Brace knelt down and looked her daughter in the eye, “That’s not the point, Barra. The Middens is unsafe any time of day. Especially this late. You know better.”
A little know-it-all look crept across Barra’s face, and she couldn’t help but utter, “That’s a myth. It’s the same at night as it is during the day—”
“So, obviously you’ve been there after Watering, huh?” Her mother stood up, agitated. “Wash up,” she said as she turned away. “We’re eating soon, and then I’m going to watch you do your homework, and then you’re going to bed.”
“Aw, Mom! Come on! I was just…” Barra stopped her plea short when she saw her mother’s expression. There was no room for argument there.
Shoulders sagging, Barra walked toward her nestroom. She pulled aside the doorweave, but before leaving the kitchen, she turned back to her mother and said, “I’m sorry.”
Barra’s nestroom was small, but she had her own waterfull and a nectarsweet too. A weave of rare soft ferns covered the entire floor and grew various different flowers with the passing seasons—as the ring grows. The bedding was comforting, and she loved rolling around on it.
Washing up, Barra prepared herself for what she expected to be a long tense dinner. She knew that she’d gone too far, been late too many times. It was plain that her mother had had enough. Barra took a deep breath, shook herself dry, and then went back out to the kitchen.
Dinner was even more strained than expected. Mother and daughter exchanged pleasantries and said little otherwise. When they finished, they cleaned up together, and it seemed to Barra that her mother was distracted—distracted by more than just her daughter’s disregard for the rules. Barra got up the courage to ask, “What’s the matter?”
Brace scrutinized her daughter’s face carefully, and said thoughtfully, “I visited a dozen of the best gardens today. The fruits were… well, what did you think of dinner?”
Barra wasn’t sure what to say. Dinner was typical, she thought. She thought they’d had better, but she felt bad for even thinking it. She wouldn’t have said dinner was flavorless exactly, but there wasn’t much to it. “It was okay,” she admitted.
Her mother was not offended, and nodded as though she’d expected that answer.
“I’m sure it wasn’t anything you did, Mom,” Barra shrugged and smiled wanly. “Sometimes the berries aren’t any good.”
“Yes, yes, you’re probably right,” Brace said, coming back to the conversation. Dismissing her thoughts on the subject, she went on, “Okay, enough chit chat. Homework and bed for you!” She added as though she’d been repeating it for rings, “And bathe properly! For the sake of the Olwones!”
Later that night, Barra didn’t have to do her homework with her mother after all. She thought about bringing it up, but figured it was better to leave it alone and just be grateful. Besides, it gave her a chance to sneak back into her father’s study.
The port in the ceiling of Barra’s nestroom was difficult to reach, especially silently, but Barra was practiced, and knew the quiet holds by heart. She was out of her room and on top of the roof in no time. From there, she made her way back to the study.
Everything was exactly as she’d left it. She crept quietly over to the sheaves and leaves of the journal and sorted through them again. Reverently, she put everything back in order, and excepting the first sheave, she placed the rest in the cubbyhole behind the desk. She read from the beginning, savoring every word again. The voice behind the words still didn’t match up with how she imagined her father, but she read on, hoping to know him better.
Barra lost herself in her father’s descriptions of the Middens, and his seemingly random, desperate interstitials. There was no dayflower growing in the study, so she had no idea the day was ending until it was over, until the Buckle began. The low rumble pulsed through the wood up into her bones, and even though it felt the same as it did every night, it took her several moments to comprehend what it meant.
Cerulean was buckling. The Umberwood was floating closer to its neighboring Great Trees, millions of branches intertwining and sliding around each other, closing the gaps in the canopy. The world was exhaling, the ocean shrinking toward the sun, and so the trees embraced one another.
The Buckle didn’t take long to bring everyone closer together, but it also isolated; thoroughfares were closed off, intersections blocked, windows shut, and ports sealed—including those opening into a young Listlespur’s nestroom.
