Sword of Tilk Book Three: At Sword's End

By Pen

Desdemona is back! And ready to change the world.

To protect the Royal Family and their friends, Grifflestump Elder transports them back to Decatur, Georgia. Those who have never lived there have a little trouble adjusting. Especially when Desdemona sends a harrock to retrieve the Princess and Ravenheart’s spell book.

Desdemona is out for more than just the Princess and the spell book. She also wants to acquire the newly-hatched dragons.

But when she gets her hands on the golden Sword of Tilk everyone learns there is more to the Sword than a simple curse. With the Sword in Desdemona’s hands, she has the power to destroy not only the Tilk Realm, but all the worlds beyond it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen
• Release date: Jul 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311046734

Pen

Pen was bitten by the writing bug at the age of ten. She has been feverishly writing ever since. A native Georgian she lives in the Atlanta area.

Book preview

Prologue

Heather stood, holding the Sword of Tilk in her hands.

Choices. That’s what The Oracle had said. It all came down to choices.

And Heather still hadn’t made one.

It wasn’t just that the fate of her family, the fate of her beloved homeland of Tilk or the fate of her old world hung in the balance awaiting the outcome of her choice.

Her own fate depended upon her decision as well.

And wasn’t that the way it was? Didn’t everyone’s choices determine their fates?

It wasn’t her mother’s choice to make though her mother would gladly do it for her.

Aunt Tiernan too would have taken the choice from Heather’s hands and lifted the burden from her heart.

Even Lucas would have gladly stepped in.

Truth was, though, that no one else could make this choice. It was hers and hers alone.

Heather weighed the outcomes of all the choices available to her. She knew the right choice to make. But was it what she really wanted?

Her heart felt so heavy with this responsibility.

But she couldn’t be selfish.

She grasped the hilt of the Sword of Tilk with both hands.

She had a moment in which she faltered. She didn’t want to do this.

But it was the best choice she could make: It was the right choice.

She raised the Sword over her head.

Then plunged it downward.

Chapter 1

The door was open.

But she didn’t venture out.

She’d been so long in this darkness that even the little sliver of light that filtered through the crack in the doorway frightened her; it hurt her eyes and she was terrified of the pain; terrified it was a trick, something to provoke her into leaving the darkness so that pain could be inflicted upon her.

So she cowered in the corner farthest away from the light. Sometimes she would whimper in the darkness like a lost puppy in a storm. Other times she would rock herself back and forth taking some comfort from the movement.

Sometimes she would sit there and growl, long and low, deep and guttural, waiting for someone to come to the door, someone she could intimidate with her growling. For no one came near the door that was not afraid to be near the door.

She often slept, long periods of blissful sleep in which she saw nothing, knew nothing, dreamed nothing.

Other times she dreamed. Dreamed of one who looked just like her, exactly like her but not knowing who she was. How could she know who the person in the dream was? She didn’t even know who she was.

She was a stranger to conversation, not having practiced it for so long.

But there was one word she knew, one word she said over and over again.

Mother.

***

Heather pressed a button and there was light.

See? she said triumphantly.

Tiernan bent down and peered at the light. Heather called it a solar lamp and had explained how it worked, but it was still a fantastical mystery to her.

This light comes from the sun? Tiernan asked.

No, Aunt Tiernan, Heather tried not to laugh but it was in her voice.

Tiernan stood and with one eyebrow arched looked at Heather. I realize my ignorance amuses you – she started.

No, that’s not it, Aunt Tiernan, her niece protested. It’s just that you remind me of a little girl, you get so excited when I explain things.

Little girl, Tiernan scoffed. You should talk.

I’m eleven! I’m not so little anymore!

Which was true. The top of Heather’s head practically reached Tiernan’s chin.

Truce, Tiernan said. She and Heather were known to engage in heated debates these days. They were so much alike it was unavoidable: strong headed, opinionated and they both had to know the why and how of everything.

Okay, Heather agreed. Here’s how it works, Aunt Tiernan. This panel here, Heather placed a finger on a small piece of plastic in the wooden base of the lamp, collects the light from the sun. That light is then converted into energy by a gel cell battery inside the lamp so that when you press this button, Heather pressed a small orange square of plastic in the base and the lamp went out, the light turns on and off.

