Tree Of Life Part 22

"What is it supposed to achieve?" asked Cedrik, but he found out ere Deacon could reach them. Derek tossed a handful of the powder into the fire and with an explosive burst, dragons of fire writhed out from the flame, hot and eel-like, blazing up into the night sky, like fireworks gone wrong, lashing Derek with a nasty lick of flame. With a shriek he stumbled backwards and fell. Closer to Magenta, Cedrik huddled round her and covered her with himself, so she was shielded like a nut within its sh.e.l.l. The fire quickly became subdued, the fiery dragons dying out in the blackness of the sky.

Cedrik uncurled reluctantly from Magenta, looking upward. Derek returned to his seat, nursing a burnt hand. The others gathered round him to find what damage had been inflicted. Deacon held off for a few moments before he did anything, just to let him suffer a little. Presently, he knelt to one knee before Derek and placed his hand over the injured one. His touch felt like ice, and for a moment the ache of cold was worse than the burn, but it soon subsided and left the skin cool and numb.

"What did you expect it to do?" asked Cedrik crossly, looking down at his brother while Deacon attended him.

"It was supposed to reveal future happenings," Derek said in an injured tone.

Deacon looked up at him from under eyelids heavy with satire and bound the injured hand with brutal roughness. "Perhaps in the future you will learn to use that dormant organ hidden in your head," he said, reproachful.

Derek drew a sharp breath between his teeth. "Easy, easy," he said, frowning and cursing under his breath.

Cedrik watched, stoney-faced. "Pride of the Imperial legion," he muttered.

"Where did you get it, in any case?" asked Deacon, rising to his feet, task completed.

"Won it," answered Derek.

"Won it where?"

"In that underground place. Some fellow lost a bet, he couldn't pay me, so he gave me this powder and said if I throw it in the fire my future would be revealed."

Deacon raised his brows. About his mouth were subtle lines of derisive amus.e.m.e.nt.

"And how is it looking for you?" asked Cedrik, taking a place by the fire alongside Deacon, who had gravitated to his book, rendering himself deathly dull. Derek muttered a curse and sat quiet. Magenta came to his side, and he was content to turn to her for sympathy after the rough handling he had received from his more coa.r.s.e companions.

"I'm suffering a little here," he said to her, then reached into a bag. "Fortunately Cade left us a parting gift." He tapped the bottle. He downed several mugs in quick succession, and it proved a potent restorative, under the influence of which Derek was happy to be the centre of attention. Cedrik threw him a few cautionary glances as if to warn him to tone it down, but Derek shrugged them off.

"He prefers the society of old ladies. He would rather be knitting," said Derek in a loud whisper. "And this one!" Deacon raised his eyes at the rude address with a none-too-friendly expression. "Always with his nose in those books. I don't even think he can read."

Derek noticed that Magenta's spirits had paled and, in an attempt to recapture the previous lightheartedness, poured her a drink and offered it in a manner she was unable to refuse. "Drink!" he ordered when she did not place it to her lips even. "No one shall be gloomy in my presence!" He wiped his chin on the sleeve of his shirt. He talked all the time with unflagging zest. "Drink!" he said.

"Are you always this cheerful after an injury, Derek?" she asked.

"Always!"

Cedrik said, "And I suppose the ale in your belly can account for none of this merriment?"

"That's why I always drink after an injury," he said. Then he complained to Magenta. "You're not drinking!"

On impulse he stood, and taking her suddenly by the hand, dragged her to her feet. He led her away from the camp so they might see the stars more clearly. The sky was a garden of diamonds. Most of what Derek said didn't make any sense, showing her the different constellations and sprouting ridiculous theories.

"You are fortunate to have such a love of the stars," she said.

The young man's voice grew tender as he leaned nearer. "I am." She had a momentary sense of unease at his nearness, when he suddenly burst out in a tone full of his former merriment. "I say, take life as it is, full of beauty, full of adventure! Why shouldn't we enjoy it? Why should we take it any other way! Too much is wasted on reserve and fear and resentment and whatever else keeps us from what we want!"

