Timshel

by Lillian Turner

  Here the trees grew so impossibly enormous their trunks were thicker than Eiland was tall. Their bark was ropey and red as fresh clay.

  This morning they had come upon one as wide as a small house, and Eiland had made Charon stop awhile so that he could gaze in wonder. Even the lowest branches had been far out of his reach, so Eiland had walked in a circle around its base, tripping over roots with his head tilted back.

  It had taken him several minutes to make it all the way back around to Charon, who’d laughed at him. “It’s just a tree.”

  “That—that is not just a tree, Charon. That is…that’s…”

  Words deserted Eiland and he waved his hands up at the tree. Charon laughed again. It surprised Eiland to hear him so relaxed.

  Then he remembered that for several weeks Charon had thought Eiland wanted to cut his throat, and Charon’s recent ease of manner made a terrible kind of sense.

  They wove their way through the great red trunks, moving slowly but steadily upward. Beyond the thick canopy of branches he sometimes caught a glimpse of snow-capped peaks, now not quite so distant. Charon had assured him that they wouldn’t be climbing any mountains on the way to…wherever they were going, but the sight of them still made Eiland strangely nervous.

  Green ferns grew thick on the forest floor around them. Fog hung heavy in the mornings, giving the woods an ethereal atmosphere. Eiland thought that if the gods lived anywhere, it would be in the tops of these great trees.

  Then they crested a hill in pursuit of chimney stacks, and he gasped at the sight before them. “Oh, they do live in the trees!”

  All around them sprawled a thick grove of many-limbed trees whose branches grew outward from their trunks then bent and shot straight upward at the sky. Eiland would have thought that they had been twisted that way a-purpose, but their branches were far too large for the hands of men to shape.

  Instead, men had bent themselves around nature: the trees were full of small, ramshackle buildings, constructed on large branches, huddled in the crotches of split trees, or propped against the trunks by a series of thick supports.

  A thick network of wood and rope bridges connected the larger houses, while the smaller ones dangled lines to the ground. Some buildings, including the temple and the smithy, clung stubbornly to the earth below, but most of the town had ventured upward. As many townsfolk crossed the rope bridges above their heads as walked on the ground below.

  “This is Hador,” Charon said with a smile. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Amazing didn’t begin to cover it. “They live in trees!” Charon started laughing. “Don’t laugh at me! They live in trees!”

  “They do,” Charon confirmed, grinning wider. His smile was bright and shockingly delicate for its rarity, like one of the soft blue flowers in the temple gardens that bloomed once every dozen years. Eiland’s chest felt warmer for having seen it.

  The people of Hador were as unusual as their homes. Eiland had thought the Rivervale dwellers an exotic bunch, but that was nothing compared to Hador. They came in all colors and sizes, speaking a mix of tongues. They all seemed to share a streak of stern mettle, though: a few people glanced sideways at Eiland and Charon as they moved through the town, but other than that their presence drew no reaction.

  “Do you need anything from the tanner?” Charon asked in a low voice as they neared the center of town. A huge tree with a twisting trunk grew there. Rope bridges branched out from its sides in all directions. The temple stood at its base, but Eiland would wager the tree had come first.

  After a moment’s consideration Eiland dug through his pack and came up with a quarter-pence. “I’d like some new shoes, please, if you see any.”

  He held the coin out to Charon, whose mouth tightened. Eiland lifted his chin. He was not a thief, and would not be made one. If someone threw out the payment he rightly gave them, the loss was inflicted by their own hand.

  To his credit Charon didn’t try to dissuade him, just took the coin and the request with a sour, annoyed expression. He pointed out a tree to their right. “I think the apothecary is that way. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

  The apothecary bloomed with strange herbs and roots, but had a decent supply of hesfast flowers. The healer spoke a dialect similar to the bandit clan but also possessed an enthusiasm for pantomime: from gestures and sounds and a truly spectacular one-man performance of a battle scene, Eiland gathered the area had a history of invasion so virulent that the inhabitants had eventually taken to the branches.

