Worldshaker Page 15

  Thanks to Tsan, the Sri’Zauran general who’d come to them to negotiate a possible truce, they’d been able to produce the blue flower needed to treat the opportunistic fungus that had begun attacking Malli’s air bladders. But the healers had missed that problem. What else might they miss?

  “Rot and ruin!” he cursed, letting the mangled head petal fall to the ground.

  “How long until they let you back in?”

  Kholburran jumped at the stern yet understanding voice of the girl-type person who’d caught him unawares.

  “It’s just me, Snapdragon.” Arri patted him on the head with the back of her diminutive right hand, which grew green and spindly from the full-sized stump of her right arm where she’d been forced to hack it off at the fall of Tranduvallu. This far into winter, her head petals had all fallen, her outer bark grown more thick and rough, but it was good to know that her body had decided to regrow the limb immediately. Sometimes an injury endured that close to the seasonal shift from bloom and growth to sleep and endurance would remain unchanged all winter, waiting for the rebirth of the world that came with spring.

  “They only just sent me out again,” Kholburran growled. “I was helping with the injured, but they said I was underfoot.”

  “Want me to go check on her for you?” Arri’s voice was unusually gentle, despite the way she shook her head at what Kholburran assumed was her bemused disapproval of his . . . problem.

  “That would be . . . kind of you.” He studied her pupil-less black eyes and tried to imagine what she might be thinking. She wore her Root Guard armor, so she was not off duty, but there was a softness or a sadness that seemed to carry with her scent . . .

  “Want to come in with me?” she offered, letting the back of her strong left hand rest lightly against his other shoulder.

  “Really?” He felt the sap rushing to his cheeks as he smiled. His smile faded when he noticed the other Root Guards, each positioned casually distant but close enough to pounce.

  If I run they’ll chase me. They’re really going to take me south, aren’t they?

  Arri nodded as if in answer to his unspoken question when he looked back at her.

  “Am I saying goodbye?” Kholburran asked.

  “I hope you’re only explaining why she won’t be seeing you for a few days, Snapdragon,” Arri said. “You know how I feel about the idea of losing Malli from the Guard if she agrees to become your Root Wife, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to work out between you two all the same. Do you understand?”

  Kholburran bit back an angry retort and forced himself to nod.

  “I understand,” he said, after he was certain he could control the tremor in his voice. “But I won’t say goodbye.”

  Moving with purposeful restraint, Kholburran rose to his feet. Not wanting to injure Arri’s sprouting hand and forearm, he delicately extricated himself from her grasp, diminutive arm first, then the hale and hearty arm. If they really were here to force him south, there was only one way he could see to forestall the inevitable. Kholburran doubted they would resort to true force, but he knew at least one way they could make an unwilling prince Take Root.

  Cuttings. The word coursed like herbicide through his brain.

  Malli would have never let them do it. Under normal circumstances, he doubted his mother, Queen Kari, would allow it either, but he would be far to the south and with a war on in the north. If reports were to be believed, if even Hashan and Warrune were in danger . . . He studied Arri’s eyes. She wouldn’t want to do it, but he could almost see the script behind her eyes, the same sort of words that were said by girl-type people to justify doing whatever they felt necessary to “protect” a future Root Tree.

  When it comes down to root and earth, that is all a prince is to them: a Root Tree, more useful for a trick of gender than as an actual person.

  “Gather my Root Guard,” he ordered, his voice breaking on the first word but stabilizing at and strengthening on the last two words.

  “We’re most of us here, Snapdragon,” Faulina said. She stepped forward from her position across the way from him.

  “For my procession, Faulina.” But his eyes met Arri’s rather than Faulina’s. “As Tranduvallu, Hashan, and Warrune, and other princes have before me, I feel that it is time for me to seek a proper planting.”

  All of them gasped save Arri. Kholburran struggled to puzzle out the meaning of her expression. She looked . . . proud? Had she arranged all of this to deliberately prod him into Taking Root, or was she merely impressed that he had done it? Had she entrapped him or been trying to help him see what was coming, to offer him a chance to take what control he could of his future, limited though it might be? Too many possibilities and none of them mattered now.

