Shadows of the Dark Crystal Read online

Naia could only feel. This was the perception of a tree, she realized, with no Gelfling eyes or ears or mouth. She closed hers, then, and reached into the current of the tree’s dream, feeling as a tree might . . . listening. As she did, she felt the pulse of the tree’s life force, uneven and wild, growing louder and more anguished. It was like the Nebrie and the ruffnaw. It was like the empty void she had glimpsed herself, staring into the crystal veins before she had known they were the cause of the hollow darkness.

  I must rejoin the Heart of Thra . . .

  Though Olyeka-Staba’s voice was haunting, it gave Naia a burst of hope.

  Let me help you, she pleaded. How can I bring you peace?

  I must rejoin . . .

  Naia cried out as a flash of memories rained upon her. The Cradle-Tree’s roots, growing deep as they were meant to and cultivating the soil throughout the lush area of the forest, braided through pure white crystal veins that radiated from the Castle of the Crystal. The veins in the memory were like ribbons of sunlight, warming the Cradle-Tree with the harmonic life-song of Thra.

  Then, without warning, Thra cried out, and its song, for a moment, went quiet in shock. The white veins of crystal bled, melting into the dark amethyst that made Naia shudder. The soil blackened, and where the Cradle-Tree’s roots touched the veins, tiny sprouts of darkness blossomed. Thra’s song resumed, but it was injured, confused. Broken. Flaws, somewhere, from a deep wound that bled emptiness into its eternal refrain.

  I was not strong enough, Olyeka-Staba cried in its silent voice.

  And so the tree raged, poisoned over trine and trine by the darkened veins, until nearly every inch of it was blackened with regret and remorse. Naia remembered the words the shadows of Gurjin and Tavra had spoken to her. Had they merely been echoes of the tree’s guilt? Echoes, perhaps, though they had resonated against the walls of Naia’s own doubts and fears. But she couldn’t let those get in the way now, not while she was linked within the dreamfast with the tree. Its memories were growing chaotic now, just jumbles of panic and anger and loneliness—guilt and hopelessness, compounded by the discordant song of Thra.

  It’s not your fault, she urged, fearing she might lose her connection and everything else with it. Was this the source of the darkened veins? Some injury, deep in the Dark Wood? What had happened in its murky depths? Whatever it was, it was only a matter of time before the sickness reached the Heart of Thra where it resided, so nearby within the Castle of the Crystal. When that happened, there was no telling what might happen.

  With all she had in her, Naia strained her ears and listened for the song of Thra. It was there, all around, though distant. Holding it in mind, she carried its song through her body and offered it to the Cradle-Tree. For a moment, its anger ebbed. For a heartbeat, the shadow of hopelessness that had consumed it flickered. Taking the opportunity, Naia brought the song within her to her fingertips, and they glowed blue with healing vliyaya. She saw it both within the dreamfast and without. Her physical body’s hands channeling the healing magic into the hard wood of the tree’s roots while her body within the dreamfast became the light itself, illuminating the darkness of the Cradle-Tree’s heart.

  With a gasp, she fell out of the dreamfast, body and mind aching from effort. Kylan caught her as she nearly toppled over, but she didn’t have time for rest. All around them the forest was reacting, moving, slithering. But this time it was not in darkened rage, but in vigor, as if waking from a terrible nightmare. The Cradle-Tree let out a long cry . . . but this time, it was in anguish of relief. With a monumental tremble, the Dark Wood gave an exhausted sigh. A deep purr resonated from the earth, and in response the night creatures of the wilderness took up their calls, filling the night with the song of life.

  “What did you do?” Kylan asked.

  “I tried to heal it,” Naia said. “I think it worked—”

  The sound of cracking wood drew their attention over the rising song of the awakening forest. At the bottom of the basin, the contorted, four-limbed tree was splintering. At first, Naia thought perhaps it would burst into growth in the wake of the Cradle-Tree’s rebirth, but as she watched its limbs jerk to and fro, she realized that something else was breaking free. Splinters and jagged panels of bark and wood split and fell, and Naia’s breath caught in her throat when a giant hand erupted from one of the four limbs. Then another, and another, and another.

