Walking the Tree

by Kaaron Warren

  "You shouldn't take so much of that herb. It stops you thinking properly."

  "You don't seem to remember I learned my uncle killed himself. I don't want to remember either. I'm trying to forget."

  Ebena laughed. "Lots of people go crazy when they first find the herb. She'll be okay."

  He's thoughtful, Lillah thought. Beautiful. Funny. Could I be happy here?

  "Are you thinking of staying, Lillah? I think it would be good." Ebena seemed able to read her thoughts.

  "I need to think."

  Lillah went to sit against the Tree, hard sharp bark against her back. The thought of stopping appealed in many ways, but she was still learning. There was much to observe, to know. And there was Morace. She had promised to care for him, though it was an unfair promise Rhizo had extracted.

  Melia, her eyes clearer now, joined her.

  "Are you thinking of staying?"

  Lillah nodded. "There is no 'knowing', though. No certainty. Do we really find that? That absolute certainty?"

  Melia shrugged. "Most settled teachers say yes. That there is a place exactly right, and that you'll know it when you see it."

  "Then this isn't it. But I do like it here."

  "Thea does, too. I don't think they want her, though."

  "Too smart for the other women here."

  Melia gave Lillah one of her looks. "Yes, it could be."

  The days passed so easily Lillah felt she was in a dream. Then Ebena asked her if she would like to look at the numbers. The books.

  "What is listed there?"

  "Everything. How many people are in each community. Who passes through here."

  "Passes through? Would there be names? Descriptions?"

  "There is usually a record of where the person came from. The number taker likes things to be even."

  "I would like to see them. I wonder if there will be a line for my mother. I think she passed through here."

  It was there. "Olea, late of Ombu."

  "It doesn't say where she was going."

  Ebena looked at her strangely. "Where would she be going but around?"

  "I don't know. I just don't know when she will stop."

  "You don't need to know, Lillah. You should stay here. Some day a messenger will bring you her story and you will feel satisfied."

  Lillah knew this was not enough. She needed knowledge. She needed it as most people needed air and food. She had to know.

  Lillah told Ebena she could not stay. "I feel there is something important for me ahead. Something I must do."

  He kissed her. Tears. She thought, Oh, have I missed it? Is this it, and I missed it because I think too hard?

  "I'm glad my sister is with your brother," he said quietly.

  Morace came up to them, tugged at her skirt. "Come on, Lillah, time to go."

  "Stay with me and make babies," Ebena whispered.

  Lillah pulled back. "I don't know if I want babies," she said.

  As they left, Magnolia's mother warned them of what lay ahead. What sort of men lived in Douglas.

  "If you conserve your energy, walk at shadow night, you could miss them altogether. Walk through and camp in the roots a half day's walk past. Then you won't need to meet those men and their sisters, because there is nothing to be gained there. Nothing for the children to learn. All they know is the weather, and we know that ourselves. They know the weather and the animals and the insects, they can predict the rain and know shadow night as no other. But it isn't worth it."

  "Knowledge is always worth sacrifice," Melia said.

  "There are things you can do to ward off the ghosts you will encounter on the walk to Douglas. You sing as loudly as you can, without tune. Walk loudly to scare away the ghosts. Chew nuts to keep a crunching noise in your ears. If you can't hear the ghosts, they will not be able to enter your head."

  Morace was reluctant to leave. Zygo had been bored here but Morace liked it, and sulked most of the walking to the next Order.

  Lillah told him, "Zygo, we will need you on our side in this next place. You know what we've been told about the men. We will need to be together and figure it out together."

  In her mapping, Lillah told the Tree: Magnolia's home will she return numbers here everything counted the Number Taker comes and goes and leaves a counted home behind.

  Here, the Tree grows nuts for the brain. The leaves are small and the Bark hard.

  Torreyas — DOUGLAS — Sequoia

  Lillah caught up with Thea, who was stamping on ahead.

  "You always said you'd stay there," Lillah said. "Ever since we were children and we came through. I remember when Magnolia stopped at Ombu and you told her you would take her place in Torreyas."

  "It wasn't for me. The place was too big. I didn't remember it being so big."

  Phyto waited in the roots of the Tree and ran down to join them.

  "Was that a good Order? Did they like you?"

  The children chattered at once to tell him their stories. In between, the teachers spoke of the warning they'd received about Douglas and the way there.

  Melia said, "They told us there is a whole section up ahead where no Order sits. It is always dark and there is a smell of mould about it. People say if you spend the night there, you will wake up without a soul. Some people say this happened to the men of Douglas. They slept the night as a rite of passage and lost their souls."

  Melia loved to tell ghost stories.

