Whisper of Leaves

by Unknown

  ‘I’ve read it’s so,’ said Kira carefully.

  ‘And have you read what it means?’ asked Kest.

  ‘It’s an old word, neither Tremen nor Onespeak. I understand it to mean “woman” or “female Healer”,’ replied Kira.

  ‘So do most of the Tremen, but I’ve come upon a Writing that explains it somewhat differently. It means “taker of fire”.’ The breeze outside quickened, whirling the chimes and making the running horse rear and plunge. ‘Kesilini told me that when you first touched Misilini, you jerked back as if you’d been burnt.’

  Kira swallowed several times but could think of nothing to say. Kest’s hand closed over hers. ‘It’s a very great gift, Kira, not something to be ashamed of.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed of it . . . it might be nothing, just a chance, a quirk of the situation, just . . .’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘I don’t want it spoken of.’ It was bad enough that her eyes drew the stares of others, but if they thought she could take pain too . . . And then there was her father. ‘Pledge me that you won’t speak of it!’

  Kest was suddenly very close, his breath warm on her face. ‘Is it your father’s anger you fear?’

  ‘I . . . I need time to understand what it is. Pledge me, Kest!’

  ‘Very well,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ll ensure that Kesilini and Misilini say nothing, and even if Eser’s heard the news, she won’t have believed it. But in return, you’ll stay here and enjoy Morclan hospitality again this night. Then, in the morning, I’ll escort you back to the Bough.’

  ‘I need to go now.’

  Kest had stood, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. ‘You know how to give, Kira,’ he said gently, ‘perhaps too well, but not to receive. Maybe it’s time you learned.’ His eyes glinted, not like the Drinkwater now, but blue as a summer sky. ‘We’re not just fine carvers here in Morclan, but also players and singers, and this night, thanks to you, we have another life to rejoice in.’

  *

  The celebrations that night had the warmth of the Turning festivities at the Bough, but none of their formality. The hall tables were simply pushed against the walls, the players took up their positions next to the cooking place and the dancing and singing began. The older Morclansmen and women were expert singers and Kira listened enthralled as their voices formed complex lays, each group blending harmoniously with the next, until the hall was filled with a continuous ripple of music.

  ‘It’s a herding song from the north,’ explained Kest, as they perched on the edge of one of the tables. ‘Those who spent their time alone in watch over their animals amused themselves by singing to other herders further afield or higher in the mountains, and the other herders continued the lay, sending it on until it came back to the first singer.’

  ‘What did they sing about?’ asked Kira, intrigued.

  ‘The weather, lost beasts, lost love – the usual things,’ said Kest smiling. ‘The words weren’t really important, just the sense of company, of knowing that they weren’t alone.’

  ‘I wonder if they still sing them,’ said Kira, struggling to imagine solitary Terak Kutan huddled over their campfires. The image didn’t accord with her usual picture of them cutting across the plains in bloodthirsty swathes.

  Kest shrugged. ‘We know nothing of how things are in the north now.’

  For the first time in her life Kira felt a sense of lack. Half of their people were out there, beyond the trees, and most Tremen knew nothing about them. Did the Northerners also gather in celebration as Morclan were doing this night? Did they sing with joy at each birth, weep at death, court like Merek and Kesilini?

  She could see Kesilini now, her fair hair gleaming as she lined up with a slightly shorter Morclansman in a dance, couples forming up in front and behind them as the players tuned their instruments.

  ‘Would you –’ Kest began, but at that moment Eser appeared, nodding briefly to Kira, her eyes on Kest.

  ‘Will you do me the honour of accompanying me in the weave dance, ex-Protector Leader Kest?’ asked Eser ironically.

  It wasn’t usual for women to ask men to dance but Kest smiled graciously. ‘It would be a pleasure,’ he said, with a polite bow.

  Kira watched him escort Eser over to the assembled dancers and wait for the players to begin. Eser was standing close to Kest, talking animatedly, tilting her head as she looked up at him. Her hair was a dark reddish brown, similar in colour to fallowood bark and, like Kesilini’s, arranged in a series of braids meeting in a thick weave at the back. Eser was wearing a dark brown tunic, which showed off her creamy skin and accentuated her full breasts and narrow waist. Kira looked down at her shabby tunic and bit her lip.

