Treespeaker (14 page)

 “You need to eat and sleep first. You wouldn’t make it to the edge of the village like this. Stay with us. In the morning Fareba and I will get you ready for your journey.” He stood and walked to the sleeping area of his cottage, returning with a bedroll.

Jakan sank back onto his cushion, too exhausted to argue. The enormity of what he had to do weighed on his mind. Tomorrow he would leave the forest, without Arrakesh to guide him; a blind man walking into the unknown.

Dovan hadn’t meant to sleep, but somehow the soft swish, swish of Megda’s broom sweeping her neat cottage turned into the sound of her voice wakening him. Memories of the day before and thoughts of what he now had to do hit him like a wave, all at once, and he fought back nausea.

Outside, the moon still lit the trees and no hint of sunlight shone in the east. Megda had done as she’d promised and woken him well before dawn. Had she slept at all? She had already prepared him some bread and a drink. He ate with reluctance. He hardly tasted it and didn’t sit down.

When he’d finished, Megda handed him a bag, then crossed to a box by the door. She knelt and lifted the heavy lid. Taking out a cloak, she lowered the lid and pushed herself up, using the box for support. With the cloak held out, she walked back to Dovan.

“This was Kattan’s. I want you to have it.” She said it without emotion, but tears glistened in her eyes.

“Megda, I can’t take that.”

She pushed it into his arms with an impatient gesture. “I was going to give it to your father on the anniversary of him becoming Treespeaker,” she said. “But I think it fitting that you should have it.” Now her tears flowed freely and Dovan had to swallow hard before he could answer. Megda had loved Kattan and loved his father as a son. Now she had lost both.

“You can give it to Father, when he returns.” He wished he felt as confident of that happening as he tried to sound.

Megda shook her head. “Jakan would want you to have it. Now go, and may Arrakesh and Kattan’s strong spirit go with you.” She took the cloak from Dovan’s arms and threw it about his shoulders. The honour of it hung heavily on him. Megda’s hands shook as she fixed the pin. Then she threw her arms about him and hugged him.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he said, kissing her cheek before he opened the door. She nodded, her hand over her mouth and her eyes red. With one last reassuring smile, Dovan stepped out into the dark and shut the door behind him.

The moon, though low, cast a silvery glow on the path. Dovan couldn’t hear a sound in the still night. He stood thinking for a moment. To get onto the path to the Second Tribe meant walking up towards Grifad’s cottage and turning left. He decided instead, to cut straight across the forest from Megda’s cottage. It didn’t take long to find the path further up.

He walked quickly, trying not to think too much about what had happened or what was to come. He played mental games with himself, guessing how many steps it would take to reach a certain tree further ahead, or counting how often he took a breath in a given distance. It was childish, he knew, but it kept his mind from other things he would rather not think about.

The hours and the miles passed and the moon sank below the trees. As it did, a golden glow appeared in the eastern sky. The vegetation grew thicker and the branches over the path began to slow his progress. Something nagged at his mind, despite the games he played. He stopped with a jerk and looked around. Birds sang to the new morning. The trees glistened with dew. He could see nothing to worry him. Why then, did he feel a presence? Quietly he stepped from the path and hid behind a gnarled oak. His ears strained to hear a sound. He could hear nothing but the birds.

Dovan turned his back to the tree, leaned against it and rubbed his eyes. As he did, a strange sensation flashed into his mind. It was like a scent without a smell, a noise without a sound. Something told him his father had been here. A sense of relief flooded his mind. His father was alive. Or was he letting his imagination run away? Had the stress of the last twenty-four hours made him delusional? He mustn’t let himself hope too much. Nevertheless, he set off again at a faster pace.

The sun shone above the trees by the time Dovan reached the village. He could see the cottages nestled in a clearing and the same high roof on the Meeting Hall as on the one at home. Fatigue and hunger made the place all the more attractive and his mood lightened as he walked onto the main path.

An old man stooped at a well, hauling a bucket of water from the bottom. He looked up as Dovan approached and nodded a silent greeting. Dovan stopped and cleared his throat.

“Good morning,” he said. “I’ve travelled from the Fifth Tribe in search of your Treespeaker, Putakash. Could you tell me where his cottage is, please?”

