by T.A. Barron
At length, the stairs came to an end. Before them ran a long hallway with a rounded ceiling, itself dimly lit by two of the same sputtering torches. Kate, Laioni, and Monga, ears thrust forward in alert position, started to walk down the hallway, the clattering sound of the walking stick echoing and re-echoing within the walls of stone. Soon they heard a new sound as well: the steady drip-dripping of water not far ahead.
“I wonder where that sound is coming from,” said Laioni.
“There, look,” observed Kate, pointing to a raised circle in the middle of the floor, barely visible in the dim light. “It looks like a fountain of some kind, except there’s so little water.”
“And look,” added Laioni, leaning close to the tiny spout of water gushing out of a hole in the center of the circle. “This water has colors in it. Can you see?”
As Kate bent lower, she discovered several subtle, shimmering rainbows within the spray. “You’re right, but in this light it’s hard to tell if it’s the torches making those colors or the water itself.”
Just then Monga started barking loudly. Kate and Laioni straightened to see—or, more accurately, to sense—they were surrounded by eight or ten nearly invisible beings. A vague white glow hovered in the spot where each of the beings stood, as much a lessening of shadow as a presence of light. Though it was difficult to tell, the figures appeared to be quite compact, no higher than Kate’s waist. They were each rather round in shape, and if she wasn’t mistaken, Kate thought she glimpsed the barest flash of yellow near the top of each form.
Without a sound, the ring of glowing beings opened in the direction of the hallway, then moved closer to Kate, Laioni, and Monga. They came very near, paused, then as soon as any of the three companions moved down the hallway, moved closer again. Kate realized they were being herded, like sheep, by the vaguely visible creatures.
Monga continued barking until Laioni reached down and stroked his scruffy coat along his neck. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “They’re not going to hurt us.”
“What makes you so sure?” asked Kate, her brow furrowed.
“Because,” announced Laioni, “they are Tinnanis.”
Kate stopped short. “You mean these white glowing shapes? The Tinnanis don’t have real bodies?”
At that, a stirring sound filled the hallway, accompanied by a muffled sort of clucking, almost like the stifled laughter of great birds.
“They have bodies,” replied Laioni. “Just like the Slimnis can change from their basic lizard forms into manlike shapes, their brothers the Tinnanis can change from their basic forms into invisible puffs of wind. Right now they’re not quite invisible so we can see them enough to be herded.”
“And what is their basic form, when they’re not invisible?”
Laioni did not answer. Her eyes focused on something down the hallway. Kate turned from her to look, and saw that a new and brighter light had come into view. As they drew nearer, the light expanded, until finally it opened into a wide and high room.
As they entered the chamber, Kate thought of the great hall of the grand Scottish castle she had once visited with Grandfather. Glowing balls of white whom she now knew to be Tinnanis lined the walls on both sides. Overhead, a dozen sputtering torches flamed, suspended from a circular chandelier made of heavy metal chains. Though the torches were no brighter than those lining the hallway and the spiraling stairs, because so many of them hung from the chandelier a brighter light filled the room. Darkness still clung to the walls and corners, but at least Kate could see Laioni and Monga more easily.
At the farthest end of the room, Kate spied three grand high-backed thrones. The middle one, tallest of the three, was delicately wrought of white whalebone, studded with stones of all colors and descriptions. Purple amethyst, yellow sulfur, red jasper, green-and-silver agate, and black obsidian rimmed its edges. At the very top, the whalebone curved as if to support something shaped like a sphere, but the cup-shaped space was empty. In a flash of irreverence, Kate imagined that one of her softballs would fit perfectly there. The two thrones on either side, carved from huge transparent crystals of quartz, were identical. They shimmered in the wavering torchlight like two gigantic blocks of ice, clear and cold.
In the central throne, as well as in the transparent seat to its left, round balls of white glimmered. Then, as Kate and Laioni stood transfixed, the two forms started to solidify. The glowing masses grew whiter, even as they grew more defined. Kate glanced to one side to see that the same thing was happening to the rows of Tinnanis lining the walls of the chamber. When she turned back, the true form of the Tinnani Chieftain had nearly materialized.
