by Unknown
‘Not one of your more skilful efforts,’ observed Tresen dryly.
Kira spat the leaf litter from her mouth and struggled to her feet, ankles throbbing and pain spearing her back. Breathing was difficult too, and she remained bent, as if her only concern were brushing the litter from her breeches.
‘Wh . . . where’s Kandor?’ she asked, when she had enough breath.
‘I’ve sent him back to Enogren.’
Kira’s head jerked up, sending another spasm of pain through her back. ‘On his own? What in the ’green for?’
‘He’s nearly thirteen seasons, Kira.’
‘I know how old he is.’
Tresen frowned, making him look like his father Miken, in one of Miken’s sterner moods. ‘He’s old enough to get to the First Eight without you, and I judged the risk of him journeying alone less than the risk of remaining here.’
‘What mean you?’
‘We both know that jump was too high,’ said Tresen, his finger stabbing skywards. ‘And if you’re going to take idiotic risks, it’s only a matter of time before he will too.’
Kira bit back a retort, not wanting to argue with her clanmate. He was barely two seasons older than her and they’d been companions for as long as she could remember. But she’d scarcely seen him lately and she didn’t want to spoil this time together.
‘I would forbid Kandor to jump,’ she said, picking up her gathering-sling.
Tresen threw back his head and laughed. ‘Forbid him? Just like your father forbids you to go beyond the First Eight?’
‘It’s not the same,’ said Kira, colouring. ‘When I tell Kandor not to do things, he knows it’s for a good reason.’
‘True, but example is a more powerful teacher than words. Whereas your father . . .’ Tresen paused. Despite his long friendship with Kira, he didn’t have the right to say the words poised on the tip of his tongue. Kira’s eyes had already dulled to moss green, a change he knew only too well.
Forcing a smile, he plucked a twig from her hair. ‘You look like you’ve been in a fight with some sour-ripe and the sour-ripe won,’ he said. ‘Sit down and I’ll salve your back and ankles.’
‘They’re not paining me. I’d rather we started back,’ said Kira, anxious to find Kandor. ‘I’ve gathered all the sorren I need.’
Tresen stepped in front of her, blocking the way. He was a good head taller than her now, and no longer the shortest of the new Protectors. In another season, he might even be able to look Commander Sarkash in the eye – if he dared. Kira jiggled impatiently, trying to get round him.
Tresen’s smile became genuine. ‘Oh come now, Kira, credit me with some Healer-knowing. We’re both Kashclan after all, even though you’re mightier than me, oh Healer Kiraon, dweller of the wondrous Bough, heart of all learning and healing.’
Kira grinned, some of the gold returning to her eyes, and Tresen relaxed a little. She was still the uncomplicated clanmate he’d spent his childhood roaming the forest with, despite this Turning making her a woman.
He thought of Seri and his smile faded a little as he recalled their latest quarrel. It was a shame she wasn’t more like Kira.
‘Has anyone ever told you how bossy you’re becoming?’ muttered Kira, plonking herself down.
‘No one important,’ said Tresen equably, raking about in his Protector pack for some salves and offering up thanks for Kest’s pedantry. Protector Leader Kest, he corrected himself. He could almost feel the Protector Leader’s ice-blue eyes on him as he fumbled about. It was a Protector rule that a basic healing store be carried at all times, and it was one Kest enforced rigorously. All Protectors’ packs were supposed to contain icemint, bluemint, sickleseed, sorren, falzon bandages and stitchweed. It wasn’t much compared with the Healer’s pack Tresen used to carry, but then Healers didn’t have to lug food around for five- or six-day patrols, nor sleeping-sheets, knives or swords.
Kira eased off her boots, watching Tresen remove the cloth stoppers from pots of icemint and bluemint. He looked older suddenly, perhaps because his hair was cropped in Protector-style, and the fuzz on his upper lip she’d taken to teasing him about was missing. He’d obviously been using clear-root.
‘And how’s the beautiful Seri?’ asked Kira, watching him carefully. Mikini had told her Tresen was heartsick for the pretty Sarclanswoman.