  Erica said, "Don't you think the children are frightened enough?"

  "Fear is not a bad thing. It makes us cautious and thoughtful. Part of our journey is to stop in every place. We can't let the voices of others stop us."

  The children were quiet. Some of them shivered and they pulled extra layers of clothes on to cover themselves. It was raining, and would likely continue to rain. Cold. Phyto tried to cheer them with stories to make them laugh.

  As they walked along, it felt like moonlight although the morning was fresh.

  Melia spoke in a loud voice. She had swallowed some of the herb. Lillah tried to quieten her but she would not be shushed. "All time departs in this time of the world. The sand seems smooth, but they say that footprints will appear out of nowhere. Whatever you do, don't stand in these footprints. They belong to the long dead, chained to earth for their sins. If you let one small part of your body touch where their foot has trod, you will have to take their place."

  Morace sat on the sand drawing patterns with the edge of his smoothstone, tired and not willing to go on. He looked back the way they had come. "Look!" he said. "Someone's coming!"

  Lillah and Melia squinted to see. "Probably an old woman on the walk back home. If she catches up to us we'll give her some food and ask her for her stories. It's probably a walking woman."

  The teachers knew about these women: Lillah's mother was one. They passed through Ombu on occasion. These women cared for their children and their adopted Order, using every last square of energy while they were needed, then slumping, hollowed out, when the need was over. Homesickness would come to them, the desire to return to their place of origin. They were the ones who travelled, either with the school, helping with food and bedtime, keeping busy, or alone, stumbling away quickly, without looking back. Often they would go after the husband's death: men died more easily than women, sooner, and with greater acceptance. Women were made strong by the long school walk, the job of schoolteacher, the choosing of a mate. Women seemed to digest the hard work. Many were left widows. If there were no grandchildren the decision was easy.

  "Do you think it's your mother, Melia?"

  "It could be."

  The market they passed was decrepit. Closed. Some mouldy woven baskets sat in a clump, some with the remnants of fish and some with crafted small things.

  "This market doesn't seem to be running. Someone should do something about it," Morace said.

  "It is so far, the distance between the communities here. I think eighty days' walk at least. That is too far to travel to market."


  "I would make a market people would travel a full year to visit."

  They walked later into the night than usual. They talked about their options. Phyto thought they should just keep moving, forget about learning about the weather, forget about stopping at this Order.

  Melia said, "We have an obligation to stop everywhere. We are supposed to meet all types, know them all. The children need to know that not all people are good. And who knows, perhaps the people of Torreyas have some bone to pick with these men, and they don't like them. Perhaps they are perfectly fine people. We should decide for ourselves." It was a sharp night, making their vision further-reaching.

  Melia looked back. "There's definitely someone coming. There, in the distance. Closer than last night."

  "We'll sleep tonight and see if she is closer tomorrow. If it's a messenger they won't rest. If it's a walking woman, if it's your mother, she will catch us eventually."

  At the approach to Douglas, Lillah said, "Let's cover up. They're expecting us, and they know what we're here for, but let's make it clear the choice is ours, not theirs."

  "Let's just walk past," Thea said.

  "No," Melia said. "I want to know what they know. It's knowledge that should be shared. And you know they dive for sea sponges here. We could fill our bags with them."

  "Phyto, you should walk in the night, past the Order and onwards. Meet us at the other side. We don't want them seeing you. Be even more careful than usual."

  "I want to be with you. You may need help. I want to protect the children."

  "You can come for us if we don't get a message to you in a few days." Although they were reluctant to enter Douglas, after such a long time walking they were happy to see it on the approach. Lillah felt no clarity as they neared the Order. This was not the place she would find her love, if her relatives were to be believed.

  The school walked closely together, pressing up to make a mass. Rham, in front, said, "What is that?" and it was a long length of bones, stretched out, picked clean. There was a scurry of red on it, crabs at work, gorging.

  The children ran to the Tree screaming, to hug the Trunk, the normalcy of it.

  They walked closer, and heard a hissing sound coming from the overhanging Tree limbs. A growling sound, a yip, a high pitched noise as well. Looking up, they saw men in the Trees, sitting on the branches and walking along wooden pathways built up there.

  "Do they live in the Trees?" Rham asked.

  "It looks like they spend a lot of time up there," Melia said. "Or perhaps that's their watcher, protecting their secrets."

  The leaves were huge, the size of a food plate. They were the palest green Lillah had seen. One of the men dropped down from the branches. He smiled broadly, and Lillah thought, He doesn't seem too bad. Very nice looking.

  "Welcome to Douglas. We're very happy to have you and hope we will be able to learn from each other."

