The End of Time (6 page)

Umber leaned over the prow with a shining grin, waiting. The vine had diamond-shaped leaves the size of hands sprouting from it, and along its length more curling tendrils sprouted, all light green with jagged red stripes. When the vine finished uncurling, barely a foot from Umber’s face, Hap saw a long, red flower shaped like a trumpet, and he was amazed to hear a
voice
coming from the flower—the thin, quavering voice of an old man. “What is it? Who’s out there?”

Umber smiled over his shoulder. “It’s like a speaking tube, Hap. The wizard talks into a blossom at the other end, and the vine conducts the sound.” He put his mouth near the flower. “It’s me, Fendofel! Your friend Umber.”

“Umber?” said the voice from the vine. “Umber . . .
 Umber . . . Umber . . .” it repeated, puzzling over the word. Umber looked back at his friends again with a raised brow.

“Of course, Umber!” cried the voice, rising with happy recognition. “My dear boy. You’re back! Come ashore, come ashore.”

“I have friends with me—some you’ve met, and one you haven’t,” Umber told the flower.

“Friends! How nice! Come, all of you! Welcome to my home!”

The seaweed sank into the depths again, and the strands released the oars. The boat bobbed freely, and Oates, shaking his head with his mouth stretched wide, rowed them to the stone ramp. As they drew closer, the vine withdrew ahead of them. The ramp was covered with smaller vines that looked much like Dendra. Oates picked up a line, meaning to tie the boat off, but the smaller vines sprang to life and twirled around the cleats, holding the boat fast. “This is the oddest place,” Oates muttered, dropping the line and lifting the pack with the strange nut inside.

They disembarked and walked up the ramp to where the riotous growth barred further progress. Hap felt Sophie’s elbow nudge his side. “Watch this,” she said.

From inside the jungle, Hap heard rustling sounds, as if a stiff breeze was coming or a flock of birds had taken flight. The tangle of leaves and limbs that blocked their way pulled back, swinging inward like a pair of doors. The rustling extended deeper into the growth, and soon a shadowy tunnel had been created before them.

“You look stupid with your mouth hanging open like that,” Oates said to Hap. Hap’s jaw popped as he snapped it shut.

“Really, Oates,” Umber chided. “Hap’s never been here before. I envy him—it’s such fun to be astonished!”

“Not for me,” Oates muttered.

Umber nearly broke into a skip as he headed down the living tunnel. The vine called Dendra led them, slithering back along the path like the tail of a snake. The tunnel floor was paved with stones worn smooth. Fragments of sunlight pierced the thick canopy, spattering them with shifting flecks of light.

Hap heard a rustling sound again, this time at his back. The path they’d taken closed in behind them, sealing their exit as if the tunnel had never existed.

 
CHAPTER
7

After a few dozen paces the tunnel ended
and they stepped into a clearing. Within the giant hedge that encircled the island, butterflies flittered about, and the hum of bees filled the air. They followed the stone path into the heart of the island, crossing narrow bands of sharply differing landscapes. There was a fragrant meadow with bright blossoms of a hundred different shades, where deer grazed, watching them pass with dull, unconcerned expressions. Next was a stand of pine trees amid a soft carpet of fallen needles.

“I’ll remind you not to pick the flowers, everyone,” Umber said. “And don’t take any fruit unless a vine offers it to you.”

They passed next through a sandy spot where cacti grew and tortoises sauntered and craned their necks. Still, the vine pulled away ahead of them, arching like an inchworm as it retracted.

“How long is that thing?” Hap asked Sophie.

“Very.”

They arrived at the heart of the island, a strange and watery garden filled with exotic plants, bushes, and trees. The path they’d followed branched into smaller trails that meandered through the clearing. “Step on the stones, not the plants,” Umber said, though Hap had already decided that would be wise. “There are a few mats of moss that don’t mind if you rest on them, though.”

They went by a shrub with brilliant orange blossoms, which snapped shut as they passed. “Shy around strangers,” Umber explained. A stand of pale blue mushrooms stood nearby, so tall that Oates could have walked under their caps. Towering ferns waved in the gentle breeze.

As they moved into the clearing, a bird with a long blue tail burst out of tall grass. When Hap followed its flight with his gaze, he saw an ancient building ahead.

It was a dome built of rough white stone, with arches in its curving walls that let air and light pass. On either side of the dome stood more modern structures: long, rectangular wings made of wrought iron and milky glass. Hap saw a riot of strange plants inside, growing in steamy air and pressing against the misty panes.

The vine they’d followed curled itself like a snake, with the coils stacking high overhead. More of the pale green and blood red arms emerged from every arch of the dome and slithered into the garden like the tentacles of a sea creature. Some grew up and over the dome, dividing into slender fingers that might have been holding the stones in place.

Hap tugged on Umber’s sleeve. “Those vines. Are they all from one plant?”

Umber nodded. “One vine, one mind. It’s all Dendra.”

