The Lost Years (20 page)

“At least, with him, you can see what he really is with just one look. With me, it’s not so simple.”

She turned back to me. “You worry about who you are too much. Just be yourself, and you’ll find out eventually.”

“Eventually!” I stood angrily. “Don’t try to tell me about my life. Stick to your own life, if you please.”

She stood to face me. “It might help you to think about somebody’s life besides your own! I’ve never met anybody more wrapped up in himself. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met! Even if you are—” She stopped herself. “Forget it. Just go away and worry about yourself some more.”

“I think I’ll do just that.”

I stomped off into the thick forest by the River Unceasing. Too angry to watch where I was going, I crashed through the underbrush, bruising my shins and scraping my thighs. This made me all the angrier, and I cursed loudly. Finally, I sat down on a rotting trunk that was already mostly a mound of soil.

Suddenly I heard a gruff voice shout, “Get him!”

Two warrior goblins, the same ones we had eluded upstream, jumped from the underbrush and threw me to the ground. One of them pointed a sword at my chest. The other produced a large sack made of roughly stitched brown cloth.

“None of your tricks this time,” growled the goblin with the sword. He beckoned to the other with a burly, gray-green hand. “Get him in the sack.”

At that instant, a piercing whistle shot from the sky. The goblin with the sword cried out and fell back, his arm bleeding from the gouges of talons.

“Trouble!” I rolled out of the fray and jumped to my feet.

The merlin, talons slashing and wings flapping in the face of the goblin, drove him back several paces. Every time the goblin slashed with his sword, Trouble dived into his face, ripping at the eyes beneath the pointed helmet. Despite the huge size advantage of the goblin, the small hawk’s ferocity was proving too much.

But Trouble did not count on the other goblin joining the battle. Before I could shout any warning, the second warrior whipped his powerful hand through the air. He caught the hawk in mid-dive. Trouble slammed into the trunk of a tree and fell stunned to the ground. He lay there, utterly still, his wings spread wide.

The last thing I saw was the first goblin raising his sword to chop the merlin into pieces. Then something smashed me on the head and day turned into night.

24:
T
HE
S
WITCH

Conscious again, I sat bolt upright. Though my head still swam, I could make out the massive boughs of trees all around me. I inhaled the rich, moist air. I listened to the quiet whispering of the branches, which sounded strangely somber. And I knew that I must still be in Druma Wood.

No sign anywhere of the goblins. Or of Trouble. Was it all a bad dream? Then why did my head hurt so much?

“You is awake, I sees.”

Startled, I turned. “Shim! What happened?”

The little giant examined me warily. “You is never very nicely to me. Is you going to hurts me if I tells you?”

“No, no. You can be sure of that. I won’t hurt you. Just tell me what happened.”

Still reticent, Shim rubbed his pear-shaped nose thoughtfully.

“I won’t hurt you. Certainly, definitely, absolutely.”

“All rights.” Keeping his distance, he paced back and forth on the mossy soil. “The girl, the nicely one, she hears you fightsing. She is upset the goblinses capture you. She wants to finds you, but I tells her this is madness. I do try, I do try!”

At this point he sniffed. His eyes, more pink than usual, squinted at me. A tear rolled down his cheek, making a wide curve around his nose.

“But she does not listen to Shim. I comes with her, but I is scared. Very, very, very scared. We comes through the woods and finds the place where you fights the goblinses.”

I grabbed him by the arm. Small though it was, it felt as muscled as a sailor’s. “Did you see a hawk? A little one?”

The little giant pulled away. “She finds some feathers, all bloody, by a tree. But no hawk. She is sad, Shim can tell. This hawk, he is your friend?”

Friend.
The word surprised me as much as it saddened me. Yes, the bird I would have given anything to lose just a day ago had, indeed, become my friend. Just in time to leave me. Once again I knew the pain of losing what I had only just found.

“You is sad, too.”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“Then you is not going to like the rest. It isn’t nicely, not at all.”

“Tell me.”

Shim stepped over to a hefty hemlock root and sat down dejectedly. “She follows your trail. Shim comes, too, but I is more and more scared. We finds the place where goblinses camp. They is fightsing. Pushing and shouting. Then . . . she makes the switch.”

