Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles)

by David Lundgren

  “Don’t worry Mr. Cisco. I’ve never fallen in my life!”

  Raf and Nedrick were both still staring white-faced at him.

  “You see what you’ve done to them?” said Cisco.

  Fergus smiled shyly and then quickly unwrapped Orfea to hand it to Cisco who took it gently. The smile on his face dried up and after turning the instrument around in his hands, he looked up at Raf and said, “Are you being serious? Did you make this?”

  Raf shrugged. “It’s nothing special.”

  “It’s pretty good,” muttered Cisco. “I’ve never seen an instrument like this. How did you get it so smooth? This wasn’t done with a knife. There isn’t a single scratch or edge on this. The whole thing looks polished or… more like…. Well, it looks natural. It’s amazing.”

  ‘I know!” chirped Fergus.

  Raf turned to look away; he felt troubled and had lost his buzz of excitement. Orfea and Fergus had brought back disturbing memories and unanswered questions.

  “I think I’m going to head home boys.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” replied Cisco. “You want to leave already? We still need to see what else this little monkey is up to. And find out how I can get his dream-job as well.” He winked at Fergus who laughed and tried to wink back at him.

  “You guys go ahead. I’m not feeling so good suddenly. Think I had too many grapes.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Cisco, shaking his head.

  “We’ll catch up with you in few hours?” said Nedrick.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Raf. “I’ll probably see you guys at the commons later.”

  “Bye, Raf,” said Fergus, a disappointed expression on his face as he walked off with the other two.

  Raf silently watched them strolling along the walkway towards the distant canopy farm and then started the long descent back down Nviro.

  15. HENJA

  Night was falling quickly and Nabolek had just finished his dinner when he saw the two soldiers walking towards his quarters. He stood and walked to meet them.

  “Jugak.”

  The short, stocky man gave a small bow by way of response and indicated the soldier next to him. “This is Nadherna.”

  The other man gave a curt salute.

  “And Henja?”

  “On his way.” Jugak turned around and glanced back to a man who walked slowly towards them in thick leather sandals and a dark cloak. There was something awkward about his gait. He didn’t seem to walk so much as wade forwards, his thin body moving in uncomfortable jerks.

  Nabolek watched him approach. “Henja.”

  The newcomer didn’t reply, but merely stood slightly apart from the other two, long unkempt hair hanging loosely over his face, breathing oddly ragged breaths. Nadherna eyed him with distaste, his face twisting as if in response to a bad odor, and he moved away slightly.

  Nabolek gave Henja a slightly annoyed look. “I’ve no idea why you were sent here with me, but I have a problem that needs fixing.” He pointed over their shoulders. “Go with these two. Take the path south. A woodsmith called Ferthen left earlier to return to a village called Eirdale. He cannot get there.” He leaned closer to them. “This is a sensitive matter. Should anyone else learn of it, they will become… an inconvenience.”

  Jugak bowed his head. Nabolek nodded and then retreated inside his quarters.

  . . . . . . .

  Henja followed the other two men for a few steps and then stopped at the sound of a noise nearby. He sniffed the air and then his head whipped to the side as he suddenly flowed forwards to the entrance of a large tree on his right.

  Stretching one hand up to hold on to the frame of the doorway, he leaned inside and tilted his head upwards to breathe in deeply. Looking from side to side, he saw that the room was a mess, full of construction materials and carpentry tools, as well as some containers holding pungent paints and varnishes on a large table. Seeing that the room was empty, he pulled himself back out again and quickly followed after the other two soldiers.

  . . . . . . .

  Tunit breathed out slowly and eased himself back up from behind the bench. His heart was beating furiously and he could feel sweat on his back. He sidled up to the window and moved his head a tiny bit past the window frame, just in time to catch the figure of Henja disappearing around a cedar trunk. The Miernan had sat down again at the table.

