Treespeaker

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious.
TREESPEAKER
2011© by Katie W Stewart
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Cover design by Katie W Stewart
www.katiewstewart.com

    ‘Treespeaker’ has been a long time in the making and a lot of people have been involved in that process. I’d love to be able to claim sole responsibility, but without the help, encouragement and plain bullying of certain people, this would still be a hardly started idea on my hard drive and my dream of becoming a writer would have remained just that – a dream.
      Firstly, I’d like to thank my lovely fellow writers on CritiqueCircle.com, especially ‘Lucan’, ‘Marti’, SkipperZ’ and ‘Flick’ who kept me going with my first draft until I’d finished and then helped some more with revisions. Dedication plus. Thanks to you and all the others who critiqued all, or just a few, of the chapters. Extra thanks to Lucan, too, for refusing to allow me to wallow in self pity. He was the first to suggest that I think about e-publishing.
     Secondly, a huge thanks to Guy Salvidge who, despite not being a great fan of fantasy, went through and corrected my mistakes.
     Finally, to my family and friends for their encouragement and support, thank you. All those late dinners and the messy house were hopefully worth it.

The worried face of the moon, high in the branches of the great oak, mirrored the apprehension in Jakan’s mind.  He shuddered and pulled his deerskin cloak closer about his shoulders. It made no difference. The cold he felt had nothing to do with the night air.

Ahead of him, a column of men, women and children trod their way up the moonlit path in solemn silence. The only sound came from their soft shoes amongst the leaves and the scuffling of small animals hurrying away to hide in the darkness. A thin mist settled on the ground, swirling in the torchlight and the scent of damp earth wafted on the breeze.

Gritting his teeth, Jakan tried to centre his mind on the ritual to come. At the front of the procession, frail Kattanbek, Chief Elder of the Fifth Tribe of Arrakesh, swayed in a sedan chair. Beyond him, further up the hill, three fires burned in the glade in front of Padhag Klen, promising the villagers warmth and light as they attended the SpringSpeak.

Jakan fixed his gaze on the sedan chair and sighed to himself. He had little doubt that this would be the last Speak for Kattanbek. The old man’s poor, tired soul would not last another season. Who would succeed him? It was a question that had plagued Jakan for many months now. Amongst all the Elders, there was no one who he could discern had the strength, determination or leadership that had characterised Kattan. The tribe had run smoothly under his care, without ill will or strife. Jakan hoped that tonight Arrakesh would name a successor, for he alone could know the true heart of his people.

As the procession entered the glade, the sedan was set upon flat ground between two of the big fires. Jakan pushed back the hood of his cloak to rest on his shoulders and stood beside the Chief Elder. The other villagers edged around the fires and faced Padhag Klen, The Tree, a huge, dark shadow in the firelight. The moon peeked between the still-bare branches, lending a silver glow to one side of the gnarled trunk.

With everyone settled, Kattan signalled that he wanted to stand. Jakan eased him forward and around to face the people. The old man managed a weak smile at Jakan then, with difficulty, raised his grey head to speak.

“People of the Fifth Tribe of Arrakesh,” he said, his face ashen, his voice shaky and thin, “we’ve survived another winter without hunger, for which we must all give thanks.”

There were mumblings of “Arrakesh be praised,” and Kattan waited for them to stop before continuing. “Indeed, Arrakesh be praised and thanks, also, to all of you for your hard work and dedication in preparing for the winter. Though we’ve just endured one of the coldest winters in living memory, as Arrakesh foretold, our storehouses are still partly stocked and the woodpile is not fully depleted. You can all be proud.”

There was a polite applause. At the front of the group, Kattan’s wife stood, her hands clasped in front of her, sadness glowing in her brown eyes.
         
She knows, too,
thought Jakan as he helped the Chief Elder to sit once more. Then, with a respectful nod, he turned on his heel and strode towards Padhag Klen.