When he finally paused to steal a breath he looked at Magenta. She was lovely in the soft light. She was a strange, wonderful creature to him, so separate and beyond him. The clouds drifted free and unveiled the moon's pale beauty. He looked up. "Ah, look how beautiful it is; look!" He lowered his eyes to make certain she was looking. She was. Her face tilted upward, exquisitely showed the delicate line of her jaw down to the pale exposure of her throat. "Isn't that beautiful?" he said with enthusiasm.

"It is." Her eyes came down to look at him; he was still gazing upward in wonder, his head tilted so far back it looked as if he might lose his balance. To herself she smiled, yet with heartache. Derek was sweet company, but in spirit she was quite alone. She shifted her gaze over to Deacon. He had moved away from the fire and was sitting among the trees. She could not see his features among the shadows but saw the vague form of him. She looked toward him with dull longing.

"I think you will find the romance one-sided," came Derek's voice, verging on scorn. She turned to him and found his eyes upon her. He suddenly grew sober, coming closer. "But he's not the only man worth having, is he?"

His hopeful words touched her with pity. "Derek ..." She sought to find words to discourage him, when he flushed and suddenly turned from her. His back and shoulders stiffened with injured stubbornness.

"He was going to leave you," he said. "If not for my brother you would not be here."

This she already knew, but to hear it from another was a bitter pain to her.

"He's a thoughtless, cold-hearted ..." Derek paused, his mouth working with hurt anger, his brows crossed heavily in a frown. "He cares nothing for anyone, gives no thought to others' pain. He knows of nothing but his own suffering. I hope one day he wakes to find what a black-blood he truly is."

Magenta became aware that the greater hurt came from his disconnection with his cousin, not the sting of her refusal. "When he spoke of you, he spoke with greater kindness," she said, with gentle remonstrance.

A sob seemed as if it struggled in his throat. "I don't understand him," he said with desperate anger. "We risked our lives to save his, and yet he would act as if he despises us!"

Magenta felt a sensation in her own throat that made it difficult to speak. "Sometimes when we hurt so terribly, we cannot help but hurt those nearest our heart."

"He has always been like this, always. Devoted only to himself, to his own interests and benefit, regardless of others."

While Derek persisted in his lament, her gaze went momentarily to Deacon. Half the night he had remained there in the darkness. She remained quietly talking with Derek, but her thoughts were always on him. When she looked again she saw that he had fallen asleep against the tree. His head lolled forward.

When Derek gathered himself together and bade her goodnight, Magenta went to Deacon. He sat motionless in the same position as before, only his head was back. Slowly, she came down to his level. His eyelids were lowered, his mouth slightly open. She felt a pang of pity and tenderness. She wanted to kiss him as he lay there so soft and vulnerable, abandoned in the half-death of sleep. Adoring him with loving eyes, she watched while he slept. Before drawing away she leaned over him and put her lips to his cheek, so softly he never knew.

Days pa.s.sed without account. They soon came to a thriving wood. The vegetation here was overgrown, choked with overbearing plants, rivals among themselves, one plant slowly choking another in a witless attempt at supremacy. Creepers, swollen with venom, wrapped so tightly round their victims that even the trees were strangled, straining under the ma.s.sive weight of entrenched vines.

The travellers thought it best to dismount and proceed on foot through the twining and thickening ma.s.s. In some parts it was impenetrably dense. There was little sign of animal life. Plant life stirred within the shadowy, concealed parts. Not all the plants were objectionable to the eyes. Some had pretty flowering foliage, some bright berries.

Magenta recognized some of the plants for what they were and was cautious about the others. It was daytime but was quite dark, due to the overhanging trees, and it was difficult to move without catching a branch in the face. Cedrik drew his sword to cut away some of the vegetation that bothered him.

"Do not provoke them," she said, touching his shoulder. He lowered his arm and sheathed his sword in a wary manner. "Please be very quiet," she said to her companions. She saw that they had come upon an area infested with a particular plant armed with a paralytic substance, so it could devour its victims without struggle, feeding on the blood, drawing it from the tissue.