Tresen’s rich brown eyes flashed to hers but his face remained determinedly expressionless. ‘I wouldn’t know; I’ve been busy with more important things. Now, what would you like on those ankles? Icemint for the strain or bluemint for the jarring?’
‘Perhaps both.’
‘Both? It must’ve been a really good jump this time,’ he said, lathering a dollop of icemint onto her ankle and massaging it into her skin, his strong fingers seeking out the points where the pain was greatest, making Kira groan. The air soon filled with a sharp fragrance, reminding Kira of when she’d first gathered icemint. It’d been the first time she’d used a herbal sickle too, the first time she’d touched metal. How proud she’d been to lay the shoots in her sling, but also relieved to slide the sickle back into its ornate pouch, no longer having to touch its slippery coldness.
The hilt of Tresen’s sword gleamed now in a dapple of sunlight as he worked, and a sense of repugnance surged back into Kira, her thoughts turning to the clash between Kasheron and Terak, the gold-eyed twin princes of the north. Their eyes had been remarkable enough, a gift from their mother, a powerful woman in her own right, who’d ruled after the death of her bondmate the King. It had only been the peoples’ love for her – that had lingered after her death – that had staved off the catastrophe as long as it had. For what land could be ruled by twin kings – men who mirrored each other in looks, but whose hearts were as different as sunlight and shadow?
Kasheron had inherited his mother’s love of healing, but Terak emulated his father’s warrior ways. And so, the people had sundered. Kasheron left the northern lands to the savagery of his brother, and brought his followers south. Many generations later, the descendants of Kasheron and his followers made up the Tremen, eight clans who had established longhouses in a circle round the centre of the Bough. Because of the limited nature of the food the forest offered, the longhouses were a quarter-day’s walk from the Bough, and nearly a half-day’s walk from each other.
Kasheron had declared metal prasach because it could sever the green and growing, inflict terrible wounds, even end life. Metal cooking pots, eating knives, tree-axes, shaving-blades, buckets, buckles, bracelets, brooches and beads were all shunned in Allogrenia.
Yet Kasheron had retained some metal, including herbing sickles carried by the Healers; swords worn by the Protectors; and the Leader’s ring of rulership – with its Tremen alwaysgreen and Terak Kutan running horse. Given Kasheron’s hatred of killing, the retention of swords was the least explicable to Kira. Perhaps the blood he shared with his brother couldn’t be entirely denied, or perhaps the seasons of fighting he’d endured in the north had imprinted his very being. Whatever the case, Protectors continued to carry swords long after Kasheron’s death, despite the fact that no stranger had ever penetrated the vast forested depths of Allogrenia.
‘I’ve not seen much of Merek recently, or Lern for that matter,’ said Tresen.
‘Father keeps them well occupied,’ said Kira, Tresen’s rhythmic massage making her drowsy. ‘He has Merek and Lern out beyond the First Eight gathering the last of the spring shootings, and in the evenings they must study the Herbal Sheaf.’
‘What of you? Why doesn’t Leader Maxen demand the same of his daughter as he does of his sons?’ asked Tresen.
‘I already know the Herbal Sheaf by heart, along with the cycles and shootings of all the herbs listed there well beyond the Third Eight.’
Tresen’s hands stilled. ‘The Third Eight! It’s not safe that you go so far.’
‘You’re starting to sound like father.’
‘Perhaps he’s right on this occasion.’
Kir
a jerked her foot away, eyes flashing gold. ‘There’s nothing in any of the Writings I’ve studied in the Warens that speaks of dangers greater than withysnakes and heart-rotted trees.’
‘Yet we unmake paths and keep the ways of the Warens secret, and all men must train and do their duty as Protectors.’
‘They’re traditions from the Sundering, when the forest seemed as wild and dangerous as the north! Kasheron’s people brought their fears with them but they were ill-founded. No stranger’s ever found a way into Allogrenia.’
Tresen paused, considering a group of tippets squabbling over a nest of bark beetles, the tippets’ sharp beaks snapping up the beetles with brutal efficiency. Since beginning Protector training, he too had gained greater insight into the Writings, which recorded things never discussed outside the Warens.
