She still couldn’t decide how much of what Eole had said was true. She’d concluded the trees’ voices were genuine, and not his invention, because he’d heard the word ‘Koad’. But could it have been the Tree Slayer telling him where to go? Perhaps the Tree Slayer already knew where the One Tree was. Perhaps it simply wanted to get Eole there without her beside him so it could make him blow it down. In that case, she’d been right to trick Eole and send him as far away from Koad as possible. She’d thwarted the Tree Slayer.
As she got out of the taxi at the campsite, the clouds began hurling down rigid lines of rain and then hail. She sheltered in the toilet block, where a cleaner stopped mopping and said the storm looked violent.
Before long, branches started thrashing in the wind. A paper bag vomited its burger box and cup as it tumbled across the car park. Rainbow ran outside and laid her hands on the closest tree, a poplar, searching for signs of the Tree Slayer. There was the same wire-fence restraint she’d felt in all the Brocéliande trees, and she couldn’t detect any personal feelings at all. However, there was none of the fear she’d sensed during Eole’s gale. It was a normal storm and not the Tree Slayer.
The storm didn’t last long, despite the heavy black clouds.
“Wind’s changed direction,” said the cleaner, and Rainbow wondered if Eole had kept his promise and blown the storm away. It was impossible: he wouldn’t have stayed here without her. He’d still be on the bus to Rennes.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him as she pitched her tent in the far corner of the campsite. She should have accompanied him to the station and put him on a train before escaping. He wouldn’t be able to buy a train ticket alone. He couldn’t even go into a shop. How could she have been so cruel?
Mary insisted she stop thinking about Eole. She must concentrate on the One Tree. She’d do whatever it told her, which would probably mean healing and strengthening it so that it could withstand the worst tree-slaying storm. She’d watch over it and fill it with energy until Amrita appeared, restored to her full splendour. She and Amrita would become inseparable sisters, sharing tree secrets and healing swathes of woodland side by side. With Amrita beside her, she would be closer to trees than ever before. She mustn’t fail, like she’d failed the François I oak.
She took the tourist map out of her pocket and tried to find a correlation between the roads around her and the lines on the paper. It was useless. She’d relied on Eole much more than she’d believed. He was like a cumbersome winter coat: only when you took it off did you realise how cold the weather was. She would have to find another solution.
She walked to Le Brécilien bar, picked up her bike from where she’d hidden it behind a shed, and asked Monique for directions to the ancient trees.
“Apart from Druid Oak, they’re not easy to find. Your best bet is to ask Serge from the Forest Friends group in Argoad to take you round them. Tell him I sent you. Here, use the bar phone.”
Rainbow called Serge, who said he was too busy to help students with art projects. She mentioned Monique’s name, and he discovered he did have a free slot, after all, tomorrow afternoon. It was amazing to see how talking to people could help achieve an objective. She would have to tell Eole – except that she’d probably never see him again. She wanted to put his name into the box with Christophe and Thierry, but she couldn’t afford to forget him. He was her enemy now she was so close to the One Tree.
The rest of the day lay ahead of her, so she followed Monique’s directions and cycled to Druid Oak. It was just past the small village of Argoad, and didn’t require permission to visit because it was on municipal land.
The partially hollow oak was tall but bent over like an old man. It was massive, with a twelve-metre circumference, and could easily lodge two people inside. Rumoured to be a thousand years old, according to Hélène in the council office, it grew on the edge of the forest. She ran her hands over its gnarled bark, awed by its age. Wrinkled swirls had grown over wounds that probably dated from medieval times. This had to be the One Tree, even if it wasn’t central.
It was so old that she had difficulty finding a place to communicate with it. She concentrated on laying herself bare and letting her fingers ripple over its bark ridges. One place was slightly more receptive, and she laid both her palms over it. The sap beat was slow. She invited it to speak to her.
