The Eternal Flame (9 page)

“All we know,” she concluded, “is that Kulwych is hiding underground, in the deepest mine he could find.”

“That would be Borvo Lugna,” Grikkolo commented. “It is deep, very deep. And also large enough to hold whatever army he might be assembling, with plenty of iron for forging weapons.”

Elli traded glances with the sprite in her arm. “How far,” she asked, “is it from here?”

“A full day’s walk. If you know the way, of course.”

“Which is why we came here,” she explained. “To find a map.”

“That will not be necessary,” declared the elf. He pushed away from the shelves where he’d been resting and stood as straight as his back allowed. Facing the doorway to the library, he added with determination: “For I shall take you there myself.”

Elli blinked in surprise. Then slowly she smiled, realizing how much this would help them find their way across the realm of darkness. “You would really do that?”

Grikkolo nodded at the doorway. “While many years have passed since I left this place, I still remember well the pathways of my youth.” He stood even more erect. “And this time, in this battle, I will be no coward.”

10
•
Palimyst

The huge, hunchbacked monster stared down at Tamwyn, who lay helpless on the grass. The creature’s tongue licked the lips of his snout, while his immense hairy arms reached toward the young man. Even if Tamwyn had been standing, this monster would have towered over him, much like a tree over a fallen branch.

Indeed, the giant creature did resemble a tree—one covered with shaggy brown hair instead of leaves. His one enormous leg, as thick as an oak, furthered this impression. As did his burly, branchlike arms. Only the two dark eyes above his snout, glinting mysteriously, seemed to belong to a different sort of being.

Just then the monster roared, a wrathful blast of sound that flattened the grass. The pair of drumalings who had been pursuing Tamwyn had already stopped short when they saw the hairy giant. Now they turned and hurried away, their roots slamming against the ground.

Meanwhile, the huge beast’s hands, each with seven long fingers, opened toward Tamwyn. He knew that in another instant they would close around his neck or crush his skull. There wasn’t time to grab his dagger or his staff, let alone try to escape.

I’m sorry, Elli. So very—

The long fingers reached him. But instead of wrapping around his neck or his skull, they grabbed his shoulders—and lifted him straight up into the air. Tamwyn struggled, trying with all his might to wriggle free before the creature could eat him. From the size of that snout, it would take only a few bites. Yet as hard as he tried to break free, he only felt the fingers’ grip tighten.

The hunchbacked giant studied him, dark eyes gleaming. Then, just as Tamwyn expected to see the jaws open wide, he saw instead the creature’s lips curl into a quite human expression of puzzlement. At the same time, Tamwyn suddenly heard the creature’s thoughts, spoken in a rich bass voice.

Well now, Palimyst. What have you collected today?

Although he had long grown accustomed to hearing the thoughts of other kinds of beings, and understanding their languages, Tamwyn wasn’t at all sure that he’d heard correctly.
Collected ? What does that mean ?

The creature’s puzzlement seemed to deepen. Then, in a deep, rolling growl, it spoke directly to Tamwyn. “You arrrrre an intelligent one, I rrrrrealize that now. Yet neverrrrr have I seen the likes of you beforrrrre.”

Without warning, the hairy beast released his grip on Tamwyn’s shoulders. The young man dropped back to the ground, landing with a thud on the grass. Tamwyn groaned as the torch pole jammed into his back. But he swiftly rolled to the side and bounced to his feet, ready to run away at any sign of hostility.

“What—I mean, who—are you?” Tamwyn asked, growling in the language of this strange giant.

A deep, bubbling growl filled the air, which Tamwyn sensed was really a kind of laughter. “That is the verrrrry question I have forrrrr you, my little two-leggerrrrr! Yet since you arrrrre, I suspect, a visitorrrrr to this rrrrrealm, I shall answerrrrr yourrrrr question firrrrrst.”

With a sweep of an immense arm, he declared, “I am Palimyst, of the Taliwonn people. A crrrrraftsman I am—and also a collectorrrrr.”

Still a bit nervous about that term, Tamwyn asked, “And just what do you collect?”

“One question at a time, little one.” Palimyst bent his broad leg briefly, then straightened up again—what Tamwyn guessed was a bow of greeting. “Welcome to Holosarrrrr, ourrrrr name forrrrr this land. It means
the lowest rrrrrealm,
since we arrrrre the bottommost brrrrranch on the Grrrrreat Trrrrree.”

Tamwyn gave his own version of a bow. “My name is Tamwyn Eopia, a human. And I come from a realm even lower than yours: a root of this very Tree.”

