Hide & Seek

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “We didn’t do it on purpose,” said Poppy, annoyed.

  “You must know,” said Messina very calmly, “that Yaark is not a creature who is easy to capture, nor simple to understand. His dark magic and malicious nature have kept him alive and in power for many, many years. And initially it was not us he tricked. It was the mighty Clebbster.”

  “Then Clebbster is a fool,” clacked Passleram.

  “No doubt,” said Bayldon, “but Yaark is not. You were tricked as we were, simply taking the word of others that this was Yaark all along. At least we have now discovered the truth, and immediately informed you. What you do now is up to you.”

  “What I do now,” said Passleram with an impatient tap of his claws on the ground, “is to feed, question and then release the jelly ox, and then take our meteor back into the sky to sail freely as before.”

  Messina stood. “Then I apologise, and hope to meet you again under better circumstances,” she said.

  The eagle bowed stiffly and flew instantly through the open doorway. Bayldon grinned. “So much for making friends and allies. He wasn’t pleased at all.”

  “But he’s still an ally,” nodded Messina, “because he’ll never side with Clebbster or Yaark. But never mind. First we need to see what is happening to Nathan and my mother.”

  “Altabella will have everything under control,” smiled Bayldon.

  But Granny, far, far away in the Forest of Sharr, was convinced that she was a yew tree.

  Nathan sat on the grass, half sprawling, eyes almost shut as the autumn sunshine trickled through the branches above. “I need to grow my figs,” he mumbled, worried. “I have nothing to give. How can I grow fruit if I have no buds?”

  Jumping up and down with an even more worried expression, John was attempting to grow taller. “I’s the littlest cypress tree in the forest,” he said.

  Having gone for a short walk, now Granny returned wearing an equally worried expression. “As a yew tree,” she said, “I would normally demand respect. But I am not respectable. I am sadly despicable. My trunk is short. I have only two branches and only two roots. What is worse, I have no leaves at all.”

  Still fiercely cuddling his llama, Ninester mumbled, “If this is home, I might as well go to sleep.” And he did.

  The two great oak trees were looking down on them, and as they waited, were joined by the other elders of the forest. A small glade was formed, with the trees massing around. A black ash, its dark seeds ripe and ready to fly, was standing by Granny, shaking his leaves in sympathy. He spoke to Soar. “You must bring these people back to their true natures. They make poor and insignificant trees, and will fail miserably if we keep them in the forest.”

  Soar said, “Keep them here? No, certainly not. But they must experience and learn first. We must have our own meeting now, and this evening I will blow the tree thoughts from their heads, and permit their humanity to return.”

  A cypress, tall and slim, waved the top tips of its green branches. “But this tiny infertile seed thinks it is another cypress. I dislike having to share a title with it.”

  “It is a young man, not a seed,” Woar pointed out.”

  A white trunked paper birch stood at the back of the group. “Please hurry,” it said. “I hate the shade. I must return to the forest’s outskirts. What do you expect of this meeting, Lord Soar?”

  A chestnut tree and a slippery elm both crowded forwards. “Yes, yes,” said one. “Soon my leaves will drop. I must give them a proper landing away from swamps and creeks.”

  While a brilliant red-leafed maple, nodding its fiery colours, spoke loudly. “These humans cannot enter into our meeting unless they are themselves. Foolish attempts by them to imitate us would be absurd. Bring them back, and then we can all talk in honesty.”

  There was a murmur of agreement and approval from the other trees. There were now forty or more, each tall and grand, some in autumn colours and others still rich green, while some pushed forwards and others were shy.

  “Very well,” said Soar at once. “Perhaps you are right. Let us all blow together.”

  Four golden fig trees began to rustle, summoning wind. The others, completing the circle, did the same. The wind began with a faint moan and then grew to a whine, then a wail and eventually blew with such force that every leaf danced and every branch creaked and bent. Gusting cold and with a piercing whistle, it fanned the faces of the four humans until they sat up, dazed. Soar’s roots gave Nathan a little nudge. He jumped up, completely confused.

  “Where am I?” he said in a rush. “Who am I?”

