by Alice Ivinya
“There will be a whole city worth of people. Shops full of clothes like that silk shirt and jewellery. Fancy gardens. Music halls. Dances. Probably better looking men than down here too.”
Klia grabbed my hand. “Come too, Avan. We’ve been dying of boredom here for years. And you’re so pretty. I bet you’d marry some lord.”
I snorted. Opinion had always been sharply divided about my looks. I didn’t look Farthi at all but had skin as pale as any Tharan and bright orange hair like a fox. Nobody had ever seen hair of my colour before and said so regularly. It had almost been a relief when I’d come of age and started wrapping my hair. It was tiresome to hear the same remarks over and over, as if people were constantly shocked at how bright it was.
I sighed. “I doubt Ma will move us. We’ve only just harvested the flax, and she is weaving all hours. She wouldn’t abandon the crop.”
Klia nodded dumbly.
“Come anyway, Avan,” weedled Finn. “You could leave your ma here.”
I snorted. “Course I couldn’t. She’s got nobody else to look after her.”
Below the visitors had left the stage and everyone started talking in hushed but excited tones, making the tree sound as if it were full of bees. We clambered down and trudged out of the oak, the townsfolk milling around us and slowing us down. Klia and Finn’s father found us before we’d even left the crowd, his height giving him the advantage. Joff was a huge man with thick hairy arms, which he liked to fold in front of himself. His hands were always dirty from the fields, even when he ate. Klia didn’t look up to meet his eyes.
“Klia, your mother and I have been discussing this.” He waved a huge hand in a vague circular motion that Klia shrank back from, as if knowing what it foretold. “We’re going to Herne. My Art may be useful there,” he said gruffly. “It will be safer for you two and your sisters and mother too. Those Tharans are a nasty lot. I can’t risk them coming here and hurting you.”
Klia hung her head and said nothing. An emptiness started to open in my chest and dread slithered in my stomach. This was actually happening. I was losing Klia, the only close friend I had. We spent so much time together, it would be so odd without her. People rarely moved away from Vale. What if they didn’t come back after the famine ended? Who would I torment Mistress Claire with? Or compete with at hitting important people with acorns?
I took a step away from the family so they could discuss it in private, but Joff caught my arm. “I’ve had a word to your ma. Would make sense for you to come too and you could travel and stay with us. It’s not safe here anymore, Avan. Tharan raids are getting bolder and the drought is getting worse.” He sighed and continued with a half smile. “It would be a good chance for you and Klia to grow up a little. See Herne. Get some sense in those silly heads.” He nudged his eldest daughter. “Also, she can natter and complain to you all day instead of us. Spare us all a headache, that would.”
Klia’s head snapped up and she looked at me hopefully. She didn’t even retort to her father. “Please, Avan. Talk to your ma. I’m sure Mistress Claire can find some other girls to work for her.” She grabbed my hand in both of hers. “If I have to be kidnapped, it will be so much nicer with you.”
Joff huffed. “Nobody’s being kidnapped, Klia. I’m choosing to go. The king needs me.”
Klia placed her hands on her hips. “The king doesn’t care two grains about you.”
Joff grabbed her hand and started to pull her away. “One of these days, Klia, your mouth will get you into trouble, I swear it,” he mumbled.
“I said nothing but the truth, Pa,” she grumbled back.
“Bit of trouble might do the two of you good. I’m too soft on you...”
They disappeared into the crowd and I lost the conversation. Alone, I trudged back to the laundry courtyard. It just felt wrong; these strangers coming and taking away our only source of food. We didn’t have enough water to grow anything without Growers. It left us completely vulnerable when nobody knew how long this famine would last.
I pushed through the dead vines at the entrance and started to roll up my sleeves tightly to button them above my elbow when I saw something out the corner of my eye. I jumped. Standing, talking to Mistress Claire, was my ma. I approached slowly, trying to catch what they were talking about. Ma looked so tired and thin. She never slept well after the flax harvest, and just wove and wove and wove. It was the worst time in our house. I wasn’t sure if it was because she remembered Father working amongst the blue flowers in his huge fields, or because the job always looked so big with our garden covered in yellow bundles leaning against every surface as the flax dried out in the sun.
