Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (18 page)

“Hmm, right,” responded the Foreman. “Sounds… ominous. I really could do without any other challenges at the moment. What do you think, Vince? You know more about trees than anyone else in the Forest.”

“I’m not sure. Plants or trees don’t tend to be as pungent as this sounds.”

“Well,” interjected Tarvil calmly, “unless you disagree, Foreman, why not ask Vince to head out with Jover and Manny and find whatever it is tomorrow morning? I hate to point it out, but they don’t have anything to do now really what with… well…”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” replied the Foreman. “What do you think, Jover?”

“Absolu’ely, Foreman. I think we need t’get to the bottom of it, whatever the case.” Vince nodded as well.

“Good. Well let’s sort that out. Leiana, can I ask y-”

Whatever the Foreman was going to say was cut off by the sudden ringing of the chimes for the second time. It wasn’t a structured chime pattern - nothing musical or traditional - just a frantic beating of the gongs.

On the branch, the boys looked back over their shoulders and, before they even saw the crowd, they heard it: a small but loud throng streaming in from the direction of the Hunton Daire passage.

The two scrambled back along the olive branch and crawled across as fast as they could to the trunk and then down to the ground. Running towards the noise, they rounded the corner and came face to face with the crowd. Orikon was jogging along the path, carrying someone on his back. Raf stared at him. Sweat poured off his head, his clothes were drenched and filthy, and a terrified expression tightened his usually somber face as he struggled with the weight of the body.

Questions were flying through the air from everyone and Raf turned to Nedrick to say something when his friend elbowed him in his ribs and, in a shocked voice said, “Look!
On his
back! It looks li… It’s Jan Ferthen!”

It was indeed Jan. Except that something was very wrong. His head and body were flopping around uselessly as Orikon staggered towards the council chambers. For a brief moment, his head tilted sideways and Raf saw his face and gasped in shock. The woodsmith’s eyes were half open and a ghastly yellow color, his cheeks sunken and sallow. His whole body seemed to have shriveled up.

“Gency!” Raf saw Orikon beckoning him frantically. “Where’s your father? Where’s the Council?”

Both boys pointed to the sequoia. “Inside!”

“Get Briana Ferrows. Now! Quick, bring her here!” he yelled, and then stumbled up to the chamber door.

Raf bolted away towards the nursing rooms to find the village’s healer. It barely took him half a minute to get there at a full sprint, and soon he found her in the small room by the hospital wing.

“Dr Ferrows! Dr Ferrows! They need you at -“ Raf broke off panting, “- at the Council quarters. Something’s happened to Jan Ferthen! Orikon’s brought him; he carried him on his back!”

Eirdale’s doctor looked up, her long braided hair swishing behind her petite frame. “The woodsmith?”

Raf nodded. “He looks really, really ill. You must hurry, please!”

She put the watering flask down and then, seizing a small medicine case from the table, started jogging quickly after him. By the time they reached the commons, a massive crowd had filled up the flattened open patch. Raf saw Nedrick doing his best to get people to move out the way to let Dr Ferrows move through. She passed through the crowd without a word and walked up to the door which was immediately opened by Dalton Pereneson. The second she stepped in, Dalton closed the door behind her and the crowd waited, whispering uneasily.

Not long after, she opened the door and called to one of the men standing by to bring a wagon to the door. Raf noticed that her face had gone very white. When a wagon had been brought to the entrance, the door opened a bit wider and Orikon and Tarvil made their way out carrying the limp form of Jan. They lay him gently down on the cart and walked beside it as the two goats were ushered along back towards the medical rooms. It was a grim wake that followed the wagon and its cargo; the sight of Jan’s ghastly, gaunt face and wrinkled skin silenced one and all.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Dr Ferrows looked up from the bedside to glance at the oval window through which the nervous chatter of the villagers filtered.

“Should I send them away?” asked the Foreman.

She shook her head back at him. “No. I can sympathize with them. The cancellation of the Festival hasn’t even really sunk in yet, and now this attack on Jan.” She dabbed a damp cloth on the woodsmith’s face. “Tell me again, Orikon. When you came across the attack on him, did you see a
weapon? Anything that might have carried poison?”

Orikon, who had been standing stock-still in the corner of the room, shook his head and whispered, “Nothing.”

She looked up at him questioningly. “And the attackers?”

“A thin, pale man. When I shot him with the first arrow he just… pulled it out. Then he tried to attack Jan again.”  

She watched his face. “You killed him with the other arrows you shot?”

Orikon shook his head. “He ran away. But…”

“Yes?”

The brawny hunter looked down at the floor, his jaws clenching. Finally, he looked back at her. “I cannot understand it. I… ”

“What, Orikon?” urged Dr Ferrows. “I’ve never known you to quail from anything.”

He looked at each of the Council members standing around him. “Three times in the chest with arrows – three times, I hit him! It isn’t possible to be able to run away. The man was not normal. He -”

“Orikon,” Leiana said, striding in front of him, “this is the very last thing we need to have spreading around Eirdale. A killer who can’t be killed?” She made a dismissive noise. “If you say you hit him directly, I believe you, but I also know in the heat of the moment, things can get confused.”
She ignored the steely look that flared up on Orikon’s face and carried on. “You say you hit him? Well, if he’s injured badly – and he must be - he can’t have got very far. Could you track him?”

There was a wet cough behind them. They spun around and stared at Jan who had opened his eyes and was staring groggily at them.

“Ferthen!” hissed Orikon.

The woodsmith tried to open his mouth but his face contorted in pain.

“Easy, Jan,” urged Dr Ferrows. “You need to conserve your strength.”

