Chapter 2 The World Tree

For a long while, neither of them spoke. Sumpi followed the Great Wizard along the silver paths, past quiet ponds and drowsy flowerbeds, until the noise of the Garden thinned behind them and even the distant explosions faded to naught. Kaken stirred once against her shoulder, sighed, and slept on.

At last the Wizard stopped.

"We are here."

Sumpi looked up, and kept looking.

Before them stood a tree so vast it seemed less a part of the Garden than the reason for it. Its trunk rose like a wall, its roots spread across the earth like rivers turned to wood, and its branches climbed so high that she could not find the top. 

Pale flowers hung in the canopy, glowing faintly, each one swaying in a breeze she could not feel.

"This," said the Wizard, resting a hand upon its bark as one might greet an old friend, "is the World Tree. All of you came from it."

Sumpi blinked. "But... you made us. With your Proton. Didn't you?"

"I did."

"Then I don't understand."

"No, I suppose you would not." His smile held something tired. "I can create life, Sumpi. That much is true. But what I make with my own hands lasts a single day, and then it is gone. I learned that early, and I learned it painfully." 

His gaze rose to the glowing blossoms. "The flowers of this tree are different. They give a creation time. Years. Lifetimes, perhaps. That is why you are still here."

Sumpi looked down at Kaken, small and warm and breathing against her, and held him a little closer.

The Wizard turned to face her. "I know you were lonely when you woke," he said quietly. "And afraid. I am not proud of what I did, leaving you alone with it."

Her throat tightened. It had never occurred to her that he might remember.

"But that does not mean the weight of your siblings is yours alone to carry. I want you to look after yourself too, child."

"I can't just ignore them." Her arms tightened around Kaken. "They need someone. They need love."

"Exactly." His smile warmed. "Be there for them, always, no matter what. But you need not hold the whole Garden in your two hands. Guide them. Teach them. 

And when it is called for, scold them." He turned back to the tree, and his tone grew lighter, though not without meaning. "I have noticed you have been sharp with John and Steve of late."

Her eyes fell. "They're loud," she muttered. "They fight all day, they wreck everything, and they never think about anyone but themselves. Somebody has to..."

"They are still your brothers."

She fell silent.

"Whatever they do," said the Wizard gently, "help them, or discipline them. But never give up on them."

The quiet stretched. A single blossom drifted down from the canopy and settled in the grass at her feet, still glowing. Sumpi did not argue, and she did not agree aloud. But something in her shoulders eased, as though a weight she had never named had at last been seen.

"Now then." The Wizard clapped his hands softly. "Gather everyone. It is time for today's lesson."

Her head came up, and her eyes brightened. "On it."

She walked back along the silver path the way she had come, humming under her breath to keep Kaken settled. She did not have to search for John and Steve. She simply walked toward the noise.

When she reached the clearing, the scene had turned. The grass lay scorched in uneven patches, a flowerbed was in ruins, and this time it was John who sprawled in the dirt, groaning at the sky. 

Steve stood over him with one boot planted beside John's head and his chest heaving, wearing a grin that split his face.

"Haha," he panted. "This is a slaughter..."

"Lucky shot," John wheezed. 

Sumpi stopped at the edge of the clearing. Her first words rose sharp and ready: look at this mess, do you ever think of anyone else?  She felt them gather on her tongue.

Then she remembered the World Tree, and the Wizard's hand upon its bark.

She let out a slow breath. "Boys."

Both looked over. Steve's grin faltered. John tried to sit up and thought better of it.

"It's time for the lesson. Father is waiting at the World Tree."

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then John shot upright as if he had never been struck down at all.

"The lesson?"

"Now?" said Steve.

"Now."

They stared at one another. The grudge, the duel, and the scorched grass all vanished from their faces in the same instant.

"Last one there is a worm!" John bellowed.

They tore off down the path in a blur of dust and elbows, shoving each other off the silver stones and hurling insults that grew fainter with every stride. Somewhere far off, a branch cracked. Somebody howled. Neither slowed.

Sumpi watched them go, and a small, unwilling smile crept across her face.

"Idiots," she murmured, and was surprised to find no bite in it.

Kaken yawned against her shoulder. "Don't you start," she told him.

The peach tree stood at the far edge of the farm, heavy with soft pink fruit. Beneath it, Schnee balanced upon Dino's shoulders with both arms stretched toward a high limb, clutching a lopsided bundle of twigs, leaves, and what appeared to be half a bucket.

