Flight of the Fallen

21 The Tree’s Gift

“Excuse me, Lady Linsha, my name is Danian. I have been asked to see you.”

The Rose Knight looked up from her plate into two pairs of captivating eyes, one pair human and clouded beyond use, the other pair avian, beady black, and sparkling with intelligence. She felt Varia lean forward on her shoulder to stare at the other bird. The bird was a kestrel, a sleek and lovely predator.

The sight of the kestrel tweaked her memory, and she remembered. Leonidas had said something about a healer with a kestrel. He hadn’t mentioned the man was blind. Intrigued, Linsha set aside her plate and climbed carefully to her feet. To her surprise she looked down on the healer. He was somewhat short for a Plainsman with a build that was slender and ropey like a pine tree toughened and stunted by the desert wind. His dark hair was cut short and his skin was deeply tanned.

The evening meal was almost over and the tribal bards and clan storytellers were preparing for the evening’s entertainment. The feast had not been fancy, but the two tribes who had hosted it had worked hard to prepare a satisfying and hearty meal for the day’s newcomers. It was tribal custom to start any gathering with a feast and songs that lasted far into the night before a large meeting was called. Linsha appreciated the food, and she knew the storytellers and singers would regale the crowd with war songs and tales of great bravery to excite their minds for coming battle. In truth, she didn’t want to hear them. Perhaps she was getting too old for battles, but she had long ago given up looking for glory among the hacked and maimed bodies on the field.

“Healer,” she said to Danian, “I don’t know what you can do to help my ankle. The injury is several days old. But if you would like to leave this crowded place and come to our camp, I would be pleased to talk to you.”

He cocked his head as if listening to something then nodded. “I will tell Wanderer I am leaving and we will go.”

She watched him with interest as he wove his way unerring through the busy, crowded space under the tree set aside for feasting. If she hadn’t seen the milky fog that obscured his eyes, she would never have guessed he was blind.

“The kestrel helps him see,” a stranger said beside her.

Startled, she looked at the people around her and realized a taller, much younger man was waiting close by. By his unkempt red hair and paler skin, she knew without asking this boy was an outlander, a stranger like herself to the Plains.

“Who are you?” she asked, her astonishment making her question more abrupt than she meant.

He offered her a bashful grin. “My name is Tancred. I am not from around here. I am Danian’s apprentice.”

She gave him a smile back. “You sound as if you’ve had to repeat that a few times.”

“A few. I ended up here by accident a few weeks ago, and I am still trying to explain myself.”

Her brows lowered in confusion. “A few weeks ago? And you are an apprentice with a tribal healer? Already?”

“He is a healer and a shaman. And yes, I am his apprentice. It was all rather unexpected.”

Linsha looked back to watch Danian. “He knows animism, as well. Or does his bird talk?”

“His bird does not talk,” Varia replied in her ear with only the slightest hint of condescension in her tone.

They watched the healer talk to a tall, powerful looking man near the back of the crowd. The Plainsman nodded once and glanced Linsha’s way. She caught his eye and made a bow as best she could with a walking staff and an owl on her shoulder. She had not had a chance to talk to Wanderer that evening, but she hoped to sometime before the confrontation with the Tarmak.

Danian came back, as unerringly as before, and with Tancred by his side, he followed Linsha out of the feasting grounds to the militia’s camp. She could only hobble very slowly, even with the help the staff, but the two men made no complaint or comment. When they reached the camp, Linsha saw the site was empty at the moment, for everyone else was enjoying the food and the music on the distant side of the tree. The small fire had burned down to orange embers but was still hot enough to keep the pot of kefre warm for anyone who wanted some.

Danian obviously “saw” the camp, too. He steered Linsha to the fallen log seat and had her sit. “Tancred, stir up the fire so we can see.”

Varia fluttered from Linsha’s shoulder and perched beside her on the log, her round eyes fixed on the healer and his bird.

Linsha said nothing. She watched the healer carefully while he knelt in front of her, removed her boot, and examined her ankle with his fingers. He seemed to know what he was doing, in spite of his sightlessness. His long fingers stroked and prodded her joint, twisted it back and forth, and gently massaged her foot.

