ about takin’ a look in person, are yer, Cap’n?”
“Don’t see a way around it,” I sighed.
Pip opposed the notion. So did the others when they found out.
“You could wander the hills for hours,” Quatervals said. “Days, even. And not find what you’re looking for. Hells, Captain Antero, we don’t even know what it is. Or even if it exists for certain.”
“I think we have to assume it does exist,” I said. “And it won’t be all that impossible. Besides physical signs there’ll be a magical heart. A center.
“If it weren’t for Novari’s shield we could locate it on the simulacrum and cast spells to spy out the details. If I can slip under the shield and get in close I’ll have free use of my powers to do all the investigating that we need.”
Palmeras fumed. “You’re just like your brother,” he said. “Pretty speeches are the curse of the Anteros. You lectured us quite highmindedly last night about the false myth of heroes. How great things are accomplished by the spirit of many, not the few.
“Then at the very next opportunity off you go alone to take on the minions of our enemy. Which is the very same thing Amalric would have done and I kick myself for being taken in by your little drama.”
I grinned at him. “Who said anything about doing it alone?” I said.
I indicated Quatervals, Derlina and Pip. “I’ll require a few cutthroats to keep my own neck whole,” I said. Then I pointed at him. “And I’ll need the canniest Evocator in all Orissa to guard our backs.”
Instantly all became smiles.
Strange, isn’t it, how quickly their opposition vanished soon as they knew their lives would be at stake as well?
But such were the heroes of Galana.
“Flattery will get you everywhere with me, my dear Antero,” Palmeras said. “As your brother often opined.”
The Evocators in charge of such things said the weather would clear slightly after nightfall. They said they could stabilize it like that for a time. A few hours, perhaps. Until Novari’s wizards caught the scent of the spell and blocked it. Palmeras said he’d make certain the skies remained heavily overcast to help hide us when we crept up to the enemy lines.
“That’s when I’ll cast the first diversionary spell,” he said. “It should get you through in fine health. You won’t be able to signal me when you need to return so we’d better set a time right now. Then I can cast the second spell to get you home safely.”
He thought a moment. “It comes down to guesses,” he said, “even in this age of miracles. The weather ought to stay with us for about three hours. That’s our best guess on this side. What’s yours, my dear Antero? How long will you need?”
I looked at the others. Shrugs all around. “Make it three hours,” I said. “That’s guess enough to live by.”
It was decided the most reliable method of keeping track of the hours was to make Galana the clock. Flares would be set off moments before Palmeras cast his diversionary spell. That’d mark the first hour. Other flares would follow, each ignited an hour apart. When we spotted the last flare we’d know our time was up. We were supposed to drop whatever we were doing and rush back to the front lines as fast as we could. Palmeras’ second casting would be made soon after the last flare was lit.
When that happened we’d best be in place or it’d be most difficult to get through.
After we’d discussed the plan in depth and made ourselves ready I stole a few moments for a promised visit with Emilie.
She was excited to see me and said she had a wonderful surprise.
“You have to come right away, Aunt Rali,” she said, grabbing me by the hand and pulling. “Oh, do say you’ll come. Please!”
I knew I should rest, but her smile was so sunny how could I do anything except agree?
She led me outside, trailed by two large pensioners who were her ever present guards. They were both former sergeants with scars enough for five careers. Their names were Torpol and Weene. They were big shy women with fierce features and eyes that became tender when they gazed on Emilie.
The rain had stopped briefly and the child ran ahead, dancing about in the puddles, happy to be free and in the open. She had on little boots to protect her feet and a blue hooded cloak that she could grip in her hands and flap like a bird.
“She’s what we’re fightin’ for, Captain,” Torpol said, a smile creasing her rough face.
“Use’ter be Orissa,” Weene added. “Took my oath to defend her when I was but a lass. Then they took away Orissa. So it’s Emilie we fights for now.”
“What she stands for, we mean,” Torpol broke in. “The last Antero. If she falls Orissa will never rise again, they say. And I for one believe it.”
I didn’t point out that Emilie was the last Antero but one. I was there, after all. Rali Antero in the flesh. But I don’t think anyone at Galana really knew what to make of me. Was I a ghost or was I mortal? To be frank, I wasn’t certain myself.
Nor am I any more certain now as I write this.
Emilie took us through the woodlot that surrounded the temple. From the easy way the two guards walked I could tell it was a path they frequently trod. The air was heavy with moisture and smelled of fall’s tired growth. When we came to the temple the two women fell back to guard the entrance while Emilie and I continued on.
Memory flooded back when I stepped inside. The temple was the same simple little stone building I’d visited fifty years before.
