Tree of Life

by Sarah Joy Green-Hart

  "Whoa! A kid. He knew you?” He set Joram down.

  Hesper dropped the mangled yarrow to the earth. "He is my brother.”

  Adahy’s compassionate expression drew out tears that she wiped with the back of her spicily-fragranced hands.

  "Here, c’mere.” He reached for her.

  She collapsed into his arms, a great bundle of heaving sobs. "Papa will not help . . . he will not . . . because Joram became Meros.”

  A tender touch tucked stray hairs behind her ear. "I will take care of your brother. Go home to your mother.”

  * * *

  Cold with sweat, Hesper awoke from her dream. It came when she was too miserable to resist the unhappy feelings it gave her. How nice it would be to have a recurring dream of how she met Adahy if it were not related to her brother’s death. She turned to her side and scratched at the knot in the wood.

  Peace. Calm. Closed eyes. The rhythm of her breathing.

  After enduring fifteen years of this, she learned to manage. Mostly.

  Five | Post-Conquest: 232

  Morning twilight called to herbalists to begin their day ahead of almost everyone else. This was the hour to cherish the forest; the time for gathering herbs would come later.

  Herbalists sniffed at things the way Hesper did. Lovers of healing, plants, and soil, who began their days breathing foggy air and washing their fingertips with dew.

  Some went for long walks to look for new herb sources for their community’s medicinal and nutritional needs, and others bonded with the forest until the dew evaporated and their treasures dried enough to pack up and take home.

  When Hesper awoke, she washed her face, slipped on her moccasins, and headed out. Her dark thoughts insisted she stay home, but the Unified needed her. Shirking duties would not be loving.

  She learned that from Papa.

  A few herb gatherers wandered toward the east. Right now, she needed to be alone. To the west, then.

  Abundant with blackberry and raspberry bushes, the western border was a delightful retreat during berry season, but at this time of the year, Hesper wanted the leaves. Even though they were especially important for the women of the community, precious few took advantage of the western border’s gifts due to its proximity to the outside world—particularly, to a road.

  The high grass outside of the forest sparkled with dew, and a thin morning fog obscured the view beyond the abandoned dirt road. A rabbit couple chased each other through the open field, bending the grass in whirls and curls as they went.

  Well within the safety of the forest’s borders, enjoying the peace and quiet, Hesper nibbled dewy chickweed a few yards away from the berry bushes. A family of deer meekly walked by, and she smiled at the elegant creatures as they flapped their tails and rotated their ears, considering her.

  A distant human cry caught her ear. Something to monitor, though nothing she had not heard before.

  It was getting louder.

  Shouts called her to attention and startled the deer family, who darted into the woods, bounding past her, eastward.

  Scrambling to hide behind a birch tree, Hesper fell to the ground and scraped her shin on a fallen branch. Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she grasped at the pain, then whipped around and pushed herself up into a squat to sneak a look past the birch.

  Two men in Unified clothing chased a young boy of no more than eight years. They had to be toying with him, making a game of it like a bobcat with a rabbit, because a boy could not outrun those men unless they allowed him to. One of them stopped running and hurled a rock. "Dirty theist!”

  Tane.

  The rock struck the back of the boy’s head and sent him to the ground hard and fast. Tane and Tangi froze. After a long, horrible moment of silence, Tangi approached the boy and leaned over to see his face. He shouted something to Tane over his shoulder, then charged and shoved him backward.

  Instead of retaliating, Tane put up his hands and stepped away. Tangi glanced back, and, as if seeing the child twice made the decision for him, ran to the north.

  As Hesper stood, Tane fled to the west of open plains, roads overgrown with tall grass, weeds, and crumbled mounds of old Unified cities. Hot tears rolled down her cold cheeks. Tane chose to leave a dead Meros boy at their feet and ran away to avoid the carnage. Her mind raced through images of massacre and billowing smoke rising from their leafy haven. She knew enough of their history to imagine it quite well.

  Even now, hunters brought reports of forested areas going up in flames from time to time. The Meros did not seem to care for the land or the people in it as long as their actions rid them of Unified.

