Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (9 page)

Taking a deep breath of the fragrant air, he climbed over a steep mossy mound and moved deeper into the grove. For a while, he walked on, stopping occasionally to break a watervine open for a quick drink, or to pick a few mulberries to eat. It was quite soothing, and he found himself relaxing a bit. Until he heard a strange laughing sound from up ahead.

He peered forwards. It was definitely a human voice. He couldn’t quite make out where it was exactly, but it seemed to emanate from the dark gap between two hanging curtains of banyan roots. Walking carefully, one foot in front of the other, he moved up to the gap and saw that the banyan roots had grown so thick that they seemed to form two gnarly walls. It was from somewhere down this natural passageway that the sound came.

He walked forwards into the gap, opening his eyes wide to adjust to the darkness, and after a few seconds he found himself standing in what seemed to be, for all intents and purposes, a covered porch to someone’s home. He moved further forwards and saw a doorway leading inside, so he crept through it. There was an odd smell he had never encountered before. An acrid smell, vaguely floral, but sharp. Intrigued, he edged his head around the corner to peek inside.

It was a mess. There was a small candle set in the corner of the room which gave off enough light to illuminate the shambles inside. Containers were strewn everywhere and clothes were lying all over the damp mossy floor. And there, slumped over on a leather bag, was an obese forester with a bushy orange beard that curled out from his cheeks in great knotted tangles. As Raf watched, he held a small pipe to his mouth, sucked the end and then coughed. The strange smell was obviously coming from the pipe.

It
had
to be Bhothy, of course. Everyone knew about the Foreman’s banished cousin, but no one ever saw him or had anything to do with him; it was strictly forbidden. And he’d been living here just a few miles south of the village all this time? Apparently all he’d been doing was eating. Raf had never seen a stomach like that on a forester! He shuffled sideways to get a better view but felt his foot slide on the slick mossy floor, knocking into a small table.

“What?” shouted the man spinning around. “Wh’sat? Who’s there?”

Raf twisted desperately to back out of the doorway, but as he moved, both feet slipped on the damp moss again, and he lost his balance, stumbling over to crash headfirst against the wall. There was a sharp wave of crushing pain through his head before everything went black.

“W
hat to do, what to do…”
Cough.
“Stupid kid.”

Raf slowly came to. He lifted his head up and saw the man sitting on the same bag as before, puffing away at the pipe. He was rocking backwards and forwards, staring at the floor.

“Um…” he mumbled, “excuse me, but… aren’t you Bhothy?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Raf. Raf Gency.”

“Tarvil’s boy?” The man snorted in irritation. “Just what I need. A Council cub sniffing around, trying to kill himself.” He shook his head from side to side and then took another long drag on the pungent pipe. “I am Bhothy.”

He exhaled thick smoke up into the air. The smell made Raf feel a bit nauseous, and his head wobbled a bit. The man looked at him, eyes bloodshot, and held out the smoldering pipe. “Want some?” He suddenly giggled. “Course not. Wouldn’t be
prudent
for a Council boy.” 

He stared at Raf, eyebrows lifted high on his head, and then made a squeaking noise as he tried to hold in another bout of giggling but failed. He ended up wheezing violently and coughing into his arm sleeve. Then he turned back to Raf and, wrinkling his nose up, said in a husky voice, “You take it down wrong, you cough your lungs up.”

Raf stared at him; the man was mad. “Are you all right?”

“All right?” snapped the man, “Am I all right?” He put his fingers to his chin in a dramatically thoughtful pose. “Now that you mention it, I’m just wonderful thank you. The only human I’ve spoken to, other than you of course, in over ten years is my marvelous cousin Eliath; a bit of a serious fellow, if you get my drift. And now you, who come stumbling in here and almost give me a blimmin’ heart attack.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“Didn’t
mean
to?” Bhothy scoffed. “How can you not mean to come poking your nose around this forbidden area? It
is
still forbidden, right?”

“I didn’t know I was near here. Yesterday, there was… well, something happened and I went for a walk.”

“Oooh, a walk,” mocked Bhothy.

“Yes, a walk,” replied Raf in irritation. “I thought I heard talking so I came to see who it was. Only, because you obviously don’t ever clean the floor, the moss is quite slipp-”

“You mind your tongue,” said the man sullenly. He glanced around the room and scratched his tangled beard. Crumbs fell out of it onto his chest. “I didn’t know I’d have guests. Besides, that’s hardly the way to speak to someone who’s just healed you.”

“What?”

“Of course, you wouldn’t know, you were knocked out. Silly me.”

Raf touched his forehead, remembering what had happened. He realized it didn’t actually hurt that much - not nearly as much as he expected it to. He looked at Bhothy in confusion. “Are you a healer? Like Dr Ferrows?”

“No.”

“Well then wh-”

“Shhh!” Bhothy suddenly opened his eyes widely and moved his eyeballs from side to side, bringing his finger up to his mouth. “Too many questions.”

“But… if you healed me, then I owe you my thanks.”

“Rubbish. Anyone would have done it. You would have done it to me.”

“Healed you? Not likely. I’m not even an apprentice healer. I’ve no idea which herbs to use, or anything.”

“Herbs?” Bhothy hooted with delight. “Brilliant! A thousand years of music and we’re reduced to using
parsley
to cure our problems.” He laughed loudly, only stopping when he was taken by a fit of coughing.

“What would you use, then?” asked Raf, feeling a little peeved. “Sing a song to cure someone? Yeah, I can see how that would work. ‘La-dee-dah’ and your fever’s gone.”

“Worked well enough on you, Council boy,” muttered Bhothy, turning away.

He put the small pipe clumsily into his mouth at an angle and then stumbled over to the table in the middle of the floor where there was a small bush in a pot. It had no greenery on the spindly branches and seemed to be dead.

