Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (22 page)

Raf ignored them and walked along the branch as the idea crystallized in his mind. After quite a bit of searching, he found a slender stalk of bamboo that extended up alongside a jacaranda trunk. A few quick slashes of his knife and he had a piece small enough to work with. Cutting carefully, he carved out two flat, tapering pieces.

“Are… are you making reeds, Raf?” asked Cisco.

Raf nodded vaguely and walked up to the tree trunk. He moved up to the circle of lighter wood and then held the reeds together to insert them into the tiny hole in the middle. They fitted perfectly. He leaned forwards to hold his weight with his arms against the trunk and then took the reeds between his lips. Drawing a deep breath, he blew into them. They stuck rigidly to start with as he hadn’t wet them, but as he blew steadily into them, they suddenly caught.

At first there was a feeble whine which echoed up the trunk; then it expanded into a richer hum. And then with no warning, like a roll of thunder, an enormous sound erupted - a deep rumbling that blasted out into the night air. He could feel it amplifying and expanding until, instead of a sound, it was an almost physical pressure, squeezing him.

After a few seconds, he ran out of breath and pulled away to refill his lungs. The sound didn’t immediately stop, though. It faded reluctantly, leaving behind a creepy pulsing bass note that throbbed as it grew weaker and weaker.

Raf stood in a daze, eyes fixed on the trunk still. He could hear the faint rumble below him, although it was already being replaced by a high-pitched, painful whistle in his ears. His little reverie was shattered by a squawking noise behind and he turned to see Cisco crouching on the floor, his arms clamped firmly around his head.

“Stop!” he screeched. “Too loud!”

The Foreman sat there with his face twisted in discomfort and his hands covering his ears.

“Sorry,” said Raf quietly, holding up a hand apologetically.

“Sorry?” shouted Cisco, opening one of his eyes to glare at him. “
Sorry?!
You have to give us some warning before you deafen us with your stupid tree-flute, you IDIOT! I almost fell off the branch!”

There was a choking noise from the Foreman and Raf looked around to see him suddenly roll back onto the ground and burst into laughter. After a bit, he pointed at Cisco as if to say something, but saw the boy’s startled expression and collapsed again, doubled over.

Raf bit his lip and held back a chuckle; he’d never seen the Foreman like this before.

Eventually, when he could breathe again, the Foreman sat up and dried his eyes. “How did you know how to do that?”

Raf shrugged uncomfortably. “A guess. How much more do we have to do it?”

The Foreman gave him a curious look. “You are full of surprises these days, mysterious Master Gency.” He looked back at the tree thoughtfully. “A few more times to make sure, and then we should head back. I reckon that was so loud they’ll have heard it in Miern.”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Leiana looked up at the canopy to gather herself. The sun was successfully pushing back the remnants of the storm to send slivers of light streaking through the commons, seemingly at odds with the somber atmosphere of the congregation. She stood up on the dais and waited for the crowd to quieten before addressing them.

“As you now know, Vince Ghitral died. It is the manner of his death though, that must be brought to your attention. Something is indeed wrong with our beloved Forest – a disease of some sort that is affecting the trees. In a few areas, it has even rotted the branches in the ground, which is what happened to Vince.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “There are many areas around Eirdale and the rest of our Forest that are afflicted, so my advice is to stay within the village, which is still completely safe. In the meantime, the Foreman is calling an Overcouncil so that, together with our fellow Council members, we can solve this problem.”

At this, silence fell over the commons. Tarvil stepped up behind Leiana and put a hand on her shoulder. Leiana smiled briefly at him and lifted her voice again. “We don’t have Vince’s body to take to the burial chute, but it has already found its way to the Forest floor, so all that remains is to bid farewell. Abuniah, will you lead us?”

Abuniah nodded and stood, but hesitated as the tall, slim figure of Arige Ghitral, Vince’s sister, emerged from the crowd. She had a shock of red, wavy hair, and eyes that were raw from crying. Abuniah walked up to embrace her. “Do you want me to lead?” he asked softly.

She shook her head and smiled briefly. Abuniah nodded and moved away from her to sit down. The other villagers, one by one, followed suit until they were all seated, their heads either bowed or looking at Arige. She closed her eyes and started singing.

The dirge she sang was an ancient
ayre
, haunting but sweet at the same time. The rest of the crowd joined in after a bit and the sound echoed through the branches of the trees, drifting down amongst the villagers like a soft, soothing blanket.

A while later, spent and weary, people were gradually getting to their feet and offering condolences to Arige when suddenly a deep boom rolled through the Forest. They all looked up at the
Council, feeling the rumbling note vibrate up through the ground under their feet. Leiana gave Tarvil a relieved look and Abuniah, nodding resolutely, climbed up to the dais.

“All right, folks,” he said. “We will soon have a group of guests the likes of which we’ve never seen. Hunters and farmers over here with me. The rest of you head home, and please, please, be careful.”

F
oreman Allium jumped up from his desk as the faint booming note rang through the office, resounding off the walls. He rang a bell on his desk and immediately, a young boy entered.

“Sir?”

“Fetch Councilman Brinchley immediately.”

A few minutes later, Brinchley hurried through the doors. “You called for me, Foreman?” he asked nervously.

“Have you made the announcement?”

“About the travel ban? Yes, Foreman. I spoke to the Council and they’re making sure our villagers know about these collapses down south. It should put off any interest in travelling to Eirdale.”

“Any objections in the Council to us holding the Festival here?”

“A few complainers, Dawsley in particular. He wanted to know how it was that we seemed so well prepared for it already.”

“You dealt with it?”

“I gave him the usual nonsense about needing to develop quickly for the future.” Brinchley stroked his goatee. “This news of the collapse was incredibly convenient, sir. How did you find out about it so quickly?”

