‘I do not think so,’ insisted Morvain. Zastra scooped some yellowsap from the pot. It did have a strong aroma, but she slapped some on her neck anyway.
‘I am sure Urbek has good reason for his advice,’ she said. However, Morvain would not back down. Myshka and Xhoyal also refused, insisting that they were proud to be ko-venteela and did not wish to be turned into ko-yamacha. The next morning they set off with three of their party contrasting conspicuously with the yellow skins of the rest.
As they moved deeper inside the forest, the vegetation grew lusher and the trees taller. Water steamed from damp leaves and their clothes became heavy with moisture. Underfoot, their boots sank into mounds of soft moss. Zenarbia and Gwylla bounded from one to another like children, laughing in pleasure. Above them, a dense canopy blocked most of the sunlight, and where they walked was as dim as a curtained room. The ground sloped downwards and the air grew sweet and sticky. They came to a vast tree, wider than the quarterdeck of the Wind of Golmeira, its dark trunk rising upwards and disappearing into a tangle of green and yellow foliage. Urbek stroked it affectionately, as if it were a pet.
‘This is being a yamacha tree. Come, we must be climbing.’
Narrow steps were carved into the side of the tree, revealing bright yellow wood beneath the black bark. As they wound their way upwards, Zastra saw that further into the forest the mossy ground flattened and turned to teeming swampland. Mists hung above the water, merging with clouds of insects. Shoals of silvery fish darted between clumps of reeds and ducked beneath carpets of lily pads, whilst petite birds with narrow beaks eyed them greedily from atop rotting tree stumps.
‘You should be seeing it during the flowering seasons,’ Urbek said proudly. ‘When the lilies bloom, their flowers are the colours of fire. It is like the sunset.’
It grew brighter as they climbed through the dense canopy formed by the smaller trees, but the yamacha trees formed another canopy, far above, their great rectangular leaves filtering the sunlight to leave a golden-hued twilight. They climbed steadily, and for long enough for Zastra’s thighs to complain, although not as loudly as Morvain.
‘This is quite ridiculous,’ the mindweaver said peevishly. ‘What’s the point of all this climbing? Surely we’ll only have to come back down again?’
They reached a flat sheet of black material, stretched between two branches to form a skin. Urbek stepped onto it, placing his feet a little apart for balance. When Zastra followed, the skin gave a little beneath her feet.
‘It is like ko-venteela shoes,’ she said, bouncing gently on the balls of her feet. ‘Will it hold all of us?’
‘Oh yes. Lastic is being very strong. Look, there is a proper rubberwood, not the babies Shuyal was trying to grow.’
He pointed down towards a tree that grew to barely a quarter of the height of the yamacha, but was still huge compared with those on Shuyal’s plantation. Towards its base, a group of ko-yamacha harvested a syrupy liquid as it oozed from a large pipe embedded in the trunk.
‘Those are being lastic makers. Very important to our ways of living.’
A male ko-yamacha dropped onto the skin from above. The lastic sheet recoiled, sending everyone but Urbek tumbling. The man wore a wide cone-shaped hat, secured with a chin strap. A small bird with red feathers and obsidian eyes hopped onto his shoulder.
‘Ked-eyi,’ he said, helping Polina up from the still wobbling lastic.
‘Ked-eyi, yamalchika,’ Urbek returned the greeting. He turned to the others. ‘This is being the yamalchika, which is meaning he is the chief of this tree. He is of the bebe clan.’
The yamalchika made his hands into the shape of a bowl.
‘Nna-eyi,’ returned Urbek. Thank you. Their host went towards the trunk, where an engorged leaf grew out from the bark in the shape of a funnel. At the bottom was a pool of clear water. A polished wooden bowl was tied next to it. The yamalchika dipped the bowl into the water and offered it to Urbek, who drank and then passed it round.
‘This is being sweetwater,’ he said. ‘The yamacha tree is purifying the rainwater, which is not being safe to drink.’
Once they had drunk their fill, the yamalchika led them to the other side of the trunk and another lastic platform. A bunch of thick lastic vines were secured to a wooden ring sewn into the edge of the platform. The vines disappeared upwards, their top ends secured to the upper branches of a neighbouring yamacha tree, more than two hundred paces away. Urbek untethered one of the vines.
