Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles)

by David Lundgren

  The Foreman welcomed the guests formally, introducing them one by one. Then he explained the reasons for sounding the Ash-knell, starting with the Festival and the implications of Allium’s map, to which there was an instant reaction. Augin Rohloff, the young Foreman of Matusbury, stood up angrily.

  “We will make sure that no-one, not one forester in our villages, takes part in this false Festival, Eliath. You have our word on that. As soon as we return, we will send pigeons to everyone and make sure they know of Allium’s treachery.”

  “How could the man think he’d get away with this?” mocked the bald-headed Councilman Tannunder. “Did he honestly think we might just… fail to notice that nobody was here for the Festival?” There were a few mirthless laughs from the others.

  Foreman Manyara lifted a hand up to get their attention. “I hope no one here thinks I am so petty as to call an Overcouncil just to deal with this. Please listen, there is more.” He squared his shoulders and waited till he had their attention. “Sadly, this Festival nonsense is unimportant in light of what’s happened recently and what we’ve learnt. It affects us all.”

  He ran through their recent discoveries with all the rotten smells and concluded with the news about Vince’s death.

  “I hope you will forgive me for calling an Overcouncil here in Eirdale, forcing you to travel through what has seemingly become a quite unstable Forest. It was brash and risky, but I believe it was necessary. This is something we must solve together and while we are fortunate that none of you was hurt travelling here, it is surely only a matter of time before tragedies occur. We must find a cure for this disease if we are to survive. And quickly. If we cannot…” The Foreman paused, looking around slowly. “If we cannot, I put it to you that we must leave the Forest. It would simply be too dangerous for anyone to remain here.”

  25. ELDER

  As dusk settled on the village, the roasted boars that had been cooking for hours on spits outside were brought in to the meeting and the conversations continued while the Overcouncil ate.

  Raf’s grandfather, Luka Pollath, was arguing fervently with a small group when a young forester entered and pulled him aside. The look on Luka’s face darkened as the young man spoke and then, dismissing the man with a grim nod, he approached Eirdale’s Foreman and spoke quietly into his ear.

  “What?!”

  The room froze at the roar from Eirdale’s Foreman.

  Rip Thraen called out from a table at the back, “What is it, Eliath?”

  “Apparently, there -” Foreman Manyara paused and looked around at the worried faces. “Apologies, this really isn’t important bearing in mind what we are discussing now.”

  “Go on,” urged Luka. “They’ll want to know.”

  “Well, Allium, it seems, is no longer even trying to hide his agenda. The crossroads near Borilcester have been destroyed. Miernan soldiers have cut down an Ancient there and collapsed the area.”

  “Allium has had an Ancient… cut down?” Raf watched as Mvusi Feko’la, a very elderly Foreman, stood up and held a shaky and knotted hand to his head in dismay. “But, why?”

  “He means to stop us reaching him in Three Ways,” said Rip Thraen quietly. “He knows that any visits from us to his Festival will bring trouble for him. I tend to agree with that suspicion…”

  There were shouts and curses as an uproar broke out from the rest of the room. Augin Rohloff announced he was heading up to Three Ways to confront Allium immediately and was supported loudly by some of the other northern Foremen.

  Raf pulled himself back and exhaled slowly. Miernan soldiers cutting down Ancients? What was going on?

  “Have I come at a bad time?” said a loud, dry voice suddenly.

  Raf quickly pushed his face back up to the window. An old man had stepped into the room. As he turned in the candle-light, Raf mused that ‘old’ was actually a complete understatement. His face was as wrinkled as a prune and the stray wisps of white hair dangling from his chin did nothing to reduce his haggardly appearance. He was dressed in simple brown robes with a leather sash around his bony waist, and held a long bamboo pole in a bony hand for support.

  “Who’s that d’you think?” whispered Cisco.

  “Don’t have a clue,” mouthed Raf.

  The stranger stepped slowly into the middle of the room and looked around at the frieze of surprise in front of him, before reaching out and taking a piece of dried meat from a nearby bowl. He popped it into his mouth and chewed it vigorously.

