The Mazer Read Online Free PDF

off her blanket. “Vanished? You mean, back into the leaf?”
    “Yes! I read them, and then they sank back the same way they came out. I’d got a bit angry with him, I admit, but they can’t hear what you’re saying, can they, the trees?”
    Winifred shook her head. “They can’t hear, no. If they can, I dread to think what they might have heard me say over the years. Are you sure Isleaf isn’t ill, you know, with the treesmoke and everything?”
    That could be true. He certainly hadn’t been himself.
    “And as for freeing the island,” continued Winifred, “I think you should forget about that. Setting us free from what? The treesmoke? Hardly a tragedy. Seen it before; will see it again. And if our island needs rescuing from something worse than that, I’d be interested to know how you’d do it. I mean, you’re not exactly…”
    It was easy to imagine what Winifred had been going to say. Not exactly the man, let alone the woman, for the job. Not someone who had an awful lot of influence. And most definitely not the kind of person you’d expect to run to the rescue of a whole island!
    “No, Winifred, I agree. I’m ‘not exactly’ anything, am I?”
    The flames crackled in the grate. The gale buffeted the walls outside. The two women looked at each other and smiled.
    “You’re everything you need to be, Silva, according to Isleaf,” said Winifred softly. “Don’t mind what I say. Remember who you are: daughter of Eldis and Zossimo. That counts for a lot with these trees. No, what I meant was that if our island is in danger, what could you or I do about it? We’re not in charge—more’s the pity, for when I think about those men leading us, I simply despair. Apart from Filibert, of course. I’m sure he does a splendid job. It’s a shame I didn’t tell him about our trip. He’d mentioned the Tree Tower and how much he’d like to see it again, although I’d struggle to get up those stairs, dearie me!”
    “I’ve been up there with Father,” said Silva. She could only recall how scared she’d been standing on the top of the tower. It had been as windy then as it was now. “Who do you think built that tower, Winifred?”
    “Oh, I don’t think anybody knows. My father said the stone came from the mines over by Ashenwood. The original gallery walls and the crypt date from before the Dark Days, and that old Yew, well, I suppose he’s been here just as long. I came here with my dear father, too. He used to help treat the wood rot, sweep the floors and stairs, and do odd jobs around the place. He liked it here, I think.”
    Silva remembered the man; when Mother had died, he’d accompanied them to Yewlith for the burial and then found Silva the old fisherman’s cabin on the beach. She sighed.
    “Yes, Winifred, I’m sure he did. I’m sorry he’s not with us now. Yewlith isn’t looking its best. Father wouldn’t have let this place end up in such a state, not if he’d known…” She could hardly speak. Father could never have imagined his wife dying so soon after he’d prepared the vault.
    “Tell you what, Silva,” said Winifred, “why don’t you visit the crypt? I’ll come down in a bit if my legs will carry me!” She yawned, snuggled down on her mattress, and shut her eyes.
    So Silva lit the lantern and set off downstairs, reaching a heavy grilled door that she pushed open to reveal a small vestibule. The silent crypt stretched out before her, and she walked slowly past the vaults. Here and there, twisted roots from the Yew in the garden above poked through the ceiling, casting their trailing shadows on the walls and floor.
    Mother’s vault hadn’t been disturbed. She set the lantern on the shelf above, next to the precious, unusually shaped piece of driftwood that she’d brought here ten years ago. It was Bassan’s, but he’d given it to her even though she hadn’t wanted it at the time.
    Bassan had just started work for Zossimo at the Albatorium. She’d been about nine