‘We travel by the lastic network,’ he said. Gathering the vine in his hands, he swung across the gap to the other tree, landing on another skin a little higher than the one they were standing on. He secured the bottom of his vine to his new platform and beckoned them over.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ whispered Gwylla.
‘No wonder Urbek showed no fear crossing the gorge,’ Lorzan remarked.
Zenarbia grabbed a vine and swung across, screeching in delight as she broke through a shaft of pure sunlight that slanted down from the upper canopy. ‘Come on!’ she cried. ‘It’s fun!’
The others followed. Zastra hung back to check on Gwylla, but the girl barely hesitated.
‘Can’t be as bad as that gorge,’ she said, puffing out her cheeks.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Zastra said encouragingly. Gwylla blushed and swung across and Zastra followed. The vine seemed to stretch and contract, lifting her easily across the divide between the trees. The lastic mat provided a soft landing.
‘This is being the way to travel!’ Urbek grinned. A network of landing pads and vines stretched from each yamacha to those nearby. Whenever they arrived at a new tree, the cone-hatted yamalchika gathered up all the vines they had used and took them back from whence they had come. Urbek explained that each yamalchika was responsible for ensuring there were enough vines available to allow movement in either direction.
‘And the birds?’ Zastra asked. Each yamalchika had a small red bird hopping about their person.
‘These are bebe. This is the bebe clan.’ Urbek looked wistfully up at the canopy. ‘I am very much looking forward to seeing my own Kiri. I am missing her.’
‘You have one of these birds as a pet?’
Urbek sniffed. ‘I am vulyx clan. Kiri is being vulyx, not bebe.’
Zastra saw she had offended him, but he waved away her apology. They continued to soar through the canopy. Other ko-yamacha swung past them, bound on their own journeys. Their friendly greetings mingled with the croaks of tree frogs and shrill bird calls. Late in the afternoon, the temperature dropped notably and a distant rumble signalled a coming storm. The timbre of the bird calls changed, increasing in pitch and urgency and the incessant buzzing and clicking of insects faded before dying away altogether.
‘Come, we find shelter,’ Urbek said, as they gathered on yet another landing stage. The tree’s yamalchika led them further up the trunk to a horizontal branch whose top edge had been shaved to form a flat walkway. It was lined on either side by shell-like tents made of more lastic. Ko-yamacha were ducking inside, their bebes hopping in after them. Urbek found four empty tents, just as a crack of thunder split the air.
‘The rains come. Inside, quickly.’
Zenarbia couldn’t resist stopping and looking up. A large drop of water splattered her forearm. The yellowsap beneath the droplet began to bubble and hiss.
‘Look at that!’ she exclaimed. Another raindrop landed further up her arm. Urbek grabbed her and pulled her inside one of the tents. He quickly opened his flask and doused her arm with sweetwater. The rain had eaten through her layer of yellowsap, leaving her pale skin exposed. Urbek reached into his bag, pulled out his pot of yellowsap and rubbed some of it into Zenarbia’s skin.
‘You are lucky you are being covered in yellowsap,’ he shouted above the rising din of the rain, pounding against the canopy. Pillows were scattered at the back of the tent. Urbek laid his head on one and closed his eyes.
‘How can you sleep through all th
is noise?’ asked Zastra.
‘In the rains, nothing is being done. So yes, we are sleeping.’
Zastra took a pillow and lay close to the entrance of the tent, ensuring she was out of reach of the burning rain. Slowly, her ears adjusted to the roar and she was lulled into a deep sleep. When she awoke, Myshka, Xhoyal and Morvain were slapping yellowsap on every inch of exposed skin. Myshka showed Zastra the back of her hand. A blister rose out of the skin.
‘That was from a single raindrop.’
‘Oh yes, they are asking very nicely now,’ said Urbek with a grin.
They travelled for three days, rising early to make the most of the time before the rains. Travelling during the rainstorms was impossible, and even immediately afterwards it was dangerous. They had to wait until the yamacha leaves had absorbed every drop of rainwater before it became safe to travel again.
