Windblowne Part 16

"Well?" asked Oliver.

"Remarkable," said Great-uncle Gilbert with a sniff.

"Never have I seen such a potent specimen of oak." This admission seemed pulled from him with great difficulty.

"I have more," said Oliver. "I got them from a world where the oaks were twice as higha""

But the old man was in motion again. The branch had disappeared somewhere within his robes, and he and his walking stick were barreling through the desert.

Oliver caught up and panted alongside his great-uncle. Great-uncle Gilbert seemed to know exactly where he was going, but Oliver felt as lost as he had when he landed on the world with only one moon. He turned around and around until the twisted little oaks snapped into place like the majestic trees of the other Windblownes. It wasn't easy, but soon he had a map of his own Windblowne. He knew where they were and where they were headinga"to his great-uncle's oak, or rather, the oak that held his treehouse in the other Windblownes.

"So you've got the branches. Now you can fix the kite, right?"

"Only partly," huffed Great-uncle Gilbert. His voice did not sound quite so rude. "Nothing can be done about the rips in its sails. I have no silk."

"Wait," said Oliver. This time his great-uncle waited. Oliver rummaged again. He produced the silken half-tail that Ilia had given him. He had promised Ilia that he would give it to her Oliver, but this was a special situation.

Great-uncle Gilbert accepted the tail without s.n.a.t.c.hing or yanking. He appraised it carefully. He coughed and puffed for a minute, then patted Oliver on the head. "Well done," he said, and the tail went away somewhere in his robes, too.

"Soa"you can fix the kite?" Oliver demanded for the third time.

"Possibly," said Great-uncle Gilbert, taking off again. "There is a sickness that infects these samples." He twirled a finger in his hair. "Still, there may be a way around that problem."

Oliver had the impression that his great-uncle had not fully considered the implications of repairing the kite. The old man had the mildest expression on his face, as though he were simply enjoying a midsummer dash. Meanwhile, a thousand miles of howling h.e.l.l-world loomed emptily in all directions. Oliver reminded himself that his great-uncle was mad.

Gently, he said, "So Lord Gilbert trapped you here. But we can escape once the kite is fixed."

Oliver seemed to have earned a little grudging respect, for his great-uncle answered in a way that suggested normal conversation.

"Unfortunately for you," he said with a smile as they wound their way across the rocky slope, "even if I can repair my dear little kite, it will not be able to fly you out. The night winds on this world are not strong enough. There's no leaving here!"

Not only did Great-uncle Gilbert not seem upset about the prospect of being trapped in the h.e.l.l-world, he seemed oddly cheerful about it. Oliver started to feel less gentle and more irate. "Aren't you worried about spending the rest of your life imprisoned in a h.e.l.l-world?"

Great-uncle Gilbert cackled. "A h.e.l.l-world? I suppose that old fool did see it that way. But my dear boy, I am not imprisoned. I like it here!"

Oliver looked around. He saw desert landscape, endless sand, and distant dust devils roaring across the parched landscape. "How could you like it? Don't you miss the oaks?"

"Miss them?" cried Great-uncle Gilbert. "Why ever would I! They're all around!" He waved his hand vaguely around his head.

"Yes, but a look at them. They're stunted. They're not really oaks at all."

Great-uncle Gilbert chuckled. "They're not? Lad, these are the finest oaks I have ever seen! Look closer!"

Oliver sidled over skeptically and peered at the nearest little tree. He looked at the wide-spreading branches, tough bark, and roots snaking out in all directions. He looked at the spiny little protrusionsa"you could hardly call them leavesa"and realized with surprise that these oaks still had them. After the surge that had wiped out the leaves in the last Windblowne, he'd thought every oak in all the worlds must be entirely bare. Yet here they were. Oliver tugged on a spiky leaf. It refused to come off. He looked closer. This leaf was tiny and hard to read, like the script in an ancient book, but he could see that, in another world, this was a sentinel oak.

Oliver looked at the dry sand and cracked rock from which the oaks grew. He looked up at the cloudless orange sky. These snaking roots must grow that way in order to seek out water wherever it could be found. He stroked his hand along the oak's tough bark. This hard skin would be needed to hold in the little water the roots collected. And the tree's small size was the most efficient way to grow in desert conditions. The tenacious oaks had found a way to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment.

