Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles)

by David Lundgren

  He pointed at the boy nearest him. “Name?”

  “Err… Lewis Frenk, sir.”

  “The Frenks of Abiesborough?”

  “Yes, sir,“ replied the boy, impressed. He turned and smiled proudly to his classmates who, as one, rolled their eyes at him.

  “You, first.”

  Lewis stepped up to the instrument, put it to his mouth and blew into it hard. Nothing happened. Not even the sound of air moving through it. Lewis blew until his cheeks turned bright red.

  “I think it’s stuck, sir,” he said, shaking it curiously.

  “Yes, that’s fine, thank you, Master Frenk. You may go.”

  Lewis placed it on the table carefully before walking out the room, blushing furiously as a few of the others sniggered.

  “You, next. Name?”

  “Luke Parron, sir.” The muscular blond boy walked up to the instrument and struggled to blow it for half a minute, pressing different combinations of levers and holes to no avail, before he, too, was dismissed by Bolyai.

  And so it carried on. One by one, the students attempted to play it and failed, to be sent out the room unceremoniously by the Elder. By the time the last one – a nervous Cisco – tried and was sent away, the Elder’s face had turned flinty. He snatched the instrument up and left the room. Outside, a few of the Council were seated around a bench and looked up in interest.

  “So, who is it to be, Elder?” asked Dalton.

  “None of them. Not one single student in that miserable bunch could play a single note on this,” he snapped, holding the instrument up for them.

  Madame Ottery frowned. “Elder, I am a journeyman musician and well-travelled, but I must confess that I’ve never even seen one of those before.”

  Bolyai grunted and started packing the instrument away. “It’s called a paodrin. It’s fairly old, but I was sure that there was at least one who would have the gift.”

  “And Raf wasn’t any good?” the Foreman asked. “With all his recent surprises, I’m a bit disappointed, really.”

  “Who is this?” asked Bolyai, his eyes narrowing. “I thought you brought me all the students who were musical?”

  “My son,” replied Leiana frowning. “Was he not there?” She turned to Madame Ottery. “Resma, I thought you had collected them all?”

  Resma pursed her lips and turned to Abuniah who shook his head. “Apparently we must have missed him.”

  “Well, never mind,” said Tarvil, “he’s just over there.”

  They looked to where he was pointing and saw Raf talking with Cisco, walking away towards the schools.

  “Raf! Could you come here for a minute?”

  Raf looked up, and then grimaced when he saw them. He trudged up towards them with a nervous look on his face, and mumbled a greeting, avoiding eye contact with his mother.

  “Do something for me, boy,” said Bolyai. “Play this paodrin.”

  “I… er… I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one of those before, Elder. Sorry. Perhaps someone else w-”

  “Just try playing it, Raf,” muttered Leiana in irritation. “It would be nice if, just for once, you did what you were asked instead of immediately finding any way possible to avoid doing it.”

  Raf went bright red and he glared at her.

  She tilted her head at him, exasperated. “Just try!”

  “Fine!” snapped Raf. He took the instrument from the Elder and looked down at it, turning it over in his hands. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he slotted his hands into position and put the mouth-piece to his lips. A reedy but powerful note warbled out of the flared end and Raf played a few more different notes before thrusting the instrument out to Bolyai. “There. Can I go now?”

  They were all looking at him with baffled expressions and the Elder’s expression was intense and penetrating, his white eyebrows arched up to deepen the creases in his forehead. “How did you do that?”

  “What, play it? I don’t know. It’s just obvious, isn’t it? You have to suck the air through it, otherwise it won’t work. It’s a bit squeaky, but I think that’s just because I’ve never played one before.”

  Bolyai took the instrument gently and looked at it blankly for a few seconds before turning to the Foreman and nodding almost imperceptibly.

  The Foreman turned to Leiana. “Are you all right with it?”

  “Of course,” she said in a frosty tone. “It’s for the good of the Forest after all. But you’ll have to see if he’s interested; I’ve found him less than amenable recently.”

  Raf looked at them suspiciously. “What?”

