by T.A. Barron
For an instant, the half grin disappeared and Kandeldandel regarded her intently. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely,” replied Kate as she passed beneath another torch. It too swelled in strength, illuminating them both. They continued walking side by side, listening only to the reverberations of their footsteps in the tunnel. At length, Kate asked, “By the way, how did you ever get inside the mountain?”
“Same way you did. I just followed you, after turning invisible of course. Those Slimnis were so eager to avoid getting eaten, they didn’t even notice.”
“I thought something was following me back there in the cave. I’m glad it was you and not one of those ghosts.” She stared ahead into the long tunnel, lit by a series of identically wrought torches. “How far is it to Ho Shantero, anyway?”
The Tinnani ruffled his feathers. “A good day’s walk, I’m afraid. It’s quicker than going overland, but not as fast as flying.”
Kate teased, “At least with your broken wing I know you’ll stick around for a while.”
“Sad but true,” answered Kandeldandel.
Suddenly Kate remembered Jody’s injured arm. “What about the others?” she asked. “Jody and Monga—and Laioni. Are they all right?”
Kandeldandel fiddled nervously with his flute as he walked. “Jody’s fine. He was fighting for his life, and doing pretty well for having only one arm. But then he got into some big trouble. He’d have been killed for sure if I hadn’t carried him off.”
“So that’s why I couldn’t find either of you when Laioni and I were escaping.”
“And when I returned, you were gone.” He clucked with satisfaction. “But I got back in time to help Monga finish off Sanbu.”
“So he’s really dead.”
“Really.”
Kate pulled on Kandeldandel’s feathered arm, slowing him to a stop. “You’re not telling me something.”
The yellow eyes lowered. “Monga’s dead too. Died with his jaws clamped around Sanbu’s neck. The little fighter, he gave it everything he had.”
“And more,” added Kate somberly.
The Tinnani sighed. “He had more courage than a whole army of Slimnis.”
Leaning toward him, Kate said, “Like another little fighter I remember.”
Kandeldandel raised his eyes to meet hers. “I can’t believe Arc is gone.”
They started walking again, neither wanting to speak. Only after several minutes did Kate raise her voice again. “Do you think you might find yourself another owl someday? That spot on your shoulder looks kind of bare.”
The Tinnani spun his head halfway around, then back again. “Haven’t thought about it.”
Kate reflected for a moment. “Thanks to that little owl, I’m here today.”
“And thanks to you, Laioni is too. She told us what you did.”
“You found her?” asked Kate as another torch sprang to life above her head.
“It took a little looking, but finally I saw the circle of melted ice from the air. When Jody and I got there, Laioni was just trying to make herself walk so she could follow you. But she couldn’t have gone more than a few paces, she was so weak. She told us everything, though she didn’t have to. The burned stick said it all. Jody stayed to help her get down off the mountain while I left to find you.”
“I’m glad she’s alive,” said Kate quietly. “Even though the stick was my only chance to get back, I really had no choice.”
“You had a choice,” replied Kandeldandel. Then he added lightly, “Besides, your way of starting a fire was a lot easier than her way.”
Kate nodded. “But now I know why Aunt Melanie always likes to pack matches.” She shifted the blue day pack on her back. “It’s hard to believe I’ll never see her again.”
Kandeldandel lifted his good wing and stretched it toward her. “You’ve made some other friends, though. Friends you will see again.”
Together they strode down the tunnel. Many miles lay between them and the floating island of Ho Shantero, but they had much to discuss. Kandeldandel was particularly keen to learn the rules of modern baseball, though he soon proved himself a forgetful student. Kate, for her part, received her first instruction in how to hoot like an owl. As they moved past each successive torch, its power would instantly increase, flooding the tunnel in new and potent light.
31
the fire of love
ALTHOUGH they passed dozens of intersecting tunnels along the way, Kandeldandel guided them effortlessly through each and every turn. At last, they approached a circular terminus illuminated by a ring of torches. As the Tinnani indicated the ceiling, Kate lifted her eyes to see a small square of silver embedded in the stone high above them.