  He wondered why they had elected to live in trees rather than move somewhere else—but then again, if it were Summerton, Eiland could imagine his own family doing whatever it took to hold on to what they’d known all their lives.

  With his herb satchel well stocked, he went exploring. The fog that persisted in the morning hours had faded from between the trees, though patches of it lingered in the canopy of leaves. In its absence, Eiland grasped the full number of buildings and bridges in Hador. It was simply staggering. The trunks of the trees stretched up and up; various platforms had been built at different heights along their lengths, and bridges zigzagged upward to reach them all. The higher they went, the more ramshackle the houses became.

  Eventually Eiland wound his way back to the central hub. Charon stood by the makeshift staircase that descended to the ground, wearing a new brown coat that hung to his knees.

  Even from a distance, something about the way he held himself made Eiland pause then quicken his steps. As he drew closer Eiland realized that not twenty feet away from Charon, two priests had come out from the temple below and were walking up and down on the staircase carved into the tree trunk, loudly performing the chants of cleansing. They sprinkled water on the roughhewn steps as they walked to protect the town and the temple against defilement and impurities.

  Charon didn’t look at them. He stood his ground and kept his gaze fixed on Eiland as he approached. His eyes were hard and so blue; Eiland had noticed the intensity of their color before, but now it felt like his gaze passed straight through Eiland, pinning him in place.

  He swallowed and kept walking.

  The moment he was within earshot Charon said, “They didn’t have anything good.” He held up a pair of handsome brown boots.

  Eiland stopped a few feet away. It was almost painful to hold Charon’s gaze, but somehow Eiland knew that he didn’t dare look away. “Those…look all right.”

  “No, these are hideous. We can take them back.”

  “Why would we take them back? They’re fine.” Eiland took them, holding the shoes against his chest.

  Charon scowled. His shoulders were rigid. He started to speak and on pure instinct Eiland stepped forward, reaching out to take Charon’s hand. “Thanks. I mean, we can go back to the tanner if you want. But thank you for getting them.”

  Charon stood very still. His penetrating gaze finally dropped to the shoes held against Eiland’s chest. His fingers felt cool and too dry in Eiland’s hand.

  The volume of the priests’ chanting had gone up slightly. Eiland wanted to shout at them to leave off, because what had Charon done to them? Unless he had been going around threatening the entire village in Eiland’s absence, there wasn’t any need for this.

  Eiland held his tongue; while the people of Hador didn’t seem particularly mindful of the temple or fearful of the Cursed, he doubted they’d be so forgiving of outright hostility.

  “I guess if they fit,” Charon finally assented.

  Eiland squeezed his hand and handed Charon his satchel then stepped back. Toeing his old, worn-out boots off, he slipped on the new ones. They were a little big and he drew the laces tight around his calves.

  When he looked back up, the priests had retreated into the squat, square temple structure on the ground below, though the sounds of their ablations drifted upward.

  Charon stood over him, armed folded. Eiland bit his lip and rose. Doing a small jig in place, he finished with a flourish, one foot wagglin
g in the air.

  Charon snorted, but the ghost of a smile played around his mouth.

  They ate supper on the edge of town, seated in a small tree of their own. It made Charon nervous to linger around people, but after the incident with the priests, Eiland was strangely reluctant to leave town. Charon seemed to shake the whole thing off, but the more Eiland thought about it, the angrier he felt. They hadn’t been bothering anyone; they’d paid for everything; they hadn’t so much as spoken harshly to a soul, but the priests had done their best to drive them away. The injustice stung at Eiland.

  So he took his time eating their meal of bread and cheese and fruit, and he hoped the priests were secretly watching from a distance.

  “I bought some more hesfast flowers,” Eiland said once they had both eaten their fill and were just lazing in the tree, their faces tilted to the sun. “The draught I made with them helped, didn’t it? I mean, you’ve barely needed to use the salve.”

