Kirra leaned over and gave Teeha instructions. The normally stoic builder broke into a huge grin. “You got it.”
Their giant stalked over to Red Streak. The burly warrior grabbed a huge hatchet and set his feet shoulder width apart, ready for one last fight.
Kirra worked the giant’s arm so it swept down and scooped up Red Streak in its fist. The man bellowed in rage.
Kharee and Makina abandoned their arm and scrambled over to her side. They pulled on the ropes until the arm bent at the elbow and brought Red Streak back, inch by struggling inch. Makina lashed the rope tightly, holding the arm in place.
Red Streak, caught upside down in the branches and unable to claw his way out, shouted and spluttered. But when the giant’s arm was fully pulled back into firing position, Kirra removed a few of the branches that made up the arm’s construction and came face-to-face with him.
“This is for Zedu,” she said. Kirra slammed her cutting stone down on the rope that Makina had cinched up, and it snapped cleanly in two.
The catapult arm shot forward, sending Red Streak screaming through the sky, sailing over fifty feet high in the air, before crashing down into the river.
They had made sure to throw him past the safety lines. The current swept him down the river and out of sight forever.
KIRRA HAD COME TO THE LAKE EARLY, seeking a quiet place to think. And for a while, she had it all to herself, the soft morning sunlight filtering through the leaves and shimmering on the surface of the water.
But a curious thing happened while she sat there on the grass of the little meadow. People started to filter into the clearing from the trees. And not just a few of them, but many, many Tree Folk came out into the open to enjoy this beautiful morning.
They gave Kirra her space, but they offered her warm smiles and friendly waves as they walked by, greeting her by name. Before the events of the last few months, only a handful of people ever acknowledged her presence. Now it seemed that everyone in the forest knew her name.
And she wasn’t the only one who had made new connections. As she observed her surroundings, she saw that people were not clustered in little groups of two or three anymore. Big gatherings were forming. Three and four and five families coming together to share food and splash in the water, the adults talking among themselves while the children ran wild, laughing and playing.
Again, Kirra felt like she could have been back in Zedu. She smiled wistfully—would that make what she was about to do easier, or more difficult?
“You look like you have something on your mind, meerkat.”
She turned to see Mome walking up behind her.
“May I sit with you for a spell?”
She patted the grass next to her. “Of course.”
He settled in beside her but didn’t say anything. Mome could do silence better than anyone she had ever met.
Finally, she gestured all around, at everyone who was filling up the meadow and the lake. “Did someone invite all these people down here today? For a celebration, or something?”
“Of course.” He gave her a sidelong look and raised one eyebrow. “You did.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Um, no. I didn’t. I would’ve remembered that.”
Mome grinned. “Perhaps you didn’t make an announcement. But you have shown them a different way. They have an open invitation to gather, and they are enjoying it. I would venture to say there will be many such celebrations from now on, all over the forest.”
Kirra watched a gaggle of small children chase one another around on the shore, while others stood in the lake, trying to splash them. They were all shrieking with delight. “It makes me happy to see them happy.”
They were silent for a while again. Finally, Mome gestured to the knapsacks lying at her feet. “Are you traveling somewhere?”
She took a deep breath, admitting it to herself as much as to him. “I am.”
“Ah. I thought so.”
“Are you…I don’t know, mad at me?”
He placed a scarred hand over hers. “I’ll be sad to see you go, because I will miss you. But I have said good-bye to many good friends in many places. I understand the need to leave when you feel the time is right.”
“Do you feel the time is right?”
“For you to leave? Only one person in this world can answer that.” He gazed at her with his kind eyes. “Have you told your family?”
She sighed. “Yes. Last night.”
“How did they take it?”
She chewed on her lip. “Not very well, at first. Especially Luwan. They have always been here, so it’s harder for them to imagine anyplace else.”
He nodded.
“Loba blames you. At least partially.”
Mome raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?”
“On the ridge, after I gave my big speech and you stood up for me…And when you told me that what happened before, in Zedu, wasn’t my fault…That’s when I first started to think about leaving.”
Mome nodded again. “I understand. I didn’t want you to feel you had to carry that burden of shame any longer. It was too heavy, and it wasn’t your burden anyway. Similarly, you must not carry the burden of having saved us. Everyone played a part.”
“Oh, I know!” Kirra said quickly, eager to show her agreement. “We all did it together.”
She didn’t think she would ever forget the collective feeling of elation she and the Tree Folk had experienced immediately after their victory. Wild cheering and dancing had broken out, Teeha had been lifted onto people’s shoulders, and Luwan—well, Loba hadn’t batted an eye when his son declared his intention to be a Hook Hunter.
The joy had soon been tempered by the reality of the losses they had suffered. They’d spent days burying and mourning their dead, and weeks cleaning up the river and forest.
The recovery process was ongoing. It would be slow, but beautiful days like this one helped heal the community. And Kirra could plainly see that it was much more of a community than ever before.
Mome brought her out of her thoughts. “The only thing you should carry is the truth, which you have done admirably.” He looked up at the sky, then back at her. “And now I’m guessing that you’d like to carry it farther?”
“I am a Storyteller.” Her voice was clear, all traces of hesitation or doubt gone. “Like my father. My first father. And Storytellers travel.”
“Will you tell people about the Takers?”
“That’s part of it, yes. But there are lots of stories to tell. Some I learned from my father, some from you, but most I have picked up from my own experiences, everything that I’ve seen.”
Mome shook his head slowly. “You’ve been through so much…It seems you have packed several lifetimes into your few years already.” He put an arm around her and pulled her close for a hug. “It would be quite remarkable to see what you do with the rest of your years.”
She grinned and leaned into him. “Well, maybe you will. Luwan’s family made me promise to come back at the start of every dry season. I have to stay at least a month, and they promise to fatten me up and listen to my new stories.”