I didn’t think you could bring this stuff from your other world, Tiernan interrupted.

We found out that if we wrap things in aluminum foil, they transition without turning into blocks of wood, Heather said, her face beaming.

Ahh, I see, Tiernan said though her face was still confused. What is aluminum foil again?

Heather chuckled. I’ll show you later.

Tiernan thought for a moment. Could we use these throughout the castle?

Heather beamed again. That’s the idea. We use these instead of the torches. They’re a lot safer.

I should say so, Barbara said, stepping out of her dressing closet. Do I look all right? She looked to her sister and daughter for their approval.

Lovely, Tiernan said surveying the black dress her sister wore. Very dignified.

Barbara turned and looked at herself in the full length mirror. She smoothed the dress at the waist and along the thighs.

Why are you so nervous? Tiernan asked, walking to stand beside her sister facing their identical reflections in the mirror. Even their dresses were almost identical.

She’s a very special person, Barbara said. I just want to be as respectful as possible is all.

Yes, she was a very special person, Tiernan said gently. She glanced quickly at Heather and saw the look of concern on the little girl’s face but her first order of business was her sister. You look lovely, doesn’t she, Heather?

Absolutely, Heather said sincerely. You look beautiful, Mom.

Barbara looked at her daughter and smiled wanly. Thank you, she said demurely.

Since returning from Antanavica a few months before, Barbara’s confidence had waned. She’d become withdrawn to the point where it was difficult for either her sister or her daughter to draw her out.

Well, it’s almost sunset, Tiernan said with a brightness she didn’t really feel. We should be going if we don’t want to be late.

Let me get my bag, Heather said and started for the door.

Heather? Barbara said hesitantly. Don’t you think you could leave the bag at home, just this once?

Heather looked at her mother, wide-eyed with something akin to horror. No, Mom. I can’t leave it. Something may happen to it.

Barbara took in a breath and held it. She wanted to protest but didn’t want to deal with the consequences. Previous protests had been met with bouts of fear and crying that Heather neither realized she was experiencing nor could she explain them afterwards. All right, darling. Just don’t take too long.

I’ll meet you downstairs, Heather said brightly and went off to her room.

What is it about that thing? Tiernan asked.

Barbara shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. I have no idea. She refuses to discuss it with me. She’s hardly let that book out of her sight since she took it from Ravenheart’s castle. She turned to look at herself in the mirror.

That sounds familiar, Tiernan thought but didn’t comment out loud.

Because her twin sister refused to discuss whatever she was going through as well.

***

It was a calm sea, as though the very waters themselves were aware of the passing of one who was held in such high esteem and fiercely beloved for so long.

The setting sun slung low just above the mountains casting the sea into shadow. The candles in their rice paper boxes cast their reflections upon the waves sparkling as brightly as the stars beginning to rise in the eastern sky.

By candlelight and by starlight, the soul of Sandroika Ryekka Toomsubi Abtibui, known as The Oracle for most of her life, was guided along her new journey.

Tiernan placed a gentle hand upon the arm of Sanjar, The Oracle’s brother. I am so sorry for your loss, Sanjar, she said quietly.

Sanjar smiled sadly. Death is only a loss to the living, he said. My loss is her journey. And may she find much happiness there.

All was quiet for a while as the crowd gathered upon the shore and watched the candles drift further out to sea, lights sparkling like diamonds in the growing twilight. People began to drift away as the glow of the candles became smaller. As their light became nothing more than a small twinkle on the horizon only a handful of people were left on the shore.

Sanjar, Tiernan said softly, would you come to the castle with us?

Thank you, Your Majesty, Sanjar said. But we have our own tradition in The Wildlands and I must go and prepare for the festivities.

Festivities? Tiernan asked.

Oh, yes, Your Majesty. We honor those who go before us on this journey with music and dance and food. They are free of the burdens of this world and now know the mysteries and wonders of another. Their time spent here is cause for celebration as is the journey they now take. He took Tiernan’s hands warmly into his own. I do thank you for coming to let me know of my sister’s passing, Your Majesty.