  “The Elder is requesting your company on his journey to iMahliland,” said the Foreman. “Will you go, Raf?”

  Raf looked at the crowd of Council members standing in front of him.

  It’s an important trip, I know, but it sounds so boring! I mean, iMahliland? It’s just sand and stuff. Nobody even sojourns there. He looked up at all of them. His mother tilted her head impatiently. Still, anything’s better than staying here, surely…

  27. GO-BETWEEN

  Half an hour later, Raf walked with his father up to the East Ulnus path carrying a sack over his shoulder. In front of them, the sturdy wagon crawled along with the Elder and Orikon sitting on the driver’s bench. It slowed and pulled up to a creaky halt as they reached the small crowd waiting to see them off.

  “Ready?” asked the Foreman. “I’m sending Fergus with you to Luanchester, Tarvil. He’s the most able of all of us to navigate around the rot. If you smell anything unusual – anything even slightly wrong - take no chances. Between Fergus and Orikon, you should find safe passage.”

  Tarvil nodded. “We’ll reach Luanchester tomorrow morning if we travel hard; Orikon and I will try to get back straight away.” He walked over to where Leiana was standing and embraced her.

  Raf walked up behind him and stood awkwardly. “Bye, mom.”

  Leiana moved to hug him fiercely and then pulled away. “Look after him, Elder.” She wrapped her shawl around herself tightly and walked away with Resma.

  The Foreman started singing the farwelayre and the others joined in. Bolyai nodded to Orikon who flicked the reins and the wagon creaked back into motion. A few hundred feet down the path, they rounded a bend and the village disappeared from sight.

  Raf looked over at Fergus who grinned back at him excitedly. It had all happened so quickly. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to Cisco or Nedrick; he’d literally shoved some clothes into his bag and then left. He was actually leaving the Aeril Forest. And if that didn’t feel bizarre enough, he was on his way to iMahliland!

  Pulled by the three wiry saanen, the wagon moved along at a steady pace on its way down along the path. Tarvil and Orikon walked in quiet conversation in front of the wagon while Fergus skipped along the path singing to himself, staying far ahead of them.

  “Play the paodrin for me again,” said Bolyai suddenly. “We have a ways to go yet.”

  Raf took the odd instrument from the Elder’s out-stretched hand. He turned it over in his hands, examining it a bit closer than he had earlier on. It really was an odd shape; the loops in the middle winding around each other with the strange levers on top. It reminded him a bit of the instrument he had made in his hidey-hole yesterday.

  He held it up to his mouth, positioned his fingers where they felt most correct, and then inhaled softly through the mouthpiece. A simple tune came to mind and, although it took him a few goes to work out how to use the two levers perfectly and get the breathing right, he managed to run through the song a few times with increasing skill.

  “That was nice!” said Fergus from the path ahead.

  Bolyai stared at him silently.

  Raf held out the instrument. “It’s got a funny sound though, Elder. Am I doing it right?”

  Bolyai shrugged. “No idea. I’ve never heard it played before.”

  Raf looked up at him. “Never? Cisco said you asked everyone to play it.”

  “And?”

>   “I….er…” he replied falteringly. “Surely it’s not that complicated, Elder? Anyone can play it, you just have to breathe in through it.”

  “I’m sure they could if they knew it worked like that. But perhaps still not as well as you just played it. You have some small amount of natural talent, boy, I’ll give you that.”

  “So, what does that mean? Did you ask for me to come along simply so I could play the paodrin?”

  Bolyai turned slowly to peer coolly at Raf out of the corner of his eye.

  “Er… I’m sorry, Elder, I don’t mean to be rude. I just don’t understand why you asked me. There are other students who’re loads better.”

  Bolyai let out a loud scathing laugh which caught the attention of the two men in front who looked back curiously. “True musical talent is less common than you think.”

  “But why’s that important, though? It’s just music, right?”

  “That,” said Bolyai softly, poking Raf in his chest, “is exactly where you are as ignorant as the other foolish villagers. Music is important! Fundamental.”