The last three years there hadn’t been enough water to spare for soaking the dried flax, and it had been laid out in the garden to soak up dew instead. The fibres had turned a dull grey instead of pale gold as a result and fetched lower prices. Money was tight but Ma never complained; she just kept on separating the fibres and weaving. I thought she would still weave even if nobody wanted linen anymore.
Ma noticed me approaching before I could hear what the two women were talking about. I gave her a smile in greeting but her gaunt face remained serious. She licked her lips and tucked the greying corkscrews of dark hair back under her hair wrap as if she was unsure what to say. She was normally so sure of herself, but today she seemed off kilter.
“Mistress Claire tells me you went to hear the visitors from Herne,” she said at last. The corners of her lips were firmly down.
I nodded. “Yes.” I went to take her calloused hand. “Ma, it sounds like all the Growers are going to Herne, even ones like Joff. Only Mother Hilda will remain, and she won’t live forever. Klia is going too.”
Ma sighed and nodded. She had always frowned a lot, and now the bright sun gave her a constant squint. She spent too much time indoors for a Farthi. Now her frown turned her squinting eyes into dark pits. “Do you understand, Avan? We won’t be able to grow anything. No more flax. I bet the town oak will die too. The water from the spring in the well just won't be enough. If the drought doesn’t end soon, this village will disappear. Nobody will be able to live here anymore.”
I looked at her in shock. This village had been here since the Farthi had first come to settle in Marchwood. Why would people leave everything they owned and everything they knew? People from Vale never travelled far. Ma’s hand was shaking and I tried to calm her down. “It’s not that bad. The drought will be over soon and we still have stores and you have a whole harvest of flax to still get through,” I said, trying to soothe her.
Ma pulled her hand out of my grip. “No, Avan,” she snapped. “It is that bad. Why can’t you understand that this is serious? Stop down playing it. The only thing you care about is being away from Klia.”
I took a step back. I frowned at her and prepared to sulk instead of replying.
Ma took a deep breath, screwing up her face, and calmed her voice with effort. “You should go to Herne with the visitors. You will be safe there and fed. You never enjoyed weaving with me and it’s not like you enjoy laundry much either. You can stay there until the famine ends and then come back. If it doesn’t end soon, well, I might come and join you after I’ve woven the last of the flax in a few months.”
“Ma...” I breathed. She would send me away, without her?
“No, I’ve made up my mind, Avan. We have too many mouths to feed here, anyway. Staying in Vale is dangerous, people will die from this drought, can’t you understand that?” Her voice was cracking.
An emptiness opened inside me, causing my stomach to drop. “Who will look after you, Ma? Come with me?” I half begged.
Ma shook her head. “I will only leave the house your father built if I have no other choice.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ma, you asked me to take this seriously, and I am. You can’t stay in the house just because Father built it!”
The slap came from nowhere and stung my cheek. “Don’t you dare dishonour your father and don’t you dare ro
ll your eyes at me, young lady!”
I cradled my cheek and stared at my ma. She had never, ever hit me before. Why was she acting like this?
“You leave in the morning,” she hissed and hurried off. She covered her mouth with a hand as she disappeared through the vines. I stood numb and shocked, still touching my cheek.
Mistress Claire resumed her washing next to me and the familiar sounds brought me to. She handed me a rack and bat. “Help me finish the visitor’s clothes, Avan,” she murmured.
I nodded and joined the silent lady who stood a little closer to me than normal, her arm pressing against mine.
Chapter Two
Journey Through a Dying World
THE PARTY GATHERED in the meadow next to the Grove on the edge of town, bustling impatiently, eager to depart. The Grove had been my favourite place to go growing up. A series of lily pad pools joined by waterfalls had formed the centre, surrounded by irises and heather. Coccooning the sanctuary were colourful maples, copper beeches, and rattling aspens. Traditionally, every Grower that was born or resided in Vale Grew a tree to mark their blessing on the village. However, the tinkling water had dried up in the first few months of the drought and now there were just ungainly pits surrounded by dead and dying trees. It was cloaked in silence creating a somber view to have as my last memory of home.