Tiernan gave his hands a gentle squeeze. It was my honor to know her, Sanjar, she said softly. Do feel welcome in our home.

Sanjar smiled. As you are in mine.

Chapter 2

Ryekka didn’t listen to the stories as she moved about the room, a little girl in tow. Though she would never adopt the dress of The Oracle - at least not until she was older - Ryekka was, nonetheless, a striking figure in her long red velvet gown. She listened to the voices of those she passed. Their cadences and rhythms were filled with reverence and admiration.

They adored her great-great-grandmother. She had guided so many of them throughout their lives. Of course most of them considered the guidance of The Oracle predictions of things to come.

Ryekka had lost count of the number of times The Oracle had said, I don’t predict the future. I see events where the outcome can change if those involved take the steps to change them. You may have the gift of sight, Ryekka, but that does not mean you can see into the future. You must never be so arrogant as to call what you see predictions.

These words echoed in Ryekka’s mind as she moved about the Great Banquet Hall of the castle, little Sandroika at her heels. Just as Ryekka had assisted The Oracle so now Sandroika was her assistant.

Ryekka milled about the room, catching snippets from the stories.

She once told me my brother would die if I didn’t -

She said my crops would fail but there was something I could do -

Oh, yes. She absolutely predicted I would have a baby girl -

Ryekka smiled. There was no doubt in her mind that The Oracle had spoken to these people; that she had uttered words similar to what they were repeating. And that they had taken her words of advice to heart, misconstrued them as predictions instead of the advisory capacity in which they were truly spoken. None of them understood that by changing their choices leading up to the events they had changed the events themselves.

Except in the event of the baby girl. That had been nothing more than a lucky guess.

I have a half and half chance of that one being right, The Oracle had chuckled. After all, it must be one or the other.

Again Ryekka smiled. Her great-great-grandmother had relished a good deal of amusement in being The Oracle.

Ryekka’s heart was heavy with the loss of The Oracle. Yet her shoulders were also heavy with the burden before her. She, herself, was not anxious to be known as The Oracle. It was burdensome at times. She knew this because she had seen that burden many a time upon The Oracle’s face.

And now it was Ryekka’s turn to carry that burden.

Be sure, Ryekka. Be sure it is the choice you wish to make. Once you begin down that road, there is no turning back. Those were the last words The Oracle had spoken to Ryekka just before closing her eyes to begin her journey.

Ryekka sighed. It was her choice, to be sure. For now, she chose to share it with only one.

Ah, there! The twins stood in a corner of the Great Hall speaking with Sir Wolfcreed and an olive-skinned woman named Sumitri. Ryekka had heard of this woman coming from a distant land to join their Realm but had not seen her until that moment. Quite an exotic woman but she complimented Sir Wolfcreed.

Usually, wherever her mother was, so was the Princess. And it was the Princess to whom Ryekka needed to speak.

Ryekka timidly approached Barbara. Your Majesty? she said quietly.

Barbara turned. When she saw who it was she surrounded the woman with a hug. Ryekka! I am so sorry for your loss!

Ryekka awkwardly returned the hug; she wasn’t accustomed to such displays of affection from the Royal Family. Thank you, Your Majesty, she mumbled as Barbara pulled away.

Tiernan reached out and took Ryekka’s hands in her own. She will be sorely missed in this Realm, she said.

Indeed she will be missed, Ryekka agreed.

And who is this lovely young lady? Wolfcreed asked, indicating the child at Ryekka’s side. The family resemblance is amazing.

Ryekka smiled modestly though pride was evident in her voice as she said, This is my daughter, Sandroika.

Nice to meet you, Sandroika, Wolfcreed took her hand in his and kissed the back of it.

Sandroika grinned shyly but didn’t quite know what to say. She was a little waif of a girl of about ten years of age with large brown eyes and a cherubic face that glowed in the torchlight. Her braided hair was held together with red ribbons that matched her red cloak.

This is Sir Wolfcreed, Ryekka said.

Sandroika curtsied and said, Nice to meet you, Sir Wolfcreed.

Other introductions were made and Tiernan said, You do know you are welcome here anytime, Ryekka.

Ryekka bowed slightly and said, Thank you, Your Majesty. You are most kind. I wonder, though, she looked at Barbara, if I might have a word with Princess Heather?

