Treespeaker (16 page)

“You are truly an enigma. A Treespeaker who cannot Speak or heal himself.”

Jakan ran his fingers through his hair, frustration making his heart pound. “But how do you know?” he asked through gritted teeth. “How do you know what I carry at my throat? What do you know of Treespeakers?”

With a wry smile, she answered, “I’m Finhekja, formerly known as Ganhekja, daughter of Barangan, of the Third Tribe of Arrakesh.”

 “I’ve heard of Barangan,” Jakan said. “His son, Fasangan, is now Treespeaker of the Third Tribe. But I never heard anything of a daughter. How do you come to be here? And you still haven’t answered my question.”

Hekja shook her head sadly. “My father had two children, a son and a daughter. His son made him proud, becoming a great Treespeaker. I, on the other hand, was a great disappointment.”

“Why?”

She began fussing with something in her bag. At last she turned back to him, her brown eyes softening as she gazed at him. “Why are you here, Treespeaker? Shouldn’t you be with your son so soon after he lost his mother?”

Jakan gasped. His heart thudded against his chest and fresh grief burned at his eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He had pushed his grief down to the depths of his mind, unable to bear it. “I’ve told you nothing of myself. How can you know these things?”

“A shadhi can know a lot of things.”

Jakan felt his muscles tense. “You’re a shadhi?”

Hekja gave an almost imperceptible nod as she fidgeted with her skirt. “My brother was given the gift of Treespeaking, but I also developed gifts. I can filter and heal and I can read minds - though I’d prefer if you kept that to yourself.”

Jakan rubbed his face. “I’ve heard of the shadhi, but I thought they were part of the past like our totems, the jikhoshi. I’ve never heard of one in living memory.”

Hekja was again looking into her bag and swung around, her eyebrows raised. “But you knew one! He’s there in your recent thoughts!”

 “I’ve never known a shadhi.”

One side of Hekja’s mouth curled into a smile. “No, he would never have told you.” She chuckled. “He was too wily for that. I met him when he and I were just children at the Green Lake. We found each other in the crowd straight away. He could read thoughts as clearly as if they were spoken, but he never let anyone know. I’m sure he used his gifts, though, for he was much respected for his intuition and wisdom.”

As she spoke, the truth slowly dawned for Jakan. Kattan! Kattan’s ability to ‘read’ his face – it had not been intuition. He had been able to read thoughts, to get inside a person’s mind and know exactly what they meant. Wily indeed! Jakan had never suspected over all these years. He thought back to all the times Kattan had seemed to know more than he had been told. The moments before Kattan’s death came back to him. Kattan had known without him telling what Arrakesh had told him of the leadership. He had known of the danger that Beldror presented.
Ah, Kattan,
Jakan thought,
how I miss you now!

Hekja reached out and softly laid her bony hand on his. “I can’t replace an old friend in your heart,” she said, “but I can be a new one, if you’ll let me.”

Her words brought a lump to his throat and he looked away. It was strange to have someone know your private thoughts, and yet comforting in a way. This stranger knew everything about him, everything that had happened to him, without any need for explanation. Could he have trusted Kattan so well, knowing that he could keep nothing private from him? In hindsight, he decided that he could.

His emotions now a little more under control, he turned back to Hekja. “Can you use a healing stone?”

Hekja didn’t answer, but picked up her bag again and brought out some more ointment. She clutched it to her breast, her eyes narrowing suddenly.

“There is evil here!” she whispered.

Jakan tried to sit up to see what was worrying her. A second later, he knew. The piercing shriek of the hawk made his blood chill. As he expected, the pain took him like a clenching fist, squeezing his chest and making his blood roar through his head like an avalanche. Through the agony, he was aware of Hekja calling for Roduph and Merida. Then he felt her hands on his chest and sensed the pain being drawn away, slowly, slowly, until at last, he could breathe again. Relief flowed through his body. Hekja’s hands were still there. Now instead of drawing pain away they were bestowing a peace that flowed into and around his body like a soft spring breeze. Everything about him began to lose meaning. All he wanted was the sweet sleep that the breeze promised. He didn’t fight it, he didn’t want to. All his trust was in this old woman.

Dovan stood beneath Trifhag Klen, The Tree of the Second Tribe. His knees shook as he waited for Putak. Unlike Padhag Klen, this was not an oak, but a multi-trunked yew, wide and gnarled. Dovan didn’t touch it. He would wait until Putak, sitting on a nearby log in silent meditation, came to tell him what to do.

At last Putak opened his eyes and gave a solemn nod, as if acknowledging something someone said. He stood and came towards Dovan, smiling a little, his hand held out. He grasped Dovan’s elbow and squeezed it.

How do you feel?
His thoughtspeak sounded distinct in Dovan’s mind. They had spent most of the last hour in silent conversation and Dovan found it came quite easily to him. Speaking to Arrakesh, however, was a different matter.