  Foreman Manyara frowned. “Who are you, forester? This is an Overcouncil, a private meeting.”

  The stranger continued chewing. “I heard the Ash-knell.”

  “I don’t recognize you, friend, and this Overcouncil is for Foremen and Council only. We have some pressing matters to deal with, so I would ask you to kindly leave. I will happily speak with you afterwards.”

  He looked over at Nathyn who nodded and stood up to escort the old man out. As he did though, there was a shuffling in the ranks of onlookers and they made way for someone at the back. Raf watched as Mvusi Feko’la shuffled forward on bandy legs. He threw a sharp glance at Nathyn and flicked a hand at him dismissively.

  “Foreman Feko’la? You know this man?”

  Mvusi ignored Nathyn and bowed low to the stranger. Then he started singing a strange little ditty that Raf didn’t recognize.

  “What?” Cisco hissed. “He’s the oldest Foreman in the Forest, isn’t he? And he’s bowing to this guy?”

  Raf tried to get a clearer view as the newcomer dipped his head at Mvusi and then sang what was apparently the response. Mvusi then turned around slowly, straightening up with a somber expression. “Foreman Manyara, the rest of the Overcouncil, I would like to introduce you to Elder Bolyai.”

  “He’s an Elder?” whispered Cisco. He looked over at Raf. “I told you!”

  . . . . . . .

  Below them, the Elder stood motionless as the room reacted in silent astonishment to his introduction. Eliath in particular seemed at a loss as to what to do and it was only when Mvusi indicated his chair with a quick dart of his eyes that he vacated it and offered it up to the guest.

  The Elder ignored the staring faces and reached across the table to take the Foreman’s mug of mead. He took a long draught and then, nodding once at Mvusi, wiped the foam off his beard.

  “I haven’t been to Eirdale in a while.” The Overcouncil looked at each other awkwardly, unsure of how to react. “Seems very serious in here. And very quiet. When Barreth was Foreman, I wouldn’t have been able to even hear the Ash-knell for music and festivities.”

  “Barreth Manyara?” said the Foreman. “You knew my grandfather?”

  “Quite well.” The Elder reached over to take another piece of dried meat from the bowl. “Tell me, why was the Ash-knell sounded? It has been an age since I last heard it.”

  “The trees have caught some sort of disease which is rotting them and we recently had a collapse which killed one of our villagers, sadly. Have you not smelt it on your way here?”

  “Like a rotten carcass?” responded the Elder. “I’ve smelt something like that a few times recently.” He looked up at the roof thoughtfully. Raf and Cisco instantly ducked back out of sight. “And you say someone was killed? Well, tomorrow morning you must show m-“

  The Elder looked up as there was a knock on the doors of the chambers and one of Dr Ferrows’ young assistants entered.

  Foreman Manyara pushed forwards past the others. “Is it Jan?”

  “Dr Ferrows says to come quickly. He… won’t last much longer, Foreman.”

  “What’s this?” asked the Elder.

  The Foreman started explaining about the attack and the strange disease eating away at Jan, but Bolyai waved him off. “Tell me on the way.”

  Raf looked at Cisco and the two scrambled their way back down to the ground to join the others heading towards the medical rooms.

  . . . . . . .

  When they got there, the Elder spoke quick
ly with Dr Ferrows and then asked them to bring Jan out and lay him on the ground. Three men complied immediately and the Foreman himself laid the yellow, shriveled body of the once massive woodsmith on the mossy ground. Around them, people gasped with dismay at the sight of the Jan’s emaciated figure.

  Bolyai knelt down over him, touching his face and arms softly with his fingers, muttering to himself under his breath. The woodsmith’s breathing was shallow and slow, and even in the fading evening light, the sickly yellow color of his skin stood out.

  Bolyai spun around to face the Foreman. “A haelanayre. Any one, just sing now!”

  The Foreman turned desperately to Abuniah and Ottery who were standing behind him. “Do you know what that is?”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” said Ottery, wringing her hands. Abuniah shook his head. Bolyai cursed and then started singing a soft song himself, holding his hands above the body of Jan. From behind Raf came some whispering and he turned to see some of the much older villagers lifting their voices to join in.