I gasped. “The switch?”

Another tear rolled down his cheek, rounding the edge of his nose. “I tells her not to do it! I tells her! But she shushes me quietly and sneaks up to the sack holding you. She unties it, pulls you out, over to these bushes. She tries, we both tries, to wakens you. But you is like dead. So she climbs into the sack herself! I tries to stop her, but she says . . .”

“What? Tell me!”

“She says that she must do it, for you is the Druma’s only hope.”

My heart turned into lead.

“Then the goblinses stop fightsing. Without looksing into the sack, they carries her off.”

“No! No! She shouldn’t have done that!”

Shim cringed. “I knows you is not going to like it.”

“As soon as they find her, they’ll . . . oh, it’s too horrible!”

“It is horrible, it is.”

Images of Rhia crowded my mind. Feasting beneath the fruity boughs of the shomorra. Showing me constellations in the darkest parts of the night sky. Greeting Arbassa with a shower of dew on her face. Wrapping her finger around my own. Watching me, and the glowing Galator, within the crystal cave.

“My only two friends, gone in the same day.” I slammed my fist against the moss-covered turf. “It’s always the same for me! Whatever I find, I lose.”

Shim’s tiny shoulders drooped. “And there’s nothing we can do to stops it.”

I swung my face toward his. “Oh, yes there is.” Wobbly though I was, I forced myself to stand. “I’m going after her.”

Shim recoiled, and nearly fell backward off the root. “You is full of madness!”

“Maybe so, but I’m not going to lose the one friend I have left without a fight. I’m going after them, wherever they took her. Even if it means going all the way to the Shrouded Castle itself.”

“Madness,” repeated Shim. “You is full of madness.”

“Which way did they go?”

“Down the river. They is marching fast.”

“Then I will, too. Good-bye.”

“Wait.” Shim grabbed hold of my knee. “I is full of madness myself.”

Though touched by the little giant’s intention, I shook my head. “No. I can’t take you, Shim. You’ll just get in the way.”

“I is not any fighter. That is truly. I is scared of almost everything. But I is full of madness.”

I sighed, knowing I was not much of a fighter myself. “No.”

“I asks you, please.”

“No.”

“That girl. She is sweet to me, sweet like honey! I only wants to help her.”

For several seconds, I studied the upturned face by my knee.

“All right,” I said at last. “You may come.”

P
ART
T
HREE

25:
A
S
TAFF AND A
S
HOVEL

For hours, we followed the River Unceasing, clambering over smooth stones and low branches. Finally the river curled to the south, and we reached the eastern edge of Druma Wood. Through the thinning trees, I viewed the bright line of the river and, beyond that, the shadowed plains of the Blighted Lands. From this vantage point, there could be no doubt that the River Unceasing had been the sparkling waterway that I had glimpsed from the dune on my first day on Fincayra.

Downriver some distance, I could make out a group of egg-shaped boulders. They straddled both sides, and at least one sat in the middle of the waterway. The channel looked wider and shallower in that area. If so, it would make a good place to cross. On the opposite bank, a stand of trees had been planted in parallel rows, like an orchard. Yet if indeed it was an orchard, it was the most scraggly one I had ever come across.

Twigs snapped behind me. I whirled around to see Shim, struggling to get through some ferns. Several green arms wrapped around his stubby legs. As he twisted and jumped in the ferns, his floppy yellow shirt, hairy feet, and prominent nose combined to make him look more like a poorly dressed puppet than a person. But his coarse brown hair (still wadded with honey, dirt, and sticks), not to mention his fiery pink eyes, made it clear that he was alive. And angry.

“Madness,” he muttered as he finally broke free of the ferns. “This is madness!”

“Turn back if you like,” I suggested.

Shim scrunched his bulbous nose. “I knows your thinking! You wants me not to goes!” He drew himself up, which still made him only a bit taller than my knee. “Well, I goes. I goes to rescue her.”

“It won’t be easy, you know.”

The little giant folded his arms and frowned at me.