The old man hoisted the bucket from the well and put it on the ground, before answering. “You need to follow the path you’re on, past the Meeting Hall, until you get to the end. Then turn left and look for the cottage with the ivy growing by the door. That belongs to Putakash. It’s not hard to find. You’ll see the tree carved on his lintel.”

Dovan waved and continued on his way. As the man had predicted he found the cottage without difficulty. He gave a timid knock, but soon a middle-aged woman answered it. She gave a warm smile in greeting, though she studied his face without sign of recognition.

“I’m sorry,” she said, when Dovan explained who he was looking for. “Putakash isn’t here at the moment, but he shouldn’t be long. Please, come in and have some refreshments while you wait.”

Dovan hesitated, disappointed that he would have to wait, that his father hadn’t come to the door to greet him, but he was hungry and thirsty, so he nodded and followed the woman in, murmuring thanks. As he walked through the door, a sudden wave of dizziness hit him and he grabbed at the doorframe. Again, the sensation that his father had been here overwhelmed him. He breathed deeply to steady himself.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked. “You’ve gone very pale.”

Dovan nodded unsteadily. “It’s been a long journey. I’m probably just tired.”

“Please, come in, sit down and rest yourself.” She waved her arm, pointing across the airy room to the cushions around the low table that seemed to be a feature of every Arrakeshi home.

Dovan leaned over and left his bag by the door, then slumped onto a cushion. He felt shy and awkward, but so many questions raced around his mind. Why had he felt his father’s presence if there was no sign of him here? Where was Putak?

“My name is Ashfareba,” the woman said as she found a cup and filled it from a jug. She placed the cup in front of him and turned to get him food. “What’s yours?”

“I’m sorry, I should have said earlier, I’m Dovan, son of Jakanash.” He watched her closely as he spoke.

Ashfareba had her back to him as she reached into a large pot for some bread, but she tensed at his words. She swung around to face him. Her cheeks were tinged with red. “Son of Jakanash?”

At that moment, the door of the cottage opened and a tall grey-haired man entered. He was frowning a little to himself as he walked in and didn’t seem to notice the visitor until Dovan jumped to his feet. Then Putak raised his thick eyebrows and an expression of concern crossed his face. He glanced at his wife, who bustled forward and took a gentle hold of Dovan’s arm.

“Putak,” she said, “this is Dovan. Dovanash. Son of Jakanash.” She stressed the last three words a little, nodding her head as she spoke. The man stared at Dovan for a few seconds before he forward and took his hand. His grip was firm as he spoke and Dovan felt warm, soothing energy relieving his spirit.

“Welcome, Dovan. You’ve grown to a man since I last saw you. I didn’t recognise you. I’m relieved. It’s saved me a walk.”

 “A walk, sir?”

The Treespeaker squeezed his hand and gave a sad smile before letting it go. “Sit down, lad. You must be exhausted.”

“My father…”

“Sit. Then we’ll talk.”

Dovan sat and Putak sat next to him. He said nothing while his wife served him a drink. Then he sipped from his cup and took a deep breath. Dovan shifted on his cushion, impatient for answers.

“I had intended to travel to your village to pass you a message,” Putak began.

Dovan sat up straight. “From my father?”

“Indeed, from your father.” Putak stopped and waited as if to give Dovan time to understand the words.

“He is alive!” Dovan’s voice cracked as he spoke. He stared around the cottage, searching again for some sign of his father.  “Where is he? Is he all right?”

“He’s gone on a journey. He’s fine, considering.”

Dovan closed his eyes for a moment in relief. The feelings hadn’t been his imagination. If only he could hear the same news about his mother, but that couldn’t be. Dovan clasped his hands and put them under his chin. “I knew he was alive!”

Putak sat back a little and raised his eyebrows. “How did you know?”

Dovan felt suddenly hot. He looked down at the table. “I…I kept…sensing him on the way here and when I walked into this cottage…”

Ashfareba stopped what she was doing and turned to them. Putak leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice.

“Sensed?”

Dovan shrugged. There was no going back now. “That is why I came to you. I hoped I might find my father here, but I also came because I think I may be a Treespeaker.” It was out.

Putak’s blue eyes shone and a smile played on his lips. “Your father didn’t know of this?”

“No, I didn’t know myself until last night. Tell me, please, Putak. Where is he?”

Putak let out a long breath and nodded his head in a slow motion. He tapped his finger on the table. “We have much to speak of. If you are Treespeaker, then from what I’ve heard of this Beldror, your life could be in danger, too.”