Absolutely, Barbara said. She glanced around the Great Hall. But I have no idea where she’s gotten off to.

I think she and Lucas went to the lab, Wolfcreed said.

Oh, Barbara said. Then, oooh, dragging the word out with a little more concern. I do hope they’re not cooking up something.

You mean you hope they’re not blowing up something, Tiernan muttered.

Barbara cast her sister a withering glare as Wolfcreed said, I think they just wanted to talk, Your Majesty.

***

Heather fidgeted with the latch on the bag. She had just told Lucas about the book.

Well, not exactly. She didn’t tell him it was Ravenheart’s spell book. She’d only told him the book had called to her.

Lucas had looked at her somewhat dubiously, but he believed her. And he didn’t think she was crazy. At least, not entirely crazy.

She had fully intended to show him the book, spells, drawings and all.

But now a part of her selfishly didn’t want to.

Apparently Lucas picked up on her apprehension as he said, You don’t have to show it to me, if you don’t want to.

Heather could hear in his voice the hope that she would.

It was odd, really. It felt almost as if the book itself were determining what she did and didn’t do.

Heather would have none of that.

Her fingers were on the latch of the bag when there was a light knock on the lab door.

She quickly put the bag over her shoulder. The decision had been made for her for there was no one else to whom she would show the book.

Come in, she called out.

The door opened and Ryekka peered in. I do hope I am not interrupting anything?

No. Come in, Heather alit from the stool she was sitting on. She quickly walked to Ryekka and hugged the woman around the waist. I’m so sorry about The Oracle, Heather said, her voice muffled in Ryekka’s shoulder.

Oh, thank you, Your Highness, Ryekka said. This was the second hug she’d received from a member of the Royal Family. Perhaps this was a new custom.

As Heather pulled away from her, Ryekka said, This is my daughter. Sandroika.

Hi, Heather said.

Hello, the shy little girl responded.

Um, Your Highness, Ryekka began. I was wondering if I might speak with you. She glanced uneasily at Lucas. In private.

Heather looked apologetically at Lucas.

But Lucas took it in stride. It’s okay, he said as he slid from his stool. I need to take care of the horses anyway.

Once Lucas was gone, Ryekka looked remorsefully at Heather. I do apologize, Your Highness. But what I have to tell you is for your ears only.

She looked at Ryekka for a moment. What is it you have to tell me?

Ryekka glanced around the lab. May Sandroika sit at the table, Your Highness? I wish for her to record what I say.

Heather frowned. Sure, but why - She remembered then hearing about how Ryekka had written down everything The Oracle said in order to make a record of it. Oh, she said rather shortly as she realized what Ryekka meant. Of course.

Ryekka assisted her young daughter in getting onto one of the stools at the table. Then she took out a roll of parchment, a quill pen and an inkwell from her cloak. These items she placed upon the table before Sandroika.

The small child was now in her element. She removed the cap from the inkwell, unrolled the parchment and dipped the end of the quill pen into the ink. She sat, poised to write.

With no further preamble, Ryekka began.

"Our daily lives are filled with choices to be made. We make each choice, hoping it to be the best choice. Sometimes, the best choice is not always the right choice. And sometimes, the right choice is not always the best choice.

All choices have their consequences. You have already embarked upon a path with many difficult choices, each choice with many consequences: consequences to yourself. And to those you love.

Here Ryekka glanced at the bag on Heather’s shoulder.

It is both burden and gift that you carry, Ryekka continued. "One can be as heavy as the other. Both affect the choices you must make from this point forward. None of the choices you face will be easy. But they are choices that must be made.

All your choices will lead you to the ultimate choice. You will face the choice of making a sacrifice. But the sacrifice must be your choice. It must be a choice you make willingly.

Sandroika finished writing everything her mother had said. She softly blew on the parchment to dry the ink. She rolled the parchment and handed it to Heather.

Can you tell me what it is I must sacrifice? Heather asked anxiously as she accepted the parchment.

No. That I cannot tell you, Ryekka said. I do know it will be a choice that will cause you great torment. It will be a sacrifice you will not wish to make. But the choice to make the sacrifice or not is yours.

