The Glass Prison (21 page)

“Hello?” A voice cried from within the sea of darkness. “Is anyone there?”

Vheod recognized Melann’s voice and stumbled toward it in the darkness, moving away from the wall to keep out of the reach of any more strange, grasping tendrils. “Melann! It’s me, Vheod.”

“Vheod, I’m here!”

“Wait,” he said in the direction of her voice. She sounded close. Vheod knelt down, setting his sword at his side. He took the flint from his pocket and tried to get a light, even a tiny spark that might set fire to one of the root tendrils he’d torn. After a few moments, he managed to get a spark to light the end of one of them. It wouldn’t burn long, but it provided a tiny jewel of light for now.

Vheod saw Melann just a few feet away, up against the wall, held fast by a number of roots that had entangled themselves around her wrists and ankles, as though she was shackled. In fact, the roots that held her resembled conventional manacles too much to be coincidence. Someone was holding her here.

“Melann,” he asked her, still a little worried to get too close to the obviously dangerous wall, “is there anyone near?”

“No,” she replied, “I don’t think so.” Her voice was hoarse and dry. Sympathy welled inside him, and he longed to go to her, to free her.

“Who put you here?” Vheod nervously looked around, though he could see very little in the oppressive darkness. His tiny light was already dying.

“I don’t know.” Her voice seemed a little frantic. “I remember a woman with dark hair. I remember moving against my will, as if I was dragged, then I just remember being here. What happened? How did we get here? Where are we? The last thing I fully remember was riding through the woods with you.”

“How long have you been here?” he asked her.

“Not long, I … I don’t think …”

Perhaps their minds had been affected by the same thing, but she was abducted somehow, and he wasn’t. Still there was much left that needed to be explained.

The light winked out. She gasped. Vheod stepped forward and grasped Melann’s hand. He was close enough now to see her without a light. He could see her smile and visibly relax in the darkness when he touched her. He pulled her hand away from the wall as much as he could and chopped at the root that held her. He could see more roots uncoiling from the wall.

“Keep pulling as far from the wall as possible. I’m going to cut these bonds, and when I do, pull that part of you away.” He didn’t tell her why. He couldn’t afford to have her worrying about advancing roots that she couldn’t see anyway.

Melann did as Vheod told her, and he managed to cut away the roots and avoid being grasped himself. She thrust herself completely away from the wall just as more roots reached for her. He guided her away from the edge of the cavern. The roots on the floor where they knelt to catch their breath didn’t react the way those along the wall had. Apparently the animate roots had been enchanted. Whoever lived in this tree fortress obviously used the lower level for a prison or dungeon.

Melann didn’t speak for a few moments, and Vheod realized she was praying. When she finished, she raised her cupped hands above her, and they filled with magical light that illuminated the area around them much more brightly than Vheod’s pitiful little flame.

When his eyes adjusted to the new light, he looked at Melann carefully. Moist dirt was caked all over her clothes, face, and hair.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“Other than some chaffed wrists,” she said with raised brows, “I think I’m fine. You look as though you’ve been fighting.”

“Do you remember anything, Melann?” He helped her to her feet, so that both of them were standing in the chill chamber. The air was still, but the water moving in the underground stream echoed in the distance. “Do you remember arriving at this … giant tree filled with ravens? Do you remember a thorny dog, or lighting a torch and exploring the inside?”

“The inside of a tree?” Melann asked, looking around.

“Yes,” Vheod answered, nodding slightly. “We are below it now—in the roots.”

“What you’re saying seems to strike a familiar chord within me, like you’re describing a distant dream. The events sound familiar, but I don’t really remember them.”

She brushed dirt away from her face and hair, then patted the soil from her clothes as well. She’d left her traveling cloak on her horse—as she’d done most of the time during the day. She wore only her light leather jerkin and gray cloth trousers, both torn and dirty.

“The same is true with me, I’m afraid. I’ve only been able to piece together what I’ve told you through
interpolation. The last thing I clearly remember is riding through the woods with you.”

“You said something about the tree being filled with ravens.” It was a statement, not a question. She stopped brushing the dirt away and stared into Vheod’s dark eyes. “Does that mean this is the lair of the Ravenwitch?”