“The trapdoor,” she said. “We must be under the lake.”
Kandeldandel hooted lightheartedly, then suddenly stopped. “I forgot about something.”
“What?”
“These tunnels—we made them without stairs so that no intruders could pass out of them if they somehow got inside. The only way to go through that silver door is to fly.” He hunched his injured wing. “And that’s impossible.”
Kate looked from him to the trapdoor and back to him again. “This is terrible,” she moaned. “We come all this way, and now we can’t get through the front door.”
“It could be weeks before anybody comes along to give us a lift,” muttered the Tinnani.
Kate squeezed the Broken Touchstone in frustration. “This is one of those times I wish I could fly.”
At that, an infinitesimal glimmer of light flashed deep within the sphere. Before Kate could take another breath, she found herself rising slowly into the air. Too amazed to utter a sound, she rose to a height of approximately three feet off the ground, then drifted to one side until she hung suspended directly above Kandeldandel’s head.
“Guess it’s my chance to give you a ride,” she said in amazement. “Grab onto my feet.”
The astonished Tinnani did as he was instructed. With no effort whatsoever, Kate lifted him straight up into the air above the torches. Upon reaching the silver door, she pushed on its surface and felt it swing open with unexpected ease. She passed through the hole, carrying her passenger as well. After setting him down safely on the dark stone floor, she landed by his side and closed the trapdoor.
A sudden tearing sound ripped the air. A tall, treelike figure studded with knobby blue eyes reached through the transparent dome above them. As the appendage approached, Kate noticed that sunny yellow now replaced its former bone white color.
“Thika,” said Kate, gazing into as many of the round blue eyes as she could.
“Kaitlyn,” the watery voice replied. “This time, hsssh-whshhh, I have no need to ask you for the password.”
“You sound stronger than before.”
“Indeed I am,” sloshed the many-eyed creature. “As are the other Guardians. Though we are told much of the forest land outside the crater has been destroyed, shwshhh, the Wicked One’s power is spent. Already our lake grows cooler. And all this, whhshhh, thanks to you.” Thika swayed back and forth with a series of quick undulations. “I only wish the temperature would never rise again.”
“Yes, I know,” answered Kate solemnly. “I can’t do anything about that now.”
“You have already done, hhsssh, more than you know,” gurgled the Guardian. “For by saving our world in this time you have given the creatures of that later time a chance to save themselves. Hsh-whshh. Let us hope they are wise enough to do it.”
Kate made no reply.
“Hey,” piped up Kandeldandel, tapping his flute impatiently on his leg. “Can’t you talk some other time? We have some important business up there.”
“Whshhh, I see doing battle has not cured you of cheekiness,” said Thika sharply. “But this time you are forgiven. I see you are injured, shhhwhsh, and the Chieftain and Chieftess await.”
“And besides,” added Kandeldandel, “I’m hungry.”
The knobb
y appendage wrapped itself around the waists of the two travelers, avoiding the Tinnani’s drooping wing. Instinctively, Kate pulled the sphere close to her chest. She barely had a chance to inhale before she was being transported through the deep blue waters of the lake. Upward Thika carried them, until the dome seemed nothing more than a distant bubble below them surrounded by several gangling yellow creatures.
She heard the tearing sound once more, then suddenly she could breathe again. As she turned to Kandeldandel, sitting in a puddle beside her own at the base of the narrow stone stairway, Thika the Guardian bent low before her in what could only be a bow.
“Thank you, shhwsh,” the familiar voice sloshed. “Though you have only two eyes, hssshhwsh, you are now an honorary Guardian.”
“You’re welcome,” said Kate, electing to take the words as a compliment.
With a rip and a pop, the many eyes of Thika disappeared down the hole in the middle of the stone floor. As Kate, dripping wet, rose to her feet, the torch lighting the stairway immediately swelled in luminosity. Kandeldandel stood and shook his feathers like a wet dog, then gestured to Kate to lead the way.
