Treespeaker (4 page)

“We’re almost finished.” Maden hurried to stack the branch he held onto the fire. “We were just talking about - ”

“Talking is fine, as long as you’re working at the same time.” Jakan regarded Beldror, who hadn’t moved from his seat on the root. He gave a curt nod. “I trust you’re being treated well.”

 “Yes, thank you. Couldn’t be friendlier.”

Jakan’s face remained impassive. He kept his gaze on Beldror for a moment, then turned to stare at Jahl perched in Padhag Klen. His eyes narrowed. With another quick nod he strode off down the path. A few yards away he stopped and turned to Dovan.

“Don’t forget to deliver a rabbit to Megda before you come in.”

“No, Father.”

No one spoke until Jakan turned the corner into the village. Dovan blinked and laid a branch on the pile. His friend whistled his relief and pushed his long dark hair out of his eyes.

“Are you sure your father’s recovered?” Beldror asked, his voice low and solicitous. “He looks very pale.”

Dovan kicked at a rock that had rolled away from the fire circle. “He’s just got a lot on his mind, that’s all.”

“He must be worried about tonight, if he won’t let the villagers attend.”

Maden emptied the cart at last and stood with his hands on his hips, surveying their work. “We’ve never been banned from a SpringSpeak before.”

Beldror stood up and moved towards them. “Banned? Who’ll be there then?”

Dovan opened his mouth to explain, but Maden jumped in once more. “Elders only, he’s said. That’s why there’s only one fire.”

Both Maden and Beldror looked at Dovan with expectant faces. Dovan flushed. Why did people always expect him to be able to answer for his father, as if he could thoughtspeak with him? Sometimes he wished himself the son of the storeman. More and more these days everyone seemed to watch for Treespeaking skills to emerge in him, simply because he was the son of Jakanash. They continued to be disappointed. He had shown no sign of being able to communicate with Arrakesh, to thoughtspeak or to heal.

If truth were told, Dovan didn’t want to be Treespeaker. He wanted to take his sharesh, return to marry and become a great hunter, maybe an Elder in later years. Not to grow old before his time, beleaguered by other people’s problems like his father.

“He’s worried about a lot of things. That’s his job.” Dovan stalked away to the empty cart and turned it for home. “I’d better go get that rabbit for Megda.”

He moved off. The day had become warm and the beginning of a headache played at his temples. As he left, he sent another silent prayer to Arrakesh that tonight would hold no horrors for his father. Guilt teased at his mind. He knew the prayer was as much for his own benefit as his father’s.

Jakan threw the wooden comb onto the cupboard top and doused his face with cold water from the bowl. He scrubbed the moisture away with the rough cloth Jalena handed him, wishing he could wipe away his mood in the same way.

He screwed the towel into a ball and dropped it next to the bowl. His shoulders tensed as the day’s conversations ran through his mind. Not only had Beldror made a good impression on most of the villagers, they had all felt the need to tell the Treespeaker what a wonderful young man he was. Apparently he was intelligent, articulate and good-humoured, charming in the eyes of the women, stouthearted in the eyes of the men, and great entertainment in the eyes of the children. Even Jalena had proclaimed him to be ‘a very pleasant young man’. Seeing Dovan and Maden so engrossed in their conversation with Beldror that morning had further exacerbated Jakan's frustration. It seemed no one but he felt negative about the young man’s arrival.

He was beginning to think that Beldror held some sort of control over the minds of others that had no effect on him. Could it be that his own closeness to Arrakesh protected him? Or was he simply being paranoid because of the visions? He needed time to discern what Arrakesh wanted him to do. If, indeed, Beldror was the evil that Arrakesh had shown him, why had Arrakesh allowed him into the forest? The Veil should have held him out.

Jakan reached for his cloak and threw it about his shoulders. He muttered to himself as the bone pin slipped from his fingers. In a second, Jalena had recovered it and stood to try to fasten his cloak for him. He snatched the pin from her and jabbed it through the wooden loop. Straight away, he regretted his impatience. He’d been short-tempered with her all day, refusing to let her close. Tears sprang to her eyes and she turned away.

“Jalena, I…”

She twisted away from his outstretched hand and moved to throw some wood on the fire. Jakan watched her, pensive. She didn’t deserve this and he knew she didn’t understand it. How could she? She knew nothing about the visions or his unease about Beldror. Nor had he told her of what he felt yesterday when he laid his hand on Kattan. Jakan wished the night over, yet he didn't want to greet the next morning, for by then Kattan would be gone.