I’m nervous.

The older Treespeaker’s smile widened and he shook his head. “Don’t be afraid. You have much to learn, but Arrakesh is a gentle teacher.” He turned and faced the tree, motioning Dovan to do the same. “Put the palms of your hands against the trunk, close your eyes and try to clear your mind.”

Dovan did as he was told. The first part was easy, but his mind whirled with thoughts that refused to be quelled. Where was his father? What was Beldror up to? Was Megda all right? Then he thought of his mother.
Why, Arrakesh? Why?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Putak, his other hand on the trunk, shook his head.

“It isn’t easy, I know, but before you can find Arrakesh, you must find the centre of your soul, for that’s where he speaks to you.”

Dovan blew out a long breath in frustration and dropped his head between his arms, which were still up against the tree. “I keep thinking.”

“Don’t think. Imagine there is an unfathomable hole in your mind. When a thought comes along, drop it into the hole and watch it fall. Keep doing that until you feel yourself falling too. Don’t fight it. Just let yourself go until you feel that you’re floating. Then call for Arrakesh. He’ll come to you there.”

 “I’ll try.”

Once again, Dovan shut his eyes and tried to do as Putak had suggested, but though he released the thoughts as soon as they came, they seemed to bounce against the walls and resurface. He dropped his hands from the tree and stepped back.

“It’s not working! I can’t do this!”

Putak took a few moments to open his own eyes. He turned to Dovan with a patient smile. “It is difficult. But the gift is there, you simply need to learn how to use it. It took me hours the first time.”

Dovan rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. He bent down, picked up a stone and looked at it intently as he spoke. “What if I don’t want the gift?”

The words came out before he could hold them back and he bit his lip. He expected the old Treespeaker to be shocked, angry. Surely, it must be blasphemous to want to refuse the honour of being Treespeaker? Yet Putak’s face held nothing but sympathy.

“Don’t think you’re the first to say that,” he said. “Your own father tried to run from it. It’s not an easy task. It involves huge responsibility, even more so for you. But when the gift’s offered, you must take it. If you don’t, it’ll follow you, gnaw at you, for the rest of your life. Imagine, one day, watching one of your people die, knowing that you could have saved them, if you only knew how. Or seeing your people starving in winter, because no one could tell them the Will of Arrakesh.”

“But Arrakesh will make someone else Treespeaker if I’m not.” Even as he said it, Dovan knew he was wrong, however much he might wish it to be true. As he feared, Putak shook his head.

“Arrakesh chose you, long ago. Over the years, he’s nurtured the gift in you. It would take many years before another Treespeaker came along.”

 “But what if I went out hunting and was killed? Who would replace me?”

“Arrakesh knows your life. He's prepared for every contingency.”

“Then he’ll be prepared for me to refuse to be Treespeaker?”

Putak stood up straight, his head back. His voice was firm now. “No. He’ll replace a Treespeaker in death, not in disobedience.”

Dovan shut his eyes and hung his head. He was trapped. How had this happened? One minute he was part of a loving family, looking forward to sharesh. The next, his mother was dead, his father missing, and he was responsible for the well being of a whole village. Why him? His father, wherever he might be, was still Treespeaker.

An implication of Putak’s words brought a wave of nausea. “Putak! My father became a Treespeaker just before his father died. Does that mean…?” He couldn’t go on. The thought made his stomach churn and his heart thump.

The old Treespeaker clasped Dovan’s arms. “Arrakesh is offering you the chance to know a little of what’s in his mind. Why are you questioning me, when you could question him?”

Blinking back the tears that stung his eyes, Dovan moved without a word to the tree and placed his hands against the trunk. Whatever plans he may have had, he must resign himself to this. Putak patted him on the back before approaching the tree himself.

Relax. Let yourself down, floating slowly, down into the deepest hole you can imagine, deeper than you can imagine…
Putak’s thoughtspeak came in a slow, soothing rhythm. Dovan shut his eyes, letting the words drift through his mind. His shoulders sank and his breathing slowed as Putak spoke on. His words grew softer, further away, as Dovan slipped down into the unknown depths of his own mind. When he realised, at last, what was happening, a sudden surge of elation jolted him back to the tree. He muttered a curse under his breath before glancing at Putak.

“You were almost there that time.” The Treespeaker’s eyes shone. “Try again, but this time, stay calm when you reach the centre and call for Arrakesh.”

Dovan blew a long breath over his hot face and shut his eyes once more. He tried again, then again and again, before turning from the tree with a growl, thumping his fist at the air in front of him. He stalked away to the edge of the clearing. Putak didn’t follow him, but stayed by the tree, his head down, his shoulders slumped. At last he glanced up at Dovan.

