Unfinished Song(Book 4): Root

by Maya, Tara

  Not until three days into Green Woods territory did Dindi catch sight of a Green Woods clanhold.

  Drums sounded in the woods, then silence.

  A herd of deer, a half-dozen stags and an equal number of does, stood recessed from the dirt path. The deer did not scatter as she and Jensi approached. Dindi realized they were men and women wearing the full skins of dear as headdresses. They affected a forward prone posture and head tics that increased their deer-like appearance. Their faces and bodies were dappled brown and green with paint. Both men and women held bows.

  Behind the deer-skinned warriors, Dindi glimpsed the telltale smoke of cooking fires. They dug their lairs under-earth, inside the hollows and roots of big trees. Nets threaded with leaves and branches concealed the doorways. Outside, loose pigs rooted truffles near a gang of fur-tucked toddlers. Even the children played their game of mock hunting in silence. The pigs were the noisiest individuals in the hold.

  No wonder she had not seen any clanholds. Even this close to one, it blended so well with the forest that she almost missed it.

  The Green Woods tribesfolk lived for the hunt, and during spring, summer and autumn, chased game. They fished streams and gathered wild plants; a few planted medicinal spice gardens, kept dogs and raised pigs, but they did not coddle cornfields or shepherd goats, as her people did. Clans were small, usually only a few families each, who never stayed more than a few moons in any encampment.

  Even their tribehold was not a permanent settlement, like the Tors of Yellow Bear or the Rainbow Labyrinth. Other tribes called it the “Green Woods tribehold,” or “Hidden Forest,” but they called it “the Winter Warrens.” During the brutal winters of the northern forests, hundreds of these small clans huddled together in the Winter Warrens, to pool their stores, share dance histories, arrange marriages and trade. In good years, Rovers and outtribers visited the Winter Warrens, to trade baskets of corn, strings of seashells, flint arrowheads and other luxuries, for the fur pelts, nuts and fine gut bowstrings for which the Green Woods tribesfolk were renowned.

  Dindi wondered if her people would be welcome. They herded their goats and tugged toboggans of corn feed, all they had been able to salvage from the destruction of their clanhold. The warriors from Full Basket and Broken Basket also came laden with gifts, but would it be enough to convince the Green Woods people to let them trespass on their tribehold for three moons?

  Since Tamio was avoiding her, she walked next to her cousin Jensi. It only took an hour in her cousin’s presence for Jensi to guess Dindi was in love. To Dindi’s surprise, Jensi seemed upset about it.

  “I thought you’d be happy for me,” Dindi complained.

  “I am,” Jensi said, unhappily. “After all, this is what Gramma Sullana wanted all along.”

  “Yes.” Dindi sighed in rapture. She imagined the home her clan would give her when they found out she was going to marry a renowned Tavaedi like Tamio.

  Jensi sank into a foul mood.

  “The only problem is that he doesn’t return my feelings,” Dindi admitted. “Yet.”

  Jensi brightened. “He doesn’t? How do you know?”

  “He’s angry at me, I think, for snubbing him at first. I was a fool! I didn’t know the strength of my own heart. But then again, why would he be angry at me for snubbing him if he didn’t love me? I think he does love me. We are meant to be together.”

  “But he hasn’t actually brought you a marriage bowl yet?” asked Jensi.

  “Well…no.”

  “Ah.”

  “You’re supposed to be happy for me.”

  “Oh—Dindi—how could you expect me to be happy for you?” Jensi began to tear up. “I love him too. I have ever since the year of our Initiation. I thought he was coming around to our clanhold to see me. But now you say it was to see you…”

  “You’re in love with Tamio?”

  “Tamio?” echoed Jensi. “That cad? Of course not. I was speaking of Yodigo!”

  “Yodigo? You’re in love with Yodigo?”

  “Of course. He’s good and strong and kind and true…how could I not be in love with him…. But, Dindi, you can’t be in love with Tamio! You know he’s a wolf!” She lowered her voice. “You know what he with Olibi, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but he’s different with me.”

  Jensi slapped her forehead. “Mercy, Dindi. A boy like that only wants one thing from a girl like you. Trust me.”