She turned from Cedrik and caught her breath as a startled scream came suddenly to her throat. Near her face was the face of another in among the trees. Damp earth and rotting vegetation grew over its lifeless countenance. Insects crawled over it with appalling disregard, so that the features were barely recognizable as human. The body itself had started to become a part of the plant, partially decayed, partially digested. Magenta shut her eyes to escape the sight of it.

"We need to move from here swiftly," said Cedrik quietly, urging her away from the horror of it.

They had gone perhaps half the distance without encountering misfortune, when a sharp branch caught Derek in the face. He drew a sharp breath and closed his hand over the strip of blood on his neck, a gesture which made all of them turn to look at him. As if trying to clear his vision he shook his head. "I'm fine," he said but had not taken more than a few steps, when he suddenly teetered and pitched forward into the ground. He did not feel the pain when he hit. A form of paralysis began to seize his limbs, quickly.

Snaking out of the vegetation, invasive and sly, came a ma.s.s of these creepers. With his drawn blade Cedrik wasted not an instant to come to Derek's aid, but on his way his foot was snared and he was flung to the ground. He rolled to his back, slashing and cutting at his foe. The horses jolted and ran off with fright, leaving their owners to their fate. Magenta too was seized, creeping-vines twining up her thighs and up around her body.

Deacon, as yet untouched, stood back. His hands broke into flame, and with a flare of extraordinary fire, he set alight any creeping thing to come near him. There seemed to be an anguished cry that rang from their tortured forms. The blackened boughs, utterly wounded, withdrew and suddenly stilled.

Magenta became suffocatingly entwined, the vines trying to drag her down, twisting restrictively about her limbs and her throat even. She was highly resistant to their effects, but not they to hers. They clung tightly but were becoming brittle and were dying.

"Do not burn them!" she cried to Deacon. Her desperation was not for any love of the plants but because she knew that the harmful substances could also be inhaled if the poisonous boughs were burned. Deacon heeded her cry and swiftly quenched the flames. He saw her entangled and with sudden urgency made his way to her. A plant whipped across his face and left a thin line of blood high on his cheek, just below the eye. Before he reached her even, he tore them from her with a single forcible effort. They were already dying from her touch and shrivelled and curled upon the ground.

Afflicted with the loss of voluntary movements, Derek lay helpless. He did not so much as twitch and had grown as stiff as a frigid corpse. His eyes were fixed wide; he had not use of his lids. The only sign that he still lived was the lacrimation-secretion of tears-that trickled down his cheek, a reaction to the chemical in the sap. Something was at work about his legs. Feelers were winding their way up around his body, gnarled things trying to devour him whole.

Lying not far from him, Cedrik fought vigorously, his foe still entangling his legs. He chopped it to bits, slashing its outgrowth that seeped with his blood. When he was freed he rolled to his stomach and scrambled over to Derek. He hacked back the feelers and with frantic haste tore open the front of his brother's shirt. Distended blue veins appeared on Derek's neck and went down his chest. His lips had the paleness of death. Cedrik was frantic at the sight.

"Deacon!" he cried wildly, putting his head down to hear a heartbeat. In an instant his cousin was at his side. He turned to Deacon in despair. "Can you help him?" he asked tightly.

Deacon shook his head, unable to speak. He swallowed his fear and forced himself to remain calm. His mind worked frantically. He became conscious of Magenta at his side. In her hand she held a vial of liquid, to which she had added some sap of the poisonous plant, the very same as had attacked Derek. Magenta shook the vial. The two substances mingled, and an imperceivable reaction took place. As she did this, Cedrik watched with apprehension. "What's she doing?" he said to Deacon, then to Magenta, "What are you doing?"

Deacon prevented him from reaching out and taking the vial from her hand. "Let her," he said gently. Only when Cedrik had nodded his consent did Magenta proceed to administer the stimulant and force the body into expelling the poison.