The woodsmith nodded almost imperceptibly and then whispered, “What happened?”

“You were attacked, but Orikon scared him off.”

The Foreman sat down on the edge of the bed. “A young carpenter in Three Ways overheard a conversation and sent a pigeon to Orikon. He was able to get there just in time.”

“A carpenter?” Jan’s eyes started closing again.

“Tunit Pollath. You may owe him your life for his quickness in alerting Orikon.”

“Yes,” Jan whispered. “It must have been that Mie-“ He arched as a seizure crushed the wind out of his lungs.

“Easy, Jan, try not to talk too much,” said Dr Ferrows. “Where does it hurt the most?”

“Everywhere,” came his feeble response. “I will soon be like…  other two…”

“The other two?” said Leiana and the Foreman at the same time.

But Jan’s eyes had closed again, his breathing shallower. A line of sweat moved slowly down his sunken cheek.

Orikon spoke up from the back of the room. “Two men – mercenaries, maybe - were killed before by the same man. But,” he glanced at Leiana, “I don’t understand how. When I found their bodies, it was if they’d been lying dead for months.” He stopped speaking and stared at the wall, horror written all over his face.

“We’re not discussing this further,” stated Leiana firmly. “There’s enough emotion running wild as it is. It sounds like it can only have been poison.”

The Foreman nodded. “I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this after running as much as you already have today, Orikon…” The hunter gestured for him to carry on. “I need you to take a party of men, arm yourselves, and track this man down. And quickly. He can’t have gone far. Don’t enter Three Ways, though. Not until we find out more about why there are mercenaries running around our Forest.” Orikon nodded and immediately left.

The Foreman beckoned to the others to join him on the other side of the room. He glanced back at Jan and then up at Dr Ferrows. “What do you think, Briana?” he whispered.

“Poison, in my opinion. His body’s in a bad way, Eliath. If we don’t find a way to heal him, I fear the worst. When he wakes –
if
he wakes – hopefully he can shed some light on what’s going on. Because, I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She shook her head. “But of one thing there is no doubt, he’s dying.”

“You can’t help at all?” asked Tarvil.

“It is beyond my skills. All we can do for now is look after him as best we can and let his body fight it.”

L
ater on, Raf and Cisco sat idly at an empty bench in the village commons. The chimes had been rung a while ago to invite people to the feast, but only a handful of people had arrived. The
dholaki
were talking amongst themselves as they ate at one of the tables.

Some movement drew his attention and Raf looked across to the iMahlis’ wagon which was parked fairly close to where they were sitting. In the back, the fourth iMahli had changed position and was now facing away. In the flickering light of the lamps, Raf caught sight of a vicious-looking wound across his right shoulder.

“Not much of an audience for these guys,” said Cisco. “I know things have flopped with the Festival, but still, what a waste! Your mom must be furious.”

“My mom?”

Cisco looked at him quizzically. “Don’t tell me you don’t know that she’s the one who invited them.”

Raf frowned. “We haven’t spoken much recently, to be honest. But, I don’t think she’ll worry too much really, not with Jan sick and the Festival cancelled now.”

“I suppose. But it’s still a lot of money to throw away.”

Raf looked blankly at him. Cisco suddenly laughed and shook his head. “You really don’t know, do you? My aunt was there when they arrived and apparently they wanted payment from your mom. She’s paid them a lot of coin to be here.” Cisco grimaced. “I don’t think the Foreman will be too happy with her paying them in advance now that it’s all for nothing.”

Raf mulled over this news. The school chimes went off for evening choir practice and they looked at each other, and then simultaneously shook their heads, settling down more comfortably on the ground.

“If Ottery thinks we’re missing out on a chance to see guys play…”

They looked up as one of the
dholaki
started drumming out a rhythm on a small jembe to the delight of the tiny audience.

The soft breeze picked up and made the lamp near them flicker. It was getting dark now, and not just because it was late. There was a huge storm brewing somewhere and the clouds were speeding towards them in dark, bulbous mounds, with muffled booms of thunder echoing through the trees. It was going to get very wet, and soon.

“Typical,” said Cisco. “
Just
as they pull out their drums.”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

The next morning, on the very western border of Eirdale, a small group of villagers clambered awkwardly through the dense brush in the steady drizzle. They made their way underneath a natural bridge that had been formed by the collapse of a tree trunk and found themselves entering a small, deep basin sprawling with banyans.

“Over here, Vince,” called Farley.

Vince strolled over to where the wiry man was standing. He sniffed the air. “I think you’re right, that’s got to be it. It’s pretty revolting.”

“Is it an animal carcass?” ventured one of the others.

“Possibly,” admitted Vince. “It’s far too strong to be from a plant. But it’d still need to be something big to give off such a smell. Or maybe more than one.” He looked around, scanning the Forest. “I wonder what sort of pack animals are living in these banyan patches.”

“Banyans? I thought these were elm trees?” asked a young apprentice hunter.

Vince looked in his direction with a slightly disapproving look. “They used to be elms but they’ve been taken over by banyans so that almost all of the elms here are dead and gone now.” He pointed to a tree on their left. “You can see here that the banyan is growing around a live elm; but it won’t be long, a few years or so, before the elm is choked to death and all that’s left is the banyan. Understand?” He frowned at the blank expression on the lad’s face, and walking up to the tree, he tapped on a thin pole that linked the branch above with the ground. “You see this? Do you know what it is?”

“An elm trunk?”

Vince hissed with impatience. “Pah! Where are the branches and leaves, then?”

The youngster stared up at where it seemed to connect with an overhanging elm branch and shrugged.