Barkbelly

by Cat Weatherill

  He tried to tell them about Papa Gantry, but the conversation turned to Papa Hemming, a man in the village whose house needed a new roof. Barkbelly was stunned. They didn't seem to realize what they were doing. They were polite, but that was all. They certainly couldn't be described as welcoming.

  There was no improvement after dinner. The girls retired to their room. Dill pottered in the garden until it was dark. Rue went to visit her sister down the road and when she returned it was bedtime. Except there wasn't a bed for Barkbelly. Rue gave him a blanket to lie on and suggested he sleep on the floor by the stove. So that was what he did, although it took him an eternity to fall asleep. The homecoming dinner was lying heavy on his stomach and his breath was sour with the bitter tang of disappointment.

  But these were small troubles. If he had known about the shock he would receive the next morning, he wouldn't have slept at all.

  Chapter 55

  arkbelly awoke soon after dawn. Rue was already busy, kneading bread at the table.

  “I'll need to get to that stove in a minute,” she said.

  Barkbelly moved out of the way and sat on a settle by the window. He watched the kitchen fill with his family and suddenly thought of the jam factory. These people worked like a well-oiled machine, effortlessly moving around each other, finding a space here, a bit of bread there. Everything was fluid and easy. He didn't dare join them in case he upset the balance.

  But Rue invited him to the table, and as he listened to the breakfast babble, he thought he had never enjoyed a bowl of porridge more. Afterward, he did the washing up while Rue worked around him. He told her about Pumbleditch and the Gantrys, and she seemed a little more interested. But when he had finished the dishes, he was surprised to see a packed lunch on the table.

  “There are ham sandwiches,” said Rue, “a bit of cheese, a couple of sausage rolls and a bag of scones. I hope that will be enough.” Suddenly she looked him straight in the eyes. “It's been nice meeting you,” she said. Then she kissed him on the cheek and opened the door.

  “I don't understand,” said Barkbelly. “Am I going somewhere?”

  Rue frowned. “You're going home, aren't you?”

  “No!” said Barkbelly. “I've come to stay!”

  “Here? But we've got no room! How long were you planning to stop? A few days? A week?”

  “No,” said Barkbelly. “Forever. I've come home.”

  “This isn't your home.”

  “It is! You're my mother.”

  “Yes, but—you can't stay.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don't want you here.”

  Her words flew like arrows. Barkbelly reeled under their impact.

  “I'm sorry,” said Rue. “I didn't mean it to come out like that. You are welcome. Really, you are. But you can only stay for a few days. We don't have the room or the money to feed you. And we're happy, you know, just as we are.”

  “I've come so far,” said Barkbelly.

  “I know you have,” said Rue. “But it doesn't change things.”

  “Could I stay in the village? I could build a house.”

  “I don't know,” said Rue. “Maybe. Look, let's not talk about this now. Stay for a week and we'll talk then. You might change your mind after seven days with us!”

  And Barkbelly smiled with her, but he knew he wouldn't. This was his home. He was staying and that was final.

  Chapter 56

  yssop was two years older than Barkbelly and she clearly knew a thing or two about life. More importantly, she loved to show off her knowledge. And since Barkbelly had been pondering the question of life and death for as long as he could remember, he decided that she was the perfect one to ask.

  They were sitting in the back garden. Hyssop was stringing onions, expertly twisting the twine between her fingers. Barkbelly introduced the subject by showing her the stump of his little finger and telling her about the factory fire.

  “Will it ever grow back?” he asked her.

  “No,” said Hyssop. “Fire is final. There's no coming back.”

  “It's strange being wooden,” said Barkbelly. “At least, it's been strange for me. I've had no one to ask. I know how we're born, but I don't know how we die or how long we have. Can you tell me, from beginning to end?”

  Hyssop beamed at him, put down her onions and began.