  ‘Healer Kiraon,’ a voice boomed, making her jump. ‘Would you honour me by partnering me in the dance?’ It was Morclan Leader Marren, his face still wearing its former stern expression, but his eyes kind.

  ‘It would be a pleasure,’ said Kira, mimicking Kest’s earlier response, but felt her cheeks warm as he led her ceremoniously to the head of the dancers, the gaze of the assemblage following. As soon as Kira and Marren had taken their position, the music started.

  Kira knew most of the Tremen dances well, for since the death of her mother it had been her task to act as the Lady of the Bough during the celebrations of Turning and Thanking. Kira had led the dancing on the arm of her father from the age of seven or eight, and more recently on Merek’s arm, for her father now disdained dancing. The weave dance was the most intricate of the dances, requiring each pair to move back through the column of dancers in complex loops. The concentration the dance required served Kira well and, after a while, she forgot about the Morclan eyes upon her and simply enjoyed the music and the rhythmic stepping and swaying.

  Occasionally she glimpsed Kesilini and her partner, and Kest and Eser, Kest easy to pick because of his height and fairness. Eser was dancing close to him and there was a familiarity in the way she touched him that caught Kira’s attention.

  Were they lovers? Kira wondered abruptly. The idea was so shocking that she almost missed her step. Kest and Eser were clanmates, Kira reminded herself, and clanmates couldn’t bond. But Eser was a mother, despite being unbonded, and Kira knew that Kest must be twenty-six or seven seasons, given that he was older than Kesilini. She coloured, as her thoughts ran on.

  The music came to a stop and Marren bowed to her before escorting her to the water jugs and courteously pouring her a drink before taking his leave. Kira sipped it, fanning her hot face and contemplating her own shortcomings. She knew little of the matters of the heart, even when they were happening under her nose. Merek had been on the point of bonding before she’d found out, and she only knew because Kandor had told her. She’d noticed nothing herself.

  ‘You dance very well, Healer Kiraon of the Bough and Kashclan,’ said Kest, coming to her side and pouring himself a drink.

  ‘So do you, Protector Leader Morsclansman Kest,’ said Kira, smiling. ‘Will you be coming to Turning?’

  ‘I will this time,’ said Kest, leaning on the wall behind her with one arm, almost as if he were embracing her. ‘You forget that Merek will be bonding to Kesilini and that you and I will soon be brother and sister. I hope that pleases you.’

  Kira felt a new wave of heat move over her face. ‘It pleases me that Merek is happy,’ she said honestly, ‘and of course, Kashclan welcomes Morclan.’

  ‘So your father –’ Kest began, but again was interrupted as the players sounded their instruments. ‘I would dance with you this time,’ said Kest, putting down his cup. ‘That is . . . if you are willing.’

  His eyes fastened on hers as he said the last words and Kira gulped down the last of her drink. ‘Of course I’m willing,’ she said, moving past him, ‘I enjoy dancing.’ The musicians had chosen thread-the-leaves as the next dance and there were squeals of excitement as the younger Morclan members dashed onto the floor. Dancers had to pass under a long archway of joined hands, a task that many of the Morclan children inter
preted as a race. There was much shrieking as they sprinted to the other end, turning and linking hands to form the next part of the arch. The presence of children in the dance caused Kest particular problems, for he had to bend double to pass under their arms. Twice he was almost decapitated and every time his hair was scuffed upright. He groaned theatrically at each collision, so that in the end, Kira was laughing as much as the Morclan youngsters.

  Finally the dance ended and Kest straightened and rubbed his back. ‘That was worse than one of Sarkash’s training sessions – apart from the beautiful company,’ he added.

  20

  Kira smiled at the memory, then the ladder shuddered and she tightened her grip and peered up. Kandor was perched on its upper rungs, a lamp swinging from one hand and a wreath of sourripe blossom clutched in the other. Other lamps already glittered among the greenery festooning the walls and ceiling of the Bough in readiness for the celebration of Turning. The results of days of baking were arranged on the great table, next to jugs of withyweed ale, cordials and water.

