Tanequil

Twenty–six

He heard the voices first, soft and insistent, joined as one, humming and then singing, the words indecipherable, but their sound sharp and clear and compelling. — Penderrin–she whispered from out of the confluence. — I've come back–But it wasn't her voice, and he knew that when he looked, it wouldn't be her. It wouldn't be anybody at all.

-I said I would come back. I promised, didn't I— He lay where he had fallen asleep near dawn, exhausted from searching for her after realizing where she might be and what she might have done. Frantic with worry, he had torn through the ancient forest like a madman, plunging through the dark trunks and layered shadows, calling her name until he was too tired to continue. Then, heartsick and drained of hope, he had collapsed. It couldn't be true, he kept telling himself. His suspicions were unfounded and fueled by his weariness and the shock of losing his fingers. It was all a lie of the mind, born of his misinterpretation of the tanequil's words, of the fears raised by the tree's dark reminder that its gift of the dark–wand required a like gift from him. Of the body. Of the heart. — Penderrin, wake up. Open your eyes

But he kept his eyes closed, wrapped in the comforting darkness that not seeing her afforded, unwilling to let that last shred of hope fall away. He moved his damaged hand beneath him, feeling with his good fingers for the ones that were missing, finding the stumps healed over and the pain gone. It wasn't so bad, he supposed, losing parts of two fingers. Not for what he had been given in turn. Not for what it meant to his efforts at finding his aunt. Not for what it meant to the future of the Four Lands. It wasn't so bad.

But losing Cinnaminson was.

«Why did you do it?» he asked finally, his voice so soft that he could barely hear his own words.

Silence greeted his query, a long and empty sweep of time in which the voices grew quiet and the sounds of the forest slowly filled the void their departure created.

«Why, Cinnaminson?»

Still no answer. Suddenly fearful that he had lost her completely, he lifted his head and looked around. He was alone, sprawled on the grassy patch on which he had fallen asleep the night before, the darkwand resting on the ground beside him, its glossy length shimmering, its carved runes dark and mysterious.

«Cinnaminson?» he called.

-It was a chance for me to be something I couldn't otherwise be–She spoke to him from out of the air. — I am free from my body, Pen. Free from my blindness. Free in a way I could never be otherwise. I can fly everywhere. I can see what I could never see before. Not in the way I do now. I am not alone anymore. I have found a family. I have sisters. I have a mother and father–He didn't know what to say. She sounded so happy, but her happiness made him feel miserable. He hated himself for his reaction, but he couldn't find a way to change it.

«It was your choice to do this?» he demanded, his words sounding woeful and plaintive, even to him.

-Of course, Penderrin. Did you think I was forced to become one of them? It was my choice to shed my body

«But you knew I wouldn't be given the tanequil's branch any other way, didn't you?»

-I knew it was the right thing to do. Just as you did, when you agreed to come here to find the tree and to seek help in freeing your aunt—

«But you knew," he persisted, desperate to wring from her one small concession. «You knew that becoming an aeriad would help me. You knew that giving yourself to the tanequil was what it would take for the tanequil to give me its limb.»

Her hesitation was momentary. — I knew

She was moving all around him, a part of the ether, a disembodied voice buttressed by the soft singing and humming of her sister aeriads, her new family, her new life. He tried to see her in the sound of her voice, but he could not quite manage it. His memory of her was strong, but his efforts to form a picture from her voice alone were insufficient. He didn't want her back in still life, — he wanted her back as a living, breathing human being, and the images he managed to conjure failed to capture her that way.

He sank back wearily. «When did you decide to do this?» His voice broke as despair threatened to overwhelm him. «Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you talk to me about it?»

