Throughout the night Grantin had become accustomed to the clatter of the leaves. It was the absence of that sound which caused him to awaken. Sitting up sleepily he needed a moment to remember where he was. Strange… he could not recall bedding down so close to the trees. Twisting his head, Grantin was surprised to see that he and Chom were surrounded.
"Chom!" he called. Chom awakened instantly. As soon as his eyes cleared the Fanist stood, turned a brief circle, and addressed the crown of the largest and oldest tree.
"What do you plan to do to us?"
"Who are you talking to? What's going on? Where…?"
"These are not ordinary trees. I sensed something last night but could not interpret what I was feeling. Obviously they have some plans for us. What is it that you want, friend trees?"
A smooth, deep bluish vine terminating in thick palps which wiggled like a nest of worms slipped from the gnarled tree and snaked toward the Fanist.
"Pull back your arm before we are forced to employ our magic against you," Grantin warned in a nervous voice.
"We are magicians of great power, but we have no desire to injure you. Surely this is all a misunderstanding. Tell us what the problem is. Perhaps it can be avoided without unpleasantness."
As he spoke Grantin began to point the power-stone. The tentacle waved for a moment, then pulled back a foot and slumped to the ground. The palps continued to writhe, but for the moment the vine halted its attack. Now a thicker, stubbier tube protruded from the base of the crown. A rhythmic pulsing convulsed the last two inches of the cylinder until its end became flattened and took on the appearance of a puckered mouth. Lastly a startlingly white eyeball surrounded daisy-like by blue-green leaves emerged from the body of the tree and hung suspended above the newly created organ.
Dissonant sounds, grumblings, and squawks erupted from the tube. At last the tone settled back into a parody of speech.
"Such as you are never allowed to pass. You have trespassed on our meadow. Now you must join us. Prepare to be planted."
"Wait, wait!" Grantin pleaded before the tentacle could begin again to move. "We didn't know we were trespassing on your meadow. There were no signs or warnings. We are sorry, very sorry. We will smooth out the grass where we slept and leave immediately. You don't have to go to all the trouble of planting us."
"What do you mean, 'those such as us'?" Chom asked calmly.
"Men's evil desires, we have found, are cleansed by the transmutation. No longer does greed or lust burden them, nor are those like ourselves able to thirst for power. In this way we cleanse all of those who pass through our meadow."
"Surely you cleanse only those who need cleansing," Grantin replied. "We are both fine fellows, Chom and myself. He is a Fanist on his trip of life, a harmless, warmhearted creature. I am but a poor Hartford who has been abandoned in this evil country. We have no need of cleansing."
"A moment ago you proclaimed yourselves to be great and powerful wizards. Obviously you are a perverted Hartford who is on his way to join the death-worshipers. Your companion is a stranger story yet. We suspect that he is a renegade who has fled his tribe and hopes to sell his secrets to the lords of Cicero."
"No, no, you are wrong!" But as Grantin spoke the tentacle began to move once again.
"Hold for a minute longer and hear me," Chom said calmly. "This human is cursed. He has foiled some Gogol plan, diverted the ring he wears from the possession of a great wizard who would use it for evil. He would destroy the ring, but he cannot remove it without the help of her who gave it to him. This person lives in Cicero. We go there to somehow obtain her aid."
"And you, Fanist, why do you travel with this human on such a strange mission?"
"It is my trip of life. I am so charged by our elders. Further, it is my wish to help this human who has saved my life. If you end our journey here it will be a great tragedy for my community."
Again the tentacle hesitated, then went limp as the trees communed among themselves. At last the leader spoke again.
"My name in human life was Hans. Though I am not convinced that you tell the truth-in fact, it has been our experience that the more evil the person, the more ingenious the lie-we will give you a chance to prove what you say. Behind each of you are the materials for your test. If you turn you will see four young birds taken by us fresh from their nest. You both will put one in each hand, the Fanist leaving two hands empty and clasped behind his back."
Grantin and Chom took the seedbirds as directed. The chicks trilled merrily. Their bodies were covered with tiny, soft yellow-brown feathers. Short, pointed, lemon-yellow beaks protruded from their tiny oval heads. In each of his hands Grantin's chicks hopped joyfully and twisted around to look at him with curious eyes. In his pleasure at their warmth and softness Grantin almost forgot Hans's brooding stare.
"Now do as I direct if you wish to save your lives. We, too, have our spells, and each of these birds has been given an enchantment of prevarication. Only someone who tells the truth will have the strength to breach the spell. A liar is impotent against this incantation. Do you, each of you, swear that the explanations that you have given us are true?"
"I do," Grantin and Chom replied at once.
"Very well. Each of you must squeeze your hands as hard as you are able. If you can crush the chicks, you are telling the truth. If you cannot, you are lying and must be planted."
Catching his eye, the little birds chirped happily at Grantin. He looked back at Hans and opened his mouth to speak, then, realizing the futility of further pleading, clamped it shut. He looked away and began to close his fingers. As he grasped the soft, furry bodies more firmly he became even more distressed and shut his eyes. In the darkness the chirping grew louder. He felt more intensely the vital movements of the fragile bodies in his palms.
Grantin's right fist was almost closed. The imprisoned chick squawked with alarm and thrashed against his fingers. With a cry Grantin opened both his fists. The birds hopped around his palms in a merry little dance. Carefully Grantin lowered them to the ground, where they played amid the stalks of the short, soft grass. With a sudden premonition of horror Grantin turned to Chom and saw that his hands were empty. At the Fanist's feet his chicks also hopped free. The native's upper set of arms now reached to clasp his forehead near the point where the blue jewel lay beneath his skin. Grantin and Chom stood back to back, facing outward, ready to employ their powerstones in a fight to the death.
"We refuse to play your sadistic game!" Grantin shouted. "Do your worst!"
The crowns of the life trees began to rustle. Slowly roots withdrew and the trees began to move. Grantin and Chom stood their ground but were astonished to see that the trees moved not toward them but away.
"You are telling the truth," Hans declared. "No decent being would have killed the innocents. You may go in peace, but with this warning. Nearby there are evil men who stalk you. Ahead the trail is easy until you reach the edge of forest. There you will pass through the Weirdlands. If those who follow you plan an attack, that is where it will occur. Be on your guard. Farewell and good luck."
The tree backed off slowly to stand still and silent beside another tree, slightly smaller but equally old. There in Pyra's rich early-morning light the crowns of the two trees of life touched and entwined and slipped back into the somnolent peace of the deep forest.
Grantin and Chom walked a quarter mile to the westward trail. As they moved off and the small meadow slipped from view the former human Hans and the former human Ruda relaxed in the serene contentment of their life together.