Tree singer, p.7
Tree Singer, page 7
Cather straightened her back and smiled shyly. “Healers don’t have stories like you do. We don’t get chased by wild beasts, but I have heard stories of the strange things healers have seen.”
“Like what?” Tray asked, leaning toward her.
Cather smiled, setting her dimples dancing.
If that boy can’t see how gorgeous she is, he’s blind. Mayten almost rolled her eyes.
“Like the time one of the tree cutters got his leg crushed under a tree that fell the wrong way. My great-aunt said his leg had been crushed and there was nothing they could do to fix it. They had to cut the poor man’s leg off with a tree saw.”
Mayten shivered. No one in her clan had one leg, not in her memory anyway. Had the tree cutter died?
“Old Gimpy.” Adven nodded. “I remember him.”
“Yes,” Cather agreed. “He died when I was a baby, but one of the carpenters fashioned a half leg made of wood for him and I guess he lived many years after the accident.”
Mayten swallowed hard, studying her friend a bit more closely. How could Cather be so casual about something so awful? She would certainly not want to spend her life cutting off limbs.
“Cather, what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen?” Tray asked. “With your own eyes, I mean.”
It was so dark that Mayten could barely see Tray on the far side of the fire. Firelight flickered across his face, chest, and knees, but all else was lost in the blackness that pressed close all around.
Cather didn’t hesitate. “That one is easy. We were delivering Lizzy Builder’s baby and after we’d delivered a precious little girl, Lizzy started heaving again.”
Mayten knew this story by heart. Her friend had raced up the mountain that day, excited to tell her about the special birth.
“Then we delivered a little boy,” Cather continued. “He was beautiful too. We were getting him all cleaned up when Lizzy started heaving again. This time she gave birth to a second boy, a tiny little thing. He wasn’t formed right. It looked as though his spine hadn’t closed up in the back. He never even took a breath. It was the saddest thing.” Her face mirrored the sorrow in her words. “I’d never heard of three babies born at once. I only wish he’d lived.”
“I never heard of such a thing either,” Tray said.
“Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t held him in my own hands,” Cather said in a distant voice.
Mayten knew her friend wasn’t sitting around the campfire right then. She was back with Lizzy, holding the tiny stillborn baby.
Adven cleared his throat. “What kinds of tales do singers have? Do they sing to each other every night?” He laughed—at least she thought it was a laugh. Sounded more like rocks rubbing together.
What had she done to make this man hate her so?
The joy she’d felt moments ago vanished as she took a breath, determined not to let him see her confusion. “No, we don’t sing to each other. Our stories are more . . . informational than sensational.”
“Tell us one,” Tray said. He sounded overly enthusiastic, like he was trying to make up for his uncle’s rudeness.
A log shifted on the fire, sending sparks dancing into the night sky. Smoke stung Mayten’s nose as she considered the stories she knew.
“Once, a long time ago,” she began, “a trading ship came to Trigginsfeld bearing a cargo of eucalyptus saplings. This happened back when the clan was young and just starting to build. There were already pine forests and an oak woodland, but the people wanted to build fast without stripping the forest. The ship’s trader claimed the trees would grow to a man’s height or more every year. The people were thrilled. They bought all the saplings and planted them among the oaks. The trees matured quickly just as the man said, but they grew with scrawny, twisted trunks useless for building.”
“That’s what happens when you plant something where it doesn’t belong,” Adven said.
Mayten’s face flamed hot as the fire. “Those eucalyptus trees are useful in many ways.”
“Healers use the oil from the leaves for all kinds of things!” Cather chimed in.
“Well,” Adven grumbled. “Wasn’t that—educational. Time for bed, children. Get some sleep and don’t give me a hard time when morning comes early.”
Mayten grimaced. The man was a grouch, among other things. She laid out her blanket near the fire as the nights were chilly. Cather joined her, pulling her own blanket over them both. Anatolian stretched out on Mayten’s other side, making her feel warm and secure.