“Blast,” mumbled Bhothy. “Running out.” He carefully picked up a small yellow, dried leaf lying on the table between his fumbling fingers, scrunched it up and inserted it into the hollow end of the pipe. Then he drew a thin pine splinter from a box next to the bush and struck it against the rough side. It sparked and flared up into a solid yellow flame that he held to the crushed leaf, drawing in a deep breath so that the end glowed brightly. He immediately broke into a bout of dry hacking and then, with a painful grimace on his face, offered a strained smile at Raf and flopped down onto the bag again, almost falling off in the process.

“Is that the end of your supply of leaves, then?” Raf asked. “What a pity it’s all finished now.”

Bhothy gave him a faint smile. “I think you’ll find that if you look closely, it isn’t all gone. Not at all…” He giggled and tucked his chin to his chest, closing his eyes.

Raf sadly shook his head as he took in the small plant. It had definitely seen better days and if it wasn’t dead, it was certainly on its last legs. He thought he could hear Bhothy singing, of all things, and lifted a hand up to cover his eyes in frustration. A tendril of violet suddenly flared up in the darkness behind his eyelids.

“What?” He opened his eyes and blinked them furiously to clear them. “Not again…” He stood up and turned to say something to Bhothy, when he saw the bush move. It was vibrating.  Every tiny branch on it was writhing in tiny motions. Then without warning, new buds appeared. They just suddenly emerged along the branches like tiny green dewdrops, and as he stood watching in disbelief, they elongated smoothly and started unfolding.

Bhothy stopped singing and a soft snore gurgled from his throat, his head sliding sideways to rest against the side of the bag. Raf gazed silently at the bush which had now stopped moving. It was completely covered in a mass of fresh new leaves.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

“See if you can drape some over there, Farley. But not quite as close together as the other ones,” called up Leiana. “No wait! Leave that one, just move over to the next one and try to make them more symmetrical.” She rolled her eyes at the wiry little man clambering around in the foliage above.

Turning to the woman next to her she murmured, “Be a darling and make sure that he doesn’t kill himself. Or worse - get the drapes wrong.”

She marched off towards the north end of the patch where, a little to her left, a group of men was digging in the fields, chanting a two-part harmony.

“Yentl!” she called. A tiny woman turned from inspecting a scaffold that was being constructed
and walked to meet her. “Any more since this morning’s announcement?”

The woman pursed her lips. “You wouldn’t believe it, Councilwoman, but eleven signed up right afterwards and we’ve had another
seven
since then, which brings us to eighteen in total. The Foreman’s address this morning has put some spark into Eirdale it seems.”

“Yes… but, eighteen?” repeated Leiana. “Do we even have room for that many stalls here?”

“We can fit about fourteen here along the eastern edge of the patch, but I was thinking we might as well squeeze a few up around the small commons the boys are clearing out. I can’t imagine that some of them are going to be that popular – I mean, old Selene Jaron has even requested a space to sell roasted cashews, of all things! I can’t very well deny her though. She may not be around for our next turn to host.”

“Well, put her stall next to Jover’s stand. Anyone who eats her cashews and the mounds of salt she smothers them with will be thirsty. And with his mead nearby…”

Yentl smiled. “Perfect,” she said, and made a note on her list she was carrying.

They continued walking up the middle of the clearing, inspecting the various barriers and railings being erected on either side around the allocated plots for stands. Hundreds of flowers had been planted in patterns over every free inch of space, and while most were only just budding, they should blossom just in time for the arrival of the Festival visitors, and Leiana suspected it would be spectacular when in full bloom. It was all definitely coming together.

Wandering up towards the school, she snuck inside to listen to the choir practicing. Leiana caught Resma’s eye and nodded at her over the small crowd of enthusiastic youngsters who were running through the refrain of one of the Festival
ayres.
There were a few tuning issues, but the sheer enthusiasm of the kids made up for it and the overall sound was quite pleasant.

They came to the end and Resma signaled with her baton for them to stop. A few elderly bystanders gave a smattering of applause and, clapping along as well, Leiana nodded to Resma who joined her.

“Wonderful.” She gazed back at the milling crowd of children chatting amongst themselves. “Any genuine talent? Soloists for the final show?”

“Probably only three or four really,” said Resma. “Your Rio is coming along nicely, but he’s yet to find any volume and might struggle on the stage a bit.”

“Pfff,” muttered Leiana dismissively. “I’ll have a word with him. We’ll have both him and Raf ready for it.” Resma nodded vaguely and turned to look back at the kids.

“Who else then?” asked Leiana.

“Well, little Darren Tonder has a lovely voice. Tarryn Almary is turning into a superb little soprano, and there’s one more – a bit of a surprise, really.” She looked over to the crowd and beckoned to the young boy standing by himself. He quickly trotted up and greeted them politely. When he saw it was Leiana, his face opened into a broad smile.

“Hello there, Fergus,” said Leiana. “I hope you’re settling down well living with Jover.”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Gency! Mr. Jover is letting me work for him up in the canopy farms. I climb to the ones right up near the top. He says I climb better than a marmoset! And he has a huge room in his oak tree-house that I live in, just me by myself.”

Leiana smiled at him.

“You might be surprised to learn that this little city urchin has one of the most beautiful little voices I’ve heard in a while. I’m teaching him one of the traditional
ayres
for the second night. I think it would be fantastic to have him sing during the feast. He only needs to hear something once and he knows it. Not to mention the fact that he’s a natural when he’s up on stage w-”

“- I used to juggle by the city docks,” interrupted Fergus excitedly. “Sometimes the fishermen would even give me coins!” Both women laughed and Leiana reached down to tussle his messy sandy hair, ushering him back to the choir.