Walking the Tree (39 page)

  Lillah said, "I have a student outside who would love to see this food cooking. Wouldn't she, Morace?"

  He nodded.

  She remembered the pouch of seeds, the offering, and pulled it out.

  "We have a ceremony outside where we make an offering to ask forgiveness, for all offences. I know we have hurt some of your people; will I be able to make an offering somehow?"

  Santala's brother, his arms shrivelled below the elbows, joined them. After they had eaten, wiped their mouths, he said, "You think you can atone for the murder of our people with a small bag of seeds? Why should we forgive you, all of you, for these things?"

  Lillah wished she were cleverer, that she knew people, understood them.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "You have not killed. It isn't your responsibility. Others have done it," Santala said, knocking his brother on the side of the head.

  "I have never seen a newcomer killed. Only the dead-but-walking."

  "Those 'dead-but-walking' are the ones who have almost reached enlightenment. They moved beyond the physical needs. This takes all their lives to perfect. Their very existence means the sea stays calm and doesn't suck the souls from all of us. Every time you kill one, the danger grows. Every one of them who makes it to the water keeps us safe and helps us grow. They live on a diet of salty food. Most salt is kept for them. Salt is rare for us."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Every one who is killed is a great loss. You cannot imagine the sadness we feel when one of these evolved beings is murdered."

  Lillah thought of Sapin, how much pleasure he had taken in the killing of the dead-but-walking. She felt small pride that she had not chosen him. That she had moved on, moved away.

  "I am sorry."

  "I am happy to have that regret, but it is not you, Lillah. You can say sorry for your people but you are not responsible for these actions unless you commit them yourself. That is what we believe."

  Lillah reached up and drew her finger through a silky patch of liquid on the Tree. The sap here was smooth, not sticky. She loved the feel of it on her skin, smoothed it onto her arms just for the feel and the smell of it.

  "We have our monsters, too. There is the Woodsman, so tall he cannot move through the tunnels but needs to chop his way through. This causes collapse, great destruction, but he barely notices or cares. He's hungry, always hungry, but he doesn't like organic food. He likes flesh. People. And his hunger is huge, his mouth very wide." Santala shuddered. "We don't like to talk about him very much. We think that words make him stronger. The more we talk, the stronger he is."

  They were quiet for a while Lillah thought of the monsters of the deep they feared, and how some young men would prove themselves by taunting them. "Has anyone been close to the Woodsman? To prove their bravery? That is what they do outside sometimes."

  He blinked at her. "We have nothing to prove here. We don't work that way. We are brave when we need to be. We do not admire foolish bravery such as exploring outside the Tree."

  He started to play act a short story where he pretended to be a brave young man, struck down. It shouldn't be funny but it was; he captured the young man spirit so well, the arrogance, the foolishness.

  His brother, still angry, said, "You can't say you don't have cruelties. To your own people as well as ours. You place babies you don't want in the Tree limbs for the white birds to peck clean."

  "Not all of us," Lillah said. She remembered the revulsion she had felt in Thallo on seeing this.

  "And you are the ones who give us bones to build with, piles of bones, skulls and stones. We are not the only ones to build with bones."

  Sequoia, Lillah thought. They make such piles there. She wondered if there was anything these people had not observed.

  The men smelt stronger here. It wasn't a smell of dirt, or an unwashed smell. It was the male smell, but it was so much stronger.

 

Later, around the food, Lillah looked in her bag for something to give Santala's mother. Something personal, with meaning. She felt awful, coming to each meal with nothing.

  She found the small stone with sweet markings, given to her by Corma, the girl who caught child and died in Ailanthus. She realised she had missed visiting Chrondus, the girl's home, and had therefore failed to deliver this stone to them. She had forgotten to pass this on to one of the other teachers, in her rush to escape, and she felt badly that she would not complete that task. She gave it to Santala's mother.

  "That is a beautiful stone. What do the markings mean?"

  "They mean something only to the person it is meant for. It came from the hand of a loved one, and all thought is inside it. I wish I could give it to those in Chrondus."

  Santala said, "We can leave it under the Tree, at least. If they are meant to find it and understand it, they will."

  "You'd do that? Isn't that contact too close?"

  "It's fine. Some contact is fine, because they don't believe we are real. They will think someone dropped it."

  Lillah imagined the children of her school finding the stone. She imagined a whole story unfolding, what they would say about Lillah and Morace.

  "I wonder if our school misses us. I wonder if they notice we are gone."

  He shook his head, smiling at her. "Oddly enough, the world goes on when you are not there, Lillah. You remember what it's like to have teachers choose an Order. There is a space for a short while, then it is filled. That's how it should be. You are used to loss and departure."

  "But they should worry for our lives. We are inside the Tree."

  His smile dropped. "That is terrible, is it?"

  Lillah felt her cheeks burn at her stupidity. "No, no, you know what I mean. There is a fear of inside because we don't know inside. I have no fear now. Understand me, please. Don't be hurt by my words. You know this is true."

  "I'm used to it," he said. "And they think you have gone out to sea, anyway. That is what they are told and that is what they think. And you are a very fine woman. I love to spend this time with you."

  Lillah felt his warmth spread through her. She closed her eyes, listening to his voice. "Tell me a story," she said. "About the people I know."

  He put his arm around her. "They have reached a place with the people we call the golden folk. They never burn although they are paler, like us."

  "I heard they use a lotion to protect their skin. I planned to take some of that home. I have to trust someone did it."

  "You always planned to go home?"

  "I did not really have a plan at all. I knew I had to keep Morace safe, that's all. Tell me, is Phyto with them? Do you know? The man who travelled with us."

  Santala motioned to a young girl. "She will tell you a story. This is not exactly what happened; many of our stories come from mixtures of this and that. A name from here, a word from there. We also know what happened once and is likely to happen again."

