Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles)

by David Lundgren

  Senator Hysik lifted his drink quickly as Nabolek’s face tightened. “A toast. Let’s enjoy the day and think about the long term profits that will flow into Miern’s coffers, Senators. The Festival starts in a few days and Nabolek has brought us here to a forest that is surely ripe for the picking.”

  . . . . . . .

  The newly-appointed Captain Lethar sat on a large wagon moving down the southern pass a few hours out of Three Ways. The path had slowly widened over the last stretch, although it was still bordered by the walls of thick brambles it bisected. Next to him, a young forester walked along beside the wagon enthusiastically playing a wooden flute. Behind them, a line of marching soldiers stretched to the other, much larger wagon some fifty feet back which was covered with hide.

  “How much longer, forester?”

  The young man laughed and pointed his flute up towards one of the enormous trees ahead around which the path bent. “The crossroads are just beyond that Ancient. Are we in so much of a rush?”

  Lethar ignored him. They probably didn’t even need a guide as the path was easy to find and the only means of travelling through the thick woods, but he preferred to be safe rather than risk a mistake and have to deal with Nabolek.

  The procession finally made its way past the cedar and then reached a large, open space where a few different paths merged together in a worn, open junction. Lethar looked back to the other wagon and gestured for the soldiers to stop. He jumped to the ground and pulled out a rolled up map from a box on the side of the wagon, stretching it out in the air.

  He tapped a spot south of Three Ways. “So this is where we are?” The forester walked up, squinted at the map and nodded. “And all the paths up from the south join here to head up along the path we’ve just come along?” The forester nodded again. “No other way to get to Three Ways except on this path?”

  “Well, not unless you’re coming from west or north, obviously. But from down here, it’s the only way to get through this bramble jungle.” He waved his hand vaguely at the bushes next to them.

  Lethar looked out at the junction. “Well, don’t let us keep you from your Festival.”

  The forester tilted his head. “Are you setting up camp or something, Captain? And what’s in that huge wagon? Is this something to do with the collapses in the south we’ve been told about? Are you going to help?”

  “Something like that, forester. It’s Miernan business, though; nothing for you to worry about. Now, please go, we have much work to do.”

  The forester shrugged and made his way back down the path. As he passed by the back of the wagon though, one of the soldiers unhitched the coverings and the side slipped down to reveal the contents. The forester gasped at what he saw: rows of bright silver axes, lined up on racks, great mounds of rope coiled in neat piles on the floor;, and two enormous twelve foot saw blades held in straps above them.

  His face dropped as he took it in. “Wh… what are those for?“ he stammered. He started backing away from them, pointing at the blades. “You can’t cut down trees! It’s against the law, Miernan. Is that what you’re doing?”

  “Yes, they are for doing some pruning. That huge one over there is a perfect starting point.” Lethar sighed. “You really didn’t need to be so nosy. I told you, this was Miernan business.” He reached behind the bench he was sitting on.

  “The Ancient?” hissed the forester. “How could you even think about cutting it down? The Council will never allow it!” He turned and sprinted back up the path. A second later there was a sharp explosion and the forester was lifted a few feet into the air before crashing back down onto the ground. He let out a wet, gurgling breath and then was still.

  Lethar lowered the pepperbox and returned it to its holster. The soldiers continued unloading the wagons, stepping around the mangled body.

  24. OVERCOUNCIL

  The four of them walked back briskly through the farms, leaving the towering form of Nviro behind them. The sun had risen hours earlier and they had taken their time on the trip back, nursing stiff muscles and blisters from the activities of the day before. In the distance, the village chimes rang.

  “Sounds like it’s already getting busy down there,” observed Cisco.

  “Let’s hope so,” said the Foreman.

  Cisco looked over the Raf and wiggled his eyebrows. “With the Ash-knell blaring you did yesterday, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were visited by an Elder or two…”

  “An elder?” responded Fergus curiously. “You mean like Mr. Jover?”