  The Elder looked back at them with a nod and then closed his eyes to focus on Jan. Raf listened carefully and as soon as he felt comfortable with the melody, tried to join in. He was one of the first to do so, but soon more took it up and then the entire crowd was singing along softly.

  Raf felt the swell of music fill the air around them. And then he closed his eyes. In the darkness, colors sprang to life and spiraled excitedly in the air around him. As he focused in front of him, however, he noticed that there was some unusual movement to them instead of the usual disorganized chaos.

  Trying to identify the cause, he floated in closer. A faint wisp of pale blue was slowly drifting down to the floor, and in the space where Jan’s body lay, he saw an area of dark blotchiness. He could sense something unpleasant about it, so he pushed even closer and saw that the blotches weren’t solid so much as a sort of twisted weaving of black threads which pulsed disturbingly throughout his entire body. The mist of blue curled in amongst the threads, forming pools of color around them, and as they did, the blotches seemed to lighten a tiny bit at the edges. But the blue faded as quickly as it arrived, almost as if it was being drained.

  Raf suddenly knew what was happening without fully understanding it – or how he knew.

  It’s trying to help him, but it’s not strong enough. It’s just getting absorbed or something by that black stuff.

  He swam forwards into the drifting currents, trying to urge them to flow thicker and move faster. As soon as the concept of healing entered his thoughts he felt a rushing sound as, from all around, the blue mist thickened and swelled into a frothy flood around him. It churned through the air in a powerful current that crashed over the dark threads, saturating them. They resisted for a few seconds and he could just make them out pulsing defiantly behind the swirling blue, but the sheer strength of the color was too much and they lightened and seemed to dissolve. Before long, they had disappeared altogether.

  A noise pricked the back of his mind and it took him a moment to realize that there was shouting in front of him. He stopped singing and opened his eyes, just in time to see a glimpse of Jan’s open eyes staring upwards, before the crowd thronged forwards, blocking him from view.

  In that moment, Raf saw what a massive change had come over the woodsmith. Instead of drawn, sallow cheeks, there was a fierce redness to them now, and the skin that had been dry and crinkled was softer and had a sheen of healthy moisture to it.

  All around him, people cried out excitedly, and Dr Ferrows knelt with her mouth open as she held Jan’s hand and felt warm blood pulsing through it. The Elder was on his haunches and staring around in a daze at the crowd

  Raf’s mind spun. He almost fell backwards as he lurched to his feet and stumbled numbly away from the scene. He reached the sycamore Ancient, climbed up to his room and then staggered to his bed where he collapsed on his back, his heart pounding and his thoughts spinning.

  26. TEST

  The brash calls of a peacock outside pierced the window and Raf came to, staring groggily at the knotted ceiling above him. He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  “Morning, Raf,” came a chirpy voice.

  “Hey, Rio. How you doing?” he responded, yawning widely.

  “Did you know that the Elder healed Mr. Ferthen? Everybody’s talking about it!”

  “Mm-hmm. I heard last night.” Raf nodded vaguely. “So he’s… better now?”

  “Yeah! Dr Ferrows said so,” Rio replied, putting his sandals on. “You coming down for breakfast? Grandpa’s still here.”

  Raf walked over to the corner of their room and undressed before stepping behind a thick fold in the wall that jutted out a few feet into the room. Behind was the thin cranny that served as their shower space. Reaching up to take hold of the thick watervine, he unclipped it and let the cool, clear water pour over him, washing away the dirt and fatigue from the day before.

  When he was clean, he dressed and made his way down the main stairway to the kitchen, where he came face to face with a broad smile from the grey-bearded Luka Pollath.

  “Morning, Grandpa,” he said, and then looked up to the others at the table. “Morning.”

  “Did you sleep well?” asked his grandfather.

  “Yes, thanks.” He walked up to take a few pieces of fruit and sat down next to Rio. “I thought you left with all the other Foremen this morning?”