Up the spiraling stairs she climbed, Kandeldandel on her heels. He began to hum a playful tune, no less melodious than that of a meadowlark but with the deeper resonance of an owl. As the ascending torches flamed more brightly, Kate could see the enormously detailed carvings in the black stone of the stairwell. A pictorial history of the Tinnanis since the beginning of time unfolded before her eyes, a tale of mountains rising and forests blooming, of creatures birthing and living and dying, of struggle and harmony, of great migrations, of simple homes under the roots of trees, of loyalty and betrayal, of season following season time and time again.
Nearing the top of the stairs, she heard a faint tapping sound. As she rounded the final spiral, it grew steadily louder, until with a start she discovered its source. A lone Tinnani, shorter and plumper than Kandeldandel, was at work carving a new scene into the stone. He stood upon wooden scaffolding, one chisel in each hand and a sharp-tipped implement held between his teeth. Turning briefly to Kate he grunted in greeting before returning to his painstaking labor.
Peering over his folded wings, Kate examined the new petroglyph. She saw a huge mountain exploding, with the unmistakable image of Gashra raising his arms wrathfully deep inside the volcano. Animals, birds, and people fled from the fiery outpouring of lava, while towering trees collapsed and burned all around. Then, to her surprise, she spotted a small human figure, joined by a flute-bearing Tinnani, scurrying to escape the cataclysm. In the human figure’s hands rested a radiant sphere, drawn larger than life, bearing a jagged crack across its surface.
“Can’t you make me taller?” asked Kandeldandel, scrutinizing the scene from below the scaffolding.
The craftsman scowled at him, then went back to work. Kate grinned at Kandeldandel before continuing up the last few stairs. As she topped the stairway she confronted the entrance to the great chamber. She realized instantly how little of it she had seen on her first visit.
Lit by powerful torches, the rounded ceiling revealed an intricate engraving of a single majestic tree, whose many branches bore fruits and flowers of all sizes and descriptions. Its stature reminded Kate of the Ancient One, although she had never heard of any tree bearing such a wide variety of fruits. Then at once, she understood. Instead of bearing the normal fruits of the forest, this gargantuan tree supported all the living beings ever found in this world. Thousands upon thousands of creatures, from a tiny ant to a great woolly mammoth rested upon the branches. Elk and spider, butterfly and bear, mushroom and hornet, fern and salmon, Tinnani and human, each held a particular place in the pattern. Each stood as a separate individual, each stood as a member of the whole. The numberless branches of this tree wove back and forth in a complex interlocking design, bristling with energy and vitality. For this was the Tree of Life.
As she proceeded toward the chamber, she walked beside the circular stone fountain in the center of the floor. Its meager trickle instantly shot skyward in the form of an energetic geyser. Instead of clear water, however, the splashing fountain radiated a spectrum of intense colors. Flashing prismatic hues in every droplet, it shimmered like a cascade of liquid light.
“The Rainbow Fountain is restored,” said Kandeldandel approvingly.
Kate nodded, but already her attention was caught by the assemblage of white-feathered figures she could see through the nearby archway of inlaid yellow and black stone. Passing beneath the archway, she entered a high-ceilinged chamber whose walls displayed a repeating motif of tall trees tended by soaring Tinnanis. As she entered, the flickering torches suspended from the chandelier flamed strongly, revealing the careful craftsmanship of the walls as well as the recessed stone ceiling, a vaulting dome of glittering concentric circles. After long absence, bright light again graced the central chamber of Ho Shantero.
Tinnanis filled the chamber, many more than the last time Kate stood within its walls. Some wore streaks of gray or red on their white plumage, some stood slightly taller than the rest of the crowd, some carried infants not much bigger than Arc upon their shoulders. All of them hushed with a brief fluttering of feathers when Kate stepped into the room. Kandeldandel, strutting behind her, puffed out his chest and held his head high. Watching the pair with wide owl eyes, the Tinnanis parted as they approached, clearing a pathway that led to the three carved thrones at the far end of the room.
The rounded body of the Chieftain filled the central throne of white whalebone, while the more slender Chieftess sat erect in the transparent throne to his left. The crystalline seat to the right remained empty, but next to it a frail white form lay on the bench of polished black stone.