  The other men dropped down carrying garlands of flowers for the teachers, small carved boxes for the children. Melia and Lillah exchanged glances. All right so far.

  They were led to welcomefire, where Rubica gave over the red beads with an apology. "These came in trade. We are sorry."

  "This is not your apology to make. The people of Torreyas are not known for their generosity. They are too busy counting."

  In return she received a bracelet carved of delicate bird bones.

  "Feel free to roam where you please. Our Order is yours."

  The men left to fish and prepare the feast. The women, quiet till now, welcomed the teachers in their own way.

  One of the women said, "Perhaps the only place you shouldn't go is the bachelor house." The men here shared homes, the women in their own places.

  Built amongst the roots, reaching above and beyond the lower limbs, this house was full of small rooms.

  "We don't know what is in there. It is not a place for women to go. It leaves the men their freedom," one woman said, and whispered, "But freedom goes both ways." The teachers wandered into other houses, admiring shell spoons delicately carved.

  The men welcomed them to the feast with singing so beautiful it brought tears to Lillah's eyes. They stood, united. She thought, They couldn't sing like this if they were bad people.

  "Here," Melia said. "Have some of my herbs. You won't feel so worried then."

  Lillah shook her head. "I like to see what's happening in this world, not one imagined."

  Afterwards, Zygo joined them in a game, much rougher than any they'd seen, but he held his own. He came to Lillah bloodied; worried. He said, "These men… their voices are the best part of them. That is not how the game is played anywhere else we've been."

  The men were deep out in the water, diving for sea sponges, and it was something indeed to watch. They came up with sponges in their fists, their brown skin gleaming, their hair slicked back, their voices proud.

  "Nice," Melia said. "They do not seem to be the awful men they are reputed to be."

  Lillah tried to look at the men as if she knew nothing about them, and wondered if she would have found one attractive if she hadn't been warned off them.

  Their voices were beautiful, and some were wonderful to look at. But there were other elements. Sadness, which made their voices flat and their faces depressing to look at. Desperation, which made them laugh when nothing was funny, hold your hand far longer than was comfortable and stare at you. This made them hard to look at.

  Some had eyes the same green as the Leaves.

  There were two older women of the Order not gone on the old woman walk. They were quiet, tired.

  "These are our boys. I feel like we need to keep them safe." She spoke with her eyes shut and Lillah wondered if she was protecting others from the men.

  "We feel so guilty, but all of us had the same trouble."

  "What trouble?"

  "We couldn't feed them from here." The woman squeezed her soft, flaccid breasts. "We took chance from their side and made them weaker men. It might have been different if we'd had girls."

  "Many places we've been are like this one."

  For a moment the woman's shoulders lifted. "All sons are like ours?"

  "No. No. I mean that many Orders have more sons than daughters. Don't you remember from your time at school?"

  "I remember nothing but here. This is all I need to know."

  Lillah thought, You need to forget how other people live so this seems normal. She said, "Do you have many old women walk through? Do any want to stay?"

  "Stay here? No. No."

  "My mother…" Lillah said. "My mother I think walked through. She liked to cook. She was very good at it. Do you remember her?"

  "A lot of them don't even pass through here, Lillah. I don't know why." But the women exchanged glances and Lillah saw that they knew very well why.

  "She was not a frightened woman. She was never scared of a new experience or of people who behave differently."

  "I don't remember her. You should not let such a thing bother you. Nobody else does."

  The Tale-teller's voice was deep and melodic as he told the story of the creeping ivy.

  "You see how we do not cut the ivy here? It grows wild; it holds the Tree up; it is strong enough to support a man. We do this because it contains the souls of every child who ever died while being bad. That is most children; most children are bad until they learn how to be good. You, and you and you: if you died now, the ivy would reach down, lift your body up, and draw you into its folds. It would slowly suck the flesh from your bones, slowly drink your blood, until you were nothing but soul. Then it would fold your soul into a small square and tuck it into a Leaf, where it would use everything you ever loved or knew to help draw the next child in. You would know you were doing this but you wouldn't be able to stop it; you see a child behaving badly and you want to scream 'Stop before the ivy takes you', but you won't be able to."

  The children were crying quietly. Morace had his arm around Rham, and Borag and Zygo clung together also. L
illah said, "I think that's enough. The children go to the island of the spirits like everyone else, their spirits carried by a turtle or a crab."

  "You have to earn a place there on the Island," one man said, and he covered her mouth, held hands around her throat so she couldn't breathe. "This story will not hurt them. It is a lesson they need to learn."

  "Don't you know how the Tree came to be? Are you big enough to hear it? Are your teachers brave enough? Because once you've heard the true story, you'll never be able to return to a time before you knew."