Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles)

by David Lundgren

  . . . . . . .

  Junior Councilman? Not likely, fumed Raf. I’d rather spend every day doing theory with Ottery than sitting in Council meetings. No, thank you.

  He wound his way back through the school area, deep in thought as the cicadas buzzed around him. The usual evening hubbub had died down to a calm silence throughout Eirdale, and most homes were pitched in darkness with only the occasional voice that drifted through the fragrant air.

  What a day...

  He walked around for what felt like hours and did an entire loop of the center of the village as he pieced together all that had happened during the day. When he got back to the commons, he stopped for a while as he ran through the ridiculous situation that had arisen with the trader.

  Again and again his thoughts went back to what the Foreman had said. What if the trader did spread the word that Eirdale was a bad place to go? It would probably result in even less traders than usual visiting which would be devastating. What if he ruined it for all the future Festivals, too? It was the biggest – and sometimes only - opportunity for the villages in the Forest to do trade. Not to mention somewhere to stay, food to eat, and entertainment for the thousands of people who journeyed here. They’d buy cartloads of local goods and in return, the villages would get essentials that they depended on like medicine, clothing, books and other things - especially metal. Raf himself was the proud owner of an excellent knife that his grandfather had given to him years ago: a foot-long, slim, sharp blade made of high quality steel. It was his most treasured possession and one of only about twenty in the entire village.

  As the canopy platform they lived on was high above the actual Forest floor, mining was physically impossible and metal was scarce. Some types of wood that they used here were very hard, like ironwood, which was a pretty good substitute for metal, but there were some things that you simply couldn’t do without metal for – like carving the ironwood itself. If trade were to stop, it would cause massive problems in every part of their daily lives.

  He stopped walking. The idea that he might be responsible for that sort of problem was awful.

  Maybe I can convince Wesp that it was my fault, or something. I have to try. If he follows through with his threats, it’ll ruin everything.

  He picked up his pace and, shooing away another cluster of peacocks with Orfea, moved swiftly towards the guest quarters. Once he had made it through the last small tract of coffee bushes that bordered the school rooms, he crept up to the back of the guest quarters where Wesp was staying, keeping a wary eye on any movement from the paths in front.

  Working his way around the base of the oak tree, he peered up towards where the trader’s wagon was kept. He panned his eyes around the small commons in front and suddenly spotted a light. A small fire! And three men sitting around it. It was Wesp and two foresters. They seemed to be having a good time, and were very drunk from the sound of it. He moved to lean against the trunk’s wall, lifting his elbow up to rest it on the ledge of the window.

  “Who’s there?” said a voice right in his ear.

  Raf leapt backwards, gasping in surprise, and tripped over a root to fall heavily onto the ground. He scrambled onto his hands and knees, and stared at the window. “Who’s that?” he whispered.

  From the darkness of the window came a soft, “It’s only Fergus, sir.” Wesp’s young assistant moved forward so that his face came into the dim light.

  “You nearly scared me to death, you idiot,” whispered Raf through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to. You scared me too. I woke up just now when I heard a wolf. I think it was a wolf, anyway. Do you get wolves here, sir?”

  “Not in the southern Forest,” said Raf. He tilted his head and stared at the boy in the dull lamplight. “So your name is Fergus, huh? Did you travel all the way from Miern, too?”

  “Yes, sir,” Fergus replied. “Aunt Firda asked Mr. Wesp to take me on his trip so I could see the world.”

  “Well, I’m kind of jealous, Fergus,” said Raf wryly. ”What do you think of the world you’ve seen so far?”

  “Oh, sir, it’s amazing! The Pass was so hot and dry and horrible, but then we arrived at the Forest and… I love trees, sir! And they’re so big! Everyone’s really friendly here. And there are peacocks!”

  Raf laughed out loud.

  “Shhh, sir! He’ll hear you and then he’ll come back. I’m supposed to be asleep. He’ll be angry with me.”

  “Stop calling me ‘sir’, my name’s Raf.” He peered at the boy’s dimly lit face and saw a slight swelling on his cheek. “Did he do that?”