  “But, how?” replied Raf, shaking his head. “That’s just the same sort of thing that Bhothy kept going on about, but -”

  “Bhothy?” said Tarvil sharply from in front of them. “Don’t tell me you went to the banyans, Raf… You know that’s forbidden!”

  Raf clamped his mouth shut and looked down quickly, furious with himself.

  “Well?” Tarvil asked again, walking back towards him with a stern expression. Raf nodded glumly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Raf! If your mother knew you’d been, your life wouldn’t be worth living!”

  “Wait, Bhothy Manyara? Eliath’s cousin?” asked Bolyai. Tarvil nodded. “I seem to remember he was the village Bard. Not a particularly good one, but the Bard nonetheless, yes?”

  “It’s complicated,” replied Tarvil, still frowning at Raf. “He did something very foolish years ago and the Foreman banished him.”

  “You banished your Bard?” replied Bolyai incredulously. He threw his arms up in the air.

  “It was for the good of the village, Elder.”

  “No wonder we’ve got problems! He is the caretaker of our musical heritage, the -”

  “More like the caretaker of alcohol...” muttered Raf.

  “And I don’t blame him!” retorted Bolyai. “I myself –“

  He paused as a shout came from up the path. “It’s here! The smell!” yelled Fergus.

  Raf breathed in deeply through his nose and caught, amidst the floral aromas, a whiff of moldy decay.

  “Where is it coming from?” Tarvil scanned the terrain in front of them nervously.

  “The path goes into two here, sir, and… I can smell it really bad down the left one. Do you want me to go closer and s-”

  “No!” called all of them at once.

  Tarvil pointed down the right branch of the path. “We have to hope that it doesn’t extend down there as well. I don’t much fancy slogging our way through the thick brambles around here.”

  “There isn’t any smell from there, Mr. Gency. I think it’s safe.”

  A rustling to their left drew their attention, and suddenly, with a crash, a man burst out from between two bushes, sprinting across the path directly in front of them. It was the dark iMahli – the fourth dholaki. He turned towards them, jumped in fright, and then tripped over a root. He had barely landed on his chest in the dirt before he leapt to his feet again and took off down the path, but it was too late. From behind them, there was a whistling noise over their heads and something shiny flew spinning through the air. The group watched in shock as a weighted rope whipped around the iMahli’s legs and he fell to the ground again. Three other iMahlis crept into view from the thick brush, ululating loudly.

  It’s those dholaki that mom hired! thought Raf.

  They ran up to the struggling man and quickly encircled him. One had a large bow with an arrow notched, whilst the other two held metal-tipped spears over their heads. They were completely oblivious to the forester party and Raf glanced at the others who also stood there in surprise, unsure of what to do.

  “Edokko,” called Orikon to the leader. “What’s going on here?”

  Edokko glanced over to them, his face glistening with sweat. If he was surprised to see them standing there, he didn’t show it. “Nothing to do with you, forester. This bhesanté belongs to me.”

  Raf leaned over to Tarvil and asked, “What’s a bhesanté, dad? I thought they were iMahlis?”

  “Bhesanté are the largest tribe of iMahlis. Edokko and his men are from the other smaller tribe called fetumu.”

  “But what are they doing to that guy?”

  “I think we need to stay out of this, Raf,” replied his father. “The man is probably a thief or something.”

  “Pah, rubbish,” muttered Bolyai. “He’s their slave. Fetumu deal in slave-trading. Their favorite prey are their fellow iMahlis.”

  The iMahli on the ground gave up trying to undo the ropes tangled around his ankles and called out, “Please! I a-” He keeled over as the butt-end of a spear was rammed into his head. The fetumu standing behind him knelt down and tried to tie his arms together, but the man struggled away from him, his free arm moving to his leather belt to whip out something that he held up for them to see. The fetumu immediately swung his spear at the outstretched hand, knocking something hard to spin through the air and disappear into some bushes near the foresters.

  “What was that?” said Bolyai, craning to see over the side of the wagon.