Palimyst started at this news, taking a small hop backward. “A rrrrrealm of the rrrrroots? You speak the trrrrruth, Tamwyn Eopia?”

“I do.”

“Small as you arrrrre, you have climbed so verrrrry high?”

“I have.” Tamwyn’s gaze lifted to the rocky ridge above them, and then higher, to the bright lights in the sky. “And I intend to climb higher still.”

The dark eyes of Palimyst stared at him, scrutinizing closely. They showed heightened interest—and also, perhaps, esteem. Finally, he asked, “That tiny blade on yourrrrr belt. Forrrrr what do you use it?”

Tamwyn patted the sheath. “Mostly just whittling. And carving something—a gift for . . . a friend.” He tapped the side of his pack, producing a low, quaking note from the wood inside. “A harp.”

Tamwyn paused, just listening to the resonant note. Then, abruptly, his face fell. “Though I don’t have the skill. Or even the strings.”

Again Palimyst spoke, his growl quieter than before. “I, too, carrrrrve wood, frrrrrom the ancient forrrrrestlands higherrrrr in the rrrrrealm. Like you, I know the turrrrrn of a blade, the contourrrrrr of wood, the language of grrrrrain. And I also know the humility that comes frrrrrom trrrrrying to masterrrrr a crrrrraft.”

The huge, hunched form bent lower. “Tamwyn Eopia, if you would like to visit my lairrrrr, I would welcome you as my guest.”

Though he felt touched by the generosity and kindness of those words, Tamwyn shook his head. “I would be honored, Palimyst. But—” He glanced once more at the stars. “I have very far to go, and much too little time.”

Palimyst hopped slightly closer, and dropped his voice to a rumbling whisper. “Even if I werrrrre to show you a way to make time stand still?”

“Y-y-you could do that?” stammered Tamwyn, awestruck.

“Forrrrr a fellow wood carrrrrverrrrr, yes. And yet I must warrrrrn you: I can tell you what I know about the crrrrraft. But only you can masterrrrr it.”

Still unsure whether anything like this was even possible, the young man nodded slowly. “In that case, I would be glad to come.”

“Follow afterrrrr me, then.”

With surprising grace for someone so large, Palimyst turned on his leg and hopped into the valley, leaving a trail of compressed grass. Tamwyn hurriedly checked to make sure he hadn’t dropped any belongings, then dashed after him. It was all he could do to stay with Palimyst’s pace.

Up the gently rising valley they moved, past more steaming pools of hot sap and outcroppings of smooth rock. Tamwyn also spotted, to his dismay, a distant group of drumalings, but the treelike creatures watched them pass in silence. They skirted a thundering waterfall, pouring with billows of mist over a cliff on the ridge. Finally they reached a canyon that joined with the valley.

Here Palimyst turned, hopping higher into the canyon. Although he needed to scramble over a mass of boulders to keep up, Tamwyn couldn’t help but notice that the canyon’s auburn cliff walls seemed softer than stone—more like some kind of earthen fruit. He also spied a large, coiled snake, as auburn as the rocks, resting on a ledge. Nearby, a pair of green butterflies flitted above a newly opened flower, which smelled as fragrant as honeycomb.

Abruptly, Palimyst veered into a smaller side canyon. A thin stream ran down its center, carrying water from the ridge above. Some of the same bushes with lavender leaves that Tamwyn had found before lined the stream’s banks, along with an array of brilliant blue and pink flowers.

Tamwyn hardly noticed, however. For the most striking thing about this canyon was the enormous piece of green fabric, the size of a meadow, that hung from one cliff. The fabric’s top was anchored to the rocks above, while its bottom stretched out almost to the edge of the stream in the canyon’s center. Great walls of fabric hung from the sides so that, underneath, a huge area was shielded from wind and storm. Palimyst hopped up to one side, lifted a flap, and entered with the ease of a deer bounding into a glade.

A tent,
thought Tamwyn in wonder.
He’s made himself a tent.

As he climbed up to the entrance, still panting from his run, he could see that the fabric had actually been woven from thousands of thin, sturdy vines. Each vine had been wound carefully around many, many others, producing a durable yet flexible sheet. Before going inside, Tamwyn paused to run his hand along the weaving’s edge.
This fellow really is a craftsman.

He lifted the flap and entered. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, but soon he could see very well. And he knew that he had just stepped into a truly extraordinary residence.

