whole, as well. But how was that accomplished? He was feeling less and less certain about what it was he was going to find. He was starting to think that his request was a mistake.
Yet he kept on, drawn by the humming, by the promise it offered that he might still find a way to bring Cinnaminson back to him. Both hands gripped the polished length of the darkwand, the only weapon he possessed aside from his long knife. The darkwand was a talisman of magic meant to be used to breach the wall of the Forbidding. But it had come from the wood of the tree. Could it be used to penetrate the tangle of the tanequil's roots? Could it be employed in some way to free the Rover girl?
It was wishful thinking, seductive and empty of promise. There was nothing to suggest the darkwand would do him the slightest bit of good in his effort to bring Cinnaminson out of the ravine. But it was all he had to rely on, and so even in the face of the patent improbability of it helping him, he held out hope that it would.
Time slipped away. He was beginning to lose his sense of direction as the tree limbs tightened overhead and the light faded to a dull wash. But the voices stayed strong, the humming steady, and so he persevered, his determination unshaken. Now and again, he thought to call out to Cinnaminson, to reassure himself that she was still there, but he restrained himself from doing so, knowing that it suggested a weakness in himself he did not want to acknowledge.
Eventually, the ground began to slope, then to drop sharply, and the dark crease of the ravine loomed ahead through the trees. As the trilling of the aeriads intensified, Pen felt his hopes sink further; there was unmistakable joy and expectation in those voices. Tightening his grip on the darkwand, he followed the singing to a narrow trail that led downward. The brush and trees a concealing wall, the trail was invisible from anywhere but where he stood. He descended slowly, tracking the trail's switchbacks, keeping close to the ravine wall so he would not slip. One glance down revealed that if he was to do so, he could fall a long way.
As he went deeper, the light grew ever more faint, until everything was shrouded in gloom. Spots of iridescence given off by organisms growing on the plant life began to shimmer softly in the enfolding darkness. The ravine had the feel of a maw, its dark, wet earth sprouting jagged rocks that jutted like teeth.
I am a fool to come here, he thought.
Yet he continued, unwilling to accept that the danger he faced might be too great or the consequences of his effort too terrible. Would Cinnaminson lead him to his doom, even in her newly adopted form? He could not make himself believe so. No, he decided after considering the possibility. She would keep him safe. She would take him to Mother Tanequil. She would do as he had asked, and he would have his chance to free her.
Then the trail ended, and he was at the bottom of the ravine. A vast tangle of roots stretched away before him. The smallest of them were closest, some no larger than strands of human hair. The largest were farther back, barely visible through the enfolding darkness and the pale wash of diffused sunlight, and many were thicker than his body. They lay in twisted heaps, loose and coiled, half–emerged from the earth in which they had buried themselves.
Pen drew to a halt, uncertain about what to do next. All around him now and no longer moving forward, the aeriads hummed and sang. He glanced about for help, but there was no help to be found. He had gotten as far as he was going to get without doing something on his own, and he had no idea what that something should be.
«Cinnaminson?» he called softly.
Ahead, the tree roots shifted, and in their slow grating and scraping he heard the sound of his own death. Like snakes, they were coiling and uncoiling in anticipation of wrapping about him, of squeezing him until there was no breath left in his body. He felt himself begin to shake as the image eroded his courage, and he tightened his grip once more on the darkwand.
«Cinnaminson!» he called again, louder.
As if in response to his cry, the tree roots parted where their wall was thickest, and he saw revealed in the pale trickle of sunlight and tiny flashes of iridescence the bodies of dozens of young girls. Thousands of tiny roots wrapped about them, cradling them in nests of dark, earth–fed fiber, their ends attached to the exposed skin where clothing had rotted and fallen away. Their eyes and mouths were closed, and they appeared to be deep in sleep, locked in dreams that he could only imagine. They must have been breathing, but he was too far away to be certain.
Then he saw Cinnaminson. She was off to one side in an area in which the tendrils had not yet grown so thick, and her body was still mostly exposed and unfettered. She slept the sleep of the others, and most probably dreamed their dreams. But her place among them was newer, her coming clearly more recent.
He didn't stop to think about what he should do. He simply started toward her, compelled by his determination to get close enough to touch her and, by doing so, to wake her and then to free her. He didn't know how he would manage it or even if he could. He only knew he had to try.
-Pen, no— Cinnaminson cried out, her voice separating suddenly from those of the other aeriads.
Instantly, the tanequil's roots began to shift, the rasp and scrape of fiber on earth and stone so menacing that Pen froze in midstride and brought the darkwand up like a shield. The wall had re–formed in front of him, barring him from getting any closer, telling him in no uncertain terms that he had transgressed. Tendrils stroked the exposed skin of his hands as the tree roots closest to him lifted out of the earth. In his mind, he could hear a hiss of warning, a sound so soft it was like the rustle of sand on old wood.
-Don't come any closer–It was the sound of a serpent's tongue sliding from a scaly mouth. — Go back to where you came from
— Please, Pen–he heard Cinnaminson whisper. — Please, go away. Leave me where I am
He wanted to ignore the warning, to go to her, to reach out to what was still real and substantive about her, to free her of that nightmare. The tanequil had given her the boundless world of an unfettered spirit, of the aeriads for whom it provided such freedom, but it was feeding on her, as well. He could tell that much just from looking. Did she realize that? Did she understand what was happening to her?
But he sensed, even as he asked these questions, that it didn't matter what she knew or how she might respond to knowing. What mattered was that she was content. She was the tree's captive, a slave to the roots that formed its feminine half, and they were not about to let her go for any reason. If he tried to take her, he would be killed. Then no one would know what had happened to her and no one would ever come to set her free.
He closed his eyes against what he was thinking, against his feelings of frustration and helplessness. He should do something, but there was nothing he could do. He had lost her all over again.
-Good–bye, Penderrin— he heard her say to him.
Her voice rose and fell to blend with the voices of the other aeriads before finally disappearing into them completely. Then the voices faded entirely, and she was gone.
Cinnammson.
Aware of the sudden silence, he stood staring into space. Even the tree roots had gone still. Their tangled lengths lay limp and unmoving before him, a wall that he must breach. But he lacked the means to do so. He looked down at the darkwand, wondering anew if it might provide him the magic that was needed. But the purpose of the talisman was to help him gain access to Grianne Ohmsford, not to Cinnaminson. The darkwand could breach the wall of the Forbidding, but not the wall of the tanequil's roots. Nothing had happened to suggest otherwise. No magic had surfaced when his passage through the roots had been denied. No magic had emerged to help him.
His throat tightened as he realized that there was nothing more he could do. He would have to abandon his hopes of freeing her. He would have to leave her where she was. He would have to take the darkwand and travel to Paranor. He would have to attempt to cross over into the Forbidding and rescue the Ard Rhys. Cinnaminson had given herself to the tanequil so that he might do so. What was the point of her sacrifice if he failed to take advantage of it?
But it meant risking the possibility that he might never have a chance to come back for her.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. «Good–bye,' he said softly to the darkness.
Then he turned away, walked back to the trail that had brought him down into the ravine, and began to climb.
Twenty–seven
The hand shook him gently awake, and Drumundoon's familiar voice whispered, «Captain, they're coming.»