The singing rose and fell like a wave of emotion born on a shift in the wind. — What would I have said to you? That I love you so much that I cannot imagine life without you, but that I am old enough to

understand that loving someone that much isn't always the only measuring stick for making a life with them? That choosing love should never be selfish

«If you loved me that much …»

-I love you that much, Penderrin. Nothing has changed. I love you still. But you were sent here for another reason, one too important to sacrifice for anything—even for me. I know this. I knew it from the moment that I heard the aeriads speaking to me. They were telling me what was needed—not directly, not in so many words, but in the way they sang to me, in the sound of their voices. I knew

He shook his head. «I don't think I can do this without you. I can't even think straight. I can barely move.»

Matched by the voices of her sisters, soothing as a breeze on a hot summer day, her voice trilled with soft laughter. — Oh, Pen, it will pass! You will go on to do what you were sent to do! You will find your aunt and bring her home again. I am already a memory, already fading away

He stared into space, into the place from where she spoke to him, trying to make himself accept what she was telling him, and failing.

The voices sighed and hummed and sighed some more. — Do not be sad, Penderrin–she whispered. — I am not sad. I am happy. You can hear it in my voice, can't you? I made a choice. The aeriads asked me to join them, to help you and myself. While you slept, I went with them from the surface of the earth to the Downbelow. From the sunlight and air world of Father Tanequil to the darkness and earth world of Mother Tanequil. She roots deep, Pen, to provide for her children, to give them life, to allow them the freedom she can never have. I saw the truth of what she is. Of what they both are. Joined as one—Father, the limbs, — Mother, the roots. One lives aboveground, but the other must forever live below. She gets lonely. She needs company. I was a gift to her from Father Tanequil. But it was what I wanted. Perhaps he knew that when he sent me to her. Perhaps he knows us both better than we know ourselves. They are very old spirits, Pen. They were here when the world was born, when the Word was still young and the Faerie creatures newly made. We are children in their eyes

«We are Men!» he snapped. «And they don't know what's right for us! They don't know anything about us because they aren't like us! Don't you see? We were manipulated! We were tricked!»

A long silence punctuated his angry words. — No, Pen. We did what we thought was best. Both of us. I don't regret it. I won't. We have the lives we have chosen, whether fate or the tanequil or something larger pushed us to that choice–He took a long slow breath to calm himself. She was wrong, — he knew she was wrong. But there was nothing he could do about it. It was over and done with. He would have to live with it, although he couldn't imagine how he would ever do that.

«Did it hurt at all?» he asked quietly. «Your transformation? Was there any pain?»

-None, Pen

«But what of your body? Did it just … ?»

He couldn't finish the thought, unable to bear the image it conjured—an image of her turning to dust, disintegrating.

Laughter greeted his failure, gentle and soothing. — Kept safe and unchanging in her arms, I sleep with

Mother Tanequil, Pen, down within the earth, in the darkness and quiet, where she takes root. She nourishes me, so that I can live. If I were to die, I would cease to exist, even as an aeriad—

She is down in the ravine,he thought suddenly. He was finally beginning to understand. The tanequil was both male and female, mother and father to the aeriads, a trunk joining limbs at one end to roots at the other. Cinnaminson was in the keeping of the latter, down in the shadowy depths they had crossed over on the bridge. Down where something huge had stirred awake on their passing.

But still whole, she was telling him. Still alive in human form.

«Cinnaminson," he said, an idea coming to sudden life, a plan to implement it taking shape. «I need to see you again before 1 go. I need to say good–bye. It isn't enough just to hear your voice. It doesn't feel real to me. Can you take me to where you sleep?»

There was a long pause. — You cannot have me back, Pen. Mother Tanequil will not let me go. Not even if you beg

She recognized his intentions all too well, but his mind was already made up. He was terrified of what he might find if he did it, half certain that she was already reduced to bones and dust, that her vision of herself as still being whole was a subterfuge fostered by the tree. But he couldn't leave without knowing, no matter how devastating the truth. If there was a way to set her free again, to take her with him …

«I won't do anything but make sure that you are safe," he lied. «I just need to see you one last time.»