  His hands were shaking and he leant back against the wall, clenching his fists to try to calm himself. What was going on? Why had those men been sent by the Foreman’s guest to stop Jan getting home? And who was Henja? The man had a creepiness to him that made Tunit’s skin crawl. Jan was stronger than anyone Tunit knew, but there was something about Henja that made him nervous for the woodsmith. He had to get help - and quickly.

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and then crept up to the open doorway, stepping lightly over the equipment and pieces of wood from the new shower fitting. Standing in the doorway, he paused. There was a strange smell, something quite unpleasant that overpowered the other smells in the room.

  He looked around for the source and stopped when his eyes passed over the frame of the door. There was a small dark mark where Henja had gripped it. Almost a hand-shaped mark…

  He reached up to touch it, but as his fingers made contact, the wood underneath broke off, crumbling to pieces. Tunit jerked his hand back with a sharp intake of breath. It was completely rotten.

  . . . . . . .

  Raf jumped the last few feet to the ground and then dusted himself off. He made his way out towards the South pass entrance and finally arrived at his own home, sweating in the humid afternoon air. He entered the kitchen to find their farm manager, Moraes, sorting through some baskets of food.

  “Hi, Moraes.”

  “Why, good day, Master Gency,” replied the old man, smiling affably. “I see your classes are as irresistible as ever.”

  Raf grinned back at him. “Actually, we got the afternoon off. Not that anyone was listening.” Moraes chuckled and carried on rummaging through the baskets. “D’you know where Dad is?”

  “I believe your father is taking care of Festival business on the Eastside. From what I can gather, they’re running late and your mother has been…. shall we say ‘relentless’ in her directing of the whole affair.”

  “Yeah, I bet she has,” replied Raf, eyeing the fruit Moraes was sorting through. “You doing anything at the Festival?”

  “I have the honor of running both your father’s fruit stall as well as singing in my small choir group on the second night.”

  “Nice. Are you nervous?”

  “Not overly, Master Gency. Not as much as if I were performing in such an anticipated manner as yourself, anyway.”

  Raf rolled his eyes comically at Moraes. “Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out how to get out of that.”

  “Get out of it? I would have thought it would be a great privilege to sing in the Festival. And you’ve always so enjoyed your music.”

  “Yes, so everyone keeps reminding me. And everybody still seems to think that I’m eight years old, too.” He shook his head. “I love music, I do. Just… not standing there in front of people who are watching me do it. I’ll fall to pieces.”

  “Can’t you simply close your eyes? I find I can appreciate it more like that, connect with it.” Moraes smiled faintly and turned back to the fruit. “But, you must do what is right for you. I, myself, chose to leave West Peaks because my father was threatening to send me to work on the boats out of Toviton. I wandered for many years up and down through the Forest trying out different things. I was very lucky to gain employment with your father when I passed through Eirdale. And here I’ve been since, far from boats, and rather enjoying my life.”

  “I’d love to work on the boats.”

  “Ah, but Master Gency, you do not have an inhuman fear of being on the water,” he chuckled. “Anyway, listen to me going on like an old fool. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

/>   Raf patted the old man’s shoulder affectionately and looked down into the basket; it was a veritable rainbow of fruit, and the grapes he had eaten seemed a distant memory. With a lightning-quick move, he snatched a gold mango from the basket and quickly skipped out of the room, just ahead of Moraes’ lunge to catch him. The old man waved a gnarled fist at the boy and then went back to the table chortling softly to himself.

  Raf climbed up the winding passage to his room and straddled the thick window ledge, biting into the mango. It was delicious. He felt the juice running down his chin and wiped it with the back of his arm, leaning his head back and letting his thoughts catch up with him.

  ‘Just close your eyes’, that’s what Moraes had said about listening to music. Which was weird because that was the only time Raf saw those colors. There was some sort of link between them and what Bhothy had done. But what, exactly?

  The sound of voices in the kitchen indicated that his mother was home. Raf groaned and swung his other leg over the side of the window, using the vines to climb down.

