Son of Thunder

CHAPTER 8

Such beautiful music, thought Vell as he woke, but it was only the wind whistling through the trees.

No, he thought. One tree-the tree. He could see it, almost feel it growing.

Half awake, he lay on his back on a carpet of leaves and could not bring himself to look any direction but up. A panoply of shades and tones filled his eyes from the light filtering through the great branches, whose smallest offshoots were themselves the size of trees. Oranges, reds, and golds fluttered and shimmered in those oaken boughs, an ocean of leaves growing crisp and golden-for even this bastion of permanence was subject to nature's cycles.

What beauty! Tears trickled down Vell's cheeks. He felt so humbled under the immensity of it. All of his fears and anger vanished as if they had never mattered and were only faint memories, like the shadow of something that happened long ago. The nagging voice in his breast, the beast inside, fell silent, and for the first time in what felt like so long-perhaps the first time in his life, he mused-he knew complete peace. He would never know if what he was feeling was brought on by the treant's drink, the tree's natural magic, or something within his own mind, but it didn't matter.

No wonder men had spent their lives seeking this place. He knew this to be Grandfather Tree, but he did not dwell on that or any name, including his own. He almost forgot himself, lost himself in heady contemplation. If he had been allowed to lie there, he knew, he might have starved and turned to dust, still looking up at the gnarled trunk that had borne silent witness to the whole of history and more.

Yet he felt no anger when he was roused from his reverie. Thanar came to him and crouched at his side. "They say a great tree structures a goodly part of the cosmos," he said, "and Grandfather Tree is its reflection on Faerun. I don't know if that's true, but I can think of no better symbol for the nobility of all living things."

As he stood and regained something of his wits, Vell's wonder didn't lessen; it only amplified. He surveyed his surroundings. The tree's size was no illusion. Other oaks, themselves mighty and huge, grew underneath its lowest branches, circling it the way the stone menhirs ringed the altar at Morgur's Mound.

"They spent a lifetime seeking it," the druid went on. "They say they would spend a thousand lifetimes now, keeping it safe and secret."

"The Tree Ghosts," Vell said. "Will they help us?"

Thanar smiled. The simplest gesture was so amplified here that the warmth in his smile struck Vell and lit up his spirit. "They have made no promises as yet. But they trust us."

Vell became aware that other people were beneath Grandfather Tree, some so far away that Vell could tell nothing about them. Others were closer and looking on. He recognized some by their dress as the Tree Ghost barbarians, perhaps some of the same he had met on the outside. Many stood guard as well around the tree. There were others: lithe, brown-clad figures whose skins were coppery tones. By Uthgar, Vell realized. These were elves! For all the exotic folk that had come through Grunwald in the old days, he had never laid his eyes on an elf till today.

Finally, he looked toward the others, still asleep, or perhaps unaware, open-eyed and gawking at the majesty of the canopy above. Only Thluna was not among them.

"They roused me first," said Thanar. "Thluna is meeting with the tribal elders in the settlement nearby. I thought it wise to take you there next."

"Why?" asked Vell. He realized that this was the first time he had ever spoken to the druid alone.

"You transformed into a behemoth, did you not?" Thanar said. "I have transformation powers of my own. I surveyed the Wall wearing a mountain goat's form, but what happened to you goes far beyond. There are rare individuals with abilities that surpass those of any common druid. Apparently one is living in the Tree Ghosts' settlement. Perhaps she can help you understand your condition. She is a flighty creature who comes and goes with her whims, but this young elf promises she will help you however she can."

"The Tree Ghosts live among the elves?" Vell asked. The notion amazed him.

"Normally the tree plays host to much stranger forest folk," Thanar told him, "satyrs, korreds, centaurs, and the like. They have taken their leave since we outsiders arrived." This talk of such woodland beings, so remote from his experience, was amazing to Vell.

"We will rouse the others soon," said Thanar. "Let them know this miracle. The Tree Ghosts do not keep it jealously-indeed, they wish all light souls could experience this place-but they are very protective. I only hope Keirkrad will think wisely and keep his dogma in check."

But Keirkrad's face was crossed with a look of naked awe, just like the rest of the group. Vell's eyes settled on Kellin and he was astonished at what he saw. In a state of glorious languor, her bright eyes open and staring at the world, he beheld her clearly as a creature of wonder. She controlled magic; it flowed into her and out, and now he saw her as magic itself, shimmering and glowing with all of its forbidden wonder and power.

What an effect this place had, Vell thought. It banished all that was inconsequential and brought into sharp focus what mattered most. The fog on his brain had floated away; he desperately wished it would never return.