  ‘Fix the lamp first, then worry about the sour-ripe,’ she called.

  ‘And waste my valuable time?’

  She watched him secure the lamp and weave the blossom around the remaining beam. All that was left to do now was to clear away the last few chairs to make space for the dancing, which would take place before and after the bonding ceremonies. Who would bond this Turning? There were often surprises: couples who’d managed to keep their courting secret from their longhouses. She smiled again as her thoughts turned to Merek and Kesilini.

  ‘Thinking of Kest, were you?’ asked Kandor as he descended.

  ‘No. Of Merek, actually.’

  ‘Really? Our dear brother doesn’t usually make you smile, but I’ve noticed you’ve been smiling a lot since returning from Morclan.’

  ‘Have you also noticed there’s a bare patch on that beam?’

  Kandor shrugged. ‘No one will be looking up; they’ll be too busy watching you bond with Kest.’

  Kira laughed in spite of herself. ‘Help me with this ladder, will you?’ She swung it down and Kandor grunted as he took its weight, then together they manoeuvred it round the table and into the Herbery, setting it against the wall. The room was full of the rich scents of drying herbs, the walls and ceiling lined with bunches of cinna, silvermint, serewort and winterbloom, their seeded heads forming a brittle canopy. Next to the ladder, her pack hung on its usual hook, bulging with the pots and packets she’d replenished that morning.

  ‘You could bond tonight, you know; you’ll be of age,’ said Kandor, perched on the edge of a workbench and plucking a sprig of cindra to chew.

  ‘I know how old I’ll be,’ said Kira, wandering up and down as she tested the herbs for dryness.

  ‘If you bonded, you could leave the Bough,’ he said, his face a curious mixture of the boy he still was, and the man he would become.

  ‘Escape father you mean?’ said Kira.

  Kandor nodded.

  ‘To leave the Bough I’d have to leave healing . . . and you. You know I can’t do that,’ said Kira.

  ‘Father won’t let you heal anyway.’

  ‘He will eventually. He didn’t punish me for going to the Morclan longhouse, did he?’

  ‘That was because you had to go, thanks to Merek leaving the Bough without a Healer. Father was most displeased and disappointed.’ Kandor giggled. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Merek suffer father’s temper.’

  ‘Probably the last too,’ said Kira.

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure, not after Turning,’ said Kandor, grinning. His face grew serious again. ‘You’ll have to bond one day though, Kira,’ he said.

  She raised her eyebrows in mock alarm. ‘Have to? You know how much I hate that word. Besides, there’s no rule which says I have to bond with anyone.’

  ‘Ah, Kest’s going to be devastated.’

  ‘Relieved, I believe, is the word you’re looking for,’ said Kira, sitting next to Kandor, who passed her a sprig of cindra. She didn’t like cindra but popped it in her mouth anyway. She hadn’t seen Kest since she’d danced with him at the Morclan birthing celebrations a moon ago. There had been smiling faces and laughter in the Morclan longhouse, and she’d enjoyed herself, her pleasure heightened by the knowledge that she could truly heal.

  Kandor was jiggling beside her, his legs swinging back and forth as he hummed a dancing tune. ‘I haven’t seen much of you lately,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you’ve not been secretly courting someone yourself?’

  ‘I’ll be thirteen at Turning, not seventeen!’

  ‘That gives you a good four seasons to ensure you’re making the right choice.’

  ‘Probably ten seasons too few.’

  ‘Well, if you’ve not been courting, what have you been up to?’

  ‘Ah, preparing a little surprise for you,’ he said and flushed.

  ‘For me? What?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Patience, dear sister, patience,’ he said, pushing off from the bench and landing a good length away.

  ‘Patience? You of all people should know I have none,’ said Kira.

  21

  Kira was glad to be outside in the cool evening air beside her father, Lern and Kandor, greeting the guests, as the hall was already crowded and uncomfortably warm. It had been a long day and Turning would continue until well after the midpoint of the night. She flicked her hair back, enjoying the clink and rattle of the treegems studding her braids, and silently thanked Tena for her efforts. The elderly Renclanswoman had spent a good part of the day dressing her hair, the tedium made bearable by her reminiscences of Kira’s mother.