  Cisco laughed. “No, no, not like Jover, although I know he looks old and shriveled. No, I’m talking about other people in the Forest – very old people. People say they’re as old as the Ancients.”

  “You been talking to your Nan again?” said Raf, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him, Fergus. Cisco’s Nan is full of excellent bedtime stories.”

  Cisco ignored him and continued. “They’re very secretive, living deep in the Forest. It didn’t always use to be like that though, and my Nan told me they used to be our leaders, like the Foreman.”

  Fergus’ eyes lit up. “Did you know that, Raf?”

  Cisco patted his friend’s shoulder. “Knowing the Gency Family, Raf’s probably got an Elder for a cousin...”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” muttered Raf, speeding to catch up with the Foreman.

  Cisco laughed and beckoned Fergus to follow as he jogged after them.

  . . . . . . .

  They made their way directly to the Council quarters, walking straight in to a picture of delighted expressions.

  “Foreman,” said Leiana. “Good job! And welcome back.”

  “It worked marvelously well. Gave the branches a good old rattling,” added Dr Allid. “I’d rather like to have seen this Ash-knell.”

  “Not an easy trip, but no problems with the rot and we survived.” The Foreman indicated the boys with a jerk of his head. “I may as well have not been there, to be honest. It’s all down to this lot. Raf was the one who worked out how to sound the Ash-knell. We even - and you’ll probably find this more newsworthy - managed to get him to sing for us. It was quite a show.” Fergus and Cisco both beamed at Raf who looked down at his feet suddenly.

  The Foreman grew solemn again. “Now we just need to see if it was worth it.”

  “We have proof already, Foreman,” said Leiana. “Fifteen Foremen have beaten you here.”

  “Already?” The Foreman was taken aback. “What about the rotten ground? It’s such a huge risk…”

  Leiana put her hands on her hips and stared frostily at him.

  A flicker of a smile danced across his mouth and he dipped his head apologetically. “And how have you organized everything, might I ask?”

  “There’s a reason you have a Council, you know.” She raised her eyebrow at him and sat down at the table. “While you have been away we have sorted ourselves out and prepared everything in readiness. Even as we speak there are scouts manning all the paths leading into Eirdale. Each knows a safe route through the rotten patches.”

  “Are they being told what the situation is?”

  “No. Of those I’ve spoken to, they’ve all smelt the rot, but have had no casualties, which is a relief. You can broach the subject tonight at the Overcouncil.”

  The Foreman nodded slowly in approval. “Who’s here already?”

  “Most of the closer ones obviously, but also some who travelled through the night,” replied Dalton. “Samuel, Shant, Terrell, the Wrighks and Jethem. Bilotusia’s even here already from West Peaks.”

  “What about Jon Pentrige, Mvusi and Raol?”

  “No, not yet. But bear in mind that it may have taken a while for some of them to realize what it was, and then travel all the way down here. I’m confident though that the majority will arrive in time for the meeting early this evening.”

  The Foreman vacantly scratched his cheek. “An Overcouncil, huh? In my time…” He looked at Leiana. “Perhaps we can make this a slightly less d
aunting with some entertainment? This is a rare crowd to have in our village. Maybe get some use out of those dholaki and give Eirdale a little unexpected flair?”

  A flush of red bloomed on her cheeks and she started to say something but Abuniah interrupted her. “No luck there, I’m afraid; the iMahlis left earlier on. Heading up to the Festival in Three Ways, is my guess.”

  “What?” burst out Leiana. “But… they were supposed to perform here. We had a deal!” She deliberately avoided eye-contact with Tarvil who knuckled his chin and stared off into the distance through the window.

  “Don’t fear, Leiana,” said Abuniah soothingly. “We aren’t completely untalented, the rest of us.”

  . . . . . . .

  Raf crawled up through the tree trunk and sat in the small hollow, yawning. He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on top. Looking up, he saw his carving attempts on the shelf and smiled faintly as he thought of the delight that Orfea’s new owner would have playing her. Fergus would be as careful – and enthusiastic - a keeper as anyone.