He climbed over the thick roots at the base of The Tree and made his way into a hollow between two huge roots that rose to two feet above the ground. There, he swung around to face the people. Focusing his mind on his role as Treespeaker, he raised his arms above his head and spoke, his rich, deep voice echoing against the trees on the far side of the glade.

“We seek the Will of Arrakesh.”

As one, the people replied, “We seek the insight of Arrakesh.”

          “We will do the Will of Arrakesh.”

“By moon’s silver water and sun’s golden fire, we will do as he wills. He is our strength and we his.”

 Jakan gave a solemn nod. He lowered his arms and faced The Tree. Already his heart thudded in anticipation. Making an effort to show more calmness than he felt, he reached out his hands and placed them on the trunk. Then, putting his head back a little, he shut his eyes and waited. Not a sound came from the people around him, nor from the forest. Everyone and everything awaited the knowledge, the will of Arrakesh.

Forcing himself to take slow breaths, Jakan concentrated on the silence, waiting for the voice in his mind to tell him of the coming season.  Arrakesh did not reside here in The Tree as many believed. As Treespeaker, Jakan could pick up a fresh fallen leaf and know the weather for the next day, or turn a stone and know which animal had passed near it in the last day. It was an intuitive knowledge from Arrakesh that he could not explain. Here at Padhag Klen though, the voice of Arrakesh came stronger. To the people, it was a focal point on which to centre belief. It held them together, reminding them of who they were.

Jakan had taken over this ritual as Treespeaker from his own father when he was sixteen years old. Over time he had learned to completely relax, to let the soft murmuring and gentle images wash over him, without trying to understand them. When it was all over, he found that he understood without thinking.

Tonight he approached the ritual with unusual apprehension. He felt an uneasiness that he couldn’t explain. There was no clear premonition in his mind. Yet he felt afraid for the people of Arrakesh. He had tried to tell himself that it was his preoccupation with the problem of leadership that bothered him, but no matter how much he had subdued his thoughts, the niggling fear persisted.

He could hear the thumping of his own heart and fought to calm himself, to let the images start. He sank further and further into himself until at last he found the soft, quiet centre he sought.

The images came, fuzzy at first, as if he were seeing them through a mist. He fought against the mist and it began to clear. His throat constricted in fear. He saw the village of his people. Darkness had fallen, but the whole village was aglow with fire. Every building burned, flames like ravenous wolves rising amongst the trees. He could feel the raging heat on his skin; hear the crackling of flaming timber. Then he became aware of the sounds. Not the usual soft murmuring of Arrakesh, but screams and wails so loud he reeled mentally away.

He resisted the urge to try to understand and the image faded. In its place he saw Padhag Klen. It stood in the sunlight, black and spectre-like. Its branches were bare, though the rest of the forest wore its summer greenery. As he watched, two of the branches reached out to him like huge hands held out in supplication. He watched in horror as the trunk of the tree split and bright red liquid poured from its centre onto the earth below. The liquid flowed away into the forest. Everything it touched turned black and withered away to dust.

On impulse, Jakan closed his eyes tighter, clutching so hard at the tree that the rough bark grazed his hands. Behind him, he heard the uneasy shuffling and murmuring of the villagers. He could do nothing to reassure them.
 
Arrakesh held him.

The image of Padhag Klen faded once more and Jakan found himself in a forest meadow. It was summer and deer filled the meadow. They appeared unaware of his presence, but stood chewing at the long, green grass. Jakan relaxed. This was more like the usual visions. Suddenly he cringed. A dark shadow, like a cloud passing over the sun, crept across the meadow. As the deer were overshadowed, they disappeared as if an invisible hand had wiped them from the scene. The lush grass turned brown and shrivelled away, leaving nothing but a patch of barren earth.

 A noise like wind came from above him. Jakan looked up and cowered away from the ferocious talons of a gigantic black hawk. It turned one huge yellow eye on him and screeched as it veered away and flew off into the distance.

