up.
“He moves fast,” Eraeth grumbled, “for one of the dwarren.”
They skirted the lake, crossing over numerous bridges where the water was being channeled and siphoned off to form smaller pools for dwarren use. At one such bridge, its arch higher than many of the others, Siobhaen gasped and pointed down toward the center of the lake, moving to the railing at the edge.
“There’s something in the Blood of Aielan,” she said, “something in the water’s depths.”
Eraeth shot Colin a questioning gaze, but when he didn’t answer, the Protector moved to the railing beside Siobhaen. They both stared at the depths for a long moment. Colin moved up behind them.
“It looks like some kind of reddish light,” Siobhaen said. “As if there were a fire under the water.”
“No.” Eraeth shook his head. “There are multiple rings of fire, all of them swinging around a central sphere, some faster than others. The sphere in the center is what’s glowing.”
“There is another in Andover,” Colin said. “They call it the Rose. Its discovery was what caused the Feud that drove my family and the rest of the Andovan refugees across the Arduon here, to Wrath Suvane. The power struggle there for the Rose ripped the Andovan Court apart, and nearly destroyed all of its Families. It also allowed the Proprietors of the settlements on the coast-towns like Portstown-the chance to break free from Andover and form the Provinces. If it hadn’t been for the Rose, and the Accord with the Alvritshai and dwarren, the Proprietors would never have been able to keep Andover at bay. Their attentions would have been split.
“This Rose has been the heart of the dwarren religion for as long as the dwarren can remember. It is what gives the waters of the Confluence their reddish tinge, and imbues it with the healing powers that it is known for.”
Eraeth crossed his arms over his chest. “This is what the sons and daughters of the Alvritshai lords used to search for during their Trials, what Aeren was searching for when he first met you and your wagon train crossing the plains: the Blood of Aielan.”
“Yes.”
“You two are the first Alvritshai to be allowed to see the Sacred Waters,” Quotl said from behind them. “You should feel honored.”
Eraeth bowed his head. “It is an honor.”
Quotl nodded in acknowledgment. “We should hurry if you wish to touch the Summer Tree before the Gathering,” he said to Colin, then moved on.
Colin stepped up to the railing and looked down through the depths at the Rose, the rings of fire rotating beneath the churning surface, broken and indistinct through the waves.
“It’s beautiful,” Siobhaen murmured, “almost as beautiful as Aielan’s Light beneath Caercaern.”
Colin said nothing, thinking of his family, the memories dredged up by his thoughts of Andover and the Provinces. He had kept himself distant from his own kind, but with what was happening now-with the Seasonal Trees and the Wells-he was beginning to think that his isolation from them had been a mistake. They might need the Provinces’ help before this was done; they might need Andover’s, even though the relationship between the Provinces and Andover was still strained.
Troubled, he turned away to follow Quotl.
They rounded the edge of the lake quickly, halted only once more when a sudden flurry of drums sounded from the far side of the dome. Quotl listened attentively, but merely shook his head when questioned by Colin. As they drew nearer to the Tree, some of the shamans Colin had seen meditating beneath its branches noticed them, stirring from their positions to come out to meet them. Their stances were hostile and protective until they recognized Quotl. Even then, a few of the younger shamans glared at the Alvritshai and Colin, clearly ready to protest.
Quotl conferred with a slightly older dwarren who stepped to the fore of the group, the leader’s gaze flickering toward Colin and the others as they spoke. Then the dwarren stepped forward and bowed slightly toward Colin.
“Shadowed One,” he murmured, head still lowered. “It is an honor to meet you. I am one of the Keepers, as are those gathered behind me.”
A sudden flurry of gasps and whispers spread through the shamans on all sides. A few of them bowed their heads as well, all of the hostility suddenly gone.
“I need to touch the Summer Tree, Keeper. I fear that what is causing the dwarren to Gather has something to do with the Seasonal Trees.”
The leader lifted his head. “We have not noticed anything in our ministrations to the Tree. If there is something that we have done wrong-”
“I don’t believe the dwarren have had anything to do with it, Keeper, if there is even anything amiss. But I will not be certain until I have spoken to the Tree.”
The Keeper’s eyebrows rose, although he was clearly still worried. “What can we do to aid you?”
“Nothing. Except make certain that I am not disturbed.”
“That we can arrange.”
Colin turned toward Eraeth and Siobhaen. “Stay here. I won’t be long.”
“You intend to go on alone?” Siobhaen asked, frowning around at the younger Keepers. “They weren’t all that friendly when we approached. You should have one of us with you.”
“I’ll stay within sight. I only need to touch the Tree.”
“But you will be vulnerable while you speak to it,” Siobhaen muttered. “You forget that I was there when you touched the Winter Tree in Caercaern.”
Colin frowned as he glanced back over the Keepers. They had begun to spread out around the Summer Tree, forming a rough perimeter, others stepping up through the tangled roots and broken stone to those who were still meditating, gently touching shoulders and drawing them down away from the bole of the Tree.
“We need to trust them,” Colin said, “especially if what I believe I will find is true. We’re going to need them.”
Her jaw clenched in disagreement, but she said nothing as he turned away and stared up at the tangle of roots and the Tree overhead. Gathering himself, he sighed once and then struck out, passing the dwarren Keepers, their eyes following him as he climbed the massive root system as he’d done in Caercaern for the Winter Tree. Unlike the Alvritshai Warders though, the dwarren had built paths through the roots, stairs and bridges of stone and wood winding among them, lanterns on tall poles at irregular intervals.
When one of the paths veered near enough to the base of the Tree that he could reach out and touch its bark, he halted. He planted his hand against its side and closed his eyes.
The Tree sensed him instantly and drew him into its heart, the pulse of its sap enfolding him. Like that of the heart of the forest in the Ostraell, he felt the Tree welcome him, recognize him as a part of its creation, but the Tree was more sentient than the forest. As soon as he’d accustomed himself to its soft summer taste and smell-like honey and sweet corn-he felt the shuddering discord at its edges.
Something was definitely wrong.
He surged out along the Tree’s roots, down toward the Rose, where it drew strength from the healing waters deep below, and then he spread outward over the Tree’s field of influence, as he’d done in Caercaern with the Winter Tree so many months before, searching for damage, for the source of the malignancy that he could feel at the heart of the Tree. The farther from the Confluence he moved, the weaker the Tree became, but that was normal. Nothing appeared to be wrong-
Until he hit an obstruction to the east and south.
He shifted his focus, drew himself back from the north and west and concentrated his attentions eastward. Something hindered the protection of the Summer Tree there. Something had pushed that protection back, was eating away at the boundaries of the Tree that should have extended all the way to the edges of the Thalloran Wastelands. Instead, the Tree’s protective barrier had been shoved onto the plains, the force weakening that protection on all sides. The grasslands that formed the largest portion of Painted Sands lands were now exposed, no longer under the influence of the Summer Tree. And the degradation of the barrier grew worse the farther south Colin traveled. He felt his heart shudder at the extent of the damage already done as he skirted the barrier and tested its edge, traveling farther and farther southward. But even as he did so, he could taste that source-like snow and loam and leaves.
The Lifeblood. The force pushing against the protection of the Trees, the force slowly breaking that protection