 As he reached the door, he was startled to see her reach out for her own cloak.

“What are you doing?”

Her eyes flamed. “I am going to sit with Megda until you come back. She needs company. We both do.”

 They went out into the cold night air. Though the days had warmed, the winter chill still hung in the air after dark. The Elders had agreed to gather at the Meeting Hall, which was on the way to Megda’s house. Jakan and Jalena walked together without a word. He reached out and took her hand. For a moment she didn’t respond. Then she squeezed his fingers and moved closer to him.

They walked like this until they approached the Meeting Hall where most of the Elders, including Kattan, waited already. While they were still out of earshot, Jakan stopped and taking Jalena’s arm, turned her around to face him. He stroked her cheek, oblivious to the watchful eyes of the Elders.

“I love you.”

She reached up and kissed him. “Be careful,” she whispered, before walking away towards Megda’s house.

As he reached the hall, the four sedan carriers, having seen his approach, raised the sedan in readiness. Kattan managed a weak smile. Warm cloaks and rugs covered him, yet his face looked blue with cold in the fading light.

Without a word, Jakan took his place in the procession behind the Chief Elder. He didn't look at the other Elders, but imagined that he could feel the eyes of Grifad boring into his back. He glanced at him over his shoulder, but the man’s gaze fell. They waited for a few minutes before Hapir, led by his wife, finally arrived. He seemed confused and had to be eased into his place. Then the small procession moved off.

Some of the villagers had gathered at the bottom of the path to The Tree to watch the Elders pass. They didn't make a sound as they went by, but regarded them with expressionless faces. Jakan concentrated on Kattan’s back, feeling the tension creeping back to his neck and shoulders.

The fire that Dovan and Maden had set glowed bright as they approached, casting dancing shadows on Padhag Klen. The men lowered the sedan and Jakan moved forward to stand beside it. This time, however, Kattan made no attempt to stand. He glanced at Jakan and nodded once. As Jakan turned towards the tree, he felt the old man’s hand grab at his, give it a gentle squeeze, then let go. He acknowledged the gesture with another nod, then strode to Padhag Klen before his nerves and emotions could take over.

In his usual place amongst the roots, he turned to face the Elders. The four sedan carriers were already on their way back down the hill.

“We seek the Will of Arrakesh.” Jakan’s voice did not carry its usual ring of confidence.

Grifad’s voice seemed to boom over the others in the response.

“We will do the Will of Arrakesh,” Jakan continued.

Again, Grifad’s voice dominated the reply.

Jakan turned and reached a trembling hand to touch The Tree.
Please Arrakesh,
he pleaded,
no more nightmare visions. A simple SpringSpeak, please!
The wind whispered through the high branches, which were just coming into leaf, and somewhere in the distance an owl gave a soft hoot. Reality faded as Jakan slipped further into himself and the mind of Arrakesh.

A scene emerged, a glade full of apple saplings. In the forest behind, he could see rabbits, hundreds of them, in obvious good health.  Further into the forest, he saw a woman searching for yams in Triffin Glok, the usual place. Her basket was empty. Another woman approached from the east, her basket full.

The next scene came, reminiscent of his earlier visions, with a glade full of grazing deer. Jakan’s muscles tightened. It was a spring scene. Does nibbled shoots of green grass in the glade, yet they had few young. Those that were there looked sickly and weak. Jakan sighed with relief as the scene faded again without drama.

Now he stood by the stream. He saw nothing remarkable. The flow was as normal for spring, swollen by the melting ice in the southern mountains. Salmon swam upstream to their spawning hole. Ducks were plentiful and nests dotted the riverbank.

The scene began to waver. 
The Leader, Arrakesh,
he urged.
Give me the name of the Chief Elder!
Everything went blank for a few seconds, as if Arrakesh needed to consider his request. Then Jakan found himself gazing at a procession of villagers walking up the path to Padhag Klen. At the front, a figure walked, his cloak pulled over his head, so that Jakan couldn’t identify him. He scanned the Elders. Grifad, he was glad to see, stamped along beside Capin. Kelsha led Hapir, guiding his elbow. All the other Elders were there, walking behind their leader. So who was the hooded figure?