“Even in Eirdale there are some high up who appreciate what I am trying to,” replied Allium. “But don’t let that concern you. Now that we have set ourselves up perfectly here in Three Ways for the Festival, I’m more concerned with how you’ve failed me with the Eirdalers.”

“Failed you, Foreman?” stammered Brinchley. “Is this something to do with the noise th–”

“You imbecile!” Allium snapped. “Of course it is! That noise was the sound of Eirdale showing its claws. I gave you one small task which was to convince that idiot Tovier that this was the only way forwards. We even had the incident with the assault on the trader to help you!”

“But, Foreman, I did what you asked and he completely bought the story!”

“As they have taken it upon themselves to call an Overcouncil, I’m assuming that you did
not
, in fact, sell a very good story. Your small problem has just grown into a larger, and considerably more complicated, one.”

“I… my problem? I…” Brinchley’s chins wobbled underneath as he stuttered indignantly, “But Nabolek assured me he would handle it!”

“Oh he did, did he? Delegating your duties to the Miernan? Interesting.” Brinchley stepped back at Allium’s icy tone. “So, how are you going to fix this disaster, Councilman? This couldn’t have come at a worse time with the Festival only three days way! I expect you to find a way to ensure there are no problems until at least after the Festival finishes. By that stage, I will be ready to speak to them all about my plans and dissolve the Overcouncil, anyway.” He flicked his hand towards the door. “Go! See to it. And do not disappoint me.”

Brinchley nodded and quickly left the office, walking straight up to Nabolek’s quarters. When he arrived, he couldn’t find the man and searched until he spied him in the pool that the woodsmith Ferthen had built. He was lounging back against the side, eyes closed, a tankard of mead in one hand. As Brinchley approached, his eyes flicked open.

“Ah, Councilman. What can I do for you? You seem anxious. Anything to do with that noise?”

Brinchley fiddled with his greased goatee. “I thought you said you would deal with our… loose end.” He whispered the last bit, looking around suspiciously.

“And I did, dear Councilman. Losing two of my men in the process, I’ll have you know. It seems you were right about these southern barbarians. A good thing I was here to offer assistance.”

“Well, it didn’t work! Ferthen must have told them everything because they’ve called an Overcouncil which is huge trouble for us.”

Nabolek sat up, splashing water out the pool as he put his drink down. “The carpenter made it back there? He wasn’t supposed... Henja assured me he was as good as dead.”

“Well,
somehow
they’ve found out something and they’ve called this meeting of all the villages. It’s likely that we’ll be contacted - or even visited - soon. If they came here, they would disrupt the whole Festival, and almost certainly wreck our other plans.”

Nabolek lay his head back down, closing his eyes. Brinchley stood fiddling impatiently and then jumped as the Miernan suddenly sat up again and climbed out of the pool to grab hold of a towel. He looked over his shoulder and whistled, and a soldier instantly appeared and trotted up to them.

“Fetch Lethar.” Nabolek turned back to Brinchley. “I will take care of it from here.”

“But how? I can’t see them taking too kindly to your presence at the Overcouncil.”

Nabolek walked away without acknowledging him, and disappeared into his quarters.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Cisco yawned deeply and stretched his arms up into the air, eyeing the distant masses of clouds that were lit up in dark pastels of the fading sunset.

“Can we take a bit of rest before we go any further?” he asked sleepily.

“Actually, I think we should sleep here tonight, boys. It’s getting very dark and I’m not going to risk an accident happening with the last few slides back to
Nviro;
it would ruin what’s been a successful day. Speaking of which,” he added, laying the rope down on the decking, “I must offer my thanks, Fergus for your assistance today. And to you Raf for your unexpected intuition. If that’s what it was.”

He smiled at them all and then moved to crouch down on the edge of the decking where the netting was wound tightly around a corner post. Fergus scrambled up into the dark branches above them and disappeared for a bit, so Raf and Cisco wandered over to the side and stared out at the star-sprinkled sky. A few minutes later, Fergus came back down with a handful of succulent monkey-ear mushrooms.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, walking up to the Foreman and handing them to him.

The Foreman smiled at the boy and put them down beside him. “Thank you, Fergus. I’ll eat in a while.”

“Are you all right, sir? You’ve been quiet since we left the
Ash-knell
.”

The Foreman sighed and looked fondly at the young boy. “I am sad, Fergus. I lost a friend today and in all the panic of finding the
Ash-knell
, I haven’t spared even a moment to think about him. Vince was a good man; one of the best. I’ve known him my whole life and we grew up together in Eirdale.”

Raf heard the conversation from where they were standing and felt a twinge of regret. “I forgot all about that,” he confessed to Cisco, who nodded back at him uncomfortably.

There was a deep humming and they turned to watch the Foreman who had started singing softly. He stood there, a melancholy silhouette against the pale light of the moon. It was an old song that Raf didn’t know and the boys sat quietly, trying not to intrude. There came a point though, when the Foreman had been singing for a while, that Fergus softly joined in.

When there was no reaction from the Foreman, Cisco and Raf looked at each other and then joined in softly themselves. Cisco wasn’t particularly confident and merely hummed along, but Raf sang aloud, his alto voice complementing the Foreman’s bass beautifully. Their voices bloomed in harmony, filling the damp Forest air. He faltered a little as it occurred to him that he’d never sung in a small group like this with the Foreman, but the gloomy dusk was a cloak and he shrugged off the bite of nervousness.

When his eyes inevitably closed, a surge of exhilaration took hold as wavering tongues of multicolored flame rushed towards him.
Goose-bumps covered his skin as he felt himself drawn into the colors, embracing them, merging with them as he had done before with Bhothy. With the intense connection made, he grew aware of the colors in a deep, personal way, feeling himself buoyed by their energy and beauty, losing himself in the music.