Treespeaker (12 page)

Jakan stared at him, trying not to show the fear that clutched him. Beldror was right. He had, in that instant, disobeyed what Arrakesh told him, and that was all Beldror needed to wield his power.

“If it means anything, your wife wasn’t in my plans. I didn’t know she was there.” Beldror loosened his grip on Jakan’s tunic a little, but still held his arm firm against Jakan’s chest so that he couldn’t move.

Breathing hard, Jakan looked into Beldror’s eyes. He could see he told the truth. So that was why he had sensed nothing when he filtered Jalena’s illness. If Beldror had not intended to kill her, her death would not have been there in the flow of her life. Why then, had he seen her death in the visions at SpringSpeak?

At last, the truth dawned on him. “No, it doesn’t mean anything. You meant to kill her later.”

A flash of surprise crossed Beldror’s face. He laughed. “My goodness, Treespeaker, you really do amaze me sometimes.” He pushed his forearm harder against Jakan’s chest and stretched forward with his other hand. Jakan felt movement at his belt. He shivered as the point of his own knife came against his ribs. Until now, he had forgotten it was there.

“You don’t have control of my mind,” Jakan said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

Beldror threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t need it! I have other plans.” He stopped smiling and regarded Jakan for a moment, his face impassive. “You have two choices. I can kill you or you go right out of the forest, and never come back.”

Jakan shuddered. That was no choice. For a Treespeaker, to leave the Veil meant certain death anyway, but somehow he suspected Beldror already knew that.
Right now, death is welcome,
he thought, but as quickly as the thought came, the words ‘Seek Varyd’ rushed back into his mind. Did Arrakesh mean for him to leave?

How Arrakesh, how?
No answer came, just a noise in his head like a waterfall in the distance.

Jakan gave a reluctant nod.

Beldror raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean? Yes I kill you or yes, you’ll leave?”

“I’ll leave.” There had to be some way he could get help. What of Dovan and Megda? What of his people? He couldn’t leave them at the mercy of this man.

Beldror leered at him. “Sensible.” He loosened his grip a little, slipped the knife into his own belt and stepped back. “Just to make you sure I’m serious about getting right out….” He turned to call over his shoulder, “Jahl!”

The hawk, which had been perched high on the branches of a nearby oak, flapped down to land on Beldror’s shoulder. It put its head on one side and regarded Jakan for a moment, before opening its beak and letting forth its piercing shriek. Immediately Jakan’s chest felt as if a giant bear held him in its arms, crushing him. He twisted in Beldror’s grip, struggling in a panic to breathe. The skin of his chest burned as if a hot coal had been placed on it. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the pain stopped. Beldror let go of him and he dropped to his knees on the forest floor, gasping for breath.

The Carlikan bent down to him. “Leave now, Treespeaker,” he said his voice cold. “Go quickly, for Jahl will be going with you and Jahl hates delay.”

Jakan struggled to his feet, leaning on the tree for support. “Just tell me one thing before I go, Beldror. Why? Why do you want to control a small forest village?”

 “You don’t understand, Jakanash. I want a whole lot more than the village.”

 “So it’s greed.”

Beldror scowled. “Greed? How can you talk about greed? A tiny bunch of people control this whole forest, while out there in Carlika people are sold into slavery in the coal mines of Padushi, because there’s no other fuel and no one to bring it out of the ground. How is that fair?”

“The Carlikans should have thought of that before they cleared the trees.”

Beldror’s eyes flashed. “Don’t preach at me, Treespeaker.” He cocked his head to one side, looking thoughtful. “You know, we’re not so unalike, you and I. We both want to help our people.” His face broke into a sneer. “The difference is – you can’t!”

 “We’re nothing alike, Beldror. You care for nothing but your own power.”