There was no response other than a feeling of weariness and disillusion, and a deep resignation. She detected ‘being yet not-being’, which could mean it was close to death, but there was nothing to suggest it was the One Tree. Disappointed, she gathered the little energy she could feel around her and sent it into the tree’s heartwood, wishing it a peaceful slumber. There was no reaction. She felt sorry for it, in its kingly magnificence. She’d have served it willingly.
She made a few sketches in her travel log and then hugged the younger oaks growing nearby. They communicated nothing in particular either. The trees in this forest were distinctly aloof. She would no doubt understand the reason why when Serge took her to the One Tree tomorrow.
The plan Eole’s brain proposed was good: he was going to stay in Brocéliande forest, find Rainbow, and protect her while she attempted the harmful thing she’d planned.
His feet relaxed and he left the bus stop in the heavy rain. In a backstreet, he put down his rucksack, took in a steady, damp breath, and filled his lungs. The air was salty around its extremities and heavy in oxygen from the thousands of acres of trees photosynthesising around him.
It was exhilarating to fill his lungs right up. Breathing in like this took him to a higher level, away from humans on earth and up to the nebulae in the sky. He felt powerful, a force to be reckoned with. This is how God would feel, if he existed (which he didn’t). People and everyday life became insignificant as Eole rose above them and blended with something more elemental. His brain told him that it was because it lacked oxygen, and while he acknowledged this, it didn’t stop his mind enjoying the experience of unity with the troposphere.
When he could take in no more air, he faced westwards and breathed gently out, pushing the wind and the cumulonimbus clouds away from Brocéliande and back towards the Atlantic Ocean. He didn’t know where the taxi had taken Rainbow, but wherever it was, she would now be safe from the Tree Slayer.
Next, he focused on the tourist map he’d memorised. They’d already seen one of the ten trees – the Anatole Le Braz oak tree at Les Forges de Paimpont – so Rainbow wouldn’t be there. If he went backwards around the circuit, his path and Rainbow’s would cross.
He began by walking into Paimpont centre, where he picked up his bike from the abbey and strapped his rucksack onto the carrier. He was hungry. Starving hungry. He hesitated outside a small grocery shop and then cycled awkwardly on, his rucksack making pedalling difficult. He stopped and put his hand on a bakery door handle, but didn’t manage to actually open it. He paused in front of an ice-cream seller. The man spoke to him before he’d prepared his words, so he turned around and cycled into the dripping forest.
He soon picked up the tantalising scent of plums. A fruit tree in a private garden dangled with dozens of them, as tempting as Eve’s fateful apple. There was nobody around. Maman-A would be cross if he stole. She’d tell him that God could see him, even if she couldn’t. But God didn’t exist and Maman-A was nowhere near. He didn’t know what Maman-B would think.
He climbed over the stone wall, filled his mouth and pockets with juicy plums and then topped up his water bottle from a tap. On the far side of the garden was an apple tree, though the fruit didn’t smell ripe. He collected a dozen apples for dinner. He would share them with Rainbow when he found her.
Late that evening, when he reached the sixth tree, he still hadn’t seen Rainbow or smelt her mossy-woody odour. This tree, Druid Oak, was the most venerable of those he’d seen so far, though Guillotin’s Oak was a close contender. He took his rucksack into the woods nearby, pitched his tent in a glade far enough away from Druid Oak so that no vi
sitors to the tree would notice him, and organised his bed for the night.
The ground had dried, and he went to sit under the mighty oak with his multiverse book. He put his ear against the trunk and listened. There was no voice inside.
It was comfortable under the tree. He stifled a childish urge to climb inside the wide mouth of the hollow trunk, yawned, and then plunged into the pleasure of reading. It was comforting to think that in a parallel universe, Tintin hadn’t died. He might be in the mountains discussing multiverses with a parallel Eole right now.
Back at the campsite, Rainbow ate her evening meal and then queued in the dark for the telephone. There were no other solo campers. In the Val d’Azun she’d hardly noticed she was alone, but after spending weeks with Eole – despite him hardly ever talking – the empty space around her seemed oppressive.
