by Sanan Kolva
“We do. A series of generators small enough to be powered by the faster streams here. The output is more than enough for our modest needs.”
He spoke like the idea was… normal. “How long did I sleep?” she asked.
“A day and a half. You woke briefly yesterday, but went right back to sleep after eating a little soup. You needed the rest.” The doctor sipped his tea. “Lord Lucian said that the sight of the forest alarmed you.”
“The… forest,” Cylin repeated. She swallowed hard and glanced around. “Am I... in the forest? I’ve heard stories and... none of them are good.” Can I even leave this house? Is it safe to step outside, or am I trapped here?
Doctor Kinnel chuckled softly. “No, I imagine not. Dire rumors discourage bandits, raiders, and other unsavory sorts. The rumors protect our village. We call it Forest Town—not the most imaginative name, but it suits.”
“But… how? How is there a forest here at all? Anything that grows in the wastes is corrupted and filled with poison,” Cylin demanded.
To that, the doctor shook his head. “I’m neither botanist nor chemist. I don’t know the means, but this area is free of toxins. The ground sustains healthy life, and the water is clean. We grow crops and raise animals without fear that we poison ourselves. You don’t even have to purify the water to drink it.”
“And… people live here,” Cylin said.
Doctor Kinnel nodded. “Lord Lucian dwelt here first. Over time, other people trickled in, forming a village.”
“So Forest Town isn’t very old, then,” Cylin said. “If he was the first person here.”
“Ah… no. I arrived here forty years ago, and already the foundations of the village existed, several handfuls of people. Now we have well over one hundred residents.” He watched her face and chuckled with wry humor. “And yes, Lord Lucian was here when I first arrived. He looked the same then as he does now. No older, no younger.”
“What? How?”
“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” he answered. “I don’t want to taint your opinions with my own before you hear his answer.”
Maybe he’d been mutated by the radiation or biological weapons. She’d never heard of one that made a person stop aging, but everyone heard stories about unnatural results from too much exposure. Most people just died, but some… changed. In whispers, people claimed that the bone men used the flesh they bought to experiment, then extract the essences to sell to those who were willing to pay.
“Lord Lucian will be glad to know you’re awake and well,” Doctor Kinnel said. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ll ask someone to show you around. Also, one of the women left a change of clothes for you.”
“I can’t pay you,” Cylin said, a knot of dread in her stomach. How much did she owe this time? How was she going to settle the debt? A doctor’s care wasn’t cheap.
“I don’t charge anyone for care, and the clothes are a gift.” He collected the dishes and set them in the sink.
She hated being in debt. Pryor had used her debt far too often. “I can take care of the dishes.”
“No need, young lady. You are a guest and injured.” He poured water into the sink from a bucket. Doctor Kinnel smiled gently. “You owe no debt to me, Miss Cylin. You may find Forest Town strange, but I assure you, all offers of assistance are genuine. We were all newcomers once.”
“So I’m expected to stay here?” Cylin asked cautiously. “What’s the catch?”
“You are welcome to stay,” the doctor said, “but no one demands it, should you decide not to do so.”
“And you don’t charge for care,” she repeated. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you really a doctor?”
He laughed. “Yes, young lady, I really am. Would you care to see my diploma from medical school? I had the distinction of belonging to one of the final graduating classes before the bombing of the universities.”
He was at least sixty-five, then, if not older. “Um, no, that’s all right.”
“Ancients only know why I still keep the thing,” Doctor Kinnel said. “Now, might I ask a personal question?”
“Sure, I guess,” Cylin said.
“You are a young lady, and Lord Lucian said that you were traveling in the company of brutish men. Is there a possibility that you might be pregnant?”
She blinked several times before making sense of the question. Anger spiked, but it faded after a moment. He wasn’t asking if she was a whore yet. “No possibility,” she said firmly, trying to imitate the stern tone her mother had used so long ago to indicate that a question was quite unacceptable.
Doctor Kinnel was not intimidated. “You’re more fortunate than many young women who find their way here, then.”
“What would you do if I said I was or might be?” Cylin asked.