Beldror grinned, his eyes glinting. “Ah, yes, there is that! Which reminds me – you won’t be needing this.” He reached forward and snatched Jakan’s pouch from his belt. He shook out the healing stone and held it to the fading sun. “Wonderful things, these stones. Fascinating, how they magnify any force put into them.” He dropped the stone into his pocket and tossed the pouch far over his shoulder. It made no sound as it fell to the forest floor. Beldror glared at Jakan. “Now go. And don’t forget if you’re thinking of sneaking back – your son is still here.”

Defeated and nauseated, Jakan began to move away, but hesitated. “Let me say goodbye to him… and Megda.”

 “You don’t need to say goodbye. Have you not heard? The Treespeaker has been losing his mind for some time. This latest tragedy has sent him completely insane. Do you know, he thinks the fire was lit by me, when I was in the same place as him at the time it started?” Beldror pointed a finger at Jakan, grinning as a flame shot from the end, then vanished. “A madman disappears into the forest? Let them work it out!”

Heart hammering, Jakan stumbled away. He felt limp. His body moved, but he felt disconnected from it. His thoughts seemed to be coming from somewhere outside of himself. Like a wounded animal, blinded by its own pain, he staggered into the forest. Above his head he could hear the wings of Jahl. Beldror might have let him go, but like a well-fed wild cat, he would toy with him for some time to come. Of that, Jakan felt quite sure. He had to get help.

As Dovan watched his father leave Megda’s cottage, a feeling of helplessness overcame him. The death of his mother had left him feeling numb. Now the need to talk to his father seemed all the more important. The voices he kept hearing had unsettled him. What were they? Had Beldror been playing with his mind?

Guilty thoughts about the argument with his father haunted him, a cold pall on his mind, despite the reassurance his father had given him. He had missed the last days with his mother because he had lost respect for his father. He would never forgive himself for that. He swiped at the tears that rose to his eyes.

Megda’s voice came to him as if from a long distance. “Sit, Dovan, he’ll be back soon. Many men like to grieve alone.”

He did as she bid, using the shoulder of his tunic to dry his face. He sat for a while gazing into the fire, trying not to think. Tears still stung his eyes, and the back of his throat felt raw as he blinked them away. He hardly registered Megda’s hand on his shoulder as she placed a drink on the table in front of him.

“Drink.”

He pushed his thoughts away with difficulty and looked at Megda. “You haven’t laced it with anything, have you? I don’t want to sleep yet.”

Megda gave a sad smile. “It is simple herb tea, sweetened with honey.”

He drank. The tea eased his aching throat and soothed his mind, but as she'd promised, it didn’t make him sleepy. He held it with both hands, letting the steam from the cup soothe his eyes between sips.

A sudden shout in the distance brought him to his feet. The tea spilled onto the table, coursing in tiny rivulets onto the floor.
What’s happening?
he thought.

With a startled cry, Megda reached out to him. “What is it?”

Dovan rushed to the door and opened it, staring out into the gathering darkness. “Did you not hear him? Father. He’s in trouble!”

Megda came to him and took his arm, urging him back in with a gentle tug. “I heard nothing. It was probably just an owl.” She shut the door again.

 “No, I heard him clearly. He shouted. I have to go.”

 “Dovan, I know I’m old but I’m not deaf. There was nothing.” She patted his arm and went for a cloth to wipe the spilled tea.

He didn’t sit again, but stood taking deep breaths, straining his ears for any more sounds. There was nothing. As Megda finished wiping, he shrugged and sat back down, shaking his head. Leaning his elbows on the table, he rested his face in his hands. A few moments later, a cry of pain sounded clearly through the silence. His head snapped up and he jumped to his feet once again.

“You must have heard that. He was screaming.”

“I heard nothing. You’re tired and distressed.” Megda’s hand flew to the tribe’s tattoo on her chest just below her throat. “Unless…How exactly did you hear him?”

He frowned for a moment, trying to understand what she meant. Then he put his hand to his forehead. There had been an echo again, just as there was the night they argued. The voice was in his head.

