Treespeaker (6 page)

Bajan lifted his wrist and inspected the knot. “How do you tie it?”

“If I told you that, it wouldn’t be my secret knot, would it?” Jakan winked and stood up. He bristled to see Beldror still standing close by. “No more ‘Chase the Boar’ today,” he said, as Bajan rose with his mother’s help. “You’ll just have to eat instead.”

With a cold glance at Beldror, Jakan strode away. There would be a meeting of the Elders later in the day and before that he needed time to himself. He was in no mood for breakfast.

Dovan took another sip of honeyed wine. Despite the sweetness, it burned his throat and he coughed a little, his eyes watering.

“Would you prefer a cup of milk, Dovan?”

Maden’s joke made Lagor, Ferad and Galok laugh out loud. Beldror’s eyes glinted over the top of his own cup.

Dovan wiped his eyes, putting the cup on the table. “Not if it’s from Grifad’s goat. It’s probably poisoned like this wine.” He looked about the cottage. “Where is Grifad today, anyway?”

Galok lowered his chin onto his chest and spoke with his cheeks puffed out. “He’s on official Council business.” He winked as he finished his impersonation.

“You mean he’s out ordering people around again?” Ferad thumped his fist on the table as he spoke. The others laughed again.

Beldror smiled and lowered his cup. “So, what do you want to know this afternoon?”

The young men paused, as if each waited for another to speak first. This was only the second time any of them, except Lagor, had visited to talk with Beldror. He seemed always to be talking to someone. Grifad’s cottage had become busier than the Meeting Hall.

As usual, it was Maden who jumped in first. “What would be the best things to do in Carlika while we’re taking our sharesh?”        

“You expect me to answer that in one session?”

Maden’s face flushed. “Well, okay, tell us one good thing to do in Carlika.”

Beldror nodded and turned to Lagor. “What do you suggest?”

The young men turned to Lagor with expectant faces. Already married and with a new baby, Lagor had taken his sharesh four years before. Dovan would never have thought of asking him.

Lagor opened and shut his mouth a few times. He shifted on his cushion, his eyes on the table in front of him. “Oh, I don’t know. I worked as a farm hand.” His face turned red as the others stared at him.

“That’s all you did?” Maden’s brown eyes opened wide. “You didn’t travel around?”

 “You need money to do anything in Carlika and the farm job came up so I took it,” Lagor said. “I ended up staying a few months, then I came home.”

“A few months! When you could have stayed the whole year?” Dovan laughed. “You must have checked out some of the towns, though?”

Lagor shook his head and took a long draft from his cup before he answered. “I didn’t like the one town I visited. Too many people, too many smells, too much noise. Anyway, I wanted to get back in time for the Lake Gathering.” His face resumed its rosy hue. “I wanted to see Melni.”

All except Beldror made derisive noises at Lagor’s words. Beldror leaned forward again and nodded. “Yes, I expect after the forest, Carlikan towns would come as a bit of a shock. Rather more sophisticated than Arrakeshi villages. You have to admit, Lagor, that things are rather more advanced there than here.”

Lagor rubbed at his temples. He regarded his cup for a moment then pushed it away. “Of course, there are many great things. Carlikan houses are far bigger than ours, built of stone so they’re stronger. Carts are pulled by horses, huge beasts that let people ride them. And the clothes they wear…” Lagor paused, glancing at Beldror’s woollen shirt. “They’re much finer than the leather and rough fabric we have.”

 “So, which town would you recommend we see?” Maden asked, raising his eyebrows at Beldror.

“Well, of course, I’d suggest Garuga. It’s a big town, an academic centre, full of fascinating architecture and great art. But it would be difficult to get there without raising money to pay your way. You might be better off trying for somewhere closer. Tomaga is a good place, smaller than Garuga, but still interesting.”