  I’m not in the mood to deal with her right now.

  He jumped down the last bit, landing softly on the ground and paused, making a decision.

  I’ve got to find out more. If I don’t get answers soon, I’m going to lose my mind. But there’s only one place I’ll be able to find them…

  16. ACCIDENT

  Panting, Raf reached the hanging walls and marched through into Bhothy’s lair without knocking.

  “Bhothy?” he wheezed, craning his head around the room. The huge bush had been trimmed a bit, and along one side, Bhothy had hacked it away completely to unblock a doorway. “Hello?”

  There was no response so he slumped down on a leather bag and pursed his lips disappointedly. Where was the drunken old fool?

  Probably hiding from me. Me and my questions.

  He looked up at the bush again. Although, he seemed interested enough to talk when that stupid thing grew yesterday. He genuinely didn’t think he’d done it himself.

  “But it can’t have been me,” he whispered. However, he had been singing at the time, and those weird colors had appeared again…

  I wonder if Bhothy sees colors too? Maybe that’s the secret…

  Intrigued, he summoned the nursery rhyme to his mind. The familiar tune came easily and he started singing. Closing his eyes, he stared forward, straining to see the colors, almost oblivious to the song. There was nothing. Just blackness.

  He stopped and cursed. When he didn’t want to see colors in his head, they popped up and almost blinded him, but now, when he actually wanted them, he couldn’t find them! What was going on? Was he looking hard enough, or in the wrong way, somehow?

  Maybe that’s it, though; I’m looking for it. I’ve never done that before. Normally I just kind of happened to notice it.

  Suddenly he chuckled as he realized what he was thinking.

  It’s music! That’s what Bhothy said. And you don’t look for music, you idiot, you listen for it...

  Shaking his head at himself, he closed his eyes again. This time, he tried to ignore his eyes and instead focus on listening to the song as he sang it.

  A flush of excitement enveloped him as he suddenly became aware of a glimmering wisp of color flickering in front of him. And he had goose bumps. From the top of his neck, down his back and out along his arms and legs, a million tiny hairs rose up in a prickly wave. It was weird, but exhilarating, and he let himself relax and welcomed the sensation.

  OK, so how do I make the plant grow?

  At the thought of the plant growing, there was a strange turbulence in front of him and a ripple of deep purple seemed to bubble and condense out of the other colors. Raf watched in fascination as it ducked and weaved invitingly.

  And now? What do I do?

  He tried pointing at the bush and moving his hands in a sweeping gesture towards it, but when he cracked open an eye to look, still singing, he saw no noticeable change in the bush.

  Grow, he urged.

  The purple colors thickened even more. They filled his mind and raced around in front of him, but still nothing happened.

  Frustrated, he stopped singing and shouted, “Grow!”

  There was a crash behind him and Raf snapped out of his hazy state to spin around. The door to the room had been thrown open, and standing in the entrance was Bhothy, swaying drunkenly.

  “What’sh going on?” he stammered, holding on to the frame for support.

  Raf was about to greet him when Bhothy staggered clumsily off the step and slid on the mossy floor, bumping the side of a shelf. It tipped up wildly to slam into the shelf above which jettisoning its cargo, a heavy wooden chest. It plummeted swiftly, smashing straight into Bhothy’s head with a horrible crunch. He collapsed to the floor like a felled tree and lay motionless.

  Raf stared in shock and then flung himself down to the side of the unconscious man. “Bhothy!”

  Already, there was an egg-sized bump on his head. He held his head down onto Bhothy’s chest. There only the faintest pulse of a heart beat. “Oh, no…”

  He shook the flabby shoulders desperately, trying to jolt him awake. “Bhothy, are you OK? Wake up, please!” He stared at the man’s face and felt a wave of nausea swamp him as Bhothy’s face started turning a waxy grey.

  He’s dying!