A cold wave of fear washed over Dovan’s back. He hadn’t thought that far.

Putak put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Eat, while I tell you of your father.”

Jakan and Putak had walked together into the misty morning in silence. Very few villagers were out and about so early. A rooster outside a distant cottage greeted the morning with its raucous crowing. It echoed down the valley. Jakan, well fed by Putak’s wife and well equipped for his journey by Putak, took a deep breath of the cold air. He’d slept little. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself against the grief and doubts that plagued him. What did he head towards?

Putak led the way up the central path, past the Meeting Hall of the Second Tribe. Then he turned to the right and followed another path, which meandered through the trees away from the village and eventually met with a stream. A mass of bluebells lined the banks and Jakan shut his eyes for a moment as a wave of grief hit him at the sight. Jalena loved bluebells. There had been a jug of them by the window of their cottage when… He shook his head in disbelief, grappling with the urge to run home to see if he had been dreaming. With drooping shoulders, he kept his eyes up, concentrating on the path ahead.

Then another thought struck him and he stopped. He knelt amongst the bluebells. Putak stopped also, his eyebrows raised, but said nothing. Jakan dug his fingers into a patch of bare earth amongst the flowers, and scooped up a handful of sweet humus. With the other hand he pulled the pouch containing Putak’s healing stone from his tunic and poured the contents of his hand into it. He pulled the thong tight and slipped it back to his chest. Then he stood and brushed the dirt from his hands. Putak nodded his understanding and they set off once more. Jakan took one last look over his shoulder at the blue sheet of flowers, quivering in the breeze. Would he see anything so beautiful in Carlika?

They followed the stream for a number of miles before they crossed it and continued up a steep incline strewn with large rocks and sparsely vegetated with shrubs and hazelnut trees. At the top, Jakan could, at last, see the shimmer of the bare distant hills of Carlika. They must be close to the Veil, though he could not see it as he should. He put a hand on Putak’s arm and stopped.

“I must ask something of you.”

Putak turned, an inquiring look in his eyes. “Anything.”

“My son, he’s still in the village. He doesn’t even know I’m alive. I…” He stopped to take a breath.

Putak put a hand on Jakan’s shoulder and shook his head. “You don’t need to ask. I’ll do all I can to help. As soon as I get back I’ll go to him. Don’t worry.”

 “My people, they –”

“Jakan.” His cousin shook his head as he spoke. “Don’t worry about anything but the task you have ahead of you. I’ll do all I can here.”

“Be careful, though. Beldror is dangerous.”

“I promise I’ll do nothing without considering the danger. Now come, we must get you on your way.” With a gentle push, he steered Jakan back to the track and they walked towards the forest’s edge. There were very few trees here and about a hundred metres ahead, the world seemed to drop away into nothing. Jakan held onto the low branch of a hazelnut tree as he looked, wishing he never had to let go.

A little ahead of him, Putak halted, drawing in his breath and turning to look at Jakan, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” Jakan looked about him.

The older Treespeaker’s voice was low. “A tear in the Veil. You can’t see it?”

At that moment, the full force of the loss of his Treespeaking skills hit Jakan and sent him reeling into a dark place in his mind. As he fought his way back, anger rose so quickly it shook him.

“No, I can’t see the Veil. The damage is Beldror’s handiwork, no doubt.” His mouth filled with a bitter taste and his shoulders tensed.

Putak began to walk again and Jakan followed, his mind whirling. Arrakesh had not permitted entry to Beldror as he had feared. The man had forced his way in by magic, leaving the whole forest vulnerable. Now only the power of a Treespeaker could repair the damage. He found himself praying an apology for his doubt of the night before, wishing that he could hear an answer.

Putak knelt before where the Veil should be, his face white and tense. He waved his hand in a smooth arc through the air before him and looked up. “You can’t see it?”

Jakan hung his head and covered his eyes with his hand. Where he should have seen a shimmering wall, like a thin film of water, he saw only clear air. Frustration at his inability to help ate at him. “Only a Treespeaker can see it. And only a Treespeaker can rework the magic to mend the damage. I can’t do either. How bad is the tear? ” He lowered his hand and stared at Putak, who stood, giving a sad shake of his head.

“Large enough. It will take more than one of us to fix it. I’ll have to send for help.”