She gasped, for the owl’s head handle of the walking stick had seemingly sprung to life. The Chieftain’s eyes, perfectly round and yellow, were those of an owl, but the rest of his face seemed more human. Instead of a beak, a long hooked nose hung low above his small mouth. His eyebrows, made of dozens of tiny feathers, protruded from his forehead like tufts of white cotton. Fluffy white feathers covered his round body, and two great white wings pressed close to his shoulders. Beneath his cloaklike wings, two arms sprouted, now resting across his ample white belly, which was adorned with a wide belt bearing an amethyst crystal in its buckle.
Both legs, like both arms, were covered completely with white feathers. His feet, shaped like those of a man, looked tough and callused. From each of his fingers and toes grew talons, curved and sharp, though Kate suspected they could be retracted for everyday uses like walking. He wore a gleaming silver band around his brow, tilted slightly to one side. But for his face, hands, and feet, he looked like an enormous white owl, glowering at both Kate and the walking stick.
To the Tinnani Chieftain’s left, another owl-like person solidified in the crystalline throne. Equally tall but less rotund, this Tinnani had softer facial features, a shorter nose, and even larger yellow eyes, which radiated both wisdom and suffering. In the talons of one hand, she held a long staff like a scepter, dotted with red rubies. Around her neck was draped a string of glistening pearls, no less white than her feathers. Studying the visitors with care, she snapped her jaws together sharply, making a sharp clicking sound.
The Chieftain stirred impatiently, then called to one of his aides in a hooting voice much like that of the owl Kate had heard in the forest. “Oysters!” he commanded. “Bring me some oysters.” Then he added irritably to his wife, “Will they ever learn to have them ready as soon as I materialize?”
Her yellow eyes blinked. She hooted softly, “Nobody knows when you’re going to materialize, dear, so it takes them a moment.”
“Well, I know when,” grumbled the plump Chieftain. “That ought to be enough.” His head turned on his neck a full one hundred and eighty degrees, and he called to the scurrying aide: “And get me some pickled mousetails while you’re at it.” He smacked his lips and again turned to his wife. “Don’t tell me they’re bad for me, I know it already. But today is a special occasion.”
“So was yesterday,” she said calmly.
“And so may tomorrow be,” thundered the Tinnani from his throne. “I can eat mousetails anytime I like. It’s part of being Chieftain, about the only part I enjoy. I wish I could chuck all the rest.”
His yellow eyes concentrated on Kate. “Now, as to you,” he hooted, “the one who tells my First Guardian she comes from the future and calls herself Kaitlyn. How dare you enter Ho Shantero spreading false rumors of warriors and assassins inside the crater? You have already caused me and my council no end of heartburn on the subject. Tell us now, finally and forever, that this rumor is a lie.”
Kate started to speak when a Tinnani wearing a wide-brimmed hat made of blue feathers stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, Your Wingedness, but shouldn’t we introduce you first?”
The Chieftain ruffled his wings annoyedly. “Formalities, formalities. I know who I am, so what does it matter if they do? Oh, all right, but be quick about it.” He sat back, tapping his belt buckle with one sharp tal
on.
The hatted aide spread his wings wide. From the back of the chamber came a chorus of deep horns, with a slight flourish of flutes at the finish. “I present to you Hockeltock de Notnot, Fourteenth Chieftain of the Tinnanis.” Again the horns sounded. “And Chieftess Hufter Blefoninni, who rules at his side.” The Tinnani closed his wings, bowed to the enthroned couple, and withdrew.
“Now, your answer,” commanded the Chieftain, still tapping his belt buckle.
“The rumor you spoke of,” began Kate, speaking as firmly as she could manage, “is not a lie. It is true. We met four of the creatures you call Slimnis near the Circle of Stones. They attacked us and we fought with them.” After a pause, she added, “They won’t bother anyone again.”
