Leaves of Flame (35 page)

“Which means what?” Siobhaen asked. The awe of seeing the Confluence for the first time had not yet faded from her face.

“It means that there will be more dwarren joining us shortly. And that I may have time to check the Summer Tree before the true Gathering begins.” He glanced back toward the Tree, distracted.

“Quotl is attempting to catch your attention,” Eraeth said.

Colin swung around to fi nd the elder head shaman frowning in his direction. He nodded toward Colin.

Colin sighed. He wanted to know what had caused the dwarren to call such a large Gathering, but the need to verify that the Summer Tree still held was more pressing.“Follow me.”

He nudged his horse forward, the ranks of dwarren parting for him and the two Alvritshai. As they reached the front of the column, a drum sounded and the entire group broke, scattering toward an empty section of the encampment, bags and pouches already being removed from their gaezels. Dwarren rushed forward to seize the animals’ reins and lead them off to be scrubbed down, combed, and fed.

The Cochen and Archon quieted as Colin and the Alvritshai drew close and dismounted, all of the dwarren considering them with narrowed eyes and taut faces. The Cochen had scars down one side of his face, emphasized by the angle of the chains that draped from the ring in his nose to his ear. Glancing at the intricate beading of his beard, Colin could tell it came from surviving a lion attack when he was younger. The scars made him appear more dangerous and brutal than the other dwarren clan chiefs, which was likely why he’d been chosen as the Cochen.

The Archon appeared older than Quotl, thin and frail in comparison to the Cochen’s brusque stature, although Colin could sense the power the Archon commanded. He carried the scepter of the shamans, resting his weight upon it like a walking stick. He inclined his head toward Colin, but cast a glare at Eraeth and Siobhaen.

“Clan Chief Oraju of the Red Sea, Cochen of this Gathering, and Archon Kimannen of Claw Lake,” Quotl said as introduction.“I present the Shadowed One,and his two Alvritshai companions.”

“You have come to warn us,” the Archon said, “but you are too late. It has already begun.”

Oraju glanced toward the rest of the clan chiefs and shamans, but answered as if the Archon had not spoken. “We are honored to have you here for this Gathering, Shadowed One. I hope that you will help us decide the right course of action.”

The Archon snorted. “Our actions have already been decided, by Ilacqua and the actions of the elloktu! We must act now, before it is too late!”

The clan chiefs shifted awkwardly, not daring to look at the Archon, but Quotl met Colin’s gaze. “The Archon speaks truly. Ilacqua will guide us through this Turning, as he has through all of the Turnings before.” He turned to the Cochen. “Are we ready to call the Gathering?”

Oraju shook his head. “We wait for Clan Chief Asazi, of Broken Waters.”

“What of Painted Sands?”Colin interrupted.“I don’t see their Riders here.”

Oraju made a sound deep in his chest. “Clan Chief Corranu cannot attend the Gathering. It is news from Painted Sands that has caused the Gathering in the first place. But that should be discussed once we have all gathered beneath the eye of Ilacqua. Clan Chief Asazi and the rest of the Broken Waters Riders should be arriving shortly. We will Gather tonight.” He turned toward the Archon. “Archon Kimannen, prepare the keeva.”

The Archon nodded and the cluster of clan chiefs and shamans scattered, the Cochen heading off toward the cliff dwellings, Tarramic and the rest of the clan chiefs toward the encampments to one side. The shamans trailed after Kimannen.

Quotl remained behind, turning to Colin as soon as the others had moved beyond hearing.“The Cochen did not tell us everything—he’ll explain why the Gathering was called tonight—but he did say that there is a force gathering in the Thalloran Wastelands near the edge of Painted Sands land. Corranu has sent word of what he has seen, and he has gathered his Riders to meet this army.”

“Which army?” Eraeth said. “No one lives in the wasteland to the east.”

Quotl shook his head, lips a thin line. “The Cochen did not say.”

“And what of the occumaen—the Eyes of Septimic? Did he mention those or the unnatural storms caused by the unbalancing of the Wells?”

“He mentioned neither.”

“I have news on both, but I need to touch the Summer Tree to verify why the Wells were unbalanced.”

Quotl pursed his lips in consternation and fl icked a glance toward the retreating Archon. “Matters regarding the Summer Tree are sent to the Archon, and he has no respect for you or what you have done for us. I doubt he will let you near the Tree.”