"What do you give him?" Cedrik asked, as she held the vial to Derek's lips, but the slight revival of his brother arrested his attention. She administered to Derek several times. He lay in a cold sweat, periodically suffering violent, involuntary muscle contractions.

Magenta bent over him and put her mouth close to his ear. "I know you can hear me, Derek," she said firmly. "The poison will leave your body in time." As she spoke, a single determined vine began to work secretly about his ankle and made its way up his limb. Magenta caught it in her grasp as if it were a snake and tore it loose.

It lashed and stung her hand, wrapping itself round and round her wrist. She gripped it tighter to make it shrivel and let go. It released, but not before leaving a red, stinging mark round her hand and wrist where it had lashed. Deacon gave her a look of feeling, sorry she had been harmed.

"Derek, can you hear me?" asked Cedrik. He could barely contain his anxiety. Derek lay in a frightful state, his body afflicted with uncontrolled twitching and sudden spasms. He was sweating profusely, the potent substance reacting within him. Although he was immobile and incapable of any kind of communication, an involuntary secretion of tears streamed down his face. His lack of responsiveness had Cedrik in a panic. "What is happening?" he cried, restrained in his cousin's arms.

"His body is expelling the toxicant," Magenta explained with a taut calmness, affording little comfort to those observing. Slowly, by degrees, Derek began to recover, his body calmer. Inarticulate sounds issued from his lips. Soon his gla.s.sy eyes blinked and returned to life. His eyelids closed, and he began to stir with movements of his own accord, tossing his head in mild distress. When his eyes reopened, he rolled to his side and with childlike desperation clutched Magenta, straining his face against the softness of her stomach, his arms about her waist. His muscles quivered uncontrollably. A teary relief swept over Cedrik, and he at once sought Derek, his hands groping as if he had lost him. Transferring from Magenta to his brother, Derek went weakly to Cedrik, and the two clasped each other, locked in a vice-like embrace. They remained embraced silently for long minutes. Derek convulsed periodically in his brother's arms.

After Deacon fetched the horses, they moved on to find a safe resting place. That evening Derek slept observed. Magenta sat next to him, watching over him. Though he didn't want it, she made him drink a considerable amount of water. He was dehydrated and exhausted.

When she was content that he was sound and peaceful, Magenta closed her eyes and became deeply calm. In this relaxed condition she entered a state where the deep unconscious mind was invoked for superior and faster healing. She reopened her eyes when Cedrik appeared quietly at her side. He said softly, so as not to wake Derek, "Are you very much hurt?"

She shook her head, her attention still on the young one. It was then Cedrik noticed she bore not the slightest mark of the day's struggles.

"You have healed your injuries," he said, relieved and curious. "Are you able to heal his?"

She shook her head with apology. "I cannot heal others, only myself."

"It's all right; I'm made of steel," mumbled Derek. "This time I really do feel as if you took to me with a stick." He had only just struggled to sit up and Magenta held a cup of water to him. He groaned and took it begrudgingly. "I think I would rather have the poison." He wiped water from his chin with his sleeve. Still weak, he sank easily back into sleep.

"It is good of you to watch him," said Cedrik. He ducked out of the tent and sat before the fire alongside Deacon, who looked up with concern, subdued.

"Is he all right?"

"He's all right."

Deacon stared into the flame with a haunted, set expression. His voice came unexpectedly with strained emotion. "When my mother was dying, she had that same look in her eyes, that same fear." Cedrik dared not interrupt. For a minute Deacon was utterly silent. Then he confessed: "I go to Terium. There is something there that I need." At what point he decided it was best to keep Cedrik at his side, Deacon didn't know, but he thought now it was best Cedrik not return home just yet. If word got to eomus that he had discovered Terium, eomus might try to prevent him. He said, "You may come with me, if it is still your wish."

Cedrik was disappointed more information was not volunteered but said, "Do you want us to come with you?"

Deacon hesitated, then nodded slowly, his lips compressed. "Don't ask me questions but understand it is what I need." His jaw worked tightly. "It's not something easy to attain."