“It’s not broken,” he announced. “But I think you know that.” He twisted his neck to look up at her. “It is badly sprained, but I might be able to repair some of the damage with your help.”

“Mine?”

“Of course. You have a mystic talent, too. Not quite as good as Tancred’s for healing. Different.” He cocked his head as if pondering an unexpected discovery. “Still, I think it will be enough to help you get back on your feet.”

“But I haven’t been able to use mine for a while. Something is wrong.”

“It is the dead.”

Linsha stared hard at him “What did you say?”

“The spirits of the dead. They haven’t left this world. I think they are feeding off our magic.”

“How do you know? Have you seen them?”

“Yes. Some nights ago we were attacked by a raiding party. I had a vision and saw the souls of the dead rise from the bodies. But they didn’t leave as they are supposed to do, and when I tried to use my powers to heal the wounded, the dead gathered around me and my magic failed.” He paused and cocked his head again. “What is it? You are very quiet. Have you seen the dead?”

“Only one, and he came to warn me. But. I thought I was dreaming.” She clasped her hands together. “Until we were attacked by brigands.”

Her throat tightened and her head began to pound with a sudden and wrenching sense of sadness for the friends she had lost. Could Danian be right? Falaius had said something similar once, several months ago, about the spirits of the dead remaining behind. Is that all there was to look forward to after death? Wandering this world and devouring magic? What did the spirits do with the power? Why couldn’t they leave? Did her father know this?

“Is that how you got this injury?” asked Danian. “The brigands?”

Linsha started slightly and realized she had let her thoughts stray again. “Yes. I tripped over a dead draconian.”

“Then let’s see what we can do.” He leaned forward on his knees and clasped Linsha’s ankle in one hand. “Tancred, give me your hand. I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on what I am doing.”

The redheaded apprentice tried to stifle a look of apprehension on his face. “Are you sure I can help with this?” he asked.

“Yes, lad. Or I would’ve asked the sentry over there. Now, Lady,” he said to Linsha. “Just focus on your own power, and I will guide it to your ankle. With luck we’ll be able to repair this before our magic fails.”

Linsha glanced at Varia, who sat so quietly beside her. The owl bobbed her head once. Closing her eyes, Linsha let her body relax muscle by muscle from head to foot. She banished thoughts of death and spirits and turned her mind away from the outer world. Sounds from the feasting and the other camps around her went away beyond a wall of calm silence until all she could hear was the snap and crackle of the fire and the wind rustling the leaves of the Grandfather Tree overhead. Eventually even those fell to a profound silence that allowed her to listen to her own heartbeat. She reached deeper within her and concentrated on the magic power Goldmoon had taught her resided in her own heart. It lay there waiting, a warm, sparkling energy that infused her blood and needed only a gentle prod to go coursing through her body in a healing, energizing wave. She focused the energy down to her ankle and foot, and to her delight, found it was met by another magic far stronger and more assured than hers. It guided her power into the torn ligaments and broken blood vessels, sealing the leaks and repairing the damaged muscles. The pain of her ankle waned swiftly as the joint gently healed.

Then Linsha felt a faint tickle around her face and on her neck like the wings of insects or the light brush of fingers. Her concentration slipped. She recalled this tickling had happened every time she lost control of the magic. Immediately, the power she had drawn from her heart slipped out of her grasp and drained away, leaving nothing but a dull ache to thud in her ankle. Furiously, she wrenched herself out of the failed spell and jumped to her feet.

“Stop it!” she yelled at the darkness. “Why are you doing this?”

There was no answer. She hadn’t really expected one. But on the furthest edges of her vision, she saw faint wispy shapes draw back from her, their ghostly hands held out in supplication.

“You want magic?” she shouted at the figures. “Go bother the Tarmaks!” They have plenty of magic!”

The images vanished completely and Linsha found herself standing by the fire and feeling a little foolish.

Varia hooted at her.

She turned to see both birds and men staring at her. Tancred’s freckled face was grinning and even Danian’s weathered face had an uplifted expression. A sentry nearby and several people within earshot of her shouts also looked over to see what the yelling was about. Linsha felt her face grow hot.