They received a warm welcome everywhere they went. The lastic network depended on the hospitality of the yamalchika. A tree chief who refused right of way or shelter during the rains would not be welcome at other trees, and so it was in everyone’s interests to be accommodating. They travelled through the territory of three different clans, notable by the different types of birds they took as pets. The birds were treated as members of the family, sharing meals and sheltering from the rains with the ko-yamacha. When Zastra watched a family bird fluff up its feathers in pleasure as a young girl preened it, she began to understand why Urbek had been so sick at the thought of eating bird flesh. The lush forest provided plenty of food. The yamacha were hosts to a variety of edible fungi that grew from cracks in the bark. Smaller trees with striped leaves provided bittersweet nuts called gola that the ko-yamacha used in a variety of dishes. The silvery fish that lived in the acid swamps were called dace. Washed in sweetwater and skinned, their flesh was eaten raw or pickled. The trees teemed with frogs and lizards and the ko-yamacha fought a constant battle with tree rats that used razor sharp claws to scuttle up and down the yamacha trunks with amazing speed. The ko-yamacha shot at them with slings made of lastic, using pickled gola berries for ammunition. Zastra examined one. It was tough and firm, but she did not think much of the ko-yamacha’s chances against Thorlberd’s army if these were their only weapons.
Just before the rains of the fourth day, they reached a stretch of forest where the light was brighter, the yamacha trees even larger and spaced further apart. Patches of sky showed through gaps in the canopy. The vegetation was subtly different, as new types of trees and plants prospered in the different conditions. Urbek looked eagerly upwards.
‘We are being in vulyx clan land,’ he said. He issued a call, a kind of choking croak, and waited hopefully. Nothing happened
‘She is most likely being hunting,’ he said, but a few trees further along the network, he repeated the cry. Gwylla screamed as a huge, hook-beaked bird crashed through one of the holes in the canopy and alighted on a strip of lastic close to theirs, croaking like a bullfrog. It was taller than Urbek, and on its back rode a slender young girl no more than twelve years old.
‘Father!’ she cried in Aliterran, leaping from the back of the bird. He lifted her off her feet and twirled her round.
‘Bekka, you are getting so big. You will soon be too heavy to ride.’
‘Oh, don’t say that!’ the girl exclaimed in dismay. The huge bird hopped between them and nudged Urbek with her beak.
‘Kiri, my girl,’ he said fondly, ruffling the bird’s chest-feathers with both hands.
‘That’s Kiri?’ Zastra exclaimed. No wonder Urbek had been offended when she thought his pet was a tiny bebe. A tree rat scuttled up a nearby rubberwood. Kiri dove towards it and grabbed it with her taloned feet. She returned and dropped it at Urbek’s feet.
‘No, you can have it.’ He tapped her beak. Kiri cackled and began to tear into her prize.
A broad-shouldered man swung from a neighbouring yamacha to join them. His tunic was darker than the rest of the ko-yamacha’s and his cloak had a shimmering green lining. He clasped Urbek’s hands. This greeting done, they hugged each other.
‘We heard you were coming,’ said the man. ‘Bekka has been looking for you.’
Urbek turned to Zastra.
‘This is being my cousin, Tharl Rafadal.
‘Ked-eyi,’ Zastra said with a formal bow. ‘Zastra Ko-mnalay.’ She hoped she had introduced herself correctly.
Rafadal raised an eyebrow. ‘Welcome, Zastra Whiteskin,’ he said, in perfect Golmeiran. ‘Or did you say wormborn? It is hard to be sure.’
Urbek shook his head in disappointment. Ithgol let out an abrupt cough that Zastra suspected might be covering a chuckle. So much for impressing Tharl Rafadal with her language skills.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Tharl Rafadal led them to the top of a yamacha tree so huge that its crown rose above the canopy formed by the smaller yamacha. They were so high that their ears popped, yet even here, the trunk was as wide as a large house. Scattered across the forest, a handful of equally tall yamacha stuck up from the sea of green like ships’ masts, although rigged with leaves rather than sails. The forest lined a vast sunken bowl, hemmed in on three sides by mountain ranges, with the Smoking Mountains to the west. Away to the east was something that looked like a shimmering wall.
‘The Waterfalls of Candema,’ said Rafadal, pointing at the shimmering wall. ‘The border between our lands and Golmeira.’
