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Abarōz stared at the floor. It was all she could see since she’d landed on her stomach. Like most cave floors, it was nothing special: just smooth greyish rock with the occasional pebble.
She rolled over, examining the rest of this cavern. Disappointing. Just another Dardan. With a slight groan, she pulled herself upright.
“Hello?” she called, not sure if she wanted to be found. What was it, exactly, that had pulled her through the circle? And why had it barred Shāhpuhr?
No answers came, but she felt a weariness that dragged her into its arms. She lay back on the floor, falling into a dreamless sleep, hard stone her only bed. When she opened her eyes, she barely knew where she was, then looked down at her new clothes. It all came rushing back: Šahr, the circle, this place. But now as she looked around, the cave was no longer empty. The whole floor was laid end-to-end with off-white snakes, none of whom rose in menace. The cavern itself had become a garden filled with bright flowers that rested below gushing falls. As Abarōz rose, she turned, spotting in the cave’s center a white spreading tree perched on the back of a . . . dragon. Its thin, leafless branches arced up to the ceiling.
If you discarded Bükrek and Archura, she’d never seen anything this strange. But this sensation heightened and she actually screamed when her gaze fell on a creature perched at the side of the tree. It sat on a throne of white, wearing a crown on its . . . top head. This was that of a woman, her dark hair luscious and flowing; but the rest of her body was coils—ending in the head of a snake.
The woman’s face looked down, displaying a kindly smile.
“No need to be frightened,” she said, “for I am the one you seek.”
Abarōz tried not to stare.
“Şahmeran?” she croaked.
The human head nodded.
“Mother to all things in nature and queen of my Marans.”
She arched her lower coils, causing her snake head to hiss.
“I see,” said Abarōz. Those “Marans” must be her snakes. But why they were hidden here, along with their queen, was a question she feared to ask.
“The Imperfect One has suggested you see me. May I ask why?”
Abarōz slowed her breathing.
“His name is Shāhpuhr, and as for the rest . . .” She squared her shoulders, trying not to react as snakes lapped at her ankles. “My father—”
“—Made Axwaš,” said Şahmeran. “I am very sorry.”
“Thank you. It is my wish to avenge him and defeat the S̆āh Al. He makes life in Dardan worse than a vicious snake pit.”
Abarōz clapped a hand to her mouth.
“It is all right—you do not know,” Şahmeran told her gently. “We are not evil; rather, we are healers. It is only since the one god that we have become despised.”
“Oh.”
A wave went through the Marans, almost as if they were laughing.
“Can . . . can you help me?” asked Abarōz. Now was not the time to flinch.
“What do you wish to achieve, apart from removing Al-razi ?”
Abarōz gulped. She tried not to stare at Şahmeran’s coils. “Well, after that, we must defeat the enemy that lurks outside our walls.”
“Hmm.” Şahmeran closed her four eyes. “Abarōz, your name means ‘great strength,’ and you will surely need it.”
“I promise to do my best.”
Şahmeran reopened her eyes, gazing down at her guest with sympathy.
“I can tell you,” she said, “that you and your zand have no chance against Sangal.”
Abarōz felt her tears form. So this is what she’d come for after sneaking her way through two cities?
“Do not despair,” said Şahmeran. “I meant only at present.”
Abarōz perked up. What did the snake queen have in mind?
“To fight your greatest enemy, you must secure a magick which is not in my power to give. But . . .” Abarōz felt hope rush through her. “The Tree of Life at my side reaches into the heavens and is home to magickal creatures. I suggest you climb its branches and present your cause to the Perils.”
“The–the what?”
“Some are good and some are not, but you will know the difference.”
“How do I recognize them?”
“They will come to you.”
Abarōz’s mind was churning as she glanced at the Tree with fear. She’d come from a world where climbing—besides stairs—was all but was unknown. So how could she hope to scale those perilous white branches?
“You must,” said Şahmeran calmly. “It is the only way.”
Abarōz sighed. She had, after all, promised to do her best.
“Very well,” she said. “But if I fall, I might tumble on top of your head.”
Şahmeran’s human head laughed while her snake one hissed. Abarōz took both as a sign of approval.
“I suppose I should go,” she said, eyeing the Tree with distaste. “Any advice?”
“Trees have a mind of their own and can read your intentions. If they are pure, you’ll be allowed to climb to the Perils. If not . . . you’ll be shaken off to your death.”
“I’ll be nice to the tree,” said Abarōz. “I just hope the Perils are nice to me.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Thank you.”
Abarōz bowed her head, turning from the snake queen.
“One last question. How do I climb?”
“Simple,” Şahmeran answered. “Put one hand in front of the other.”
Abarōz nodded, actually hearing her pulse as she approached the dragon.
“Greetings,” she told it. “Would you . . . er . . . permit me to pass?”
The beast, white as any Maran, shook its head up and down. Hesitant, Abarōz put out a foot and stepped onto his back. Standing on tiptoes, she hoisted her way to low branches, gulping at their sharp points.
If this was the Tree of Life, then why did she feel that hers was about to end?