On the left side of the well-beaten dirt path that ran down the center of the lair, Tamwyn saw a large open space that held a fire circle. The charred ring, flanked by two great stone benches, rested just below a circular hole in the tent where smoke could escape. Beside the fire circle sat a forge where hot coals glowed bright, a bellows made from the same fabric as the tent, and a wide assortment of handmade tools. This whole area, along with the smoky smell in the air, reminded him of Ethaun’s smithy.

Yet Tamwyn could also see one major difference. These tools, unlike Ethaun’s, were not intended for gardening. Rather, they were meant for the more delicate work of craftsmanship. There were blades long and short, hammers, wedges, thin needles made of bone and willow shoots, hooks, bowls, spools of thread and twine and even metal wire, a spinning wheel, a turntable with a clay pot, mortars and pestles, stone jars that might have held dyeing powders, several pairs of scissors, files of all sizes, a spiraling metal drill, slats of wood for stretching materials, dozens of iron pots, two sharp axes, a huge loom, tall baskets of bark strips and wood of many kinds, and several devices so bizarre that Tamwyn had no idea at all what they might be.

Opposite this work area, on the right, was a pen of packed straw that must have been Palimyst’s sleeping pallet. Nearby sat an immense wooden table bearing half a dozen woven baskets piled high with apples, melons, squashes, and a curling, red-spotted fruit that Tamwyn had never seen before. One especially large basket, on the seat of a vast wooden chair, held only rinds, cores, and clumps of seeds. Bowls, mugs, great stone jars, and other kitchen supplies filled the three tall cabinets behind the table. Next to the wall of the tent, where a row of windows had been cut, rested a gigantic chair hewn from the auburn stone of the cliffs. And in that chair sat Palimyst himself, his leg propped on the thick slab of wood that was the tabletop.

“Welcome to my lairrrrr, Tamwyn Eopia.”

The young man glanced at the green fabric that stretched high above his head. “This is the most remarkable home I’ve ever seen.”

Palimyst’s growling voice bubbled with laughter. “Perrrrrhaps, my two-legged guest. Yet what I will show you now is farrrrr morrrrre rrrrremarrrrrkable.”

11
•
The River of Time

Palimyst slid his enormous leg off the tabletop, slamming it down onto the dirt floor of his lair. Tamwyn, seeing the puff of dirt from the impact, realized that the leg was even heavier than he’d thought, more like a stone pillar than a tree trunk. And that made Palimyst’s grace of movement when he hopped all the more amazing.

Before leaving the table, the hairy fellow grabbed three apples with the fingers of one hand. In rapid succession, he popped each one into his mouth, chewed briskly, and then spat the core into the basket on his wooden chair. His eyes gleaming, he shot a glance at Tamwyn.

“Come rrrrright along,” he growled. Then he turned and hopped past the forge and all his scattered tools and materials, heading deeper into the tent.

The young man followed. Watching his huge, broad-shouldered host, he couldn’t help but think that the many objects that he himself carried—pack, dagger, staff, and torch—really didn’t amount to much compared to the immense bulk that Palimyst hauled around everywhere he went. But the sight of all those craftsman’s tools had made Tamwyn realize that the key quality of this creature, and maybe all the Taliwonn people, was not his massive size.

No, it was his fingers. Those long, slender fingers, seven on each hand, were capable of amazingly delicate movement. And, as Tamwyn understood more with every step further into the tent, they were also capable of stunning skill.

Shelves lined both sides of the lair, crammed with crafts of every kind. There were woven baskets, some as small as Tamwyn’s thumbnail, others so big he’d have no trouble at all climbing in. There were also painted slabs of wood, engraved metal blades, strangely shaped clay pots and pitchers, sculpted stones, and carefully arranged bouquets of dried grasses, pressed flowers, and even polished snail shells. Tamwyn saw—and couldn’t resist touching gently—a colorful sphere made entirely from seeds, a huge mask of iridescent feathers, radiant prisms cut from quartz crystals, carpets woven from dyed threads, beeswax candles, plus (to his surprise) a square of fabric made from the bright wings of beetles.

He found, on those shelves, a miniature landscape carved from the auburn stone of the cliffs. An antler, playfully decorated with beads. A sculpture, made from amethyst and calcite crystals, that looked like a purple mountain draped with glaciers. A huge hat of woven grass, spotted with luminous blue butterfly wings. A tapestry of white lightning stark against a black sky. A pair of rounded shells, painted with exquisite detail so that they resembled the multifaceted eyes of an insect.