Above them, vulyx soared on unseen thermals, ridden by yellow-skinned children who laughed and whooped in exhilaration.
At the top of the steps, an archway had been carved into the trunk. It cut through the yellow wood, leading to a hollowed-out space furnished with cushions. Rafadal explained that this was his kabana, where he and his family lived. Lastic tents served purely as temporary shelters from the rains. A ladder led upwards to a similar chamber above, and another headed down through a hole in the floor to further chambers below. Rafadal offered his guests an interconnecting set of three such rooms just below the main chamber. Ithgol and Hylaz insisted on sharing the middle chamber with Zastra, as her assigned protectors. Polina offered to join them.
‘You should have a mindweaver close,’ she said. ‘Just in case.’
‘There are sweetwater leaves outside. Please refresh yourselves,’ said Rafadal. ‘We will dine after the rains. I have other guests who I wish you to meet. But first, there is someone who will be overjoyed to see Zastra.’
Zastra was intrigued. She was sure she didn’t know any ko-yamacha besides Urbek, but back at Uden’s Teeth he had hinted he had talked to somebody who knew her. Who could it possibly be? Rafadal disappeared to an upper chamber and returned a few moments later, assisting a heavily pregnant young woman down the ladder. Her skin was yellow with sap, but there was no mottling beneath. She was a Golmeiran. The moment she laid eyes on Zastra she shrieked with delight. Her face dimpled into a smile and at that moment, Zastra knew her.
‘Bedrun?’
It was her old school friend, who she had not seen since the night her uncle took control of Golmeira.
‘Zastra!’ Bedrun grabbed her. ‘I can’t believe it’s really you! When Rafa said you were here, I couldn’t believe it!’
‘You know my wife,’ Rafadal said, smiling. ‘I suggest the rest of you may wish to settle in. When women meet after a long separation, it is best to leave them alone.’
It took Zastra some time to believe that her old friend was alive and had been living in the Makhana Forest all this time. And then to accept she was married to a tharl and pregnant too. Bedrun happily informed her that she had two other children already. None of these facts matched Zastra’s memory of her friend, who in her imagination was still twelve years old, giggling over a prank they had played.
‘You’ve barely changed,’ Bedrun said, pinching her arm. ‘Skinny as ever and still getting into trouble at every turn, so I hear.’
‘You don’t know the half it,’ Zastra said with a wry smile. ‘And you. You’ve grown so pretty. Bu
t you always were.’
Bedrun batted her eyelids. ‘I shouldn’t let you flatter me so. Do go on.’ Zastra couldn’t hold in her laughter. This was the Bedrun she remembered. They talked and talked, even over the noise of the rains. Zastra told Bedrun how she’d escaped from Golmer Castle and ended up joining the rebels. Bedrun in turn explained how, on that terrible night, she’d been in the kitchens, flirting with one of the visiting acrobats. When the chaos erupted, the acrobats used their talents to escape over the castle walls and Bedrun had gratefully accepted their offer to take her with them.
‘I heard they were killing everyone who was friends with your family. I was so scared. The troupe brought me here and Rafa’s family took me in.’
‘And of course he fell in love with you.’
‘Eventually,’ Bedrun said, rolling her eyes.
‘Inevitably,’ Zastra insisted.
‘It isn’t half so interesting a story as yours, Zastra.’
‘But you’re happy?’
‘Oh yes. Everyone here is so friendly, and I wouldn’t be without my Rafa.’
‘And Bodel? Did she ever find you?
‘Bodel? She’s alive?’ Bedrun’s eyes grew bright. ‘I was told… I heard they’d killed everyone connected with your parents. That’s why I never went back.’
Zastra explained how Bodel had looked after Kastara, pretending she was her niece to hide her existence from Thorlberd.
‘She searched for you every winter, but because of Kastara she couldn’t go too far from Highcastle. But when we were reunited, she left to go look for you.’
‘Oh, I must find her!’ Bedrun cried, rising to her feet.
‘We will,’ Zastra said, pulling her back down. ‘But right now, you’ve more important things to take care of.’ She patted Bedrun’s protruding stomach. It convulsed beneath her touch and she pulled away her hand in awe.
‘Was that…?’
Bedrun rubbed her swollen belly.
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