“Let’s rest for a while.” Putak pointed to a nearby rock and they sat on it in silence for a few moments. Dovan’s mind was a swirl of conflicting emotions as he tipped his head back and gazed into the branches of the Yew. A hawk circled high in the blue sky, reminding him of his situation. He didn’t want to be Treespeaker, yet he needed to know all he could and the only way was to accept the gift. But how, when he couldn’t reach Arrakesh? His father always looked so relaxed when he sought Arrakesh. Where was his father? What was happening to him?

As if reading his thoughts, Putak sat up straight and turned to him. “Tell me, if you’re here and your father has gone into the Outlands, aren’t your people worrying as to where you both are?”

Dovan explained to him the alibi Megda had constructed. “I’ll return in a couple of days and say that I can’t find him,” he went on.

 “But surely the rest of your village will be out looking too?”

 “I don’t think so. Beldror will have given them some reason why they shouldn't, I'm sure. Megda is hoping that we will know who’s not under Beldror’s power, by those who still want to search.”

“Ah, Megda is a wise woman.” Putak smiled. “When you return, I’ll come with you. I would like to meet this Beldror.”

“Why?”

Putak stood and began to walk as he answered. “I promised your father that I would help you. I can’t do that unless I know what you face.” He whipped around with a look of concern. “Who knows of your gift? Does Beldror?”

“No one but Megda knows.”

Putak nodded his satisfaction. “Good. It is better that no one knows for now.”

“But won’t they wonder why you’ve come to the village with me?”

“You came to my village in the hope of finding your father. That’s the truth. Well, some of the truth. I offered to hold a farewell for your mother, as there was no Treespeaker to do it.”

Dovan felt a surge of shame, intermingled with grief. He had not even thought of a farewell. His mind had been so set upon his task here. He frowned. “But the cottage was completely destroyed. You can’t…” He stopped, unable to go on.

Putak shook his head and gave a sad smile. “Your mother deserves something. She’s already with Arrakesh, I am sure of that, but we can still wish her farewell. Now, come, we’ll try this once more.” He cast Dovan a look of encouragement and beckoned with a wave of his hand.

With a sigh, Dovan followed him back to the tree. At the trunk he raised his palms, but the Treespeaker stayed him with a hand on his arm.

“Before you start, try thinking of a phrase you can repeat over and over to yourself. Something simple like, ‘Show me your will’. I’ll talk you in again, but keep that phrase in your mind as you relax into the centre. Then, when you feel yourself reaching Arrakesh’s presence, keep saying it. It might help you to stay centred.”

“How will he answer?”

“It depends. Sometimes you ‘hear’ the answer, like the whispers you have heard already. Sometimes you will see an image. The important thing is to relax and not to try to understand until it’s over.” Putak lifted his palms to rest on the trunk.

Dovan followed and shut his eyes. ‘Show me your will.’ For his own sanity he needed to get this right. He started to repeat the phrase over and over in his head as Putak’s words drew him further and further into his own mind.

As he felt himself beginning to float, he held to the words he uttered. This time he didn’t come back to consciousness. In his mind he saw a swirling mist. Still saying the words, he watched as the mist cleared. Two hands appeared.
Show me your will, show me your will.
The hands were relaxed, empty, palms upwards. The left wrist bore the tree-shaped tattoo of the Treespeaker. As he looked, more mists swirled over the scene. The hands disappeared, then reappeared, in the same position, this time holding a smooth white stone. The tattoo had vanished and the hands bore cuts and scrapes, but they were definitely the same hands. As they clouded once more, Dovan felt himself rising from the centre. He opened his eyes.

Beside him, Putak studied him. “Tell me what happened.”

Dovan took a deep breath. He shook with the excitement of the realisation that he had actually done it. “I saw hands.”

“Tell me about the hands.”

Dovan told him everything he had seen. Putak said nothing until he had finished, but nodded at intervals. “Tell me,” he said at last, “is there anything else you can tell me about the hands?”

Dovan narrowed his eyes, trying to picture the hands again. Palms up, tattoo, no tattoo, stone, what else? There was something else. He looked up suddenly, his eyes wide. “They were Father’s hands!”

Putak smiled a little. “How do you know that?”

“The scar on the wrist of his right hand, he got it from a wild boar many years ago.”

 “Now, here is the next task.” The Treespeaker laid a hand on his arm. “Tell me what it meant.”

Dovan’s heart dropped. What did it mean? He had no idea. He shook his head in exasperation. “How do I know that?”

Putak motioned him to sit down on the earth beneath the tree. When they were both comfortable, the Treespeaker took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing his shoulders as he did.

“Close your eyes. Bring to your mind the images you saw as you touched the tree and tell me what you feel. Not what you think, what you feel. It may take a while to come, so don’t rush and don’t try to think. Let it interpret itself, for you can’t do it alone.”

Frowning a little, Dovan shut his eyes and tried to relax. It proved impossible. Exhaustion made his mind blank and his thoughts began to rush in, like streams of water into a hollow. As they met, they merged together into a muddied pool. He gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head. “I can’t do it. I just want to sleep.”