An old man in a long, brown robe hobbled through one of the archways, leaning on a twisted cane. Another small vine hovered by his elbow, a living banister. He was not a tall man, and his height was reduced by the curve of his spine, which forced his head down so that he had to crane his neck to squint at his visitors. His hair was thin and silky, dangling past his ears, and he might have been bald on top except for what appeared to be stringy gray moss growing there. Tiny white flowers emerged from his thick beard. “Who is it? Who’s there?”

Hap looked sideways at Sophie. “Didn’t Lord Umber just tell him it was us?” She shushed him quietly, her forehead creased with worry.

“It’s me, Fendofel,” Umber called out, quite loudly. “Umber. Remember?”

Fendofel’s mouth broke into a nearly toothless smile, and he rapped the side of his head with his knuckles. “Foolish me! Ha-ha, of course, you just told me you were coming a minute ago!”

The dome was surrounded by a narrow moat, and Fendofel limped across one of the short bridges that spanned the water. The vine slithered behind him with its tip elbow-high, darting left and right, depending on which way the old man teetered.

Umber trotted ahead to close the distance, and took the old wizard by the elbow. “How wonderful to see you again.”

Fendofel was a head shorter than Umber, and his rheumy eyes glistened as he looked up. “And you, and you! But look at you, Umber—so thin! You’re skin and bones, my boy.”

“I’m fine, Fendofel,” Umber told him.

The wizard looked at him from head to toe, squinting. “Well, you don’t
look
fine. But tell me, how is my tree of many fruits? Healthier than you, I hope?”

“Strong-limbed and thriving, just like me,” Umber said, chuckling. “And, Fendofel, you remember these good people.” Umber swept his arm toward Balfour, Sophie, and Oates.

“I . . . oh, of course I do,” Fendofel said. He put his hand beside his mouth and tried to whisper to Umber but was plainly heard by all. “Be a good fellow and remind me of their names, will you, Umber?”

Hap saw the concern in Umber’s smile. “Of course,” Umber said, putting his hand on Fendofel’s shoulder. “We have here my dear friend Balfour; the always delightful Oates; and the kingdom’s finest archer and artist, young Sophie. But this young man you have not met,” Umber said, with an open hand aimed at Hap. “This is my ward, Happenstance. Or Hap for short.”

Fendofel leaned toward Hap, squinting and grinning. There was a silver chain around his neck with a locket that held an enormous green crystal. The old wizard reached toward Hap, and a thin, bony arm slid from the loose sleeve. His hands were spotted by age, with soil caked in the wrinkles and under the nails, and Hap was sure he saw a patch of lichen growing on the wrist. “Happenstance. What an excellent name . . . and my, what eyes you have!”

Hap was usually bothered by the attention his eyes drew, but he felt nothing but warmth for this fragile, charming man. “Thank you,” he replied, with a smile that came easily.

“Your eyes are
green
,” the old man said. He winked at Hap. “The finest of colors! Come in, all of you, come in!”

They crossed the bridge that spanned the moat. Aquatic plants teemed in the water, with blossoms on the surface. One specimen propelled itself through the water by wriggling its roots behind it. There was a splash, and another plant rose from the water with a squirming frog inside spiked, leafy jaws. “Ew,” Hap said, gaping.

When they stepped inside the building, Hap’s lips formed a silent whistle. The arms of Dendra had grown steadily thicker the closer they came to the roots. Inside the arches the red-lashed vines were as thick as pillars.

Under the center of the dome, Dendra had sprouted long ago, erupting like a volcano through the thick foundation. The arms all sprang from a massive round growth, easily a dozen feet across, with the bumpy skin of a gourd. Dendra was never still for long; every so often one of the arms would give a little shrug, or the tip of a vine would slither back inside the dome.

Benches of stone were all around, with mats of moss on the seats. Fendofel eased himself down with a happy sigh. “Oh yes, Umber, you must tell me: How is the tree of many fruits? Is it well?”

Umber froze for a moment, and his eyes softened. “It thrives, my friend,” he said. He looked carefully at the old wizard. Hap’s glance met Balfour’s, and Balfour raised his eyebrows.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Fendofel said with a contented smile. One of Dendra’s fat arms slid across the stone floor and rubbed gently against Fendofel’s leg. It looked to Hap like something an affectionate cat might do. “But what brings you here, my dear boy?”

“It’s been too long since my last visit,” Umber said, squeezing the old wizard’s arm. “But really, I came for your advice.”

“My advice, eh?” said Fendofel, straightening up and lifting his chin. “And I’m happy to give it. But I want the truth first: How have you been? Honestly, now.”

“Me?” Umber’s gaze dropped. “Oh, I’ve been fine.”

“What do you mean, fine?” roared Oates. “You were moping for weeks. We thought you’d waste away and die.”

Umber slung a lethal glare at Oates. “I think I’ll take a walk,” Oates muttered.

“Oates, there’s a plant just outside, covered with razor-sharp needles,” Umber said.

Oates stared back from the archway. “So?”

“I’d like you to sit on it,” Umber said. Oates rolled his eyes and left the dome.

