Walking the Tree (29 page)

  "Morace, I can't do that to you. You are my brother, my half-brother. I have promised your mother, and you, and myself, to care for you to the best of my ability. I will do that. I knew what I was taking on. And anyway, it is Erica who is staying. Not me. And after that attack, that killing, I feel differently towards him. I would not be able to be with him without remembering it."

  Sapin was not there to say goodbye.

  Erica said, "Perhaps you felt love one way, after all. It does not always come back the way you want it to. He may not have wanted you, anyway."

  Lillah pushed her, hard, knocking her to the ground. "You have a happy life, here. Steal my place and enjoy it."

  Morace dropped his hat and didn't notice; Lillah picked it up, knowing she did not want to come back to the Order to collect it.

 

In her mapping, Lillah told the Tree:
Damp sand,
dear man, pebble piles and piles of bones.

  
Here, the Tree grows vegetables. The leaves are soft, the
Bark as hard as I've seen.

 

 

 

There was a long walk to the next Order, close to a hundred days. They took it slowly, in no hurry. It was good to be alone, just the school. Lillah told Phyto about Sapin, how close she'd come to staying.

  "It's not just about the man, though," Phyto said. "Most teachers choose a place for many reasons. Something they can give, something they can take. You need to feel useful."

  "I could have made it work. But Erica made sure she took the place."

  The sand was hot to the foot and dry.

  Musa proved difficult to get to know. Prickly, agitated, she was a far cry from the sensible Erica, who, while annoying Lillah sometimes with her need to stick to the rules, had made them feel comfort in her presence.

  Melia and Musa clashed early and hard. Musa had a sharp sense of humour and a cruel wit, and Melia did not like being laughed at.

  Musa spoke a lot about her own achievements, but she was lazy in her walking, falling back, feet dragging. She was not unkind, but neither was she kind, nor was she gifted with brains to know when to be quiet.

  When Rham, lagging behind to look at shell variations, was tangled by the rubbery, smelly seaweed on the shore, it was Tamarica who went back.

  "Either keep up with the group or look after the laggers," Tamarica told Musa. "Otherwise the others will think you are not a good teacher."

  Tamarica tried her best to keep the peace, because she was still so happy to be with the school, would always be happy, that she didn't want dissent. But Musa ignored her, flicked her away. She thought that Tamarica, being from Douglas, was not her worth.

  "We are not concerned with where people came from. That is the whole point of the school. To realise that there is no good or bad place, there are simply different ways to live."

  Musa rolled her eyes when Rubica said this. "Nonsense, rubbish boring nonsense no one believes. We think our own place is better than all else. Admit it. If you don't admit it you are lying to yourselves."

  To draw Musa in, Tamarica asked her, "So what do you know about the Order we are headed for? We've heard little about them."

  "I know they're figuring out a way to get drinkwater from saltwater. They can do it, but in small amounts. Though I have heard that they are not passionate. They are so concerned with their science, they forget the physicality."

  "Really?" Melia said. "That will be odd for you. Your Order was passionate. My man was wilder than I imagined. You know? And he asked me to tell the story of the bad men again. More than once. I think he rather liked the idea of them, their cruelty. Their violence."

  "Then Erica is welcome to that place," Lillah said quietly.

  Melia put her arm around Lillah. "I'm sorry. You liked him a lot, didn't you?"

  "I don't know that he felt the same way. I wasn't myself. Thea has thrown me, the business with Thea. It upset me a lot more than you were upset, that's for sure."

  Morace came up and held her hand. "Are you feeling sad, Lillah? Did you want to stay there?"

  "Your timing is always perfect, Morace." She kissed him on the head. "No, I didn't want to stay. Erica stayed. I wanted to stay with you."

  He seemed weaker. Paler, although he walked with high steps, pretending energy he didn't have. Tamarica collected a shell of water and sap for him, a soft, sour drink he swallowed with a grimace.

  "Haven't you noticed that the children are happier without Thea here?" Melia said.

"Not true," Lillah shook her head.

  "It is true, Lillah," Rham said. "She held us too hard and she got angry when we did nothing wrong. She told us off for things we hadn't done, things she had done herself. We didn't like her. You liked her but you were the only one. We thought she would kill us one day."

  Musa snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would a teacher kill you?"

  "This teacher did kill children. You didn't know her," Morace said.

  "She didn't kill those children. They drowned," Lillah said.

  "She told them to swim until they could swim no more and she would swim out and save them. She tried to make me swim as well."

  "And me," said Zygo.

  "You're a good swimmer, Zygo."

  "Not when she was around."

  "How about how her cheeks went red when a baby died? Didn't you ever notice that?"

  Lillah felt a coldness in her heart. An acceptance of something she had denied.

  "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said.

  "There is no point avoiding the truth," Musa said.

  "Shall we talk about the way the dead-butwalking was dealt with in Sequoia, then?" Melia said. When Musa said nothing, Melia nodded. "I thought not. It's all right when it's somebody else's truth."

 

As they approached the Order, Melia said, "I can't stand to be within a hundred steps of that Musa," and moved. She walked far in front, something they had been told never to do. "Never arrive on your own. Assess the Order as a group. Make your decisions together until you become more accomplished."

  They saw a lot of people in the water, an odd sight. Lined up, moving fast, on the water's edge.

  It was a muted arrival. Very soon after they got there, word went out that a messenger was arriving. Any news made Morace nervous. It made Lillah nervous too, and she wished his father would stop sending messages. It didn't do any good. She supposed he wanted to strengthen her resolve, keep her caring for Morace, and that insulted her. She cared for Morace as much as she could. She had given up her true love for him.

  She wondered sometimes, if she was doing the right thing. Was it worth risking their civilisation to save one child? She wasn't even sure if she believed that he was worth saving.