Twelve people were leaving the village in all and I didn’t think such a blow had happened to Vale before. There would be barely sixty people left to tend the fields and buildings. Joff had brought his huge draught horse and Tham his shire and small cart, but the rest of us villagers were on foot. The Growers and families from the eastern villages kept their distance from us, positioning themselves just behind the soldiers. In front of them, the whole party from Herne rode horses, and I hoped they would go slowly. I’d never walked further than the fifteen miles to the nearest trading village down south, and we normally slept part way in the Waytree to make the most of the market.
I wandered around the crowd feeling lost and out of place and tried to distract myself in the surroundings. Klia’s mother, little twin sisters and Finn were all atop the draught horse along with bulging saddlebags. My bag was up there too, somewhere. A few people had loaded possessions into hand carts or wheelbarrows. Mrs Firth clearly intended to try to herd her noisy flock of chickens all the way too.
I looked to the forest of the horizon and through my nerves, felt a trickle of excitement. Maybe in Herne I would find a better job and a more comfortable life. A tiny, rebellious part of me rejoiced at being free of mother’s shadow, though I would miss her.
Klia grabbed my arm out of nowhere and clung to me. She seemed excited. “Where’s your ma?”
I shrugged. “She didn’t want to speak to me this morning. She’s gone all quiet and vacant and teary, like when she remembers Pa.”
Klia gave me a hug. “She’s never good at farewells, is she? You’ll see her soon, I’m sure. I mean, it’s got to rain eventually hasn’t it?”
I shrugged again. Klia suddenly pulled me to the front of the villagers, just behind our mounted escort. “Isn’t this exciting, Avan? We’re finally leaving Vale and doing something. And, the best bit is no washing other people’s clothes for at least a week!” She studied her hands. They were as red and cracked and dry as mine. “Do you think we’ll have nice skin by the time we’re in Herne?” She took out a bag and showed me. It was full of dried chamomile, lavender and mint. “We can make a salve with this. Then when we get there, maybe we’ll pass as rich since our hands will be soft. Then we’ll have no trouble getting men to court us.”
I snorted. “Hardly.” I looked at the pouch. “Where did you get that from? Surely no Grower is Growing flowers and herbs?”
Klia shut the pouch defensively. “It was very expensive, I’ll have you know. Meant to be for ‘medicinal purposes’.” She huffed. “Well, my hands are a medicinal purpose. Just look at them.”
I smiled at her but it was strained and my insides felt hollow. Ma’s words echoed to me. ‘Serious’... ‘Dangerous’. I thought of the dead birds falling from the sky. The flies that dined at the edges of the road. By the Arts I hoped she would be all right. Klia was never serious about anything and I knew that rubbed off on me. Normally I enjoyed it, but today I found her prattle annoying. My thoughts were heavy and circular.
Mother Hilda hobbled to the middle of the Grove and muttered a blessing for our travel that I couldn’t hear. She touched her hands to the ground and tiny grass shoots poked through the soil, nestling around our feet, symbolising her blessing. Shouts snapped my attention to the front as soldiers ushered us into an ordered line. With Klia still clinging to my arm despite the heat, we started to trudge forward, the line bunching and stretching like a caterpillar. Absently I wondered where all the butterflies had gone in the drought. Had they all died, never to return, or moved somewhere where flowers still bloomed?
The Grove was on the east side of town near the inn, so we trailed west between the houses and the sombre families bidding us farewell. The soldiers reached the shade of the town oak and stopped the line. The younger noble dismounted and threw back his cloak in an attention grabbing flourish. Klia snorted. He had loose brown curls that bounced to his shoulders, and freckles across his nose.