"I see," said Oliver simply.

Great-uncle Gilbert beamed. "Well done, then."

"One of our world's oaks couldn't survive here at all, could it?" said Oliver. "These oaks really are stronger."

"Indeed," replied his great-uncle. "You know, Oliver, at first I a.s.sumed you were as impossibly stupid as the rest of them, but now I see that I was not completely right!"

Oliver decided to take that as a compliment. "The rest of them?"

"Yes! The rest of the fools in Windblowne! I told them of the old legendsa"that the oaks of our mountain are linked with oaks in the others, and that the night winds blow across them alla"but they wouldn't listen. Banned me from the Festival. Fools! It's really that they didn't like losing every year, you know. It was all pure professional jealousy!"

Oliver sensed that Great-uncle Gilbert was headed off into another rant. "How many worlds are there, anyway?" he asked, trying to divert him.

Great-uncle Gilbert shook his head. "I don't know. Thousands. Millions. Billions!"

"Then I got really lucky," said Oliver, "finding you among all of them."

Great-uncle Gilbert gave him a blank stare. "Lucky? No, I'd call it exceedingly clever of you to have realized that I designed that handvane to guide me home."

"Oh a yes," said Oliver. "Clever of me. Exceedingly." He looked doubtfully at the desert expanse. Though it didn't seem as barren and dead as it had before, it was definitely not home.

"Actually," he went on after a thoughtful pause, "it was really Ilia whoa""

"Never got a chance to try it out myself, of course," his great-uncle interrupted. "Can't take off with the kite. Too fat!" He patted his enormous stomach happily. "Appreciate your testing it out for me, lad. You do have your uses!"

"Any time," replied Oliver.

A chill breeze rose, and Oliver s.h.i.+vered. Though his great-uncle might like it here, he was nevertheless a prisoner of Lord Gilbert. And the hunters were doubtless on their way.

If Great-uncle Gilbert was worried about that, he certainly didn't show it. He pushed on, busily pointing out various features of the landscape. There was a hidden spring that sent a stream of clear water trickling over the rocks, and strange p.r.i.c.kly bushes with edible fruit. "Delicious roots, too," said Great-uncle Gilbert.

Oliver could not imagine eating a root, but he supposed he would have to get used to it. Or at least he would have, if the clock were not ticking toward doom for thousands, millions, or billions of worlds. He made several attempts to point out the danger.

"So, you see," he said after describing the world of giant oaks, "the entire forest lost its leaves at once. Lord Gilbert has activated the rest of the hunters. Hea""

"Look!" cried Great-uncle Gilbert. "A snake! Marvelous!" He attempted to chase after it, but the startled snake slithered off in a blink.

Oliver sighed and followed his great-uncle. Soon they burst into a small clearing.

"Home," announced Great-uncle Gilbert with an imperial sweep of his hand.

Oliver stared, amazed. His great-uncle had built the beginnings of a new treehouse. Not a house up in the tree, because these oaks were too small for that, but a small hut with a low roof formed from the spreading branches of a little oak. Walls were constructed with branches bound together. Large rocks served as furniture. Great-uncle Gilbert hadn't wasted any time.

"You've made a house!" said Oliver, surprised.

"Brilliantly observed," said Great-uncle Gilbert. "What else would I do? Got to live in something!"

"But don't you want to go back home to Windblowne?" asked Oliver.

Great-uncle Gilbert snorted and sprawled on a couchlike rock. "Why would I? I've got my privacy at last! Delightful. If only I could find some chickens, life would be perfect!"

"What do you mean? You had plenty of privacy in Windblowne!"

But his great-uncle was staring into s.p.a.ce, muttering, "Chickens a chickens a where to find some chickens?"

Home, thought Oliver. Great-uncle Gilbert's handvane had known all along. The crazy old man had set up shop in the h.e.l.l-world without thinking twice.

Oliver grabbed his great-uncle's arm and shook it. This was no time for the old man's eccentricities. "Great-uncle Gilbert!"

"Eh, what? Oliver!" His great-uncle seemed newly startled by Oliver's presence. Oliver repeated his question.

"Privacy in Windblowne? Hardly! Too many presumptuous boys prowling around, zapping me off to other worlds!"

"You mean Two, right?" said Oliver.