  “What of Malli?” Arri asked. “How do you think she will track all of this?”

  Nearby stretches of bioluminescent moss, which festooned the underside of many of Hashan and Warrune’s upper branches and natural bridges, brightened. Pale green light cast an even, steady glow, replaced swiftly by the unsteady amber illumination of Warrune.

  Father’s watching me, Kholburran thought.

  When he’d been younger, just a sproutling, he’d thought all of the lights were amber. They’d followed him everywhere he went within the Twin Trees until one evening when the green light of Hashan had appeared instead.

  “Why is the light green, Mom?” he’d asked Queen Kari.

  “That’s your uncle Hashan’s light,” she’d said, a look on her face and a sound in her voice that he’d never before heard. “Your father is tired today, Kholburran.”

  But if Warrune was tired or world weary on this day, Kholburran could not sense it in the glow that indicated his attention; it burned brighter than Kholburran had witnessed in years, except for when the Root Tree communed with Kari. What did it mean? Was Warrune giving him his support or concerned to see one of his sproutlings condemning himself to the fate that had befallen Warrune? Regardless of the intent, Kholburran felt emboldened by the Root Tree’s focus.

  “Leave word with her that my procession has begun.” Kholburran felt the weight of the words, but, having said them, there was no taking them back. “I love her and I want her to be my Root Wife if she will, but my decision is not contingent upon hers. I know you hate it when I mention fairness, Arri, but it wouldn’t be fair to saddle her with that responsibility. It was a proposal, not a bribe required to induce me to perform my duty.”

  “Faulina.” Arri’s smile broadened, cracking the rough winter bark at the edges of her lips, bits of it flaking away and landing on the breast of her leather armor, where she brushed it off. “Ready the prince’s things and alert Queen Kari. We head south—”

  “North,” Kholburran snapped.

  “North?” Faulina asked, but Kholburran did not look at her, still focusing solely on Arri.

  “Snapdragon—” Arri began.

  “We need a more northern post,” Kholburran’s voice was almost a growl, his ridge thorns showing clearly, as if he were biting ends of the words. “Tranduvallu has fallen. I have not. So we go north. If my mother would prefer a more southern outpost, then she must grow more sons. If that outpost were to be me, I would plant myself to the far south, past Castleguard, maybe near Midian or all the way across Bridgeland to the foothills of the mountains the Dwarven-Aernese Collective calls home. I refuse to Take Root in the Parliament of Ages . . . unless, of course, you want another dying Root Tree whose rotting protests must be hidden from the world.”

  “Snap—” Arri started again.

  “It’s my decision, Arri!” Kholburran unslung his warpick, bark squeaking against the polished surface of the heartwood as his grip tightened. He couldn’t tell if he was more angry, afraid, or anxious . . . all of those feelings played off one another, his air bladders working faster in response. “My choice! You can’t make me Take Root wherever you want. You don’t have to stay there for centuries. I do! Long after you are all gone, I’ll still be stuck
there, so I’m sorry if my choice of direction is inconvenient, but my mind is made up and my intentions clear!”

  A thin layer of defensive sap had begun to form on his bark when he realized Arri was simply standing there, staring at him. No one was rushing to grab him or—

  “Are you done?” Arri asked.

  “You won’t force me to Take Root wherever you want, Arri.”

  “Are you done . . . now?” Arri’s voice was clearer than right after she’d taken an arrow to the throat, but the subtleties of her full vocal range had been skewed enough that Kholburran had trouble reading non-dynamic tones. But she did not seem angry . . .

  “What I was going to say was, ‘Snapdragon, you can Take Root wherever you choose, but I hope you will listen to our suggestions and heed our advice.’”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Such is your right,” Arri said, “and I will protect your right to choose no matter how foolish I may personally feel it to be.”

  “Really?”

  Without answering, Arri swept his feet out from under him, jerking the warpick from his grasp with one smooth motion of her right arm. She brought it up and over in an arc, stopping it point first above his chest, before rotating the head so that the flat cheek of the warpick’s head lay against him, and she let it fall with disdain.