“Offer you vitamins and care in the hopes that you could bear a healthy child. And if your circumstances were such that you did not wish to raise the child yourself, I would offer you opportunity to meet couples who would adopt the infant.”
She wasn’t sure what to think. His attitude ran at odds with most villagers she’d met or lived around. Like he actually cared about her opinions. “Pryor, the man who owned my debt... he believed that a girl was off-limits until she turned eighteen. I don’t know why he picked that age, but he held to it, and wouldn’t let any of his men cross that line either. So I just... didn’t mention it when I turned eighteen, and they kept on not bothering me.” She shrugged. “Probably one reason I didn’t try to run off. Most warlords or village leaders don’t care how old a girl is if they want her.”
Doctor Kinnel nodded slowly. “Rest assured, no one in Forest Town will bother you. And if anyone does, inform me or Lord Lucian immediately.”
So even the lord of this place doesn’t force himself on anyone who strikes his fancy? Most lords just take whatever and whoever they want.
Unsure what to think, Cylin returned to her room. A pile of folded cloth she’d mistaken for linens proved to be a waist-length tunic of soft deep blue wool and a pair of leather trousers. Whoever had left them had thoughtfully included a belt. The pants hung the right length, or nearly so, but were too large at the waist. Cylin cinched the belt to the tightest notch. The former owner clearly ate better than she had.
If this land really grows safe crops, they might even eat two meals every day!
She hefted her bag over her shoulder. Everything she owned nestled inside it, and though it wasn’t much, it was hers. Leaving the room, Cylin followed the hall into a large room that appeared to be the main part of the infirmary. Doctor Kinnel was cutting cloth into long strips for bandages. A woman in her early thirties sat in one of the chairs. Her brown hair was looped in braids around her head, and her skin was tan. Her face was weathered, but the lines told of smiles more than frowns. Seeing Cylin, her face brightened in a welcome that shone all the way to her eyes.
“Oh, it looks like they fit you! I’m glad. I had to guess at your size. Lord Lucian can say ‘she’s about your height and thinner’ all he wants, but that’s hardly enough to guess someone’s measurements.”
Cylin started, blinked, and asked, “You brought the clothes? Thanks.”
“Cylin, this is Myra. She’s one of the best tailors in the village,” Doctor Kinnel said. “Myra, meet Cylin.”
Myra beamed at Cylin. “It’s a pleasure. Welcome to Forest Town. I’m sure you must be ready to get outside a bit and stretch your legs after a good long rest.”
“Um, I guess so,” she agreed, unsure how else to respond.
Cylin followed Myra outside. Her first impression of Forest Town was of trees, towering trees circling a wide clearing. Patchy grass sprouted around the edges of the open area, but most of the ground was packed dirt worn bare by feet. A scattering of leaves added dots of color. The stone walking paths seemed redundant, winding from the trunks of trees around to the well in the middle.
Cylin shivered, eyeing the behemoths, though if she didn’t have many places to run should branches rea
ch down to grab her. When nothing showed any aggressive movements, she peered around more carefully, seeing no houses, and only a few larger buildings tucked between trees, mostly hidden by the undergrowth.
“We work down on the ground,” Myra told her. “Most days, I’m weaving in there.” She pointed to one of the buildings. “It’s also where we spin thread and card wool. Tanning and dying are both done outside the village, because of the smell.”
Cylin wrinkled her nose and nodded in understanding. “I’ve done a little of that before. But… where do people live?”
Myra pointed up. Cylin turned her gaze to the tree branches, seeing nothing until what she had taken for a tangle of vines swayed back and forth as someone ran across it. A bridge? Finally she picked out platforms among the thick branches and glimpsed people walking about. “Up there?” she gasped.
“It’s safe,” Myra assured her. “The branches are thick and the houses stand against the trunks, even in the trunks sometimes. You see the paths? They lead to stairs up to the branches.”
Cylin gulped, not eager to put her faith in trees. Especially trees rumored to eat people. To her eyes, the platforms looked crude, not inspiring confidence, and she imagined the houses as rough huts, like those she saw in most villages. “Why the stone paths?” she asked.
