Walking the Tree (23 page)

  "She didn't do that."

  "She did. Look." He showed her long, deep marks in his arm. Lillah felt sick to her stomach at how badly they had served the children. "We will

be better teachers from now on."

  "You know the only bad thing about losing Gingko like this?" Melia said. "She didn't pass on the poem of the gifts."

  "We know it. It's fine. We remember each gift. We heard the poem often enough." There would be no news of Gingko.

  The messenger would tell her home Order, but there would be nothing beyond.

  Gingko was washed and dressed in leaves stitched together.

  The teller stood over her body. "This woman gave her life to the Tree, to the Tree's desires. We cannot judge the Tree for the lives it takes, the Tree knows all. We will not give the Tree the best of this woman; what remains after the deepfire pit."

 

In what seemed to Lillah a very wrong ritual, they dug a deep pit and built it the same way they would build a food fire.

  It was far away from the Order, though.

  Gingko's body was placed in the pit over the stones then covered. "That fire will burn for many months. It will not go out while any of her remains. You needn't worry. We will care for her."

  A new teacher was chosen. She was a happy girl, much happier than those of her Order, and she made the children laugh. Rubica loved to run ahead with them and roll in the sand when there was a dune. Her cheeks reddened with it and she was very pretty.

  The children were happy with the choice.

  The other teachers taught her the poem of the gifts:

  
We carry shells for Osage from Ombu.

  
We carry a necklace from Myrist to Olea in Rhado.

  
We carry sticks for Sargassum.

  
We carry a parcel of secrecy for Torreyas.

  
We carried painted leaves for Parana.

  
We carry coloured sand for Arborvitae.

 

The teller said, "We have not received those painted leaves. Why have you waited? Do you despise us so much? Will you remember us so sadly?"

  Melia took the leaves. "These are for my uncles from my mother. She sends them with love."

  One of the uncles came to take them. "You should not have waited until this sad time. Now these leaves lose their meaning. Your mother would not be proud of you."

  "I am not proud of myself," Melia said, and she turned and ran away.

 

Lillah followed her.

  "We aren't going to wait for them to dig up Gingko are we?" Melia said. "I want to get out of here. I haven't had a man in months." They both knew her desire to leave had nothing to do with men.

  "I think we should go soon. We have seen enough of this place."

 

  "Watch out for the perfect men," whispered the uncles as they left. The women nodded. "Perfect men are not to be trusted. You watch out for them."

  These women grew herbs. Lillah knew the men pissed on them, went outside and pissed their frustration onto the herbs. It made the herbs grow well.

  They gave Melia some herbs that made her dream vividly while awake. She said it would help her want to stay alive.

 

Suddenly they were alone. Not to be waved farewell.

  "The school has returned! They are coming!" Far in the distance the Parana school returning after five years.

  The teachers hurried their charges along. It was the greatest misfortune to meet another school.

  "Things will be wild tonight in celebration. As wild as this Order can get."

  "And hard for long after that."

  It was hard adjusting to life after school. Having to keep still, do daily chores, see few new people. The older children in particular often disrupted the peace in their frustration.

 

In her mapping, Lillah told the Tree:
Parana is a
small beach big Tree long seawalk no children place of
quiet and reflection. And pain tea. And death by Leaf
fall.

  She drew the curve into her map.

  
Here, the Tree grows herbs to help in many ways. The
leaves are large and deadly, the Bark peels like old skin,
the ground so soft it feels like rot.

 

 

 

Phyto said, "Where's Gingko?"

"Killed in Leaffall."

  "She didn't take cover? I heard the shake of it and walked to sea."

  "She didn't notice. It was awful, Phyto. The children saw it. They will be always careful, at least. We now have Rubica with us. We like her."

  "Hello, Rubica. I'm Phyto. I am the guide between Orders. Without me this school would collapse."

  Lillah laughed and Rubica too. "Do you sleep with us?" Rubica said. "Can I practise on you?"

  "You won't need practise, dear," he said.

  Rubica walked well. She seemed to see it as a test and would not complain through the sixty days of solid walking. She talked with Morace, Borag and Rham, and she played games with Zygo until he was exhausted.

  A messenger passed them, running quickly. How he did so, day after day, for more than sixty days was a topic for much discussion as they walked.

  Thea giggled more nervously than usual as they approached Torreyas. As the home of the Number Taker, Torreyas held a position of some importance. Lillah was glad to be reaching this place; at last she could get rid of Magnolia's hessian bag. She was tired of carrying it.

  Children met them, dozens of children, and they were led to see the books. These books were precious, the only ones along the Tree.

  Thea could not wait to meet the Number Taker. "Is he here? When will we see him?"

  "You are lucky. He is here. You may not find him in a happy mood, though."

  The Number Taker greeted them kindly, but with great weariness. "I am a lonely man, and tired; no sooner do I arrive home than I need to leave again, counting and walking, knowing all."

  "We are often moving towards, ahead or behind you. How do you count the teachers and students?" Melia asked.

  "The schools are not counted. The numbers are only for those in one place," he said.

  Melia bent over the book, fascinated. "You can see every Order here," she said. "All counted. Do they show you the lines? I mean of parenthood? Do they show you the bloodlines?"

  Sunlight filled the room and Lillah thought they had built in a very sensible place to catch the sun like that. The light here was paler then it was in Ombu. It didn't burn as much when you stood out in it.

  "We do show the bloodlines. You tell us where you are from and we will tell you where else you came from."

  "We come from Ombu. One of your teachers stopped there. Magnolia. She married my brother. You carried her on your shoulders as you entered our Order."

  "I don't remember her. Too many girls. Too many boys. How am I to count them all?"

  Thea stood and watched. There was a twist to her lips as if she wanted to speak but didn't know what to say.

