Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (8 page)

“You haven’t heard the last of this, forester. I’ll have the Gerent’s guards on you as soon as I speak to him. Your days are numbered,” Wesp snarled.

With a flick of the whip, the goats started pulling the wagon forwards again. As it rolled past, Fergus stalled, staring back mournfully at the villagers.

Raf thought quickly. There was no time left and he had to do
something
. Waving quickly to catch Fergus’ attention, he mouthed at him.

“Hurry up, boy, blast you!” shouted Wesp, leaning down to hit the boy across his back with a long whip. Fergus didn’t seem to even notice as he stood staring intently at Raf.

Ignoring the questioning looks he was getting from the Foreman, Raf nodded urgently, appealing to Fergus with a desperate look.

“San….. s….s…”

“Oy!” snapped Wesp. “You shut up, boy!” He cracked his whip against the boy’s back again. “Keep walking!”

Fergus flinched and then, slowly lifting his clasped hands in front of him, he looked at the Foreman. “Sanctuary.”

A silence fell among the crowd who had gathered behind them and Raf saw the Foreman’s face tighten. With a creak, the wagon pulled up and Wesp started clambering down to the boy, growling in a rage.

“Please,” said Fergus. “S-sanctuary.”

“Foreman?” Madame Ottery stormed forward and marched up to him.

He looked at her, took in the other anxious expressions around him, and then, with a quick glance at Raf, he nodded. “Accepted.”

The word cut through the silence like a knife and suddenly from behind them came an outburst of cheering from the foresters. Fergus sprinted forward just ahead of Wesp’s grasping fingers to wrap the Foreman in a tight hug. Madame Ottery broke into a song and started clapping, patting the boy on his back, when suddenly there was an enormous explosion above them.

Wesp stood with his arm in the air, the pepperbox pointed upwards with a thin wisp of smoke trickling out of the end. “What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled. “Boy, come back and get on this wagon. Now!”

Fergus held tightly to the Foreman, eyes closed.

“But the boy has requested sanctuary and we have accepted. You heard him, trader,” said Madame Ottery.

“I don’t care what he said! Either he gets back on this wagon or I start shooting.”

Gasps of fear echoed through the crowd and people scampered backwards. The Foreman lifted his hand to stop them and then disengaged the boy from himself to push him across to Madame Ottery.

“According to our laws, the boy has been welcomed as a member of our village now, trader.”

Wesp snarled savagely and suddenly shot the pepperbox again, a second deafening explosion that made them all jump. “I don’t care about your laws, you fools! I will shoot someone if he isn’t back on the wagon in three seconds!” He waved the weapon wildly at them. “One.”

Raf thought desperately.
What do I do? This is my fault!

“Two.”

The Foreman was trying to say something to Wesp, appealing to him, but the trader wasn’t listening, just wildly swinging the pepperbox from left to right at the crowd. There were screams as people tried to duck and scramble away.

“Thr-”

It all happened so slowly in Raf’s head. Wesp swung the pepperbox to point at the Foreman. In one smooth motion, Raf grabbed the hilt of his knife, whipped his arm backwards and then flung it at Wesp. He watched in slow motion as the knife spun through the air. There was a bright spark as the knife blade hit the pepperbox and knocked it out of Wesp’s hand to clatter to the ground.

Wesp screamed in pain. He held his hand to his chest and Raf saw a line of blood run down his right arm. One of his fingers looked like… Raf gagged as he realized half of the finger was
gone
. It had been sliced off.

There was silence as Wesp moaned through clenched teeth, his face screwed up grotesquely in pain. He stumbled to the wagon, shrieking a command at the goats as he clambered on board. The animals, already nervous from the shots, took off in terror and the wagon skidded and reeled as it tore off down the path, bouncing violently over roots. Wesp turned around, face contorted in agony, to give them one last venomous look, before he disappeared into the night.

As the wagon noises faded, the only sound left was a soft whimpering. Madame Ottery looked down to stroke the hair of a shaking Fergus who was standing with tears streaming down his face.

“It’s all right, dear. He’s gone now. You’re going to stay with us here in Eirdale.” He looked up at her, eyes red, tears still streaming, and gave her a brave half smile.

The Foreman gazed in the direction of the vanished wagon. “Orikon.”

The hunter nodded once at him before jogging down the path after the wagon. Then the Foreman walked slowly up to where Wesp had been standing and stooped down to pick up both the pepperbox and the knife. Stony-faced, he held out the knife until Raf hesitantly took it, and then moved through the crowd which opened up for him.

Somewhere in the distance a peacock called and was answered by another. The sounds passed unnoticed as the small crowd dispersed into the night.

“N
othing, Foreman. No sign.”

“You’re sure, Orikon?”

The tall hunter nodded. “I followed his tracks all the way up past Emborough. He drove the animals hard and without break towards the Pass. We are clear of him.”

Dr Allid shook his head. “He won’t be back. He has learned a lesson, I think. We foresters are not to be easy prey for city scum like him. Just as well Orikon kept an eye on him.” A few of the others grunted in agreement.

“Yet, I cannot help but wonder what that man will do when he returns,” replied the Foreman rubbing his eyes. “Traders talk, and when word gets around about what happened -”

“Nobody will listen,” asserted Leiana. “People know better than to pay any attention to a revolting creature like that.”

“Leiana, you don’t know Miern. In a city that big, that dense, word gets around – even if it’s from someone like our trader friend. We can’t afford to lose trade.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Resma and I will organize a Festival like the Aeril Forest has never witnessed, and people will arrive in droves. Good news will spread,” said Leiana, standing up. “It’s finally our turn to host it, and now that we have the coin, I will see Eirdale carved into Forest history.” Madame Ottery clapped enthusiastically.