  Raf wrung his hands. His father would know what to do, but he was too far away to help. It was up to Raf to do something – and right now. He seized on a desperate impulse and closed his eyes, throwing his arms forward to grab Bhothy by his shoulders. He burst into song - the first thing that came into his head, the gretanayre. He sang it loudly and closed his eyes. No colors come. He stopped and forced himself to calm down, ignoring his frantic racing heart. He started singing again, but this time softly. He closed his eyes and concentrated on hearing the music… and felt a shiver of relief as the colors re-appeared.

  Heal him! he yelled in his mind.

  This time it was molten blue that burst into sight and filled his vision, its frenzied motions echoing his own panic. Go!

  Something odd happened. He tried to mentally push the color and felt himself move forwards in his head, into the color somehow, until they merged. With startled awareness, he realized suddenly that it was now a part of him - or he was a part of it; they were extensions of each other. He could feel it. And control it…

  Without hesitation, he concentrated on Bhothy in his mind and flowed straight into the man’s body, surrounded by a billowing cloak of blue. He focused on the man and impelled the color to cover him, imagining his heart pounding, desperately willing it to beat faster and for his injured head to repair. He concentrated his mind and energy at the same thought, again and again, directing the color with one clear command in his mind: Heal!

  “Aaargh…”

  The noise made Raf jump backwards in fright and his eyes flew open. Bhothy was rolling from side to side, holding his head in both hands, groaning loudly.

  Raf scrambled to his feet, feeling his hands shaking with adrenalin as he watched the huge man writhe on the floor.

  He’s alive…

  Bhothy squinted up into the dim light and groaned, “What happened? What did y-”

  Raf was out the door and gone before he could say anything else.

  . . . . . . .

  In the distance, the village chimes started ringing and Leiana lifted her head from scrutinizing the schedule in front of her. Eirdale had guests, it seemed. She quickly tidied her papers up and then donned her bright green Council stole before heading out the door. The Foreman and most of the Council were over on the west side so she would have to greet the visitors herself.

  More and more people were flooding towards the entrance commons and she could already hear a swelling chorus of the gretanayre echoing through the trees. Leiana smiled approvingly. It was a pleasure to hear the Eirdale folk enthusiastically getting into the spirit of it all. After all, the Festival was only a few days away.

&nbs
p; She made her way through the crowd, the people opening up to let her pass when they saw who it was, and she was greeted with the sight of a familiar figure leading the welcome. Abuniah hopped around energetically, banging on some little wooden kettle drums for the visitors who had arrived.

  Leiana couldn’t help grinning with delight at the sight of them: four dholaki standing right there in front of her, in her village! The iMahli hand-drummers were legendary, and nobody knew that they were actually here to perform at the Festival. It was too exciting.

  Two of them were seated on the back of their small wagon and two stood in front holding the goats’ harnesses. All of them watched the proceedings silently.

  The crowd gradually calmed down at Abuniah’s bidding and then Leiana stepped forward. She dipped her head to the iMahlis. “Who is Edokko?”

  “I am Edokko.” The shortest one, wearing an ornate ivory necklace, padded barefoot up to stand in front of her.

  “I am Leiana, Councilwoman for Eirdale. Welcome! You’ve already met Abuniah, I take it.”

  The little man nodded. “He would make good dholak.”

  Abuniah bowed theatrically and was applauded by some of the crowd in front.

  “He would make a good clown as well, Edokko,” she replied laughing. “But you can’t have him, I’m afraid.”

  Edokko didn’t smile, but turned to say something to the other iMahlis and one jumped lightly down from the wagon to the ground. The fourth iMahli, muscular and much darker than the other three, remained sitting in the back. He was dressed in a simple leather skirt and sat staring idly at the side of the wagon.

  “Where are shelters?” asked Edokko. “Water and food, also.”

  Leiana, slightly taken aback by his abruptness, called up one of the youngsters standing behind her. “Aden here will show to you to your quarters. If you need anything else, please don’t hesit-”

  “Coins,” said Edokko. “You must pay.”