As if reading his mind, Megda took his cloak from the hook and pushed it into his arms. “Go!”

Without a word, he stumbled into the darkness, throwing his cloak over his shoulders as he went. He sprinted along the moonlit path, past the Meeting Hall and up the path towards Padhag Klen, glancing about for sign of his father. For a moment, he thought he saw something in the forest, but it disappeared when he stopped to look.

He felt sick as he thought of the dream he had experienced just a few nights ago. Surely it couldn’t happen like that? As he reached the clearing around The Tree, he was relieved not to see anyone at base of the trunk. He called softly, but there was no answer.  He could feel his heart thumping and knew it was not from the running. Where had his father gone?

With a sigh, Dovan reached out to lean his hand against Padhag Klen, while he considered what to do next. A sudden rush of emotions bombarded his mind and he jumped back as if he had been stung. Straight away, his mind cleared. Stretching his fingers, he touched just the tips to the bark. Again there was a rush of emotions – thoughts, words and feelings all tangled together like a thick vine. This time he didn't flinch but pushed his hand against the trunk. His whole body shook, but somehow he knew that it was important he do this. His father had been here. The Tree was telling him. Arrakesh was telling him. Confused, he tried to untangle the message, but the harder he tried the more intertwined it became. Feeling defeated, he let his hand drop and moved away.

A dark figure standing before him made his stomach lurch and he stopped with a jerk. He recognised the low chuckle and tensed, cold needles pricking his skin.

“What are you doing here?”

Beldror moved forward a little, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “I was watching you. You looked just like your father, caressing the tree like that.”

Dovan shivered. The last person he wanted to know what he had just experienced was Beldror. He forced a light laugh. “I’m a great disappointment to my father. ‘Caressing the tree’, as you put it, is just not my thing. Have you seen him?”

“Who?”

Dovan felt his impatience rising. The Carlikan had already evaded one question. “My father. Have you seen him?”

“Not unless that was him I saw running off into the forest just now.”

Why? Why would he go off? A clawing headache began at Dovan’s temples. He shut his eyes for a moment, but opened them again as he heard the soft, whispering breeze inside his head like before. His mind felt cushioned by velvet and the headache melted away. He didn’t look at Beldror, realising with a start that the last time he had felt this way was also in Beldror’s company. Was the Outlander doing it? Was this the power of which his father had spoken?

Beldror stepped forward and stood close to him. “You should get home. You’ve had a bad day. You need rest.”

He thought to argue, but instinct told him to comply – if it was instinct.
He must think he is in charge, for now at least.
Dovan hesitated. Where had that thought come from? He nodded at Beldror and strode towards the path. The other man followed. He said nothing. His presence chilled Dovan, like a piece of ice sitting in a warm palm.

They had walked half way down the hill when Dovan noticed his father’s pouch, lying on the ground ahead of him, just off the path. It was a shadow amongst the leaves, barely visible in the moonlight, but he recognised the shape. It was a little larger than normal, to accommodate the healing stone. Dovan summoned all his self-control not to react, not to dive off the path to pick it up. He had to think quickly.

As he came close to the pouch, he slammed his foot into a raised tree root. Relaxing his body, he fell sideways, landing over the pouch and slipping his hand under his chest to take hold of it. As his fingers grasped it, a vision flashed into his mind of his father’s anguished face. It caught him by surprise and he almost cried out. All the pain that had been etched there in his recent dream was there again. He felt a burning, tearing agony in his chest and knew his father had experienced it. Then it stopped.

Is Father dead, too?
Dovan’s grief intensified at the thought.
Or would I know that, just as I know he felt the pain?
He blinked hard and the vision vanished. Gasping in some air, he stuffed the empty pouch inside his tunic.

Beldror bent down and took his hand to help him up. “Are you all right?”