  “Yeah,” Charon murmured. They sprawled on the wide branches of some tree that Eiland couldn’t identify; Charon lay on a lower branch than Eiland. If Eiland turned his head he could see where Charon’s cheek rested against the bark near Eiland’s foot.

  Charon spoke with his eyes closed. “It’d be great if you could do something about the taste, though.”

  “Well, if you chewed some of the bluegrass,” Eiland told him slyly, “then you wouldn’t notice the taste. It’s really quite sweet. And then you could put it on your skin, too!”

  Charon cracked one eye open and stuck his tongue out at Eiland, but then sobered. “Thank you. For making the draught, and the salve, and…everything else. I came to Summerton because I’d heard your father was a good healer, but I think you’re better.”

  His words dragged a big, tangled ball of emotions into Eiland’s chest, and not all of it was good. Eiland had no idea how to sort through it all, so instead he rolled sideways off the branch and dropped six feet to the ground. “How much further do we have to go to your friend’s house?”

  “Probably another two days,” Charon replied as he slid down out of the tree after Eiland. “We might want to get you a coat too. We’re not going too high in the mountains but it’s still—”

  He cut off suddenly and gripped Eiland’s arm. Eiland lifted his head to see a young man approaching them. He looked to be around their age, with fine cheekbones and smooth skin the color of walnuts. His clothes were worn and mended, but clean. His curly black hair tumbled down over his shoulders.

  Once he got close enough the young man said in a light accent, “Hello. I’m Eom, of, well, Hador, obviously.”

  He laughed. It was surprisingly low for someone so small. He offered his hand to Eiland, who took it on reflex. “Eiland. Eiland of—”

  He cut off and glanced sideways. Charon stared at Eom and didn’t seem to notice.

  “—of nowhere,” Eiland finished.

  Eom didn’t bat an eyelash. He squeezed Eiland’s hand then offered his to Charon, too, who didn’t move. Eiland answered for him. “This is Charon.”

  “Good to meet you, Charon,” Eom said softly, and when Charon finally took his hand Eom cupped it in both of his, the mark of companionship, of equals. “Will you eat at my house tonight?”

  Someone could probably knock Charon down with twig, he looked so shocked. Eiland stammered out, “We couldn’t—we wouldn’t want to trouble—”

  “Please don’t turn me down,” Eom said, still smiling but now with an edge in his voice. “The priests are watching. When you leave town, they’ll make the acolytes follow you in the trees. If you have an Agony within the next five miles, they’ll climb down and cut your throats.”

  Swallowing hard, Eiland leaned out to peer around Eom’s shoulder. From here he could see the corner of the temple. A priest stood there, watching them. Inwardly Eiland cursed himself for lingering.

  Charon said in a low voice, “We can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking,” Eom countered. “I am.”

  Straightening, Eiland met Eom’s gaze. The young man looked at him steadily, unafraid, and Eiland felt a sharp spark of kinship between them.

  Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “We would love to.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Eom worked as a carpenter, and his tiny house perched in a tree near the tannery. It was haphazardly but expertly built, made from the very tree it occupied, and branches periodically entered through one wall and exited through another as if attempting to reclaim their fallen companions. It seemed bizarre until Eiland realized that the branches were quite literally holding the house in place.

  Children filled the small house to the brim, many who looked nothing like Eom and some of whom were simply too old for him to have fathered. His equally-tiny and nut-brown wife, Alis, looked startled at their entrance, but a quick whispered conference with Eom put a welcoming smile back on her face, though Eiland noticed that she kept a close tab on the children whenever they strayed near Charon or Eiland.

  They did, inevitably. Eiland was a magnet for small children and the older girls certainly seemed to like Charon, if all the shy glances were anything to go by. A couple of the bolder ones pulled their chairs to sit on either side of him, trapping Charon with his back to the fire.

  Eiland caught his gaze across the room, and Charon widened his eyes comically. Eiland had to choke back laughter. When his sister Della had received suitors, she’d been much more forward than was necessarily polite, and some of the young men had left their house looking a little shell-shocked. Eiland recognized the look.