“I think so,” Vheod replied.

“Do you know where Whitlock is?”

“No, but I think I’ve got a good idea where to start looking.”

Melann nodded, her eyes once again wide with optimism. “Well then, let’s go.”

Melann couldn’t help but find the giant tree fascinating. As frightened and confused as she was, walking around inside a giant, living tree thrilled her. Despite the Ravenwitch’s evil—at least, Melann assumed the witch was evil—she obviously knew wondrous secrets about the care and nurturing of growing things. Melann saw nothing to indicate that the tree had been mistreated or was unhealthy. On the contrary, it appeared to be thriving, as did the rose vines that grew throughout the interior, climbing and winding their way around everything. How they grew without sunlight was a mystery to Melann, but the interior of the tree was far more mysterious and wonderful. Obviously, somehow, the Ravenwitch had communicated with the tree on some level, coaxing it to take the shapes she desired. Corridors, rooms, staircases, doorways—the place was amazing.

Melann and Vheod briefly explored the subterranean root section of the tree, but Vheod seemed convinced that the Ravenwitch had Whitlock with her and that she would be in the upper reaches of the tree. Birds, he reasoned, stick mostly to the branches high above the ground, and Melann could find no reason to argue with him. The truth was, she really had no idea what to do next, but determination to find her
brother drove her onward. It was good that she had Vheod to direct that driving need. She felt like some sort of wild storm, full of energy but aimless and without bearing.

Vheod, it appeared, didn’t share her appreciation of the tree, but she couldn’t blame him. Anyone else except perhaps a Brother or Sister of the Earth would most likely find this place frightening and strange. Remaining very quiet since he found her amid the roots, Vheod seemed more pensive than she’d seen him before. Of course, Melann was not completely without fear herself.

Whitlock was somewhere inside the tree, and she had to find him. She realized that if something happened to Whitlock, she would be utterly alone. Vheod provided intriguing and pleasant companionship, but she was entirely dependent on her family for support and nurturing. As a garden grows dependent on its caretaker, she found it difficult to imagine that she could possibly succeed in her quest without her brother—and that would mean losing her mother and father as well.

Vheod had spoken about the loss of memories, but Melann had assumed that she’d just been waylaid in the woods and brought to the tree—perhaps by magic. He was sure that the two of them fought their way into the Ravenwitch’s lair and something had attacked their minds. He was convincing. The fact that their horses lay slain outside of the tree certainly lent credence to his idea, but Melann simply couldn’t remember any of it.

They stood in the round chamber one story above its almost identical counterpart on the ground level. The wooden table and stools grew up from the floor in a manner that occupied much of Melann’s attention. She marveled at the way they had been somehow
shaped, presumably as the tree grew. The whole room had obviously been shaped by careful planning and great skill with plants. Her mind drew back to the Ravenwitch. Melann considered their predicament, and the need to find Whitlock.

“At what point do you believe our minds were attacked?” she asked Vheod.

“Up high in the tree,” he answered. “The first thing I can remember is standing in a woody corridor with rose vines and black moss and—”

Vheod paused suddenly, his dark eyes growing wide.

“What is it, Vheod?” Melann asked.

“Melann, you have some knowledge of plants, right?” Vheod asked with a rapid intensity.

“Well, yes, but I—”

“Have you ever heard of some sort of moss or fungus that can affect one’s mind?”

“Well …” Melann ran through her training, and all she’d ever heard or read about mosses, lichens, and fungi. “Yes! There’s something I believe is called, obviously enough, memory moss. It feeds on memories. Patches of it can be found in magical glens and enchanted areas, sometimes underground.”

“Is it black?”

“I … I think so.”

“Well, now we know what we’re up against then, at least.” Vheod leaned back against the wall. He seemed more relaxed. “Is there any way we can fight it?”

“I would imagine it could be burned,” Melann told him. “But Vheod, I can’t … I mean, I’m not supposed to …” She paused, with a pained expression.

“What is it?” Vheod furrowed his brow in obvious concern.

“I can’t willingly destroy a growing thing—even something like memory moss. It’s against everything I’ve ever been taught.”