“You’re standing without the walking stick,” Tancred pointed out.

Still annoyed, Linsha sat down again on the log.

“You saw them this time, didn’t you?” Danian asked as he gently manipulated her joint.

“I’m not sure,” she sighed. “I thought I saw… something. It was very faint.”

He wrapped her foot again and slipped her hoot back on for her. “Good! We did better than I hoped. Your ankle is not completely healed. You will have to be careful for a few days, but most of the damage was repaired. You have a strong spirit and a powerful will. That is probably why you saw the souls of the dead this time.”

Linsha drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was suddenly very tired. She could not fathom the mysteries of the dead at this time and didn’t have the mental strength to try. But maybe this shaman could help her with something else. She found some cups and poured hot kefre for the three of them, then told Danian and Tancred about Crucible and the Abyssal Lance. She had only meant to explain the barest facts, but the healer started asking quiet questions and before she could stop herself, she told him the whole story of her friendship with the bronze from their first meeting in Sanction to the disastrous night in the courtyard when the Tarmaks fired the dart into his back. Tancred stared at her through the whole telling, his mouth slightly ajar. Danian listened intently and sipped his drink.

“Can you think of anything that could help him?” she asked when she was through. “Falaius said the shamans of your tribes might have an answer.”

Danian rubbed a gentle finger down the breast of his kestrel and sadly shook his head. “I don’t know about the others, but I have no experience or knowledge of this kind of evil. This spell is very unusual. You say the dart was fired into his back while he was shapeshifting?” At her nod, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and added, “Then you will probably have to remove it the same way. But how you can do it without injuring him further, I don’t know.”

“There is always the Grandfather Tree,” Tancred said. A slight blush crept up his fair face.

“The Tree?” Linsha said dubiously.

Danian gave a light chuckle. “Tancred is right. This Tree was a gift from the god. It is old. Very old. Its roots go deep. Its branches reach toward the stars. If you are quiet and if you listen, the Tree may sometimes grant you a vision. It is a great gift the Tree gives only to those who are worthy. I would not promise you that it would give you an answer, but it has helped others.”

Linsha’s green eyes shifted to Tancred and saw his blush deepen. “It gave me a future,” he said softly.

“Come, Tancred. It grows late. This Lady Knight and I both are weary. Lady Linsha, I hope to see you again before we depart. If you need me again, send this inestimable owl.”

Linsha gave her heartfelt thanks to both men and watched as they walked out of the firelight into the darkness toward their own camp.

“A tree,” she said skeptically. “That was something I hadn’t thought of.”

“Don’t discount it,” Varia replied. “I have been in the canopy of this Tree, and it is far greater than a mere plant.”

Linsha shrugged her shoulders and went to find her blanket. Her ankle, she was pleased to note, was much improved. It was still discolored and a little sore, but she could put weight on it and walk without too much discomfort.

Bathed in the glow of the small fire, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and lay down beside the scant shelter of the log. In the distance, she could hear the strains of an old harp. The tree overhead rustled softly in the night wind. Exhausted by travel, injury, and the use of her magic, Linsha fell asleep before the harp music finished and slept soundly the rest of the night.

Linsha awoke at sunrise the next morning and found Sir Hugh, Mariana, Falaius, and all of the human militia stretched out in their bedrolls and still asleep. Only the centaurs of the militia had chosen to stay elsewhere to visit with kinfolk and friends from the northern clans. Obviously, everyone had enjoyed the wine and the food from the night before.

She rose, stretched, and went to build up the fire for a morning meal and was pleased to see her ankle had improved still more during the night. She would wrap it for support for the next couple of days and use Sir Hugh’s walking staff, and maybe she would be fit for battle when they finally faced the Tarmak army.

The rest of the day went by swiftly without the pleasures of feasting and dancing. The atmosphere under the great tree turned serious and more grim, as the leaders of the barbarian tribes, the chieftains of the centaur clans, and the leaders of the militia met and discussed the Tarmak army. Scouts and messengers arrived and departed in an almost constant stream, bringing news from reinforcements that were on the way and word of the progress of the invaders into Duntollik. Spies reported seeing a metallic dragon in the midst of the Tarmak army and claimed he had burned several small farmsteads along the river and was killing livestock.