At this point Lagor excused himself, saying that Melni would need help with the baby. He looked tired, Dovan thought, but he didn’t think about it for long. Beldror went on to talk about the sights and wonders of Carlika. To Dovan, the idea of being able to see for miles from the top of a hill was a novel one, but not one he relished. He couldn’t imagine a treeless landscape without shuddering a little. The others, however, seemed to hang on Beldror’s every word. The cottage grew darker as they talked and finished their wine.

The door opened with a rush and everyone jumped. Grifad stomped in, followed by his mousy wife, Halla, who carried a pile of kindling. The Elder stopped and peered at the group around the table.

“Are you boys still here? Why are you sitting in the dark?”

The boys sat up straight. Dovan had been so lost in Beldror’s accounts he felt dazed. The fact that it was getting late hadn’t struck him. From the look of the others, they, too, were surprised.

Beldror gave a confident laugh. “They’ve been asking me questions. Time got away from us.”

Grifad looked distracted as Halla threw the kindling down with a clatter by the fireside, muttering to herself. Then he cast the boys a stern look. “You shouldn’t be taking up Beldror’s precious time with your questions. He’s here to visit us, not to be interrogated.”

Dovan’s ears burned and his friends stared at the floor.

Beldror chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about it. They’re going to repay me.”

Dovan stared at Beldror. What did he mean? There had been no mention of payment. He glanced at the others. Maden shrugged at him.

“Yes, I thought they could show me something of the forest outside the village,” Beldror went on, his handsome face beaming at them all. “I’m sure they must be going out hunting at some stage?” He raised his eyebrows at them.

Before they could answer, Grifad nodded. “Yes, that would be a wonderful way to return your kindness.” He picked up a pot from beside the fire and motioned his wife to go and fill it. “Since Kattan’s death, our work plan has faltered rather. Some rabbits or ducks or even otters wouldn’t go astray at the moment. Yes, a good idea.” He cast the boys a meaningful look.

Dovan watched as Halla put down the pot she’d been given and reached instead for a bucket by the door. Obviously before she could fill the pot, she would need to fill the water butt. She muttered something under her breath again as she left the cottage, but Grifad seemed oblivious. With an obsequious smile, he lifted the jug of honeyed wine from the cupboard and refilled each of their cups before filling another cup for himself. That done, he lowered his large frame onto a cushion and took a long drink.

 “So, tomorrow?” he asked after he had licked the wine from his lips.

As the others discussed the next day, Dovan kept his head down, staring at his hands in his lap. For some reason, the idea of taking Beldror out hunting made him uncomfortable. Why? Beldror had done nothing to make him mistrust him, just the opposite. He’d been nothing but friendly. Dovan pushed the doubt aside. His father’s mood was getting to him. That was all. How could taking a visitor to see the forest be a problem? How could the man learn anything of their ways if he didn’t take part in daily life?

At last Dovan looked up. He reddened. Beldror looked straight at him, as if he could see through him. Then his handsome face broke into a friendly smile. “So, Dovan, where do you suggest we go?”

Dovan frowned. His head ached and he found it difficult to think. He shouldn’t have drunk so much wine. “Maybe we could take bows to shoot rabbits instead of trapping them. It’s more of a challenge. More fun.”

The others nodded enthusiastic agreement. Grifad gulped another mouthful of wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve with a look of satisfaction. “A good idea, lad. Pridan’s Glen is full of rabbits at the moment. If you can’t hit a few of them, you need practice.”

Dovan nodded and rubbed his forehead. “Okay, rabbits in Pridan’s Glen, tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’ll be allowed to come, Dovan?” Beldror asked.

Dovan paused, frowning at the increasing pain in his head. “What do you mean?”

 “I get the distinct feeling your father doesn’t like me. Will he let you come?”

“What? Of course he likes you. Why wouldn’t he?” Dovan’s face burned as he stuttered the words he knew to be untrue. “Anyway, I go hunting with my friends all the time. It doesn’t concern him.” He faltered, as a strange sound came to his ears, a little like a wind in the distance. In some strange way, it soothed and calmed him. The tightness in his skull eased a little. Dovan made himself a promise not to drink wine again for a while.