“They are good people.”
“So are you.”
Mome patted her shoulder and then stood up and stretched, his old back cracking and popping. “Well, I should probably get going. As you say, there’s much to see and much to be done.”
“Any other words of advice?”
He thought again, weighing her words. “You have a gift. I’m glad you’ve chosen to share it with the world.”
She smiled, trying to keep her tears at bay. “I’ll see you again in the dry season.”
Mome walked away for a few steps, paused in midstride, and then doubled back. “There is one more thing.…I wasn’t sure whether or not I would tell you, because I hear many things and not all of them turn out to be true.”
“Yes… ?”
He searched the clearing with his eyes, and then they settled back on her. “I have heard
of a man who has been walking from village to village across the great lands over the last few seasons. He is a master Storyteller, and he wins every competition he enters.”
Kirra sat up straighter.
Mome added, “He has also been warning people about the Takers.”
Kirra couldn’t breathe, just stared at him for several moments. “Paja?” she whispered. Was there a chance he could have escaped from the volcano?
Mome merely shrugged. “I do not know, meerkat. As I say, I hear many tales, and truth can be a slippery thing. But it’s something to keep in mind for your travels.” He bent over and gently kissed the top of her head; then he turned and was gone.
Kirra’s belly was full of butterflies and her mind was going in a hundred directions. But she had become good at juggling several different ideas and emotions at the same time. She took a deep breath before she too stood, stretched, and picked up her pouches.
She walked to the edge of the clearing, taking a moment to soak in the spirit of kinship that was radiating from all these people enjoying the day together.
Then she turned back and walked toward the trail out of the forest.
She did not know if it was part of her story to ever see her father again. But in any case, she intended to live a life that would make him proud.
THIS STORY BEGAN TO TAKE SHAPE while I was living in New Orleans. I found inspiration in the branches of the beautiful live oaks that lined the streets and filled the parks.
I have always loved being in the woods. As a kid I spent days climbing trees and playing in the forests around my home in New York State. I pretended I’d find secret communities of people never before seen by the outside world. I used to feel like the forest was watching me.
Because of my parents, I grew up in different parts of the world—primarily in North America and Southern Africa. I think my love of nature came from all the time we spent enjoying the unspoiled wilderness and the hospitality of the people who lived there.
I admire communities that manage to live in balance with nature. There are infinite lessons to be learned from these people.
I marvel at other communities that can be found in wilderness, too. The complexities that have evolved are astounding. The bivouac or army ants are a good example of a seemingly impossible adaptation for survival. The entire community—the queen, the eggs, the workers, and the soldiers—all live in a colony made entirely out of their own living bodies. By linking their legs, they create a huge fortress to protect their population from harm. At a moment’s notice they can unlock their legs and move on.
I imagined what it would be like if humans were able to be like those army ants. What if the small people of my childhood dreams could link arms and become bigger and stronger and safer?
It was in New Orleans that I began to think up the characters in this story and how they might triumph over adversity by working together.
I told the story to my children. I told it to my friends. They all told me to write it down, my tale of the little people who became giants. The more people I told, the more I felt my story was worth telling.
That’s where Clete came in. He made my vision come alive with convincing and distinctive characters. Out of my twigs and leaves he constructed a fully realized world in which people can live in dormant volcanoes, or villages, or giant trees. He patiently listened to my ramblings and turned them into a project I am grateful to be a part of and proud to share with you. He is a beautiful storyteller. This book would simply never have been written were it not for him.
I hope it inspires you to dream, too.
—Dave Matthews
WHEN I WAS A KID, I would hike through the forests of the Pacific Northwest and make up fantastical stories. The most recurring idea from those walks was that there was an entire society hidden in the upper boughs of the trees. I was fascinated by the possibility. How did the community get there, and why? What did the inhabitants look like? How did their secret village operate? I spent hours scanning the treetops, trying to catch a glimpse of them.
I never wrote that story, but I happened to mention the idea one day when I was having lunch with my wonderful editor, Stephanie Lurie. Imagine the thrill when she called me years later and invited me to collaborate with a storyteller who had a project that included part of this premise. Imagine my further thrill when that person turned out to be Dave Matthews. Finally I would get to dive into this idea that had long fascinated me. And then, over dinner with Dave, I learned that his vision also included an epic tale about love and loss, betrayal and redemption, and what it means to live in true community with others—including all the accompanying struggles and joys. It felt like not only a fun story but also an important one. I was all in.
Dave was collaborative and creative and kind on every step of this journey. I remain awed by his passion for imaginative projects. So many people around the world have enjoyed the creativity he has to offer; I’m excited for them to get to experience his story and so grateful to have been a part of it.
—Clete Smith
is a South African–born American singer-songwriter best known as the leader of the Dave Matthews Band, founded in 1991. The Grammy Award–winning Dave Matthews Band has sold more than 24 million tickets since its inception and 38 million CDs and DVDs combined. With the release of 2018’s Come Tomorrow (RCA Records), the Dave Matthews Band became the first group in history to have seven consecutive studio albums debut at No. 1 on the Billboard 200. In addition to his celebrated career in music, David has had multiple acting roles, including a part in the film Because of Winn-Dixie. He uses his celebrity to support humanitarian and environmental causes. When he’s not touring, he divides his time between Seattle and Virginia. He is married and the father of three children.
has written four humorous middle grade adventures, including Aliens on Vacation, which was named an ABA “New Voices” selection, was nominated for five state awards, and has been optioned for film. Clete’s first YA novel, Mr. 60%, was published by Crown. He received his MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from Vermont College and taught English at the high school level for over twenty years. He currently lives in Bellingham, Washington, with his family.
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