I turned my second sight once more toward the lands across the river. It struck me that everything, including the trees in the orchard, wore blander colors than I had seen in the Druma. Whatever vividness the rest of Fincayra had added to my vision would vanish as soon as we crossed the river. I had grown accustomed to seeing brighter colors in the forest, and even dared to hope that my second sight had improved. But now I knew the truth. My second sight was just as faded as before, as faded as the landscape in front of me.

And, as before, the strange reddish brown color painted the plains beyond. All the eastern lands, but for the black ridges in the distance, showed the color Rhia had described as
dried blood.

I drew a deep breath of fragrant forest air. I listened, perhaps for the last time, to the continuous whispering of the boughs. I had only barely begun to sense the variety and complexity of this language of the trees, sometimes subtle, sometimes overwhelming. I wondered what they might be saying to me even now, if only I could understand their voices. Silently, I promised myself that if I should ever return to this forest, I would learn its ways, and cherish its secrets.

Just above my head, a hemlock branch quivered, filling the air with spicy scent. Reaching up, I rubbed some of its flat needles between my thumb and forefinger, half hoping that this would make my hand smell forever of the forest. On an impulse, I wrapped my fingers around the middle of the limb. I squeezed tight as if I were clasping another person’s hand. I pulled, just enough to feel the branch sway.

Suddenly the branch broke off. Still clasping it, I tumbled into the ferns—and onto Shim.

“You stupidly fool!” The miniature fellow regained his feet, took a swipe at my arm, missed, and fell back into the ferns. “What is you doings?” he cried from the tangle of green fronds. “You almost crushes me.”

“Sorry,” I replied, trying hard to keep a serious face. “The branch broke.”

From behind the mountainous nose, two pink eyes glared at me. “Shim almost broke!”

“I said I’m sorry.”

He stood again, growling furiously. “I makes you sorrier.” Clenching his fist, he prepared for another swipe.

Just then, I noticed the branch in my hand. To my astonishment, its bark started to peel away. At the same time, the smaller branches attached to the main stem began snapping off, one by one, dropping their needles on my lap. The peeling bark rolled into large curls, then fell away, as if shaved by an invisible knife.

Catching sight of this, Shim lowered his fist. A look of wonder filled his face.

By now the branch in my lap was no longer a branch. It was a sturdy, straight stick, thick and gnarled at the top, tapered at the bottom. Lifting it higher, I could see it stretched a full head taller than myself. I twirled it in my hands, feeling the smooth wooden skin. In a flash, I understood.

Using the stick as support, I lifted myself from the ferns. Standing before the fragrant hemlock tree, I recalled my clumsy attempt to find a staff when I had first entered this forest. I bowed my head to the tree in thanks. Now I held my staff. And more precious by far, I held a small piece of the Druma that would travel with me beyond its borders.

“You isn’t going to hit me with that stick, I hopes,” said Shim rather meekly.

I looked at him sternly. “If you won’t hit me, I won’t hit you.”

The little figure stiffened. “I didn’t want to hurts you.”

I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Hefting my new staff in my hand, I started striding toward the egg-shaped boulders downriver. Shim followed behind, fighting through the brush, grumbling as much as before but not quite so loudly.

A few moments later we reached the spot. Here the river widened considerably, flowing over a bed of white stones. As I had hoped, the water, while still fast flowing, looked quite shallow. Beneath the boulders, the mud on both banks showed tracks of large, heavy boots.

“Goblinses,” said Shim, observing the tracks.

“I’m sure the River Unceasing did not make it easy for them to cross.”

Shim glanced up at me. “Myself, I hates to cross rivers. Really, truly, honestly.”

I leaned against my staff, grasping the gnarled top. “You don’t have to do it. It’s your choice.”

“How far will you goes?”

“To wherever Rhia is! Since those goblins think they have the Galator in their sack, they are probably heading to Stangmar’s castle. I don’t know if we can catch them before they get there, but we must try. It’s our only hope, and Rhia’s.”

My second sight scanned the shadowed hills in the distance. A wall of clouds, blacker than any storm clouds that I had ever seen, rose above them, plunging the easternmost hills in total darkness. Rhia’s own description of the location of the Shrouded Castle came back to me.
In the darkest of the Dark Hills, where the night never ends.
I must find her before she reached those hills!
Where the night never ends.
For in such darkness I would have no vision. And almost no hope.