“Herne is grateful to your village for sending your Growers,” the noble announced with a smile that looked surprisingly sincere. “We will do what we can to support you in return.” He pressed his hands against the town oak and we craned our heads for a clear view. The tree shook as if in a gale, the leaves lengthening and brightening as new shoots broke from the bark. Catkins hung gold and acorns browned. The crowd around us muttered in amazement and I realised I was holding my breath. It would have taken at least five of our village Growers to mimic what he had done.
“He must be a powerful Grower,” I whispered, still transfixed by all the green. “He just Grew the entire tree in seconds.”
Klia nodded, but seemed unimpressed. “It’s not like we can eat acorns though, is it?”
The young man stood back from the tree and spoke in a clear accent. “I promise you this oak will now survive the drought, even if it must endure for years. This is a sign that Vale will always be here, even if it must be left for a time. Its people will return and meet in its oak once again.”
Shouts and cheers broke out around us and some people were openly weeping into their hands.
“By the earth, it’s just a tree,” muttered Klia.
“I suppose it’s hope,” I breathed. My friend gave me a teasing look.
I looked at the Grower with new eyes. He was grinning up at the new leaves in a childish manner. Spoilt and naive, probably, but he seemed kind-hearted. He raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “This morning, my men planted pieces of potato in the field behind the inn. Those of you remaining here have a field ready to harvest as a promise Herne will provide for you and not let you starve.”
Cheers and applause broke out again. Some even called out thanks. I looked around the dusty villagers lining the road to see if Ma was there and if she was less worried now they had another crop to harvest. But I couldn’t see her anywhere. A lump caught in my throat.
“She’ll be all right,” I whispered to myself so the tears didn’t fall. “She has one less mouth to feed now.”
The soldiers were off again and people followed more enthusiastically, chattering like squirrels and pointing at the oak tree.
“Well, now we know why they brought him. He should be a travelling performer. Don’t know why they need our Growers if they have people as gifted in the Arts as him.” Klia tossed her hair and let it fall free of her head covering over her shoulder. She yanked her fingers through it.
I shrugged. “They must be planning to grow a lot of crops quickly.”
We headed up the hill, and I wasn’t the only one who lingered at its crest to gaze down at Vale. The town was surrounded by empty fields and swaying brown grasses which a few goats chewed. Only the huge
town oak gleamed green in the sun.
“We’ll be back,” said Klia with a grin. “It’ll all be green and busy again. Don’t look so sad, Avan. Come, I’ve got an idea.”
She pulled me to the front of the line, just behind the horses. Just like that, Vale was hidden. The road in front of her was dusty, with dead trees leaning over from both sides, planted and shaped to shade the travellers. Now the bleached, skeletal branches reminded me of hands waiting to snap down on their prey. I blinked in the fragmented sunlight and pulled my hair wrap over my forehead. A breeze made the branches click and rattle together. I shivered.
“I have a challenge,” said Klia smugly. “First person to gain a soldier’s name, his food, and water.”
I gave her a sideways glance. That dimpled grin was infectious. I supposed there was no point brooding and the journey would be long at this pace; I could do with a distraction. Even though Herne was directly north of us, we would have to travel west first to circumvent the sulphur plains. I’d never seen the plains, but I had heard the ground was so hot it could burn the skin off your foot in seconds, even through your boots. The air itself stank and people who breathed it in for too long became sick.
“All right,” I agreed, letting my face fall into a grin. “The winner can sit back and relax tonight whilst the other sorts out the food and beds and so on.” I turned to study the scene in front of me.
The path led downhill towards the brown forest that covered much of Marchwood. The soldiers were leaning back in their saddles, joking and laughing. None of them seemed an easy target. The only one apart from the group was huge and wore a permanent scowl. There was no way I would talk to him. The two noblemen rode out the front and the soldiers kept a respectful distance in a semicircle around them.
All the men wore the red squirrel of Arden, the ruling family of Marchwood, though some of their tabards were so stained, the sigil could be one of several animals. What they needed was a good soak in lye and then bleached in the sun. But I supposed there wasn’t enough water to spare for that.
