Root (43 page)

And with that realization, the stubby branches
of heather dropped their leaves and blooms and transformed
themselves into wiry roots that twisted around my wrists and ankles
and dragged me deep beneath the boulders.

Chapter 39:
Rescue

I found myself in that shaggy tunnel between
Karla’s dome and the sitting room. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to
leave my body behind on those slopes in such dire straits, but at
least my soul was warm and dry in here.

What a stupid thing to have done, heading off
into some strange, Scottish mountains at night with no camping
gear. I deserved what ever happened to me, whether it was
hypothermia or murder by imp.

I suppose I should have been excited to be so
close to Karla’s abode, but I had no reason to believe that she had
returned. Her dome looked crushed and vacant. But the merest
possibility she might be there was enough to get me
moving.

I tore my way through the ever denser shrouds
of root to the remnants of Karla’s chamber. It was obvious that no
one had been through here recently. The reversion was well
underway. The dome had collapsed on itself like a half-deflated
soccer ball. One side was ripped open wide and its contents strewn
across the matrix. From the scale of the damage, it must have been
the work of Reapers.

“
Karla?” I said, tentatively, though
I knew better than to expect a response. I poked around the
wreckage, half-wondering and worrying that I might find her corpse,
or some sign—bloodstains, clumps of hair—that she had been taken by
Reapers. I was relieved to find nothing of that note.

Karla’s weavings had deteriorated badly since
my last visit. The furniture was looking quite furry and surfaces
that had been slick now exposed their mesh. For the most, part,
however, her creations retained their shape. Was this a good sign,
I wondered? Did it mean she was still alive, her soul not yet
completely abandoned? Or did it simply take time for all weaving to
revert completely back to roots?

I couldn’t find my old kilt anywhere, so I
took a pair of Karla-sized gym shorts, widened, lengthened and
de-shagged them and then pulled them on. I turned and headed
bare-chested and shoeless back down the corridor from which I had
come and into the sitting room.

I tried the door. To my surprise, it opened
freely on its hinges. I stepped out into the mostly vacant square,
hemmed in above by a close and gray sky. The obelisk was gone,
along with the gargoyles. Apparently, they had been converted back
into that big, old oak tree.

The place looked abandoned. There were no
groups of people anywhere, and the dogs were gone. But it wasn’t
entirely devoid of life. Across the way I saw I man emerge from a
door and make his way to another townhouse.

I strolled cautiously to the center of the
plaza, where I heard some sort of plinking and tinkling going on.
There was a skinny guy with a monk’s fringe sitting with his back
against the tree, trying to play a mandolin, but botching it
badly.

I walked up to him. From the way he jumped, I
must have taken him entirely by surprise.

“
Where’s Arthur?” I said.

“
Who?”

“
Luther.”

He did not respond. He hopped to his feet and
ran off towards the church, leaving the mandolin propped among the
roots at the base of the tree. I picked up and strummed a chord.
The guy didn’t even have the thing tuned right. I plucked
harmonics, tuning it by ear.

I used to own my own mandolin—a cheap, little
Rogue A-style—but it hadn’t survived the move to the storage bay.
The neck had snapped when one of the movers stepped on it
accidentally. It hadn’t bothered me at the time, but now I kind of
missed it.

“
Well, what do you know … it’s Lord
James.”

Bern. But where was his voice coming from? I
looked up. He and Lille were dangling from a bough about ten feet
above my head. Their torsos were completely encased in wood, like
those boulders you see studding the boles of trees that had grown
up abutting them for decades.

“
Are you guys okay?”

“
Healing,” said Lille. “But I
suppose we have a ways to go.” The remnants of her skirt hung in
shreds. Blood stained the cuffs of Bern’s trousers.

“
What on Earth did you do to poor
Luther?” said Bern. “He speaks of you like you’re the devil
incarnate.”

“
Nothing … I mean … I just
visited—”

An elaborate trumpet flourish sounded,
accompanied by drums. A procession exited the church, led by
Harvald in full chain mail. Two ranks of Luthers—the blonde
physiotherapist version, armored in leather and steel and bearing
spears—followed down the steps, four of them bearing an open
palanquin, on which was seated what seemed to be a giant bird
clothed in pure, white plumage.

Windows opened. People emerged onto their
balconies to watch, although no one dared come out onto the
square.

“
What happened to the dogs?” I
said.

“
You’re looking at them,” said
Bern.

“
You’re kidding.” I couldn’t help
but grin.

“
Any luck finding Karla on the other
side?” said Lille.

I shook my head, keeping my eyes trained on
the approaching parade.

“
Hence, why so pensive,” she said.
“And why you’re back.”

“
Has she been here?”

“
Obviously not, or we would have
told you,” said Bern. “And believe me, we would have seen her had
she come onto this plaza. Not as if we have anything better to do
than watch all day from these dratted boughs.”

“
Now Bern … watch your tone. The boy
is just making certain.”

“
What are you doing up there,
anyhow?” I said.

Bern rolled his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know.
Admiring the view. I have to admit the place kind of grows on
you.”

“
Bern!”

“
Luther did this to you?”

“
For trespassing,” said Lille,
nodding.

“
But I told him not to—”

The trumpets sounded again, even though I saw
nothing that looked like a trumpet anywhere. The procession halted
a good fifty meters away and a rank of guard-Luthers formed up
between us and the palanquin.

Harvald helped Arthur down the steps and onto
the paving stones. Arthur spread his wings and smoothed the white
plumage framing his face, which now sported a beak in place of his
nose and upper lip. They came forward cautiously, flanked by an
honor guard of beefed-up Luthers.