“I’m sure you will, Leiana.” answered the Foreman. “We need something positive now to focus on after yesterday’s incident. In fact, I think I’ll make an announcement after this meeting to let the villagers know our Festival is definitely happening and put pay to the rumors that were no doubt flying around.” Leiana rolled her eyes at this and gave a sour shake of her head.

The Foreman stopped on his way out. “How is Raf today? I didn’t see him this morning and was hoping to have a word. He must be shaken after last night. Word of the story has spread through the village, understandably, and he seems popular all of a sudden. Perhaps… he’d like a place on the final bill to perform at the Festival end?”

Tarvil laughed and then covered it up quickly with a hand to his mouth, pretending to cough. The Foreman looked at him suspiciously.

“I… er... I am not completely sure that that… would be such a welcome gesture, Foreman,” said Tarvil carefully. “Raf doesn’t much like performing. He gets stage fright and would pro-”

“- what my husband
means
is that Raf would be delighted
to perform in the Festival for Eirdale,” Leiana interrupted. “He could even play that instrument that he made: Orfea, was it?”

The Foreman looked at her and then at Tarvil who stood there pursing his lips as he looked at his wife out of the corner of his eyes. “Well… I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Leiana. I’ll go and let the village know our news now.”

He started chanting the
farwelayre
and the others joined in. For a moment, the chamber resonated with vibrant harmony, and then the Council shuffled out into the darkening dusk. Leiana immediately set off at a brisk pace towards their home and Tarvil had to rush to catch up with her.

“I think you might have considered that better, dear,” he said tentatively, matching her strides.

She stared ahead. “I’ve no idea what you mean. The performance will be good for Raf. And good for the village.”

“Good for Raf? Dear, you know perfectly well that he won’t want to. He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to perform.”

She stopped and turned towards him, hands moving to perch on her hips, mouth tightening furiously. “Doesn’t
want
to? This Festival is the lifeblood of the Aeril Forest! It is the single most important event in the year. Without it, we would… we…” She hesitated. “Well, it would be disastrous. It
must
happen. It
must
be spectacular. And we simply must have a few representatives from Eirdale in it this year, especially if
we’re
organizing it. I’m sick of watching those Hunton Daire folk and the Three Ways show-offs hogging the stage. Raf is a competent musician and, although I have my own opinion about last night’s incident, if the Foreman has offered him this opportunity, then he’s doing it. There are no two ways about it.” She marched off.

Tarvil trudged back home, deep in thought. As he walked up to the boys’ branch of their sycamore, he caught sight of Rio and one of his classmates up ahead in a small thicket of bamboo, playing with some toy bows and arrows they had made.

“Rio!” The boy turned to see him and then ran up pretending to shoot an arrow at him. “Oohhhhh… you got me.” Tarvil staggered around on the spot, holding his hands to his chest while Rio giggled.

“Do you like my new bow, Dad? I made it today. Me and Fechin both made one. We’re gonna hunt wild boars!”

“Wow,” said Tarvil. “Can you make me one too?” They both nodded delightedly at him. Tarvil reached down to Rio’s tangled blond locks and gave them a fond ruffle. “Are you looking forward to the Festival, boys? It’s not far away now.”

“Yeah!” burbled Fechin. “Madame Ottery is teaching us a new song and everything. It’ll be brilliant!” Rio nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“I hope so,” said Tarvil. “Tell me, do you know where your brother is? I didn’t see him at breakfast or lunch today.”

“No, he was gone this morning when I got up,” said Rio.

“Well, if you see him, can you send him to me? I’ll be over
eastside at the new buildings with the Foreman.”

Rio nodded, and Tarvil got to his feet. He wandered down towards the building sites where he could hear instructions being shouted out by Foreman Manyara. There was precious little time now to get ready and the Foreman was pushing hard to make sure everything was perfect. Not that he liked to bully people; he was one of the calmest people Tarvil knew. In fact, he had only ever broken his cool composure once, that Tarvil had seen, and that was some ten years ago when he had caught his own cousin, Bhothy, trying to light a fire in the middle of one of the plantations.

Bhothy was a sad case. His birthright was to hold the official village Bard role, something which didn’t really exist anymore – which was probably the reason he had turned out so irresponsible and reckless. The man had been so drunk that he had dropped a cask of gin over the fire which had then set ablaze the trunk of a beech
Ancient
. If the Foreman hadn’t caught it in time, the consequences would have been too dreadful to imagine. Living up on their Forest platform held a few obvious, inherent dangers.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Raf woke up and looked around, rubbing his neck which ached from the odd angle he’d been slouched in. He hadn’t been able to get to sleep and left their home a few hours before dawn, walking around aimlessly until finally he succumbed to fatigue. He had made himself comfortable against the soft moss on some oak roots and fell soundly asleep.

He wasn’t completely sure where he was; he’d taken no notice of where he was going other than
heading in a generally south-west direction. His head was still spinning after the events of the night before and he couldn’t stop playing the scene over and over again in his mind.

Stretching and yawning, he rolled onto his knees and stood up, squinting in the mottled sunlight. He’d found his way into the banyan grove, it seemed; it was much darker here. The banyans grew in a tangled mess that cut out much of the light. The ground and trees were also covered in moss. Every inch of every surface seemed to be caked in shades of green, from the dark green that carpeted the ground, to the streaks of bright moss and lichen that decorated the banyan branches.

It used to be thick with olive and birch trees many years ago, but then the strangler figs, or banyans that flourished in the Forest set upon them rapidly. Vince talked about it as if it was quite gruesome and, in a way, Raf supposed it was. The strangler figs basically colonized the other trees - grew all over it and around them - destroying them. But because of the way vines grew, spiraling and crisscrossing their way upwards, the whole process left behind strange webs of ropy branches.