"Is this why you didn't want us to come?" asked Cedrik. "Why you don't want her to?"

The look he received convinced him he was pretty near to the truth. Deacon turned his eyes back to the fire. He stared with such unblinking intensity, Cedrik thought the tears he could see glistening there would gather and fall, but they dissolved and were not released.

Chapter36.

An Observable Change -an is intrinsically drawn to truth. In the absence of inner truthfulness, ignoring the inner voice and living a lie, the nature of his being will suffer the restlessness and discontent of the ceaseless voice telling him he is wrong.

Deacon was vividly conscious of his dark purpose. It bled him of his vitality and self-respect. The complexion that had previously been burned brown by the sun had lost its bronze and by degrees grown pale. His form was still impressive, but it looked defeated now, his shoulders bowed, his face downcast.

He seemed to lack the essential consciousness of well-being, denying himself comfort and sustenance and, of all things necessary to the human form, companionship. He became drawn inward. Even Magenta could not understand the mystery in which he shrouded himself. He seemed striving to be sufficient unto himself, not wanting to be in need of any living creature.

His abject state left his companions wondering what illness had taken him. Though it was evident his sufferings were self-inflicted, he alone was in possession of the cause. Magenta saw with deep concern that his countenance was losing its warmth and that the spirit in his eye was failing. He seemed in a kind of living death. The body corresponds with the spirit, and his body was suffering accordingly.

Deacon moved away from the warmth of the campfire and sat with his back against a tree, among the night's shadows, which seemed to clasp him too closely and too far away from her. Magenta had prepared him something to eat, but he scarcely touched it. She watched him with growing distress. There were violent alterations in his character. To her it seemed he had taken on another consciousness, another self; he was not who he had been when she had him to herself in the woods. His spirit had fused with the hate that churned in a slow, ever-burning furnace.

"Tell me, Cedrik," she said, subdued, "can your own heart deceive you?"

"Can my heart lie to me?" he said, lightly. "I'm certain it does." Observing her downcast features he grew serious. "The thing about the heart," he began tentatively, "is that it has a necessity for hope. Sometimes it's difficult to discern between it and truth." He saw that she struggled with emotion and said nothing more.

When Magenta saw that Deacon had finished eating, she went to him. He had been deeply engrossed in his thoughts for some time when he became aware of her. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her. She reached out for the plate; with a tight smile he handed it to her, muttering his grat.i.tude. She stood over him as if she would be fixed there forever; he was tense under the agony of it. Soon she crouched down near to him. "Do you suffer illness?" she asked. Her low, sweet voice, her touch upon his arm, brought back emotions he had hoped had left him.

"There are better things you can achieve with your time, than to concern yourself with me." He could not keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice. He paid no more attention to her presence. She drew away. He sat without a sense of feeling.

It seemed he had lost complete interest in her existence, and as if her existence required his belief in it, she began to fade. A melancholy swept over her and seemed to extinguish the life in her. There was a calm, unearthly beauty in her sorrow. Her deep eyes gave the impression of looking beyond rather than into those of their beholders. In this state she held a quiet, complacent sense of forbearance, belonging to her love for him.

One evening Magenta stood away from camp beneath the open sky spread with stars. She looked into the night with a vague, distant look, a wistful and gentle acquiescence to her fate. At a near distance Deacon perceived her there. He stood with his shoulder against a small tree, watching her with strange intentness. She was lovely in the tender light. Every movement woke greater sentiment in him. All the while he grew more sullen and unbearable to himself. The terrible softness of her, he longed for.

The fire was put out and the companions settled into their beds for the night. In his lonely isolation, Deacon lay awake, wishing he was lying beside her with the warm darkness folding them close. His body ached with physical longing, and his heart with something of greater depth.

In her bed, Magenta heard a light step pa.s.s the tent. She arose and upon venturing out, saw that Deacon wandered away from camp and vanished in among the trees. She returned to her blankets but was stirred into wakefulness, too alive to consider sleep. She at last flipped back the covers and ventured into the cold night, wearing only her light sleeping shift.