"Vell," said Thanar. "Meet Rask Urgek, of the Tree Ghosts." Vell almost gasped to see the massive barbarian approaching him, wearing a glistening chain shirt. With large ears, orange-tinged skin, traces of fangs, and wiry hair pulled up into a topknot, Rask Urgek was clearly a half-orc. The North crawled with such hybrids, most of who served as mercenaries. They were regarded as the scum of the civilized world and as pariahs within orc tribes; few were allowed to join Uthgardt tribes. No trace of orcish anger appeared on Rask's features. Instead, he showed the warmth and peace of years spent in the company of this extraordinary tree.

"Vell the Brown," Rask said. "Walk with me. Your friends will be safe with Thanar watching over them."

Rask and Vell walked together, leaves crunching beneath their feet.

"Thank you for allowing us to come here," said Vell. He looked up and raised his palms, offering a simple gesture against the immensity of their setting. "I don't know what words could describe my feelings about this place."

"We Tree Ghosts spent many decades searching for this tree," said Rask. "It was the tribe's solitary purpose and drive. When I joined the search, I had a nagging fear that we would find it and it would be a disappointment. How happy I was that it was not so. Our village lies some distance from the tree now. We would not tolerate habitation under the tree's branches, as you would not on Morgur's Mound. Now that we found what was missing, it has not removed our drive but only sharpened it: Grandfather Tree must be kept safe."

"Perhaps that was missing from our tribe," said Vell. "Drive, purpose."

"You have it now, do you not?" asked Rask. "Thanar told me of your mission. We shall help however we can, for your quest mirrors our own. Like you, a hated enemy dogged our steps and meant to reach the tree before us. Look here…" He brushed some leaves off a rotten log and uncovered an ancient carving, to Vell a familiar and ominous one-the hulking, destructive Blue Bear.

"Sometime soon, this last trace of human habitation will finally rot away," said Rask. "It is the same with the rest of the world. Stone may outlast wood, but none of our stone menhirs or any of civilization's works will outlive Grandfather Tree."

"We don't know where we're bound," said Vell, impatient with this philosophizing. "Nor do we know why the beast sent us, or for what purpose it's empowered me. And our enemy…"

"Your enemy is the Zhentarim," said Rask. "I know them better than I'd care to. My parents were caravan guards on their Black Road, and I made that trip a few times myself. I would wager anything that Mayor Geildarr of Llorkh is part of this. The past is a fascination for him, and robbing it is his favorite hobby. Perhaps he has your chief as well."

"I am not the leader of this expedition," said Vell. "You should tell Thluna."

"We have," Rask told him. "But you are of special interest, Vell." Vell reflected that before Morgur's Mound, no one would have regarded him that way. "Your situation is most peculiar. The nature of your destiny is in question. It requires clarification."

"I agree," said Vell.

"There is magic in this forest that may help you. Nearby, atop one of the mountains that outsiders call the Lost Peaks, lie the Fountains of Memory. It may hold answers. With the Dancing Folks' permission, I think you should visit it and see."

"And Kellin as well," Vell added. "She and I were both chosen by the Thunderbeast. We should go together."

"Kellin, yes." Rask paused a moment. "You've put yourself between her and your chief in the past. It's created tension among your group. Was that what you wanted?"

"No." Vell lowered his head. "Some fear our tribe is being ripped asunder. I want it to stay unified as much as the rest. But Kellin…"

"What is she to you?" Rask's tone was vaguely confrontational. "A potential lover? Your lost twin? Like her father, she has made a study of our tribes and wants us to feel flattered to be the subject of civilized sagecraft. Tell me, Vell. What if we were to keep her unconscious? She would not be harmed and would be returned to your party once you left the tree."

"No," Vell said without hesitation. "You can trust her."

"Can we?" asked Rask, grim-faced. "She will write of our people if she lives to do so. Will she perhaps threaten our greatest secret: our location?"

"She will not," said Vell. Rask inspected him, then an improbable smile broke out on his tusked features. Vell instantly knew this had nothing to do with Kellin, but was a test for him.

"Come my friend," the half-orc said. "Let us rouse the others."

Something was different in the shade of Grandfather Tree. For the first time, the iciness that the party had carried since leaving Sungar's Camp seemed to fall away. The petty squabbles ceased. They felt not like a group thrust together by the whims of circumstance, but a true band of fellows, united by destiny and a common goal. Even Keirkrad was changed after he broke down and wept at the sight of the boughs spreading above, painting the sky with brilliant hues of autumn.

Kellin was especially awestruck. She held great reverence for the Tree Ghosts' unique ancestor mound, something her father once tried to locate by following the clues of the famed Harper bard Mintiper Moonsilver, who even claimed to have explored forbidden dungeons beneath the tree.