  As she turned to go, movement on the road caught her eye and drew her back. The boy was alive? He touched his head, crying. Hesper twitched forward with the desire to run to him but caught herself and leaned her forearm and brow against a tree trunk, panting.

  He was not even an enemy, but a child—a victim of hatred as much as she.

  The fog had lifted, and the white of twilight melted quickly into gold. How vulnerable she would be out there. Nevertheless, she stepped out of the woods and sprinted through the dewy grass to the boy. She swiped water droplets from her arms and knelt to turn him onto his side. Hesper’s nose and throat twinged with the scent of blood.

  Wide with fear, light blue eyes streaked his dirty cheeks with tears. His mother would be thankful for the return of such a beautiful face and hair as soft and white as corn silk. If Hesper showed kindness to the child, the Meros would leave her community in peace and require nothing more of them for penance.

  Even if they did not, she must do the right thing. Right is right. She would never have peace if she allowed him to die for her negative thinking.

  "Don’t hurt me. I won’t tell,” the boy said in a small voice. "I’m not mean to Gentles.”

  "I would never hurt you. I am here to help.” Hesper put her legs out and elevated the boy’s head and shoulders on her shins. "Try not to be afraid.”

  The bleeding required immediate action, so she dug in her bag for a pouch of powdered yarrow and poured some of it into her hand. With a firm bite and yank, the cork of her waterskin popped out. Mixed with a swallow’s worth of cool water, the yarrow made a paste that she pressed against his wound. The boy’s blood seeped past her hand.

  He fell asleep. Fainted? Died? Was she too late? Deliberation had killed him. The bleeding must stop! Stop now! Through gritted teeth, she repeated, "Stop, stop, stop, stop . . .”

  It slowed. Clotting. Clotting. Yes!

  She lifted her hand a little, waiting for the blood. It did not come, so she released him. The Meros were probably able to do more to help him than she could. He needed the care of his family.

  If she followed the road, it was likely she would encounter a Meros to give the boy to—terrifying thought. She picked him up and headed south-east. Somewhere, a mama cried for her child, a papa fretted, a brother or a sister were lonely and confused. And in this little boy’s mind? So much fear. She could bring them peace and heal their hurting.

  But what was more important? Her own conscience or the feelings of those who loved her?

  Who was more important? This child or her family?

  She paused to consider. Neither?

  Feelings must not determine values and actions. The need determined those things. The child was not of less value simply because she had not developed a deep and loving relationship with him. The child was everything. Preventing a death took precedence over avoiding mere grief. Perhaps, she might dodge both tragedies.

  The boy awoke in her arms. "Where are we going?” he murmured.

  "I am trying to take you to your own people.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds. She smiled to reassure him that she was friendly.

  "I’m Tom,” he said.

  "Tom, how far away is your home?”

  "A little ways. Over there.” He pointed the way they were heading. "I was with my mother. She goes all over the place for her
job. She’s probably home already, getting people to look for me.”

  "Why did those boys chase you?”

  "I saw ‘em sneakin’ around Cowslip Gate and pointed ‘em out, and the law enforcement wardens who were with us shot at ‘em! I thought that was mean”—he scowled—"but they musta thought I wanted that to happen, ‘cause when mom was busy talkin’ to somebody a little later, I went to look at a flower in the crack of the sidewalk, and the Gentle guys jumped out of the alley and grabbed me.” He grimaced. "My head really hurts. Have I got a big bruise?”

  "How did you get away from them, Tom?”

  Tom reached for Hesper’s neck to inspect her betrothal token. "I just wiggled and screamed and kicked and bit and did whatever I could until they got me outside the gate.” He released the token. "When I got free, I tried to run back into the gate. They blocked me, so I headed home. I knew someone would come looking and help me. I mean, I’m my mom’s only kid, and if somethin’ happened to me . . . Well, it would be a national disaster!”

  "National disaster?” The extreme statement made Hesper smile. "That is pretty bad!”

  "Yup. My mom is one of the Kyrios. A Reverenced One. She knows God. If I died, it would be bad!”