  “If all he wants is my body, I’ll give him my body. I’ll give him as much or as little of me as he wants,” Dindi said. “That’s what love means.”

  “No. No. NO. That’s how a wolf dines on a rabbit, it’s nothing to do with love between two people who can’t live without each other.”

  “I’d rather have a sliver of him than a whole plate of any other man.”

  Jensi shook her head. After that, she did not let Dindi out of her sight, day or night, as if she feared that Dindi would go throw herself naked in front of Tamio at any moment. Of course, Dindi had no such intention. She knew Tamio was a hunter. He would come for her. She would let him chase her until she caught him.

  Dindi

  They arrived at the Winter Warrens after another half-moon. Those near the front of the caravan all bunched together in a clump on a ridge before the final ascent up the mountain. Mists curled around the slope, hiding their destination.

  The White Lady was there, with Finnadro and several of his wolf-men. Kemla was there, and also, thanks to his horse, Tamio. Dindi tried not to steal glances at him, but it took all her will. Finnadro sent two wolflings ahead with word of their arrival. Ram horns sounded from bomas in the treetops. As if it were a cue, the mists parted and streams of sunlight fell onto the tribehold.

  The tribehold occupied the outcrop of a craggy mount. Huge conifers had been planted in a circle around the edge. The trees grew so close together that their branches locked elbows and their roots crossed ankles. The gaps between them had been further reinforced with a wall of boulders, so that the tribehold was completely enclosed in a living wall of wood and stone. The boulders had been carved into animals with expressive faces. Tavaedi warriors, who crouched on the wall, wore tall masks that bristled with pine needles, as if they were mobile trees.

  Even the trees had faces, with branchy noses, knotted eyes and woodpecker-holed mouths. But these were no human carvings. Their green spiny brows wagged and their mouths bayed with deep songs. Dindi strained to understand the words, but the ancient accent eluded her.

  “I do believe those are not trees at all, but Sylfae,” she whispered to Jensi. “Can you understand what they are singing?”

  Jensi wrinkled her nose. “What are you babbling about, Dindi? I see no Sylfae. That whistling is just the wind in the branches.”

  Dindi shrugged. She’d learned not to insist. While everyone waited, she enjoyed the Sylfae chorus. Each tree had a distinct face and unique voice. Some droned like old men, others carried the soprano melody like beautiful maids.

  “Uncle, what are we waiting for?” Tamio asked Finnadro. “Do we need permission of your tribe elders before we can enter the valley?”

  “The wolflings have already bayed of your coming,” Finnadro said. “It is not your party the tribal elders worry about.” He pointed to the sky. “It is theirs.”

  Raptor Riders wheeled on the horizon. From a distance, the birds appeared small, but they swallowed the distance rapidly. Soon their immense shadows blocked the sun overhead.

  “Bastards,” muttered Tamio.

  While the rest continued to circle overhead, like so many hungry vultures, the lead Raptor landed on the ridge. Amdra dismounted.

  “Wolf Hunter!” she called briskly. “Where would your elders bid us bivouac? We will give you no excuse to claim we violated the truce.”

  “Your people may not stay overnight inside the wall,” Finnadro said.

  She scowled. He held up a hand.

  “It was the best I could do, Toad Woman. Be glad we tolerate you in ou
r skies at all. You may encamp in the valley below. During the day, your people may enter the tribehold, if you can vouch for their good behavior.”

  “Of course,” she said coldly. “We are not the ones who let dogs off their leashes.”

  “That includes keeping a civil tongue,” snapped Finnadro. “If my people feel their honor is insulted, they will fight to defend it.”

  “Do not think that because we riders are women we shrink from sparring,” said Amdra. “If two individuals have a problem, let it be between them, so long as each fights with honor.”

  “We respect the same.” Finnadro inclined his head. “Tomorrow my people will welcome all our guests with a regular Vooma and common dances,” said Finnadro. “It is also our custom for all men and women who wish to marry during the cold season to do so during the seven day period before Midwinter. There will be many weddings. Any tribesfolk of yours who wish to celebrate unions at this time may do so too.”

  Dindi darted a glance at Tamio. He toyed with his riding hoop, and flicked burrs out of Clipclop’s mane. He looked bored.