 
Please, Arrakesh, I can’t bear any more.

 Arrakesh had more to show. The image faded and another took its place. Now Jakan sat in his own home. It was evening and he and his family had settled for dinner. Jalena smiled as she handed their son, Dovan, a bowl of roasted yams. Jakan couldn’t relax. He knew that something was going to happen. The shaking of his body had become uncontrollable and he rested his head on the trunk of Padhag Klen for support.

The image turned to chaos. The house disappeared into blackness and the huge talons of the hawk descended. With a mind-rending scream, it scooped up both Jalena and Dovan and reared away. At that moment, Jakan became aware of another scream, his own, as the bird disappeared, dropping his son with a sickening thud to the ground and taking his wife with it into the night.

Jakan reeled as his mind plummeted into a circling darkness, surrounded by the most horrendous noise he had ever heard. An imploring, mournful cry seemed to shatter every fibre of his body and carried him away into the emptiness.

He clutched his bloodied hands to his head and collapsed amongst the roots of Padhag Klen.   

For hours, Jakan swirled in murky darkness, struggling to find his way back. At last, a small dot of light wavered in the distance. Immediately, he knew he had to reach it. Everything depended upon him getting to that light.

Fighting weakness, he pushed himself through the dimness. Cold cobwebs of doubt and fear caught at him, pulling him back, but he pushed on. As he got closer, the light grew bigger and he felt stronger. Then a voice made him push himself even harder. It was soft and gentle, like salve on a wound, and he struggled with all his might to break through. At last the blackness passed away and a cool cloth was placed on his head.

“Jakan,” the voice soothed, “it’s all right.”

He reached out to the hand with the cloth and opened his eyes. Jalena’s soft hazel eyes glistened in the candlelight as she smiled down at him. He tried to raise his head, but the room spun and his mind felt as though it were being twisted. He sank with a groan back onto the pillow. Jalena pressed the cool cloth to his forehead.

“Shhh!” she said. “Lie still. Rest.”

“What time is it?” He wished the daylight would come.

Jalena jumped to her feet and opened the shutter. “The sun’s just rising.”

“I must see Kattan.”

“He said he’d come at dawn. Dovan’s gone to help him.” She knelt and took his hand. “What happened last night?”

 Looking at her sweet face brought back memories of the talons taking her away into oblivion. He shivered. “I don’t know yet. The visions were…I felt as if I was going mad. I don’t understand any of it.”

A worried expression crossed her face. He wanted to comfort her, but the words eluded him. There was no comfort in what he had seen.

“I thought we were going to lose you, Jakan. You looked absolutely terrified!”

Yes, he had been terrified. He was still terrified. Whatever Arrakesh had been trying to tell him, Jakan felt afraid for his people. Yet he had no idea what Arrakesh willed. He sensed his mind slipping away again and reached for Jalena to stop himself from passing out.

“Stop thinking about it now,” Jalena said. “Just relax. Kattan will be here in a while.”

She took a cup from the dirt floor and lifted his head so that he could drink. Warm and smooth and sweet with honey, it slid down his throat with ease. He gave a weak smile when he’d finished and she leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“Kattan’s ill. I should go to him.” Jakan tried to sit, but Jalena eased him back. As she did, the door of the cottage creaked.

“He’s here now.” Jalena straightened the fur across his chest and smiled. “I’ll get you something to eat.” She rose and slipped through the leather curtain surrounding the bed.

Jakan laid with his head back, eyes shut. The images kept reappearing and his mind struggled to comprehend what they meant, no matter how hard he endeavoured to stop it. Why wasn’t there the usual unconscious understanding? What was he doing wrong that he couldn’t meld what he had seen into an intuitive knowledge of the Will of Arrakesh?