I walked past the familiar offering box near the entrance, crossed the stone pavement toward the altar and the tall statue of the Goddess Maranonia. Above her was the patterned window in the high ceiling.
When I’d last been there a bright summer sun had streamed through. Now the light was cold and faint, making the statue somehow seem remote to us. As if the goddess’ attentions were distant from the plight of her loyal subjects.
The same frescoes heralding the triumphs of the Maranon Guard graced the walls, including my own battle against the Archon. When I’d seen that fresco last it was freshly painted. Now it seemed as faded and old as the others.
Emilie guided me to the raised pool near the altar.
“First we need some water,” she explained. “Special water. For the surprise.”
She took a cup from her cloak pocket and dipped it into the pool. When the cup broke the surface it released a faint cloud of perfume. When Emilie lifted the cup; droplets glittering like small diamonds ran down the sides and fell back into the pool, hissing as if they were hot sparks, then vanishing as if they’d been quenched.
“It was already magical,” Emilie said, indicating the pool. “But just a little bit.”
She held up two fingers spread slightly apart to show the dimensions of a “little bit.”
“So I kind of played around and made it more magical. And you know what?”
“What?”
“It was good thing I did,” she said, solemn. “The way it turned out I needed a whole lot of magical water.”
A most precise little girl, she spread her arms wide to demonstrate. “A whole, whole lot!”
Then she took me behind the statue of the goddess and there, frail and naked under the cold light leaking in from above, was a little tree in a little pot.
Coming to about my waist, the tree was gray, with half a dozen graceful limbs no bigger than my smallest finger. Only a single silvery leaf clung to the tree. It was overly large, but delicately shaped with fine veins tracing a lacy pattern across its surface.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Aunt Rali?” Emilie cried. Then she ran to the tree and fell on her knees.
She poured the water into the pot, chanting:
I took a look
In a book
And there I saw a tree.
And the tree lived here
And the tree lived there.
Wriggly, wriggly everywhere.
Come and see
Emilie’s tree
And you shall be<
br />
Free like me.
Wriggly, wriggly, Emilie.
The water came out of the cup as a glowing stream. And the quantity seemed vast for such a little vessel. Flowing on and on as she chanted, swirling about the base of the tree, overflowing the pot and spilling out onto the stone floor.
When she finished her chant, she stopped pouring. Put the cup down carefully. Then clapped her hands together, shouting:
“Emilie says!”
The little tree shimmered, the silver of the single leaf shone brighter. I could feel sorcerous energy stir from far away. The trees roots were drawing on that Otherworld power and I could actually sense woody life swell and grow stronger.
“The beautiful tree was in Uncle Amalric’s book,” Emilie said. “I didn’t really read it. I can read a little. But Uncle Amalric uses pretty hard words sometimes. So I got other people to read it to me. All about their adventures looking for the real Far Kingdoms. My favorite part was when they got to the magic tree. With the silver leaves.”
She pointed at the pot. “So I made one.” She grimaced. “It’s kind of small. And it doesn’t grow so good in this light. But with the magic water to help I got it to make a leaf.”
Emilie touched the leaf and it moved under her fingers, seeming to rub against them like a kitten.
“Maybe you can use the leaf to win the war, Aunt Rali,” she said, solemn as a temple priestess. “That’s my surprise. I hope it works. I’ve been watering and making spells and working hard for ever so long.”
I became kind of moist eyed at that. To think of a child less than seven worrying about such terrible things. And plotting day after day to find a means to save her elders. But I didn’t see how a leaf from even the most magical tree could help.
I said, “It’s lovely, Emilie. And I’m proud you were able to do such a thing. I don’t think Palmeras could snatch a tree out of a book and grow it. I certainly couldn’t.”
“It isn’t out of the book,” Emilie protested. “That just gave me the idea. I imagined the tree. I imagined a forest where they grew, but they were too big for me to bring back. So I took a seed. And grew it.”
Her story was astonishing. She was only a child but moving in and out of worlds with the ease of the most learned Evocator.
“The leaf isn’t ready yet,” she said. “It needs to grow some more. I think it’ll fall off when it snows. Then it’ll be ready.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I just do. And you know what? I think it’s going to snow on my birthday this year. So that’s when the leaf will fall off and be ready. Isn’t that a wonderful present, Aunt Rali?”
“Hold on a moment, child,” I said. “Your poor Aunt Rali’s head is coming apart. First you show me a bewitched pool. Then a conjured tree. And now you’re predicting the weather. Give an old soldier a chance to catch up!”
I sat beside the potted tree and pulled her into my lap. She snuggled close.
Then she said, “Are you ready yet?”
“I’m ready,” I said. “Now tell me about the snow. It’s important.”
“What do you want to know?” Emilie asked, playing with her fingers.