  Eiland sat near the back of the room, perched atop the stack of his pack and Charon’s. Eom approached him, leaning against the wall to his left. “Do you want some more bread?”

  “Yes, please, thank you.” Eiland took the crust Eom handed to him and suppressed a grimace at its hardness.

  Eom must have noticed because his expression became oddly shy, especially after he’d been so forthright and direct earlier. “Sorry. It isn’t much.”

  “No! No, don’t, it’s perfect.” Eiland took a bite out of the bread and chewed it with enthusiasm, and great effort. Once he’d swallowed he said, “Thank you. For the food and for doing what you did, with the priests.”

  “I didn’t do much.”

  “You did plenty. We’ve been…we’ve traveled a long ways and you did more than anyone else has. Most people run away when we come near.” I would have, Eiland added in his own mind, and felt a twinge of something that might be shame. Pushing it aside, he asked, “Is there a way for us to leave town without them following?”

  Eom shifted in place, setting one hip against the wall. “If you head north from here, the trees are thinner. They wouldn’t be able to follow you in the branches and I doubt any of them would trail you on foot.”

  Eiland breathed out and smiled at him. “Again, thank you.”

  They lapsed into companionable silence, eating. By the fire Charon was juggling again. Several of the kids pressed him to teach them how and soon small objects flew in all directions. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be many breakable things in their home.

  “You could always form a performing troupe,” Eiland jested, and Eom laughed.

  “We’ve enough of them.”

  “Do you mind me asking—where did you…that is…”

  “Where did they all come from?” Eom prompted with a wry smile. “Here and there. Dena, Ordon, and Theron are mine and Alis’s.” He pointed out three children ranging in age from three to eight summers old; all of them shared their father’s curly black hair. “Then there’s Amon, Alis’s younger sister and her son. Amon’s husband fell and broke his neck during the last storm, so she came to stay with us. Elic, Arche, and Dammon were temple orphans that we took in. Made the priests furious when we did, but that’s all right. The little girl hanging by her legs from the branch is Kamab. We think her family came from the desert on the far side of the mountains, but we don’t know what became of them. Alis appr
entices in the bakery and they found her stealing scraps. We’re still trying to teach her to speak the common tongue.

  “The…girl next to her…” He trailed off, frowning at the young maiden in question, who sat on one of the intruding branches, her legs swinging. “I actually don’t know that one. Ah, well, Alis likely brought her home from the bakery, too.”

  “How do you keep them all straight?” Eiland asked, drawing another warm laugh from Eom.

  “It’s not as hard as you think. They all have their own ways. We just try to feed them and put clothes on their backs when we can.”

  Across the room, Alis tried to juggle a pair of prunes and a ball of yarn. She laughed brightly as they all tumbled to the ground. Watching her, Eom smiled.

  “And how long have the two of you been wed?” Eiland asked.

  Eom took some time to answer, pushing his crust of bread around the inside of his bowl. “We’re not,” he admitted. He lifted his head to look Eiland in the eye, all trace of shyness gone again. “Not to each other, anyway.”

  Eiland blinked. “What do you mean?”

  Eom set his empty bowl on the floor, where it was immediately set upon by a small, skinny dog. Alis was passing out some kind of small sweet, and stood in a sea of small, upraised limbs.

  Eom’s eyes tracked her as he spoke. “When I was ten and five, I was betrothed to a girl. I’d only met her a few times, but she seemed sweet, so I went along with it. Then I met Alis, and,” he shrugged. “I couldn’t go along with it anymore. I guess I’m technically still married to the other girl, whatever that means.”

  “But you,” Eiland started. He couldn’t find any other words to follow.

  “I didn’t love her.” Eom shrugged again as if it was that easy, but the set of his mouth said different. “The girl’s family was well-off, so they took her back in. It wasn’t her fault—it wasn’t mine, either, but I knew I had to leave. So I did.”