Jakan opened his eyes and sat up, so suddenly that his head spun and the pain made him retch. He leaned back on his elbows and took a deep breath. Of course! This was not about the Will of Arrakesh. The visions were a warning of something to come, but what? The normal SpringSpeak images Arrakesh gave were rarely clear and simple, but cryptic messages to be deciphered. His brain had become so used to the patterns of these messages that the answers came to him quickly and simply. Not this time.

Movement at the door startled him from his thoughts. Jalena reappeared, carrying a tray. Behind her walked Dovan, holding Kattan’s elbow as he shuffled in. The Chief Elder concentrated on his own feet, as if willing them to move. At last Dovan lowered him onto a cushion beside the bed.

Jalena placed the tray, containing a warm drink and a thick slice of buttered bread, on the floor where Jakan could reach it. She kissed him again, nodded a farewell to Kattan and left the room.

Jakan reached up a hand. “Dovan, help me sit, please.”

His son rushed to help, putting an arm under his shoulders to lift him, at the same time pushing cushions behind him to lean on. Jakan contemplated Dovan’s waving hair and hazel eyes, so full of concern.
He has his mother’s gentleness and her looks,
he thought
.
Fear left a taste in his mouth as the images of the hawk flashed through his mind.

Dovan finished, pulled the covers up to Jakan’s chest and smiled at his nod of thanks. Then, with another quick smile at the Chief Elder, he left.

The old man eased himself around on the cushion to face Jakan. “Well, young one, that was quite a performance last night.”

Jakan couldn’t help a wry smile. Kattan had called him ‘young one’ when he was a boy. Now that he had reached his fortieth year, it had become a joke between them. “How are you, Kattan?” He noted the tremor in the old man’s hand where it rested on his knee.

“I am well, considering I was almost scared to death hours ago. Are you trying to send me to Arrakesh before my time?”

“I thought I was on my way to Arrakesh, old one. Believe me; nothing that happened was of my choosing.”

Kattan moved to let his shaking hand rest on Jakan’s arm. “Do you feel like talking about it?”

 “I can talk, but I doubt that I can explain anything.”

The old man patted his arm. “Perhaps, if you can, you should start at the beginning and tell it through to the end. Don’t try to make sense of it as you go, just tell it. Then perhaps together we can come to an answer. But first, take something to eat and drink. You must keep up your strength.”

He watched in silence as Jakan ate the bread and drank the warm fruity drink that Jalena had made for him, giving a polite shake of the head when Jakan offered him some bread. Jakan relaxed, if only a little. Kattan was right. He did feel better for having food in his belly. In the room beyond the curtain he could hear Jalena and Dovan talking together. There was a third voice, a woman’s – probably Megda, Kattan’s wife. She and Jalena had been good friends for a long time.

When Jakan had finished his meal, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Kattan waited in silence. Jakan appreciated the time the Chief Elder always gave him to contemplate before he spoke. At last, he cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

He began with confidence, as if in a trance, telling the story with little emotion. But as he went on, a tremor took hold of his voice and he had to keep swallowing to continue. The images still plagued his mind, every bit as horrifying as the night before. He could see from Kattan’s demeanour that he was tempted to stop him, but he knew he wouldn’t. The Chief Elder knew well enough that it had to be done as early as possible, before everyday life and emotion wedged themselves between the visions and memory.

By the time he’d finished, Jakan breathed heavily. Kattan sat in silence, his face thoughtful. For a few minutes neither of them said anything.

Finally the older man spoke. “I know that you’ve had a lot on your mind lately. You know better than I do how little time I have left.” He lifted a hand to silence Jakan’s attempt at denial. “You’re the Treespeaker and the healer, Jakan. You know many things that others don’t, and you sometimes think it best to keep your silence about what you know. But you and I have been friends for too long for you to be able to keep my ending from your face. And my brain is not so addled that I can’t sense it coming.”

“I’m sorry.” Jakan shifted on his bed.