-This is a mistake–she trilled, her voice rising amid those of her sisters, sharp with rebuke. — You shouldn't ask it of me

He took a deep breath. «But I am asking.» He waited a moment. «Please, Cinnaminson.»

The voices of the aeriads hummed, a long sustained chord that matched the sound of wind whispering through the leaves of trees, soft and resilient. He forced himself to keep silent, to say nothing more, to wait.

-I am afraid for you, Pen–she said finally.

«I am afraid for myself," he admitted.

A pause followed, and the humming died away.

— Come with me, then, if you must. If you can remember my warning–He exhaled softly. He was not likely to forget.

On the far side of the ravine, Khyber Elessedil stood at the foot of the stone bridge, listening to the soft moan of the wind. She had been standing there for the better part of an hour, using her admittedly unskilled Druid senses to scan the forest for sign of Pen and Cinnaminson. It wasn't the first time she had done so, but the results were the same. She might as well have been casting about the Blue Divide for a sailor lost at sea, for all the good it was doing her.

One hand clutched the Elfstones. She kept them close on the theory that they might at some point prove useful in her search. They were doing her about as much good as her Druid skills.

Frustrated, she turned away. She hated feeling so helpless. Ever since the safety lines tied to Pen and Cinnaminson had dropped away as if severed by an invisible blade, she had known that the fate of her friends was out of her hands. More than once she had considered trying to cross over herself—and she wasn't afraid to try, in spite of the warning on the stone—but she didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize Pen's efforts to secure the darkwand.

She looked back into the gardens, her dazzlingly colorful prison. Trapped in all that beauty and unable to enjoy it, her concentration on Pen and on the island and on the Druids tracking them and on time running out—thinking about it all made her want to scream. But there was nothing she could do.

Nothing but wait.

She stalked over to where Kermadec sat talking with Tagwen, trading stories of the old days, when Grianne Ohmsford was new to the position of Ard Rhys and they were just beginning in her service.

«Do you think there might be another way across?» she asked abruptly, kneeling next to them, her voice urgent. «Another bridge or a narrows we might vault?» She exhaled sharply. «I don't think I can stand waiting another minute without doing something.»

Kermadec stared at her impassively. «There might be. If you want to take a look, you can. I can send Atalan or Barek with you.»

She shook her head. «I can manage alone. I just need to do something besides stand around.»

Tagwen frowned into his beard, but didn't say anything.

«You won't lose your way, will you, Elven girl?» the Maturen pressed. «I wouldn't want to have to come looking for you.»

«I can find my way.»

«If you discover anything, you will come back and tell us?» Tagwen pressed suddenly.

«Yes, yes!» she snapped. «I'm not going to do anything rash or foolish!» Her irritation got the better of her for a moment, and she took a deep breath. «I just want to see if that ravine goes all the way around or if there are other places to cross. I won't attempt anything on my own.»

She didn't know if they believed her or not, but if they did, they ought to be less trusting. She fully intended to attempt a crossing if a place to make one could be found. She should have gone with Pen and Cinnaminson in the first place, but she had allowed her instincts to be overruled.

She stood up, giving them a bright smile. «I don't expect to be gone long. I probably won't get much beyond what we can see from standing right here, but it will make me feel better to have tried.»

Their eyes fixed on her, as if searching for the truth behind her words, neither replied. She turned away quickly and started off, choosing to go south, where the gardens opened out toward a thinning woods and a set of hills. She could see the ravine as it snaked its way into those hills, disappearing finally into the horizon. In truth, she didn't have much hope that she would succeed in her quest. She mostly hoped that the distraction would help with the waiting.

She was so intent on her efforts to get clear of the others that she failed to detect with her normally reliable Druid training the shadowy form lying in wait directly ahead. She missed it entirely as it slipped away at her approach and circled back around toward the bridge.

