“Why? The garden holds nothing but a tangle of weeds and a dead tree.”
“Does it?” The Gibbor loved nothing more than posing a question that only he could answer. “Elymas is trying to make the tree bloom again.”
Oren was thunderstruck. “But the tree is dead! Its branches are bone!”
“For the most part, yes,” The Gibbor nodded. “But shoots have sprung up about the base which have made Elymas wild with hope.”
“So, the tree is living?”
‘Of course not! These are wild shoots, Oren, springing up for no reason, although my sources tell me . . .”
“You have sources in Casoria?”
“Two,” he replied. “One is actually reliable.” The Gibbor paused, tapping his forefinger against his temple. “My source says the bark is odd. Flesh colored with specks of red. The shoots spring up, only to die.”
“Flesh and blood,” Oren said what they both were thinking.
“It would appear so, although I don’t know more. I’ve entreated the blue stone several times about this matter. It has remained silent.”
“It is not the child’s blood?”
“No. The earth child is safe for now, though he needs rescued. You must rescue him, Oren.”
The Whitehair nodded, then recalled a line from the message. “The feather brings proof, but what token of the heavens trust do I bring?”
“Follow me,” said the Seer. “It isn’t far.”
Oren knew where they were going as soon as the old man started down the hill. Behind him, he heard Nadia’s tent flap snap shut. For the first time, he was embarrassed by her willingness. He followed the Seer, the old man’s limp becoming so pronounced that Oren thought of running back for the mule, but the Gibbor would only argue. It was better to save breath.
Finally, the tree-line of the Eld Forest came into view and they were standing just outside the sikestra.
“Touch the rock,” The Seer pointed to the white rock streaked with Tianne’s tears. “Right palm, flat.”