Linsha attended the meeting with Falaius, Mariana, and Sir Hugh, and with their help and input told the tale of the fall of Missing City and the deaths of the two dragonlords. Rumors of Thunder’s disappearance and Iyesta’s death had circulated through the Plains, but this was the first time the full tale had been told in front of the gathered tribes. She also explained Crucible’s presence with the Tarmaks and asked for any help that might relieve him of the dart, but as Danian predicted, none of the shamans or healers present knew what to do. It was a terrible disappointment.

By midafternoon, Wanderer, Falaius, and a centaur named Carrebdos of the Windwalker clan emerged as the leaders of the Plains confederation. They met alone for a time to discuss a defense of the eastern Plains then called for the other chiefs to voice their ideas and suggestions. Slowly a plan came together.

Linsha was still sitting on the fringes of the gathered leaders listening to the talk when four riders in tattered Solamnic uniforms rode under the Tree and asked to speak to the tribal leaders. She knew who they were in a heartbeat and eased out of their direct line of sight. She worked her way forward to better hear what they said, keeping others between her and the riders so they would not spot her. Warily, she watched while they dismounted and were greeted by Wanderer and the others. Falaius, she noted, did not look pleased to see Sir Remmik.

The men and centaurs talked quietly for a few minutes while everyone watched. Sir Remmik, his lean face impassive, handed a scroll to Falaius and waited silently while the scroll was read and passed around. A rumble of displeasure began to grow among the leaders.

“Do you believe these words?” Linsha heard the Legion commander say to the Knight.

Sir Remmik’s patrician gaze swept over the crowded onlookers as if taking their measure. For just a second Linsha saw his eyes hesitate when he looked in her direction, then his gaze swept on over the faces of militia, tribesmen, and centaurs. A small shiver slid through her. Had he seen her?

“I do not recommend them one way or another,” Remmik replied. “You, too, have seen how these Tarmaks fight. I was given orders to deliver them and little choice but to obey.”

“And will you return with an answer?”

He nodded. “I have no choice. The Tarmaks still hold the rest of my Knights. I will not abandon them to torment and death.”

Wanderer snatched the scroll back from a chieftain and tore it fiercely in half. “The answer is no.”

Sir Remmik took the gesture without surprise. He glanced at the leaders again and said, “Is that the answer of all of you?”

Centaurs and humans alike raised their fists and shouted their war cries until the air under the tree shook and people from outlying camps came running.

“We will fight,” said Falaius.

Sir Remmik bowed once and mounted his horse. But he did not leave immediately. He reined the animal around to face his former allies. In a move that surprised them all, he brought his fist to his chest in a salute and half bowed from his saddle.

“I respect your decision,” he said. “You have made the honorable choice.” Ignoring the possibility of a reply, he left the gathering at the Grandfather Tree and, followed by his Knights, cantered his horse east out into the desert.

Linsha sadly watched them go. “They didn’t even stay for tea,” Sir Hugh said quietly beside her.

Night came cold and windy, accompanied by clouds rolling in from the southwest. As soon as the meetings and the talks were over, the leaders and their people returned to their own camps to spread the news and prepare for war. Lanterns were lit under the Tree, but because of the wind, campfires were kept to a minimum. Most suppers that evening were eaten cold. No one suggested a feast. Guards were posted around the Tree and by the picket lines, and almost everyone retired to their beds early that night.

Linsha was no exception. Varia was off hunting somewhere, and Linsha was still tired from the past days and weary of company. With an apology to Mariana, she moved her blanket out to the edge of their camp where she could see the sky through the fringe of the great tree’s canopy. A combination of leaves and sky seemed pleasant to her while she rolled up in her blanket and stretched out on the grass to sleep.

The problem was she couldn’t fall asleep. Despite the weariness that weighed down her body, her mind would not stop thinking. She lay on her back, her eyes wide open, and stared up at the Tree above her.

