“That can’t be, Basil,” he said. “If they were waiting for the sun to go down, they wouldn’t have needed this.”
The high scout tossed the torch to the runecaster.
Basil caught the stave. “Oh, dear.”
“Perhaps it stays open only during twilight,” Galgadayle suggested. “If they arrived during the night after twilight, then they would have had to wait until the next evening.”
Tavis scraped more snow away from the fire circle, then pointed to the charred stubs of a dozen thick logs. “When was the last time you saw a tree?”
The seer shrugged. “A tenday ago?”
“So Lanaxis carried this wood across the Bleak Plain,” Tavis said. “He planned to arrive after dark.”
“Which would imply the vale opens at dawn,” Basil said. “But that makes no sense for a place of perpetual twilight.”
“Maybe it does.”
Tavis climbed the crater wall, using Sky Cleaver’s shaft as a walking stick. When he reached the rim, he found Orisino and the other verbeegs cautiously stealing forward to look into the basin. The scout cast a warning glare at the chieftain, then fixed his gaze on the ground and started to count the number of paces between them.
Orisino gave him a sneering smile and slowly backed away.
When Basil and Galgadayle climbed out of the crater, Tavis asked, “Can you move that light over the rift, Basil?”
“Of course.” The runecaster pointed a finger at the glowing sphere and whispered, “Move.”
Basil swung his crooked digit toward the rift, and the silvery snowball drifted into place. Tavis went to the end of the crevice and knelt in the snow, sighting down the entire length of the fissure. As he suspected, the snowpack sloped away from the dark line ever so gently.
“The snow is higher along the rift,” Tavis reported. “The sun never shines on it, so it melts more slowly.”
“Yes-now I see!”
In his excitement, Basil tried to approach Tavis and collided with Galgadayle, who, as he had promised, remained between the scout and the runecaster. Basil scowled briefly, then seemed to realize what was going on and backed away.
He continued his explanation without complaint: “As she was dying, Othea told Lanaxis, ‘Already I have laid my curse upon you… Can you not feel my shadow? When I leave here, it shall remain behind.’ ”
“And there can be no shadow without the sun,” surmised Galgadayle.
“Exactly,” Basil said. “The vale opens in the morning, when Othea’s shadow first touches it. It doesn’t close until evening, when the dusk shadows take the place of the goddess’s. That way, the valley always remains in shadow; it never knows the light of day, or the dark of night.”
“So it’s always in twilight,” Tavis surmised.
“Yes… precisely.” Basil’s tone was absentminded. He turned toward Othea Tor, at the same time swinging his glowing snowball toward the goddess’s head. “I wonder…”
The runecaster let his sentence trail off and said nothing more, lost deep in thought.
“You wonder what, Basil?” Tavis asked.
The old verbeeg smiled broadly. Then, speaking to himself as though the others were not there, he uttered, “By Stronmaus, I think it might work!”
“What, Basil?” Tavis stepped toward the runecaster, only to find Galgadayle scowling down at him. He remembered himself and clutched the axe more tightly, then peered around the seer’s flank. “What might work?”
The runecaster smiled broadly. “What do you suppose would happen if tomorrow after the vale opens, you used Sky Cleaver to split Othea Tor down the center?” Without awaiting a reply, he answered his own question, “The vale would have its first sunrise in thousands of years!”
“Or it would close instantly,” Tavis countered. “I’d never reach Brianna.”
“That’s a possibility, of course, but I don’t think so.” Despite his assertion, Basil appeared far from certain. “The key must be different shadows; once Othea’s shadow opens the vale, it’ll stay open until dusk. Then it will close and, assuming we have cleaved the tor correctly, it will never open again.”
Tavis shook his head resolutely. “If you’re wrong, Brianna will be trapped forever.”
“He can’t be wrong!” Galgadayle sounded as excited as Basil. “As I recall, the titan is no friend of sunlight.”
Tavis backed away, raising Sky Cleaver and holding it between them. “What else would you say?” he snapped. “Nothing would please you more than to see the rift slam shut forever, with Kaedlaw and Brianna trapped inside.”
Galgadayle’s hurt showed even through his frozen flesh. “Before we became friends, perhaps-but not now. No one hopes that my vision can be changed more strongly than I do. And, more importantly, I know how much you need Brianna. If you cannot control Sky Cleaver, what Kaedlaw wreaks on the world will pale by comparison to the evil you unleash.”
More than anything, Tavis wanted to hear Galgadayle’s voice break, to hear the telltale squeal of a lie and know that the seer was trying to manipulate him. But Galgadayle’s voice remained steady and deep. The scout could only conclude that it was Sky Cleaver, not the firbolg, trying to manipulate him, to undermine the only power in the world that could save the One Wielder from himself: his true friends.
Tavis lowered his axe. “If you think that’s best. All I ask is that you do everything you can to be certain of yourselves.”
Basil’s glance drifted to the axe, and a hungry gleam came into his ancient eyes. “If you want to be certain, we could use Sky Cleaver’s power.”
Tavis shook his head. “No, there are some things better left to the judgment of friends.” The high scout turned away from Basil’s shining snowball and studied the stars until he found the Midnight Circle, high overhead. “We have about six hours until dawn, Galgadayle. Is that enough time for me to learn how to change sizes?”
“It should be plenty, even with the disadvantages of your upbringing,” the seer replied. “I have taught the technique to children in six minutes.”
Tavis glanced back toward the verbeegs. They were standing twenty paces down the rift, near the drumlin upon which the high scout had been sitting earlier. Their hungry eyes were locked on Sky Cleaver’s dark blade, and Orisino’s cold-burned lips were silently moving to the half-remembered syllables of the axe’s ancient summoning call.
Tavis looked back to Galgadayle. “Now’s as good a time as any to teach me, as long I won’t be impaired.”
“You might feel a little dizzy as you grow larger.” The seer glanced toward the verbeegs. “But I doubt Orisino or his warriors will dare approach when they realize you’re big enough to swing Sky Cleaver. I suggest you lay aside anything you don’t want to grow with you. Whatever you’re touching when you start the process will grow larger along with you.”
Tavis glanced down at Sky Cleaver. Something inside whispered not to set the weapon aside, that Galgadayle was only trying to trick him and steal it.
The high scout dropped the axe at his feet. “I’m ready.”
The seer glanced at the weapon, then nodded and smiled. “I believe you are,” he said. “Now, changing sizes is basically a breathing exercise. You start by exhaling slowly, then draw a deep breath and hold it.”
Tavis filled his lungs with icy air.
“Look inward and see yourself growing larger,” the seer instructed. “Sometimes it helps to close one’s eyes, but that’s not necessary-especially if it’s going to make you worry about what you’re not holding.”
Tavis closed his eyes.
“Good,” Galgadayle said. “Exhale again, but don’t open your mouth. Blow the air out of your lungs into the rest of your body, and you’ll start to grow.”
Tavis tried to do as the seer instructed, but the air came rushing out his nose.
“That’s okay,” Galgadayle said. “You’re not really blowing yourself up-it’s only one way to visualize the change. Try again, and push your tongue back to block your throat. It’ll help you seal off not only the air passage, but the energy channels as well.”
Tavis took another frigid breath, held it, and pushed his tongue to the back of his throat. He tried to exhale. He felt a terrible pressure inside his chest, and it seemed his sternum would crack under the strain. An instant later, the force simply melted away. His torso felt strangely hollow, then his entire body swelled up, not with air, but with muscle and bone. The One Wielder heard Basil’s voice, and something dark and sinister whispered that the runecaster might be calling Sky Cleaver.