‘We don’t know that no one’s found their way in,’ he said carefully. ‘Allogrenia’s massive. Who’s wandering in the east while Protectors patrol the west? Can you say? I certainly can’t. The Writings merely tell us what common sense confirms: that no place can ever be entirely safe.’
‘You sound just like a Protector these days,’ grumbled Kira.
‘Good, that will please Commander Sarkash. I fear the poor man has all but given up on me. He keeps scratching his head and comparing me unfavourably with my father.’
‘That’s unfair!’
Tresen smiled, pleased at her indignation. ‘Perhaps, but it might be accurate. Protector Leader Kest’s a lot kinder. He simply says I have much to learn. Now turn over and I’ll salve your back.’
Kira rolled onto her belly. Tresen pushed up her shirt and scooped the bluemint onto her skin, making her wriggle.
At least Commander Sarkash and Protector Leader Kest were fair, thought Tresen, working the tightness from Kira’s muscles. They might be scathing over his failures but they also acknowledged his small accomplishments. Kira, on the other hand, worked late into the night poring over the Herbal Sheaf and spent much time in the Warens, sorting through the Writings in the training rooms and in the rarely visited caverns beyond. Yet her father ignored her efforts, though he was quick to take her to task for any misdemeanour, no matter how small. Miken had once said that Maxen’s coldness towards Kira stemmed from the loss of her mother, but it was beyond Tresen how Kira could be blamed for her mother’s death. Fasarini had died birthing Kandor, not Kira.
It seemed to him more likely that it suited Maxen to push Kira aside, especially now her healing skills were equal to his. He’d certainly made it clear that he favoured either Merek or Lern for the leadership after him, though what Maxen’s scheming could achieve – apart from making Kira miserable – was beyond Tresen. The leadership wasn’t passed from father to eldest son automatically, as had occurred during the cursed times before the Sundering. Instead it was gifted on the basis of healing skill, a blessing begun by Kasheron and enduring still. Each new generation of Tremen produced a Healer whose skills shone more brightly than the Guide Star and Kira was clearly the one, a fact that was increasingly whispered about.
Tresen wiped his hands on his breeches and tossed the salves back into his pack. The decision as to who the next leader would be was the Clancouncil’s to make in any case, and fortunately wouldn’t have to be made for many seasons. Maxen was a strong man, and hale, while Kira remained wayward. The Third Eight indeed!
Kira was busy pulling on her boots, her single braid as light as candle-flame where it caught the sun. Seri wore her hair like Mikini: intricately braided around her face, joining into a weave at the back and decorated with ashael beads. Tresen half smiled. Seri, with her slightly upturned nose, reddish brown hair and soft curves, was a typical Sarclanswoman. It was hard to believe she was only a season older than Kira. From a distance Kira looked like Kandor.
Tresen hefted on his pack, pushing his sword out of the way and wondering again how the more experienced Protectors managed to run at full speed without tripping over them. Then, catching Kira’s hand, he pulled her upright.
‘Ah, you Protectors are so strong,’ said Kira, her eyes pulsing between green and gold, a characteristic that unnerved people who didn’t know her well. She smiled up at him in the way Seri did, but without realising its effect.
‘Shall we go back to Enogren, oh mighty Protector?’
‘Yes,’ he said, unnerved by the surge of attraction he’d felt. By the ’green, she was his clanmate! ‘You lead,’ he said tersely.
‘Shouldn’t you go first to protect me?’ said Kira, still smiling.
Tresen busied himself adjusting his sword. ‘I don’t think you’re in need of protection but I might be if I meet Protector Leader Kest or Commander Sarkash. I’m further east than I should be.’
‘I remember a time when you didn’t care about such things,’ said Kira.
‘Perhaps I’ve grown up.’
Kira saw that he was genuinely worried. ‘If we meet any Protectors, I’ll tell them you’re aiding me in my important search for fireweed,’ she said.
‘Fireweed? I’ve never heard of it,’ said Tresen.
‘They won’t have either.’
‘Are you saying it doesn’t exist?’ There was no way he would lie, even to escape a humiliating punishment.
