loose and shuck free of his pants. He
wore nothing underneath. He tossed them
aside and from the willow came a
squawk of the sort that could have come
from a larger bird. A heron perhaps. Or a
crow. And if a branch shook violently at
the same time, well, perhaps a bird had
leaned too far from its branch and nearly
fell. It certainly stood to reason that some
birds were more clumsy than others. And
besides, at the time Bast was looking the
other way.
Bast dove into the water then, splashing
like a boy and gasping at the cold. After
a few minutes he moved to a shallower
portion of the pool where the water rose
to barely reach his narrow waist.
Beneath the water, a careful observer
might note the young man’s legs looked
somewhat … odd. But it was shady
there, and everyone knows that water
bends light strangely, making things look
other than they are. And besides, birds
are not the most careful of observers,
especially when their attention is focused
elsewhere.
An hour or so later, slightly damp and
smelling of sweet honeysuckle soap, Bast
climbed the bluff where he was fairly
certain that he’d left his master’s book. It
was the third bluff he’d climbed in the
last half hour.
When he reached the top, Bast relaxed
at the sight of a hawthorn tree. Walking
closer, he saw it was the right tree, the nook right where he remembered. But the
book was gone. A quick circle of the tree
showed that it hadn’t fallen to the ground.
Then the wind stirred and Bast saw
something white. He felt a sudden chill,
fearing it was a page torn free from the
book. Few things angered his master like
a mistreated book.
But no. Reaching up, Bast didn’t feel
paper. It was a smooth stretch of birch
bark. He pulled it down and saw the
letters crudely scratched into the side.
I ned ta tawk ta ewe. Ets
emportant.
Rike
Afternoon: Birds and Bees
With no idea of where he might find
Rike, Bast made his way back to the
lightning tree. He had just settled down
in his usual place when a young girl
came into the clearing.
She didn’t stop at the greystone and
instead trudged straight up the side of the
hill. She was younger than the others, six
or seven. she wore a bright blue dress
and had deep purple ribbons twining
through her carefully curled hair.
She had never come to the lightning tree
before, but Bast had seen her. Even if he
hadn’t, he could have guessed by her fine
clothes and the smell of rosewater that
she was Viette, the mayor’s youngest
daughter.
She climbed the low hill slowly,
carrying something furry in the crook of
her arm. When she reached the top of the
hill she stood, slightly fidgety, but still waiting.
Bast eyed her quietly for a moment.
“Do you know the rules?” he asked.
She stood, purple ribbons in her hair.
She was obviously slightly scared, but
her lower lip stuck out, defiant. She
nodded.
“What are they?”
The young girl licked her lips and
began to recite in a singsong voice. “No
one taller than the stone.” She pointed to
the fallen greystone at the foot of the hill.
“Come to blacktree, come alone.” She
put her finger to her lips, miming a
shushing noise.
“Tell no—”
“Hold on,” Bast interrupted. “You say
the last two lines while touching the
tree.”
The girl blanched a bit at this but
stepped forward and put her hand against
the sun-bleached wood of the long-dead
tree.
The girl cleared her throat again, then
paused, her lips moving silently as she
ran through the beginning of the poem
until she found her place again. “Tell no
adult what’s been said, lest the lightning
strike you dead.”
When she spoke the last word, Viette
gasped and jerked her hand back, as if
something had burned or bitten her
fingers. Her eyes went wide as she
looked down at her fingertips and saw
they were an untouched, healthy pink.
Bast hid a smile behind his hand.
“Very well then,” Bast said. “You
know the rules. I keep your secrets and
you keep mine. I can answer questions or
help you solve a problem.” He sat down
again, his back against the tree, bringing
him to eye level with the girl. “What do
you want?”
She held out the tiny puff of white fur
she carried in the crook of her arm. It
mewled. “Is this a magic kitten?” she
asked.
Bast took the kitten in his hand and
looked it over. It was a sleepy thing,
almost entirely white. One eye was blue,
the other green. “It is, actually,” he said,
slightly surprised. “At least a little.” He
handed it back.
She nodded seriously. “I want to call
her Princess Icing Bun.”
Bast simply stared at her, nonplussed.
“Okay.”
The girl scowled at him. “I don’t know
if she’s a girl or a boy!”
“Oh,” Bast said. He held out his hand,
took the kitten, then petted it and handed
it back. “It’s a girl.”
The mayor’s daughter narrowed her
eyes at him. “Are you fibbing?”
