Trinity's Book

by Jan Bozarth

  I took my time, checking my footing and making sure I didn’t touch anything in the bark that might nip, slime, or sting. The lowest branch seemed very far away, but it wasn’t as high as the toothpick branch where I had landed. The fact that someone had carved stairs gave me hope that I would make it to the top.

  When I stopped to rest, I couldn’t tell how high I had climbed. The forest landscape was cloaked in gray mist. I had a fantastic view of the sky above it, however, and it was growing darker.

  Despite the dangers, I quickened my pace. I did not want to be stuck on the stairs with no protection at night. Once I reached the tree branch, I could secure myself with the string and sleep without fear of falling.

  As I got closer to the branch, my legs began to ache, but I didn’t falter. After several grueling minutes, when I was only an arm’s length away from my goal, a whizzing sound brought me to a halt. I hugged the tree, wondering what little horror Aventurine had in store for me next.

  A whirligig toy landed on the step at my feet.

  I picked it up and smiled, impressed by the craftsmanship and design. It was made of woven leaves.

  Then I realized what the whirligig really meant: I was not alone in the tree.

  “You should have listened to me, Jango!” someone above me said. “It’s just a little bad design flaw.”

  “You’re not always right, Targa! Go away!” a slightly deeper voice answered.

  “Fine! I have better things to do anyway,” Targa said.

  The talkers sounded like cute cartoon creatures. Still holding the toy, I climbed the last few steps up to the branch.

  And came face to face with a puppy.

  At least, that’s what I thought at first glance. The creature had pointed ears with tufts of fur on the edges, a squashed muzzle with a black nose, and huge black eyes.

  I assumed I was staring at Jango, who seemed even more surprised to see me. He was so startled, he froze.

  “G’day, Jango!” I greeted him with a smile. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Jango scowled and sniffed.

  I had never owned a dog, but I knew their power of smell was thousands of times better than a human’s. If the same was true of these beings, Jango could tell if I was friendly or not by my scent. He could also tell if I was afraid.

  Show no fear was rule number one when confronted by a strange dog.

  I held out the whirligig. “This is very well made. The tips just need to be turned up a little more.”

  Jango’s scowl deepened. “That’s what Targa said.” He took the toy from my hand. Then he turned and scampered off on all fours down the branch.

  Now I could see that he had the arms, legs, and body of a monkey—only more compact. A short bib-coverall made of a silky material and woven leaves covered his silver-black fur. His gripping paws were bare, and his curled tail looked like it could hold on to branches just like a monkey’s.

  The limb I had reached was so wide I couldn’t see the other side. Hundreds of big secondary branches supported vines and other flowering foliage. A wide path had been worn in the thick bark, and many smaller paths branched out from it. Farther along the limb, wooden walkways and small rustic buildings were nestled in the branches.

  I gawked for several seconds before I realized Jango was sounding the alert as he ran toward the village.

  “Stranger on the tree!” Jango called out, and howled, warning the pack. “It looks like a bog fairy with no wings!”

  “Stop telling stories, Jango!” a larger creature yelled down from a doorway. “There’s not a Curipoo in the village who believes you about anything anymore.”

  I blinked when I heard what the beings were called. Kuri is the Maori word for “dog.”

  “Berto could use some biggle berries for tarts,” another creature told Jango. “Get a bucket and pick some for him.”

  Jango stopped in the middle of the path. “But I’m not kidding!”

  Both larger Curipoos shook their heads and went back inside their huts.

  Jango spun, heaved a sigh, and started marching toward me.

  I couldn’t go back down, and I was too exhausted to continue climbing. I sat and waited, hoping Jango didn’t bite.

  Jango stopped in front of me. Still on all fours, he thrust his head and shoulders forward, a stance that was intended to intimidate me. “You’re still here.”

  “Yes, I am,” I said.

  “What are you?” Jango asked.

  “My name is Trinity, and I’m a fairy-godmother-in-training,” I said. “I’m on a mission for Queen Patchouli.”