  “Really. And don’t you ever brandish your weapon at me again, little prince.” Still leaning over him, she cut her eyes toward Faulina. “Was there something you did not understand about your orders?”

  “No, ma’am,” Faulina swallowed hard, eyes not on her commander but locked like Kholburran’s upon the steadily growing incandescence of Warrune’s light. It grew in intensity until even Arri was forced to look up at the now smoldering moss.

  “Arri . . .” Faulina started, but as she did the moss flared star-like, the scent of burning leaves filling the air as a mote of light leapt from the dead moss and scorched wood to the heartbow on Arri’s back.

  “Dad, no!” Kholburran shouted, unsure of how he knew what was going to happen, but clear none the less that Warrune was intent upon and capable of expressing his displeasure with the Root Guard in a far more serious manner than burned moss and a light show.

  “Wha—” Arri clutched at her throat in surprise, as her heartbow wrapped around her neck and shoulders, a writhing snake of dark wood.

  Faulina dropped to her knees, eyes cast down, as did the other Root Guards, save Arri, who fell against the wall, only to feel its bark crimp in around her shoulder, holding her in place.

  “ROOT.” A voice made of the rustling of leaves and the twist and crack of wood vibrated in their ears from the bark and wood rather than the forest air. “GUARD. PROTECT. ASSIST. SERVE. FOR ALWAYS, ARRI.”

  “Dad, stop!”

  “HE CHOOSE. HE SURRENDER. AND CUTTING STILL IN YOUR HEAD?!” The voice grew louder, drowning out Arri’s curses as her diminutive right arm vanished into the living wood of the Root Tree’s wall. “STILL?! TAKE THIS GRAFT THEN. FEEL WARRUNE.”

  Blackening around her shoulder, the wall smoked and hissed, with the pop of green wood burning. Struggling against the Root Tree’s grasp, Arri reached toward her sisters of the Root Guard, but even Faulina refused to look at her.

  “Father.” Kholburran hesitated, mind a whirl of ideas and emotions, all in conflict with each other. The effort this interaction was costing his father felt immense, but that it could happen at all meant there was more to Taking Root than he knew. Tranduvallu’s screams filled his mind as he recalled his uncle’s fall. There was a way to remain in communication with his fellow Vael, but what Warrune was doing made his sap run dry. It was wrong. “She’s rough around the edges, but she has always protected me. Arri put her life at risk for mine, and she’s my Root Guard now, Dad.”

  “Mine, Dad.” He reached out, taking Arri by her free shoulder in a true grasp, fingers closing on her, gripping her, claiming her if but for the moment. “Give her back to me. Please.”

  “FAVORITE BOY.” Warrune’s voice sounded dimmer, as if his rage, so quickly roused could no longer be sustained in the face of Kholburran’s compassion. “TAKE HER, BUT I WATCH. ALWAYS I WATCH.”

  Kholburran pulled her free of the wall, each inch hard won and where the stump of her right arm had grown green and small it came away fully formed, the color of lacquered heartwood, shot through with a knot-like whorl of moss at her forearm, which shined a pale amber at its center. Arri grunted, collapsing against Kholburran briefly, before pulling her heartbow from her neck, another matching whorl complete with gleaming amber light revealed in its wake.

  Behind her, the wall slumped and collapsed, glowing embers and ash falling away from its center.

  All eyes went to Arri.

  Flexing the fingers of her new right hand, she turned it from side to side. Her left hand found the change at her throat, studying it with the tips of her fingers. On the ground nearby, her bow twitched back into its more usual shape and she scooped it up.

  “Arri?” Kholburran offered.

  “I apologize, my prince.” Arri dropped to her knees. “While I do not believe that I ever would have given in to the temptation, I admit that I harbored thoughts of forcing you to Take Root where it most suited. Judge me as you will.”

  “Will you still take me where I want to go and protect me on the journey and when I Take Root?” Kholburran asked.

  “It would honor me more than I deserve to do so.” Arri looked up at him, eyes glistening with sap.