Great-uncle Gilbert waved his hand airily. "Is that what you call him? Yes. Atrociously behaved. No surprise, considering the appalling savagery of his caretaker!" He leapt up and darted about, searching for something. "At first the boy wanted to know about kites. Admirable! Happy to oblige such a talented lad, of coursea""

Oliver winced.

"a"but they couldn't fool me for long! Not with a barrage of letters from him, demanding to know all my secrets! The old fool wanted to control the paths between worlds for his own ends and was willing to employ the most brutal means to do it. You must have seen those black stringsa""

"Wires," corrected Oliver importantly.

"Strings everywhere, sucking life from the oaks!" cried Great-uncle Gilbert. "And the old madman wanted me to work for him! Can you imagine that?" He broke into an insane giggle. Then his eyes widened, and he thrust a hand into his robe. His face brightened, and he pulled a carving knife from a pocket. "There you are!" he said, wagging a finger at the knife. "Hiding in my pocket all along. Now, let's have a look at the oak."

Oliver's heart fell when he saw the riven oak. The little tree was nearly dead. Most of its spiny leaves had fallen, and its branches drooped against the ground. Oliver knelt beside it and stroked the withered branches. Though afraid of what he would see, he turned to look at the kite, hoping there was enough strength left in the oak toa"

Yes. The kite fluttered slightly in Great-uncle Gilbert's hands. But the master kitesmith was frowning.

"Can you fix it?" Oliver said.

"Stop asking me that," said his great-uncle. "I can fix it." But he sounded a little unsure, and his eyes were glistening with tears.

"It's a terrible thing," Great-uncle Gilbert said sadly, "and it's all my fault. That madman would never have known about the Way Between Worlds if it hadn't been for me."

"No," said Oliver, "he would have figured it out. You all seem to have a knack for that." And he told Great-uncle Gilbert about Ilia's Windblowne, where an Oliver had been carried away by one of his great-uncle's kites.

For once, Great-uncle Gilbert listened intently, dabbing at his eyes with one sleeve.

"Fascinating," he said when Oliver had finished. "There is more to this than even I knew. You must tell me everything about your adventures. Come, I'll work on the kite. But first, we'll need just a bit of this." He leaned over with his carving knife and cut a branch from the riven oak. "It will have to be enough," he said, looking at it doubtfully.

"Why do you need that?" asked Oliver.

"Do not questiona"" began Great-uncle Gilbert, then stopped. He started again, gently. "The oaks in this world, as you have noticed, have special qualities. It will help if I can use a bit of one of them in the kite."

They trudged solemnly over to the house-in-progress. Oliver sat on one of the chair-rocks while Great-uncle Gilbert spread the kite out on the ground. His fingers searched the kite, testing, probing. "Fine work by that boy, fine work," he mused. "Surprising how close he came, really." From deep within his robe he pulled tools, twine, and a mix of other objects. The branches and tail that Oliver had brought were also produced, and then Great-uncle Gilbert's hands began to dart about so quickly that Oliver could scarcely tell what was happening.

"This other you is really quite talented," Great-uncle Gilbert said after a minute. "You must be immensely jealous!"

"You don't have to put it like that," said Oliver, hurt. But then he realized he wasn't jealous. He felt proud of Two, and of himself. After all, he was the one who had brought the crimson kite back to Great-uncle Gilbert. He wasn't sure that Two could have done that. He informed Great-uncle Gilbert of this.

"Of course, of course!" said his great-uncle, slapping his knee. "Outstanding work, lad. Especially considering he managed to dispose of me so easily. Not an easy task, I a.s.sure you."

This had been bothering Oliver for some time. "That was my fault," he admitted. "You could have fought off the hunters if I hadn't distracted you."

"Not at all, my boy!" announced Great-uncle Gilbert heartily. "My fault entirely. I shouldn't have sent you away. I should have told you everything, brought you into my confidence. You could have been of great help to me! Now tell me all that has happened to you. I want to hear everything."

Now we're getting somewhere, thought Oliver. He told Great-uncle Gilbert the entire tale, from the kite's arrival at his window to his discovery of Lord Gilbert's Windblowne. He told of his escape and his quest to find and rescue his great-uncle. (Oliver thought he detected a glistening tear during that part of the story, which Great-uncle Gilbert tried to hide by draping a piece of silk over his head.) He told of his adventures across the other Windblownes and how he had learned to leap with the night winds. During it all, Great-uncle Gilbert worked on the kite with ferocious intensity, reaching into the recesses of his robe and finding silken thread, needles, packets of paste, more knives, and handfuls of chicken feed.