Jakan turned and looked out across Carlika. A huge lump formed in his throat and his heart beat a rapid rhythm in his chest. The undulating plain below the forest seemed to roll forever. Here and there a line of trees denoted a stream, but there were few other trees anywhere. The enormity of it sucked at him.

He turned back to Putak. “There is so much I need to say.” Now that the moment had come, Jakan found himself searching for a reason to stay.

“You need to go, Jakan. You need to find shelter on the plain before nightfall.” Putak’s voice was soft and encouraging. “Follow the path that leads down to that large round boulder. Beyond that, I have heard, it gets very steep and you must take great care of your footing.”

Still Jakan lingered. He stared out across to the horizon, shuddering at the emptiness of it. There was something he needed to tell Putak, but what was it? These last two days had left his brain as fuzzy as dandelion clocks. He couldn’t think. At last an image of Beldror arose in his mind and he grabbed Putak’s arm.

“The healing stones! There’s some power in the healing stones besides that used by the Treespeakers. I am sure Beldror’s using them somehow. It’s how he broke through the Veil.”

His cousin nodded, then frowned. “But where did he get one? No Arrakeshi would give one away to a Carlikan. Only Treespeakers are permitted to carry them.”

 “I don’t know, but you must stop him getting more.”

“I’ll do my best. Now go.” He clasped Jakan’s hand in his. Healing energy passed to Jakan, calming his mind. “Travel safely, Jakanash of the Fifth Tribe. May Arrakesh go with you. Return soon to your soul’s home.” Putak gave him a push, like a mother urging a reluctant child to take its first steps.

“Thanks for everything, Putak. May Arrakesh always hold your soul in his hands.”

He stepped forward, then stopped. Would the pouch with the healing stone work? Or was he about to step through the Veil to his death? He glanced back at Putak, who nodded, his mouth set in a tense line. Jakan took a deep breath, shut his eyes and took a few steps forward. His heart thudded, his blood rushed like a wild wind through his ears, but he felt no ill effects. He could still breathe. With a sigh of relief he smiled back at Putak, then continued on.

Jakan kept his eyes on the huge round boulder Putak had pointed out. The path, wide enough for only one pair of feet, wound down the grassy slope. It had been worn deep into the ground through generations of sharesh. As he walked, he felt the weight of loss pushing down on his shoulders. Would he ever get back to Arrakesh, to Dovan and Megda?

He had gone a hundred feet before he looked back. Putak waved, then swung around and strode away into the forest and Jakan’s sense of loss grew.

At the large rock, the path made a sharp turn to the west. As Putak predicted, it became much steeper and the stones that littered it were loose under his feet. To the right of the path, the ground fell away so steeply that Jakan felt dizzy as he looked down. He turned his eyes to the path and paid attention to where he was putting his feet. He didn’t look out across the plain, for to do so filled him with dread verging on panic.

The sudden flurry of wings over his head brought Jakan’s head up so quickly that he almost lost his balance. His stomach lurched in fear as he recognised Jahl, stretched and relaxed, floating on the air over the plain. Wheeling around in a slow arc, the hawk flapped its wings as it came back towards him. Jakan’s muscles tensed as he waited for the inevitable, but the bird swooped over his head and flew towards the forest, before wheeling again. This time it flew at speed, straight towards him.

Without thinking, Jakan took a step backward to avoid the flapping wings and outstretched talons. At the same moment, the hawk let out its piercing shriek. Already unbalanced from his backward step, he felt the pain in his chest at the same moment he started to fall backwards from the path. There was nothing he could do. His body hit the slope with a thud and he began to roll with increasing speed to the valley below.

At first, Jakan was aware of nothing but the pain from Jahl. Then blue flashes of agony wracked his brain as he jarred against scattered rocks. As the hawk’s curse subsided, he became more aware of his body, and struggled to stop his fall. In desperation, he sought some sort of handhold to stay himself, but the grass slipped through his fingers and rocks came away in his hand.

After a while, the rolling stopped and he began to slide, feet first, down the silky grass. He looked ahead. In horror, he saw that below him the ground disappeared over a cliff. But how high was it? Though he knew it was futile at this stage, he screamed Putak’s name, but the wind blew across the hill and carried his voice away. Then his mind called to Arrakesh,
It can’t end like this. Not now!