Bast blinked at the girl, then laughed.
“Why would you believe me the first
time and not the second?” he asked.
“I could tell she was a magic kitten,”
Viette said, rolling her eyes in
exasperation. “I just wanted to make
sure. But she’s not wearing a dress. She
doesn’t have any ribbons or bows. How
can you tell if she’s a girl?”
Bast opened his mouth. Then closed it
again. This was not some farmer’s child.
She had a governess and a whole
closetful of clothes. She didn’t spend her
time around sheep and pigs and goats.
She’d never seen a lamb born. She had
an older sister, but no brothers …
He hesitated; he’d rather not lie. Not
here. But he hadn’t promised to answer
her question, hadn’t made any sort of
agreement at all with her. That made
things easier. A great deal easier than
having an angry mayor visit the
Waystone, demanding to know why his
daughter suddenly knew the word
“penis.”
“I tickle the kitten’s tummy,” Bast said
easily. “And if it winks at me, I know it’s
a girl.”
This satisfied Viett
e, and she nodded
gravely. “How can I get my father to let
me keep it?”
“You’ve already asked him nicely?”
She nodded. “Daddy hates cats.”
“Begged and cried?”
Nod.
“Screamed and thrown a fit?”
She rolled her eyes and gave an
exasperated sigh. “I’ve tried all that, or I
wouldn’t be here.”
Bast thought for a moment. “Okay.
First, you have to get some food that will
keep good for a couple days. Biscuits.
Sausage. Apples. Hide it in your room
where nobody will find it. Not even your
governess. Not even the maid. Do you
have a place like that?”
The little girl nodded.
“Then go ask your daddy one more
time. Be gentle and polite. If he still says
no, don’t be angry. Just tell him that you
love the kitten. Say if you can’t have her,
you’re afraid you’ll be so sad you’ll
die.”
“He’ll still say no,” the little girl said.
Bast shrugged. “Probably. Here’s the
second part. Tonight, pick at your dinner.
Don’t eat it. Not even the dessert.” The
little girl started to say something, but
Bast held up a hand. “If anyone asks you,
just say you’re not hungry. Don’t mention
the kitten. When you’re alone in your
room tonight, eat some of the food you’ve
hidden.”
The little girl looked thoughtful.
Bast continued. “Tomorrow, don’t get
out of bed. Say you’re too tired. Don’t
eat your breakfast. Don’t eat your lunch.
You can drink a little water, but just sips.
Just lie in bed. When they ask what’s the
matter—”
She brightened. “I say I want my
kitten!”
Bast shook his head, his expression
grim. “No. That will spoil it. Just say
you’re tired. If they leave you alone, you
can eat, but be careful. If they catch you,
you’ll never get your kitten.”
The girl was listening intently now, her
brow furrowed in concentration.
“By dinner they’ll be worried. They’ll
offer you more food. Your favorites.
Keep saying you’re not hungry. You’re
just tired. Just lie there. Don’t talk. Do
that all day long.”
“Can I get up to pee?”
Bast nodded. “But remember to act
tired. No playing. The next day, they’ll
be scared. They’ll bring in a doctor.
They’ll try to feed you broth. They’ll try
everything. At some point your father
will be there, and he’ll ask you what’s
the matter.”
Bast grinned at her. “That’s when you
start to cry. No howling. Don’t blubber.
Just tears. Just lie there and cry. Then say
you miss your kitten so much. You miss
your kitten so much you don’t want to be
alive anymore.”
The little girl thought about it for a long
minute, petting her kitten absentmindedly
with one hand. Finally she nodded,
“Okay.” She turned to go.
“Hold on now!” Bast said quickly. “I
gave you what you wanted. You owe me
now.”
The little girl turned around, her
expression an odd mix of surprise and
anxious embarrassment. “I didn’t bring
any money,” she said, not meeting his
eye.
“Not money,” Bast said. “I gave you
two answers and a way to get your kitten.
You owe me three things. You pay with
gifts and favors. You pay in secrets …”
She thought for a moment. “Daddy
hides his strongbox key inside the mantel
clock.”
Bast nodded approvingly. “That’s one.”
The little girl looked up into the sky,
still petting her kitten. “I saw mama
kissing the maid once.”
Bast raised an eyebrow at that. “That’s
two …”
The girl put her finger in her ear and
wiggled it. “That’s all, I think.”
“How about a favor, then?” Bast said.