  Fergus nodded.

  “He doesn’t seem to be a very nice person, Fergus,” muttered Raf. He suddenly had a thought and turned back to the boy. “Why don’t you stay here with us? Oh, but then I suppose your family back in Miern would miss you, wouldn’t they?”

  Fergus’ eyes opened wide and his face lit up. “Stay with you? Here in the Forest? That would me amazing, sir! I mean, Raf. It’s only me and my aunt, and she’d think it was fine, I’m sure, ‘cause she works all the time, anyway.” His face dropped. “But Mr. Wesp would never let me stay.”

  Raf pursed his lips. “We had someone once who was visiting with his family and he wanted to stay here. He asked the Foreman for sanctuary - that’s what it’s called - and he’s lived here ever since. But I don’t think you’re old enough, Fergus. Maybe the Foreman can speak to Wesp in the morning, I’m s-”

  Fergus shook his head violently. “Oh no, sir, please don’t do that! Mr. Wesp wouldn’t like that. He…. he’ll probably take me back to… to…”

  “To Miern? Is it really that bad?”

  Fergus shook his head and lifted his eyes. “To the hole…”

  “The hole?” Raf looked puzzled. “What h-” He was interrupted by a huge crash as the oak door swung open inside the room and smashed against the wall.

  “Boy!” shouted the drunken voice of Wesp. “Why are you awake? And who are you talking to?”

  “No one, sir,” replied Fergus. He sounded terrified.

  Wesp stumbled over to the window and stuck his head out to peer around into the murky night, eyes searching the darkness. “I heard you talking, you brat. Have you found a friend here?”

  He was slurring slightly and as he stood there breathing heavily, a line of spit ran down his chin and dripped - right onto the shoulder of Raf, who was cowering directly under the window. He held his breath, staring upwards at the trader’s looming head.

  With a grunt, Wesp suddenly withdrew into the room and Raf heard a dull slap followed by someone falling down.

  “Don’t lie to me! Get up.”

  There were further noises and Raf clenched his teeth. This was his fault! He should never have talked to the poor kid.

  “We’re leaving earlier than expected. I’ve found out some useful things from those two idiots. Can’t hold their liquor, these thieving foresters.” There was a wet spitting sound. “I am leaving for a bit. Have the wagon ready to leave immediately, hear me?” There was a whimper of pain again from the boy. “When you’ve done that, wait for me here. Understand? One word to anyone and I promise you I’ll drag you to that hole right now and throw you down, yes?”

  “Y-yes, sir! Please let me go…”

  There was a scuffling of feet and the door slammed, leaving the young boy crying softly. Raf peered carefully around the side and saw Wesp walking along the side of the commons boundary heading north.

  He jumped up quickly and hissed, “Fergus? Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” came a quavering voice.

  “I have to follow him and find out what he’s up to. Are you going to be all right here?”

  Fergus stepped up to the window nervously. “I need to get the goats ready, sir. Otherwise…” He broke into sobs again and, muffling his mouth with his hands, disappeared back into the darkness of the room.

  Raf hesitated, not knowing what to do. “Fergus, I need to follow him, but I’ll
be back, I promise. I’ll try to help you, all right?” There was no reply, only the continuing sound of boxes being moved. He thought quickly and then had an idea.

  “Fergus?”

  “Mm?”

  “I want you to have this.”

  He held Orfea up to the window.

  There was a gasp. “It’s very pretty... Are you sure, sir? I don’t have any money for it.”

  “Absolutely sure,” said Raf quickly. “And, for you, it’s free. I made it. Well, as a matter of fact, it’s actually a ‘her’.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes, her name is Orfea.”

  “Orfea? Oh, thank you, sir!”

  “It’s Raf.”

  “Sorry, Raf.” Fergus emerged into the light again and his tear-stained face spread into a look of delight as he reached up to gently take Orfea from Raf’s outstretched hand.

  “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome. Now I have to go.”

  Raf sped off in a low crouching run. He slowed down briefly as he neared the fire, looking around for the other two who had been drinking with Wesp. They were both lying on the ground by the embers, snoring loudly.

