There was no way to make sense of what he was being told. Pen could not decide if he was about to make a good or a bad decision. He could not read the consequences clearly.

–Are you afraid?–

–Yes–

–Fear for yourself has no place in what you would do. Your fear must be for your aunt if you are to save her. A darkwand is born of fear for another’s safety. A darkwand responds to selfless need. Do you wish to save your aunt?–

He swallowed hard. –I do–

–Then no sacrifice is too great, even that of your own life–

–Is that what is required?–

–What is required should not matter. Do you wish to proceed?–

He took a deep, steadying breath. Did he? How great a risk was he taking? Things weren’t working out the way he had expected. The King of the Silver River had told him he must persuade the tanequil to his cause. But the tanequil didn’t seem interested in being persuaded to anything. It seemed to have already made its decision, and what mattered now was how far Pen was willing to go to allow that decision to be implemented.

It was like being trapped in a cave with no light and having to find his way in darkness. There might be pits into which he could fall, and he had no way of knowing where they were.

–Do you wish me to give you what you came for, Penderrin?–

He closed his eyes. –I do–

–Then rise and come to me. Walk to me and place your hands on my body–

He opened his eyes and saw that the tiny roots had withdrawn once more, then rose and moved over to stand before the tree. Gingerly, he pressed his palms against its massive, rough trunk.

–Climb up into me–

He found handholds in the bark and began to climb. It was easier than he would have expected. The bark was strong and did not break off. The effort was considerable, but eventually he reached the lower branches and from there was able to continue on up through the sprawl of limbs as if climbing a ladder. He wasn’t sure how high he was supposed to go, and so kept looking for some indication of where he was to stop. But he was deep within the canopy of the tree, its leaves forming a thick curtain about him, before it spoke to him again.

–Stop–

He stopped climbing and looked around. He was at a junction of branches where deep fissures had split the tree’s trunk, forming crevices and boles in which birds or small animals might nest. The fissures were old, and in the wounds that had healed the skin had grown back over the soft heartwood, the bark wrapped about the openings anew.

–Look up–

He did so, turning his gaze skyward to the sea of limbs and leaves that spread away overhead.

–Reach up–