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Said Varr, voice hollow like a man bereaved

And echoing around the council hall,

"Never before have I turned tail. What has

Become of Last to Flee? If such as I,

By death made undying, by corruption

Made incorruptible in who we are,

Already have abandoned our real names,

Already are mere shadows of ourselves,

Already we have lost." "We have not lost,"

Shane said, "Nor have we fled. When she is safe

Then shall be time, I swear, to put past doubt

Who we are." Said the girl, "there is no need

To wait, and no time better than the now

For provings. I am safe enough. No Soot

Shall breach this door. Go, Warriors!" as she slid

From Varr's back to the floor. But when her foot

But touched the stony floor, she cried aloud

In pain. Her leg refused to bear even

Her sylphy weight. She toppled to the floor,

Whimpering curses in some crimson tongue

And clutching at her shin. A splash of blood

As red as holly fruit grew on the floor

To match the splash, like careless paint, left on

Varr's hauberk. As he rushed to bind the wound

Unnoticed, inflicted by nameless sword

Astray, Varr chided, "That is how safe you

May hope to be while yet this battle lasts!

At least you cannot stray back into harm

Upon this leg." Shane hoisted her onto

His shoulder, "The portal should not be far,"

He said, "so I shall bear you thither. Come.

No gainsaying or pleading will I hear.

We swore to spend our lives, or what you will,

To save this world. And that means saving you."

Beyond the archway all was black. The sole

Hint of their whereabouts that it would give

Was echoes of their footsteps, labored breath,

And low rhythm of heart and weapon's clank.

Imagination of yet-mortal man

Might easily have fabricated ghouls

Always just out of reach, or enemies

Around the coming bend, invisible

Until one stood amid their silent throng,

Or fancied that the sound returning of

His footstep masked the hiss and shuffling march

Of the triumphant Soot coming behind

And gaining gainst all reason. But no fears

Of phantom form assailed the stalwart dead.

The boxer and the warrior forged ahead

By baseless fears untroubled. If the girl

Had any fear of darkness, she spoke not.

They had, indeed, more than enough to fear

That was no craftsmanship of craven mind.

With no idea of how high they'd climbed

Beneath the mountain's slope, Shane squinted. "I

Can see a light ahead, if it be light

And not phantasm of my starving eyes."

"I see it too," said Varr. "Do you know aught

Of this passage?" he asked the girl upon

The boxer's shoulders. "Please, disturb her not,"

Shane said, "I fear her pain is more than she

Will own-" "Your brother," she interrupted

With ragged gasp, "Speaks wisdom, Champion,

So chide him not. I know this passage well.

By it my people first came to this world,"

She paused to dig her fingers, like a vise,

Into Shane's bare shoulder, as one would bite,

A leather strap in ancient surgery,

"In ages past," she finished. "I have been

This way before. Let lights give you no pause.

It is only whatever sky is left."

Then as they reached the light, they saw the cave,

Or tunnel, was tunnel or cave no more:

First holes and cracks, and the whole ceiling

Was fallen in, years, ages, eons hence,

To form a narrow cleft between rock walls

Too high to glimpse the top. The starlight came

Down on them like the rays dyed every hue

By high cathedral glass. So on they went,

The little light not much, only enough

For ghosts, who can make do with little light.

They heard the battle not. They knew no hint

If any of their brethren lived or fought.

The war, the Soot, the Sulfur Carrier,

Each might as well have been ages away,

A footnote only in some dusty tome

Of no significance next to the weight

And permanence of these unfeeling crags

Invincible to any force of time.

Yet something, if not time, then before time,

Had carved them, and more carefully than time

Has oft been known to do, for now they came

As suddenly as starts a man surprised

Out of a daydream by the stoplight's change,

Into a grotto not by nature made.

The base of it was wide, and yet so high

Did the coarse granite walls above it rise

That it seemed narrower than does the point

Of a needle. But these walls were not rough

With nature's stonecutting, rather they had

Been chipped and chiseled to the very top

Into uneven straightness, so the sky

Looked down this narrow chimney, and its light

Had no corners to round. The floor was clothed

With scraps of wintry moss. An avenue

Of stunted, leafless shrubs led toward a grove-

Both obviously placed here by design-

Around a single tree. Its roots were gnarled

From long grasping at jagged, hairline cracks.

Its trunk was wide, and sinewy like rope.