"Amazing!" said Great-uncle Gilbert. "Remarkable! To think you are able to use the oaks as a map to get around the mountain. And to identify the precise oak from which a leaf has fallen! All of that requires powers of observation even keener than my own."

"Does it?" said Oliver, puzzled. "I thought everyone could do that."

"Everyone can't," said Great-uncle Gilbert firmly. "You notice things, lad. You know how to pay attention to the world. A very valuable talent. Nowa"" He held up the kite, which was looking much better.

"It's still not moving," Oliver said.

"Not to worry." Great-uncle Gilbert slipped the spine from its braces. "The boy almost had it. Almost. But it requires the touch of a master!" He seized the branch he had taken from the desert oak and clipped a bit from one end. Then he flourished his carving knife and went to work, the knife glinting in the sun. Within moments, he was done. Carefully, he slid the modified spine into place. It fit perfectly.

"There," said Great-uncle Gilbert. "That should doa""

But before he could finish, the crimson kite leapt from his hands and shot into the air. Oliver whooped and cheered as the kite turned delighted loops. Then, with a sudden swoop, the kite flew down and settled in Oliver's hands, fluttering its sails happily.

"Well, there's grat.i.tude for you," Great-uncle Gilbert said petulantly, but he had a smug smile.

Oliver grinned. "It's good to have you back," he said to the kite, and with a whirl he sent it flying, its long tail swirling behind it.

"Not just back," said Great-uncle Gilbert, swelling with self-satisfaction, "but better than ever. The kite is now composed of materials from four worlds and has been given the strengths of each. The verdant potency of one world! The stubborn persistence of another! Truly extraordinary."

Oliver took the old spine. "Now we have to destroy this," he said. "The hunters are using it to track the kite."

"Very forward-thinking of you, lad," mused his great-uncle. "We'll put it in the fire on which I'll cook our lunch."

For lunch they feasted on a kind of watery soup made from Great-uncle Gilbert's stores of roots and berries. Oliver didn't think he had ever enjoyed a meal more. They watched the kite fly high overhead, exploring the sky. Oliver wished he could fly with it. Great-uncle Gilbert said the night winds would not be strong enough for that, but Oliver was determined to give it a try anyway.

"I have to find a way off this world," he said. "We've bought ourselves a little time, but it won't take Lord Gilbert long to figure out that I've destroyed the spar they were tracking, which means the kite is fixed, which means I've found you. He's sure to send the hunters here."

"Agreed," said Great-uncle Gilbert. "We need a defense."

"How can you defend against anything?" Oliver asked. "You didn't get here by kite. Lord Gilbert can pull you back through the machine anytime he wants."

Great-uncle Gilbert smiled and patted Oliver on the head. "I learned much from that first encounter." He shrugged aside his robe to reveal a latticework of short desert-oak branches, woven together in a kind of armor over his s.h.i.+rt. He tapped one of them. "Fool me once, not twice! This will disrupt his infernal signals. He won't take me so easily this time. And I know enough now to fend off those three hunters!"

Oliver shook his head. "Sixty-two hunters, at least, and maybe more." He described the ma.s.sive leaf-death on the world with one moon.

"Sixty-two, eh?" Great-uncle Gilbert looked concerned. "Then Ia"that is, wea"had best get started."

For the rest of the day, Great-uncle Gilbert worked on his defense, and Oliver helped him, or at least tried to. His great-uncle believed the hunters could be fought using a system of nets and catapults, which he had constructed from available materials. Oliver rather doubted this. He tried to help anyway, but never having been handy with tools, he kept making mistakes. He had the impression that his great-uncle thought he was getting in the way more than helping, but at least he was being nicer about it. While they worked, Great-uncle Gilbert babbled on in the most interesting way about the history of Windblowne, its old legends, stories that Oliver had never heard. For example, his great-uncle claimed that many centuries ago, before there had been a Windblowne in the trees, people had lived in a system of caves under the mountain.

"Where are the caves now?" asked Oliver.