  With a deep rumble, an unearthly monster stepped out from the remains of the brittle gray wood encasing. It had a long maned neck hunched down between four sloping shoulders, ending in an oblong head nearly as big as Naia. At the end of its four spidery arms were enormous hands with big blunt fingers shielded with square yellowed nails. It shook its entire body, releasing a low resonant cry, and Naia saw that it was the four-armed monster from her vision, during her flight through the wood.

  It shook itself free of the remaining splinters of wood which had imprisoned it, until only one clay-like piece remained upon its brow, hiding its face like a mask of bone.

  Chapter 16

  Naia’s hand had moved to her bola the instant the monster emerged, but she held it in check. The creature, grunting in disorientation and flicking any last chips of wood from its gray cloth robes, had been released when the spell on the Cradle-Tree had been lifted. Why would healing the Dark Wood end in releasing a dangerous monster?

  “Kylan,” she breathed, not wanting to say it, but needing to know, “is that . . . ?”

  The monster twitched, moving an arm. The movement fired an instinctive response in Naia’s body and she stepped once, launching the bola in her hand forward. It shot from her hand, on target toward the monster’s narrow-set eyes—but quicker than she could see, the thing’s hand darted forth, snatching the center bola stone before it could make its mark. The counterweights flailed uselessly, spinning in open air, striking nothing. Trying not to lose determination, Naia raised the dagger, lowering herself into a defensive crouch.

  A counterattack never came. The big creature under the broken tree skeleton dropped the bola with a casual wave of the hand. It made a sound like a cough, dry and airy, and Naia realized it was chuckling. It finished the motion it had been making when Naia had attacked, lifting its square hand to remove the last piece of bark from its face. It made no move for them, thumping its chest with a fist until the coughing ceased. In the moonlight over the basin clearing, she could see nicks and cuts across the creature’s whorled, textured skin from breaking out of the tree’s skeleton shell.

  “Should we run?” she whispered.

  Kylan underlined the unfortunate truth when he replied, “To where?”

  She had another bola, and a knife, if she needed it. If they were in danger, perhaps the Cradle-Tree would come to their aid. Even now she could feel the tree’s vigor reviving, renewed with its healed heart. She hoped it would last, and that there would be no more fear-singing phantoms. She had seen enough of those for the night.

  The monster tilted its oblong head at the sound of her voice, its long and ragged mane swaying in the night wind.

  “Sounds like Gelfling breathings,” it mumbled in a voice that sounded like many tones all at once, speaking the Gelfling tongue with an unfamiliar accent. “That Gelfling urVa sees there? Two? Ah! The one who healed Olyeka-Staba.”

  “urVa,” Naia repeated. “Is that your name? What were you doing, trapped in that tree?”

  “Mmm . . .” urVa looked over one of his shoulders to the remains of the tree prison. “Came to help Olyeka-Staba, I did. And I failed. Seems the Cradle-Tree could be healed by Gelfling hand, or else by none.”

  When he turned back toward them, though his story had the possibility of truth, Naia couldn’t shake how similar in form he was to her imagination’s painting of the Hunter. Though his cloak was more clay and brown than black and made of shadows, she imagined a true shadow hunter could always use magic to take on a different form. urVa—if that wa
s his name—bent to pluck a remaining tree branch from the brambles at his feet, holding it with his two upper hands and leaning on it as a walking staff.

  “Having thoughts?” he asked. “Thoughts . . . that I’ll eat you?” He chuckled.

  “Well, you look like you might,” Kylan snapped. “What are you doing here? Why were you trapped in the tree?”

  urVa sorted through the pieces of wood that lay at his big feet. In the moonlight, he looked like a ghost. Perhaps he was some spirit like the phantoms, entrapped by the Cradle-Tree for good reason. Naia banished the thought, though. There was no point in letting her mind go to frightening places without proof.

  “The wood is dangerous,” urVa said. He tilted his head and smiled, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Come with urVa, little Gelfling. Come with urVa, for supper. Been a long time inside that tree . . . Very hungry.”

  With no more than that, urVa turned and ambled out of the basin, using his staff to climb the ribbed wall. Soon he would be out of view, gone into the Dark Wood. Naia exchanged glances with Kylan.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Supper sounds great, but not if we’re the ones in the pot. Do you think he’s . . . you know . . . the Hunter?”