Barra palmed the next few leaves from the sheave, rolled them together, and placed the slender bundle in her mouth. She bit in gingerly, and shook her head to check the roll was secure, and it was. Not a moment too soon, she dashed out through the narrowing window.
The rumbling continued. The entire treescape swayed. The wood was becoming unnavigable, twisting branches sliding into the open spaces. Barra only had to get back to her nestroom, but the roof was shifting beneath her feet. Her mother’s nestroom roof was the fastest way across, and Barra decided to risk it. She snuck over her mother’s roof, hoping she was still in the kitchen.
Barra saw her nestroom’s port steadily closing. She moved faster, lost her balance, and then tumbled. If her mother hadn’t heard that, she wouldn’t hear anything, so Barra gave up trying to be quiet, took two leaps, and then dove into her room.
Landing louder than she’d wanted, Barra winced and waited for her mother to come barging in. But her mother didn’t appear.
Barra released the leaves from her mouth and stretched her neck to gaze through the almost closed ceiling port. There wasn’t much left of the dark purple sky, only patches, but she recognized the patterns of twinkling lights through them. Usually before bed, before the Buckle, she snuck outside to gaze at those twinkling lights, but that night she caught only a glimpse before the small viewport shut completely for sleep.
Her nestroom swayed gently as the Umberwood Tree came to a stop. Several of her flowers were brighter after the buckle, and Barra brushed their petals so they would close for the night, saving one for reading. Only muted ambers and blues escaped the flowers after that.
Cozy in her nestroom, Barra thought about her father. She felt like she’d already read a lot, but she was only in the middle of the first sheave! So much more for her to learn about him. She didn’t understand everything in the leaves she’d brought back, and the drawings weren’t always helpful either, but she loved how her father described exploring the Middens, the way it seemed to call to him. The old ruins had always called to her, too.
Exhausted, Barra tucked the leaves away, close but safe. She circled her bedding a few times, and then settled into the warmth reflected back by the downy ferns. She thought of adventures she hadn’t had yet, and when she slept, she dreamt of a world that was familiar, but that she’d never seen. Its bright flowers dazzled, its colors danced, and she explored with her father.
The world’s slow inhale after the Buckle, the expansion of the Cerulean Ocean, was already beginning. Steadily, the trees were moving apart. By morning the Loft would be open again, and the Arboreals would wake up from their dreams to begin another dimly lit day.
4. The Coppice
Confused and groggy, Barra had a hard time getting up that next morning. She’d woken up several times during the night and couldn’t remember whether it was from dreams or nightmares. Calming herself had been difficult with her conscious mind spinning up thoughts about her father, and the Middens. She was so discombobulated on her way out of the den that she walked right out, passing her mother without saying a word.
Two steps away from the den, the cool air roused her and she turned around.
Poking her head into the kitchen, Barra said, “Morning, Mom!” She bounded over, stood up, put both arms around her mother’s neck, and kissed her on the cheek. And then, grimacing, she asked for both forgiveness and permission to go, “Bye, Mom?”
Brace smiled warmly as sh
e shooed her daughter out the door, “Hurry along now, Burbur. Have a good day.”
Wincing at the nickname, Barra said, “Aw, Mom, don’t call me that.” Then she dropped to all fours and made her way back out again.
Following her daughter out the doorway, Brace teased, “Too old for Burbur? Really? Can’t imagine. What with you running around on all fours like a two-ring old?”
Barra stood tall but did not turn around. “Love you, Mom,” she tossed the words over her shoulder.
“Love you too, dear.” Brace watched her leave for Coppice, making sure she was safe for as far as she could see. Even though she tried not to encourage it, she was proud of her daughter’s willful attitude—reminded her of herself as a bup.
Suddenly realizing Barra was almost out of earshot, she yelled, “Be good! And NO PLAYING IN THE MIDDENS!”