The crackling fire was peaceful but sleep was a long time coming despite her exhaustion. Mayten couldn’t get the sting of Adven’s words out of her skull.
Cather wasn’t sleeping either. She must know how Adven’s words hurt. She put her hand on Mayten’s shoulder and leaned close. “Aye-aye, Captain.”
Mayten smiled, grateful to have at least one person who understood. She pulled Wollemi’s star rock from her pocket and rubbed it between her fingers, knowing he slept under the same stars.
Was he thinking of her while he gazed at his stars?
She looked at the stars, missing her little brother so much it hurt. “I love you, Wollemi,” she whispered. “I wish I was home with you.”
~ * ~
Their days fell into a pattern. They rose early, ate leftovers from the night before—and walked. They ate a lot of meat, which was unusual for Mayten. Her family ate an abundance of vegetables, nuts, and fruit, saving meat for special occasions.
Every day their group walked until Mayten thought she would drop. Most of the time, the men stayed ahead, followed by Mayten and Cather. Sometimes Adven would stop, sniff at the air, and bend to look at the ground before continuing.
Sometimes Tray or Hunter would drop back to talk. Mayten enjoyed chatting with Hunter. He always seemed the perfect contrast to Adven’s surly disposition. How on earth had the two ever become friends?
The woodsman had no end of stories to tell, making time pass more quickly. He seemed to enjoy spending time with Mayten, spinning stories about her sisters Mayten had never heard.
Anatolian roamed around the group as they traveled. The big dog had no trouble keeping himself fed on ground squirrels and other small creatures he flushed from the bushes and trees.
Hunter not only brought in meat for their supper, he knew which plants were good to eat, digging mushrooms and roots to add to whatever game filled the small pot he carried in his pack. Mayten often joined him in his search for greens, putting some of her lesser training to use.
After dinner and storytelling, they went to sleep early and slept hard.
She had little time to listen to the trees.
On their fourth day away from home the weather turned warm, leaving Mayten’s skin sticky and moist. The forest of spruce, fir, and pine trees was filled with a musky odor and rang with birdsong, seeming magical in the dusky morning light. The path squished under her boots, feeling more like wet cloth than dirt.
Anatolian didn’t seem inclined to stray in the damp heat, trotting along with his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth.
Tray dropped back and walked quietly beside Anatolian. Mayten gave him a welcoming smile. She always enjoyed talking with her friend. She missed him. He also knew more about what was happening than the girls did. Cather was ahead talking to Hunter so Mayten had Tray to herself for a change.
“Any idea how far we are from the king’s castle?” she asked.
Tray shrugged. “Adven says we should be there within three days if all goes well.”
Mayten felt as though a tree had been lifted off her shoulders. Finally—an end to all this walking. She glanced at her friend and cleared her throat. There was something that had been niggling at the back of her mind and he might be able to help.
“Do you remember that first night when Hunter told us that story about the bear?”
“Yeah.”
“He said something I’ve been puzzling about. When the bear hit him and he thought he was going to die or be badly hurt, he said, ‘Adven would have had to do his duty by me.’ What did he mean?”
Tray fell silent as they walked. “You know how each calling has codes,” he finally said. “Rules of behavior that are important for the safety of the members.”
Mayten nodded. Singers had to be aware of their surroundings. There were hazards to be avoided in the trees and bushes, like snakes or certain spiders or poisonous frogs. Singers were trained to watch out for those as well as plants that could sting or cause rashes.
Tray smiled at her. Then his smile faded. “Questers also have a code. About extreme situations. If someone gets hurt—really, really hurt, not just a little—and that person won’t be able to continue the quest . . . if there is no way to get that person home . . . we won’t leave them to die alone.”
“So you stay with them out here in the forest,” Mayten said, her voice disbelieving. “Until they die?”
She couldn’t . . . wouldn’t . . . believe it. No one would just let a friend die.