Perhaps it was the noise that disturbed her. It wasn’t a manmade noise. The camps under the canopy were quiet. If she turned her head, she could see the dark, motionless lumps of sleeping men and staked tents, a few glowing lamps, and the occasional movement of a sentry. No, it was the wind that provided its own racket. Without anything to really slow it down, the wind stampeded across the desert, roaring and howling and kicking up dust before it. It swept over the hill where the Tree grew, blowing through the grass and brush and pushing through the Tree’s canopy. The roots of the ancient tree went too deep for a mere blustery wind to disturb it. After all, it had survived the great storm of the early summer. But the Tree still moved and creaked and slowly swayed in the night wind. Its leaves rustled and shook; its branches rubbed and banged together; the trunk groaned like an old man in the impudent rush of the wind. It sounded to Linsha like an entire forest of vallenwoods rather than just one tree.

She looked up into the treetop at the dancing, swaying branches and tried to think about Danian’s words. What had he meant when he told her the tree sometimes granted visions? What sort of visions? Were they prophetic visions or visions given in response to some sort of prayer? The barbaric tribes of the Plains were very spiritual people, heavily dependent on their connection to the natural world around them. They believed everything had a lifeforce that was attached to everything else. It was little wonder they looked on this Tree with nothing short of adoration. But could it truly give answers? Would prayer help?

Linsha was not very good at prayer. She had grown up in a world that had lost its gods just before she was born, and while her parents raised her with the belief that someday the gods would return, she had not found much use in praying to deities who weren’t around to listen. If the rumors of this One God were true, maybe she would learn to pray, but until then she would have to make do with simple speech. She had told the story of Crucible to the gathering in the presence of the Tree. If it truly listened, then it already knew what she needed. There wasn’t much point in belaboring it.

Her hand slid up to her neck and found the gold chain with the dragon scales under her tunic. Her fingers closed around them, and she drew some comfort from their reminder of her friends. The wind roared and rushed around her. Her eyes slowly slid closed.

She wasn’t aware of sleeping, but after a while she became conscious of the fact that a light was shining red through her eyelids. Thinking it was dawn, she sat up in her blanket and stretched her neck and arms. She was still sore and stiff, and she didn’t feel rested at all. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes… and choked on a cry. Her eyes blinked with sudden tears. She crawled to her knees and knelt on the blanket, her heart pounding.

The light she’d thought was the sun actually emanated from a huge metallic dragon crouched on her belly only feet away from the edge of the Tree’s canopy and Linsha’s blanket. Her large expressive eyes gleamed down on Linsha with pleasure. Her sleek head and polished horns glowed with a pale translucent gold light of their own.

“Iyesta!” Linsha whispered in delight.

The dragon inclined her head to Linsha until her gleaming nose almost brushed Linsha’s head. Giving a slight nod, she lifted her neck and plunged her nose into the leaves of the Tree’s canopy. Gently the apparition snipped two leaves from the vallenwood and let them fall to Linsha’s side.

The bond formed between a dragon and a human is worth the effort to forge it, the dragon’s voice said inside her mind.

“How?” Linsha begged. “How do I help him?”

The Tree of Life will guide your hand.

“Will you stay and help me?” Linsha cried.

There was no answer. The wind roared and the light vanished, leaving Linsha rubbing her eyes and crying in the darkness. She groped frantically for the leaves, found them, and held them tightly in her hands. With tears running down her cheeks, she leaped to her feet and limped out from under the tree into the open where the chill wind tore at her clothes and whipped her hair around her face. She turned around and around to search for any sign of the big brass dragon and saw what she expected. Nothing. The night hung densely dark under the clouds. There was no hint of a golden light, no sign that Iyesta had truly been there. The sentries still paced on their rounds, the horses dozed in their picket lines, the men and women of the gathering continued to sleep undisturbed. The vision of Iyesta had been hers alone.

Her face still wet with tears, Linsha took the leaves and crawled back under her blanket. She wasn’t certain what Iyesta meant for her to do with these leaves, but they had been granted to her for a reason, and until she understood more, she was not going to let the leaves off her person. She curled around them and lay still, listening to the voices of the wind and the Tree.

The next thing she knew it was dawn and Varia was waking her.