“I know that, but it’s the truth, and you, as Treespeaker have a difficult task ahead of you in naming a new Chief Elder. I know it’s been playing on your mind. I’ve seen you watching the other Elders, seen the frustration in your face. Could all this have affected what you saw up there at the Speak? Could the visions sent by Arrakesh have been contorted by the worries of your own mind?”

Jakan shook his head. “I don’t think any thoughts of mine could be strong enough to affect the thoughts of Arrakesh.”

Kattan stroked his chin. “Well said.” He gazed at Jakan for a moment. “Could the visions perhaps have been predicting my death?”

Jakan shuddered. Kattan seemed able to talk with such calmness about something that he couldn’t bear to think of himself. The old man was more than just the Chief Elder. He had been his own father’s best friend and had become a true friend to Jakan, mixing wisdom with kindness. He’d always been there when he needed an ear, never judging. Jakan didn’t want to contemplate the end.

“Why would Arrakesh give me visions of what I already knew?”

 “True. But you’ve been worrying about other things too, haven’t you? Something else has been on your mind?”

Jakan’s eyes opened wide. How could the old man know that? He’d spoken to no one of his foreboding before the SpringSpeak, not even Jalena. His feelings had been far too abstract to discuss with anyone.

“You missed your vocation, Kattan. You should have been Treespeaker, not I.”

“I know your mind because I know you, Jakan,” Kattan answered, “and you’re not good at hiding your thoughts. Couldn’t I always tell when you were hiding something as a child?”

Jakan laughed, remembering the time when, as a boy, he had been playing with a flint with other boys. The fire they started burnt away half the wood stockpile for the whole village, before it could be put out. They had run off, and no one would have been any the wiser, had not Kattan taken Jakan aside one day as he was on his way to lessons. “Jakan, I think you have something to tell your father. It won’t please him, and you won’t enjoy the consequences, but you won’t be able to wipe the guilt from your face until you have it off your chest. You’re a handsome young man. It would be a shame to spoil your good looks with a permanently guilty expression.”

Jakan didn’t argue or deny anything, but tried to ignore him. Every day, however, Kattan would raise a questioning eyebrow at him until, at last, Jakan could bear it no longer. He told his father what he’d done. He suffered his punishment, many hours of wood gathering, in silence and never told anyone who had been with him, though he always suspected that Kattan knew.

He blinked at the old man. “I can’t explain my thoughts. They defy description. All I can say is that I feel a strange foreboding for this place. I try to tell myself that it all links to my feelings about you, but I’m not sure. It’s all so confusing.”

Kattan chuckled. “And you’re not used to being confused.”

Jakan smiled, then rubbed his face with his fingers, avoiding the palms of his hands, which were still stiff and sore. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the chatter in the next room. Jakan could smell the dry pine needles in the mattress beneath him, mixed with the faint scent of calming lavender.

At last, he spoke. “What should I do, Kattan?”

His old friend didn’t answer at first, but frowned and inspected his shaking hands. “I think that maybe there’s nothing you can do yet. I think that Arrakesh was merely warning you. He tried before the Speak, but couldn’t get through to you clearly. At the Speak you were more receptive. Now you must wait and see what comes about. Best to have an arrow in your bow, so to speak.”

“As protection against what?”

Kattan smiled his gentle smile, his soft blue eyes twinkling. “Have patience, young one. And have faith that Arrakesh will give you the insight you need when you need it.”

Jakan sighed. “And in the meantime, what do we tell the others?”

“Do we need to tell them anything?”

“They’ve just seen their Treespeaker go mad before Padhag Klen! We must tell them something.”

With an effort, Kattan pulled himself up to sit straight on the cushion. A pink glow rose on his pallid cheeks. “They did not see their Treespeaker go mad! They saw him receive the Word of Arrakesh. Obviously it wasn’t the usual message of a SpringSpeak, and they’re all concerned – about the message, but mainly for you. They trust you implicitly and know that you’ll tell them all they need to know when it’s necessary. So calm yourself and get some rest.”