Beldror’s lips curled into a smile. “Fine, then.”

“I’ll meet you at Maden’s in the morning.” Dovan bowed his head at Beldror as he stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve had too much wine. I’m going home. Thanks.”

“You’re going to have to learn to drink more while we’re on sharesh, Dovan,” Maden said, a cheeky smile lighting his face. “I intend to try out every tavern we see.”

Dovan grinned and made a playful swipe at Maden’s hair as he passed, but didn’t answer. He stepped out into the evening and took a deep breath. The headache had gone already.

***

It rained that night, a spring shower, heavy but short-lived. Dovan awoke in the dark as a drip of cold water plopped onto his face. He sat up with a jolt. Another drip landed on his head. With a sigh he got up and moved his bedroll. Then he went into the living area and found a bowl. For the duration of the rain, the steady plip, plip, plop of raindrops into the bowl ensured he didn’t sleep.

In the morning, tired but keen to set off to Maden’s, Dovan rose to have breakfast. His mother was already about, her tawny hair tied back in a loose pigtail. She smiled as he entered, scooped out some steaming hot porridge and added honey to it. It smelled delicious. Dovan had almost finished it by the time his father came in from outside. Since Beldror’s arrival he had often woken early and gone out. He nodded at Dovan.

“That was quite a shower last night.”

Dovan nodded, peering out of the window. “It’s cleared now, though.”

“We had a leak, I heard.”

“Just a small one above where I sleep.”

“It’ll need fixing.”

Dovan caught his breath. He knew what was coming.

“I have visits to make and a group of children to teach. There’s some shingles already cut in the byre. It shouldn’t take you long to fix.” Jakan reached for his cloak and moved towards the door.

“But, I’m supposed to be going out hunting this morning.”

His father scowled. “It can wait. I’m sure your friends will catch plenty without you. There’ll be another shower later. The signs are right for it. I don’t want the cottage getting damp. Your mother catches a chill easily.”

“But…” Dovan stopped as his father’s face hardened. It was no use, he couldn’t argue with him. “Yes, Father. I’d better go and tell Maden.” He rose and reached for his own cloak. He followed his father through the door.

Part of him wanted to argue, to slam the door and shout that he would go hunting anyway. The other part of him felt a strange sense of relief.

The summer sun warmed Jakan’s back as he strode down the path to the cottage of Lagor and his wife Melni, who had recently become parents to a healthy son. As he walked, he reflected on the uniqueness of this marriage. They were both born into this village, and yet Arrakesh had approved of their union. Most marriages were the result of meetings at the bi-annual gathering of the seven tribes, on the shores of the Green Lake. Those who fell in love would then consult with a Treespeaker, who could tell them of Arrakesh’s will. This was the only occasion that Jakan had heard Arrakesh’s consent as he held the hands of a couple belonging to the same village. He was glad, for a denial of the marriage bond meant that the woman would have to leave and live in another tribe. Arrakesh’s decision on these two didn’t surprise him, though. Lagor was a young man inclined to act without thinking. Melni’s gentle thoughtfulness complemented him perfectly.

The new cottage of the young couple stood on the outskirts of the village. The shingles on the roof lacked the moss that tended to grow there over the years, and the wooden walls had not yet faded to the dull grey of the older cottages. Melni had begun a small garden outside, but as yet there was little in it. Two brown chickens, with their respective broods of chicks, scratched under bushes near the stone byre at the end of the cottage. A goat, tethered to a post, chewed on grass and ivy shoots Lagor had brought it. It did not even bother to raise its head as Jakan approached.

He tapped at the door, taking care not to make too much noise. Experience had taught him that disturbing a sleeping baby did not help with discussion between adults. Melni opened the door. She saw Jakan and the blood rushed from her face.

