Walking the Tree

by Kaaron Warren

  The children breathed hard, hoping the teachers would let them hear it.

  "It's just a story," Morace whispered. "Can we hear it?"

  "It's not just a story. It will take a place inside your head, reside there until you drop to bone on the ground."

  "I don't think it's a good idea," Lillah said, but the children squalled, Please, please, and the man began to tell them the story.

  He had them hold tightly onto the Tree limbs so they didn't fall out, bare-skinned.

  "You want to feel that roughness. Feel the bite of it, the snap of it. You live beneath the Tree and walk around it, without looking at the detail of it.

  "If you could see your skin with the eye of a fly, see it close and huge, your skin would look like this Bark."

  He dug his fingernails under a piece and lifted it up. He sniffed it, then turned it over and showed them the insects underneath. "You would think that would hurt," he said. "To have those insects under your skin. But we do have them, crawling beneath the surface. Can you feel a slight bump on your arm? That's most likely a crawling creature, working its way to your heart. There are many different insects in Botanica. So many you could not count them. Each has a purpose but no ambition. They are happy that way, agreed?" He took Lillah's hand. Kissed it. His lips were warm and thick and despite her revulsion at his words, Lillah felt her blood move faster.

  "There are insects that roll shit out of the sand. Some who use Tree mould to build nests. Others plant eggs in the joints of the Tree and the egg sacs strengthen the limbs."

  While he was talking, Lillah was interested. Melia, too, listened open-mouthed at this new information.

  "My heart hurts," Morace said. Lillah took his hand, hushed him.

  "So long ago that no one remembers, the people who lived here were as tall as ten women. There was no Tree then. Instead there was a massive drinkwater that the people could drink from and be refreshed. They washed in the sea, laid waste there too. They kept the drinkwater clean, and they lived together in one Order. There was no school and no long walk. The land was their home and they shared it.

  "Then a flock of birds arrived at the drinkwater. These were birds forty times the size of the ones we know. The people watched them land and drink and wondered if they would make good eating.

  "They caught one and roasted it, then sliced it open.

  "Inside was a sight to make them ill. They knew even then how our bones sat; they tied their dead to deep-seated stakes on the sand and let the saltwater and sand turn body to bone.

  "This bird inside was one bone. Smooth, like the water on a still day or the sand before a soul has trod on it.

  "The flesh smelt good, though, so they ate, and cooked another and ate that, too. Then a terrible thirst took them, so great they drank with their faces in the drinkwater till they couldn't move. Then they drank more, and more, until one by one they tipped into the drinkwater and drowned.

  "Now, usually, when the body dies the bones stop growing. Not with our ancestors. Bones broke through flesh. Bone grew up, out, bones met and melded."

  He folded his fingers together. "Bones formed a Tree. This Tree. Deep in the Tree, if ever you should go there, is the last remaining spring, the last drinkwater from that time. We have an outlet here; the water you drank tonight came from there."

  His whispery voice gave Lillah the shudders. The whisper was like a shadow of his real voice: the dark, thick, quiet whispering you hear in the moment before sleep. The voice of doubt, bitterness and regret.

  Lillah found Melia. "We should leave here sooner rather than later. The children are frightened. Especially the girls. Have you seen the way they look at the girls?"

  "Have you seen the way the women look at us? It's like they think we're going to steal something. I need another day or two to get this information. They know a lot about the insects of the Tree."

  "Is any of it information we couldn't have gathered ourselves? If we put it together?"

  "They've put it together, Lillah, that's the thing. It's about connections. From a flower to a bee to certain plants around the Tree. They know so much about how each affects the other."

  "But why do we care? It doesn't affect us. We know when it rains, when it's dry. We know so far which plant grows where."

  "It's information, that's all. They know beforehand of things that might be coming. They told me that when spider webs fly, it will soon be dry. If spiders are about in the daytime, rain is coming."

  "You already knew that, Melia. This is not new knowledge. You observed all of this yourself."

  "But the slugs, the slugs come out when it's going to rain. And the chrysalids; if they're on the slender branches, there will be fair weather."

  "Let's leave in the morning. I'm worried about Thea. I think she likes it here."

  There were ladders along the Tree, and Lillah, the other teachers and the children climbed up to a deep curve in the Tree, with branches upper and lower, so they could gather and talk.

  The men joined them. Broad shouldered, with big bones and broad smiles. One sat beside Lillah in the Tree. They called him the Tale-teller but he didn't act like any teller she'd known.

  He lifted her necklace. "Where did you get this?" He squinted. "It is beautifully carved. I've never seen anything like it. This is very nice. What will you take for it?"

  "I can't give it away."