  ‘I used to help her prepare for Turning,’ she’d said, as she pushed the faceted beads onto each braid, ‘and she wore these too, as you did, even as a green-shoot. Always on her hip you were, even while she greeted her guests. Not that your father approved.’

  ‘What did she look like?’ asked Kira softly.

  ‘Why, like you my dear, except her eyes were brown.’

  Like me, thought Kira, the thrill of it trilling through her again, even as she bowed to the Tarclan Leader.

  ‘You will speak with Clanleader Farish later,’ her father murmured as Farish passed into the hall.

  ‘About what?’ asked Kira, her thoughts still on her mother.

  ‘Do not pretend stupidity, Kiraon. He’s a Clanleader and unbonded, and Tarclan is aligned with Sarclan, your mother’s clan . . . if you recall. It would be a useful alliance for the Bough, and Clanleader Farish a worthy bondmate for you.’

  ‘I don’t intend to bond.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

  Her father nodded pleasantly to one of Sendra’s kin. ‘It’s hard to see your value to Allogrenia, then, being neither a Healer nor a mother.’

  Kira forced a smile at the heavily ornamented woman passing in front of her, but she felt like mute chimes dancing to the winds of her father’s will. He’d stopped her gathering and healing, now he would choose her mate. Nor would it end there. He’d never be satisfied, never leave her be. The realisation was like a wood grub boring into her heart. She sensed him stiffen and her heart raced. Had her face betrayed her? No, his attention was on the group making their way across the Arborean: Marren of Morclan, his bondmate Sirini, Kest, and Kest’s sister Kesilini.

  ‘Clanleader Marren,’ her father said, with the briefest of bows, and then the Morclan leader was level with her, his sombre face breaking into a broad smile.

  ‘Healer Kiraon,’ he said warmly, ‘it’s good to see you again.’

  Kira gripped his hand with real pleasure, and he was swiftly replaced by Kesilini, who kissed her briefly on the cheek, her hair glimmering like moonlight, her gaze already searching the hall.

  ‘He’s up the end, organising the players,’ whispered Kira.

  Kesilini nodded gratefully and disappeared into the crowd.

  ‘Morclansman Kest,’ she heard her father’s icy tones, ‘even you must k
now that swords are only permitted to Protectors.’

  Kest’s hair gleamed as brightly as his sister’s and he wore a fine tunic with the characteristic patterning of adzes and chisels around the hems. ‘I regret it slipped my mind, Tremen Leader,’ he said, his smile firmly in place. ‘Perhaps your beautiful daughter can show me where I might stow it?’

  Her father’s jaw tightened, but Clanleader Dakresh and his kin were fast approaching and he had no choice but to turn his attention to them. Kira led Kest up the side of the hall, skirting the edge of the crowd. Excited people were milling about, reacquainting themselves with those they’d last seen at Thanking.

  ‘Where would you like to leave it?’ she asked, raising her voice above the din.

  ‘Nowhere. A sword’s useless out of your hand.’

  Kira stilled. ‘You think there’s danger? Here? This night?’

  ‘Allogrenia’s no longer safe. We need to remain watchful at all times.’

  Memories of Kandor being attacked surged back. Kira had seen the sword poised above her head, had watched Feseren and Sanaken die, then had come back, and life had gone on as before. Her father had insisted there was no threat, and she’d chosen to believe it. But Kest was right. There was no safety.

  ‘I’ve brought you a present,’ said Kest, taking her hand and placing a small bundle in it. ‘Open it,’ he said softly.

  Kira unrolled the cloth. It was a mira kiraon carved in intricate detail, wings as fine as lace outstretched in flight, the wood polished to a deep red.

  ‘Two beautiful kiraons together,’ he said, slipping the thong over her head.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ breathed Kira, moved by the thoughtfulness of the gift. She owned few pieces of jewellery, just some beads that had once belonged to her mother. Kest was very close to her, the sense of him quickening her heart. ‘Can you please thank whoever carved it?’

  ‘People will think me strange if I go around thanking myself,’ said Kest.