She slotted her phone card into the machine. She wasn’t going to phone Christophe. She would be resilient and just call Mum and Domi. She wouldn’t even ask after him.
She dialled the commune number and recognised Sandrine’s voice, which always reminded her of metal wind chimes.
“Hi Sandrine, it’s me.”
“Rainbow!”
Sandrine chattered about how she’d jumped five metres from a tree into the River Charente, and how she’d been snorkelling with Domi. When Rainbow asked to speak to him, Sandrine went quiet.
“Is he out?” Rainbow asked.
“No. I’ll get him. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“It’s just that when I close my eyes and imagine you there, it’s all dark and I can hear screaming.”
“Don’t worry. No one is screaming, but it is dark because it’s night-time. Everything is fine.”
Sandrine passed her to Domi. Rainbow told him she was in Paimpont forest, which Eole believed to be Koad, and explained that she and Eole had parted ways. She waited for a lecture on how she shouldn’t have abandoned him, but Domi didn’t comment. He didn’t even seem surprised. Had he known since his session with Eole? Or was this something else Sandrine had predicted? Before she could ask, he changed the subject:
“How are things with Mary? Have you finished reading my mother’s memoir?”
Rainbow had completely forgotten the wad of notes stuffed at the bottom of her rucksack. She explained that Mary had been quiet but had helped her stay resolute, which seemed to satisfy Domi. She added that she’d been too busy with her travel log to do any reading, and asked what he thought about her and Eole separating.
“I presume you ensured he was safe. You must trust your intuition and make your own decisions.”
“Right. Anyway, how’s everyone there?” asked Rainbow.
“Fine.”
“Have you seen … I mean, no visits from anyone?”
“Wait a minute. Jasmine’s making signs at me.” There was a pause, and then Domi said, “She wants to speak to you.”
Rainbow listened to her mum talk about a new blues group of British ex-pats she’d found. She stared at the people outside the telephone box and made listening noises whenever Mum paused to take a drag of her cigarette. A queuing couple were holding hands and laughing together. Instead of making Rainbow feel close to her family, the phone call had only increased her sense of distance from them. She told Mum her units were running out and said goodbye.
She didn’t take her phone card out of the slot. Christophe’s number, which was tattooed onto her heart, flashed up in neon lights in her mind. She wanted to hear his voice and have news of Apple and Acorn. But she didn’t want confirmation that he was with Emilie.
There was a bang on the window, and the couple tapped their watches. She took out her phone card and let the two of them jigsaw into the telephone box.
Chapter 30
When Eole woke on Thursday morning, he was cradled in the roots of Druid Oak. His dreams of crying babies and multiverses of forested planets fell away from him like dewy cobwebs in the wind. He was cold, stiff and hungry, and it was raining – but his ears had adjusted to the lack of voices and no longer hurt at all. He couldn’t even hear their whispers. It was a good start to the day.
He ate the rest of his apples and plums and collected some unripe hazelnuts. He should set up some traps for rabbits so he could eat properly. He needed wire, string and a stick, and would have to find their rabbit holes and leave traps there overnight. But if he left Druid Oak he’d miss Rainbow. There were still four trees to visit, all to the north east of Paimpont and a fair way from his cosy camp.
He lay on his elbows in his tent, sheltering from the rain, and staked out Druid Oak. A young couple came and walked around it, taking photos, and he had to avert his eyes when an old woman took off all her clothes and danced around it in the rain.
By lunchtime, there was still no sign of Rainbow. Perhaps she’d already checked Druid Oak, decided it wasn’t the One Tree and moved on. Perhaps the One Tree was Arthur’s Oak or Hindrés Oak, or the ash tree at Trudeau. Perhaps she was already there. He must move on. But first, there was something else he had to do.
He pulled some dead branches over his tent to camouflage it and then cycled slowly along a path that lay between the forest and a row of houses.