  Rubica handed over the pain-killing tea at welcomefire and received a red bead necklace. Melia was not impressed with it: they had seen these beads in other Orders. The welcomefire was supposed to offer something unique from the Order.

  Rubica said, "I think it's beautiful and obviously means something to them. We should be thankful."

  She is so different from Gingko, Lillah thought, and wondered briefly what was happening to Gingko's body.

  Lillah saw them eyeing her wooden necklace and wished she'd thought to put it into her carryall. Most places envied it and she needed to be careful.

 

The meal was served in rough clay bowls inlaid with shells.

 

• • •

 

After the ceremony, the one for Oldnew Day began. It was simple here, as it was in Ombu. The Order walked together to the water's edge and washed their smoothstones clean. Any dropped in the water meant bad luck, so they held on tight and washed.

 

There were more people in this Order than any they had been to. This place was closest to being a ruling capital, and they had some say in how the criminals were treated and disposed of.

  Here, the dwellings were different. They had seen the occasional home like these; most Orders had at least one, even if it was only small and housed the toilet. Built of flattened wood, painstakingly painted white, with square windows and smooth floors, they were remnants of homes from a time long ago. No one knew when they were built, nor could imagine how. Yet they stood, sturdy, ugly, out of place. The houses were wellbuilt and solid. Lined up and accounted for. Lillah didn't feel she could wander into one as you would elsewhere, welcomed in. There was even a small house where you could exchange smoothstones or other treasures for cooked goods, good leaves, bowls: anything you would like to find easily. It was like the markets between Orders but more organised.

  Lillah looked at the faces around her and could easily pick out which was Magnolia's mother, and Ebena, her brother. Her sister was gone, settled in an Order somewhere.

  Lillah took the hessian bag from her pack and handed it to Magnolia's mother.

  "I've carried this for almost two years and I am glad to give it to you. Your daughter was very clear I should give it to you." It was good to pass on the responsibility. Magnolia's mother sat with her knees spread wide, an enormous sack of sea pipis beside her. Her thumbs were so strong she could crush the shells with a pinch. She scooped out the meat with the longer fingernail on her little finger and sucked it up.

  She ate dozens, and Lillah felt ill standing beside her.

  "What's inside the bag?" Magnolia's mother said, lifting the bag and feeling the weight of it in her palm.

  "I haven't looked. It's for you."

  Magnolia's mother wiped her hands on her skirt and undid the bag.

  Inside was a small clay ball with three holes in it.

  Magnolia's mother turned it over in her fingers. Sniffed at it. Closed her eyes.

  Lillah felt uncomfortable standing there and began to edge away.

  "Stop!" the woman said. She lifted the clay ball. "Why would my daughter send her child's soul to me? Is she fearful for its life?"

  "I… don't know. She has no need to fear."

"Are you sure?"

  Lillah suddenly thought of the number of children who died in Ombu. They had not seen such numbers in other places. Parana had many skeletons but that was a collection of many years.

  "Yes. Yes, I'm sure," she said. There was no point telling the woman otherwise.

  "I am not sure. My daughter is not sure."

  "My brother is a good man. They love each other."

  "That's something."

  Magnolia's mother tucked the clay ball into a fold of material at her feet.

  "Thank you. I will keep this safe. If her baby dies, at least his soul will be with me."

  "Perhaps she is scared if her baby gets sick the ghosts inside the Tree will eat his bones," Lillah said.

  "Why do you believe such a nonsense?" Nobody in Magnolia's Order seemed to believe that the ghosts ate the bones of sick people. Lillah couldn't understand that.

  "You're frightening our guest," Magnolia's brother, Ebena said. He took Lillah's hand. He was so like Magnolia, and Lillah felt a very strong attraction to him. She knew what it meant; that her small and secret desire for Magnolia (secret even to herself) was something she may be able to satisfy by loving with her brother.

  He led her to the seawalk. It was empty, this time of day: people busy, people sleeping. He seemed awkward, as if he didn't know what to say.

  Lillah said, "Come, we'll talk. A good conversation is like a whispering Tree." She told him that Magnolia sent him goodlove.

  "What was she like as a child?"

  "She was fun to be with, but wanted all the attention. She liked to be with the boys rather than the girls, but she was popular with the girls."

  He tripped over a piece of wood and stumbled, dragging Lillah down with him.

  "I'm clumsy. Is she still clumsy? She was very clumsy when she was here."

  They sat at the end of the seawalk and Lillah talked about Magnolia and the baby. She told him about Logan, what a good man he was, how funny, and how happy he and Magnolia were. How she did not find an interest in the other men, but was happy with Logan.

  "That's good news. She has found a place to be herself."

  Lillah wondered if Logan had remembered to send the message they discussed. It was around now he was supposed to send it by messenger. She wouldn't receive it for a long time; it would take that long for the messengers to catch up with them.

 

At the feast, this story was told. "In the very centre of the Tree there is a fire. This is a slow fire, that singes the Tree, smoothing it like long-time water. How long ago this fire started we do not know, but the Tree feels warm to the touch sometimes because of it. This warmth is destroying our Tree. One day there will be a terrible, bone-shaking noise. We will have enough time to say goodbye, to thank the Tree, and we will sink to the sand and allow the Tree to crush us."

  The Tale-teller shivered. "Deep inside the fire burns. We don't know how far away. Can you hear it? Crackle, crackle, if we listen closely. Listen." He whispered comfort to the Tree, cool, kind words to keep it happy.

  Lillah had listened like this many times as a child. Word would go out that you could hear the crackle and the children would run to listen. In Ombu they believed there was a massive insect inside, a giant termite, nibbling away at the flesh of the Tree. They said if you scraped your shin on the Bark, left any skerrick of yourself behind, the insect would come for you. Once he'd had a taste of you he'd come to gobble you up.