“Liar,” sputtered the Chieftain, turning to his wife. “Hear how she persists?” The Chieftess sat impassively, following Kate’s slightest movement with her wide yellow eyes. “It’s enough to give me indigestion,” muttered the Chieftain. “Oysters! Where are those oysters?”
At that instant, a pair of Tinnanis wearing long capes of woven grasses flew to the throne from the back of the hall, one bearing a low-rimmed basket piled high with delicacies, the other a narrow container made of shiny purple stone. Laying the bounty on a low table brought by another aide, they bowed and backed slowly away.
“It’s about time,” snapped the rotund Tinnani, stuffing raw oysters and pickled mousetails into his little mouth. “Mmmmmff, dere id nodding ataw wike ekfewend dafood,” he said while chomping.
After swallowing three such mouthfuls, the Chieftain reached for the narrow container, brought it to his mouth, and washed it all down. A brief look of satisfaction, almost mirth, crossed his face, then abruptly turned into a scowl. “Your story is clearly false. What would the Slimnis want with you, two humans and a mangy little dog?”
Monga growled quietly. Laioni reached to him and stroked his head until he grew silent again.
Kate stepped forward, displaying the walking stick. “They attacked us,” she declared, “because they wanted this stick.”
A fluttering of wings filled the chamber. Several of the Tinnanis drew nearer, hoping to get a better view of the intricately carved object. The Chieftess in particular stretched forward to examine it closely. Then the Chieftain waved them all back with one of his hands and spoke sternly to Kate.
“Do you think you can fool me so easily? That is no stick of power. It is nothing but a fake.”
“It is not,” objected Kate. “It’s the real thing. It brought me here from the future. Through a time tunnel. All I need is for you to tell me how to make it take me back. And soon, before they cut down the Ancient One, or I won’t get back at all.”
The Chieftain scowled at her. “Even if you speak the truth, why should I help you? All your kind has ever done is torment my people.”
Laioni stepped forward. “That’s not so, Your Wingedness. The Halamis live with your people and the rest of the forest beings in peace. A few of our number have turned bad, it is true, but most of us take only what we need, honor the land, and cherish its fruits.”
“She speaks the truth,” spoke the Chieftess gently.
“Oh, she does, does she?” demanded the Tinnani by her side. Facing Kate, he asked bluntly, “Can you say the same for the humans of your time?”
Kate blanched. “Well, ah, I guess—no, not really. I’m afraid the people in my time have forgotten most of what the Halamis knew.” She stiffened her spine. “But some haven’t forgotten. Aunt Melanie, the one who—”
“Enough,” bellowed the Chieftain, reaching for another handful of mousetails. “We already know what the humans of your time are like. We have even learned to speak their language.” He sniffed the delicacy appreciatively. “For we have met one of them.”
Kate’s heart leaped. “So you know Aunt Melanie?”
The Chieftain leaned forward, dangling the uneaten mousetails from his hand. “I will tell you about the humans of your time. They are thankless, grasping, and unconnected. To themselves, to the land, to their fellow beings. They know no wonderment. Their memory is short and their vision is shorter. They believe the world is nothing more than a bundle of firewood for their use, to be burned and the coals discarded.”
“Much like another in our own time,” muttered the Chieftess.
“Aunt Melanie’s not like that,” objected Kate. “And the others—well, they can still learn. They just need help. That’s why Aunt Melanie’s so important to the future. And she’s in big trouble. I know she is. Won’t you please help me get back to her?”
“Absolutely not,” said the Chieftain. He plunged the mousetails into his mouth, chewed briefly, and swallowed them with a gulp. Then, with a gleam in his yellow eyes, he said, “I will, however, do something better.”
He hooted to an aide standing next to the entrance of one of the side tunnels ringing the room. “Bring me the visitor from the future.”
Kate gaped at the Chieftain, then at Laioni. “Aunt Melanie? Here?”
They heard a scuffling sound from the side tunnel. Two Tinnanis emerged escorting someone who alternately kicked and cursed at them.
