Time of the Twins

Turning his head, Caramon saw, and he shuddered, both at the sight and at the bitter memories of his brother it brought back.

The glade they were camped in was a small, grassy clearing some distance from the main trail. It was surrounded by maple trees, pines, walnut trees, and even a few aspens. The trees were just beginning to bud out. Caramon had looked at them while digging Crysania’s grave. The branches shimmered in the early morning sunlight with the faint yellow-green glow of spring. Wild flowers bloomed at their roots, the early flowers of spring—crocuses and violets.

As Caramon looked around now, he saw that these same trees surrounded them still—on three sides. But now—on the fourth, the southern side—the trees had changed.

These trees, mostly dead, stood side-by-side, lined up evenly, row after row. Here and there, as one looked deeper into the Forest, a living tree might be seen, watching like an officer over the silent ranks of his troops. No sun shone in this Forest. A thick, noxious mist flowed out of the trees, obscuring the light. The trees themselves were hideous to look upon, twisted and deformed, their limbs like great claws dragging the ground. Their branches did not move, no wind stirred their dead leaves. But—most horrible—things within the Forest moved. As Caramon and Tas watched, they could see shadows flitting among the trunks, skulking among the thorny underbrush.

“Now, look at this,” Tas said. Ignoring Caramon’s alarmed shout, the kender ran straight for the Forest. As he did so, the trees parted! A path opened wide, leading right into the Forest’s dark heart. “Can you beat that?” Tas cried in wonder, coming to a halt right before he set foot upon the path. “And when I back away—”

The kender walked backward, away from the trees, and the trunks slid back together again, closing ranks, presenting a solid barrier.

“You’re right,” Caramon said hoarsely. “It is the Forest of Wayreth. So it appeared, one morning, to us.” He lowered his head. “I didn’t want to go in. I tried to stop Raist. But he wasn’t afraid! The trees parted for him, and he entered. ‘Stay by me, my brother,’ he told me, ‘and I will keep you from harm.’ How often had I said those words to him? He wasn’t afraid! I was!”

Suddenly, Caramon stood up. “Let’s get out of here!” Feverishly grabbing his bedroll with shaking hands, he slopped the contents of the bottle all over the blanket.

“No good,” Tas said laconically. “I tried. Watch.”

Turning his back on the trees, the kender walked north. The trees did not move. But—inexplicably—Tasslehoff was walking toward the Forest once more. Try as he might, turn as he might, he always ended up walking straight into the tree’s fogbound, nightmarish ranks.

Sighing, Tas came over to stand beside Caramon. The kender looked solemnly up into the big man’s tear-stained, red-rimmed eyes and reached out a small hand, resting it on the warrior’s once-strong arm.

“Caramon, you’re the only one who’s been through here! You’re the only one who knows the way. And, there’s something else.” Tas pointed. Caramon turned his head. “You asked about Lady Crysania. There she is. She’s alive, but she’s dead at the same time. Her skin is like ice. Her eyes are fixed in a terrible stare. She’s breathing, her heart’s beating, but it might just as well be pumping through her body that spicy stuff the elves use to preserve their dead!” The kender drew a deep, quivering breath.

“We’ve got to get help for her, Caramon. Maybe in there”—Tas pointed to the Forest—“the mages can help her! I can’t carry her.” He raised his hands helplessly. “I need you, Caramon. She needs you! I guess you could say you owe it to her.”

“Since it’s my fault she’s hurt?” Caramon muttered savagely.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Tas said, hanging his head and brushing his hand across his eyes. “It’s no one’s fault, I guess.”

“No, it is my fault,” Caramon said. Tas glanced up at him, hearing a note in Caramon’s voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. The big man stood, staring at the bottle in his hands. “It’s time I faced up to it. I’ve blamed everyone else—Raistlin, Tika... But all the time I knew—deep inside—it was me. It came to me, in that dream. I was lying at the bottom of a grave, and I realized—this is the bottom! I can’t go any lower. I either stay here and let them throw dirt on top of me—just like I was going to bury Crysania—or I climb out.” Caramon sighed, a long, shuddering sigh. Then, in sudden resolution, he put the cork on the bottle and handed it back to Tas. “Here,” he said softly. “It’s going to be long climb, and I’m going to need help, I expect. But not that kind of help.”

“Oh, Caramon!” Tas threw his arms around the big man’s waist as far as he could reach, hugging him tightly. “I wasn’t afraid of that spooky wood, not really. But I was wondering how I was going to get through by myself. Not to mention Lady Crysania and—Oh, Caramon! I’m so glad you’re back! I—”