  "Yes, you can. You can get nothing for it or something for it. Up to you."

  "I will think," Lillah said, to give herself time. "You would do well at market. You are a deal maker."

  "We don't care for trading. We like to use our own resources."

  Lillah wondered if that was true, or if perhaps the neighbouring Orders did not like to trade with them.

  After the children were asleep, the men spoke to the women differently, their voices thick and their words sexual. They thought that fear would bring the women to them, but not one of the teachers could bear to touch the lips or any other part of these good looking but cruel men.

  "I'm tired. I'm too upset to be thinking about making love," Lillah said. The Tale-teller's face wrinkled angrily.

  "You have no choice. You are a teacher. This is what you do. It's what you do and all you're good for. You destroy those children by protecting them from the truth and you give them no weaponry to survive the world."

  "We don't need weaponry to survive the world."

  "Of course you do." He stood up to leave. Lillah saw him adjusting his crotch.

  "Where are you going?"

  "If you won't oblige I'll go visit one of the little girls. One night with me and she'll climb the Tree."

  He was so large, so strong. She thought of the other women; if they attacked him, they may succeed. But he was not alone: two other men stepped up beside him.

  "How goes it?"

  "I'm thinking a visit to the little ones. You?"

  "These teachers are cold as the sea base."

  "What is it you like?" Lillah said. She felt a sick desperation, as if this was the moment she became a real teacher. The sacrifice for the children. She would never doubt herself after this.

  "We like quiet women who will scream like the Tree in the wind when we are taking them."

  "I'm not too quiet," she said.

  "But you will scream," one man said. His voice was soft, a whisper of the ocean waves. Lillah was not sure she heard the menace in his voice. Then he stepped forward and grasped her wrists. "So skinny. Like the smallest Tree root. Delicate."

  "Like a flower, do you think?" she said.

  "Come and see my cave. I've decorated it just for you, with flowers and insects."

  "You do love insects, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do." For a moment she thought she had imagined his threats, had dreamt his aggression. Then he took her wrist roughly and she knew she needed to go with him, to keep him away from Rham and the other girls.

  Inside his cave, along the roots of the Tree, she saw a cry for help. Pictures of a weeping ma
n, bloodied body parts, children in a pile, a great pile of dead children depicted on his wall. If there was a spirit cave, where your dreams would welcome the dead, this was surely it.

  She backed away but he took her wrists and held on so hard it hurt.

  "You want me to visit the little girls? Or will you do as you're told? I'm big. Little girls don't always recover from a visit from me."

  He dropped his clothing and he was big. Men along the Tree boasted of their size but this man was big. His penis was thick and tall, and the tip was reddened.

  "You see?" he said softly. He pushed her backward. "Take it, would you? Stop talking."

  Lillah squeezed her eyes. She was unprepared so it hurt. She was tense and frightened. She was glad this was not her first time, that she knew men, had known good and gentle men.

  He was not as rough as he could be and when he was done he lay beside her with a smile on his face to make her feel as if she could say, "Why do you act around women this way? Don't you know how other men act? They have teachers go to them willingly because they are attractive people."

  "We are not other men, and we find willingness dull. This would swing low if I had a woman want it."

  He flicked his penis. "No more talking now. Tomorrow night you'll be with my brother. He's not as gentle as I am."

  Lillah waited until he was asleep and left his cave. She found Melia by the water's edge, tearstreaked.

  "I seem to cry a lot at the moment," she said.

  "I think we should leave tomorrow."

  "Will they let us? Do you really think they'll let us?" Melia said. "They will want us to stay until they tire of us. The children too."

  "No, they won't leave the girls, will they? I'm sure of it. I could walk to Phyto, get him to come and help us," Lillah said.

  "He couldn't beat them." Melia splashed water on her face.

  "They know so much and yet they are so cruel."

  "Knowledge makes you cruel," Melia said. "Come on, we'd better get back to the men."

  "Mine wasn't as rough once he got going."

  "Mine was."

  Lillah returned to his cave and settled for sleep. She was not woken by the children. Odd. Most nights at least one of the children woke up needing something.

  In the morning, Lillah spoke to Erica and Rubica. The other women had been crying, too, and Lillah said, "We did what we had to do for the children. We obviously did it well because the children are happy this morning."

  One of the women of the Order joined them. "Our men are different."

  "Not in a good way."

  She shook her head. "They will not let you go until you offer some kind of sacrifice."

  "Where is Thea?"

  "With Melia somewhere. I haven't seen her."

  The men mostly slept in the limbs of the Tree, but the children found it too frightening, fearing they would fall out once asleep. The children had terrible nightmares, Treedreams. The worst kind.

