Walking the Tree (36 page)

  Lillah turned away. She ran down to the water, wanting to wash herself clean, wash away the past and all she knew.

  "Do you think she's right, Lillah?" Morace said. His voice was quiet. Mature. There was nothing of the child in him now.

  "No, I don't. Your people will welcome you and protect you. You'll see. She is an old woman with a scarred face and we need not listen to her."

 

The time spent at Sargassum went quickly. The children soon grew used to the scarred skin of the people, and Lillah caught Zygo with one of the younger women, carefully preparing to scar his arm.

  "Do you think all women would like to see that?" she said, stopping him.

  "All the good women would," he said, grinning at her.

  Nyssa and Lillah spent all their time together. Lillah found lovers and enjoyed being with them, although their rough, scarred skin took some getting used to. Nyssa tried to convince her to stay and she knew, again, that once she took Morace home, she could choose to return to Sargassum and make her life there. She would be happy with Nyssa as a companion; the men would not matter so much then.

  Morace spent too much time with Maringa. Lillah avoided the woman; she had stories to tell Lillah did not want to hear.

 

In her mapping, Lillah wrote:
Here the Tree grows pale
and luminous and there are shells so white they make
your eyes hurt. Here they see too much and know the
same.

 
 
 

Lillah worried, as they neared Gulfweed, that Rhizo's people would be like Rhizo had been. Selfcentred, self-serving. She worried that Maringa had been right, that they would hurt Morace.

  "What do you think they'll be like, Morace? Will they know you?"

  "Will they know you are my sister?"

  "We will see, I guess. Do you think Rhizo always had this in mind? For us to use our blood connection when we need it most?"

  "I don't know what she had in her mind. I think she just wanted to keep me close. Maringa says–"

  "Let's not worry about what Maringa says until we arrive, Morace."

  "We should be prepared."

  "I am prepared," Lillah said, although she was not.

 

• • •

 

As they left the market very early in the morning, Morace could not contain his leaping. He was excited to be seeing his family.

  "Your smoothstone? Do you have that?"

  "Of course I have it. I will show my family and they will know me through it."

  These were his people; he would be safe there. His grandmother, his uncles, all there to take the burden of responsibility from Lillah. She knew she would miss Morace if he stayed with his family but the thought of that burden lifting made her very happy.

  The air seemed clear and the light golden, as if all was right with the world and there was nothing to worry about.

  Lillah tried not to show her nervousness to the others, but she was terrified of how she would handle things at Gulfweed. She had to get it right, to win them over and make them believe her.

  Outwardly she was buoyant, as they were whenever they approached a family Order. But here they would ask more questions, and Lillah would have to decide if she trusted them with the truth, with Morace's life.

  An old woman followed them, a fair way in the distance, for their journey to Gulfweed.

  "I think it's Maringa," Morace said.

  "No, she wouldn't be leaving that place. Why would she leave it? They listen to her there. If she walked anywhere else she would be outcast."

  There was no one to greet them. Morace looked at the sand, blinking, trying to hide tears.

  "Aspen told us they rarely greet the schools," Lillah said. "They are too pleased with themselves and their sun.

  "Maybe they don't know it's you," Lillah said, squeezing him. He winced, his flesh sensitive to the touch.

 

They entered the central area to find the people sat on a massive hollowed out piece of wood with a whale's tooth protruding from the bow.

  Lillah called, "Please excuse us. We are a school set off from Ombu."

  Three people stood up and stepped out of the massive canoe.

  "Greetings, of course. Welcome. Please share our meal."

  Tamarica whispered to Lillah, "They won't look us in the eye."

  Morace clutched Lillah's hand. "Don't tell them who I am. I don't like them."

  "Morace! Don't be foolish. You haven't spoken to them."

  "They don't want us here. They don't."

  "We are busy preparing for the drying season," the man said. "And we are not so good with strangers."

  Lillah wondered if it was simply arrogance that made them that way.

  Ster said, "What's going on? Do you want us to keep moving?"

  "We are hospitable. It is strangers we are difficult with."

  He looked the teachers in the eye.

  "We are not all strangers," Lillah said.

  "Please, Lillah," Morace begged. "Please."

  Zygo whispered to her, "Don't tell them, Lillah. Not yet. Wait till we know them."

  Ster said, "We are all of the Tree."

  The brightness of the place was almost painful and very warm. The Tree looked odd from below, and the huge piece, long since collapsed, lay on the sand. They'd carved seats into it, and it was inside this huge piece of wood that sixty of them sat. Lillah could see old sap there, traces of it in the Bark, and she wondered if sitting here gave them strength, long life.

  "When did this fall?"

  "Three generations ago. There was a thundering that went on for a day, and then a great tearing. Many people left, camping along the beach. But others stayed, thinking this was a message from the Tree." He lowered his voice. "Eight were killed when it fell. They lie beneath this dugout. We have never recovered them. They were sacrificed to the Tree. They gave us the great future of the sun and the worship of those around us. Many wish to stay because of the sun." Rhizo had never mentioned this.

  The Order nodded, muttered, went back to their food. Someone handed Tamarica a pot with a bubbling stew in it and some beautifully carved wooden plates. The people didn't want welcomefire. "Gifts for all," they said. Rubica gave the dried fruits they had received in Sargassum to the children.

  "These plates are lovely," Tamarica said.

  "We are given gifts often."

  They were not invited into the canoe, so they settled by the water's edge, enjoying the sun.

  Morace took Ster's hand and kissed it. "Thank you, for not telling them," he said. He said the same to Zygo, without kissing him.

  Lillah snapped her head around "For what? These are your people. You should tell them so."

  Ster said, "They are acting strangely. We should understand them before we tell them anything."