“Hey, let me go, you stupid owls,” shouted the visitor as they entered the great hall. His injured shoulder had been bandaged, and one arm hung in a sling beneath his repaired yellow rain jacket. But his mood was clearly not one of gratitude.
“Jody,” said Kate disappointedly.
“Bring him closer,” commanded the Chieftain.
As soon as the boy came near, his eyes met Kate’s. “You!” he exclaimed angrily. “You’re the one who did this. You lousy…Where in hell’s half acre am I? What did you do with all my friends?”
Kate’s eyes narrowed spitefully. “Like the one who dared you to shoot the owl?”
Jody suddenly fell back, as if he had been hit with a two-by-four. He looked at Kate with an expression of real remorse, then suddenly his eyes grew wide with fear. Looking around at the dozens of owl-shaped figures surrounding him, he whispered, “Is this—is this my—my punishment?”
Kate could not help but grin. “Yes, and you’d better behave or they’ll do to you what you did to their friend.”
The boy shuddered, ran a hand through his red hair. “I’ve got to be dreaming,” he muttered.
The Chieftain spun his head toward Kate. “And you want to go back to people like that?”
Gripping the shaft firmly, she replied, “They’re not all like that.” Then a question came to her. “Why did you bring him here, since I’m sure you found out what he’s like right away? Why didn’t you just leave him in the redwood grove?”
“To learn more about the future,” snapped the Chieftain, dropping a raw oyster into his mouth. “And we learned more than we wanted to know.”
“You could have done that without bringing him here,” pressed Kate, “and saved yourself a lot of trouble. I think you had another reason.”
The ruler of the Tinnanis did not reply. Then the Chieftess snapped her jaws and spoke: “You are right. It was the prophecy.”
“Prophecy? What prophecy?”
“Silence!” boomed the Chieftain. “I will have no talk of prophecies in front of these unworthies. Now go away, all of you.”
“Wait,” pleaded Kate. “Won’t you tell me anything about this walking stick? I came all this way for your help.”
The Chieftess started to speak, but the voice of Hockeltock de Notnot cut her off. “No,” he insisted. “We have no more time for strangers. Now, leave. I have other matters to deal with.”
Kate could see Laioni’s crestfallen face from the corner of her eye, even as her gaze fell to the ground. She thrust her hands sadly into her pockets. Unthinkingly, one hand closed around her Swiss army knife and the other around—something else. Half curious what the small round object could be, she pulled it out to view it. At once, she had an idea.
“Wait,” she said, stepping nearer to the throne. “Wait a minute. I have something here you will lik
e.” She extended her hand, displaying a single, plastic-wrapped peppermint candy, the one she had found in the tunnel behind Kahona Falls.
The Tinnani ruffled his wings and eyed her suspiciously. “How do I know it’s not some kind of poison?”
“It’s not. I’ll prove it.” Kate removed the wrapping and crammed it back into her pocket. Then she took an exaggerated lick of the peppermint, smiling broadly. “It tastes great.”
The aide with the feather hat rushed up, waving his hands excitedly. “Don’t do it, Your Wingedness. It’s a trick.”
“Here,” said Kate as she dropped the item into the Chieftain’s hand. “I promise it’s safe.”
Casting an imperial glare at the aide, the enthroned Tinnani turned to his wife. “Does she tell the truth?”
The Chieftess spun her head slowly toward her husband, then blinked. “She does.”
The Tinnani brought the strange object to his nose and sniffed. Nothing on his facial expression changed for a long moment. Then all at once, he smiled. “Nothing that smells this good could be poison,” he said, plunking the sweet into his mouth.
His eyes widened with pleasure. “Ooooooh,” he said giddily. “This is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. It is exquisite, fantastic.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, where did you get it?”
Kate’s eyes twinkled. “It is a great and rare delicacy, Your Wingedness, called peppermint. It is found only in my own time, five hundred years from now.”
“Huh?” said Jody, who had been growing increasingly bewildered. Among the various speakers, he could understand only Kate’s language. Yet hearing her words did not make them intelligible. “What do you mean, five hundred years from now?”