"A little to the left," Schnee commanded.

"My left, or yours?" came Dino's strained voice from below.

"The left left "

The whole structure wobbled. Dino staggered. Schnee shrieked and clung to the branch while the beehive swung perilously from her grip. Above them, the Wizard's bees circled patiently, waiting to learn whether they would be given a home or a funeral.

Sumpi cleared her throat. "You two."

Both heads turned. Schnee lost her balance entirely and plummeted with a yelp, and Dino collapsed beneath her in a tangle of limbs and mud.

"Sumpi!" Schnee popped up, leaves in her hair, utterly unashamed. "We're almost done! The bees are going to adore it, it only needs one more"

"The lesson is starting."

Schnee's mouth hung open. Then her eyes lit like lanterns.

"The lesson?!"

"Father's calling everyone to the World Tree."

Dino shoved her off with a groan. "And you waited until now to say so?"

"I just did."

But they were already running. Schnee abandoned the hive on the grass without a backward glance, and Dino scrambled after her, plucking twigs from her hair and muttering about her dignity. They raced across the farm, past the stone bridge and the flowering trees, laughing and arguing over who had been faster.

Sumpi looked at the abandoned hive, listing sadly in the grass, with the bees still hovering overhead. She sighed, lifted it with her free hand, and set it carefully against the trunk of the peach tree where it would at least stay upright.

"There," she told the bees. "They'll finish it later. Probably."

The bees buzzed, unconvinced.

By the time Sumpi returned, the children had gathered in the shade of the World Tree, sprawled across its great roots in a loose, restless circle. 

John and Steve sat on opposite sides, each plainly certain he had arrived first. Schnee bounced where she sat. Dino leaned against a root with the weary dignity of someone who had been dropped on.

The Wizard stood before them with his hands behind his back, waiting until the last whisper died.

"Today," he said, "I shall teach you something new."

Schnee's hand shot up. "Is it a big one?"

"It is a dangerous one."

A hush fell. Even John stopped grinning.

"You know the law of Proton," said the Wizard. "What you create, you pay for, and the greater the creation, the greater the cost. A cup asks a little soreness. A house asks your strength, your breath, your trembling hands. 

Reach too far, and the price is no longer measured in pain." He let the silence sit. "This is the law, and it cannot be broken."

"But," said Dino slowly, with the air of someone who had learned to hear the but, "it can be bent."

The Wizard's eyes glinted. "Clever girl. Yes. There is a technique called the Exchange, and only the finest Aethels may wield it."

"Exchange what?" Steve demanded.

"The cost." The Wizard raised one hand, and a small stone rose from the earth beside him, then another, and another, until a wall stood where there had been none, taller than any of them. "To make a great thing is to pay a great price. 

But an Aethel who has mastered the Exchange may trade that crushing price for a smaller one. Exhaustion becomes a chill. A shattered body becomes a numb hand. The work is the same, the weight is lighter, and the master walks away."

Schnee's mouth fell open. "That's unfair."

"That," said the Wizard dryly, "is why it takes a lifetime to learn."

John leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So there's no limit? You just keep trading until it doesn't hurt?"

"There is always a limit." The Wizard's voice softened. "How much one may exchange depends on the one who wields it. Their discipline, their will, and the shape of their body and spirit. Two Aethels may stand before the same task and pay entirely different prices. Never measure yourself against another's."

Dino tilted her head. "And how much can you exchange, Father?"

The Wizard smiled, and the smile gave nothing away.

"More than most."

Sumpi, standing at the edge of the circle with Kaken asleep in her arms, felt the old thought flicker again, the one she had never thought to ask about. She looked at the stone wall, flawless and unmarked, and at the Wizard, who stood beside it without a trace of strain.

She said nothing.

"Remember this well," the Wizard told them. "The Exchange is not a trick for avoiding pain. It is a bargain, and every bargain has a keeper. Take more than you can repay, and the world will collect."

The children nodded, solemn at last, and for a moment the Garden seemed to hold its breath.

Then the Wizard clapped his hands together, and his whole face brightened.

"Good! Now, enough talking. Today, we shall have a team fight."

John's head whipped around. Steve's did the same. Their eyes met across the circle, and in that moment a very dangerous idea passed between them.

"Two against two," said the Wizard.

Every child in the circle sat up straight.

"And you," he added, his gaze drifting slowly from face to face, "shall not choose your partners."