  Kylan’s ears went flat, though she could hardly believe he hadn’t already been thinking it. Giving the thought words and saying them aloud was different, though.

  “Since when do you believe the songs?” he asked. Naia felt her cheeks warm, but Kylan went on. “The Hunter is ruthless. He isn’t a trickster. If urVa were the Hunter that took my parents, he wouldn’t have given us a false name . . . He wouldn’t have spoken with us.”

  Reservations aside, urVa was nearly out of sight, and Naia’s stomach rumbled. She was exhausted from her dreamfast with the Cradle-Tree, and although she had wanted to reach the river by the end of the night, it seemed an unrealistic goal. urVa’s invitation of food and rest sounded more alluring than she wanted to admit. If he could be trusted, perhaps they could spend the night somewhere safe. But if they couldn’t . . . Naia didn’t want to think about roughing it after what they’d been through.

  “Maybe . . . we should see where he’s going. Just to find out.”

  Kylan hugged himself with a shiver.

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “Yes. Our other choice is to sleep here in the wood and see what other monsters come crawling out of it.”

  Kylan took a look behind them, into the wood. Even if the Cradle-Tree’s heart had calmed, bringing the wood into a new state of life and wildness, it didn’t mean predators might not still be lurking. The cycle of life was not a form of evil, after all, but one that proved the forest was healthy.

  “All right,” Kylan said. “But we should be careful.”

  They hurried after urVa, up the wall of the Cradle-Tree’s basin where new green sprouts were growing in throngs to replace what had so recently been dark and barren.

  urVa traveled at a steady pace, and Naia and Kylan were able to catch up without too much effort. They walked the Dark Wood for some time, one on either side of urVa’s long heavy tail, and by the time urVa finally pulled back a curtain of frothy vines, Naia was dizzy with exhaustion. In a small glen was a dirt hovel, teeming with every plant Naia could think of. The trees that surrounded the modest clearing were strung with lines and lines of chimes—made from wood, metal, bone, shell—giving out low hollow droning sounds amid the other groans of nature.

  The hovel itself was hardly more than a few ancient stones holding up a mound of earth. The dusty rocks that made up the entryway were dream-etched, reminding her of the doorways in Great Smerth, back home. urVa entered without a word, leaving the two Gelfling to follow of their own will. Naia’s heart thumped with discomfort, and she felt a tingling in her fingers and toes, but she calmed the impulse. Trading nods with Kylan, she drew her resolution and entered the strange den.

  Within they found a single dimly lit room with a sand-packed floor, just as overgrown and under-maintained as the exterior. A cracked wooden chair sat near a latched trunk caked in dust and moss, and a small dirty hearth with one clay pot. A wooden staff with a long piece of cord connected at the top leaned beside a satchel full of thin spears with feathers on the ends, each stick longer than Naia was tall. Beyond that, the only accents to the room, save for a lone shelf with a few glass vials, were the lines and lines of writing carved across every space of wall.

  “Hmm . . . Left the door open too long and time came in, I see. Ha-ha.” He waved a hand, clearing some of the dust but stirring up just as much in the process. “Apologies, little Gelfling, for the time inside. Had I been meant to be found, I would have been more prepared.”

  urVa was illuminated by a dim fire he was starting in the simple hearth. Naia stepped in, drawn to the large circular shape that covered most of the far wall. It showed ten globes in a vertical line, connected by arcs of intertwined pathways, curving in swoops and circles. Extra-orbital bodies were placed outside the core, and between three in particular were straight lines, connecting them in an equilateral triangle that she had seen before, inscribed on charts and sundials.

  urVa busied himself setting a kettle to boil, filling it with water drawn from a large stone well built into the ground outside of his hovel. He went from vial to vial on his shelf, finding some had been spilled and emptied by wildlife since he had last been home. What contents he did find, he added to the pot, stirring it occasionally. Naia and Kylan found spots on the floor to sit, watching the big creature move almost gracefully within the confined space.

  “A Drenchen, aren’t you?” urVa said suddenly. “I remember Sog . . . yes, ah! And that little sapling, what was it? Smerth. I suppose it’s grown enough now to climb, hmm? Do the younglings dangle from its branches like alfen fruits?”