  Scanning up ahead, Raf saw the central path that Wesp had turned down and followed it until he caught sight of something white flapping a hundred feet or so ahead. Immediately, he stepped into the brush on the right side of the path and crept forwards.

  Wesp was peering intently into the dark patch of central trees that housed the Council’s Chambers. Raf crept forwards inch by inch towards the trader. Whatever he was doing – and it couldn’t be good - he had picked a good time: late enough that everyone was asleep, but not so late that the canopy farmers were getting up.

  Raf crept out of the brush and kept on Wesp’s tail, moving from trunk to trunk and hiding behind smaller trees. He watched him walk up to the chambers and stop for a second, staring up the length of the Ancient’s trunk. In the northernmost Forest, there were many of these imposing red trees, but here in the south, this sequoia was somewhat of a unique spectacle. And a spectacle it was, over a hundred feet wide, rising in one smooth, reddish, column to disappear far above through the canopy. It was magnificent, and for that reason had housed the Council headquarters as far back as village history went.

  Raf watched curiously from behind a small maple tree as the trader took a quick look around the commons and then crept inside. What was he doing? Nobody was in there. The sequoia Ancient just had empty meeting rooms in it.

  Suddenly Raf gasped; there was also one other smaller room above the rest. The village vault.

  . . . . . . .

  Wesp looked across the chamber. What had they said? A ceiling entrance to a room above the others? He spotted it. He could see over a counter ledge to the adjacent room and in the middle of that, a set of simple wooden steps leading up. He walked across and carefully climbed them, entering through the small trapdoor to the storage room.

  The vault was square in shape and surrounded by shelves set in the walls. There were some long, very thin windows cut into one wall, probably for ventilation but on a pitch black night like this, they also let in some welcome light from outside.

  Moving to the closest shelf, he opened a velvet-lined box first and discovered a set of dusty parchments. It was too dark too read them so he closed it and moved over to a small sturdy chest. He unlatched it carefully, smiling immediately as the soft light revealed a neat pile of coins inside. He picked the box up and held it to his chest, sighing as he looked around at the other potential treasures. If only he had more time. But he needed to be well on his way by the time they got up.

  8. SANCTUARY

  Raf stayed absolutely still. He had climbed up into the tangled branches of the young maple and hidden himself behind a patch of leaves. As Wesp came creeping out of the chambers into the slightly brighter light of the commons, Raf saw that he was carrying a chest.

  The trader walked forwards scanning the commons and then suddenly stumbled on a root, jerking forwards before regaining his balance. The chest shook loudly, and the coins inside gave a metallic clinking sound that cut through the stillness. There was a commotion right above Raf’s head and a night-ape took off in fright and bolted up to the top of the tree and jumped across to another one, emitting a plaintive squeal as it did it. Breathing heavily, Raf mentally cursed and lowered his eyes again, to find Wesp staring straight at him. A tense scowl was on his face and he had one arm stretched out towards Raf, a strange object in his hand.

  “I didn’t realize I had company,” he said. “Why don’t you come down.” He motioned with the object in his hands as Raf slowly moved down the branch. “Come on, come on. Do anything funny and you’ll find yourself full of holes, understand?”

  Raf climbed down the last branch, his heart pounding, and stared at the object Wesp was holding. It was made of metal and had a curved handle; definitely some sort of weapon. The trader threw a few uneasy glances around the commons and then looked back at Raf who was fidgeting as an icy sweat formed on his forehead.

  “Not so chatty now you’re by yourself, hey? Now that you’re face to face with my friend from Miern. You seen one of these before?” Raf shook his head. “Nothing to say? All quiet suddenly? You couldn’t keep your mouth shut earlier on, I seem to remember.” Wesp spat on the floor.

  Raf swallowed and looked down at his feet. “I… came to ask you not to tell anyone bad things about us.”

  “Did you, now?” Wesp sneered and took a step closer to Raf.

  “Mr. Tunrhak.” They both looked up as, out of the darkness, emerged the towering figure of the Foreman. “Perhaps we should all calm down,” he said, walking up to stand in front of Raf.