“Winter and spring turn the ground into a mud pit. It’s not a problem now, when everything’s dry, but once it soaks in the water, you’re liable to lose a boot walking across the bare ground. That’s another advantage to living up above!” Her expression sobered. “The last, of course, is that it hides us from attackers, when they risk entering the forest.”
“Bandits?” Cylin asked. Then she shook her head. “Of course you’d have to worry about bandits. You have crops, animals, clean water… drifter’s bones, you have a doctor. Anyone would want that.”
“And that’s the truth,” Myra agreed. “But Lord Lucian protects us. We’ve never lost a single person to raids.”
Cylin remembered the man who’d fought Pryor alone and with utter confidence of success. “What about when he leaves, though?”
“Oh, he doesn’t leave the forest all that often,” Myra said. “And when he does, he puts someone in charge in case of an emergency. He’s never gone more than a couple of days. Sometimes he brings someone back with him, like you. Other times it’s supplies, or moonshine, or nothing at all.” Myra gazed at Cylin. “But I can tell you, no matter what he might have had in mind when he left, if he sees someone in trouble, he acts, no questions asked. Especially young people. He doesn’t expect anything in return.”
“What, there’s a lord anywhere who doesn’t expect ‘favors’ from women?” Cylin muttered. She felt guilty saying it. The man had saved her from Pryor, and he hadn’t tried to claim anything from her afterwards. He’d even stopped when she’d flinched away from him.
A flush of anger colored Myra’s cheeks, then faded. “Lord Lucian isn’t like that. I don’t know what you’ve seen or what sorts you’ve met, but he’s not looking to bed anyone against their wishes. We have laws here, and one of those laws is that rape is a capital offense. I’ve… heard stories about someone who tried and Lord Lucian’s reaction. He won’t tolerate it from anyone, man or woman, and he absolutely will not take someone against their will.” Myra walked to the well and drew up a bucket of water. “The rest of the rules are fairly basic. Don’t steal. Don’t kill each other. If a dispute can’t be resolved, Lord Lucian judges it.” She scooped up a drink, then offered the bucket to Cylin. “Best water you’ve ever tasted. It’s totally safe, right from the ground. And it’s free.”
Cylin hesitantly scooped up a drink in her hand. The water was shockingly cold and tasted of minerals. “It’s good! But… free? Are you sure?” There’s got to be a catch somewhere. No one has this sort of wealth and just gives it away to anyone.
“Sure as I can be after living here ten years!” Myra assured her cheerfully. “Most things here work on barter. Some people, like me and Doctor Kinnel, work in the trades we learned before we came here, but most others rotate through other jobs until they settle on one they like: working the fields, hunting, scouting, sentries, watching the livestock, that sort of thing. We even have a school. We know everybody hits rough times, but if someone’s slacking off and not pulling their weight with no good reason, they hear about it quick. We’re small enough for news to travel fast.” She smiled at Cylin. “But if you decide to stay, don’t worry about that yet. Except for some of the children, we were all newcomers here at one time or another. We know it takes time to find your niche.”
“My niche?” Cylin’s head swam, and she had trouble keeping up with everything she saw and heard. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“You don’t have to worry about it yet. You’re a guest.” Myra led her up one of the paths between trees. “Lord Lucian’s home is over here. This trail also leads to the fields.”
The path was graveled, with a slight slope that Cylin soon felt in her legs. The path split at a far sharper slope, one branch climbing the side of a steep, rocky hill, the other curving away and around. Myra pointed up the hill to a shadowed indentation. “Lord Lucian lives in the cave. If you’re up for it, I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”
Cylin considered the path climbing the slope, drew a deep breath, and let it out. “Sure, I’m up for it.”
Myra gave her an encouraging smile and offered her a hand. Cylin declined, starting the ascent unaided. Sweat trickled down her face and made the gauze itch like mad. She was almost glad that she needed both hands to keep her balance, because it kept her from scratching at the gash. The stones along the sides of the path were worn smooth, offering handholds without cutting her skin.