Heather could not begin to fathom what such a choice would be. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Heather looked up at Ryekka. "So are you The Oracle now?

Yes, Ryekka said and sighed. "But I don’t want that to be common knowledge just yet. I will earn that title soon enough and eventually no one will remember my name.

Heather smiled up at her. I’ll always remember it, Ryekka.

Chapter 3

She sniffed the air.

It had been a while since she’d eaten and hunger gnawed at her empty belly.

The bright light was gone from the door. The door still stood ajar, silhouetted against a lighter darkness.

She walked on all fours as a dog would walk or a bear. She had to walk this way; the low ceiling of the place she’d dwelt in for so long didn’t allow her the luxury of standing upright.

She inched her way to the door; cautious, careful. The inflictor of pain could be standing just outside that door waiting to make her scream for mercy.

She wanted no more pain.

But she must have food.

She squatted there at the door, listening, sniffing.

Food was cooking somewhere. Her stomach growled in response.

She inched closer to the door, to where the door stood about an inch or so ajar, the point where the blinding light normally crept in. She sniffed at the opening.

Her stomach growled again and this time her mouth watered at the scent. She recognized it: someone was cooking beef. The smell of the roasting meat made her groan in echo to her growling stomach. She wrestled for some time between her fear of exposure and potential punishment and her desire to hunt down the food. The fear of retribution was a strong weapon used against her for such a long time it had become an ingrained, conditioned response.

But the hunger was a primordial instinct: a survival instinct embedded within all living things since time immemorial.

She inched her nose into the opening between the door and the jamb and took a long whiff.

Hunger won out but she restrained the impulse to charge out the door at that moment. She used her shoulder to edge the door open a little further, testing to see if anyone responded.

There was no response.

She continued inching the door open a little at a time until she could turn her head around the edge of the door completely.

All around the door lay rubble; scattered stone and glass covered the ground around her dwelling, but her dwelling remained standing. She seemed to have a vague memory of being underground. But her exile had jumbled her memories somehow: they lay in confused disarray within her mind, just as scattered as the rubble upon the ground.

She craned her neck up and saw sky: a dark night sky filled with stars and a moon. When was the last time she had seen that?

An image flashed through her mind: quick, intense. She cried out and hastily retreated a few inches, then was as still as possible.

The image was a memory. The inflictor of pain inflicting the pain and even the memory of pain was painful.

She gasped for breath instinctively knowing a memory could not inflict physical pain but dreading the memory anyway.

That smell of food again, wafting on the breeze.

She summoned all her courage which was fed by her hunger. She propelled her body forward toward the door, through the door, beyond the door. She managed to get several feet away from the door when everything hit her. Every memory she had ever had, suppressed as long as she remained within the dwelling, hit her head-on with full force.

She wailed, one long lungful of air pushing her cries from her body. She fell onto her side, curling into the fetal position still wailing and when that wail was finished, she took in another lungful of air and wailed again.

She did this for some time as the barrage of memories assailed her, their attack causing her physical as well as mental anguish.

Images, fast and furious, flashed through her mind.

A small boy.

Her father.

The inflictor of pain.

A dark cell.

The man she loved.

A necklace with a black stone.

Her sister.

Back to the small boy: her son.

She writhed on the ground, turning this way and that, desperately trying to get away from the images that tormented her, mind, body and soul.

When at last the images stopped she lay upon the ground, panting, sweat upon her brow.

The last memory to assault her was an image she had seen often in her prison, for she now realized it was a prison she had been in for a very long time. The memory had been the object of her love, her hate, her vengeance and her salvation on many long dark nights: and it is always night in a windowless cell.

This was the memory that had lulled her to sleep and had her crawling around her cell in agitation; had her howling in misery and crying with desire.

That single memory, above all others, had the power to sustain her and to destroy her.

Retribution raced alongside forgiveness through her veins.

She shuddered as a light breeze flowed over her, chilling the sweat on her brow.

She was in the present, aware and coherent. She was aware her clothing was nothing but rags barely covering her body. And she was aware that she could do something about that.

She was aware that she wanted something. More importantly, she knew exactly what it was she wanted and how to get it.