Pen Ohmsford followed the low, vibrant humming of the aeri–ads as they led him on through the trees and back toward the dark cut of the ravine. The light casting his shadow before him as he walked, he could measure the direction they were taking from the slant of the sun's thin rays through the heavy canopy. He tried to hear Cinnaminson in the mix of aeriad voices, but he could not detect a noticeable difference in any of them. She was being assimilated into their order, and he could not stop himself from thinking that if he did not reach her soon, there would be no way to separate her from the others, even if her body was still intact.

Thinking of her body at rest beneath the earth in the cradle of the tanequil's roots made him wonder about the condition of the bodies of the other aeriads. For their spirits to survive in aeriad form, their bodies must be kept whole, as well. But how was that accomplished? He was feeling less and less certain about what it was he was going to find. He was starting to think that his request was a mistake.

Yet he kept on, drawn by the humming, by the promise it offered that he might still find a way to bring Cinnaminson back to him. Both hands gripped the polished length of the darkwand, the only weapon he possessed aside from his long knife. The darkwand was a talisman of magic meant to be used to breach the wall of the Forbidding. But it had come from the wood of the tree. Could it be used to penetrate the tangle of the tanequil's roots? Could it be employed in some way to free the Rover girl?

It was wishful thinking, seductive and empty of promise. There was nothing to suggest the darkwand would do him the slightest bit of good in his effort to bring Cinnaminson out of the ravine. But it was all he had to rely on, and so even in the face of the patent improbability of it helping him, he held out hope that it would.

Time slipped away. He was beginning to lose his sense of direction as the tree limbs tightened overhead and the light faded to a dull wash. But the voices stayed strong, the humming steady, and so he persevered, his determination unshaken. Now and again, he thought to call out to Cinnaminson, to reassure himself that she was still there, but he restrained himself from doing so, knowing that it suggested a weakness in himself he did not want to acknowledge.

Eventually, the ground began to slope, then to drop sharply, and the dark crease of the ravine loomed ahead through the trees. As the trilling of the aeriads intensified, Pen felt his hopes sink further; there was unmistakable joy and expectation in those voices. Tightening his grip on the darkwand, he followed the singing to a narrow trail that led downward. The brush and trees a concealing wall, the trail was invisible from anywhere but where he stood. He descended slowly, tracking the trail's switchbacks, keeping close to the ravine wall so he would not slip. One glance down revealed that if he was to do so, he could fall a long way.

As he went deeper, the light grew ever more faint, until everything was shrouded in gloom. Spots of iridescence given off by organisms growing on the plant life began to shimmer softly in the enfolding darkness. The ravine had the feel of a maw, its dark, wet earth sprouting jagged rocks that jutted like teeth.

I am a fool to come here, he thought.

Yet he continued, unwilling to accept that the danger he faced might be too great or the consequences of his effort too terrible. Would Cinnaminson lead him to his doom, even in her newly adopted form? He could not make himself believe so. No, he decided after considering the possibility. She would keep him safe. She would take him to Mother Tanequil. She would do as he had asked, and he would have his chance to free her.

Then the trail ended, and he was at the bottom of the ravine. A vast tangle of roots stretched away before him. The smallest of them were closest, some no larger than strands of human hair. The largest were farther back, barely visible through the enfolding darkness and the pale wash of diffused sunlight, and many were thicker than his body. They lay in twisted heaps, loose and coiled, half–emerged from the earth in which they had buried themselves.

Pen drew to a halt, uncertain about what to do next. All around him now and no longer moving forward, the aeriads hummed and sang. He glanced about for help, but there was no help to be found. He had gotten as far as he was going to get without doing something on his own, and he had no idea what that something should be.

«Cinnaminson?» he called softly.

Ahead, the tree roots shifted, and in their slow grating and scraping he heard the sound of his own death. Like snakes, they were coiling and uncoiling in anticipation of wrapping about him, of squeezing him until there was no breath left in his body. He felt himself begin to shake as the image eroded his courage, and he tightened his grip once more on the darkwand.