“Not exactly,” Tray said. He sounded . . . uncertain. “It’s part of a Questor’s code. We can’t delay the quest for more than two days, and it’s dangerous for anyone to be left alone when the one who’s hurt dies, so . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Mayten said. She struggled with Tray’s words. If you couldn’t help a person who was dying . . .
Ice water ran down her spine.
“You kill them?” she shouted.
“Shhh,” Tray cautioned. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, and I don’t think it happens very often. But you have to understand—it’s our duty to help the person pass easily.”
“What do you mean ‘easily’?” Mayten felt her throat tighten. What if that someone was Tray or Cather? How could she help them die?
“There are ways. It’s part of our training.”
As if that made everything clear as water in spring.
They walked in silence for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts.
Did other callings have those kinds of secrets?
Chapter Twelve
The next day, the weather took a definite turn. Wind whipped the tops of the pines and icy air bit into Mayten’s skin. Mayten quickly rolled her blanket and repacked her things, shivering as she shouldered her pack and joined the others. Cather looked as cold as Mayten felt as they pulled on tightly knitted woolen rain ponchos and caps.
Only Anatolian and Adven seemed unaffected by the weather change. The grin on Anatolian’s furry face made Mayten’s heart a little lighter.
A light mist fell, bringing the colors of the forest alive as the summer’s dust washed away.
She didn’t know the name of the trees covered completely in lime green moss. She thought of them as Light Seekers. Resplendent in their green coats, the trees shot up between thick, straight pines, arching over the trail as they sought the sun.
Enormous ferns as big as Anatolian and larger, carpeted the hillsides in darker greens, surrounded by clover sporting yet another greenish hue. It was as if the forest had been painted by a magic fairy with a pallet of greens.
Wind whipped the trees overhead as the mist thickened into rain, but Mayten was so caught up in the beauty of their surroundings she didn’t care.
She paused beside a Light Seeker. Up close, the tree looked to be wearing a coat made of tiny ferns instead of moss. She ran a finger over the tree’s velvety coat, listening for the tree’s voice—
Bam!
Pain exploded through Mayten’s head. Though she didn’t remember falling, she found herself flat on her back, staring up into Cather’s face, feeling her friend’s hot hands on her neck. Her skull felt as though someone had split it in two.
“What . . . ?” She tried to sit up, but someone had her shoulders pinned to the ground.
“Wait, Mayten, hold still.” Tray’s quiet voice near her ear calmed her galloping heart. Somewhere close by Anatolian whined.
Cather’s eyes were closed, her forehead furrowed in concentration. Rain streamed off strands of her wet hair; her woolen cap was not much help as the rain increased. Tray bent over Mayten’s shoulder, his wide-brimmed hat shielding her from the rain, but Cather wasn’t so lucky.
The pain increased until Mayten swore her head would explode like a rotten pumpkin dropped from a roof. She tried again to sit up, but Tray’s grip was firm.
A feeling of peace and wellness flooded over her, sweeping the pain away and leaving her exhausted but whole. Cather opened her eyes, concern clearly showing in their brown depths.
Anatolian licked Mayten’s face as Tray released her shoulders. Together, Tray and Cather helped Mayten sit. It took a few breaths before the world stopped spinning.
“What happened?” Mayten finally asked. Anatolian forced himself as far into her lap as he could fit and plopped down, gazing up at her with deep brown eyes.
She ruffled his fur and gently pushed his head—and his stinky breath—away from her face.
Tray leaned down and held up a pinecone at least two feet long and as thick as a log.
“You got knocked on the head by one of those . . .” Cather pointed. “It could have broken your neck. Thankfully, you ended up with nothing more than a hard bump on the head and I could heal it.”
“Are we ready to move on?” Adven called.
Hunter and Adven waited further up the trail, Hunter looking worried, Adven looking . . . like Adven, grumpy and impatient.
Cather raised an eyebrow in question.
