“Him awake now,” Bupu announced complacently, dropping the bucket.
While drying his clothes, Caramon sat and studied the trees, his face drawn with the pain of his memories. Finally, heaving a sigh, he dressed, checked his weapons, then stood up. Instantly, Tasslehoff was right next to him.
“Let’s go!” he said eagerly.
Caramon stopped. “Into the Forest? he asked in a hopeless voice.
“Well, of course!” Tas said, startled. “Where else?
Caramon scowled, then sighed, then shook his head. “No, Tas,” he said gruffly. “You stay here with Lady Crysania. Now, look,” he said in answer to the kender’s indignant squawk of protest, “I’m just going into the Forest for a little ways—to, er, check it out.”
“You think there’s something in there, don’t you?” Tas accused the big man. “That’s why you’re making me stay out! You’ll go in there and there’ll be a big fight. You’ll probably kill it, and I’ll miss the whole thing!”
“I doubt that,” Caramon muttered. Glancing into the fog-ridden Forest apprehensively, he tightened his sword belt.
“At least you might tell me what you think it is,” Tas said. “And, say, Caramon, what am I supposed to do if it kills you? Can I go in then?How long should I wait? Could it kill you in—say—five minutes? Ten? Not that I think it will,” he added hastily, seeing Caramon’s eyes widen. “But I really should know, I mean, since you’re leaving me in charge.”
Bupu studied the slovenly warrior speculatively. “Me say—two minutes. It kill him in two minutes. You make bet’?” She looked at Tas.
Caramon glared grimly at both of them, then heaved another sigh. Tas was only being logical, after all.
“I’m not sure what to expect,” Caramon muttered. “I—I remember last time, we... we met this thing... a wraith. It—Raist...” Caramon fell silent. “I don’t know what you should do,” he said after a moment. Shoulders slumping, he turned away and began to walk slowly toward the Forest. “The best you can, I guess.”
“I got nice snake here, me say he last two minutes,” Bupu said to Tas, rummaging around in her bag. “What stakes you put Up?
“Shhhh,” Tas said softly, watching Caramon walk away. Then, shaking his head, he scooted over to sit beside Crysania, who lay on the ground, her sightless eyes staring up at the sky. Gently, Tas drew the cleric’s white hood over her head, shading her from the sun’s rays. He had tried unsuccessfully to shut those staring eyes, but it was as if her flesh had turned to marble.
Raistlin seemed to walk beside Caramon every step of the way into the Forest. The warrior could almost hear the soft whisper of his brother’s red robes—they had been red then! He could hear his brother’s voice—always gentle, always soft, but with that faint hiss of sarcasm that grated so on their friends. But it had never bothered Caramon. He had understood—or anyway thought he had.
The trees in the Forest suddenly shifted at Caramon’s approach, just as they had shifted at the kender’s approach.
Just as they shifted when we approached... how many years ago, Caramon thought. Seven? Has it only been seven years? No, he realized sadly. It’s been a lifetime, a lifetime for both of us.
As Caramon came to the edge of the wood, the mist flowed out along the ground, chilling his ankles with a cold that seared through flesh and bit into bone. The trees stared at him, their branches writhing in agony. He remembered the tortured woods of Silvanesti, and that brought more memories of his brother. Caramon stood still a moment, looking into the Forest. He could see the dark and shadowy shapes waiting for him. And there was no Raistlin to keep them at bay. Not this time.
“I was never afraid of anything until I entered the Forest of Wayreth,” Caramon said to himself softly. “I only went in last time because you were with me, my brother. Your courage alone kept me going. How can I go in there now without you? It’s magic. I don’t understand magic! I can’t fight it! What hope is there?” Caramon put his hands over his eyes to blot out the hideous sight. “I can’t go in there,” he said wretchedly. “It’s too much to ask of me!”
Pulling his sword from its sheath, he held it out. His hand shook so he nearly dropped the weapon. “Hah!” he said bitterly. “See? I couldn’t fight a child. This is too much to ask. No hope. There is no hope...”
“It is easy to have hope in the spring, warrior, when the weather is warm and the vallenwoods are green. It is easy to have hope in the summer, when the vallenwoods glitter with gold. It is easy to have hope in the fall when the vallenwoods are as red as living blood. But in the winter, when the air is sharp and bitter and the skies are gray, does the vallenwood die, warrior?”
“Who spoke?” Caramon cried, staring around wildly, clutching his sword in his trembling hand.
“What does the vallenwood do in the winter, warrior, when all is dark and even the ground is frozen? It digs deep, warrior. It sends its roots down, down, into the soil, down to the warm heart of the world. There, deep within, the vallenwood finds nourishment to help it survive the darkness and the cold, so that it may bloom again in the spring.”
“So?” Caramon asked suspiciously, backing up a step and looking around.
“So you stand in the darkest winter of your life, warrior. And so you must dig deep to find the warmth and the strength that will help you survive the bitter cold and the terrible darkness. No longer do you have the bloom of spring or the vigor of summer. You must find the strength you need in your heart, in your soul. Then, like the vallenwoods, you will grow once more.”
“Your words are pretty—” Caramon began, scowling, distrusting this talk of spring and trees. But he could not finish, his breath caught in his throat.
The Forest was changing before his eyes.
The twisting, writhing trees straightened as he watched, lifting their limbs to the skies, growing, growing, growing. He bent his head back so far he nearly lost his balance, but still he couldn’t see their tops. They were vallenwood trees! Just like those in Solace before the coming of the dragons. As he watched in awe, he saw dead limbs burst into life—green buds sprouted, burst open, blossomed into green glistening leaves that turned summer gold—seasons changing as he drew a shivering breath.
The noxious fog vanished, replaced by a sweet fragrance drifting from beautiful flowers that twined among the roots of the vallenwoods. The darkness in the forest vanished, the sun shed its bright light upon the swaying trees. And as the sunlight touched the trees’ leaves, the calls of birds filled the perfumed air.