  Morace said, "You wake up from a Tree nightmare and the Tree looms over you. You know you will never lose the fear."

  "Is this another bad place? Why do we have to run so much?" Rham said. Lillah had asked them; they had woken, they said, but didn't get out of bed.

  Are they growing up? Don't need us anymore?

  "We'll stay longer at the next place. Don't you miss Phyto? We want to see him."

  "Yes!"

  At breakfast the men ate alone, leaving the women to serve themselves. "They'll be all over us again tonight," Erica muttered. "Oh, Thea."

  Lillah looked up as Thea entered the food area.

  "Thea!"

  Her face was cut, her hair in a rat's nest.

  "Thea! What happened? Are you all right? I'll call in their Birthman."

  "Shh," Thea said, but the men ignored them anyway. "No! I don't want to see him. I'm all right." She took a sip of water, then wiped more over her face. She looked up at Lillah and smiled.

  "I've found the place I belong."

  "You can't stay here! They're unkind and cruel."

  "That's what I deserve. I deserve to be treated like this."

  She laid her hands in her lap.

  "Did one of them take you by force?" Lillah whispered. Thea shook her head, but a small smile lifted her lips.

  "Thea?"

  "Three of them. Three of them. I saw inside the bachelor house." Her eyes were wide, unfocussed.

  "What was it like?"

  Thea shook her head. "Not for you to know, Lillah." And then she cried.

  "Thea, you don't deserve it. What happened in Ombu was an accident, and it's time for you to stop punishing yourself for it."

  "I'm a good swimmer. I should have saved those children."

  "You were frightened of the sea monster. You couldn't possibly have gone out there. And you

  couldn't have saved more than one, anyway."

  "At least it would have been one."

  "You can't stay here, Thea. They'll kill you."

  "Maybe I deserve to die. We can die anywhere. Gingko died so easily."

  "At the very least you need to help me protect the children."

  "I can't, Lillah. Perhaps I can help to protect the women here, make them stronger."

  "That's not why you're staying. You're staying because you think the punishment will absolve you from guilt."

  Thea plucked at her hair.

  "You know you can leave whenever you want. Walk home. No decision is final."

  As the man who had taken her in the night approached, Lillah recoiled. He twisted his face at her. "At least we are honest. Other men are the same. All men are the same. They conceal it. At least we are clear about what we want."

  "I'll give you my beads. The ones you admire. Would you like that? You can have them."

  The man took the beads; ran them through his fingers. Ran them over his lips.

  "We will take them."

  One young girl, who could be a teacher if a school was ever created from here, whispered to them, "Shadow night is a time we find frightening. Things aren't shadowed at night unless the moon is very bright. Long shadow night. Spirits at work, released by the shadows. You never step into a shadow; shadow walking is a risky business.

  "These men shadow walk because they have given up on a good life. They've given in to their dark side; they don't nurture or create. Dark places are not for us."

  Lillah wondered if it was jealousy or truth that lead her words.

  The men went to their work out at sea, and the teachers and children slipped away. No ceremony. Thea couldn't bear to say goodbye, knowing how disgusted they were in her but she sent someone to take her place: Tamarica, the young girl who had tried to warn them about the men.

  In her mapping, Lillah told the Tree: The stories are true about these men; they are bred cool but dive for sea sponges. They say they tell true stories but is it truth to terrify us? Do we need to know such truth? And why do they want to steal what would be freely given?

  Here, the Tree grows bitter fruit and rich, perfumed flowers. The leaves are pale green and huge, the Bark run through with more insects than I can count.

  Douglas — SEQUOIA — Alga

  Lillah could barely talk to Melia. She felt so confused about losing Thea to such a place she did not want to talk to anyone, but the girl who took her place, Tamarica, bounced around, so thrilled to have escaped she couldn't contain herself.

  "This is so good. So good! I love to walk. I could walk forever if I was allowed to. I like to run but I won't get too far ahead. We have to stay with the children, don't we? Do we have to stay with the children all the time? They seem really cute. I like them. I'm not used to children but I like them. Isn't it good it's stopped raining?"

  Lillah threw a desperate glance at Erica who stepped up kindly. "Let's meet some of the children. You can chat to them as we walk. There's also somebody else who joins us on the walk. I think it's seventy days to Alga, isn't it?"

  Phyto waved from ahead.

  "It's a m
an," Tamarica said, stopping.

  "The men you know are unusual," Erica said. "Most men are good to know."

  Phyto ran up to join them. Erica introduced him to Tamarica and he embraced her, a welcome she seemed to find confronting. She sank into it, though. Lillah saw her shoulders relax.