  For the second time, Jango was paralyzed with surprise. He stared at me for several seconds before he found his voice again. “Come with me. The elders won’t believe I found a fairy godmother unless they see it for themselves.”

  Jango spoke as though I didn’t have a choice. I decided to go with him, but I had to set the record straight.

  “I’m not a fairy godmother yet,” I said as I followed him down the path.

  “You’ve met Queen Patchouli!” Jango exclaimed. “So you are very, very important.”

  The young Curipoo paused until I walked alongside him.

  “This is a big favor you are doing for me,” Jango said. “I will not forget it.”

  “No favor,” I said. “You found me fair and square.”

  Jango puffed out his chest. “Yes, I did.”

  As we neared the outskirts of the village, other Curipoo peeked out of huts or stood on walkways, gawking and sniffing.

  I didn’t sniff, but I gawked a lot.

  The structures were not as primitive as they looked from afar, and they were not built with boards or logs. The huts had been carved out of huge gnarls in the limb, and the walkways were made of thin peels of wood and leaves, woven together and reinforced with vines. Balcony porches were decorated with intricate carvings of birds, insects, flowers, and flying contraptions like Jango’s whirligig.

  The tables, stools, and benches on the porches and in the rest of the alcoves along the walkways were carved or made of the same sturdy woven materials. Baskets overflowing with flowers hung at random on the lower paths. I didn’t see a decorative carving that looked like a kite, but it was obvious why Queen Patchouli told me to make mine here. The Curipoo had everything I needed.

  Before long, there was a curious crowd following us.

  “Who is this stranger, Jango?”

  I recognized Targa’s voice. The young Curipoo with golden fur wore a short, silky shift dress decorated with carved nuts and wooden beads.

  “This is Trinity. She’s a fairy-godmother-in-training and my friend.” As though to punctuate that point, Jango thrust his muzzle into my hand.

  I scratched him under the chin.

  “See?” Jango bragged.

  Targa huffed, but she didn’t back off. She was jealous, and she wasn’t leaving Jango alone with an intriguing visitor.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Targa,” I said.

  Targa’s eyes widened. “You know my name!”

  I leaned over to whisper, “You were right about altering the whirligig. Shhhh.” I glanced at Jango. He was preoccupied explaining my presence to a larger Curipoo and didn’t hear our exchange.

  Judging by Jango’s deference, the large brown and black male was someone important. He wore a long, open vest made of purple flowers and red leaves over a silky shirt and trousers. A jeweled amulet hung around his neck.

  “Not a word,” Targa whispered back with an impish grin. Then she brushed up against me; it felt like she was marking me as her friend, too. She was still smiling when Jango turned to introduce me.

  “Mayor Mordo, may I present Trinity, a fairy-godmother-in-training and emissary of the great Queen Patchouli!” Jango’s voice swelled with pride, and I thought his heart would burst when I replied.

  “Jango does me a great honor with this introduction, Mayor Mordo.” I bowed slightly and lowered my eyes to show I accepted his dominance in the
village. It felt like the right thing to do.

  “The honor is ours, Trinity.” Mordo’s voice was lower and husky. “We invite you to be our guest for food and lodging this night, and we very much hope you will tell us of your travels.”

  “And your meeting with the Queen of all Aventurine,” Jango added.

  The mayor growled and nudged the smaller Curipoo.

  “I would love to tell you!” I exclaimed. “And thank you so much for your kind hospitality. I am hungry and tired. It’s been a long day.”

  Snarls and yaps erupted when young Curipoo bumped heads looking at my shoes. In fact, half a dozen Curipoo toddlers were crawling around my feet or sitting and staring up at me in black-eyed baby awe.

  The mayor scowled and barked, “Will you folks please watch your cubs?”

  “They’re adorable!” I patted each puppy head, which sent them all scampering back to their parents. They were either scared out of their wits or anxious to show off.

  Now that I had a size comparison, I was pretty sure Jango and Targa were closer to my age than the young kids I’d originally taken them for.