Several of the houses’ rear gardens had sheds backing onto the path. He peered into each shed window, and at the last house in the row he saw the tools and workbench he needed. He walked into the street at the front of the house. He was in the centre of Argoad, and the mailbox had the name ‘Cazenave’ on it. He hid behind a hydrangea bush at the side of the house, where he could see the front and the back, and watched for an hour. It seemed to be empty. He climbed over the rear wall into the back garden. Several fir trees obscured the shed from the main house, which was ideal, but the shed was locked. He checked under the sodden doormat, inside the plant pots nearby, and then found the key under a garden gnome. He opened the shed door and went inside. It was exactly right.
Rainbow spent the wet morning walking around the lake in the village, hugging the biggest trees and trying to understand why the forest felt so restrained.
She talked to everyone she met, and learnt that most of the forest was private and had been planted to make charcoal for the forge ironworks. She’d lied to Eole when she told him she thought the One Tree was in Massane forest, but in fact it was more logical. Massane was far wilder than Paimpont. But Amrita had told her to trust the trees, and the trees’ voices had brought her here. She just had to find which tree, out of the millions in the forest, was the One Tree. And then she could go home. She couldn’t understand why home was pulling at her like this. The desire must come from Mary, because the last thing she wanted was to go home and see Christophe and Emilie together.
An old lady with a walking stick seemed happy to stop for a rest, and told her that Brocéliande was part of an ancient forest called Brécilien, which used to cover the inland part of Brittany. She also told her that ‘Koad’ was the Breton word for ‘forest’ and ‘wood’. It was more proof that Rainbow was in the right place.
After treating herself to a lunchtime galette pancake stuffed with ham, cheese and egg, she cycled to Argoad. The rain had eased off, but the water on the road soaked her jeans and she was saddlesore from the previous day’s cycling. It was a relief to arrive. She left her bike at the Forest Friends’ office and met Serge, her guide.
He didn’t want to see her travel log. Once he’d asked after Monique, he wasn’t interested in her at all. She disliked him, but he did know lots about the forest. The best thing was his authorisation to take groups to the privately owned trees, so she didn’t have to waste time phoning the owners.
He drove a jeep to three stunning beech trees in turn. The first beauty was Roche-Plate Beech, supposedly the biggest tree in the forest. It had been struck by lightning many times, Serge told her, and when Rainbow hugged it, she could feel illness and death, as she had with Druid Oak. Then came the majestic Traveller’s Beech, whose wavy branches looked as if someone with the
same gift as hers had been practising on it. Finally, they visited the creepy Ponthus Beech, whose branches reminded her of groping tentacles. Each beech tree was so magnificent that she was initially sure she’d found the One Tree. Each time, however, she was disappointed by the lack of communication from the tree and its neighbours.
Serge was enthusiastic about his environmental work in the forest, though he admitted that he didn’t think his association would last long because the general public didn’t care about the environment.
“You’re wrong. Some people care,” said Rainbow as she sketched Ponthus Beech. “Most people just don’t think about trees and the role they play. They haven’t been shown how important they are. If someone could show them, I bet the vast majority of people would fight for trees.”
“You’re still young and optimistic,” he said. “You’ll see, when you’re older.”
People over thirty were always so negative. “It’s just a question of education,” she replied.
Remembering how Thierry had stressed the importance of networking, she made conversation with Serge. She told him she was hoping to do an arboriculture course, if she could get sponsorship, and then asked him how he and his association would react if he saw proof that people could communicate spiritually with trees and shape their branches. He said they didn’t sponsor students, and that Forest Friends were a scientific body, not a cult.
“It’s already hard enough to get people interested in tree welfare,” he said. “If we start mixing science with mysticism, we’re done for. You’re right about education. We need to prove the importance of trees scientifically. That’s the only thing that will convince people to take an interest in them and look after them.”
She was right to pretend she was doing an art project and hide the spiritual side of her quest. Serge would scoff if she told him about Amrita and the One Tree. He certainly wouldn’t help her.
Tree Slayer Page 24