Barra half-ran, half-walked on her hind legs until she was sure her mother couldn’t see her, and then she gave up the pretense and ran. All fours wasn’t the civilized way to travel, but she loved the way the wind felt through her fur, and the rush of the pulse in her veins. Besides, Barra mainly travelled the unpruned sidewoods, where no one would be offended by her behavior. She liked to avoid the thick foot traffic of the pathwood. The Arboreals bustling this way and that were fun obstacles to dodge, but too many of them knew her mother.
It wasn’t long before Barra could see the Coppice ahead of her. The foliage was thinned out from regular pruning unlike the surrounding treescape and the approaching pathwoods were reflection smooth from the number of Arboreals who visited frequently. The Coppice was more than a place to play, it was where experience and youth collided. Aged Arboreals could be found engaged in hobbies and other interests, and often, they were willing to share their thoughts with anyone curious enough to ask a question. Many of the older tree-dwellers even played games, and in the Coppice, bups were included. Barra visited almost every day, but she only stayed around when Venress Starch was there.
The Coppice was large enough even on its fullest day that the Arboreals could spread out easily, so groups stood out. Barra spotted Plicks immediately where he sat among several others. They were chatting and asking questions of an elderly Kolalabat who was tending a small plot of lensleaf plants. Barra scampered over and arrived just as ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ went up from the small crowd.
“Hey, Plicks,” she announced herself. “What’re you lookin’ at?”
Startled, Plicks dug his talons deep into the bough beneath them. He released his tense-knuckled grip when he realized who it was, and said, “Barra! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He shook his head and turned his attention back to the old Kolalabat. Eyes full and bright, Plicks said, “Ven Tadafell has been tending this particular plant for more than a ring, and it’s been growing leaves truer and larger than ever before! He pulled the first stem this morning, and… well, see for yourself!”
Leaning in, Barra caught a glimpse of the large disc-shaped leaf that Ven Tadafell was holding. Full of fluid, the lensleaf was perfectly clear, thicker at the center than the edges, and through it, everything was magnified. Ven Tadafell smiled broadly, and though he was eager to use the lensleaf himself, he proudly beckoned his friends closer so they could see too. Plicks and Barra huddled in close, but after only a short time, Barra whispered, “Have fun.”
As she started to walk away, Plicks said without looking, “Hunting Venress Starch again?” His voice curled up like his knowing smirk.
Barra raised a skeptical brow. “What about it?”
“She’s here. I saw her arrive Nest-side, heading Reachward. Good luck,” he said, and then scooted even closer to Ven Tadafell.
Barra whispered, “Thanks!” She bounded away, surveying the wood above for any sign of the sly Haggidon.
Venress Starch’s body was covered in the same golden brown scales possessed by other Haggidons though age had stolen most of the iridescent shimmer from hers. Only the scales around her eyes remained vibrant. She was able to blend into her environment, and even with her ample belly, she was unexpectedly agile and silent when she moved. All great reasons for Barra to enjoy tracking her, but best of the lot was Venress Starch’s uncanny skill to avoid detection; Barra loved the challenge.
Surveying the Coppice, Barra made her way carefully to the periphery, to the fuller branches where she could best hide her approach. She passed several other Arboreals including Tory who was working on some kind of binding project. Binding wasn’t a skill Barra possessed, but Tory was adept and she stopped to watch him for a moment. Binders created structure from living wood, directing growth so that it was self-reinforcing, stronger with age. Tory was practicing with a group that was debating how to add a flourish to their work. The tight braids of wood looked like a common window to Barra; a hole in a half-finished wall. She listened in, gathering that a spiral of nightblooming irises was to rise out of the window, but she didn’t understand how. She moved on. Ascended toward the Reach as Plicks suggested. She saw no sign of Venress Starch.
High up and mostly isolated, Barra slouched down, disappointed. She began to wonder if Plicks had been mistaken. A fern brushed against Barra’s fur, and she swiped at it. When she hit nothing but air, she realized too late that the irritating tickle wasn’t from a fern.