  "Maybe they're acting strangely because they think we're keeping something from them."

  Morace breathed deeply, sucking in air noisily.

  Ster put her arm around him. "I don't think they should know he's sick."

  "He's not sick."

  "Of course he is, Lillah. You've hidden it well, looked after him beautifully. But we are not fools. You have treated him differently all along because he is your half-brother and Spikes hangs over him like a cloud."

  They ate in silence.

  One of the men walked toward them carrying a wooden pitcher and mugs. He smiled at them as he poured out drinks. No one spoke.

  "You're a quiet group," he said. "None of you speak."

  "We speak. Our mouths are full."

  The man placed the jug down in the damp sand. "Which of you is Morace, son of Rhizo our sister?" He stared into the faces of the boys. "Well?" He pointed to Morace. "You? You have her features."

  The head father said, "We are sad to hear the news of Rhizo and her death. Her death so far way from us. We wish there was a different circumstance for your visit."

  Morace cried quietly. One of the residents comforted him, but Lillah realised the person was squeezing him, seeking the lumps that would indicate he was Spikes-ridden.

  "He's fine. He is very healthy," Lillah said, pulling him away. Morace wept more loudly now, all the fear and loss shaking his body.

  He's only thirteen, Lillah thought. I expect him to act like a man, but he's only thirteen.

  Morace was used to hiding his coughs with noises; he clapped his hands a lot. He made jokes. Made his coughs seem like laughs.

 

A messenger came to them. He wore flowers around his neck and the words he formed sounded difficult in his mouth, as if he did not un derstand them. He said he had news from Ombu.

  "The man Dickson took a child to his cave and would not let her out."

  The locals, hearing this, said, "A man from your Order did this?" to Lillah.

   "The man Dickson kept the child for many days and then he killed the child."

  "No! No! Killing a child!"

  Lillah said, "Which child was it?" Not my nephew, she prayed.

  She thought of Thea, her huge great hands, and the children who had suffered. She wondered if Dickson felt a similar guilt. If there was something in their blood to make them that way… she realised she didn't know where their mother was from.

  "This is the place you came from?" Morace's grandmother asked him. "You knew this person?"

  "Which child died?" Lillah asked the messenger. "Why did he take a child?" She wished one of her friends was with her, one of the women who knew Dickson and his foolishness, knew Ombu.

  "Dickson was always rough with us," Zygo said. "He thought he was still a child."

  The sadness of this made Lillah feel tired.

  The locals watched Lillah. The other teachers didn't talk to her, though Musa didn't physically move away as the others did.

  "We should know the story before we judge."

  "We know the story."

 

• • •

 

After the meal, Lillah and Ster ventured on to the seawalk.

  "You are wrong that I treat Morace differently."

  "So if the seawalk was to collapse, and all of us dumped into the sea monster's bathwater, who would you save? Morace, or one of the other children?"

  Lillah didn't speak, although she knew the answer. Morace would be right beside her and he would cling to her whether she wanted to save him or not.

 

The Tale-teller, tall with rough skin like Bark, leaned up against the Bark, his lips pressed into a knot hole.

  Lillah crept up to listen.

  "We have Morace, son of Rhizo, here with Spikes. Rhizo died of it and we have no sorrow for that. She was not a good woman. We have sorrow for Morace but need to treat him regardless of pity."

 

Later, the Tale-teller said, "We will give him tonight because he is Rhizo's son. But we will not be the ones to break the way. In the morning his illness must be treated."

  Morace started crying. "Lillah?" he said.

  She took his hand. She knew that this was an important moment; she needed to do exactly the right thing or Morace would be lost.

  "It's okay, Morace. They'll be gentle. We've known this was coming for a very long time." She held him to her chest to keep him quiet.

"Sleep well then. Good dreaming."

  The school was left alone. No one spoke. They prepared for bed as if nothing new would happen in the morning, but Borag and the other children slept close to Morace. Lillah noticed they turned their backs to him, as if avoiding breathing his breath. As if suddenly what was in him could kill them.

  Lillah wondered if they cared at all. She remembered treatments in her own Order, how the crying had been disturbing but how she had never felt she had to act.

  That night, with the children asleep, the adults told terrible tales.

  They told the story of a man at sea, a friend of the sea monster bringing shame to all. Lillah thought they meant her uncle Legum, but she did not say. There was reason enough for violence here.

  "And now," the headfather said, "Now the treatment must begin."

  "No! You said in the morning!" Lillah said.

  "Now."

  They walked to the place Morace slept and they gently carried him from his bed and laid him on a flat, long wooden table. He woke as they did so, feeling the salt breeze, hearing the voices.

  "What? What?" he said. Lillah took his hand, tried to tug him.

  "Can you run? We'll run," she said desperately, but she knew they couldn't. She knew she should have taken him before, she should not have listened to the stories but taken him and run.

  "We begin tonight and we will treat this boy for ten nights. On the eleventh night we will join him with the Tree and all will be well."

  The headfather took out a large, sharp shell. Morace screamed as they held him down.

  Lillah threw herself on top of him. Tamarica and Ster pulled her backwards. "We must accept, Lillah. We must. This is their way."

  "We must not accept!" she called, but they held her back, covered her mouth. Three men held her and she hated their smell, she vomited at their feet but they were not bothered.

  "You are sick too, perhaps?" they said.

  "He is not sick!"

  Morace screamed, terrible, full of pain. She could not see what they were doing.

  "They've sliced some flesh from his thigh. A chunk. Oh my Tree, it's bleeding."

  "Let me get the webs. Let me go," Lillah snarled. They let go her arms and she ran into the branches, seeking the spiders she knew spun there. Greedily she grabbed all she could find.