The Last Stand of Daronwy by Clint Talbert

up the notepad. “Kronshar has the one from the lighthouse, plus two more. We have the one from Tillianfeld, then there’s one in Tamilik Bay, one guarded by the Dragon Lord, one in Des’an’dar, one in the Wasteland. Two are lost—one in the Shadow, the other destroyed in the Great War that created the Wasteland.”
    Jeremy held his fingers out. “That’s ten. There are two more out there somewhere.”
    â€œYeah, but I still think we should get one of those for ourselves, or Kronshar will get too far ahead of us.”
    â€œOkay. We’ll play that the Midnight Wizard found the other somewhere, and when we get the one in Des’an’dar, we’ll have three.”
    â€œBoys,” Jeremy’s mom said, poking her head into the room. She blinked at the sprawl of encyclopedia volumes carpeting the floor. “Are you working on homework?”
    â€œNo, ma’am, just looking up some stuff.”
    â€œUh-huh. Daniel, that was your mom on the phone. Let me drive you home. Jeremy, make sure you put all those books back when you’re done.”
    Jeremy followed them into the garage and watched the car pull away into the rain. Leaning against the garage, he stared across the street into the black line of Twin Hills. Lightning flashed, illuminating the trees. A tall shadow moved among the trunks. Was it the Old Man? Jeremy squinted, leaning into the storm. When the lightning flashed again, it had vanished.

Part 2: Spring

Chapter Eight
    Daronwy had heard the wind tell of places where spring was a rebirth and a true beginning; places where winter was deadly and the entire world exhaled once the cold season lifted. The tree did not know these places himself. For Daronwy, spring was the breathing space between the wet chill of winter and the tandoor heat of summer. Buds must sprout before the cold ends; otherwise, they would not reach maturity before the roasting sun dried them out. Flowers bloomed in forgotten patches of sunlight on the forest floor, lending the cluttered carpet of needles a breath of grace between the discarded husks of human machines. The wind grew warmer, and the human saplings were enamored with the growing light of the lengthening days and its promise of summer’s freedom.

    Jeremy wandered across Swamp Creek, but his mind sped toward tomorrow night. Daniel would spend the night and they would be able to go down into the caverns, searching for the lost city of Des’an’dar. He stopped to admire the bluebonnets growing in the protected lee of a rusted-out washing machine. Something splashed in the pond—something big. Then another splash. Jeremy froze. Voices. Had someone fallen into the pond?
    He stayed low beneath the swaying yellow grasses of the Trash Clearing and hurried to the edge of the Mini Desert. He stared at the pond and saw nothing. Then, suddenly, movement. He squinted against the reflected glare of the spring sunlight on the water. A head bobbed up, then water splashed in its direction. Mom had always told him not to swim in that pond. With its fluorescent algae and the way it reeked of oil, he had no intention of ever doing so. Jeremy assumed everyone thought that, but obviously there were two people in it. Who would be that crazy?
    Jeremy crept closer, staying low and moving slowly. He hid next to a lone skinny tallow tree on the edge of the Mini Desert. He couldn’t go any closer without putting himself in the open. Jeremy watched as a head popped up from beneath the scum lining the surface, followed by another. It was Travis and Lee. Jeremy shuddered at the thought of being in that green scum; the tepid, tannic water dappled with little rainbow slicks of oil. He certainly wouldn’t swim in it, but Travis and Lee could do whatever they wanted. Jeremy turned, walking toward the overgrown trail that led to the Tree.
    â€œHey!”
    He froze, hair on his neck rising. He did not turn.
    â€œHey!”