Its bark was smooth with the same silky sheen

As melting chocolate. Its branches spread

From wall to wall, more like to twigs than limbs,

Like net, spread out to grasp the smallest fish,

Like a mosquito cloth to stop all gaps,

Like a tent canopy, to catch the least

And weakest sunbeam that might glance down here.

Though they seemed brittle, they bore yellow leaves

Drooping like paper in a gout of steam,

And yet a few green apples. Varr approached

Like one who wishes not to start some wild

And skittish beast. "My father said," he said,

Above a rock pool twixt the twisted roots,

"There was a tree that was the world. I knew

Not what he meant, but now I think I see.

How did my people know this tree grew here?

And how did they mistake? Our tales said that

It was an ash, and not an apple tree."

Shane frowned, Varr's awe opaque to him, and asked,

"If once the Soot reach it, then what?" The girl

Looked his reflection in the eye, and said,

"As ever happens to what the Soot touch,

And then all is darkness. This is indeed

The tree that is the life of all the world.

Mind not its species. It may be an ash,

Or flowering cherry perfuming the wind,

Or honey-linden loving the pure sun,

Or apple bearing life and wisdom both,

Slow fir with frosty baubles glistening,

Arbutus, anchor to the flood-filled ark,

For any tree, when it is all you have,

Is the World Tree. The live day is its stock,

Its roots, deeper than earth, fastened on hell,

Has thunderheads among its leaves, and stars

Between its topmost twigs." "We have no time,"

The boxer growled, "for philosophic trees!

The sooner you are safe, the sooner we

Your World Tree may defend! Where leads the path?"

She looked at him and answered not, leaning

Her wounded weight against the apple trunk

And scowling stubbornly. Without a word,

Shane plucked a pliant sucker shoot, and held

It up before her face. They traded stares,

Till finally she sighed and breathed on it

Some words he did not catch. He cast it down

Upon the pool, where it turned a moment,

Then pointed. Shane scooped up the girl again.

And Varr already strode along the line

The branch had cast. He pushed aside the scrub

And tangle of the leafless brush, and there

They saw an arch of fieldstone, rough mortared,

And old beyond guessing. They took but one

Step toward it, then no more. Faintness and cold

And suffocation washed over them both,

For on the keystone there was hung a scrap

With sigils in the Lady's hand. The way

Was barred to any who had died. Varr's head

Swam as he stumbled, as he thought he saw

A pyre upon an ocean cliff, above

A sea the color of the sunset clouds

That hovered close above, and smelled sweet smoke

Around him curling slowly. Shane fell to

His knees, thinking in slow-motion that the

Moss-covered rocks looked very like a mat,

The scrawny bushes very like the ropes,

And wondering where the crowd, upon their feet

And shouting in a frenzy of outrage

Had come from suddenly. He could not breathe.

His head and chest felt weightless, and the ring

Or grotto, for he know not which it was,

Was ringing with the breathy harmony

That sounds within a shell held to the ear.

His dizzy eyes rolled will-less cross the crowd

But then they met the eyes of one who stood

In the front row, slack-jawed in disbelief,

Hands fastened to the ropes, her blue eyes filled

With heartbreak cutting closer than mere shock

Of spectators, with sharp reflexive fear,

With disregarded prophecies of woe

Now all fulfilled. She seemed just close enough

To touch, and suddenly Shane's head was clear,

His muscles ready, and his mouth forming

A word he knew the meaning of only

After he heard his own voice pronounce it,

The name "Barbara." Somewhere the boxer

Found himself staring through a stony arch

As if at someone just inside. Before

His will could tell his legs to stand, he stood.

Before his mind could order the advance,

He staggered forward, like a man against

A powerful current. Before his thoughts

Could write the words and pass them to his tongue,

He was shouting, "Go back and use your sword!

I only may this threshold cross! Go to

The victory! I won't be far behind!"

Varr sputtered, unable to draw near, "Wait!

Brother in Blood, what if you come not back?"

"I will come back!" roared Shane the Champion,

As he forced one toe past the archway. Black

Was the tunnel beyond. The Lady's spell

Snapped like steel cord, and the Champion

And girl he carried, both were vanished. In

The pool beside him the green twig quivered,

Then sank beneath the clear, clean water. Varr

The Last-to-Flee was left alone beneath

The ragged branches of the World Tree.