  The thought was nearly comical. Naia said, “Not exactly.”

  “Smerth-Staba and Olyeka-Staba,” urVa said, facing the pot as if he were incanting the names of the two great trees into a potion. “Pillars of the world. Protectors of Thra. I suppose it was inevitable that the shadows of the crystal have stretched so far as to fall upon the Cradle-Tree . . . but I must stay out of such things. Have for a long time, will for a long time yet . . . Soup.”

  urVa reached with two hands and gently plucked crudely carved bowls from a stack. In a third hand, the ladle danced back and forth from the pot to the bowls, and by the time he was through, he turned with three bowls, offering two to Naia and her friend. She could still see the cuts and scratches he’d gotten escaping from the Cradle-Tree’s prison on the backs of his hands and fingers. One particularly bad cut, a series of two overlapping in an X, still bled a little, but urVa didn’t seem to be in any long-lasting pain. He only gestured at his Gelfling guests with the bowls.

  “Now, eat, eat, little Gelfling. Gelfling like to eat. Yes.”

  Naia didn’t know about all Gelfling, but she knew stew when she smelled it, and her stomach did, too. Neech poked his head out from her pack and chirped twice—his quills lay flat and calm, bright eyes curious of their mysterious host, who waited with his hand outstretched.

  If Neech isn’t worried, then I won’t be, either, she thought, and took the bowl in both hands. Savory-smelling steam rose from the red-and-green broth, and her stomach ached again in anticipation. Their hunger overcame their apprehension, and the stew was delicious. The longer they stayed, the less anxious Naia felt. By the time her bowl was empty, she felt almost cozy in the firelit den, ready to fall asleep at any moment. urVa reclined on his stool and took up a long staff pipe, propping the smoldering end over the fire and puffing at the mouthpiece with the occasional ring of blue-gray smoke.

  “Do you live here all alone?” Naia asked. “In the wood?”

  “No, no. Plenty of trees and rocks.”

  Naia couldn’t tell if urVa was being intentionally obtuse, so she clarified: “I mean, are there others like you
. . .”

  urVa tilted his head and rubbed his chin with a big hand.

  “Yes. But we all went our separate ways . . . after the separation. Divided, then divided again.”

  He smoked his pipe and said nothing more on the subject. It was less than Naia wanted to know, but at least she didn’t have to worry about being surprised by another hulking four-armed monster any time soon. She focused on her soup. Kylan, who had been transfixed by the markings on the wall, broke the silence next: “What is that sign writ on your wall? I don’t recognize the word.”

  urVa craned his neck to glance at the triangular emblem Naia had seen earlier, to which Kylan now pointed. urVa gazed at the triangle and the three concentric circles it contained, then rubbed the bottom of his throat with one of his hands as if he wasn’t sure what it meant, even though it seemed clear he had been the one who had put it there.

  “It is a time, I suppose?” he asked, as if Naia or Kylan might be able to answer him. “Or a door? A time or a door or an awakening. Yes. Something like that.”

  “Those aren’t nearly the same thing,” Kylan muttered under his breath. “Perhaps he’s not the Hunter, but he certainly may be mad.”

  “He makes a good pot of stew, even so,” Naia replied with a yawn. She was about to suggest they try to sleep, but Kylan was transfixed by the writing. Rising, he approached a cluster of the shapes, tracing the symbols with his hand. Naia burned with a tiny ember of admiration as he read pieces out loud.

  “Turn your eye forward in time now . . . It is the day of the Rose Sun.” Here, Kylan turned back, his hand still against the writing. “But that day has already passed. The Rose Sun is waning.”

  urVa moved his head from side to side, making a long low hmmmmm sound and continuing to stroke his chin with his fingers curling in, one at a time in rolling sequence.

  “Yes, but that was writ when what is now our past was then our future.”

  It made sense when she thought about it, but Naia wondered if it was necessary to say it in such a confusing way. She kept quiet, considering whether she could serve seconds to her bowl while Kylan continued to read, his lips moving and the occasional word escaping on his breath. She wondered what kind of words the wall held. Songs. Messages. Perhaps a record of history or a prophecy of the future. The circles and spirals looked like star charts, but for all she knew, they could be something else altogether.