As Kate drew nearer, the reclining form seemed to solidify, to harden before her eyes. Fanona. She was tall, like the Chieftess, with the same large, knowing eyes, and two small silvery tufts protruding from the top of her head. The Chieftess glanced in the direction of her daughter, whereupon a slow smile crossed her face.
Kate stood before the Chieftain and Chieftess, bowed slightly, then held in her outstretched arms the glowing red sphere. The Chieftain, dangling several mousetails from his mouth, reached his own hands toward it, quivering with anticipation.
“The Broken Touchstone,” announced Kate.
“Dewiffud mby Kootwyn, mmmff, da Conquawa, mmmff,” replied the Chieftain.
“It’s best not to make pronouncements with your mouth full, dear,” chided the Chieftess gently.
Glancing at her sharply, the Chieftain swallowed with all the subtlety of a croaking bullfrog. Then he wriggled in his throne and repeated, “Delivered by Kaitlyn the Conqueror.”
“Call me Kate, please,” she said as she handed him the sphere.
The Chieftain took it carefully in his hands, talons retracted so as not to scratch its surface, and studied it momentarily. Then he lifted it into position at the top of his throne. As it came into contact with the cup-shaped pedestal, the Broken Touchstone flashed brilliantly, causing the assembled Tinnanis in the chamber to cluck and hoot in admiration.
“Guests,” bellowed the Chieftain. “Bring in the guests.” Pausing for a second, he added, “And bring some more oysters while you’re at it.” Turning to Kate, he said, “We are most grateful to you.”
“And to you,” declared the Chieftess, looking straight at Kandeldandel.
At her words, Kandeldandel shifted nervously, dropping his flute with a clatter on the stone floor. Seeing this, the Chieftain closed his eyes and shook his white head in dismay.
At length he peered again at Kate. “You have saved our realm from destruction,” he continued. “The Wicked One is defeated, the Touchstone is returned, and most precious of all,” he said with a wave toward the black stone bench, “our daughter Fanona is nearly revived.” Shifting his gaze to Kandeldandel, he studied the musician for a moment, his face showing both amazement and pride. Then he declared, “And you, Kandeldandel Zinzin, have br
ought honor both to yourself and your proud family.”
The musician straightened his back and stood as tall as he could manage. This time he did not drop the flute. He bowed to the enthroned Tinnanis and hooted softly, “I was glad to be of service, Your Wingedness.”
The chamber instantly echoed with a loud chorus of cheers, hoots, and hurrahs that shook the chandelier. Tinnanis bellowed and screeched, celebrating their great victory. They danced together in small circles, tossing loose feathers into the air. Then the Chieftess, who had been pensively fingering the string of gleaming pearls around her neck, snapped her jaw and raised her ruby-studded scepter. Silence descended.
“We are joyous,” said the Chieftess in her clear, ringing voice, “for all the reasons you have heard. Yet we cannot forget that our joy is also mixed with sadness.” She gazed again about the room, with the expression of someone who knows both triumph and tragedy. “While we cherish our victory, it came only at great cost. Much of the lowland forest beyond the walls of our crater is now lost, buried beneath a blanket of molten stone. Regeneration will require many lifetimes, and our friends who died cannot ever be returned. Many of our favorite places are wiped away forever.”
She sighed, as her round eyes scanned the many faces filling the room. “And we have also lost something else. None of you, not even the youngest, will ever live to see the final healing of the Touchstone. The missing Fragment will never be found, for the only clues to its whereabouts were destroyed with the Stick of Fire.”
The Chieftess focused on Kate, who averted her eyes. “Your sacrifice was great, but it was even greater than you know. For with the loss of the Fragment, the Touchstone must remain forever diminished. Though our daughter Fanona grows stronger by the minute, and will one day assume her place on the throne, she will never nurture the forest with the power that was prophesied.”
She glanced toward the Touchstone. “But saddest of all is the glimpse of the future that I have seen in my dreams. Though the Halamis who survived will leave, seeking new lands to the south, other humans will eventually arrive. They will exist here, yet not live here. The forest to them will be only a tool, a meal to be consumed. They will not know it as a friend.”