  “The rest departed at first light. I thought I’d catch a leisurely breakfast before navigating my way back home to Marondale. It’s not every day you come across an Elder.”

  “How’s Jan?”

  “Mr. Ferthen, you mean?” replied his father, pouring himself some coffee. “Whatever this Elder did, he seems to be completely on the mend. It’s astounding.”

  Raf glanced up at his grandfather who smiled back affectionately and said, “So, I understand the Foreman thinks highly of your musical abilities?”Raf shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

  Luka laughed softly in his quiet husky voice. “I imagine your mother’s very proud, Raf, what with our musical heritage. I’m sure you know that my great uncle was the Bard in Yaelstead many years ago. An excellent lutist, I’ve been told. Perhaps you should visit sometime and find out more? Speaking of which, it must be almost time for sojourns, surely? Maybe a trip up north?”

  Raf looked down at his plate in front of him, but was spared having to answer by his father, who said, “It’s been a matter of some debate actually, Luka. Raf has some rather… adventurous ideas about his sojourn. There are some safety issues.”

  “You can’t be too adventurous with your sojourn, Tarvil,” responded Luka with a chuckle. “I, myself, travelled to the Marshlands and stayed in one of the floating villages there. It was quite an experience really, and -“

  “Perhaps we could not talk about this?” said Leiana sharply from the end of the table. “It doesn’t concern you, father.”

  “But, Lei, the whole tradition of sojourns is about experiencing new challenges and new cult-”

  “- then he can go to Dimb’s End or Sayenham! Just leave it alone,” she snapped. The kitchen was silent apart from the sound of Leiana cutting up a watermelon. “And anyway, until we find a cure for this tree disease - assuming there even is one - nobody will be going anywhere.”

  Luka grunted something inaudible and got up from the table to shuffle out the kitchen. Leiana clenched her jaws, carving up the watermelon with long, violent slices as Tarvil stared out the window and sipped his coffee. Raf toyed with some blackberries on his plate, wishing he was anywhere else at that moment.

  Fortunately, a welcome distraction came in the form of the chimes suddenly ringing for a Council meeting. Elder Bolyai, it seemed, had returned from his visit to the area where Vince had died.

  . . . . . . .

  The Foreman stood with the Elder at the front in deep conversation when the last few Council members arrived in the chambers. The chattering died down as the Foreman held a hand up.
>
  “Elder Bolyai has returned from visiting the diseased area. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know of any cure himself, but -” there was a loud groan from Nathyn as he continued loudly, “- but, he has heard of an expert in iMahliland who he will seek out immediately. Jover and Fester have already kindly offered a wagon with a team of saanen.” This quietened the Council somewhat and there were a few hopeful looks cast across the room. “Elder Bolyai has also asked for an assistant,” continued the Foreman. “While it would seem that sojourns are unlikely to happen for a long while, this would be an opportunity for one of our school leavers to travel with the Elder. A rare privilege”

  “Who will go?” asked Dalton.

  “I will choose,” replied the Elder. “The journey will be long and I would prefer one with… some musical ability.”

  “How will you decide, might I ask?” inquired Madame Ottery. “Many are musical.”

  “Just bring the students here as soon as possible. I want to leave before noon.”

  . . . . . . .

  “Good morning,” said Bolyai, once the assembled students had finished their response to his gretanayre. There were sixteen of them and they looked around at each other in excitement. “I had not expected so many.”

  Madame Ottery shrugged. “These are the ones of sojourn age who I would consider musical.”

  Bolyai dismissively waved a wrinkled hand, waiting for her to leave the room, and then faced the students. “I am leaving for iMahliland in a few hours and need an assistant. It will be hot and dangerous, but is incredibly important for all in the Forest.” He turned around to point at a table behind him. “You have only one task, play this for me.”

  He removed a cloth covering something and underneath lay a wooden instrument that looked vaguely flute-like at one end, with a few unusual loops in the middle and holes down one side. There were some strange levers towards the top as well and the bottom split into two bells that flared out delicately.