Shadow Tree by Jake Halpern

constantly about being discovered with it and he was obsessed with hiding the Pen properly. Using scraps of discarded leather, Hill had fashioned a sheath to enclose the Pen and he kept it stuffed into the side of his left shoe.
    Every evening, after dining on a hunk of moldy bread and thin soup, Hill and Resuza usually had an hour to themselves. Unfortunately, this was the most dangerous time of day because the Dragoonya had informers everywhere who were only too happy to report on any suspicious conversations or activities. Any accusation at all from another slave – whether it was true or not – would usually mean that the accused would be cast out into the snow. In any case, during this time of night, Resuza and Hill lay silently in their bunks. Only after the lights went out did they murmur to each other about their plans.
    Tonight, as the other slaves slept like the dead, Hill and Resuza planned to have another such conversation.
    â€œHill,” whispered Resuza again through the darkness. “Are you okay?”
    Spurred into movement by Resuza’s whisper, Hill sat up in bed and took the Pen out of its hiding place within the blanket. It was silver with a sparkling emerald embedded on top. He stared at the following diagram carved across the barrel:

    Hill had managed to figure out or at least guess the meaning of the five symbols. The symbols represented the five classical elements: the top triangle represented fire and the bottom one was water; the triangle on the left was earth and the one on the right was air; the fifth symbol, the one in the center comprised of three dots, represented ether.
    â€œWhat’s it doing?” whispered Resuza through the darkness, “Is it happening again?”
    They spoke in Dormian, which none of the other slaves understood – a precaution just in case someone overheard their whispers.
    â€œYes,” said Hill. He then had another fit of coughing before he finally caught his breath. Hil was huddled beneath his blanket to conceal his movements. “It’s happening again.”
    For the last several evenings, at exactly midnight, the emerald on top of the Pen began to glow. The glow lasted for five minutes or so. Tonight, Hill and Resuza had vowed to tinker with the Pen and decipher what – if anything – the glowing meant.
    â€œAre you going to press it?” whispered Resuza.
    â€œQuiet,” said Hill.
    Hill held his breath and then pushed the emerald button. CLICK. Nothing happened. He waited a moment, then pressed it again. Still nothing. Hill sighed disappointedly. Finally, he pressed it once more – this time holding the button for several seconds. Then something very strange happened. The tip of the Pen emitted an intense green light and projected a small three-dimensional image, which came in and out of focus, like a brightly lit sign on a foggy night. It was the image of a hand with several numbers etched on and in-between the fingers. There was also a series of circles at the point where the thumb joined to the hand. He couldn’t make sense of it. It looked like this.

    Hill stared at the mesmerizing, glowing three-dimensional image. His mind was racing with questions.
Why had the Pen started glowing in the last few days? What did this strange diagram mean? What was the Pen trying to tell him?
He played with the Pen for a while longer, but nothing else happened. Eventually, the three-dimensional image disappeared.
    â€œThat’s puzzling,” said Hill. “I’ll need to think about this.”
    â€œI’m tired of thinking – I want to try what we discussed,” said Resuza. “I want to go ahead with our plan.”
    â€œWhat Now?” asked Hill.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you really think that’s wise?” asked Hill.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Resuza. “But I can’t just sit around here waiting to die.”
    Hill sighed.
    â€œPlease give me the Pen,”