Would that her father could see her now.

Rask Urgek led them to the village of Ghostand just north of the tree, constructed on shadowed platforms above the forest floor in a stand of oak trees. The Tree Ghost chieftain, the grizzled Gunther Longtooth, met them at the camp's edge with Thluna at his side.

"Your cause is just," said Gunther. "We shall help you however we can." The roar that went up from the Thunderbeasts scattered the birds from the trees above.

The mood was light that evening as the travelers put aside the heaviness of their task for the morrow. Mead and elven wine flowed freely, and soon the Tree Ghosts, who had faintly distrusted the outsiders, were as brothers with the Thunderbeasts, and even the elves seemed like long-lost friends. Copper-tressed Faeniele Eshele, the de facto leader of the elves here, was as close an advisor to Gunther Longtooth as the Tree Ghost elders. She was all but an honorary member of the tribe herself. The camp, well hidden and safe in the deep woods, was transformed into an impromptu feast, one that brought great bliss to the weary visitors. No fire lit this place, but strings of luminous lichens and magical lamps bathed the festivities in a warm glow. Wood elf minstrels blended their flutes and strings with the Tree Ghosts' Uthgardt sagas, a warm meld representing the friendship and accord their two races had found in this strange place.

Keirkrad chatted with Gunther, a fellow of his generation, and with whom he was faintly acquainted from some dealings in the past. Thanar spent his time with lithesome Hala Spiritwalk-the Tree Ghost shaman-as well as some other druids visiting Grandfather Tree, some elves, and even one of the great red-furred creatures known as an alaghi. Ilskar, Hengin, and the rest found company among Tree Ghosts warriors of various ilk, and Kellin found a surprisingly appreciative audience in the Tree Ghosts' skalds and loremasters.

There was much laughter and happiness among the trees that night, together with dance and music, good food and mellowness. Perhaps it was a god-sent calm before great struggles to come, but it was precious peace nonetheless.

Vell was sampling some elven brandy when Rask Urgek approached him. By then, Vell was almost used to seeing orc features on a fellow Uthgardt.

"Vell," he said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Lanaal Featherbreeze."

Before him stood a lovely elf maiden, seemingly young in appearance, though Vell was well aware of elf longevity. Her skin was not the coppery tone of most of the elves in the village, but was tinged a rich bronze, and her hair was a cascade of golden curls. She wore a simple green dress and blue feathers in her hair. Something was very different about her-more than just her clothing and skin tone. Vell could sense it. The other elves were naturally slight, but Lanaal seemed light and fresh as a spring breeze.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Vell," she said, clasping his hand. "We have much to discuss."

"Then you're the one Thanar told me about," he said.

She nodded. "Let us find a quieter spot to talk." She took Vell by the hand and-moving with graceful ease-led him up a ladder to a higher platform. He scanned the gathering one last time and saw Kellin watching him as he vanished into the trees.

Soon they reached Ghostand's highest platform-a terrace among the treetops, where the clear night sky curled above them, and a thousand bright stars shone down on them. Lanaal stood and looked up at it.

"I like to see the sky," she said. "Sometimes I lose track of it, living under the treetops."

"Pardon me for asking," said Vell, "but you're not like the other elves here, are you?"

"No," Lanaal said. "Most of them are wood elves, and I am one of the sun elves. And you, Vell. You're not like the others."

Suddenly self-conscious, Vell turned away. "Not all Uthgardt have blue eyes, though most do."

"I was not speaking of your eyes." Lanaal reached out and touched his face, turning it back toward her. "But tell me about them."

"My mother had brown eyes, and so do I. My tribe has called me Vell the Brown for as long as I can remember. They were rarely cruel, but they never let me forget it either."

Lanaal nodded in understanding. "As a child I climbed to the highest window of my parents' mansion and jumped out, without fear, to the shock of all watching from the street below," said Lanaal with a mysterious smile. "Imagine how shocked they were when an eagle swooped down to stop my fall!

"For me, the body of an elf is an accident of birth. I belong up there, in the open sky. So many decades I spent struggling to cope with this encumbering form. No amount of education could purge the avian spirit inside me. I hated my body, and for many years shunned the company of elves and humans. Only among birds did I feel real peace. I can tell when they're present, and talk with them. Sometimes I think I can even sense their thoughts and feelings. I came here hoping I might find something that would help me keep my sanity. And I did."

"The tree," said Vell.