  “During Midwinter Rites,” Finnadro continued, “all the eligible Tavaedies will dance for the White Lady. She will choose the best maidens and warriors among them to travel to the Rainbow Labyrinth for the Vaedi-Vooma.”

  At that, Tamio perked up. “Male Tavaedies too?”

  “Yes,” said the White Lady. “They will be wanted for the service of the new Vaedi.”

  “A clever way to recruit more Imorvae to Rainbow Labyrinth,” said Amdra.

  The White Lady did not deny it.

  “Before any of your people enter the tribehold, tomorrow morning, you and your father must pay your respects to our War Chief,” said Finnadro. “The elders have decreed that the War Chief will have the final say if your people may camp in our territory.”

  “I will bring my father. I hope your War Chief is not a fool.”

  Amdra pivoted and returned to her Raptor without a by-your-leave. It was hard to tell if she was furious or just rude. Her huge hawk tossed his head and seemed to regard Dindi with his black opal eye. Dindi remembered the magnificent naked men bathing in the lake and blushed. Amdra and the Raptor lifted away. The bird’s caw echoed behind them in the winds stirred by churning wings.

  The wall of conifer and graven rock displayed no obvious entrance, but Finnadro let them single file through a dark gap under a root thick as a man, which turned out to be a tunnel. They emerged from the other side into a marae, a wide clearance in which the earth had been beaten flat and swept free of snow. Eight redwoods grew in two rows, and their trunks formed the columns of a huge lodge with a sharply pointed roof. The eaves swept up at the ends, carved with animal faces, in the same style as the rock wall. There was only one other stand-alone building, a round hide hut that Finnadro called a sweat lodge. The other homes in the tribehold were subterranean mounds dug under the roots of the immense circle of trees.

  The Rainbow Labyrinth refugees were not the only new arrivals. There were other clumps of people, with babes strapped to their backs, piglets in their arms and dogs at their heels, who had obviously not settled in yet. Tavaedies in pine masks negotiated with clan elders about where each clan would stay. Some arguments became heated, and a few fights broke out, but most of the Green Woods tribesfolk rested on their haunches and smoked long pipes, unhurried, unworried. Each clan wore headdresses made from the whole skin of a totem animal. Dindi noted Squirrels, Hares, Wolverines, Ferrets, Raccoons, Otters, Elks, and several kinds of Deer. They painted green and brown palmate swirls on any part of their skin not swathed in fur. Some individuals wore branches pierced through their nose and ears. Older men braided their beards; younger women dyed their hair ginger with henna.

  A pine-masked Tavaedi led the Rainbow Labyrinth tribesfolk to a section of the wall. He had a thick, guttural accent, but his wave encompassed a series of doorways that curved out of sight behind the lodge. Dindi was not sure this would be enough space for them all, but she climbed down after Jensi and Tibi into the hole the three cousins would share. Below, she found the space much larger than she had anticipated. Like a kiva, most of it was underground. There were actually three rooms on two levels, a living space above and two storerooms below. Tunnels led to other houses.

  Thickly matted roots wove the ceilings of each chamber and of the interconnected tunnels. Roots also wrapped around the posts that held up the house. Oiled gutskin tarps that stretched across the walls kept in the warmth from the heated stones in the steam pit. Few of the houses maintained live fires, Dindi learned. The Sylfae did not care to have flames tickle their toes. Stones were roasted red-hot in the ovens behind the Sweat Lodge and distributed throughout the day to steam pits in the dugouts. Steam kept the enclosures surprisingly warm, if uncomfortably sticky.

  Someone had already placed hot stones in their pit, and a jar of water to make steam, but otherwise the three rooms had no furnishings. The dwelling had not been inhabited for nigh on nine moons. Dust covered everything. Spider webs drifted everywhere, and filthy crawling things scrabbled in and out holes in the grimy gutskin tarp. A centipede the size of a hand crawled over Jensi’s foot.

  Jensi screamed. Then she burst into tears.

  “I hate it!” she wailed. “I hate this place! This isn’t a house. It’s nothing but a den for beasts! Did you see those ghastly, hairy people? We can’t live here! I want to go home!”

  “Our home is gone,” said Tibi. “I bet we’ll never go home. We’ll probably have to live here forever. Maybe we’ll turn into wolves, like they do!”