  “Well, Nathan of course,” said Granny, rubbing her eyes. “But did we want to come to the forest? I can’t remember.”

  A young larch tree giggled slightly, but stopped when Soar gave it a dirty look. A spruce, frightened of losing its own lighter twigs in such a wind, hurried backwards, but Ninester woke up and asked, “Where’s Mummy?” while John, meanwhile, plopped down out of breath and smiled at everyone else.

  “That’s enough,” said Soar. “They have returned to themselves. Now we shall begin.” He first looked down at Granny. “I hope you remember me, madam, and know what has happened here?”

  Rubbing her eyes again, Granny first nodded, then shook her head, and finally said, “I believe I remember, although it has been a very strange two or three days. You are the oak tree Soar, and we are now in the Sharr Forest. If this is to be a sensible and productive meeting, you should first tell us what exactly you hope to achieve.”

  Apparently impressed, Soar replied, “Indeed, madam. I shall attempt to explain in human terms since you are no longer thinking in our likeness. This forest has long lived in anger and resentment because of our memories of humanity, or hatred for the wizards. The mistreatment we received from the Epilogs and then the mistreatment they received once they learned to live in peace with us, the ruin of our lakes and rivers when the humans of Peganda learned to alter the passage of the waterways, and finally the loss of our original friends the Quosters. These have all been great hardships over the years.” The tree sighed with all its leaves. “Now we live in peace with the Epilogs, but we cannot make friends for they do not understand us, and they have homes made from our companions. The great Gilden comes here in peace, but the other tigers come only to hunt.”

  “But I love trees,” said Nathan. “I used to climb a beautiful chestnut tree when I was a child, and sit there peeping out between the leaves watching the sun glint and sparkle on the wet grass below. I collected the seeds and planted my own chestnut tree. Now,” he looked around, “I love the golden figs.”

  “We done growed some o’ them at home now,” said John.

  “And I with my friend Sherdam,” said Granny, “have planted hundreds of these glorious fig trees in Clarr.”

  “But that,” said a golden fig tree peering at her, “is to feed you humans with my fruit. Not because you love us for ourselves.”

  The brightly coloured maple in its autumn scarlet had a soft voice, but it looked so marvellous, it could not be ignored. “I often have my branches cut,” it murmured, “when people wish to put them in jars of water to look pretty in their living rooms.”

  “We will try and stop that practice,” said Granny. “But they don’t understand, you see. They just know how beautiful you are. They cannot invite you into their homes, so they take small parts, knowing this will make their own homes more beautiful.”

  Ninester sniffed. “I wouldn’t like my arms cut off. Even if they are pretty.”

  “I believe no one has cut any of you down for many, many years,” Granny said to Soar, gazing up. “And the Epilogs respect and love you. Once they lived on the frozen Mountains of Clarr, and they much prefer it here. They are happy here.”

  “We could ask two of the Quosters to come and visit you,” said Nathan tentatively. “But they might be too frightened of Clebbster.”

  A thunderous roar boomed out from the back of the crowded trees. “Bring that maniac to me,” it sh
outed with a violent wave of leaves and branches. “I am a strangler fig, and I will keep your enemy Clebbster in my inner prison for many years. In this forest, we all know the wickedness of the wizards. But I can be wicked too.”

  Nathan backed off. “I suppose so,” he said, a little hesitant. “But don’t you kill trees too? I’ve seen strangler figs climb up other trees and suck all the life out of them, so they die and the fig stands hollow.”

  But the strangler fig rattled its branches again. “One day, perhaps. But for many years I support the tree within, I keep it warm in winter, and feed it through my roots. It dies only when it is ready, and I live on. But with Clebbster, I would keep him alive for a long, long time, unable to escape from my belly.”

  “He would escape,” said Granny. “His magic is strong.”

  The fig tree’s laugh was like a cackling storm. “Magic? But so have I, little lady, so have I. I would twist my roots around his arms and hold them tight. I would twist my roots around his head, and squeeze. He would never escape.”

  “One day I shall bring him to you,” smiled Granny, “if I can.”