Vheod said nothing, just stared into her face, considering her words. He pulled away from the wall on which he leaned and folded his arms in front of him. Melann’s spell of light illuminated his rough, angular face in such a way that his eyes seemed even darker and more distant than normal. Judging by the look on his face, Vheod was confused.

“Our Mother represents,” Melann explained, “and is in turn represented by all growing things. Her teachings forbid the wanton destruction of her creations.”

Still Vheod stood silent. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Melann, I don’t understand. We’re talking about something that attacked our minds. It may threaten us again in a similar—”

“I know,” Melann interrupted, averting her eyes from him.

Sometimes clinging to her beliefs forced her into situations she truly hated. It seemed she should just be stalwart about what she knew to be right, but it wasn’t that easy. Melann was not blind. She could see that sometimes the tenets of her faith presented obstacles.

Faith had never been easy for her. She’d been told as she rose in the ranks of the clergy that she showed strength and depth in that she agonized over, examined, and re-examined, every aspect of her religion. She saw it as a flaw herself and wished she could just be strong enough to never question.

“But you eat plants,” Vheod reasoned.

“That’s different,” Melann said, shaking her head. She’d had such debates with many of those not within Chauntea’s fold. “It’s not the destruction of the plant for destruction’s sake.”

Vheod shook his head as well, folding his arms again. “You’ll have to forgive me.” His jaw was set
squarely. “I am unused to such principles and such strict adherence to them. In the Abyss, the only principle was that which is most easily followed—‘serve thyself above all others.’ ” His sneer was almost a smile.

He’d reached a point where he could almost joke about his past, Melann observed. Joke, that is, at least in a contemptuous way. He must have hated it there so much, she thought.

“But you obviously had principles,” Melann stated softly. “You were different.”

For just a moment, Vheod’s eyes seemed to lighten as they stared into hers, though he remained silent. He looked away after a moment, glancing at the floor.

“More appropriate places will present themselves in which to hold this conversation, I’m sure.” Vheod looked around, particularly at the stairs leading up and added, “In fact, I must say I’m surprised we haven’t seen this Ravenwitch. She knows we’re here.”

“Perhaps,” Melann said with a visible shudder, “she’s otherwise preoccupied.” Oh, Whitlock, she thought, where are you? What is she doing to you?

“Above this chamber, we will find a roost of ravens. Beyond that lies the passage with the moss. I’m afraid I’m going to have to try to burn it, Melann. Can you live with that?”

“We’ve got to get to Whitlock,” was her reply, “but I cannot help in such a dire task.”

Again Vheod breathed outward through clenched teeth. “I have made a lifetime out of completing distasteful tasks. I can do it alone.”

Melann was sorry. She had no idea how to make Vheod understand. Surely his noble nature would recognize what she said to be true. “You won’t harm this tree, though, right?”

Vheod replied with a question as he drew his sword. “How do you know the tree isn’t a thing of evil? It’s creator obviously is, isn’t she?”

“I assume so, but a tree cannot be evil. It is but a tree. Besides, the Ravenwitch almost certainly didn’t create the tree. She just shaped it, if it was her at all.”

Melann considered that perhaps the Ravenwitch had killed the original caretaker of the tree or had forced another to shape it for her. She just couldn’t reconcile in her mind that the same person responsible for the amazing nurturing and caring that went into the creation of this tree fortress could have sent foul, wicked ravens to attack them and abduct her brother.

“I think we’ll learn soon enough,” Vheod said, moving to the stairs.

*  *  *  *  *

Vheod’s tall but graceful form emerged from the shadows of the staircase, illuminated by the magical light conjured by Melann’s priestly faith. His long, cold steel blade bared before him, he advanced into the dark room he knew earlier had been filled with ravens. The chamber stank of bird droppings and feathers, and as Melann carefully followed Vheod up the stairs and into the room, they both could see that this indeed had been a roost for the black-feathered birds.

Now, however, the room stood empty and utterly silent. As Vheod moved to the center of the room, he looked all around and up onto the high shelf where he’d seen the ravens roosting earlier. The ravens were gone. He paused a moment to listen, motioning for Melann to remain at the top of the stairs.