Fendofel tapped his fingers together and gave Umber a reproachful frown. “At least he’s honest. There’s no reason to hide anything from me, Umber, you scamp.”

“I don’t want you to worry,” Umber said quietly.

“Ridiculous. I can
help
you, silly boy,” Fendofel said, smiling. “I’ve been working on something for you, and it’s finally ready.” He reached down and touched the vine by his knee. “Dendra, fetch the elatia, will you?”

Another arm of the great vine responded. It slid into one of the glass-and-iron wings. A moment later it returned, its tip wrapped around a dark ceramic pot with a bushy plant inside. The vine passed the plant into Fendofel’s waiting hands, and he held it out to Umber.

“Looks like mint,” Umber said, taking the pot.

“It is
elatia
,” Fendofel said, pronouncing the name with care. “This might cure your episodes of sadness, my friend.”

Hap looked at the others. Sophie had a delighted, openmouthed smile, and Balfour’s eyebrows had gone halfway up his forehead. “How wonderful that would be,” Balfour whispered. Sophie nodded.

Umber’s gaze was fixed on the plant. He brushed the leaves with the tips of his fingers. “Will it really?”

Fendofel nodded and chuckled. “It took all my craft to create it. Listen carefully, now, Umber: If you feel one of your bouts coming on, pluck seventeen leaves and make a tea of them. Boil it until the leaves turn black.”

“Until the leaves turn black. Seventeen,” Umber said. He looked at Balfour and raised his brow. “Seventeen,” Balfour repeated.

Umber placed the elatia on the bench beside him. “What a gift, Fendofel! And all I can offer you in return is a mystery.”

Fendofel laughed, and the laugh turned into a cough that went on until the old man was out of breath. Umber put a hand on his back, and one of Dendra’s vines twirled tenderly around the old wizard’s calf. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Fendofel said, waving a hand and wheezing. “What is your mystery, Umber?”

Umber fetched the pack that Oates had left on the floor. He dug out the skull-size object, still wrapped in canvas, and sat again with the thing in his lap. “I want to know if you’ve ever seen anything like this,” Umber said. He threw off the canvas flaps, revealing the enormous nut. “Careful of the thorns.”

Fendofel leaned close, narrowing one eye and widening the other. “What have you found?” he whispered. Umber raised the nut, nested on the thick cloth, and Fendofel slid his hands under the thing, hefted it with care, and set it down again on the bench. He stuck his fingers between the thorns and prodded; he put his nose as close as he dared, inhaling deeply; he scratched his chin and tugged his ear. “I . . . I feel like I’ve seen this before. Knew what it was . . . long ago.” He looked mournfully at Umber. “But I can’t recall.”

“Is it magical, you think?” Umber asked.

Fendofel concentrated, and Hap could see the frustration growing on his face. His nose wrinkled, and his mouth twisted. He tapped himself on the head—softly first, and then much harder—“Curse me. Umber, my memory isn’t what it used to be.” He looked up at Hap. “You must think I’m an old fool, Master . . .” He grunted as he struggled to remember.

“Happenstance,” Hap told him gently.

“Ah,” Fendofel said. His shoulders slumped. “Yes. Happenstance. I’d have gotten it if you hadn’t said it.”

“Don’t worry about it, Fendofel,” Umber said. “Tell me, though. What do you think I should do with this thing?”

Fendofel looked at the nut again, prodding the tip of a thorn with his thumb. “Where did it come from?”

“It was with some stuff my former archivist stole from me. I guess he thought it was valuable. Unfortunately he’s dead now, so I can’t ask him where he found it. Who knows? Maybe it was somewhere in the Aerie.”

“Looks awfully old,” Fendofel said. “Might not even grow if you planted it.”

“Is it worth a try?”

Fendofel narrowed his eyes at the thing. “Not sure. Something about it . . . worries me. Wish I could remember. Perhaps in the morning I shall. You will stay the night, won’t you all?”

Umber bit his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Fendofel. We can’t stay for long. But I’ll come back soon.”

“I understand,” Fendofel said, lowering his eyes.

“Fendofel,” Umber said, with his fingertips on the old wizard’s shoulder, “you’re not a young man anymore. You need people to look after you. It might be time to leave this place.”

“Leave?”
Fendofel looked up with watery eyes. “This is my home, Umber. Everything I know is here. And I have Dendra to watch after me.” One of the vines was beside the old man as usual, and Fendofel laid his hand upon it. Hap felt a tingle of fear on his spine, because the vine had risen up and arched itself like a viper when Umber suggested that Fendofel leave the island.

“I know,” Umber said. “But . . .” He looked at Balfour. “Balfour, would you take Hap and Sophie outside? I’ll catch up with you.”

Hap paused for a moment, waiting to catch Umber’s eye. When Umber looked back at him, Hap jabbed his chin toward the vine. Umber just smiled warmly and waved him away.

Before Hap could follow Balfour and Sophie out of the dome, an animal sound erupted outside: the terrified bleating of a beast in distress. Nearby, the thickest of the vines was in motion, flexing like an enormous muscle that filled one entire arch. The sound grew louder.