  “Fabtacular then.” Kholburran used one of Yavi’s favorite exclamations deliberately. He held out his hand to her, thinking at first to offer it in the way of most Vael, allowing forearm to rest on forearm, altering it at the last second to the kind of grasp humans or Aern might use. She could spurn it, which might embarrass him, but he hoped she would see it for what it was: a gesture of trust . . . and if Warrune saw it that way, too, then maybe his father would understand a little better, as well, and . . .

  “From this day,” Arri said as she took his grip and rose, “I am your Root Guard, Kholburran. I pledge myself to the service of the new Root Tree you will become until the day the Harvester takes my spirit, Gromma reclaims my body, and Xalistan sees fit that I hunt no more.”

  “And I,” said Faulina, kneeling. The others followed her example.

  “Good.” Arri nodded. “Then I’m glad you stayed. Make sure you explain the possible duration of Prince Kholburran’s sojourn, will you? See if Queen Kari wants to go with a larger or smaller escort given the circumstances.”

  “Arri?”

  The Root Guard turned to face him, Faulina darting off to carry out her captain’s orders.

  “Thank you.”

  I’m really doing this. He took one more look toward the temple where Malli lay healing and wished she could go with him. Whenever he’d thought of this moment, both she and Yavi had come with him, one last joyous romp through the Parliament of Ages with the Vael he loved and his favorite sibling. Malli would still be healing long after he had Taken Root and, unless she chose to become his Root Wife, they would never speak again. And Yavi . . . who knew where she was? Off in the depths of some reptilian tunnel making deals and securing a formal alliance with the Zaur. At least she’s safe, he thought, and well out of harm’s way. An Eldrennai prince at her side and the whole of the Sri’Zauran army to keep her out of trouble.

  CHAPTER 15

  LOOKING FOR TROUBLE

  Cold clear mountain air pushed heavy snow-bearing clouds north across the jagged ridge of the Sri’Zauran Mountains into the human settlements. Light from the first risen sun crept into the shadow of the stone overhang occupied by two sentient beings for the first time in more than a century. Yavi stirred when the burnished edge of day’s inevitable march found her outstretched arm. Her bark yearned for more heat, but that did not stop her outer layer from soaking up as much of the energy-abundant light as it could. Rising with a smile, she stepped out into the snow, letting her greedy yellow hea
d petals spread as freely as they would to maximize the exposure.

  She could almost imagine that she wasn’t fleeing for her life or chasing after something so dangerous she ought to be running the other way.

  Exactly which of those two she was doing was up for debate. Yavi liked to think it was a bit of both.

  An oppressive weight, the presence of the risen dead and the solitary mad thing that controlled them, loomed ever present, its tendrils streaking the sky when Yavi opened her senses to the spiritual realm. Dark streaks of writhing energy cut smoke trails in the sky visible only to those with the gift to see them. Less thick here than they had been farther east, they still showed the advance of Uled’s monstrous will.

  Yavi hoped she and the prince had veered far enough from the trail to avoid any direct encounters until after breakfast. She tried to force thoughts of Uled and his risen dead out of her mind by focusing on the natural spirits within the mountainside around her, the diminished singular essence of the small rocks (noting in particular those most likely to want to be thrown), and the great spirit of the mountain, so large it could scarcely be fully comprehended, much less called upon, and the still spirits of living plants lying dormant or growing determinedly despite winter’s approach.

  But someone has to find out what he is planning. She shivered at the thought and the cold equally. And we’re the only ones who made it out of there alive as far as I can tell.

  The chill bit more fiercely beyond the range of Prince Dolvek’s elemental flames. If she squinted, she could see the magic in them, though the beads of fire were themselves such a light blue they were near invisible to the naked eye. They provided enough warmth to let the two survivors of the dead thing’s formation (birth?) stay comfortable, but cast a dim enough light to make it difficult for them to be spotted in the night.

  How he could maintain a series of spells in his sleep, Yavi did not understand. She smiled back at his sleeping form. He had come a long way from the ignorant chauvinistic royal annoyance he had been when they first met. It was enough to make her wonder if, despite Kholster’s sarcasm about warrior’s blood when he had helped Yavi concoct an antidote against Zaur venom to save the prince, that maybe the Aern’s blood had been responsible for a portion of the transformation Dolvek had undergone.