The Tree of Water (39 page)

“Whaddaya mean?” Char demanded.

Ven held up his hand, just as Char had done the moment before.

In his palm was the last tiny pearl from Amariel's red cap.

 

42

Another Riddle Answered

I wasn't sure if I was awake any longer, though it didn't really seem that I was dreaming, either.

I thought about how her eyes lit up when she talked about the Deep, how excited she had been for me to see it with her.

And now I was here, at the bottom of deepest trench of the ocean, at the foot of the most powerful ancient magic of her world.

Without her.

 

“Amariel,” Ven said. His thrum voice was heavy. “Her name means
Star of the Sea
. She was angry with me whenever I would forget and thrum it in the drift, but really, it's pretty much all that's left of her now.” His spirit-eyes began to sting with salt that did not come from the seawater. “I wish she was here—that she is still alive up there, miles above us, in the diving bell. Amariel, look—here's a wonder you deserved to see, and probably never will. Thank you for bringing me here, for letting me see this amazing, watery world of yours, which I never would have seen without you.”

Below him, the ground began to glow, it seemed.

The three boys looked down at their feet.

The millions of starfish that covered the seamount on which Frothta stood were growing brighter each second, as if they were the heavenly objects for which they were named. The glow grew more intense, until the dark water of the drift at the bottom of the sea was alight, shining like a bright day in the upworld.

And as they shone, the starfish began to rise in the drift, turning slowly, almost as if they were leaves dancing in the wind. Stars falling upward.

Spreading their new light to every dark corner of the sea.

Beneath their feet, the boys could feel a rumble, a thrum that was louder and stronger than that of Megalodon, of the waterspout, or any other massive thing that they had met up until that point in their travels.

Frothta was soaring upward, revived and growing with the speed of a traveling waterspout, reaching its ropy branches out across the undersea mountain range, lighting the peaks with a golden power. Its voice, beautiful as it had been in dying, was ringing through the Deep, causing the lava to erupt in laughter and the black smokers to split in two.

From everywhere, it seemed, fish and sea creatures appeared, joining in the eternal dance that had been within the Tree of Water's arms from the beginning, expanding it as far as Ven could see.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see his two friends, their faces slack with wonder, frozen in the light that was washing over them all. Higher above, he could see the head of the dragon Dyancynos, glowing as the Tree was glowing, watching him.

“What's happening?” he asked her silently, his thrum lighter than it had been in the Sunlit Realm. “Has the Tree of Water stopped dying?”

“So it seems,” the dragon replied. “This great being, one of the five World Trees, has been healed, reborn, because the five elements that were present at the moment of her birth have come together once again, because of you, Ven. And you saw it. And now you know that she is not a myth, that she lives—and you can tell those who have forgotten her story what you've seen.” She looked directly into his eyes, and Ven knew by the feel of her thrum that she was smiling. “That alone has helped to revive her. When all but a few beings in the world have forgotten your name, your story, it's a little like dying.”

Ven thought of his family back in the seaside town of Vaarn, half a world away. He remembered how he had felt their sadness when they believed him dead after the Fire Pirate attack, and how much it had meant to him when the albatross that had helped to rescue him returned with a letter from his father, celebrating the news that he had been found alive.

“I think I know what you mean,” he said.

The dragon smiled.

“I had a chance once to meet the sister of Frothta, the World Tree known as Sagia, in the forest of the Lirin back in Serendair,” Ven continued. “My curiosity was boiling when I got the invitation, but I had to pass it up, to get Amariel back to the sea.”

“I suspect you will have that chance again one day,” said the dragon.

“I'm not sure I want to go back to the upworld, where that tree lives,” Ven admitted. “It was a long and painful journey to get here. Going back may be even more painful—I've heard tales of sailors dying from the bends, and it's a fairly horrible way to go. Couldn't we just stay here now, Dyancynos? I can't imagine returning to the Sunlit Realm without Amariel.”

The great beast eyed him with sympathy, but shook her head.

“As important as it is that you came here, Ven, you are out of place. We can sometimes observe each other's worlds, but that does not mean we can live in them. Think of Coreon's people, who gave up the air to live within the sea—and they can never go back. It's time for you to return to the place where the Creator put you, where you are meant to be.”

“I'm not sure where that is,” Ven said. “The Nain, my people, mostly live within the depths of the Earth. My family chose long ago to live in the upworld, by the edge of the sea, building ships to carry people across that sea, though none of them would ever have dreamed to go themselves. I live in a place far away from my family—I don't really know what is meant by ‘home' anymore.”

“You are young,” said Dyancynos. “You have a lifetime to discover where ‘home' will be. Know this, Ven Polypheme—you are always welcome in this place, if ever you are in need.”

“Thank you,” said Ven gratefully.

“And do not spend too much time wondering why your arrival was foretold,” the dragon continued. “You were not chosen to come to the bottom of the sea—
you
chose to do so. You curse your own curiosity, but you have something else that makes you special—courage. And a kind, loyal heart. You seek the magic in the world, but there is much of it in you—not in the way there is in Frothta, or me, but in the simple willingness to see a journey through to the end, taking care of the companions you have brought with you. That is sometimes the greatest magic of all, Ven Polypheme.”

“Magic,” Ven murmured. His head was still spinning from the power that was surging all around him. “Wait—wait! I almost forgot—what started me off on this quest in the first place, besides Amariel's desire for me to explore the Deep with her.” He fumbled around in the buttoned pocket of the filmy vest that was part of his spirit form, then pulled out the sleeve of Black Ivory.

“I have something that belongs to you,” he said.

Then he drew the dragon scale from its sheath.

The dragon's eyes widened in surprise.

Then filled a moment later with a shine that looked like tears.