“I need you to fetch me two dozen
daisies with long stems. And a blue
ribbon. And two armfuls of gemlings.”
Viette’s face puckered in confusion.
“What’s a gemling?”
“Flowers,” Bast said, looking puzzled
himself. “Maybe you call them balsams?
They grow wild all over around here,”
he said, making a wide gesture with both
hands.
“Do you mean geraniums?” she asked.
Bast shook his head. “No. They’ve got
loose petals, and they’re about this big.”
he made a circle with his thumb and
middle finger. “They’re yellow and
orange and red …”
The girl stared at him blankly.
“Widow Creel keeps them in her
window box,” Bast continued. “When
you touch the seedpods, they pop …”
Viette’s face lit up. “Oh! You mean
touch-me-nots, ” she said, her tone more
than slightly patronizing. “I can bring you
a bunch of those. That’s easy. ” She
turned to run down the hill.
Bast called out before she’d taken six
steps. “Wait!” When she spun around, he
asked her. “What do you say if somebody
asks you who you’re picking flowers
for?”
She rolled her eyes again. “I tell them
it’s none of their tupping business,” she
said. “Because my daddy is the mayor.”
After Viette left, a high whistle made
Bast look down the hill toward the
greystone. There were no children
waiting there.
The whistle came again, and Bast
stood, stretching long and hard. It would
have surprised most of the young women
in town how easily he spotted the figure
standing in the shadow of the trees at the
edge of the clearing nearly two hundred
feet away.
Bast sauntered down the hill, across the
grassy field, and into the shadow of the
trees. There was an older boy there with
smudgy face and a pug nose. He was
perhaps twelve and his shirt and pants
were both too small for him, showing too
much dirty wrist at the cuff and bare
ankle below. He was barefoot and had a
slightly sour smell about him.
“Rike.” Bast’s voice held none of the
friendly, bantering tone he’d used with
the town’s other children. “How’s the
road to Tinuë?”
“It’s a long damn way,” the boy said
bitterly, not meeting Bast’s eye. “We live
in the ass of nowhere.”
“I see you have my book,” Bast said.
The boy held it out. “I wann’t tryin’ to
steal it,” he muttered quickly. “I just
needed to talk to you.”
Bast took the book silently.
“I didn’t break the rules,” the boy said.
“I didn’t even come into the clearing. But
I need help. I’ll pay for it.”
“You lied to me, Rike,” Bast said, his
voice grim.
“And din’t I pay for that?” the boy
demanded angrily, looking up for the first
time. “Din’t I pay for it ten times over?
Ent my life shit enough without having
more shit piled on top of it?”
“And it’s all beside the point because
you’re too old now,” Bast said flatly.
“I aren’t either!” the boy stomped a
foot. Then struggled and took a deep
breath, visibly forcing his temper back
under control. “Tam is older’n me and he
can still come to the tree! I’m just taller’n
him!”
“Those are the rules,” Bast said.
“It’s a shite rule!” the boy shouted, his
hands making angry fists. “And you’re a
shite little bastard who deserves more of
the belt than he gets!”
There was a silence then, broken only
by the boy’s ragged breathing. Rike’s
eyes were on the ground, fists clenched
at his sides, he was shaking.
Bast’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
The boy’s voice was rough. “Just one,”
Rike said. “Just one favor just this once.
It’s a big one. But I’ll pay. I’ll pay
triple.”
Bast drew a deep breath and let it out
as a sigh. “Rike, I—”
“Please, Bast?” He was still shaking,
but Bast realized the boy’s voice wasn’t
angry anymore. “Please?” Eyes still on
the ground, he took a hesitant step
forward. “Just … please?” His hand
reached out and just hung there aimlessly,
as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
Finally he caught hold of Bast’s
shirtsleeve and tugged it once, feebly,
before letting his hand fall back to his side.
“I just can’t fix this on my own.” Rike
looked up, eyes full of tears. His face
was twisted in a knot of anger and fear.
A boy too young to keep from crying, but
still old enough so that he couldn’t help
but hate himself for doing it.
“I need you to get rid of my da,” he said
in a broken voice. “I can’t figure a way. I
could stick him while he’s asleep, but my
ma would find out. He drinks and hits at
her. And she cries all the time and then
he hits her more.”
Rike was looking at the ground again,
the words pouring out of him in a gush. “I
could get him when he’s drunk
somewhere, but he’s so big. I couldn’t
move him. They’d find the body and then
The Lightning Tree Page 4