  “In the meantime,” Soar said, “we do not speak of your enemies. We speak of you, and of us. We must be in agreement on many matters of great importance. “

  For many hours, and often repetitious, the meeting continued. “I reckon,” whispered John after the second hour, “them trees live fer so long, they don’t know how to do nuffing quick.”

  But there was agreement on almost everything.

  “We will help you in the great war to come against the Hazletts,” Soar said, “and will welcome humans into our forest. We will give you shelter, and we will open our boundaries to all who come in peace. The Epilogs may continue to live amongst us, and all others may come and go freely. This is our offer.”

  “But what we need in return is your own free agreement,” said Woar. “We want a promise that no one will chop down any tree unless it is already dead, nor cut its branches, drag off its leaves, kick its roots nor do any slightest thing that might hurt or damage any tree.”

  “I agree,” said Granny. “And so will my daughter, the empress.”

  “And I agree, being the empole who will be the next emperor.”

  “We ask that the natural course of the waterways be returned to us sufficiently to give us back our river and our lakes. You may keep the River Ross, but where our old River Sharr, which now runs into a dam before joining the River Rass, be re-routed back into the forest, and the swamp of Ballent which was surrounded by reedy lakes, no longer be drained so they also return to us.”

  “I agree,” said Granny, “and so will my daughter, the empress.”

  “And me,” said Nathan at once.

  “And in spring when the bluebells and daffodils and other flowers grow beneath our newborn leaves, you will rejoice but not tread them underfoot or pick them to die in your jars.”

  “A shame, but I agree,” said Granny. “And the empress too.”

  “Yes, and me,” nodded Nathan.

  Eventually, one by one, the agreements were made, and the meeting was over. Once again, the sky was darkening, the stars peeped out in silver shimmers, and the air grew colder.

  “You may nest amongst my branches as the blackbirds do,” Soar said.

  Granny smiled but shook her head. “I’m not very comfy in chilly nests,” she said. “I’m a little too old for that and I’d sooner magic myself home.” She turned to the others. “Who comes home with me? And who wants to nest in the oak tree all night?”

  “I miss Mummy,” said Ninester at once.

  But John and Nathan looked at each other, then turned to Granny. “Reckon I stays here,” said John. “Tis be ruddy gorgeous an I always reckoned on sleeping in them trees at home.”

  “It’s been a long day,” Nathan said, trying not to yawn. “And I want to sleep. But I want to go back to Sparkan too. If we sleep here tonight, then John and I can take the rainbow to Sparkan tomorrow. I have to find Hexaconda and Laksta and see if any of those snakes in the hot lakes are Quosters too.”

  Granny seemed pleased. “Very well, Nat,” she said. “I shall take Ninester back home with me now, and I hope to see you back at the cottage as soon as possible. While Clebbster can’t do any magic for a few weeks or so, this is the time to start making plans.”

  “But there still be Yaark,” said John.

  “Who in many ways is worse than Clebbster,” agreed Granny. “But this is time for action, and not for fear.”

  “I ain’t afraid o’ nobody,” lied John with a wide glare.

  “Nor me,” said Ninester suddenly. “Not while my llama protects me.”

  “Very good,” smiled Granny. “So let’s take your llama home to your mummy.”

  With a stretch of her arms and a muttered word, both she and Ninester disappeared like the moon behind a sudden cloud, and John, Nathan and the many trees were left in the growing darkness of night.

  Soar and Woar helped build the nests in their own branches. They each chose a comfortable branch where other branches crossed and crossed again, and started the nest with fallen leaves, moss, grass and reeds. John used his cloak as a pillow and his jacket as a blanket, while Nathan used his jacket as a pillow and his coat as a blanket which enabled both to snuggle up very warm and comfortable in one of the most unusual beds they had ever tried.

  The night was long, for autumn was bringing shorter days, and Nathan slept well with dreams of the future. John fell asleep wondering when he would ever manage to get back and see his father, but at least in Lashtang, he didn’t have to worry about bumping in to his grandmother Violet. Then he fell into a deep sleep with visions of presenting the strangler fig tree with his grandmother, and never seeing her again.