“Can you really tell when it’s going to snow?”
She frowned, thinking. Then shook her head. “Not exactly. But soon. Can’t you feel it? It’s out there.”
Emilie pointed south. “Way, way far away.”
And then somehow I joined with her and we pushed into the Otherworlds together until we came to what I can only describe as a cold brittle place.
“There it is, Aunt Rali,” I heard the child’s voice whisper. “There’s the snow.”
I could smell it. Taste its metallic edge. Hear the bully winds blowing just beyond.
“Let’s go home, Emilie,” I said.
I felt her stir in my arms and suddenly we were back in the temple.
“Thank you for showing me the snow, Emilie,” I said. “I couldn’t have found it on my own.”
Emilie shrugged, unimpressed with her own powers. “That’s okay,” she said. “It was easy.”
“The snow storm doesn’t seem many weeks away,” I said.
“I told you,” Emilie replied. “The first snow of winter. Just in time for my birthday.
“I’ll be stronger then. That’s what the pretty lady said, anyway. But I don’t know. I’m kind of little, Aunt Rali. I don’t think I can get that strong all at once, do you?”
“I can’t answer that, dear,” I said. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Even if I’m not,” she said, “you can use the leaf. Just like Janela and Uncle Amalric. Because soon as it snows that leaf’s going to be ready. And it’ll fall off and I’ll make up this... this... great big… humongous spell. And then the war will be all over. And maybe the pretty lady will let my mother and father come back and live with me again.”
I looked up at the statue of the goddess. Her back was to me. And I thought, “How like you. Turn around, O Great Goddess. Whom we all worship like fools. Turn around and answer the child. You explain why her mother and father can’t come back. You explain why every member of her family has been slain. And while you’re at it maybe you can explain it to me.”
Thankfully, Emilie became restless and squirmed out of my lap. She went over to the potted tree.
“I can make it snow without a storm, Aunt Rali,” she said. “Do you want to see?”
I nodded and she wriggled her fingers above the tree, piping: “Emilie says!”
Suddenly flakes of snow fluttered from beneath her hand and drifted down on the leaf.
Emilie giggled, wriggling her fingers harder, making more snow fall.
Some fell on the leaf, making it shake and jingle like the marketbells on a horse drawn sleigh. The flakes didn’t melt but fell to the floor quite whole. I swept them up with my mortal hand and they crumbled like dust.
I started to blow the snow dust into Emilie’s grinning face, then stopped.
“Could you make a little more of this, Emilie?” I asked. I pointed to the cup. “Enough to fill that?”
“Are you going to make a spell, Aunt Rali?” she asked.
“Yes, dear,” I said. “And I’ll need some Emiliesays dust to make it.”
She laughed at that and wriggled her fingers to make more snow, chanting Emiliesays over and over again.
And later, when Quatervals led the scouting party out the gates, I had the cup and her kiss to arm me against what lay ahead.
The rain had been replaced by a heavy mist that swirled around us like a watery cloak as we moved across the muddy swamp of the battleground. The mud and mist made it difficult going. There were sodden timbers of wrecked war machines to trip us up and stab us with pike-length splinters of wood.
Abandoned fighting pits and trenches were invisible pools of muck to trap us and suck us down. In one place corpses floated out of their graves, rotted arms outstretched to embrace us.
Quatervals took the lead, displaying his vaunted talents as a scout by steering us past all danger. We must’ve looked like a giant centipede as we scuttled across the muck, weaving this way and that, blindly following Quatervals’ signals.
Sometimes he’d pause, tapping my hand to wait. I’d tap Pip, who’d signal Derlina in turn. And we’d all stop as if we were a single creature. When whatever danger had existed passed by, Quatervals would tap and move forward and off we’d go again.
We traveled like that for a time, then we came on the firmer ground of trampled grass. I felt greater weight on my legs and knew we were moving up an incline. Then the mist lightened and I could see the piled logs and boulders of a barricade. Beyond that was enemy territory.
One of our patrols was waiting for us. It’d been their job to find and clear any ambushes that might’ve been set up. Now that we’d arrived at the jumpoff point they’d hurry back and report to Palmeras so the flare clock could be started and the first diversion launched.
Hasty hand
signals were flashed. No one had been seen behind us. No enemy patrols were immediately ahead.
Then they pressed our palms to wish us luck and headed back to Galana.
While we waited I crept to the barricade and peered up the hillside with my ethereye. I saw the shimmer of Novari’s first shield and searched along its edges for a flaw. The shield was meant both to block any magical attack and to give the alarm if anyone broke through. But it had to protect so much ground that I knew it’d make an imperfect fit. There’d be small hollows and dips big enough for us to get under.