She began to laugh, a low guttural sound deep within her throat. It was the laugh of a madwoman who had seen sanity for the first time.

The sound of her own voice as she spoke stunned her but the single word she spoke was the one word that held sway over her; was the one word that strengthened her resolve and weakened her desire to see her resolve through. But it was the word foremost in her mind throughout the years and years and it was the word that came to her lips now:

Mother.

She stood.

Chapter 4

Heather curled up in her bed, her solar lamp on beside her on the nightstand table.

As she had done almost every night since their return, she slowly turned the pages of the spell book.

Elder had taken her under his knot - in a manner of speaking - to mentor her in the magic of the Grifflestump. She could cast enchantments. With practice her ability to move things improved. She had learned to transport herself from one place to another and could still become invisible.

She was a bright child with a high aptitude. She’d been excited to learn she had the gift of magic and it had certainly come in handy to rescue her mother and conquer Ravenheart.

But she quickly became bored with what she considered parlor tricks. Being able to transport herself from one side of the Tilk Realm to the other simply wasn’t enough. Heather wanted to learn more.

The spell book fascinated her. Its ink drawings of amulets and bottled potions with lists of ingredients, history and purposes written in flowing calligraphy were beautiful to look at and exotic to read. The book was filled with spells and curses written in that flowing calligraphy with lots of thees and thous and shalts scattered throughout.

Of course with titles such as The Death Spell, The Statue Spell, and Frog Plague Heather didn’t dare read any of them aloud.

She was able to perform magic by thinking about it. And the first time she’d read The Death Spell she’d slammed the book closed and thrust it beneath her pillow terrified she’d made the spell happen just by reading it to herself. When no one close to her turned up dead, she figured the spells must require more finesse than simply reading them to herself to make them work.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

As a precautionary measure, she didn’t read the spells anymore. Just looked at the drawings and the calligraphy.

She still didn’t understand why she’d been compelled to take it. Or the choker. Or why she felt the need to keep those items close to her at all times.

She hadn’t been to her lab in months, except to work on the lamps and clean the cobwebs. It wasn’t that science no longer interested her. But this magic stuff was kind of like science. The only difference was she didn’t understand the magic. Which made it all the more fascinating.

There was a light knock on her door.

Heather quickly closed the book and tucked it beneath her pillow.

Come in, she called.

Barbara opened the door just wide enough to look in. Ready for bed?

Mm hmm, Heather nodded.

Don’t stay up too late reading, Barbara said. We have an early day tomorrow.

Heather smiled wanly. Okay, Mom.

Good night, Barbara smiled sadly at her daughter.

Good night, Mom.

As Barbara closed the door and continued down the corridor to her own room, Heather knew she wasn’t fooling her mother.

For a while after their return, Barbara had grilled Heather about the book. But when her repeated demands to see the book were refused, she’d finally dropped the matter altogether.

Which was another thing Heather didn’t understand.

She didn’t want to show her mother the book.

With a sigh, Heather replaced the book into the bag and tried to sleep.

Chapter 5

She had eaten, bathed and gotten herself new clothes: all black, of course. Naturally, she had procured it all with magic. No one here was the wiser.

No one here knew who she was.

That was fine. None of these people mattered.

She had spent a few days sorting through her memories trying to determine which ones went where. It was as though her time spent in the cell had short-circuited her memory board, bent time around her memories so that she had difficulty placing the where and the when of things.

Of course, that’s probably how the inflictor wanted it.

She should have known better than to trust him.

But once she had processed the deluge of information she had received she knew then what she wanted to do and where she needed to go.

Home.

***

Wwwooow, Heather said, her head bent back as far as it would go. And still she was barely able to see the top of the Griffle tree.

Amazing, isn’t it? Barbara said her own head bent back looking upward.

I’ll say, Heather said. They look a lot like those huge Redwoods in California that I’ve seen in books. Except they’re more knobby than those.

Knotty, Elder said.

Heather looked down at him as she rubbed the back of her neck. What? she said.

Those knobs are actually knots, Elder explained congenially. Therefore, the trees are knotty.

Heather giggled. For just a second there, I thought you said naughty.