Two thick tails tipped with sickle-shaped fangs were draped around either side of the young Listlespur. They coiled around Barra in a flash and she was snatched up into the air. Rolled over and held tight, she was suddenly belly up, face to face, with the fierce Venress Vallor Starch.
Vallor towered over Barra, even though she was small for a Haggidon. Horns grew in pairs along her spine, close together at her bottom, splitting as they went up her back to form a slender V-shape. The twin tails extending from the top pair were long enough to hold Barra, and still wave their fangs about freely.
Vallor strictly enunciated each word before beginning the next. “So busy looking ahead. No idea what was going on behind you.” Vallor hesitated, sniffed at Barra and grimaced. “And you’ve been chewing grappabark.”
Barra huffed a few times toward her own nose, and noticed the sweet dark smell, pungent and thick. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “But that could have been anyone.”
Venress Starch raised a brow. “It was you.” She smiled, lines of tiny sharp teeth exposed, and said, “Now what are you going to do?”
Abruptly, Barra fought back. She squirmed, pushed, and kicked, but the Haggidon only held her tighter. Barra’s fur, slick as it was, couldn’t slip her free from Vallor’s grip. But then something new happened. The muscles that controlled Barra’s fur for stealth were reacting instinctively, pushing against Venress Starch’s hold.
Vallor pondered her captive, suspicious. She suddenly felt like she was trying to hold onto a water snake. The tighter she gripped, the more she thought the bup was going to squirt free. But Barra didn’t recognize how close she was to escape, and she gave up. Vallor asked, “Well?”
“Please let me go?” Barra asked begrudgingly.
“Humph,” Venress Starch grunted, disappointed. She released Barra without warning, and the bup fell a short distance before lashing out with her tail and pulling herself onto a branch below. Vallor dropped down beside her. “Well, at least your reactions have improved.”
The two walked and climbed together for hours. Venress Starch identified shrubs and flowers and noted each one’s utility. They examined some of the gardens, the plots that were chewed out of the boughs and filled with wood pulp in order to grow and feed special plants. Barra usually enjoyed her walks with Venress Starch, but she was having a hard time paying attention. She couldn’t stop thinking about her father’s journal.
“What’s wrong?” the old Arboreal asked Barra with deep concern.
But Barra dodged the question. “Nothing, I’m just tired I guess.”
Vallor knew there was more to it, but offered another excuse ins
tead of pressing the matter. “Maybe hungry, too? Midday is long past.”
Barra was astonished to hear the time. She hadn’t even noticed the flowers of the Coppice changing over to their afternoon cycles. The middle of each day was marked with an exotic cascade as some plants closed and others opened, colors and shapes metamorphosing throughout the treescape. The display was especially beautiful in the Coppice because of the specialized flora that grew there.
“Why don’t you go? Look for some food, and maybe I’ll look for you, later.” Vallor blinked slowly, respectfully, at the distraught Listlespur—her way of saying goodbye. Without further hesitation, she lifted herself up into the branches overhead and disappeared.
Barra couldn’t find anything she wanted to eat, but the gurgling in her stomach won out, and she made her way to one of the many food gardens in the Coppice. Tory was there with another Rugosic named Juddol, and they were arguing about something.
Clearly happy to change subjects, Tory called out, “Barra! Hey, over here. Sit with us.”
Barra clambered up to the two bups and sat between them. “Did you eat yet?” Tory offered a handful of spiderfruits. The nuts were gray sacs suspended in cushions of crunchy webbing made from a sweet resin. Barra was happy to take half and popped them into her mouth all at once.
Juddol rolled his eyes. “We were talking?”
“Sounded more like arguing,” Barra muttered while chewing.
Without blinking, Juddol stared at Barra with the most emotionless, flat expression he could manage. Barra smiled widely back, making sure to show the contents of her mouth.
“That’s attractive,” Juddol said, wrinkling his face in disgust. Turning his attention to Tory, he promised, “We’ll pick this up again later, Mafic.” He stood up gracelessly and loped away.
Sunborn Rising Page 3