  The young girl had long white hair, smooth and shiny. Her face was a pale wood colour, unlined, and she took Lillah's hand and spoke straight into her face. The story was for her alone.

  "As they approached Osage they saw the men working at the water's edge, dragging in a catch. Osage is set in a deep atoll; fish are kept as if in a bowl.

  "They pulled in the net and the teachers saw many sea sponges among the flapping fish.

  "The men worked in short skirts of material, their backs bare and wet with heat sweat.

  "Three women plucked out the fish and cut their heads off with large knives. They scaled, gutted and tossed the fish into a large wooden bowl. They are beautiful people, the golden sand clinging to their sweaty bodies.

  "The women kept gutting the fish as the men piled the sea sponges into large net bags.

  "The school together walked to meet them but they continued with their work. They did not look up. 'Are we going to stand here all day? I'm hungry,' said the tallest student. He called out, 'We're here. Have you noticed?' His voice carried to the water's edge. The fishermen looked up, at last.

  "The men linked arms with each other; the three women did, too.

  "'Welcome to Osage. We have been told of your approach,' said the leader. They stood forward. The leader tilted his head at them. 'Is this all of you? No more? In this place we don't believe in ceremony or ritual. We believe in plain speaking, good food, and some dancing.'

  "Then your friend came out of the Tree. He embraced all of your teachers and your children and there were many tears. They were very happy to see each other and he was a happy man.

  "'You are welcome here, friends. All of you are welcome. It is a wonderful place. I have never been so happy in all my life. I belong.'

  "The dancing that night was wild, frenzied. They could not help thinking of those in Chrondus, where they had left jail, those in confinement. They thought of those inside the Tree, the two they missed but did not mention."

  The story seemed to excite the women listening, and they spoke of men, the men they liked and those they didn't.

  "The men outthere are so smooth. Too smooth."

  "But they are too hairy inside! I like men to be smooth," Lillah said. They all laughed.

  "I think it is lucky we all like different men, or we would rip each other's eyes out," said one woman. She spoke rarely, and watched Lillah's every move. It struck Lillah that perhaps she was worried she would take Santala away. Capture his heart.

  They joined Morace in a meeting place. He was smiling broadly, and Lillah wondered what had made him so happy. Earlier, Santala had told her, "We know all. You forget that. We know your fears for Morace's health."

  Lillah had felt a great weight lift from her. This was not her responsibility now. She had failed, and someone else would do the job, make the choices.

  She looked at Morace. He hummed to himself and fiddled with a wood puzzle, waiting for her to stop speaking.

"Lillah! You won't believe it!"

"What is it, Morace?"

  A woman stepped forward. She had short hair, cut spiky. She said, "Morace said that you were worried he had Spikes. Did you know we had a test for this? An absolute?"

  "I didn't know such a test existed," Lillah said. She looked at Morace. Smiling.

  "And?"

  "He is not sick. Perhaps his lungs are not as strong as they should be, but he does not have Spikes."

  Lillah started to cry. With relief, to begin with, then with loss: all she had given to keep him safe. Her love, her chance at her own life. She had not needed to.

  But he was not ill. He would not die.

  She drew him to her and they held each other close together.

  The healer said, "We are like you in this. Spikes is something we fear more than anything else. We are confined; illness spreads quickly inside the Tree. When one child coughs on Monday, there are five dead by Friday." Lillah had heard this saying in variations around the Tree. "The first people came here to run from a bone-deforming Spikes but we think they brought a variation with them. A Spikes body is full of odd bone peaks."

  Morace said, "We say that, on the outside, too. They are very serious when they say it outside, and they nod like this when they say it." Lillah smiled at Morace's light mood. He wouldn't sink into despair.

 

After some celebration, Lillah and Morace discussed with Santala what they would do next. "You can rejoin the school. Or we can take you to the ghost cave at Ombu, and you can go straight home. The school will reach there in six months," Santala said.

  "I'll have to take the healer with me, to tell them I'm well," Morace said.

  "I can't do that," the healer said. "I don't want to reveal myself. Insiders don't do well on the outside."

  "Slaughter. We are slaughtered." Santala stood up, angered.

  Lillah had heard stories of this; she didn't comment. She had seen it.

  "We can teach you the test, though. To show them you are healthy, and so others can test themselves. We are happy for the outside to know."

  Morace's cheeks looked pink, and Lillah knew he was happy at the thought of rejoining the school.

  She was not so eager. She felt as if this was an opportunity she may not have again. There was so much more to learn about inside. And about outside.

  "I think I'll stay here. If someone can guide Morace to the ghost cave at Ombu, or to Bayonet, to meet the school, then I can stay to explore more."

  Santala smiled at her. His eyes slitted, as if he was assessing her. She hoped he didn't think she was interested in him as a lover.

  "You're not coming with me?" Morace said. He looked at her, wide-eyed. "What will my mother say?"

"Morace…"

"I had forgotten. What will our father say?"

  "I will be home before long. I will not be forever. I need to go to school inside the Tree."

  The next day, Morace left. She felt a great gap as he went, disappearing quickly through a tunnel. But a lightening as well, an easing. She was alone, with only herself to care for. It was freeing.

 

She had so much to learn. Santala explained to her the measurement of time, of names, and of the past.

  "Those first people brought with them only one book. One book in eight parts. Called "Botanica". It is from here we find our names, and how we measure our time, by how the plants grow. The seasons.

  Lillah was silent. Is this how simple it is? she thought.

  "All of us, insiders and out, are named from that book."

  Lillah said, "Why do you know of the past and we don't?"

  "You don't have the books outside. And also this is the rift of so long ago. Insiders wanted to remember the past. Outsiders wanted Botanica to be all they knew.