Терри Брукс - Tanequil

«We are Men!» he snapped. «And they don't know what's right for us! They don't know anything about us because they aren't like us! Don't you see? We were manipulated! We were tricked!»

A long silence punctuated his angry words. — No, Pen. We did what we thought was best. Both of us. I don't regret it. I won't. We have the lives we have chosen, whether fate or the tanequil or something larger pushed us to that choice–He took a long slow breath to calm himself. She was wrong, — he knew she was wrong. But there was nothing he could do about it. It was over and done with. He would have to live with it, although he couldn't imagine how he would ever do that.

«Did it hurt at all?» he asked quietly. «Your transformation? Was there any pain?»

-None, Pen

«But what of your body? Did it just … ?»

He couldn't finish the thought, unable to bear the image it conjured—an image of her turning to dust, disintegrating.

Laughter greeted his failure, gentle and soothing. — Kept safe and unchanging in her arms, I sleep with

Mother Tanequil, Pen, down within the earth, in the darkness and quiet, where she takes root. She nourishes me, so that I can live. If I were to die, I would cease to exist, even as an aeriad—

She is down in the ravine,he thought suddenly. He was finally beginning to understand. The tanequil was both male and female, mother and father to the aeriads, a trunk joining limbs at one end to roots at the other. Cinnaminson was in the keeping of the latter, down in the shadowy depths they had crossed over on the bridge. Down where something huge had stirred awake on their passing.

But still whole, she was telling him. Still alive in human form.

«Cinnaminson," he said, an idea coming to sudden life, a plan to implement it taking shape. «I need to see you again before 1 go. I need to say good–bye. It isn't enough just to hear your voice. It doesn't feel real to me. Can you take me to where you sleep?»

There was a long pause. — You cannot have me back, Pen. Mother Tanequil will not let me go. Not even if you beg

She recognized his intentions all too well, but his mind was already made up. He was terrified of what he might find if he did it, half certain that she was already reduced to bones and dust, that her vision of herself as still being whole was a subterfuge fostered by the tree. But he couldn't leave without knowing, no matter how devastating the truth. If there was a way to set her free again, to take her with him …

«I won't do anything but make sure that you are safe," he lied. «I just need to see you one last time.»

-This is a mistake–she trilled, her voice rising amid those of her sisters, sharp with rebuke. — You shouldn't ask it of me

He took a deep breath. «But I am asking.» He waited a moment. «Please, Cinnaminson.»

The voices of the aeriads hummed, a long sustained chord that matched the sound of wind whispering through the leaves of trees, soft and resilient. He forced himself to keep silent, to say nothing more, to wait.

-I am afraid for you, Pen–she said finally.

«I am afraid for myself," he admitted.

A pause followed, and the humming died away.

— Come with me, then, if you must. If you can remember my warning–He exhaled softly. He was not likely to forget.

On the far side of the ravine, Khyber Elessedil stood at the foot of the stone bridge, listening to the soft moan of the wind. She had been standing there for the better part of an hour, using her admittedly unskilled Druid senses to scan the forest for sign of Pen and Cinnaminson. It wasn't the first time she had done so, but the results were the same. She might as well have been casting about the Blue Divide for a sailor lost at sea, for all the good it was doing her.

One hand clutched the Elfstones. She kept them close on the theory that they might at some point prove useful in her search. They were doing her about as much good as her Druid skills.

Frustrated, she turned away. She hated feeling so helpless. Ever since the safety lines tied to Pen and Cinnaminson had dropped away as if severed by an invisible blade, she had known that the fate of her friends was out of her hands. More than once she had considered trying to cross over herself—and she wasn't afraid to try, in spite of the warning on the stone—but she didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize Pen's efforts to secure the darkwand.

She looked back into the gardens, her dazzlingly colorful prison. Trapped in all that beauty and unable to enjoy it, her concentration on Pen and on the island and on the Druids tracking them and on time running out—thinking about it all made her want to scream. But there was nothing she could do.

Nothing but wait.

She stalked over to where Kermadec sat talking with Tagwen, trading stories of the old days, when Grianne Ohmsford was new to the position of Ard Rhys and they were just beginning in her service.

«Do you think there might be another way across?» she asked abruptly, kneeling next to them, her voice urgent. «Another bridge or a narrows we might vault?» She exhaled sharply. «I don't think I can stand waiting another minute without doing something.»

Kermadec stared at her impassively. «There might be. If you want to take a look, you can. I can send Atalan or Barek with you.»

She shook her head. «I can manage alone. I just need to do something besides stand around.»

Tagwen frowned into his beard, but didn't say anything.

«You won't lose your way, will you, Elven girl?» the Maturen pressed. «I wouldn't want to have to come looking for you.»

«I can find my way.»

«If you discover anything, you will come back and tell us?» Tagwen pressed suddenly.

«Yes, yes!» she snapped. «I'm not going to do anything rash or foolish!» Her irritation got the better of her for a moment, and she took a deep breath. «I just want to see if that ravine goes all the way around or if there are other places to cross. I won't attempt anything on my own.»

She didn't know if they believed her or not, but if they did, they ought to be less trusting. She fully intended to attempt a crossing if a place to make one could be found. She should have gone with Pen and Cinnaminson in the first place, but she had allowed her instincts to be overruled.

She stood up, giving them a bright smile. «I don't expect to be gone long. I probably won't get much beyond what we can see from standing right here, but it will make me feel better to have tried.»

Their eyes fixed on her, as if searching for the truth behind her words, neither replied. She turned away quickly and started off, choosing to go south, where the gardens opened out toward a thinning woods and a set of hills. She could see the ravine as it snaked its way into those hills, disappearing finally into the horizon. In truth, she didn't have much hope that she would succeed in her quest. She mostly hoped that the distraction would help with the waiting.

She was so intent on her efforts to get clear of the others that she failed to detect with her normally reliable Druid training the shadowy form lying in wait directly ahead. She missed it entirely as it slipped away at her approach and circled back around toward the bridge.

Pen Ohmsford followed the low, vibrant humming of the aeri–ads as they led him on through the trees and back toward the dark cut of the ravine. The light casting his shadow before him as he walked, he could measure the direction they were taking from the slant of the sun's thin rays through the heavy canopy. He tried to hear Cinnaminson in the mix of aeriad voices, but he could not detect a noticeable difference in any of them. She was being assimilated into their order, and he could not stop himself from thinking that if he did not reach her soon, there would be no way to separate her from the others, even if her body was still intact.