  “I couldn’t see,” replied Orikon. “A necklace or something?”

  The bhesanté groaned and cradled his hand against his chest before two of the iMahlis swooped in to wrestle him physically to the ground.

  Fergus sprang away to the bushes and within seconds had picked up something and returned it to Tarvil. “Here.”

  Tarvil held it up in surprise. “I know this talisman. It’s Abuniah’s! How did he get it? Maybe the man is a thief.” He cast a hesitant look at the iMahli.

  Fergus was staring at the scene with wide eyes. “Is that man really a slave, Mr. Gency? I thought they only had those in Miern, like the ones in the Pits?”

  “I don’t know, Fergus, but I think we need to have a talk with that bhesanté and find out what’s going on here.” Tarvil straightened his belt and stepped up towards the group of men, with his hands held up to get their attention.

  As soon as Edokko saw him, he lunged forwards waving the notched arrow at Tarvil’s chest. “Stay back!”

  “I want to speak to this man,” said Tarvil.

  “No! He is mine.”

  “Not according to our laws, iMahli. I must insist that you let me talk to him.”

  Edokko stepped forward in-between Tarvil and the bhesanté and one of the others jumped to his feet and whipped his spear into the air. Tarvil moved back defensively until Orikon appeared at his side, his bow and arrow also drawn and notched. The hunter was a tall and powerfully built man, but the iMahlis showed little fear. However, when there was a metallic click from behind Raf, they all stopped and looked past him nervously. Raf turned to see Bolyai standing over a chunky crossbow that was resting on the rail, two thick ironwood bolts loaded, and his finger curled casually around the trigger.

  Edokko barked a quick order to his men and the two behind the bhesanté immediately hauled him to his feet and shuffled backwards with their weapons still trained on the foresters.

  With a roar and a shove, the bhesanté broke free of his guards and sprinted through Edokko and the other man, knocking them sideways. Edokko reacted instantly and brought his bow up in one swift motion to unleash an arrow at the back of the fleeing man. It whizzed through the air, narrowly missing him and pierced one of the saanen behind them with a wet thud. The animal bleated in agony and stumbled over onto the ground. The iMahli next to Edokko took a step forwards and started to throw his spear, but stalled halfway through as an arrow suddenly thudded into his shoulder. He drop
ped to the ground, roaring in pain. Seeing Orikon setting another arrow to his bow, Edokko shouted something back at the others and they turned as one and fled.

  The foresters stood their ground and watched as the iMahlis sprinted away, one stumbling as he cradled his injured shoulder. They didn’t look back once as they ran down the left fork of the path.

  Raf stood up on the wagon back, stuttering, “Is… isn’t that…”

  “Wait!” shouted Tarvil, running forwards. “Don’t go that wa-”

  It was too late. A cracking noise rumbled through the ground, interrupting him. The iMahlis skidded to a halt and stared around in confusion. With a ripping sound, the ground around them split open and the iMahlis were sucked downwards, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Their screams faded very quickly.

  “We must move!” urged Bolyai, watching as the ground continued to buckle and crumble outwards.

  Orikon whipped out his hunting knife and in two quick slices cut the cord binding the bhesanté’s hands, and then the tether harnessing the dead saanen. He took the animal’s body and hoisted it onto the back of the wagon as Bolyai shouted loudly and flicked the reins. The two remaining goats tugged hard and the wagon jerked forwards along the path.

  . . . . . . .

  They travelled for half a mile or so before finally slowing down. Fergus crept around the area and came back to report that he couldn’t smell anything bad around them, so they relaxed on the ground and caught their breath.

  The iMahli crouched down on his heels and rubbed the back of his head gently.

  “You got a bit of a knock there,” said Tarvil.

  The bhesanté shrugged and then said, “My thanks.” He patted his chest. “I am Tiponi.”

  “And how is it that you came by this, Tiponi?” Tarvil held up Abuniah’s talisman.

  “Your griot, he gave it to me. He said if I need help, to show that.”

  “Griot?” Raf looked at Tarvil.