by T. C. Edge
“A sentry hut,” Zander says, pointing out a small structure built into the high branches of a grand evergreen. It’s staggeringly high up, and seemingly inaccessible.
“How do they get up there?”
“They’re skilled climbers, and learn how to scale the tallest of trees from a young age. They say they can clamber up bark before they can walk…”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “Climb before you can walk?”
He shrugs.
“It’s just what they say.”
The sentry post, however, is empty and long abandoned. That becomes clear as I set my gaze to it and see that it’s external structure has grown moulded and rotten, the thin planks liable to break under any significant weight.
Rhoth catches our whispered conversation and adds his voice, providing an explanation.
“They’ve been moving steadily higher over the years. There are lots of old posts around here that they no longer use.”
“And they’re friendly, right? You have a better relationship with them than the Bear-Skins and Skullers?”
“Better, but by no means good. They tend to keep themselves to themselves, but we exchange information sometimes if it’s mutually beneficial. I consider this to be one of those times.”
“Let’s hope they agree.”
The forest continues to thin as we go, the floor less tangled with shrubs and vines and creeping roots. Visibility improves, and soon enough the view down the valley begins to grow clear. I stop for a moment, not caring whether Rhoth should reprimand me, and gaze upon a view more staggering than any to have graced my eyes.
From here, you can see all the way down through the western woods that spread for miles below. To the east, the city sits strong and proud, a sprawling jungle of concrete and metal that, at a glance, seems peaceful and calm. Zoom in a little more, however, and the rot and decay becomes clear, so much of Haven now little more than dust and rubble.
I draw my vision back, and the details fade. I prefer it like that, seeing it from so many miles out, a canvass upon which my imagination can paint anything it wants. Then, hidden away among the woods far to the south, I can just about see the REEF, little more than a blurred cluster of grey amid the green, where my grandfather lurks with his army of slaves.
A heavy hand pats down on my shoulder.
“Come now, girl. If you like that, you’ll love what’s coming. The view grows greater than this, I promise you that.”
He’s right. As we press on up the wooded slope, and the air cools and begins to set a chill to my skin, I glance back at increments to bless my eyes with an increasingly dramatic set of panoramas. Each time, I try to mentally sear the image into my mind, and each time have to erase the last to make space for the next.
I begin to turn with such regularity that my brother has to hurry me along.
“Don’t look back for a while,” he says. “It’ll make the final view even better.”
I decide to follow through with the suggestion, and instead enjoy the growing scale of the forest around us. During my many afternoons sat on the factory roof in the eastern quarter, gazing right to where I now stand, I never considered that the trees could be so large, both in girth and height. They grow in more uniform fashion too, standing further apart as they stake their claim on the soil and suck up its moisture through their vast roots.
After another thirty minutes, Rhoth whispers to the group to be on their guard. A tension quickly spreads and they begin to walk with more precision. Eyes scan the canopy above, searching for hidden threats, and once more I begin to make out the well-concealed shapes of little structures built at their tops.
Then, a high pitched whistle suddenly flows across the air. It sparks from the right, about thirty metres up, directed further to the north. As it fades, another whistle takes on the baton, sounding from a little further away through the wood. Then another, and another, until the chain is too distant to be heard.
“It’s their alarm,” says Rhoth. “They know we’re coming, and have alerted the village. Hands off weapons, all of you. Adopt postures of friendship, nothing threatening.”
We move on, and my eyes now constantly watch above for motion among the high foliage. Another half an hour passes without incident, until finally we arrive at a large wall, crafted from thick wood, spreading through the forest to the left and right. From two mighty trees, faces look down either side of what appears to be a gate.
I catch eyes with them, and see the light associated with Hawks shine out. Arched brows hover, and arrows aim from tightly wound bows.
“Now what is Rhoth of the Fangs doing at my gates?” comes a voice.
It belongs to a third man, appearing now from behind the summit of the wall, stepping onto a ledge. He’s nothing like Rhoth, and nothing like Bjorn. He carries a more open air, his face thin and cheeks hollow and hairless, adopting the look of a scholar more than a warrior, dressed in warmer furs to protect against the bitter chill up here so high.
“Kervan, I merely come seeking information,” says Rhoth respectfully. “We mean no harm at all. I present to you Zander and Brie, children of the Nameless. They would like to speak with you, if you will allow it.”
The man called Kervan inspects us with interested eyes, a thin mop of greying brown hair pushed aside to get a better view.
“And what interest do you have with the people from the big city with all the lights, Rhoth? You have spoken in such vile terms of the Nameless before. It seems you’ve changed your opinion. Or…has it been changed for you?”
“My reasoning is simple, Kervan,” says Rhoth. “I seek to ensure my tribe’s safety, and the western woods have grown dangerous. I have entered into a pact with the Nameless that will benefit us both, I can assure you. I know you have no love for the Bear-Skins and the Skullers. I seek to rid them from these lands, so both our tribes can live in peace.”
Kervan considers his words with interest.
“We’ve had little trouble with the Bear-Skins since we retreated further up these hills. And the Skullers don’t come this high because of the cold.”
“Perhaps, then, you are lucky. But my people have suffered from their barbarism for too long, and our truce has worn away. The Nameless will help me defeat them and…”
“And you will give them what in return?”
Rhoth stumbles a little off his stride at the interruption. He returns to sure footing quickly enough, displaying his skilful grasp at negotiation.