  God. That word again. "You have lost some blood. Relax.”

  Hesper ran and walked at intervals for some time. Maybe east was not the best choice? Were they going nowhere? It did not seem abnormal for a boy Tom’s age to know where he lived, but maybe Meros children were different? Less aware of their world?

  * * *

  By the time a dark mass appeared in the distance, the dew had evaporated from the grass. To the north, Hesper’s forest with its tall dead pine landmark remained in sight. Did it curve to the south in the east? Perhaps the darkness ahead was a part of her forest. A dead end.

  As the sun continued its ascent, the weight of the child wore on Hesper and the light hurt her eyes. However, hope awakened as the indistinguishable form began to take shape into what had to be a Meros community.

  The community appeared to have been built into a once-great city like those spoken of in Unified elders’ stories. Much of it mixed with two-hundred-year-old rubble, a low, jagged skyline of ruins and decrepit buildings.

  Preceding the ruinous city, a much nicer community beckoned from the right with well-kept buildings and vivid colors. A fence, topped by thorny, spiraling, metal wires, separated the community from the ruins as well as the grassy plains and forests surrounding it. Men patrolled the fence, dressed in black clothes and hats that resembled what Joram wore on the day he died.

  The prospect of meeting the Meros in their outside world, and the sight of strange, unfamiliar buildings that were built on the ground, prodded Hesper’s heart to higher rates than she liked. She had to be strong and not face them with fear, or she would seem angry and dangerous.

  Tom drifted in and out of consciousness over the journey and was, unfortunately, unconscious now.

  "Tom, speak well of me to your people,” she whispered.

  One of the men behind the fence brought a big black stick to his eye and pointed it at her. This was no mere stick—she had never seen solid black wood before—but whatever it was served a sinister purpose.

  "Come closer!” the man shouted.

  She hesitated, but obeyed, walking toward him.

  "What’re you doing with that boy?”

  "I found him on the road. Hurt. He told me where he lived, and I carried him here. I only wanted you to take care of him and . . . and let me go.”

  Another man reached for a box hanging at his hip. He brought it to his mouth.

  “Contact Reverenced One Chandler. A Gentle brought young Mr. Chandler home.”

  To the left, several yards away, a great entryway opened, and a tall woman emerged, flanked by two men. Her black uniform and demeanor threw Hesper’s mind into chaos. Black uniforms stood on her side of the fence now.

  This was not good.

  Those hated gold buttons.

  "My name is Trinity. What’s yours?”

  Hesper abandoned the gold buttons and focused on Trinity’s eyes.

  "Hesper.”

  "Hesper, you have my son. Set him down and back away slowly.”

  Disoriented by the flurry of activity, Hesper reached out to give Tom to his mother, but Trinity held her arms at her side, unwilling to accept Tom directly. Hesper set the boy on the earth at his mama’s feet. One of the men accompanying Trinity stepped forward, picked up Tom, and returned the way he came.

  "We will take care of him,” Trinity said, her tone cordial and gentle. "Come with me. We have a place to care for people, and I'm guessing that you could use a drink of water and some peace. Just a little rest, perhaps?”

  The field to the north called for Hesper. If only she could get to the forest. What a glorious, liberty-filled, free, sprawling prison. Guarded by trees, not fences or men with black clothes and gold buttons.

  "I do not wish to comply.”

  She must not. Why would she? Maybe she should. How far was it? When did she get here? Why? How might she . . . Her thoughts, incomplete and illogical, rushed into her mind too fast. She stepped backward, shaking her head.

  "Hesper, your people will not accept you again. You are a little bird that has fallen out of its nest and been touched by human hands. Come with me.” She advanced a few steps. "We have sick people who need help from a kind person such as yourself. You are a woman of medicine, aren’t you?”

  How did she know that?

  No! Reason over feeling. Truth over whim. The woman used poetry of birds as a deception. Her words were not based on the true state of things.

  "It’s too late, dear Gentle. Come with me.” Trinity beckoned with a grasping motion, reaching to ensnare the little bird in her palm.