  He wore a garland of seaweed, they said, and the Order went quiet around the children and teachers. Will it be my mother? My father? Someone I love?

  A garland of seaweed meant a death.

  The messenger came at them before they had settled, even before they ate. He took water then said, "News from the Order of Ombu. There has been a passing. Rhizo, wife of Pittos, died quietly in her bed."

  Lillah felt momentary relief that she had not lost her father, or Logan, Magnolia or their baby. But it was Rhizo, with all the trauma that would bring. They took Morace into embrace and stood together, letting him cry. He cried for only a few blinks; Lillah knew how prepared he was for this. Even Zygo stood with him. "Don't worry," he whispered. "We'll keep you safe."

  The locals helped as they could, feeding the messenger, bringing hot sap water.

  "What news of her death? How did she die? An ailment?" a local asked the messenger.

  "What news of my nephew?" Lillah pushed forward. They shouldn't talk about the cause of death. The other teachers clamoured for gossip from their homes, and he told them news of Erica ("She is not yet with child") and others until he shook his head, his cheeks red.

  "I know only what I'm told," he said. He turned as if to run back to his own Order. Someone grabbed his arm.

  "Strange to have so little information," a local said, looking at Morace. "Illness or age or accident, we should know this."

  The messenger said, "I can tell you rumour; she died in childbirth and the Order has discarded her body as a foolish waste."

  Morace sobbed and Lillah knew she had failed him, letting him hear this. He threw her arm off when she went to comfort him, and glared at her as if he was the grown up and she the child.

  "She's been dead for almost six months and I didn't know. I didn't know!"

  "You're lucky they sent the fast messenger. You would have waited a year, otherwise."

  "Who has her smoothstone, Lillah?"

  "Someone will look after it."

  The messenger had other news for them, small things about their families which he relayed once Morace had settled. They didn't want to discuss the ramifications of the news so revelled in gossip for a while.

  A huge turtle shell, curved side up, rested near the Trunk of the Tree.

  "That's beautiful."

  "Don't lift it. There is a man underneath. Being punished for taking love when it was not given."

  "He's under there? For how long?"

  "Some time."

  "It must be dark."

  "He blinks when it is lifted. Weeps. He won't do such a thing again."

 

Rubica felt proud to hand over the metal plate in welcomefire. She received a sealed wooden bowl. "There is sweet water inside," they told her. The teachers had to pay in words for a meal.

Melia loved it; she loved to talk, loved to question and to answer questions. The words were fired at her and the other teachers:
Where do you go when it's
stormy in your Order? Can you read the stars? How much
sun do you get? Do you like the water? What do you use
for plates? Where is your water from?

  Lillah sighed, unable to hide her weariness any longer. Morace was lying down, not interested in food. She had spent hours with him and she felt drained, impatient. The Tale-teller, a grey, arrogant man who took in everything he saw with blinking, watery eyes, said, "I'm sorry. I question too much. It's in my nature. I like to have something to tell the Tree."

  "Well, our Melia questions. But she stops after a while!"

  "Our early leaders had a motto of only believing the evidence of their eyes and ears, and not of history. We have this too. The past is meaningless to us. We only believe the answers we hear to the questions we ask. Do you understand?"

  "I guess so."

  Lillah closed her eyes and let the talkfire warm her.

  "We tell stories, too. We do not only ask questions. Have you heard the story of the first woman?"

  Lillah nodded. "I've heard many versions. Yours may be different. I've also heard versions of the first man, and the Tree born through his ribcage."

  The Tale-teller looked shocked. He said softly, "There is only one story. The one which questions and does not accept as truth everything that is said, just because it is said."

  "Will you tell us your version?"

  With fury, he rose and threw his cup onto the fire. "This is not a version! This is the story! You shall not hear it!" He stomped away, his fat buttocks jiggling under his skirt.

  The teachers giggled, smothering the noise till he was out of earshot.

  "How pompous!" Musa said.

  "You shouldn't judge our teller. He takes his tales seriously. You do not," one of the younger locals said.

  "We do! We think tales are important. But we realise that there will be different versions of every tale no matter where you go."

  They nodded amongst themselves and no one seemed too bothered by the Tale-teller's mood. He came back after a while, hovering on the edges, bending his neck, stretching to hear all.

  The mood livened without his central presence. The Order played music, lively and energising.

  Melia began a good natured argument with a handsome man. Musa rolled her eyes and tried to interject until the man said, "Perhaps you could find some occupation in helping to prepare the next meal?"

  Musa stood up. "You are welcome to the fool," she said. She was pale skinned in the afternoon light.

  "Well, thank you for your permission, Musa. What a difference that makes to me."

  The Order laughed as Musa stomped away.

 

Lillah sat alone beneath the Tree. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but the children came for her. "Morace needs you. He feels sad."

  Lillah could not help but yawn. Melia joined them, her smile large on her face. "Perhaps you could see to Morace for a while, Melia. I am tired. Tired."

  Melia took her into a short embrace. "I'm sorry, Lillah. I am always selfish. You should walk alone for a while. See your spiders, or touch the Tree. Feel the bark. That will bring you back to yourself again."

  Lillah kissed Melia on the cheek. "You are selfish, but sometimes you surprise us all."

  "I'll set them to digging. The sand here is damp and should hold well."

 

In a small hollow of the Tree, Lillah found a cluster of small, smoothstones, each with a rough marking indicating the death of a newborn. It chilled her to think of dead babies grouped like that, and she turned away to look out to sea, to think of elsewhere.

  While she had been brought up to think that babies died easily and there was no shame in this, no sorrow, other Orders thought differently. Knowing how terrified Magnolia was of losing her child had instilled Lillah with that fear herself. She did not want that death to mourn.