  “There are sleeping slings in the Grand Hall if you’d like to rest before we eat,” Mayor Mordo said.

  “Actually, I’d like to help Jango and Targa pick biggle berries,” I said. “They sound delicious.”

  “I make the best tarts on the tree!” An elderly Curipoo waved from the middle of the crowd.

  “My friend is the best guest ever, right?” Jango asked.

  “The best in a long time,” the mayor agreed.

  Targa rushed off and came back with three wooden buckets. “I know the best bushes.”

  Flanked by my two new companions, we ducked down a side path. We passed several shops that stocked all the supplies the Curipoo used to make everything they needed, most of which was available on the tree. The exceptions were bright-colored gems, metals, and rocks.

  “That’s the Precious Things store,” Targa said. Then she whispered, “Someday Jango is going to get me a mate-for-life present there. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “That’s how it works with my people, too,” I said with a grin. “Where do the precious things come from?”

  “Very brave fathers, sons, and daughters go down the tree to find them,” Jango explained. “There are many terrible dangers on the ground. That’s why the things are so precious.”

  “I like beads better than shiny rocks anyway,” Targa said. “I carve my own.”

  “Did you make the beads you’re wearing?” I asked. “They’re gorgeous!”

  Targa pulled a wooden bead shaped like a rose off her dress and put it in my hand. “So you never forget me.”

  “I’ll never forget you and Jango.” I put the present in my pack so I wouldn’t lose it. The bead was the best gift I had ever received.

  “We’re here!” Jango announced.

  The biggle berry patch was on the outer edge of the limb, where there was more sun. The purple berries were three times the size of regular blackberries and grew on thorny bushes.

  Jango and Targa pushed through the tangled branches to get at the big clusters of berries on the sunny side of the patch. I quickly found out that a Curipoo’s skin was protected by thick fur, but the needlelike thorns poked right through my clothes. I decided not to wade in any farther and picked the closer branches clean.

  When our buckets were full, we hurried back to Berto’s pastry shop in the village.

  “Thank you so much, much!” Berto was ecstatic. “Now I have enough berries to bake tarts for everyone!”

  “Will everyone buy one?” I asked.

  “Buy?” Jango asked, puzzled. “What is that?”

  “It’s like a trade,” I said. “People make things and other people buy the things with metal coins and paper money. Sometimes people make a deal and trade stuff. That’s called bartering.”

  “Oh.” Targa looked confused. “Everyone here does what they love to do. I make beads.”

  “Others carve houses or plant flowers or make clothes,” Jango added.

  “And we give what we do to anyone who needs it,” Targa finished.

  “I want to make flying toys,” Jango said. “All the cubs love them.”

  “If they fly,” Targa said.

  Jango’s brow furrowed, but I could tell he knew she had a point.

  “Let’s work on it tomorrow,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  Targa looked pleased, not victorious.

  “I have to make a kite,” I said. “Will you help me?”

  “What’s a kite?” they both asked.

  “You’ll see!” I teased.

  Jango and Targa took me to a cozy room attached to the Grand Hall so I could clean up and rest. I washed the berry juice off my face and hands in rainwater that had been collected in a huge wooden tank. When I tugged a braided vine, water dribbled into a big shell set inside a carved pedestal. The Curipoo used the silky bark as washcloths, too. I brushed my teeth with a sweet-tasting twig. Then I stretched out in a hammock, covered myself with a blanket, and fell asleep.

  Targa shook me awake. “The feast is ready, and everyone is waiting for the guest of honor.”

  I splashed water on my face and combed my hair with a wooden comb. Assuming I’d be sleeping in the same room that night, I left my harness and backpack in the hammock. Then I walked out into the biggest party I had ever seen.

  It looked like every Curipoo who wasn’t a child and home in bed had turned out to celebrate my visit.

  The Grand Hall was a cavernous room in a huge, hollowed-out gnarl. Lanterns hung from decorative hooks and swirls carved into the ceiling. Mismatched tables, chairs, stools, and benches were haphazardly placed throughout the hall. Six musicians stood on a raised platform in one corner, playing lively music on gourd drums, wooden flutes, and stringed instruments. My stomach growled when I inhaled the delicious aromas drifting through the room.