Dovan coughed, giving himself time to calm down before he spoke. He felt a mixture of fear and loathing welling from his stomach. Any glimmer of doubt that his father had been right, that his mother’s death had been no accident, vanished.
Stay calm,
he urged himself,
you can’t help by losing your temper now.
Gritting his teeth, he allowed Beldror to pull him up. The man’s hand felt cold.

“I’m fine, just a little winded. Thank you.” Dovan brushed dirt and leaves from his tunic to avoid looking up. “I’ll get back to Megda’s and sleep.”

Head down, he strode off down the hill and turned up the village path to the cottage. He prayed that Beldror had not seen through his ruse.

Megda glanced up from stirring the fire as he walked in. Raising her eyebrows at him, she stretched to look behind him, then returned her gaze to him. She must have read his face, for tears sprang to her eyes.

“Where is he?”

Dovan tore off his cloak and sank onto a cushion without answering. He pulled the pouch from inside his tunic and held it in two hands, staring at it. “This is all I found.” He let it fall to the table.

She sat down beside him and picked up the pouch with shaking fingers. She turned it over, inspecting the torn leather of the tie, feeling its emptiness with her thumb. Then she laid it on the table and rubbed her eyes. Dovan stared at it again.

“Where is he?”

Dovan turned to her. He wanted to speak, but his mind seemed disconnected. Now the tears that he had been forcing back, refused to be silenced. With a sob, he threw his head down over his arms on the table and let them flow. He felt Megda stroking his shaking shoulders and heard her mutter soothing words, but he couldn’t stop. Memories of his mother and father, happy and together, tortured him. He cried until his eyes burned and his throat felt raw. At last he looked up at Megda, whose own tears flowed silently down her face.

“I’ve lost them both.”

She took his hand and pressed the pouch into it. “Tell me what you saw.”

He swallowed and told her of his experience at Padhag Klen, of the river of emotions he had felt, of Beldror’s words, the headache and the soothing sounds and at last of the pouch and the vision it had revealed. It all seemed so remote from him now, like a bad dream he remembered only in vague snatches. He felt spent. Megda’s voice reached him through a tired fog.

“Why would he go, without a word? Do you think Beldror…?”

Dovan’s head snapped up. He took the pouch once again and held it in front of him, concentrating on the leather and on his father. Nothing happened. He shut his eyes tight and pleaded with his mind to renew the vision, but still there was nothing. Frustrated, he threw the pouch to the table.

“I don’t know what happened. All I know is he was in pain and then...”

 “Then what?”

He beat a fist on the table. “Nothing! There was nothing. I don’t know any more.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes.

“You do know one more thing,” Megda said, taking his hand once more. He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “You know you’re a Treespeaker. Those were your father’s thoughts you heard.”

Dovan frowned. Treespeaker. He couldn’t think. There was so much that he needed to know, so much that he needed to get straight in his own mind, but the grief of his mother’s death and now the loss of his father made it impossible. His mind was like a stream full of salmon, all thrashing and fighting to get home first. He needed calm.

Again, Megda’s voice broke through. “You’re not safe here, Dovan. Tomorrow you must go to the Second Tribe and stay there until Beldror is gone.”

 “I’m not leaving.”

Megda stroked his arm. “You need to learn the ways of the Treespeaker. You can’t do it on your own. Their Treespeaker, Putakash, will help you. You must go. Maybe that’s where your father is. Putak is his cousin, after all.”

Dovan sighed. He could see the wisdom of her words, but his mind rebelled. “I’ll go,” he said at last. “But if Father’s not there, then I’ll stay only a few days. Beldror’s planning something and I know he’s behind Father’s disappearance. I won’t leave you here alone. If I’m a Treespeaker, I’m needed here.”

Megda reached out and took his face in her hands. Her eyes held the pride of a grandmother. “I’ve said it before, Dovan, but I’ll say it again. You’re just like your Father.” She stood to put a log on the fire. “Now, let me give you something to eat before we sleep. You’ll have to leave before first light, so that no one sees you go.”