  “Now, you have to remember,” she said, “that we are a very old race of people—perhaps the oldest in the world. And the way we live and grow seems odd to some, but that's how we are. We begin as an egg—you know that. But you probably don't know this: for six months, that egg can't hatch. It must lie dormant. And during that time, it's very vulnerable. It can easily be stolen, and that's why people worry about the slavers. But after six months, it can be thrown on a fire and a baby will be born.

  “So we grow very rapidly in the first month, but then we stop until we're ten years old. Then there's a second spurt of growth and that takes us up to adult size.

  “People start pairing up around the age of fifteen. If we want children, we have to pair with someone of the same clan. Oh—do you know about clans?”

  Barkbelly nodded.

  “And then we just get older. Our skin starts to wrinkle. It looks a bit like bark, but it doesn't hurt. As for how long we live, well…We don't get serious illnesses like the flesh-and- blood people do—just an odd fever now and then—but we do sicken toward the end. There's no pain. It's more like a weakening. A feeling that it's time to go. And that can happen anytime. Some people will sicken before they're ten. Some will go on until they're a hundred or more. But whenever that time comes, we Move On.”

  “Move on? You mean we die?”

  “No, it's not dying. Moving On is a transformation process. You know when it's time to Move On. You feel the time is right. And then you walk to somewhere nice and stand there, and slowly you are transformed into a tree. Roots will grow out of your feet. Your arms will become branches. Your head will be in the middle of the tree trunk. For a few weeks, you will be able to see and talk, but then you will Move On completely and your face will gradually disappear.”

  Barkbelly stared at her. “Does this hurt?”

  “No. It's natural. It's just the way of things. It comes to all of us in time. In fact, you've just missed Grandpa. He Moved On last week. He's down there.”

  “Where? In those trees?” Barkbelly pointed to a wildwood at the end of the garden.

  “Yes. But they're not trees! They're Ancestors!”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes! Half of the trees on this island are Ancestors. We call them ashen trees. It's confusing, I know, because they look like trees. And they are trees now—but they didn't start off that way. Do you want to see Grandpa?”

  “No!” said Barkbelly. “He'll still have a face, won't he? Oh, no. I couldn't handle that. I had no idea this would happen. It's grotesque. I feel sick.”

  Hyssop laughed. “You'll get used to the idea! It's wonderful— you have a whole new life ahead of you.”

  Barkbelly sat in silence, struggling to make sense of what he had heard.

  “Does everyone Move On?” he said at last. “Does no one die?”

  Hyssop picked up her onions again. “If you're lucky, you Move On. Some people do die, but it's rare. You see, it's very hard to kill an Ashenpeaker. We're strong. We can survive falls and blows. If we have a bit cut off, it grows back. We float, so we're not going to drown. We can't be shot or stabbed to death. Poison doesn't really work—it acts like a trigger. It starts the Moving On process. There's only one thing that can kill us and that's fire. Like I said before, fire is final. There's no coming back. It's a terrible, terrible way to go.”

  Barkbelly stared at the stump of his missing finger. “I had no idea,” he said. “When I ran into the factory to rescue Taffeta Tything—I had no idea.”

  “If you had known,” said Hyssop, “would it have made any difference?”

  Barkbelly thought for a moment. “No. It w
ouldn't. I would still have gone in there.”

  “Then you're very brave.”

  “Or very mad!”

  Hyssop smiled at her brother. “Or both.”

  Chapter 57

  arkbelly lay in front of the stove, curled up like an urchin. He couldn't sleep. He was halfway through the week and his mother was still talking of him leaving at the end of it. He needed a plan.

  It was the quietest of nights. Everyone was asleep. All he could hear was the ticking of the clock and the occasional grunt from his father as he turned over in bed. But then he heard a new sound: the rumble of cart wheels on the street outside. In the middle of the night? That was odd. Then he heard the door softly opening and his mother crept into the kitchen. She glanced in Barkbelly's direction; he pretended to be asleep. But he watched her open the back door and step into the garden.