“Jakanash!”

Jakan was surprised by her response. Melni knew him well. He had been Treespeaker when she was born, taught her the laws and ways of Arrakesh as a child, just as he taught the children yesterday morning. She had always accorded him the respect due to his position, but his relationship with the villagers had always been relaxed. He couldn’t think why she should be so nervous at his arrival. With the birth of her son, a visit from the Treespeaker would not be unexpected.

“Are you well, Melni?” he asked, trying to give her time to gather her wits. Melni twisted her fingers into knots and wouldn’t raise her head.

“Yes, thank you, Jakanash, I’m very well.” Then, as if suddenly remembering her manners she opened the door wider. “Won’t you come in?”

Jakan smiled and walked past her into the bright living area of her cottage. The floor had been brushed smooth, and the sun streamed through the open window on the wall opposite the door. There was a fire in the hearth, but it had been allowed to burn down to almost nothing in the afternoon warmth. As he entered, Melni rushed to the corner of the room and scooped up some cushions. She ran to lay them down on the floor at his feet, before skittering back to the door to shut it.

“Can I get you something? Cider? Water?” Her voice was high.

“No, nothing. Thank you.”

She stood for a moment. Not once did she look at him, but stared at the ground, pushing her dark brown hair behind her ears. She reminded Jakan of a doe, who has sensed danger long before any real scent of it has reached her.  What did she fear?

The silence became uncomfortable. Jakan searched for something to say that might calm her. “Is the baby asleep?” He looked around the room.

 Melni blushed. “Yes.” Her voice sounded too bright. She glanced at the curtained door. “He always sleeps at this time of day.”

The silence returned. Jakan looked down at the cushions at his feet. Following his gaze, Melni reddened again.

“I’m sorry, Jakanash. Please, sit down.”

Jakan sat. Melni didn’t move but continued to fidget, her brown eyes flitting around, refusing to meet his. He picked up a cushion and placed it a little way from him, giving it a pat.

“If I am to speak to you, perhaps you should sit, too?”

Flustered, she sat, pulling her skirt around her knees and smoothing it as she stared at the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Jakan’s voice was soothing, but her head snapped up, as if he had shouted at her.

“There’s nothing wrong, Jakanash.”

“You seem worried.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Her smile looked forced and didn’t reach her eyes.

He crossed his legs and laid his hands on his knees, hoping that his own relaxation might calm her. “I’ve come to speak to you about the dedication.”

She didn’t answer, but began to pull at the stitching of her skirt.

Jakan waited a moment. “Melni?”

At last, she looked at him. To his surprise her eyes filled with tears.

“There will be no dedication, Jakanash.” Her voice was barely audible.

Concerned now, Jakan sat up straight. “Is the child ill? If you’d told me, I would have come earlier.”

 “No, the baby’s fine.”

Jakan frowned. Traditionally, all babies were welcomed into the tribe through the dedication ceremony. Even those born weak and not expected to live were presented to Arrakesh as a member of his people.

“I don’t understand.”

Melni began to cry, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. Jakan reached out and laid a hand on her arm. As he expected, he felt fear there. He passed a healing calm through his fingers, then waited in patient silence for her to gather herself again. At last she wiped her face on her sleeve and, for the first time, looked him in the eye.

“Lagor has said we don’t need to dedicate Jobal.”

Jakan gazed at her in amazement for a moment. Never before, as far as he could remember, had anyone questioned the need for a dedication.

“Why does he say that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, so that he didn’t alarm her. A suspicion grew in his mind, a suspicion that ignited a spark of rage he had to struggle to contain. Lagor was not a bright man. He rarely thought for himself. This was not something he could have decided on his own.

Melni swallowed another sob and spoke now to the floor. “He says there’s no reason for it, that it’s just a tradition with no meaning.”

Jakan took a deep breath to calm the rising anger. Obviously this was not Melni’s decision. She was repeating her husband’s words, and Jakan was quite sure he knew the original source of those.