«Cinnaminson!» he called again, louder.

As if in response to his cry, the tree roots parted where their wall was thickest, and he saw revealed in the pale trickle of sunlight and tiny flashes of iridescence the bodies of dozens of young girls. Thousands of tiny roots wrapped about them, cradling them in nests of dark, earth–fed fiber, their ends attached to the exposed skin where clothing had rotted and fallen away. Their eyes and mouths were closed, and they appeared to be deep in sleep, locked in dreams that he could only imagine. They must have been breathing, but he was too far away to be certain.

Then he saw Cinnaminson. She was off to one side in an area in which the tendrils had not yet grown so thick, and her body was still mostly exposed and unfettered. She slept the sleep of the others, and most probably dreamed their dreams. But her place among them was newer, her coming clearly more recent.

He didn't stop to think about what he should do. He simply started toward her, compelled by his determination to get close enough to touch her and, by doing so, to wake her and then to free her. He didn't know how he would manage it or even if he could. He only knew he had to try.

-Pen, no— Cinnaminson cried out, her voice separating suddenly from those of the other aeriads.

Instantly, the tanequil's roots began to shift, the rasp and scrape of fiber on earth and stone so menacing that Pen froze in midstride and brought the darkwand up like a shield. The wall had re–formed in front of him, barring him from getting any closer, telling him in no uncertain terms that he had transgressed. Tendrils stroked the exposed skin of his hands as the tree roots closest to him lifted out of the earth. In his mind, he could hear a hiss of warning, a sound so soft it was like the rustle of sand on old wood.

-Don't come any closer–It was the sound of a serpent's tongue sliding from a scaly mouth. — Go back to where you came from

— Please, Pen–he heard Cinnaminson whisper. — Please, go away. Leave me where I am

He wanted to ignore the warning, to go to her, to reach out to what was still real and substantive about her, to free her of that nightmare. The tanequil had given her the boundless world of an unfettered spirit, of the aeriads for whom it provided such freedom, but it was feeding on her, as well. He could tell that much just from looking. Did she realize that? Did she understand what was happening to her?

But he sensed, even as he asked these questions, that it didn't matter what she knew or how she might respond to knowing. What mattered was that she was content. She was the tree's captive, a slave to the roots that formed its feminine half, and they were not about to let her go for any reason. If he tried to take her, he would be killed. Then no one would know what had happened to her and no one would ever come to set her free.

He closed his eyes against what he was thinking, against his feelings of frustration and helplessness. He should do something, but there was nothing he could do. He had lost her all over again.

-Good–bye, Penderrin— he heard her say to him.

Her voice rose and fell to blend with the voices of the other aeriads before finally disappearing into them completely. Then the voices faded entirely, and she was gone.

Cinnammson.

Aware of the sudden silence, he stood staring into space. Even the tree roots had gone still. Their tangled lengths lay limp and unmoving before him, a wall that he must breach. But he lacked the means to do so. He looked down at the darkwand, wondering anew if it might provide him the magic that was needed. But the purpose of the talisman was to help him gain access to Grianne Ohmsford, not to Cinnaminson. The darkwand could breach the wall of the Forbidding, but not the wall of the tanequil's roots. Nothing had happened to suggest otherwise. No magic had surfaced when his passage through the roots had been denied. No magic had emerged to help him.

His throat tightened as he realized that there was nothing more he could do. He would have to abandon his hopes of freeing her. He would have to leave her where she was. He would have to take the darkwand and travel to Paranor. He would have to attempt to cross over into the Forbidding and rescue the Ard Rhys. Cinnaminson had given herself to the tanequil so that he might do so. What was the point of her sacrifice if he failed to take advantage of it?

But it meant risking the possibility that he might never have a chance to come back for her.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. «Good–bye," he said softly to the darkness.

Then he turned away, walked back to the trail that had brought him down into the ravine, and began to climb.