  The idea of trying to make another one took hold of him, and he crept over to the window. Spotting a vine branch that was about the right size he pulled out his knife, and with a few quick slices severed it from the main limb. Propping the stick carefully on the thick ledge of the window, he drew a breath and closed his eyes. The song the Foreman had been singing by the Ash-knell popped up in his mind, and he began to sing it softly.

  The colors lit up the darkness and he focused his thoughts on making an instrument – growing one. No sooner had the idea popped into his mind when out of the glimmering hues, a vein of violet unfolded, cloaking all the other colors. As he had before, Raf pushed himself into it, felt himself shift forwards and become one with the color. He kept the goal of what he wanted to make in his thoughts – some sort of pipe instrument - and guided the colors towards the stick. He couldn’t see it with his eyes closed, obviously, but he tried to hold the idea of it in his head and made wave after wave wash over it, imploring it to grow. After a few minutes, unable to stave off his curiosity any more, he stopped singing and then nervously eased open his eyes.

  He wasn’t disappointed. Where the vine branch had been was now an odd tangled wooden shape that, in a strange instinctive way, he knew was an instrument. Bends and loops and flares curved organically into and around each other in an intricate pattern, forming what was some kind of horn.

  He reached down to pick it up but found that it was stuck. On further inspection, he realized that it wasn’t stuck so much as…

  “How’s that possible?”

  The stick he had laid on the window ledge was now firmly attached to one of the vines it had been leaning against. In fact, it seemed to be somehow… growing from the vine again. They had joined! Seamlessly joined, as if part of the same plant.

  Mouth hanging open, he gently bent the horn backwards and forwards until there was a soft snap. In trembling hands, he lifted it up and turned it over in his hands in sheer delight. He positioned his hands intuitively, feeling them fit into place over the complex arrangement of holes, took a breath and then blew gently into the flattened mouthpiece. The note that came out of the flared bell at the end was soft and haunting like a lark’s call, and Raf felt an icy stream of goose bumps immediately flood over his arms. He tried playing a simple tune, savoring the delicious texture of the notes, when there was a sudden bump from the hollow trunk below him.

  “Hello?” he called.

  There was a scuffling, so he put the horn carefully down on the floor and then moved on his hands and knees to the top of the make-do ladder, sticking his head over the edge. There was a glimmer of indistinct movement at the bottom and then the snapping sound of breaking twigs outside, so he clambered as quickly as he could down the inside of the old snag, dropping recklessly to the floor and crawling out the narrow entrance.

  He turned around, staring into the bushes and trees, but couldn’t see anything. Then there was a noise further up the road towards the village centre and he caught sight of a flash of dark brown through some particularly thick brush. He sprinted up towards the patch, but when he got there, there was no sign of anyone. He scratched his head and stared up the path in frustration until he caught another glimpse of the dark brown along the other side of the path, quite a bit further. He darted up and crashed wildly into the bushes, trying to startle whoever it was, but again, there was no one. Exasperated, he started running down the path, and only stopped when he almost ran headfirst into Cisco.

  “Was it you?” he accused breathlessly, jabbing a finger into his friend’s face.

  “Um…” Cisco gave him a dubious look.

  “Where have you just been?”

  “I was just looking for you, you weirdo. The Overcouncil’s going to start soon,” said Cisco. “Anyway, where’ve you been?”

  “Wait, did you see anyone running past here? Dressed in brown?”

  “Nope. Just you. So are we going now or what? I mean, it’s nothing important - just the entire future of the Aeril Forest at stake.”

  “What? It’s happening already?”

  “Yup,” replied Cisco. “Abuniah is apparently leading the entertainment tonight along with Ottery’s junior choir. It looks like your brother’s got roped into it, so your mom will be half pacified at least.”

  Raf bit his lip, casting a half-hearted glance around the bushes again.

  “Come on Raf, let’s go! I don’t want to miss this.”

  “But we can’t get in anyway, Cisc; it’s closed to non-Council members.”