“
As you can see, I have given you
your wish,” said Arthur. “The ‘Burg is open, and will remain so,
one more day. And you were wrong. There was no mass exodus. My
citizens remain, ensconced in their homes. There can be no better
proof of my benignity.”

“
Except that two of the folks who
want to leave seem to have a tree attached to them.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped up to the bough and
back. “They must serve out their sentence and then they will be
free to go where they please. In truth, I’ll be happy to be rid of
them. They have done nothing but undermine this
community.”

“
I told you to make sure they
suffered no consequences. It was my fault they trespassed. I want
you to set them free now.”

“
In time. They must serve as an
example to the others.”

“
I said NOW!” My temper flared and
blew the lid off my kettle. My arm shot up and I pointed at the
knotty bough that entrapped Bern and Lille.

The bark began to writhe like a tangle of
worms in a bait bucket. The limb twisted, pitching Bern and Lille
forward. Startled, Lille flung out her arms as if bracing for a
fall. Bern’s hat fall, scattering a group of Luther’s as if it were
a bomb.

“
No!” said Arthur, raising his
wings, extending both palms to the bough, bringing his weaving to
bear. The limb twisted back into place, its component roots
tightening just as Bern managed to extricate one foot.

I summoned my anger with all the intensity I
could muster and halted the process of restoration, unwinding the
branch yet again. Arthur stopped my momentum. The limb quivered,
caught between our powers.

I felt like I was arm-wrestling an equally
matched opponent. It pissed me off. I could feel the heat rising in
my face. He had promised not to harm them.

“
Let them go!” I shouted. The bough
exploded into splinters and shreds of root and bark that went
flying everywhere, littering and ruffling Arthur’s magnificent
plumage. The ranks of Luther’s ducked and shielded their faces in
unison. Some of them barked, betraying their previous
creation.

Bern and Lille thudded down awkwardly onto the
cobbles, collapsing together in a pile.

Arthur blanched behind his already pale
feathers, as Harvald brushed off bits of root and smoothed him. The
Luthers rose up and advanced on me with their spears. Arthur raised
his hands against me. I felt my skin pucker and wrinkle. I looked
down at my hand. It had become gnarled and arthritic and covered
with oozing scabs.

“
No!” I shouted. “You can’t!” With a
crackle, my fingers re-plumped and shed their deformities. I was
tired of this asshole messing with me. A fury rose from the pit of
my soul. I could feel it come surging through my core and branch
into my extremities. It flowed out of my fingertips and straight
into Arthur.

He took the full brunt. His body shuddered as
every feather shortened, darkened and thickened into hard, glossy
scales like some Amazonian armored fish. His beak softened into a
floppy, whiskered snout.

“
Gah! What have you done to me? It’s
pure ugliness. You’ve made me ugly! Turn me back!”

The Luthers stood trembling, their spears
directed at me, but no longer advancing. Bern and Lille and picked
themselves off the ground and were still gathering
themselves.

“
Well done, boy,” said Bern, who
wobbled and favored one leg severely. Even with Lille’s assistance,
he had trouble standing.

“
Are you guys okay?” I said. They
both looked bruised and tattered.

“
Nothing that can’t be mended with a
little weaving,” said Lille, fetching Bern’s cane and
bowler.

“
I’ll be fine,” said Bern. “As if
the damage weren’t enough, my bloody leg’s fallen
asleep.”

“
How did you do this to me?” said
Arthur. “How could you? Reverse it, now. I … I hate
fish.”

“
Afraid I can’t,” I said. “I don’t
know how.” I lent Bern my shoulder for support to free up
Lille.

“
We’d better go lad,” whispered
Bern. “Before he decides to retaliate.”

Arthur ran his hands over his scales but
nothing changed. “I can’t believe it. It’s irreversible! How did
you do this?” He plucked at his scales in a panic, tossing them to
the pavement where they lengthened and curled into bits of root
that crawled off into the cracks.

Lille made a bee-line for the cottage, while
Bern and I hobbled along behind. His stride smoothed out with each
pace they put behind them.

Lille tossed a glance over her shoulder and I
followed her gaze. The Luthers milled about their master, confused,
while Harvald helped Arthur pick off scales as if they were
ticks.

We passed through the garden gate, by rose
bushes gone weedy and brown and into the cottage with its
kitchenette at one end and a four-posted bed at the
other.

Lille scooped a stack of linens off the bed
and stuffed them into a large basket along with a pair of pillows
and some mismatched tea cups and silverware.

Bern took a handgun off the wall that I had
assumed was just for decoration. He swaddled it in a towel along
with a spare magazine.

“
Bern … please … not that. It
probably doesn’t even work here.”

“
We don’t know that,” said Bern,
ignoring her. “If nothing else, it might prove a useful
deterrent.”

“
Did you make that?” I
said.

“
Found,” he said, tucking it into
the basket. “Let’s hope its true owner misses it a little longer.
You know what happens to things forgotten.

“
Yeah,” I said. “They don’t stay in
Root.” I wished that rule applied to people. Karla certainly
qualified as lost, and I sure as hell hadn’t forgotten her. I
wished now that I had been satisfied with seeing her in Root. I
feared that my insistence on going after her on the other side had
only driven her farther away, while putting my soul in peril on the
mountainside. I missed her with a pang as strong as a week without
eating.

Lille peered behind the curtain. “Let’s leave
out the back,” she said. “The Luthers seem to be getting themselves
organized.

Bern flung open the back door and staggered
out into a tunnel every bit as shaggy as the one behind Karla’s
collapsed dome.

“
Where are we going?” I
said.

“
Doesn’t matter,” said Bern. “So
long as it’s far, far away from this damned ‘Burg.”