“It’s about belonging, about being a part of the whole, which is Arrakesh. Birth is just the beginning of a journey. The dedication joins a child to all those others on the journey. It’s like putting the soil over the seed for it to grow, surrounding it with what it needs.”

“I know all this,” Melni sat up straight now, her eyes clear. “I know it and believe it. But Lagor says otherwise.”

“Tell me, has Lagor been spending much time with our Carlikan visitor?”

A look of relief passed over Melni’s face and Jakan knew he was right.

“He goes to Grifad’s cottage almost every night,” she said. She looked towards the door, as if frightened that Lagor might come in and hear her telling of his private life. “Every spare moment, he’s there.”

Jakan sighed and shut his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and stood up without a word, reaching down to help Melni from her cushion. Still silent, he walked to the door and opened it. Melni didn’t move from where she stood. She wore the anxious look of a child who has just told tales.

“I’ll speak to Lagor,” Jakan said. “Take good care of your son.”

“I will, Jakanash.”

He left, shutting the door with care. The sun was still warm. His thoughts churned through his mind, anger and bewilderment mixing. Without thinking, he turned towards Kattan’s cottage to talk with him. As he realised his mistake, a fresh wave of grief shook him. He rubbed his hand over his face. He needed to think. Padhag Klen stood tall in the sunlight and he turned towards it.

There were few others about in the village. Most of the men were out hunting or gathering wood. Many of the women were out in the forest with their children collecting duck eggs and yams. He strolled past the potter’s cottage. Smoke rose in a steady stream from the chimney of the kiln, which stood by the cottage. Hyjik, Lagor’s brother, must be readying the fire to bake some pots. For a moment, Jakan considered calling in to talk to him. Maybe he could dissuade his brother from taking this course. He kept walking. Hyjik and Lagor often did things together. If Hyjik had also come under Beldror’s influence, he would gain nothing by talking to him.

As Jakan passed the Meeting Hall, he heard someone calling him. He turned to see the Elder, Kelsha, hurrying towards him. She came from the direction of his cottage, looking flustered. Her greying hair fell in wisps about her face.

“Jakan, I’ve been searching for you.”

“Now you’ve found me.” He tried to sound cheerful.

“It’s my son, Maden,” she said. “He went out hunting with three others yesterday at dawn, and they still haven’t returned. I’m worried.”

This must have been where Dovan had intended to go. Jakan had half expected his son to defy him when he went to tell Maden he couldn’t go, so it had been a great relief to find the roof fixed when he got home.

He smiled. “You know boys. They go off to do one thing and end up doing another. They think it’s a big adventure. No thoughts for those who might worry about them.”

“Still, I worry!” Kelsha’s high cheekbones were flushed and her bloodshot eyes showed the obvious signs of lack of sleep. “They were only supposed to be going to Pridan’s Glen to seek rabbits. They shouldn’t be this long.”

Jakan nodded. “It does seem strange. Let me sit for a while and I’ll see what I can tell you.”

He moved to the edge of the path and sat on a log. Kelsha stood motionless, her hands clasped in front of her. Jakan relaxed and shut his eyes. He could hear a crow cawing in the distance and a sparrow twittering in a branch above him. The breeze whispered through the treetops. Gradually the sounds of the forest receded and he found a place of total silence. In that silence he searched. If anything had happened to Maden or the others, then there would be vibrations of it. There was nothing. The silence flowed through his mind like a misty stream. Abruptly, he tensed. A ripple formed in the flow, as if something pushed against it, something opposite to it. He could feel the tension it caused, like a sudden loss of breath. Jakan opened his eyes.

“Who’s with Maden?”

Kelsha jumped at the sudden question.

“He’s with Ferad, Galok and - ”

“Beldror?”

Kelsha nodded.

The cold stone of dread in Jakan's stomach turned colder.