“Oh, my,” Dyancynos murmured. Her thrum was soft with wonder. “My scale. You have brought me back my scale.”

“Yes,” said Ven. It was the only word he could form.

The ancient dragon was silent for what seemed like forever. But finally she nodded at me, and the scale rose from my hands, as if the drift itself had plucked it from them. It floated up until it came to a stop, hanging in the now-bright water of the depths, in front of her gleaming eyes. The dragon stared at it for even longer than she had been silent.

And then she told me the story of how it had come to be separated from her.

Her thrum was as clear and clean as the whistle that starts the work shifts each day at my father's factory. It's a silver sound that can be heard all over the harbor when it blasts each morning, impossible to miss. And as she told me the tale, I took note, because I knew I was hearing a special story, lore that had never reached the ears of my kind before. No Nain had ever heard the story, nor any other land-liver.

She was trusting me with it. And even before she was done, I knew that I had to go back, back to the upworld, back to the king, and tell him this story.

Because it was my job to do so.

Because it was my honor to do so.

How long he stood there after the dragon was finished with her tale, Ven was unsure. He did not know if Coreon and Char were hearing the same story. The boys were still staring at the great convention of sea life that was joining the dance through the arms of the Tree of Water.

Finally, when the great beast had completed her story, she nodded to the boys. Her thrum changed.

“Thank you for all you have done, Char, Coreon, and Ven Polypheme,” she said. “Frothta thanks you, as do I. But now it is time for you to return to your own world. I will see to it that you will do so in safety, protected from anything that would harm you in our realm. Hold tight to what you brought with you—your return journey will be swifter than the one that brought you here.” She waited while Ven tucked the sleeve of Black Ivory back in his spirit-pocket, and Char hastily took his air stone from the drift and returned it to his own.

“Take these,” she continued as five of the smallest glowing stars spun slowly toward them in the drift. “One for each of you, one for your merrow friend, if she lives still, and one for the king of the land-livers, so that future generations will know just enough about Frothta to keep her safe—and no more.”

“I understand,” Ven said as he plucked three of the stars from the drift and added them to his pocket.

“In the upworld, they will be out of place, you know,” said Dyancynos, smiling.

“I know.”

“And one more thing before you ascend—Frothta has a gift for you as well.”

Ven looked up. As he did, he saw a single leaf, like that of an oak tree in the upworld, falling gently down in the drift. He caught it carefully and turned it over. Its veins were green as the kelp in the forests through which they had traveled.

“Thank you,” he said.

The dragon nodded.

Then she sang a single note, pure and sweet, that echoed through the Deep.

The boys looked up.

Like bolts of lightning, breaking through the darkness of the depths, three enormous whales appeared, clear and silver, from the branches of Frothta. They swooped down elegantly, like giant birds of the sea, to where the boys stood, and, before they knew what to do, the three of them were riding on the backs of the great beasts, or, in Char's case, on the tip of its nose.

They sped us through the darkness of the depths and up toward where the sea began to lighten, at least a little. They followed our thrum, and we followed that of the tolling bell in which we had left Amariel's shrunken body, as well as our own. It did not seem to take long to find ourselves at the bottom of the diving cage, and the whales waited patiently while I fumbled with the skeleton key, almost dropping it several times from my filmy hands.

It was pretty strange to look up through the grate in the bottom of the bell to see our earthly bodies, asleep, on the small ledge. We looked pretty much as we had left ourselves, but Amariel, to our dismay, had shriveled to little more than scales and dry skin.

I watched as Char and Coreon both swam over to themselves and slipped inside their bodies. They began to yawn and stretch, and once I was sure they were safe, I did the same myself. It felt for a few seconds like I was caught in a giant whirlpool, sucking me down in a spinning riptide, but a moment later I felt solid again.

Real
, as Char put it.

“Now whadda we do?” Char asked as Ven began to dig around in his pocket. “I hate to say it, Ven, but it looks like we're too late.”

Ven didn't answer. He took one of the tiny gleaming sea stars out and laid it carefully on what he thought had at one time been the merrow's heart.

The three boys watched in amazement as Amariel's body began to swell in the light of the sea star. It filled in, almost like a flower that had been dried too long in the sun of a rainless summer, until the merrow was whole again, curled up asleep on the tiny shelf of the diving bell.

“Don't wake her,” Coreon advised as Ven started to gently shake Amariel by the shoulder. “She's been through a lot more than we have—and when she finds her cap is gone, it may take a while for her to get over it. Merrows believe their red pearl caps are part of their spirit, their soul.”

“But they can live without them, right?” Char said worriedly.

Coreon nodded. “She doesn't need it to live.”

“But it's part of her soul,” Char insisted. “Will she be herself without it?”

“Perhaps,” the Lirin-mer boy said. “Who knows? But I'm guessing all it means is that she will never walk on the land again—and that's not necessarily a bad thing. She said she didn't want to be like the stupid merrow women who give their caps to human men—she's done that already once with you, right?”

Ven nodded sheepishly.

“So maybe her soul will always be here in the sea. That's probably for the best.”

Ven was about to respond, but just as he was forming his reply, the whales nudged their metal room with their giant heads, eager to get going. He lifted the still-sleeping merrow up and followed the other two boys out of the diving bell and into the sea again.

Below them, the black water seemed lighter, still glowing from the celebration miles below. Ven thought he could hear the thrum of the singing from the swirling rings of fish, but decided a moment later that it was all in his memory.

Goodbye, Dyancynos,
he thought.
Goodbye, Frothta. And thank you.

At the base of his brain, he felt a gentle thrum, or at least thought he did.

Replaced a moment later by the echoing, vast emptiness of the ocean.

Ven looked into the great face of the giant whale hovering below the diving bell, waiting impatiently for him.