  Barkbelly went to the window and looked outside. Everything was blue: cool, lunar blue, with shadows behind every tree, sharp as comet tails. It was so bright, he could see his mother clearly. She was standing by the garden shed. Two men were with her. They were talking and nodding. Then Rue opened the shed door and disappeared inside. The men waited. Rue came back out, carrying a tray of something. Barkbelly couldn't see what.

  One of the men fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a small bag. He opened it. Silver coins flashed in the moonlight. Rue turned and Barkbelly saw what she was holding. Eggs. Fat wooden eggs. A dozen or more. She smiled and took the moneybag. The men took the eggs and disappeared into the shadows.

  The back door opened again and Rue crept in.

  “Don't tiptoe on my account,” said Barkbelly, blocking her way. He ripped the moneybag out of her hands. “What's this?”

  “That's none of your business.”

  “Who were those men?”

  “What men? There's no one out there.”

  “They're slavers, aren't they?”

  “No.”

  “I saw you. You gave them eggs. They gave you this!” He shook the bag in her face.

  “So?”

  “So! Is that all you can say? You have just given away a dozen of your children!”

  “I didn't give them away. I sold them.”

  “And that makes it better? Getting money for them? You've sold them into slavery!”

  “You don't know that!” said Rue. “You don't know where they're going! They could have a life of luxury. Four meals a day and a comfortable bed. That's more than I ever had as a child! If they have to work for it, so what? We all have to work. That's life.”

  “No,” said Barkbelly. “You're forgetting—I was taken by those men.”

  “Yes, and look at you! You've hardly suffered, have you? All those tales of Pumbleditch and the blessed Gantrys. You've done more, seen more than I ever will! So don't complain to me.”

  “You just don't understand, do you?” said Barkbelly. “What they are doing is wrong. They are taking people's lives. I thought you of all people would see that. You lost your son to those men. They stole me from you.”

  “They didn't.”

  Barkbelly stared at her. “What did you say?”

  “They didn't steal you. I sold you.”

  Barkbelly staggered back against the table and gripped its edges for support. The world was falling away beneath his feet. “No,” he said. “No.”

  “Yes. You and a hundred others. How do you think we live? There's no work round here. A bit of fishing, a bit of farming, but that's all. I'm not the only one, you know. You go to every house in the village—they'll tell you the same story.”

  “I can't believe I've come back to this,” said Barkbelly.

  “No one asked you to.”

  “No, but—I came because I wanted to find you. I wanted to love you, but…I hate you. I hate you. More than I thought I could ever hate anyone.”

  “Then go!” cried Rue. “If you hate me so much—go! I won't stop you!” She flung open the back door and stood there defiantly.

  “I will go in the morning,” said Barkbelly. “I won't leave like a thief in the night. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Nothing? I think you're forgetting something! Two days ago we sat on the porch and you cried your heart out, telling me about that boy on the playground. And now you say you have nothing to be ashamed of? You're a murderer! That's what you told me. You're only here because you can't go home.”

  “I can go home. I will go home.”

  “Then you're a bigger fool than I thought you were. You know what they do to murderers, don't you? They kill them. If you go home, you will die. They will burn you, boy.”

  “I don't care,” said Barkbelly. “I will go home, and do you know why? I want to see my mama and my papa. They might not be my real parents, but they have loved me. My mama has been a better mother to me than you will be to anyone.”

  “Get out,” said Rue. “Get out!”

  “Don't worry. I'm going,” said Barkbelly, and he barged his way past her and ran off into the night.

  Barkbelly didn't look back. He ran to the end of the garden, jumped the fence and entered the wood. He had no intention of taking the road; the slavers were out there somewhere. He would cut across country. If he ran till morning, he would put a fair distance between himself and the village. Not that his family would be looking for him.

  He ran on through the trees. He ducked under branches. Jumped over roots. Twisted and turned. Tried to fight his rising anger. “How could she?” he said to himself, over and over. “How could she?”