  The community looked an awful lot like a cage with its fence.

  Not this bird. You will not keep this bird.

  Hesper crouched to the ground and opened her bag, careful to avoid sudden movements that might startle the Meros watching her. A knife would be the best thing, but she could not conceal it properly. Besides, would she truly kill someone? She needed something else.

  Keeping her actions concealed, Hesper fumbled through the bag until trembling fingers found the cool metal box of needles. Sliding it open, she selected a suture needle and replaced the lid. With the box in one hand and the tiny weapon hidden in the other, she said, "I have something very precious for you.” Her arm quivered, causing the box to rattle in her bloody palm. "I will give it to you if you will let me go.”

  Needles would mean nothing to the Meros, but if they took it, not knowing what it was, she might have time to run before they discovered the deception.

  Instead of accepting Hesper’s offer, Trinity lunged forward and clamped icy fingers around her wrists. Hesper attempted to wrest herself free, kicking Trinity in the shin twice before receiving a flash-of-lightning strike to her bruised face.

  Hesper’s heart sank, her hope was failing, her mind, clouding. She struggled to free her wrist, yanking and wriggling like a worm on a hook. The needle box fell from her hand.

  The deception failed.

  She failed.

  Hesper growled, "You are a bad person.” Teeth pressed together, she thrust the suture needle from her free hand into Trinity’s arm. Trinity screamed and released the vicious little bird.

  No cages, Meros.

  Hesper took flight but glanced behind her to see Trinity signal to someone with a jerk of her head. Hope overtook fear, pushing her to move faster, her feet barely connecting with the earth as—BOOM—nerves shattered, and weakness surged into her joints. A scream sliced through the steady rhythm of her breathing. Her own scream? Hands held over her ears, she fell to the earth.

  Thick fingers grasped her arms, pressing them against her ribcage as they lifted her to stand.

  A man.

  Touching her?

  Screaming, she twisted around, hunting for a vulnerable place on the en
ormous boulder of a body. But he was protected by clothes as thick as buffalo hide. Beating on his metal-covered chest hurt her hands. The moment she allowed a thought of tiredness to enter her mind, he shackled her wrists and placed her over his shoulder. Her desperate, vapor screams were lost in the open wide spaces, surely dissipating long before the forest could hear them. She screamed nonetheless.

  Trinity followed, brooding over her needle wound. Lips to Hesper’s ear, she hissed, "Milk-faced atheist.”

  The entryway closed with a decided clack. Behind enemy lines, it became clear that the Unified elders spoke the truth. All her life, Hesper had heard the truth.

  Six | Post-Conquest: 232

  Hesper’s tears fell at the heels of the man who carried her. Carried her with hands, arms, and a body. The senses awakened by him, and his by her. The connection made, regardless of her will against it. That was the worst part.

  She was no longer pure.

  With renewed effort, she elbowed the man in the back of the head. Flailing her free limbs and wiggling her torso, she pushed against his arms, but he limited her legs’ range of motion with a tight hold.

  She could smash his stones . . . If she slipped down enough to get between his legs from behi—

  Hard, blinding, pain struck from the left, like slamming her head on a tree branch. Which way was up? Down? Where was Trinity? The big man? Hesper struggled to regain her sense until another strike came from the other side. Her knees and wrists met the road without gentleness. Had he dropped her? At least she knew which way was up now.

  Scuffling, tromping black boots passed. No moccasins, no bare feet, no help. Body tense, ready to run. Trapped.

  Trinity’s high-heeled shoes clicked their way into Hesper’s line of sight. “She’s going to get her head screwed on straight, right here, right now.” Her foot slammed on Hesper’s fingers. Hesper screamed and pulled her shackled hands to herself.

  When she and Tane were younger, they had fist fights. She knew the feeling of a blow, but never a blow given when she couldn’t fight back. It stung so much more. Maybe she could run. Maybe. She struggled to her feet but fell over something and onto her belly. A few ineffective gasps for air triggered panic. As Hesper pushed up on her elbows, Trinity’s foot pressed on her back, grinding in the heel of her shoe just enough to hurt.