Colin felt a moment of annoyance, followed by defiance. The Archon could not stop him from seeking out the Tree. He was Shaeveran, the Shadowed One.

But then Quotl turned back, a hint of a wicked smile in his aged eyes.“However,I think the Archon will be busy at the keeva. Come. I will escort you to the Tree.”

“Won’t you be needed to prepare the keeva?” Eraeth asked.

Quotl chuckled.“The Archon and I have never seen eye to eye. He will not miss my presence.”

The head shaman motioned for a few of the dwarren to take the horses, the lucky few approaching the animals with trepidation. As they led the animals away, three dwarren to each horse, Quotl headed around the edge of the Sacred Waters toward the Summer Tree. All three non-dwarren traded glances, then scrambled to keep up.

“He moves fast,”Eraeth grumbled,“for one of the dwarren.”

They skirted the lake, crossing over numerous bridges where the water was being channeled and siphoned off to form smaller pools for dwarren use. At one such bridge, its arch higher than many of the others, Siobhaen gasped and pointed down toward the center of the lake, moving to the railing at the edge.

“There’s something in the Blood of Aielan,” she said, “something in the water’s depths.”

Eraeth shot Colin a questioning gaze, but when he didn’t answer, the Protector moved to the railing beside Siobhaen. They both stared at the depths for a long moment. Colin moved up behind them.

“It looks like some kind of reddish light,” Siobhaen said. “As if there were a fire under the water.”

“No.” Eraeth shook his head. “There are multiple rings of fire, all of them swinging around a central sphere, some faster than others. The sphere in the center is what’s glowing.”

“There is another in Andover,” Colin said. “They call it the Rose. Its discovery was what caused the Feud that drove my family and the rest of the Andovan refugees across the Arduon here, to Wrath Suvane. The power struggle there for the Rose ripped the Andovan Court apart, and nearly destroyed all of its Families. It also allowed the Proprietors of the settlements on the coast—towns like Portstown—the chance to break free from Andover and form the Provinces. If it hadn’t been for the Rose, and the Accord with the Alvritshai and dwarren, the Proprietors would never have been able to keep Andover at bay. Their attentions would have been split.

“This Rose has been the heart of the dwarren religion for as long as the dwarren can remember. It is what gives the waters of the Confluence their reddish tinge, and imbues it with the healing powers that it is known for.”

Eraeth crossed his arms over his chest. “This is what the sons and daughters of the Alvritshai lords used to search for during their Trials, what Aeren was searching for when he first met you and your wagon train crossing the plains: the Blood of Aielan.”

“Yes.”

“You two are the first Alvritshai to be allowed to see the Sacred Waters,”Quotl said from behind them.“You should feel honored.”

Eraeth bowed his head. “It is an honor.”

Quotl nodded in acknowledgment. “We should hurry if you wish to touch the Summer Tree before the Gathering,” he said to Colin, then moved on.

Colin stepped up to the railing and looked down through the depths at the Rose, the rings of fire rotating beneath the churning surface, broken and indistinct through the waves.

“It’s beautiful,” Siobhaen murmured, “almost as beautiful as Aielan’s Light beneath Caercaern.”

Colin said nothing, thinking of his family, the memories dredged up by his thoughts of Andover and the Provinces. He had kept himself distant from his own kind, but with what was happening now—with the Seasonal Trees and the Wells—he was beginning to think that his isolation from them had been a mistake. They might need the Provinces’ help before this was done; they might need Andover’s, even though the relationship between the Provinces and Andover was still strained.

Troubled, he turned away to follow Quotl.

They rounded the edge of the lake quickly, halted only once more when a sudden flurry of drums sounded from the far side of the dome. Quotl listened attentively, but merely shook his head when questioned by Colin. As they drew nearer to the Tree, some of the shamans Colin had seen meditating beneath its branches noticed them, stirring from their positions to come out to meet them. Their stances were hostile and protective until they recognized Quotl. Even then, a few of the younger shamans glared at the Alvritshai and Colin, clearly ready to protest.

Quotl conferred with a slightly older dwarren who stepped to the fore of the group, the leader’s gaze flickering toward Colin and the others as they spoke. Then the dwarren stepped forward and bowed slightly toward Colin.

“Shadowed One,” he murmured, head still lowered. “It is an honor to meet you. I am one of the Keepers, as are those gathered behind me.”

