Терри Брукс - Tanequil

Pen wasn't so sure. The entire business was strange enough that he wasn't willing to rule out anything.

He looked off in the direction of the tree. «1 should go back and try to find out. This is taking longer than I thought it would.»

«It is taking as long as it must," she corrected him gently. «Don't be impatient. Don't let yourself become frustrated.»

He nodded, shifting his gaze to study her. «What will you do? Will you go back to the aeriads?»

«For now. I already know I can't be with you. You have to be alone to speak with the tanequil. I will come looking for you tonight.»

She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, then on the mouth. He kissed her back, not wanting to sever the connection, not wanting her to go.

But when she rose and waved good–bye, her face still flushed with excitement and expectation, he didn't try to stop her.

He returned to the tanequil in the warm hush of midday, the sun spilling in faint, thin streamers through the thick canopy of the old growth. Clouds scudded overhead in billowing white clusters, throwing shadows to the earth, and the skies were so blue they hurt his eyes. A breeze blew through the trees, and the air was scented by leaves and grasses sweet with summer warmth. It was the sort of day when you felt that anything was possible.

He sat down in the space he had occupied the night before, where the tree had first spoken to him, studied it for a time, then lay down beneath it and closed his eyes. He gave himself time to relax, then turned his thoughts to his aunt, to the Ard Rhys and her imprisonment inside the Forbidding, embracing the fear such thoughts automatically generated.

And waited.

-Penderrin

— Tanequil—

— You must have what you came for. You must take what you need

-What of giving you a part of myself? What of that? — You must do soHe couldn't help himself. — Will I be crippled? — You will be enhanced–A part of me will be missing? — A part of you will be found–There was no way to make sense of what he was being told. Pen could not decide if he was about to make a good or a bad decision. He could not read the consequences clearly. — Are you afraid? — Yes–Fear for yourself has no place in what you would do. Your fear must be for your aunt if you are to save her. A dark wand is born of fear for another's safety. A darkwand responds to selfless need. Do you wish to save your aunt? He swallowed hard. — I do–Then no sacrifice is too great, even that of your own life–Is that what is required? — What is required should not matter. Do you wish to proceed?

He took a deep, steadying breath. Did he? How great a risk was he taking? Things weren't working out the way he had expected. The King of the Silver River had told him he must persuade the tanequil to his cause. But the tanequil didn't seem interested in being persuaded to anything. It seemed to have already made its decision, and what mattered now was how far Pen was willing to go to allow that decision to be implemented.

It was like being trapped in a cave with no light and having to find his way in darkness. There might be pits into which he could fall, and he had no way of knowing where they were. — Do you wish me to give you what you came for, Penderrin? — He closed his eyes. — I do

— Then rise and come to me. Walk to me and place your hands on my body — He opened his eyes and saw that the tiny roots had withdrawn once more, then rose and moved over to stand before the tree. Gingerly, he pressed his palms against its massive, rough trunk. — Climb up into me —

He found handholds in the bark and began to climb. It was easier than he would have expected. The bark was strong and did not break off. The effort was considerable, but eventually he reached the lower branches and from there was able to continue on up through the sprawl of limbs as if climbing a ladder. He wasn't sure how high he was supposed to go, and so kept looking for some indication of where he was to stop. But he was deep within the canopy of the tree, its leaves forming a thick curtain about him, before it spoke to him again.

-Stop — He stopped climbing and looked around. He was at a junction of branches where deep fissures had split the tree's trunk, forming crevices and boles in which birds or small animals might nest. The fissures were old, and in the wounds that had healed the skin had grown back over the soft heartwood, the bark wrapped about the openings anew. — Look up

He did so, turning his gaze skyward to the sea of limbs and leaves that spread away overhead. — Reach up

He did this, too, and his hand touched a limb that extended some six feet from the trunk, a limb that seemed too small and straight, that lacked twigs or even leaves. Heat radiated from the branch, sudden and unexpected, and Pen jerked away in surprise. — Take hold

Pen gripped the branch tentatively, feeling the heat course through his fingers and down his arm. The branch was vibrating, humming deeply as it did so, a strange, mournful sound.

Then the entire tree shook, and its trunk split apart where the branch sprouted, a sharp rending that sent pieces of bark and splinters of wood flying in all directions. Pen ducked his head and closed his eyes, keeping tight hold of the branch, rocking unsteadily with the tanequil's quaking. There was a deep, audible groan of darkest protest, and abruptly the branch came away in Pen's hands. The boy caught himself against the trunk and stared in shock. The tree had cracked wide open where the branch had broken off, and sap was leaking out in a steady stream. The sap was red and viscous and looked like blood. It ran down the trunk in thick rivulets. It dripped from the branch onto his arm.

He was studying it, his left hand braced against the tree for support, his fingers gripping one of the older splits, when the tree groaned again, deep and menacing, and the split closed over his fingers. He screamed in agony and jerked away, feeling flesh and bone tear free as he did so. He reacted at once, but was still too slow. When he stared down at his hand, he saw that his middle two fingers had been severed at the first knuckle. Blood dripped from the ragged wounds and ran down his hand. His finger bones shone white and raw.

Still clutching the tanequil's severed limb, Pen collapsed into a crook in the branches of the tree, pressing his injured hand against his chest, staining his clothing with his blood. For a moment, frozen by pain and shock, he couldn't move. Then, realizing the danger as his blood continued to well up, he tore free one sleeve of his tunic and wrapped the cloth about the stubs, compressing it into the wounds.

-A part of you for a part of me

Pen nodded miserably. He didn't need to be reminded. The pain ratcheting through his hand and arm was reminder enough. — Take my limb in your hand–Holding his shirtsleeve–wrapped fingers tightly against his chest, he reached down with his right hand and took the tanequil's limb from his lap, where he had dropped it moments before. To his surprise, it was still warm and pulsating, as if it retained life, even though it had been severed from the tree.

-The wood of this limb comes from deep inside me, where my life is formed. The limb must be forced to the surface from the soft heartwood and forcibly severed. Such a sacrifice is necessary if a darkwand is to be shaped to the use you require. But you must give back what you are given if the sacrifice is to have value. A piece of your body. A piece of your heart. Remember this

Pen closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. The loss of his fingers in exchange for the loss of the tanequil's limb. He wasn't likely to forget.

-Climb down from me. Carry my limb with you–Pen cautiously made his way down from the tree, protecting his injured hand as he did so, cradling the limb in the crook of his arm. It was a long, tedious descent, and when he was still ten feet from the ground, he slipped and fell, striking the earth with force and jarring his hand. Fresh pain caused him to cry out. He was sweating heavily as he dragged himself to his feet and leaned back against the ancient trunk. His fingers throbbed, and the fabric wrapping them was soaked with his blood. He felt nauseous and weak. —Move away from me and sit