The Grove(47)

It made sense, in a twisted sort of way, that the locus trees might be amalgamations of several species as well. The whole of the garden was filled with such things. Following in her wake, Aradin watched as Saleria touched a rune near the cutting tip of her staff. A golden glowing line swung out at an angle, allowing her to lower it to the moss-edged stones of the path. Scorching as she scraped, she shoved back the encroaching growths, and occasionally swiped the searing-hot spell up and around in an arc, clearing the undergrowth that led to the base of the tree.

Or rather, to the hollow at the base of the tree. The last time, Saleria had asked him to wait outside. This time, Aradin slipped in behind her, walking as softly and quietly as he could, in case she had simply forgotten he was there. The flagstones seemed to lead a winding course between the almost wall-like rise of the smaller roots, but that was a misperception, he realized; the cracks between flagstones were straight and square-cornered, not angled or curved as they were on other winding points in the Grove.

Which means this was once a straight path . . . and here’s a different sort of stone. Yes, strong, pinkish granite . . . and a line of black basalt, he identified, staring at the ground. Here’s where the original Portal stood. Reflexively, he glanced up, but there wasn’t a rectangular archway overhead. Just a mixture of intergrown trees.

The space under the heart of the locus tree was not dome-shaped so much as it was cone-shaped. Besides themselves, the paving stones underfoot, a shimmering, pale gray light overhead, and the roots and trunk of the great tree all around, there was only one other object: a four-stepped footstool, placed in the center of the floor.

The dark rectangle of rock it rested upon looked very much like similar thresholds he had seen on a trip to the Empire of Fortuna, which still had functional Portals, if only within its own boundaries. The Portal gates had been massive rectangular doorways, broad enough for two carts to have driven through side by side. Here, the basalt of the threshold looked like it ended at the base of the upswept inner roots, and thus was indeed wide enough for two carts, but from the way the interior wall of the tree swept up and in, there wasn’t really that much room available when one was upright; more like barely a cart’s width.

Lifting his gaze to the peak of the conical space, he squinted against the light. It wasn’t as bright as sunshine, but it was bright enough. No bigger than a modest-sized worm, a finger-length piece of yarn cut from pure daylight, the rift hung at the very peak of the space. It did so in a hazy cloud of mistlike energies. Some swirled up into the tree trunk like upward-trickling beads of moisture. Some dripped downward like falling sparks from a blue white fire, only to evaporate before reaching the floor.

His hostess did something to kill the cutting spells on her staff, then inverted it. Stepping up onto the footstool, she gripped her staff by the deactivated end and stretched up onto her toes to get the crystal orb to touch that rift. Seeing her sway, Aradin set his staff on the ground and moved up behind her. He was taller than her in either form, but he didn’t take the staff from her. Instead, he grasped her by the ribs under her arms and lifted her up off her feet with a grunt.

Saleria gasped and swayed a little, but quickly resumed the chore of sucking the spare energies into the faceted egg on the end of her staff. She hadn’t expected the lift, though it did make gathering the upper energies a little easier. The trick was making sure the crystal never actually touched the rift for more than a fraction of a heartbeat. Overloading the crystal with too many energies might make it explode, and that would be bad.

He was remarkably strong for having such a relatively lean body; she didn’t feel his arms start to tremble until the last few seconds or so. Lowering her staff in a decisive motion got her lowered as well, until her boots touched the top level of the step stool. “Thank you,” she stated, turning to face him. Only to find he was right there, facing her from the next level down. That meant his head was just a little bit lower than hers. That those intriguing hazel eyes were close enough for her to see little flecks of blue and green among the streaks of brown and green.

“Have you . . . ?” Aradin hesitated, and licked his lips.

Saleria followed the flick of his tongue. The glide made her aware of how nice his mouth was, of the faint hints of a blond beard striving to grow on his shaved chin. Aware of the heat of his strong frame, a kind of heat that had nothing to do with temperature runes controlling her comfort on such a warm day, and everything to do with the masculine scent of him. She blinked and looked into his eyes again. “Have I . . . what?”