  He was stumbling now. Running blind. Ripping through brambles. Smashing through ferns. He didn't see the bank until it was too late. He somersaulted over it and landed with a thump at the foot of a tree. And there was a foot. A real foot, tangled up in the roots. When Barkbelly looked up, he saw eyes looking down. Bark-brown eyes, two of them, and a gaunt face trapped in the belly of the ashen tree.

  “No pain,” said Grandpa. “No pain.”

  And Barkbelly saw the man's body, stretched out like a scarecrow, battling the bark that was eating into it. The hands, twisted and gnarled, with greenery sprouting from the ripped nails. The feet, rooting into the earth, burrowing like badgers.

  “No pain…. No pain.”

  “What do you mean?” said Barkbelly. “I don't understand.”

  “No pain…. No pain.”

  Barkbelly was shaking now. His whole body was shaking. He looked up into the eyes again and the expression was so wild, so unfathomable, so awful, he picked himself up and ran. Harder than he had ever run in his life. So hard he thought his heart would punch its way out of his chest and he would die. Alone, like a wounded animal, right there in the wildwood.

  Chapter 58

  orning came. Barkbelly sat on a stile and gazed out to sea. He was tired and hungry. His feet ached. But his mind was made up. He was going home.

  Two days' walking would take him off the peninsula. Seven days would take him to Kessel. There he would find a ship and be on his way.

  He sighed. He could still feel an ache in his heart where Rue's words had struck him. Was she right? Would they burn him? No. They would put him in jail. But Pumbleditch didn't have a jail. He hadn't even heard of one before Tythingtown. He remembered the look on Dipper Dean's face. If they all felt like that, they would burn him. There would be no Moving On. Considering Grandpa, that didn't seem so bad. But Hyssop had said that Moving On was wonderful. A whole new life. Surely that was better than nothing? Because that was what fire would give him—nothing.

  “What are the alternatives?” he said, just like Miss Dillwater. “Let's see, shall we?” This felt good, playacting his way to a final decision. “One, I can return to Pumbleditch. Two, I can stay here. Or three, I can go anywhere in the world.”

  He pondered. Two was out. The dream was over. Three? He could go anywhere. Farrago! No—the Silverana Sea! Except he didn't feel safe anymore. Captain Kempe hadn't been kidding. He would have sold him in Barrenta Bay. Next time he might not be so
lucky.

  So it was One. Return to Pumbleditch. There was no escaping it. He had to go back. Not because he didn't have any other option—he did. He had to go back because he had to be able to live with himself, and at the moment he couldn't. If he traveled to the end of the world, he would still be a fugitive. A runaway murderer. He couldn't run away from himself.

  “I have to face them,” he said. “I have to see Little Pan's parents. Tell them I'm sorry. But they will burn me, I know they will. I'm not one of them. I don't want to die. I don't want Mama and Papa to hate me, and they will. But at least I can tell them I'm sorry. And say goodbye.”

  Ashenpeake Mountain was capped with cloud. A fine drizzle hung in the air. Everything was gray, gray, gray. The men started pushing the capstan; Barkbelly heard the anchor chain rattle. Then, with a hauling of ropes and an unfurling of sails, the ship eased away from her mooring. In the hold, timber lay stacked and packed like slices of ham. No eggs this time. He had checked.

  A fresh breeze teased the ship and she gathered momentum, gliding out of Kessel harbor like a snow goose. Barkbelly stood at the stern and watched the town recede. He felt no anger, just sorrow and a profound sense of loss.

  The harbor wall slipped by, and suddenly there was a flash of blue and a whip crack of cloth. A golden crab. A silver star. A new flag, flying at the harbor entrance, waving him off. Barkbelly raised his hand and waved back. He remembered. He smiled. He watched the flag until it was no more than a smudge on the horizon. And then it was gone.

  PART SIX

  Chapter 59

  arkbelly stood in Ferny Wood and looked at the cottage. The moss-green door needed a lick of paint. The hinges on the gate looked a little rusty. But there was smoke curling from the chimney and muddy boots outside the front door. His parents were home.