Jakan surveyed the rest of the procession. As far as he could see, everyone was there who should be, except – No. That couldn’t be! He studied the hooded figure once more. The procession reached The Tree and the man put up his left hand as a signal for them to stop. The back of the wrist was tattooed with an interwoven chain design. Jakan didn’t need to see more to know that the band was the entwined roots of the tree tattooed on the inside of the wrist. The symbol of the Treespeaker! It couldn’t be. No Treespeaker had ever become Chief Elder. His mind must be playing tricks! He checked again where he should have been standing in the procession, but he wasn't there. Another figure began to appear in his place, but before he could ascertain who it was, the image faded. He concentrated, trying to bring it back, but it was gone. Once again he stood in front of Padhag Klen.

Jakan paused before The Tree for some minutes, his eyes closed.
This doesn’t make sense Arrakesh. I can’t put this before the Council!
Arrakesh remained silent. Jakan became aware of the watchful eyes of the Elders and turned to face them. They stood staring at him, as if afraid of what he might say. Kattan’s face was as pale as the moonlight.

Jakan put up his hands and nodded. “It is good,” he said. As one, the Elders relaxed.

Little was said as the procession made its way back down the hill. No one expected Jakan to speak. There would be a meeting the next day so that he could discuss what he had seen. He was thankful for the silence. The information about the season had been clear this time. He had no qualms about what he needed to say there. What to tell them of the leadership, however, was a problem.

How could he possibly expect them to accept his disclosure that Arrakesh had named him as the best possible successor to Kattan? For a Treespeaker to announce himself Chief Elder was unheard of. Anyway, he had never had any aspirations to become Chief Elder, not any kind of Elder. He was Treespeaker, and as no one had shown any signs of succeeding him, he expected to fill that role for a very long time to come. He couldn’t be both. The two were meant to balance each other.

By the time the group reached the Meeting Hall once again, Jakan had made a decision. He would tell them that Arrakesh had nominated no one as successor as yet. That would give him until autumn to assess what was happening and what his earlier visions might have meant. He knew it wasn’t good to be without a designated leader for so long, but the Elders were capable of leading in cooperation and there was no rule as to how long it should take. He needed to talk to Arrakesh in much more depth on the subject. He
must
have misread the image. He had no doubt that Arrakesh would soon show him if his decision wasn’t appropriate.

With muttered farewells the group began to break up and head off to their homes. Kattan still sat in his chair. The bearers had not put him down, but gave him chance to make his farewells before carrying him to his door. He cast Jakan a look that tore at his heart. It spoke of a desperate knowledge.

“I’ll come home with you tonight if I may, old one,” Jakan said.

Kattan bowed his head and the bearers set off once more.

At the door of Kattan’s house, Megda stood waiting, having seen the lights coming down the hill. At the sight of Jakan accompanying her husband, she closed her eyes and clutched her hands to her breast. She knew. Jalena appeared beside her and led her into the cottage. Kattan was carried inside and placed gently onto his bed. He sighed softly and reached for his wife’s hand. Jakan and the others backed from the room and closed the curtain. The four sedan bearers left without a word, leaving Jakan and Jalena alone.

Jalena put her arms around Jakan’s waist. “Are you all right?”

“It was fine.”

She rested her head on his chest and they remained silent for a few minutes. Megda had lit a fire this evening and it crackled in the fireplace. They could hear Megda’s soft voice in the next room. Jakan sighed.

“Is this the end?” Jalena's voice was a whisper.

Jakan nodded.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

He tightened his arms about her. “I’ve known for some time, so did he, that it was near. It was yesterday that I knew how near. But he insisted on going to the Speak tonight.”

They resumed their silent embrace. At last the curtain of the bedroom drew back and Megda appeared, her face strained and her eyes red.

“He wants to see you.”  She brought a shaking hand to her lips.

Jakan stroked Megda’s arm as he passed. Her fear and sadness passed through him, compounding his own. He squared his shoulders as he walked through the doorway, praying for the strength to bear what was to come.

Kattan lay on the bed covered with a thick fur blanket. His breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, but he managed a wan smile as Jakan came in. Jakan lowered himself to sit cross-legged beside the bed and reached out to take his old friend’s hand. It was cold and clammy. In the candlelight, the old man’s face looked grey, almost translucent, and his eyes were clouded.

As Jakan regarded him, memories of his father’s death rushed like a cold breeze into his mind. He had been only seventeen when they had brought his father home on a makeshift stretcher. He had collapsed, clutching at his chest, while on a hunt.
They brought him to Jakan, not because he was Jakan’s father, but because Jakan was Treespeaker. As such, he had the power to heal and he possessed the blue healing stone, which could magnify that power.