"A beacon of peace for all who see it." Lanaal smiled. "In its shadow, I have learned that I can take the form of a bird-any bird I know of-from a titmouse to a giant falcon. And when I wear this, my elf form, I feel better about it, for it's my choice. The freedom of transformation saved me. My mind stays the same, regardless of the body it's in, and bird or elf, that body is Lanaal. It took me a long time to realize that."

Vell stayed silent for a time, choosing his words with care. "You say you felt this way from childhood. Do you know why you are this way? Why you?"

Lanaal shrugged. "Perhaps a gift from Aerdrie Faenya, goddess of air. Some have speculated so. Others suspect a kind of throwback to an ancestral elf, something like the avariel, our winged brethren. For me, it matters not."

Vell frowned. "You do not care why you are this way?"

"I don't think a search for meaning would be fruitful," said Lanaal. "I live my life as it is. You will be happier if you do the same."

"But you have always been this way," said Vell. "For me, a change came when the Thunderbeast entered me at Morgur's Mound. It was thrust upon me."

"I did not choose this either," said Lanaal, "but I've learned to live with it, to embrace it. I suspect you're similar to me. I know there are others-rare individuals born with the souls of horses, snakes, or even fish."

"So is that it?" asked Vell, a touch of bitterness entering his voice. "I have the soul of a lizard? A lizard none of my people have ever seen-is that not strange to you?"

"Let me ask this," said Lanaal. "Do you feel lonely, even among your companions? A dull ache, an emptiness in your soul that you don't know how to fill?" Vell didn't have to nod. "Perhaps that's because you are not with your true kind-the behemoths."

"Behemoths are not my kind!" Vell shouted.

"But you can transform into one."

"Only once," Vell said. "I don't know if I could do it again."

"How did it happen?" asked Lanaal. "Tell me about it."

"Our village was under siege," he said. "Our chief was captured by the enemy. He is still missing. I knew of the power in me and I thought there was something deeper, and this time I reached in and drew upon it. Then, I lost all control of myself. Forgot myself."

"That can happen," said Lanaal. "I remember one time early on, when I became a lark and spent days as one before I even remembered that I was an elf. For you, I would guess it is tied to your nature as an Uthgardt. Your famous rages involve a clouding of the senses, correct? Perhaps you should attempt a transformation at a moment that's less critical."

"I'd be happy never to have that happen again," said Vell. "When you turn into a bird, I'm certain that you do not kill your companions."

"Is that what happened?"

Vell nodded sadly. "Several of them, crushed under my feet."

"The only way you can prevent that is to learn control." Lanaal frowned. "For all I know, it will leave you soon. But if it doesn't, you'll have to accept it as your own. You'll be better for it. I used to feel like there were two souls in my breast, an elf and a bird. But then I realized there was just one-mine, which is both elf and bird."

"No, Lanaal." Vell's eyes were dampening. "It's different for me. I'm cursed. It tears me apart from inside. I could lose myself for good. When I changed back, I spent the night wandering the dark fields alone, trying to pull together every scrap of my identity. You don't understand."

"Yes," she said, her eyes warm with compassion. "I do."

The night wore on and the merriment with it, fading to the mild but persistent happiness of inebriation. Thluna spent much of the evening speaking with elves, drawing out any rumors or legends they knew about behemoths, or about the Thunderbeasts' tribal history. From Faeniele Eshele, a wood elf in the camp, he heard a strange story alleging that a behemoth had been spotted many centuries before, grazing in a swamp alongside the Heartblood River. But when an elf party arrived to investigate, it was gone-not only the behemoth, but the swamp as well.

Those elves were uncomfortably close to the Dire Wood and were not inclined to probe deeply, but one elf wizard grew intrigued and cast a spell to search for magical illusion. He found skillfully hidden magical emanations that implied a large concealed space, but was unable to reveal it. They suspected that it may have been some relic of a lost civilization, one of a great many strewn about the High Forest-possibly the elves' own Eaerlann.

"This is only a rumor, you understand," said Faeniele. "But I will contact Reitheillaethor and ask if anyone knows more. It may be within the memory of some of our elders." Thluna thanked her profusely.

Later, as Thluna relaxed beneath a great oak, having consumed some of the Tree Ghosts' hearty ale, Kellin came and slumped down next to him.

"Have you learned anything interesting?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, her speech slightly slurred. "Very interesting indeed. How about you?"

"I think I might have learned where we're going."

"Wonderful," said Kellin. "And Thluna?"

"Yes?"

"Isn't it time somebody told me what happened in the Fallen Lands?"

The question hung in the air, unaddressed. Thluna felt a kind of shame as he thought about it. But it was only right that she should know. "Yes," he said, and told the story as honestly as he knew how.