The moon afforded scarcely enough light for her to make her way through the black ma.s.s of trees. She soon came to find him in a small clearing-a lonely silhouette standing by a dark pool of water. From her angle she could not see his face, more than the strong line of his jaw. But she could discern from his bowed head that his attention was fully fixed upon the precious jewel he held out from its chain round his neck. It was like none other she had ever seen, with a luminous quality that to her seemed most certainly of elven make.

For a moment she watched him, her presence hidden by the darkness of the night. As she drew nearer he heard her approaching steps and casually, but swiftly, returned the jewel to its place beneath his shirt. Crouching down by the pool, he splashed cool water over his face in an attempt to remove any sign of grief. Drying his face on the sleeve of his shirt, he glanced briefly over his shoulder.

"You cannot sleep," he said, rising to his feet, keeping his face partly averted. He knew affliction was still too apparent on his features. She hadn't a chance to respond, when the eyes of both caught the back of something slippery and eel-like surfacing briefly from the water. Deacon grimaced at the thought of the tainted water having touched his face and spat out the taste he imagined was in his mouth. A faint smile lifted one side of his mouth as he stole a quick glance at her, saying in a lighter, more playful tone, "We shall avoid the water tonight, I think."

She smiled bleakly at the manner by which he sought to put her at ease, though he was not at ease himself and failed miserably to do so for her. But still, something akin to hope rose within her at his sudden warming toward her. Unfortunately he could not, it seemed, sustain the lightness of manner which he so sought, for he all too quickly sank back to his former state of misery.

His eyes fell once more to the still, black water. Magenta joined him in this silent absorption, occasionally glancing over to observe his features. His bitterness, while still apparent, was overshadowed by a heavy weariness, which in turn made her heart very heavy for him.

"You are weary," she said, softly. At the sound of her voice his eyes returned from vacancy but nevertheless stayed fastened on the water. She turned to face him, wondering what the source of this self-imposed deprivation was. "Why must you punish yourself so cruelly?"

She was not certain, at first, that he would respond. He was still greatly detached from her, his face so ashen as to suggest death. But within him, somewhere, there was something much alive, despite his look of illness. "Our existence is brief," he said at length. "We must push ourselves if we would achieve great heights." He turned his eyes full upon her and said quietly, but with great intensity, "I do not wish to fall among the wretched and forgotten."

She could see now that he belonged to his destination, willing to sacrifice all to get there. "That will not be your fate." She looked at him in a manner as to suggest wonder and awe. Dropping his chin to his chest, he smiled, a grim smile of self-scorn.

"There are many things in this world that appear fascinating and inexplicit, but on closer inspection turn out to be merely commonplace," he said, so cynically she knew at once he spoke of himself and her idea of him.

"And I have no doubt you are not one of them," she said quickly. "You are greater than you know. There is more in your one sentence than in a thousand utterings of most, and you continue to perfect your mind. But you mustn't neglect the present life for the future life. We must take time for the beauty that lies between us and our goal. If not-we may miss the many wonderful things along the way."

He could not doubt the meaning of the last of what had she said, and staring in her wonderful dark eyes, the strong feeling of affection for her came over him, battling against the weariness and pain. He wanted so much to rest in the warmth of her love. She was so strong in her self-possession, and she was so determined to think well of him, believing so a.s.suredly that she should belong to him. He always proved wanting, always failing to deny the sudden onset of this love that had so rapidly taken full possession of him. He knew discovering the intricacies of her character would be a lifelong endeavour, one he would gladly embrace, if he did not feel with certainty that she was made of a finer material than himself and deserved infinitely more than he could deliver. So he turned from all tender thoughts, once again turning himself inward and away from her, though he knew her heart was breaking at his absence.

A heavy silence befell them. Her attention was drawn to his chest, where he absent-mindedly had laid his open palm. She knew there were other things that worked on his troubled mind.