  Wesp swung the object around to point at him. “Stay right where you are!” he snarled, backing up towards the Council chambers. “I’ll shoot you!”

  “Actually, you won’t,” said the Foreman, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, you might. But it would be a bad idea because you’d then find yourself full of arrows. Not as impressive as the bullets from your pepperbox, but equally fatal, and possibly quite a lot more painful as well.”

  “You bluff,” said Wesp swiveling his head from side-to-side as he squinted into the darkness. “There’s nobody else here.”

  The Foreman smiled calmly. “I don’t wish for any violence tonight. I think the best thing is for you to put that box on the ground and leave. Right now. Just go, with your vinehoney, and we’ll forget all this happened.”

  “You must be mad. This money is mine!” Wesp started slowly treading backwards. “I’m leaving right now, that much I’ll do, but this money’s coming with me.”

  The Foreman lowered his head slightly, shaking it. Then he tilted his head back over his shoulder and said, “Orikon.”

  There was a faint whistling sound above them in the air and two arrows suddenly sprouted, vibrating, in the trunk behind Wesp. The trader instantly stopped, peering nervously into the darkness behind them

  “Why don’t you just put the chest down and leave, Mr. Tunrhak. Your pepperbox only has four bullets if I’m not mistaken. I’m afraid the odds are very much against you.”

  The Foreman stepped forwards, his bear-like frame seeming to grow larger in the flickering lamplight. Behind him, a line of villagers appeared out of the darkness with Orikon and a few other hunters armed with bows in front. Raf spotted his parents and grimaced at their worried expressions.

  Wesp’s face took on a dark look and then he let the chest drop to the ground where it sprung open, ejecting its cargo of coins.

  “I will have to retrieve my wagon,” he said sourly. “Unless of course you plan to steal that like you’ve stolen everything else from me.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken the liberty to have it brought here already.” The Foreman gestured at the south path behind them where, appearing out of the dark, was the wagon driven by Abuniah. Raf could just make out a visibly nervous Fergus next to him on the bench.


  Wesp scowled and walked up to it as Abuniah jumped to the ground. He climbed up to the driver’s bench and gave Fergus a rough shove. The boy caught hold of the wagon’s side railing and then climbed down to take hold of the goats’ reins.

  “You haven’t heard the last of this, forester. I’ll have the Gerent’s guards on you as soon as I speak to him. Your days are numbered,” Wesp snarled.

  With a flick of the whip, the goats started pulling the wagon forwards again. As it rolled past, Fergus stalled, staring back mournfully at the villagers.

  Raf thought quickly. There was no time left and he had to do something. Waving quickly to catch Fergus’ attention, he mouthed at him.

  “Hurry up, boy, blast you!” shouted Wesp, leaning down to hit the boy across his back with a long whip. Fergus didn’t seem to even notice as he stood staring intently at Raf.

  Ignoring the questioning looks he was getting from the Foreman, Raf nodded urgently, appealing to Fergus with a desperate look.

  “San….. s….s…”

  “Oy!” snapped Wesp. “You shut up, boy!” He cracked his whip against the boy’s back again. “Keep walking!”

  Fergus flinched and then, slowly lifting his clasped hands in front of him, he looked at the Foreman. “Sanctuary.”

  A silence fell among the crowd who had gathered behind them and Raf saw the Foreman’s face tighten. With a creak, the wagon pulled up and Wesp started clambering down to the boy, growling in a rage.

  “Please,” said Fergus. “S-sanctuary.”

  “Foreman?” Madame Ottery stormed forward and marched up to him.

  He looked at her, took in the other anxious expressions around him, and then, with a quick glance at Raf, he nodded. “Accepted.”

  The word cut through the silence like a knife and suddenly from behind them came an outburst of cheering from the foresters. Fergus sprinted forward just ahead of Wesp’s grasping fingers to wrap the Foreman in a tight hug. Madame Ottery broke into a song and started clapping, patting the boy on his back, when suddenly there was an enormous explosion above them.