  They woke to rain. It was heavy, drip dripping down beside them from leaf to leaf and branch to branch. But the oak tree had made a canopy of its own branches and sheltered both the sleepers so that they stayed warm and dry.

  It continued to rain as John and Nathan climbed from their nests, dragged on their jackets and capes, and jumped back down to land. The grass was soaking and becoming muddy, so within moments they were soaked as well.

  With his bumble-bee hair dripping down his face, and his clothes wet around him, Nathan sniffed, saying, “It’s been wonderful, Soar. Thanks a million. But you love the rain and we don’t. We need to find the rainbow and climb up to Sparkan. Which direction?”

  “Directly in front of you, just a few steps away,” Soar told them. “But first you must have one whole golden fig first. Then you will stay strong in the rain.”

  “Well, reckon it won’t keep us dry,” grinned John. “But they’s a fantastic breakfast all the same. Tis me favourite.”

  “The trees are waiting,” said Soar. “Just by the roots of the rainbow.”

  Calling their thanks again, Nathan and John pulled their coats over their heads and hurried off, splashing through the soggy mud until they walked into the glade where the rainbow started. It was now surrounded by golden fig trees, each one thick with fruit and delighted in the rain, their boughs spread wide to catch the falling water, and their trunks practically smiling as their roots sucked up the soggy trickles from above.

  Both picked a large golden fig from low down on the branches and sat in the wet to eat them. Once the juice oozed into their mouths they no longer felt cold or even wet, and although they were truly drenched, they didn’t feel it.

  With a brilliance of colour much brighter than any rainbow they had ever seen in their own country, this one sprang from the ground and arched up and up into the sky above, and the rain, quite suddenly, appeared to stop.

  “Can’t rain on a rainbow,’ smiled Nathan.

  “Wish it didn’t rain on us neither,’ grinned John. “But wot happens now? We starts climbing?”

  “But it’s just colours and light,” Nathan frowned. “There’s nothing to climb.” But he reached out one hand and traced the great archway. “It isn’t really a
rainbow, is it?” he said. “It’s a gate. A portal.”

  “A staircase,” said John. “And I reckon tis the prettiest one I ever seen.”

  Indeed, on closer inspection, they saw real steps within the colours, and although the shimmering lights were not solid, the steps were very solid and made of bright onyx stone. Nathan started to climb, slowly at first, and then he began to run up and up. John followed, trying to slide his fingers up the sides but quickly finding that his hands slipped right through.

  They kept going, looking down over the sides at the tops of the trees pounded by rain. The treetops, rich green and waving as the water rebounded on the leaves, seemed further and further away until eventually there was simply a watery mist. Instead of becoming chilly, it was growing warmer and warmer.

  “The volcano,” muttered Nathan.

  “Hot lakes,” murmured John.

  “So we’re almost at Sparkan,” said Nathan, and as soon as he’d finished speaking they saw stretched before them the amazing island in the sky.

  The volcano was far away but the explosions could be faintly heard, and the great spurts of scarlet fire were visible on the horizon. But they were arriving right on the ragged edge of the island where its roots of tree, earth, grasses and other plants, all hung down into the sky surrounding them. Scrambling form the rainbow to dry land was scary for between the two, just vaguely visible far, far below, was the world of Lashtang. To fall would surely mean death. No one could hurtle so far and arrive still living.

  But both Nathan and John grabbed onto the hanging roots and pulled themselves onto the grassy banks. Between the bushy land and the dangling roots they both saw the beginning of a tunnel which wound into the dark earth. “That’s it,” yelled Nathan. “The tunnel of the Eternal Chain. Did you see it? I went the other way, through the volcano. But now that way’s blocked by eruptions and rock falls. But it’s good to know that this way is still open.”

  They lay flat on their backs on the dry grass. It had not rained here, and the volcano’s heat kept all the land warm even though the sunshine could never be seen. It was volcanic explosions that coloured the whole sky, scarlet and golden with great swirls of dark smoke. The smoke stank of sulphur and the sudden gushes of wildfire smelled of scorched rock, burned grass, and poisonous gasses.