  The Curipoo must love to barbeque; they had cooked up a huge barbie.

  A stone fire pit stretched along one-third of the far wall. Large vegetables roasted on a spit and pots of soup steamed over the coals. Berto and other bakers tended fresh breads and cakes that baked in small stone ovens. Chefs sat on the ends of the pit, adding spices and stirring the specialties they cooked in large wooden bowls that looked like Chinese woks. The woks were heated by flat stones that rested on the embers. When an entrée was finished, the chef poured it into a serving bowl on a long buffet table and started making something else. Diners helped themselves to whatever was available and then found a place to sit, chat, and eat in the hall or the gardens outside.

  “It’s a bring-a-plate!” I exclaimed. In New Zealand, everyone always brought food to share at a party or picnic. I’d learned that Americans had similar parties called potluck dinners.

  “Yes,” Targa said. “Everyone brings their own plate, cup, and utensils.”

  As Targa spoke, I realized that all the Curipoo walking into the hall carried dishes.

  “I don’t have a plate,” I whispered to Targa.

  “It’s been taken care of,” Targa answered. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Famished!” I exclaimed.

  I had no doubt that everything would taste just as good as it smelled. When people do things they love, they usually do it well.

  “Trinity! Targa!” Jango waved from Mayor Mordo’s long table at the head of the room. He picked up plates from the table and ran over to join us. “Jobri just finished making crunchy bugs! If we don’t hurry, they’ll be all gone.”

  I hoped they’d be gone, but they weren’t. Jango put a heaping spoonful on my plate. Then, with Jobri watching, he urged me to try one. I couldn’t refuse. Bracing myself, I popped a crunchy bug into my mouth, tried not to grimace, and chewed. It tasted like crispy, honey-battered chicken.

  “Oh, wow!” I exclaimed. “That’s fantastic. Fantastic!”

  “They’re my favorite!” Jango beamed.

  I
couldn’t pick a favorite. I ate two helpings of fruit salad with nectar dressing, three bread rolls with honey and jam, a roasted squash-type veggie, more crunchy bugs, and two of Berto’s biggle berry tarts. After dinner, we had a warm cider drink sweetened with honeycomb wafers.

  When Mayor Mordo finished eating, the serious conversation began. “What’s Queen Patchouli like?” he asked.

  “She’s magnificent,” I answered. “She has gorgeous long hair and glittering blue wings, and a swarm of bees that circle her head like a crown.”

  “But what is she like?” the mayor repeated.

  “Oh.” I cleared my throat, a little embarrassed by my mistake. “She’s very wise and nice,” I said. “She cares deeply about everyone and everything in Aventurine.”

  “This is very good to know.” The mayor smiled and sighed, as though a great concern had been put to rest.

  “Tell us about your mission,” Jango said.

  Queen Patchouli hadn’t sworn me to secrecy, but I was vague anyway. I didn’t want to risk word of the new baby queen reaching less-benevolent ears.

  “I have to get something that belongs to her,” I said, “from the cloud people.”

  Everyone who heard me was suddenly silent.

  Jango looked stricken. “You must not go to the Cantigo Uplands, Trinity. It is dangerous!”

  “More than going below to find precious things,” Targa said. “The cloud people hate outsiders.”

  “They do terrible things to intruders,” Jango said. “Nobody goes there.”

  “And comes back,” Targa added.

  “I have to,” I said. “Queen Patchouli chose me for this quest. But don’t worry: I’ll be in and out before the cloud people even know I’m there.”

  Mayor Mordo nodded. “We will very much hope for this, too.”

  I hadn’t meant to throw a damper on the party and quickly changed the subject. “Would it be impolite or greedy to have a third biggle berry tart?”

  “Oh, my, no!” The mayor erupted in a rumbling belly laugh. “Berto will be thrilled.”