The Lightning Tree

by Patrick Rothfuss

  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