  Jensi wept louder.

  Dindi had not let herself think about the destruction of Lost Swan clanhold, but now a powerful sense of loss swept over her. She hugged Jensi tightly, her throat too tight to offer any but wordless comfort.

  They swept up the dust and chased away the insects as best they could before they unpacked their belongings from the toboggan. Once the rooms were clean and draped with colorful blankets (woven in the familiar swan-and-maze pattern of their own tribe and clan), the den looked less beastly. Pillows and pottery and jars of salt and spice and dried corn filled the rooms with the familiar scents of goose down, maize, rosemary and thyme. Tibi decided to bring one of the baby goats into the Den (which is what they always called it from that first day on), and after that it definitely smelled like home.

  Meals were cooked in the Great Lodge, and shared communally. Dindi and her cousins joined the other women in the cooking area alongside the Lodge. Older women snapped out commands and the young women obeyed. The men, Dindi noticed, spent the same time relaxing on the porch on the other side of the Lodge, smoking pipes and drinking beer.

  All that day, Green Woods clans trickled into the tribehold. In the evening, everyone assembled in the Great Lodge. The women brought in the food they’d labored over all the day and only then relaxed next to the menfolk. A broad, raised platform ran the length of the Lodge. The local Tavaedies danced there during evening-meal. After their performance, however, other tribesfolk, not Tavaedies, jumped up onto the platform, beat drums, clapped and danced.

  No one else remarked on it, so Dindi ventured her query to a Green Woods girl she had met earlier that day. “Isn’t it dangerous for all those non-Tavaedies to dance?”

  “It’s a Welcome dance, nothing dangerous.” The girl shrugged. “Our tribesfolk have many common dances in which those without magic may take part. Later this moon, I myself will take part in the Dance of the Maidens.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a false whisper. “You must shake your berries if you want to impress the lads.”

  Kemla, seated nearby, sniffed disdainfully, but Dindi savored a thrill. How different her life might have been if she had been born to the Green Woods tribe.

  Vessia

  The next morning, Vessia accompanied Finnadro when he let Amdra and her father Vumo into the tribehold to pay respects to the War Chief. Zavaedi Vumo wore a dashing fur cape over a leather tunic beaded with green porcu
pine quills. Though on in years, he doled out winks and waves to the ladies he passed as liberally as a young buck after his first kill. Finnadro’s tribeswomen did not seem immune to his crooked smile. In contrast, Amdra wore the tight ochre-dyed leather and feather headdress of a Rider, which won her glares and growls. Raptor Riders had depredated the Greens Woods too many times for any clan to welcome one into the heart of their territory. Most of the Green Woods tribesfolk did not know who Vessia was. They saw in her only a tired old woman.

  Fair enough. Her bones ached.

  The three outtribers climbed down the ladder into the lair of the War Chief. After they were all down, Finnadro announced their names and lineages, and then gestured to the person before them:

  “Nann the Eagle Slayer, daughter of Yanno and Grida of the Foxfighter clan, War Chief of Green Woods tribe.”

  War Chief Nann inclined her head at the guests, and then turned her attention back to her task. She sat on a tree stump, slicing meat into boiling water in a stone bowl sitting inside a pit. Unlike most folks, she burned faggots in her hearth. Otherwise, she lived humbly, in single-room root lair, cozily lined with furs and leather pillows. A big dog lay curled at her feet. Every fifth or sixth slice, she tossed a nibble to the dog, who snatched it from the air without letting it touch the floor.

  Vessia knew Nann by reputation. The tough widow had been acclaimed War Chief after the death of her War Chief husband, a decade ago. She had always been an able warrior and huntress, even before his death. In the battle that widowed her and gave her a Shining Name bought in blood, her vengeful ferocity had turned back the Raptors that had attacked her clanhold. The birds had carried away no slaves that day. In the intervening years, she had ended several internal feuds the old-fashioned way, by killing the instigators in single-handed combat, one after the other, until the hotheads were all dead and their more sensible kin agreed to terms. She enjoyed the favor of the Sylfae. None doubted her valor, yet she was loved more than feared; most clans who paid her tribute did so from the hope her strength would rebound to them.