‘Oh it exists all right and it’s important. I’m just having trouble finding it.’
He stared at her in mystification but she’d already set off.
He started after her, taking a parallel course. The Protectors roamed as far as the Sentinels, yet never trod the same ground twice under the same moon. Nor did the Healers, whose seasonal collecting took them to the same gathering places over and over again. All lands beyond the Arborean had to remain unmarked by paths.
Kira went quickly, seeming to know where every boulder and hole lay hidden under the drifts of greygrass and simpleweed. Unfortunately Tresen didn’t, and he stumbled often, coming close to rolling his ankle.
‘Those salves seem to have worked wonders,’ he panted.
‘I don’t like to think of Kandor alone,’ said Kira apologetically.
Tresen pushed his sword out of the way for the umpteenth time and wiped the sweat from his face. The day was turning out to be hot, and though spring had yet to grow old, the air was heavy with the summery scent of russetwort. He was tempted to tell Kira again that Kandor was safe, but it would be pointless. While she was reckless of nearly everything else, she was almost too careful with her younger brother.
A leaf thrush erupted from the dense stand of shelterbush to his left but he scarcely noticed. Kira had all but disappeared among the trees, forcing him to lengthen his stride to catch her. The crash of their passing dwindled and the leaf thrush came back to its roost, but had scarcely begun preening again, when it was forced to quit once more.
A short, powerful figure emerged from the thicket, stood for a moment staring after Kira and Tresen, then slipped away to the north-east.
2
The Bough was the grandest building in Allogrenia and had long been the home of the Tremen leaders and their families. Set in the centre of the Arborean, it was the heart of the Tremen community, both geographically and in its focus on healing. The Bough had a large hall running its entire length – used for communal gatherings – and had sleeping and work rooms opening off along one side. The work rooms included a Herbery to dry and store herbs, and a Haelen to house the sick and injured. Apart from the Haelen, it was an internal design mirrored by the longhouses deep in the octads. The Bough’s roof was more steeply pitched than the clan longhouses though, and its eaves, lintels and ceiling beams more heavily carved. Only the Morclan longhouse rivalled it in ornateness, for Mormesh’s followers were known for their woodworking skills; indeed it had been Morclansmen who had executed the work on the Bough countless seasons past.
Kira wasn’t thinking of the Bough’s history as she sat at the massive table in the grand hall taking her evening meal with her father and brothers. Instead she was thinking about the sullen throb of her back. S
he’d have to get Kandor to salve it when her father had retired for the night or else she’d be in pain for the next moon.
She shifted uncomfortably on the unpadded chair, then peered up at the carved ceiling beams in an effort to distract herself. As a child they’d frightened her, their images transformed into leering Terak Kutan by the firelight. But now she found them beautiful, with their carvings of sour-ripe entwined with lissium; alwaysgreen, castella and fallowood leaves flowing in scrolls; and honeysprites, tippets and springleslips arced in flight.
Kira had only been to the Morclan longhouse once as a child and remembered little except the strange designs woven into the Morclan tunics. Yet she had a sudden yen to visit again. Any such visit was unlikely, however, as her father had developed an antipathy for all things Morclan.
‘There’s more metal in Morclan than the cursed city of the Terak Kutan,’ he’d sneered recently.
Kira rubbed at her back surreptitiously. Another reason why she’d be unlikely to see the Morclan longhouse again was her father’s recent prohibition on her journeying. ‘The Bough must always have a Healer within,’ he had said, eyes steely. But with him, Merek and Lern all able to heal, Kira failed to see why she couldn’t be spared.
Maxen was in his usual position at the head of the table, talking about something or other. Kira caught Kandor’s eye and he flicked one eyebrow up and down and contorted his mouth in comical shapes, while somehow managing to keep the side of his face nearest their father still. In spite of her aching back and gloomy thoughts, Kira struggled not to giggle. Their father forbade impropriety during meals.
Fortunately Maxen had turned to Merek and was now droning on about council business, Merek listening attentively and nodding in all the appropriate places. Not that it was any hardship for him; Kira’s eldest brother seemed to agree with most things their father said.