“I’m fine,” Mayten said. Couldn’t he at least give her a moment to gather her sense? “Let’s go.”
Tray and Cather pulled her to her feet as she tried to brush muddy paw prints off her pants. Tray handed Mayten her pack and she shrugged it back on, taking a moment to remove her cap and rub her head. Her hair was wet, but her skull felt smooth. She could find no sign of a bump. An odd sensation swept over her, leaving her dizzy and slightly disoriented.
Was this what it was like to be healed? Having a memory of the injury but no injury itself?
Mayten had probably been healed as a child—most children suffer an illness or injury that would require a healer—but she couldn’t remember being healed. Healers weren’t bothered with everyday colds or scratches and she’d always been pretty healthy.
Adven stomped off, Hunter close on his heels, though the woodsman glanced over his shoulder several times as if reassuring himself she was following.
Cather stayed beside Mayten, matching her pace, casting glances at her now and again.
Mayten fastened the top of her cape close around her throat as the wind hurled another rain-laden gust against them. Questions chased each other through her mind, like squirrels in spring.
“When you healed me,” she finally asked Cather. “Your hands felt hot, almost burning, on my neck. Then this feeling of peace came over me. Is that what usually happens?”
Cather shrugged. “That’s what I hear.”
“What does it feel like to you? Do your hands burn? Did you feel my pain?”
Why had she never thought to ask this before? As close as their friendship was, they had never shared much about their training. There were other things they wanted to do and there was always so little time.
Cather looked thoughtful, and Mayten gave her time to think. Icy rain snaked along Mayten’s scalp and trickled down her back, sending shivers down her arms. The wool was starting to smell funny but continued to keep her top half fairly dry. Her legs, however, were soaked to the skin and her feet were sloshing in her boots.
“It’s like I close my eyes and open my heart to the energy all around us,” Cather said with a nod. “Then I sort of scan the body of the person I’m helping, looking—or feeling—for places where the flow of energy has been interrupted or is too loud or too soft. Does that make sense?”
“It’s like how we can sense the energy flowing through a tree and sort of help shape its growth.” Mayten wiped at the rain trickling down her face.
“Exactly,” Cather said, “and if there is an injury, I can give my energy to that place, help it heal more quickly. From what I understand, this is how most healers work.”
Mayten frowned. “But when I help a tree, it gives back to me. It’s like we’re working in partnership. Is that how it works when someone is hurt? Do they give energy back to you?”
“No, they can’t.” Cather’s foot caught a root, and she pitched forward. Mayten grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. The wind drove the rain directly in their faces, making it increasingly difficult to see.
Cather smiled her thanks before continuing. “It actually drains the energy from me. I have to rest, drink water, and eat more to recover.”
“I didn’t realize,” Mayten said, finally understanding why her friend always had such a big appetite but never gained weight. She eyed Cather in dismay. Grumpy Adven hadn’t even given her friend time to recuperate. No wonder she was tripping over roots. “Thank you. Thank you for healing me and for giving me your energy.”
Cather laughed, making her dimples dance. “That didn’t take much. A bump on the head is pretty basic and doesn’t take a lot of energy. There are more complicated types of healing, injuries I don’t know how to heal yet, that take almost everything a healer can give. Some injuries—and some diseases—are so bad no one can heal them, no matter how experienced the healer might be.”
Mayten was sure Cather was being modest. Her friend was an excellent student and her parents were very respected healers. She’d spent her entire life helping with healings.
“What about that peaceful feeling—”
“Whoa!” Hunter put out his hand, stopping Mayten before she walked right into him. Both she and Cather had been walking with their heads down, trying to keep the rain from their faces. They hadn’t noticed the men coming back towards them.
“We have to rope up,” said Hunter. “The trail narrows around the bend and the water is starting to wash parts of it away.”
Mayten looked around. The rain came down in sheets and water puddled on the trail. Anatolian looked miserable but continued slapping her legs with his wet tail.