  “Well, obviously we can’t just walk in and join the Overcouncil, you dopey git. I was thinking more of, well, Ned told me about a place you two went the other day…” Raf broke into a grudging smile as Cisco’s impish grin wore away his worry.

  . . . . . . .

  They were sprinting around the back of a large elm Ancient when a shout brought them to a halt. Turning, they saw Nathyn Tovier beckoning them. They quickly walked across to the smartly-dressed Council member and saw Nedrick standing with him looking uncomfortable in a long dark dress-robe.

  “Good afternoon, Councilman Tovier,” both the boys greeted.

  “What are you doing haring around the village?” demanded Nathyn. “Don’t you have things to help with?” The boys stammered about being on their way. “I don’t want to hear excuses,” he interrupted, holding a hand up. “We have important guests here, and you should be dressed properly and assisting with preparations. Go!”

  “Yes, Councilman.”

  There was a quiet cough from behind them and they turned around to see two strangers standing watching them in amusement. One was short and completely bald, and the other was a monstrously large man with a foot-long, black beard. They both carried chains of office around their necks.

  Nathyn gasped and immediately bowed. “Foreman Tannunder, Foreman Thraen! I beg your pardon, I did not know you were there.”

  The shorter of the two men chuckled softly and leaned lazily on the thick staff he was carrying. “That’s quite all right, Councilman. Myself and Thraen here did not wish to intrude on your discussion, but now that you are finished chastising the lads, I wonder if you could be of assistance? I fear we’re late for this mysterious Overcouncil.”

  “Of course, of course,” gushed Nathyn, dipping his head. “Actually, you’re just in time. The meeting is about to commence. If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll take you there immediately.”The three men walked off talking, with Nathyn bowing fawningly every second sentence.

  Nedrick shook his head slightly and muttered under his breath, “Look at him. He’s like some sort of rooster with all that head-bobbing.”

  “Is that really the Foreman Thraen?” asked Cisco in an awed tone. “The one who killed the bear?”

  “The very one,” said Nedrick.

  “That’s just a myth,” said Raf. “Have you been spending time with Cisco’s Nan as well, Ned?”

  “Oh no, it’s definitely
true,” said Nedrick. “We went to visit a few years back and I remember seeing the bear’s head mounted on the wall of his home.”

  “Nonsense…”

  “Raf, look at the size of him. He’s easily a foot taller than our Foreman - and probably twice as strong as Orikon.”

  As they watched, Foreman Thraen glanced back in their direction. Seeing them staring at him, he winked before turning back to Nathyn. The three boys grinned at each other and then turned to head down towards the commons.

  “Nedrick!”

  Nedrick cursed. “Sorry, guys. Guess I’m also supposed to be a rooster. See you later.” He jogged to catch up to his father.

  The other two made their way quickly to the cluster of thick bamboo stalks, and in a few minutes, were crawling along the branch sloping towards the sequoia trunk. Because there were so many visitors, the Overcouncil was being held in the largest meeting room which was actually adjacent to the room Raf and Nedrick had eavesdropped on before. There were long thin windows along the side of one of the walls of this room, so they climbed carefully around the sequoia trunk and positioned themselves comfortably in some deep clefts in the bark before peeking inside.

  From their vantage point, they watched as the two Foremen they had met on the path were shown to seats at the massive head table with Eirdale’s Foreman Manyara. Nathyn and some of the Eirdale Council offered up their spaces and then moved down to join the other visiting Foremen and Council members. In the end, the head table had Eirdale’s Foreman and Leiana at one end, and then a double row of around thirty Foremen stretching down from them, with a few small tables of Council members around the periphery.

  It was an intriguing gathering of authorities - most of whom had travelled through the night - which created quite a strained, bristly atmosphere, and Raf was relieved when Foreman Manyara finally stood up and began the gretanayre. The others responded in unison and at the powerful sound that filled the room, Raf gave Cisco a delighted smile and nodded his approval.