Elder tilted his head first one way then the other. Since both words had similar pronunciations, he seemed a bit confused. Isn’t that what I said? he asked.

No, I said naughty. N-A-U-G-H-T-Y, Heather spelled out the word.

Ah, Elder said. And what I said was K-N-O-T-T-Y.

Right. So will all the knots in a Griffle tree become Grifflestumps?

Not all, Elder said. Some do not achieve enough maturity to be borne when the tree falls, I’m afraid.

How mature do they have to be? Heather asked.

At least fifty and seven years old, Elder said.

Heather furrowed her brow. But aren’t all knots in the same tree the same age? she asked.

Not always, Elder said. Each knot in a Griffle tree grows at a different rate. It is nature’s way of checks and balances. He chuckled. We don’t want to be overrun with Grifflestumps, but we don’t want to become extinct either.

Isn’t this the tree I woke up in? Barbara asked. She answered her own question before Elder could. Yeah, this is the one. She pointed to a limb about four free above the ground. That’s the very limb I slept on.

It certainly is, Elder said.

You’re not taking out this tree are you, Elder? Heather asked, shifting the bag on her shoulder.

Oh, heavens, no, Your Highness, he said. This tree is only a few hundred years old. Hundreds of good years left in it! The tree we seek is well over a thousand years old. It’s on the outer edge of the forest. If you’ll come with me.

Heather looked behind her. Aunt Tiernan! she called. "Do you and Windshadow want to see?

Windshadow and Tiernan spoke in hushed whispers apart from Barbara and Heather. At Heather’s call Windshadow looked at Tiernan. I would actually like to see this.

Tiernan smiled and said, Let’s go.

They followed Elder on this most illustrious spring day. A beautiful azure sky looked down upon them and the warm sun sifted its light through the trees, winking off leaves and trunks.

The tree that stood on the outer edge of the forest was surrounded by other Grifflestumps awaiting the arrival of Elder.

Do you see the knots on this Griffle tree, Your Highness? he asked Heather.

Heather looked up at the expansive tree. Oh, wow, was all she could say. A number of knots in this tree were larger than others she had seen, round and protruding, almost as if they were pregnant.

The size of those knots indicates they are ready to be born into this world. We will create the conduit through which they will be born.

So you’re like doctors in a way, Heather said.

Elder chuckled. If that is how you would like to think of us, yes, I suppose we are doctors.

So, Heather looked up at the tree. Does that mean you’ll be cutting down this tree?

Elder’s eyebrows arched. Cutting it down? Oh, heavens, no. The tree itself will undergo a rebirth.

Heather looked at Elder, her eyes widening. What kind of rebirth?

Stand back and watch, Princess.

Heather backed away from the tree as did everyone else.

The only person who knew what to expect was Tiernan for she had seen the birth of Grifflestumps before. A little further back than this everyone, she said as she took several more steps back from the tree. She stopped abruptly, Windshadow gently running into her. She placed both of her hands around his bicep and said, with amusement in her voice, Okay. This is good.

Windshadow looked at her and grinned, his face blushing pink.

Elder joined his Grifflestump brothers around the tree. They stood as still as wooden statues. Then Elder shouted, Stand!

As one, the dozen or so Grifflestumps around the tree stood on their back legs, stretching their four front legs above them.

They began to chant words the others didn’t comprehend. As they chanted the tree began to shrink. As the tree shrank the knots retained their original size.

Creaking and cracking sounds issued from the tree as it compressed: the more it shrank the louder and more frequent the creaking and cracking.

Once the tree had diminished to about the size of a pine tree, the knots fell off one by one. The tree itself receded until it was no bigger than a sapling.

The tree just grows again? Heather asked with wonder.

Yes, it does.

But how –

Heather stopped when the knots began rolling around. Everyone was glued to the spot watching these knots acclimate themselves to their surroundings.

With a crack! and a snap! one of the knots popped open. Out fell a miniature Grifflestump no bigger than a newborn kitten. The baby Grifflestump walked over to stand before Elder. I am two hundred sixty two, he announced in a high squeaky voice.

Another knot burst forth spilling another newborn Grifflestump to the ground. This baby Grifflestump followed the first to stand before Elder. "I am two hundred