At the top of the path, Cylin was startled to see a young man, sixteen or seventeen years old. He sat near the cave entrance, whittling, though he looked up when she approached. Cylin stared for a long moment, saying nothing, her hand rising to the gauze on her cheek. He had brown eyes and brown hair, but the feature that caught and held her eyes was his scar. The jagged cut ran from his hairline, down his cheek to his jaw, and from there, down the side of his neck to vanish under his shirt. She swallowed hard. Whoever had carved him, they hadn’t intended to just take an ear.
“You must be Cylin,” the young man said, breaking the silence. “Lord Lucian told me about you. I’m Devin.” He held out a hand, and Cylin was relieved to see that the scar at least did not run that far.
She shook his hand, and his grip was firm and steady. “Yeah, I’m Cylin.”
“You’re here to see Lord Lucian,” Devin said.
Cylin nodded, only just noticing that Myra hadn’t joined her. She looked over her shoulder for the woman, but Myra sat down on a rock and waved her in. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here. Devin will show you in.”
“Is that your job?” Cylin asked.
Devin nodded. “Lord Lucian didn’t have anyone as a doorkeeper, so I took it on.”
He slid from his perch. He walked with a mild limp, and she noticed a cane resting beside his rock. He left the cane and pushed a thick hide away from the mouth of the cave. The covering was dyed mottled gray like the rock around it, creating the illusion of a shallow indent rather than an extensive cave. The air inside was cooler, and when Devin let the hide fall closed, Cylin stood in darkness until her eyes found a faint glow of light ahead. Devin touched her shoulder.
“Straight ahead until you can see clearly. You shouldn’t trip on anything.” His steps shuffled beside her.
The light came from stripes of luminescent rock running through the walls. As the light grew stronger, Cylin also noticed the air warming to a comfortable temperature. She ran a hand along the wall and found the stone smooth and seamless, as polished as a marble floor. No signs of chisel marks. The rock might simply have flowed away of its own accord, leaving a smooth tunnel in its wake. She shivered.
“Lord Lucian!” Devin called.
“I’m here,” a voice called back. “
Come in.”
Devin turned right at a branch of the tunnel and following it until it opened into a wide room lit both by the glowing stone and lanterns. Tables filled the room, piled with scrap metal, wires, and enough clutter to make a magpie jealous. A man sat at a table, his back to them, intent on some task. Cylin saw black hair pulled back in a short braid at the nape of his neck. Hearing their steps, he turned and greeted them with a smile.
“Good to see you, Cylin! You’re looking better. I trust Doctor Kinnel took good care of you.”
Despite what the doctor and Myra had said, Cylin had expected to see someone other than her rescuer. Someone older. “You are the lord of this place?”
He laughed. “I did tell you I would take you to my village.”
“I didn’t think you meant that you ran it!” Cylin protested.
His laugh was warm and his eyes danced. “You didn’t ask, either.”
Is this really the same man who faced Pryor? Cylin didn’t find the cold anger she’d seen when he rescued her, though pain lurked behind the smile in his eyes. “I didn’t know I had to,” she countered.
“Come in and make yourself comfortable,” Lucian invited. “Sit down if you can find a place. There are chairs somewhere. And I have something to return to you.” He searched around his table for a moment. “Now where is it… ah!”
Devin lifted a chunk of machinery off a chair and sat, but Cylin stayed where she was. Lucian walked to her, and Cylin was startled to be reminded that he was barely as tall as her. In her memory, he had gained at least a foot. He held a pistol to her, butt first. Cylin took it and stared in surprise at Jael’s gun.
“I don’t see that style often, and wanted to take a look at it. A good gun. I cleaned it for you and found bullets.” In his other hand, Lucian held an ammo pouch.
“It was Jael’s. I shot him with it,” Cylin said quietly.
“It’s yours now,” Lucian told her.
She accepted the ammo pouch with a strange sensation in her gut. She’d never had a gun of her own. Pryor wisely hadn’t trusted her with one. “Thanks.”
