"I think the bells sound if you step on the wrong tiles," Tal said slowly, as he thought it out. "Maybe," said Crow. "Let's see…"
He leaned forward and lightly pressed a white tile with his finger. Nothing happened. Crow pressed a little harder. Still nothing.
"Now the red," he said, transferring his finger to the closest red tile.
As his finger touched, a silver hand above twitched slightly, and the bell above rang--a tiny, hesitant ring.
"So the red tiles sound the bells," agreed Crow. They both looked across at the floor. The arrangement of the tiles seemed haphazard, but now they realized that it would be almost impossible to reach the plinth. The individual tiles weren't big enough to get more than most of one foot on, and the red tiles were cleverly distributed so that there were more of them the closer you got to the plinth, and the white tiles too far apart to stretch.
"There must be a way to silence the tree," said Crow.
Tal shrugged. "The proper words, or proper light. But the wrong thing would set them all going."
Crow looked up at the tree, then down at the floor, and finally at Tal.
"You're lighter than me," he said. "I reckon I can stand just inside on those two white tiles, and boost you up to that branch. Then all you have to do is grab any bell that I might set off."
"That's all!" protested Tal. He looked at the crystal tree dubiously. If it was like the ones in the Crystal Wood it would be quite strong enough to climb. But it would also be very easy to fall off it, or cut himself on the narrower branches.
"Do you have a better idea?"
"I could have another try," said Adras, who was still rubbing his head.
"No," said Tal. "I don't have a better idea."
Even without a better idea, they still walked around and checked the other three entrances, to see if either the tree or the floor looked different or easier to move across.
They didn't, so Tal, Crow, and Adras returned to the western arch. The sun had set completely, but the walkway was lit by the Red light that spilled out from under the dome and through the arches.
The brightest light came from the Red Keystone. It shone between the silver hands on the plinth, pulsating with the uncanny and disturbing rhythm of a human heart.
One that was beating a lot slower than Tal's. "Ready?" asked Crow.
Tal nodded.
Crow backed up to the arch, and then stepped back, craning his head. Keeping his toe pointed, his foot just fit within the confines of one white tile.
Both boys held their breath. But no bell sounded, no light flashed.
Crow stepped back with his other foot. For a moment it looked like he would lose his balance. He swayed and then recovered, cupping his hands so Tal could use them as a foothold.
Adras helped him, being careful not to step too close.
Held high outside by Adras, Tal put his foot in Crow's hands and ducked under the arch. Adras was still holding the back of his shirt.
"Now!" cried Tal.
Adras let go, Crow jerked his hands up, and Tal pushed.
He went flying toward the ceiling and the closest branch.
It seemed farther away than it had from outside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Milla woke in a dream. She knew it was a dream because she was standing with one foot on the bowsprit of a speeding ice-ship, the wind whistling through her hair. Sunstone light spilled on the ground ahead, and the ship bucked and rolled as its runners met uneven ice.
Just ahead Milla could see a great roiling mass of Slepenish, breaking through the ice. Small icebergs bobbed and splintered as the millions and millions of Slepenish turned the ice into open sea.
The ice-ship was heading straight for the hole in the ice and certain destruction. Yet it was not too late for the ship to turn, if only a warning was given.
Milla tried to shout, but no sound came out of her mouth. She tried to wave her arms in warning, but they would not move.
She didn't mind meeting her end in the freezing water, but she didn't want to take a whole ice-ship full of her people with her. Even in a dream.
A hand touched her shoulder. With it came freedom. Milla turned, meeting a Crone's silver gaze.
The Crone nodded.
"Ware water!" Milla shouted. "Turn aside! Turn aside!"
She was still shouting the warning when she woke up.
The same Crone she had seen in her dream was leaning over her. Behind her Milla could see the golden sheen of the metal walls of the Ruin Ship.
She had made it, and she wasn't dead. The Crone had brought her back.
"Do not try to get up," the Crone warned. "You were far gone in the Tenth Pattern. You will be weak for some days."
"I must tell the Crone Mother," whispered Milla. "Shadows. Aenir. The veil."
"We know," soothed the Crone. "You told me while you were still in the Pattern. And we have walked in your mind while you slept."
Milla nodded. Now she was done. The Crones knew what they must know.
"I will go to the Ice," she said. "I have the strength for that."
The Crone shook her head.
"You may not go to the Ice. At least not yet. Both you and your shadow companion must first be judged, when you are strong enough to bear the weight of whatever judgment is passed."
"There is no need for judgment," said Milla weakly. "I lost my shadow. I brought a free shadow from the Castle and…"
She frowned as dim memories came swirling in. "Did I fight the Shield Maidens?"
"Yes," said the Crone calmly.
"Arla…" whispered Milla. "I seem to remember .."
"The Shield Mother is dead," said the Crone bluntly. "She died with a knife in hand, as she would have wished. Yet perhaps she was always too ready with her knife, instead of words."
"I… I killed Arla?"
Milla's head fell back. She had only flashes of memory since emerging from the heatways. Now one fragment was clear in her head. The strange nail on her hand, sweeping across Arla's stomach.
"It was not a fair fight," she said, the words choking her. She raised her hand to show the strange, Sunstone-flecked fingernail of Violet crystal. "I had Chosen magic."
The Crone shook her head.
"It was not a trial combat, so why should it be fair? Besides, Arla was a Shield Mother, stronger a
nd more experienced than you. And that strange nail is not Chosen magic."
"What is it?" asked Milla, her voice husky, already fading as she struggled to stay conscious.
"It is ours," said the Crone. "One of two made for Danir long ago. One she kept, and one she gave away. Both have been lost for more than a thousand circlings."
Milla heard the Crone's voice getting farther and farther away. She tried to answer, but could not. Unconsciousness claimed her.
When she came to, there were three different Crones in her room, and several Shield Maidens.
"The Crone Mother of the Ruin Ship has decreed you will be judged," said the eldest, milky-eyed Crone. "Are you strong enough to bear whatever your fate may be?"
Milla nodded. She was unable to speak and she couldn't look at the Shield Maidens. They clustered close as she shakily stood up, their hands on their knife hilts.
"Follow me," said the older Crone. She pulled back the curtain of furs and led Milla out. The other Crones fell in behind, but a Shield Maiden remained on either side of Milla.
It was a slow progress. Milla had never felt so exhausted. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other, but somehow she managed to keep going. The Shield Maidens stopped when she stopped, but at no time did they or the Crones offer to help her.
Finally, they came to a wide door, the furs already pulled aside. The Crones went in with Milla. The Shield Maidens did not. They pulled the fur curtain across as soon as the last Crone passed.
Milla's eyes had been firmly on her own feet all the way. Now she slowly raised her head.
They had come to a huge room, as large as the Hall of Reckoning. But this room was almost empty, a great chamber of gleaming golden metal walls, ceiling, and floor. There were no Sunstones present, but hundreds of lanterns burning Selski oil were set in concentric rings around the single item of furniture in the whole hall--a tall chair of white bone, that stood in the center of the room.
Milla was led to it and sat down. The two younger Crones tied her wrists and ankles to the chair with strips of Wreska-hide. The bonds were tight and the knots strong.