A sudden flurry of gasps and whispers spread through the shamans on all sides. A few of them bowed their heads as well, all of the hostility suddenly gone.

“I need to touch the Summer Tree, Keeper. I fear that what is causing the dwarren to Gather has something to do with the Seasonal Trees.”

The leader lifted his head. “We have not noticed anything in our ministrations to the Tree. If there is something that we have done wrong—”

“I don’t believe the dwarren have had anything to do with it, Keeper, if there is even anything amiss. But I will not be certain until I have spoken to the Tree.”

The Keeper’s eyebrows rose, although he was clearly still worried. “What can we do to aid you?”

“Nothing. Except make certain that I am not disturbed.”

“That we can arrange.”

Colin turned toward Eraeth and Siobhaen. “Stay here. I won’t be long.”

“You intend to go on alone?” Siobhaen asked, frowning around at the younger Keepers. “They weren’t all that friendly when we approached. You should have one of us with you.”

“I’ll stay within sight. I only need to touch the Tree.”

“But you will be vulnerable while you speak to it,” Siobhaen muttered. “You forget that I was there when you touched the Winter Tree in Caercaern.”

Colin frowned as he glanced back over the Keepers. They had begun to spread out around the Summer Tree, forming a rough perimeter, others stepping up through the tangled roots and broken stone to those who were still meditating, gently touching shoulders and drawing them down away from the bole of the Tree.

“We need to trust them,” Colin said, “especially if what I believe I will find is true. We’re going to need them.”

Her jaw clenched in disagreement, but she said nothing as he turned away and stared up at the tangle of roots and the Tree overhead. Gathering himself, he sighed once and then struck out, passing the dwarren Keepers, their eyes following him as he climbed the massive root system as he’d done in Caercaern for the Winter Tree. Unlike the Alvritshai Warders though, the dwarren had built paths through the roots, stairs and bridges of stone and wood winding among them, lanterns on tall poles at irregular intervals.

When one of the paths veered near enough to the base of the Tree that he could reach out and touch its bark, he halted. He planted his hand against its side and closed his eyes.

The Tree sensed him instantly and drew him into its heart, the pulse of its sap enfolding him. Like that of the heart of the forest in the Ostraell, he felt the Tree welcome him, recognize him as a part of its creation, but the Tree was more sentient than the forest. As soon as he’d accustomed himself to its soft summer taste and smell—like honey and sweet corn—he felt the shuddering discord at its edges.

Something was definitely wrong.

He surged out along the Tree’s roots, down toward the Rose, where it drew strength from the healing waters deep below, and then he spread outward over the Tree’s field of influence, as he’d done in Caercaern with the Winter Tree so many months before, searching for damage, for the source of the malignancy that he could feel at the heart of the Tree. The farther from the Confluence he moved, the weaker the Tree became, but that was normal. Nothing appeared to be wrong—

Until he hit an obstruction to the east and south.

He shifted his focus, drew himself back from the north and west and concentrated his attentions eastward. Something hindered the protection of the Summer Tree there. Something had pushed that protection back, was eating away at the boundaries of the Tree that should have extended all the way to the edges of the Thalloran Wastelands. Instead, the Tree’s protective barrier had been shoved onto the plains, the force weakening that protection on all sides. The grasslands that formed the largest portion of Painted Sands lands were now exposed, no longer under the influence of the Summer Tree. And the degradation of the barrier grew worse the farther south Colin traveled. He felt his heart shudder at the extent of the damage already done as he skirted the barrier and tested its edge, traveling farther and farther southward. But even as he did so, he could taste that source—like snow and loam and leaves.

The Lifeblood. The force pushing against the protection of the Trees, the force slowly breaking that protection down, was the Lifeblood.

Eraeth had been right. The Wraiths and Shadows were using the newly awakened Well to compromise the Seasonal Trees.

He hesitated, his essence hovering along the invisible boundary between the Source and the Tree. He could feel the two forces battling against each other, a subtle ebb and flow as the barrier shifted and gave. The power behind the conflict was immense, the friction sending waves of residual energy across the plains in all directions. He could feel those stresses building, knew that they would find release in the unnatural storms that battered the grasses and the occumaen that riddled the lands to the west. Even now, purplish lightning fl ared to the far north along the barrier’s edge. As he watched it etch a jagged line across the sky, black storm clouds building at an impossible rate, the truth of what he was seeing struck him.