“I have already helped secure the safety of some of their people, but the reason why I’m here goes beyond that. You see much of the world from up here, Kervan. Perhaps you can help the twins here to see the light. That is all they wish, nothing more.”
“Ah, Rhoth, your cryptic nature never seems to leave you. But, my old friend, I can see that you’re here on peaceful terms, and will honour the pact we have agreed upon many moons ago.” His eyes sway beyond us, to the group of fifty hunters at our backs. “I would feel a little more comfortable, however, if your men stay beyond the wall. You may enter with the children. Does that suit?”
Rhoth performs a graceful little bow, his necklace jingling with the motion and nearly getting caught in his long beard. Zander, meanwhile, merely scowls at being referred to as a child.
The gates begin to open, and Rhoth turns to his men and orders them to relax against a nearby cluster of trees. Kervan disappears from the summit, reappearing quickly at ground level to suggest he’s quite sprightly for an older man. He steps past the threshold of the creaking wooden gate and locks arms with Rhoth in a manner to suggest that, having got any tensions out of the way, the two are in fact on relatively good terms.
The Rooster’s eyes link once more with the gang of Fangs trundling a little further into the wood.
“Don’t worry men,” he calls out. “I’ll have some dried meat and water brought out to you.”
“That’s very kind, Kervan,” says Rhoth, who towers above the more nimble fellow.
&
nbsp; “Ah, the hunting is good up here these days,” says Kervan. “And the water is sweet. We have plenty to go around.”
Passing orders to his sentry guards, he leads us through the gate, and my eyes take in a sprawling central courtyard, paved with wooden planks and giving access to the village ahead. Around us, almost every structure exists at least ten or so metres from the ground, linked by rope bridges and walkways and accessible by ladders and grooves cut into the hides of the monolithic trees.
The wall spreads further away on the flanks, disappearing into the wood and up the slopes. The village, however, spanning several acres of space, has been carefully selected on a flattened plateau, a step here on the mountainside before the earth suddenly juts up more speedily towards the towering summits still a long way off and up.
After all the distance we’ve travelled today, it’s staggering to see how much further up the highest peaks of the mountains are. A quick calculation, based on nothing more than the last few hours journey, makes me conclude that it would take another day or two at least to reach the tops at brisk walking pace.
Kervan, who appears quite pleased all of a sudden by the presence of guests, begins leading us onwards with swinging arms pointing out the various structures above.
“This here,” he says, almost sending an elbow into Zander’s already bruised right cheek, “is where we stock and cure our meats. And right next door, we have the smithy. His speciality is the bow and arrow, of course.”
“Of course,” mutters Zander, carefully dodging the incoming blows.
“If you look left,” he goes on, “you’ll see a cluster of huts, one on top of the other. Looks a little like your apartment buildings down in the city, doesn’t it?”
“Er, I guess,” I say, looking at the rudimentary structure that looks like it might just collapse at any minute.
Kervan’s finger tilts to the top, and straightens tight.
“That is my home,” he says proudly. “As the village elder, I have the loftiest abode in the entire community.”
I scan and can make out several other structures that appear to be higher. One above all is almost invisible at the tops of the trees, far enough for even my Hawk-eyes to struggle with the distance.
“So, what’s that one?” I ask.
Kervan follows my gaze and a spirited smile pulls up his wrinkled lips.
“That, young lady, is just where we’re headed.”
24
The tree at the centre of the village is larger than any I’ve yet laid eyes on. It may, in fact, be the biggest living thing for a thousand miles, standing over a hundred metres tall and several metres wide at its base.
Kervan leads us right to it as the villagers begin to turn and take notice. They, like their elder, are dressed in warm furs and pelts and look far more timid than the other tribes I’ve encountered. Rhoth looks quite out of place.
Some wander over on ground level. Others peer from their nests, or stop halfway across swinging walkways to examine these strange intruders. I see a mix of ages, from those just born to those about to die, and imagine that living here would be a rather pleasant thing. Just by the looks of their jovial, friendly faces, I can only conclude that the mountain air and water contains some elixir that the rest of us could do with.
“OK,” says the old leader, stepping to the base of the enormous tree. “I do hope you’re not afraid of heights, because we’re going right to the top. I’d advise you not to look down,” he concludes with a whimsical wink.
He turns away and takes a grip of a rope ladder, flimsy and fixed at intervals into the bark to make sure it doesn’t swing too wildly. The old man is a clear display of the particular strengths of his people, his wiry fingers gripping and pulling with such efficiency that he scales the first section with the haste of a scurrying squirrel.
Stopping about twenty metres up, he turns his eyes down.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Come on!”
Rhoth eyes the ascent with a hint of trepidation that you’d never expect to see from a man who conveys such strength.
“You OK there, big man?” asks Zander with a smirk, slapping him lightly, but mockingly, on the back.
“Of course I’m OK,” he bites. “It’s the…the altitude. It hurts my head.”
Zander laughs and begins the climb, scurrying north with a great deal of confidence. I stay back with Rhoth, my own feelings at the task ahead falling somewhere between those of the two men.
“You seemed OK in that tree earlier?” I say. “You leapt down from it like it was nothing.”
“It was nothing,” he says. “But that was much lower. The altitude here, girl, it’s….”
He doesn’t finish, and looks like he’s about to throw up. A few giggles from the gathering children force him to compose himself before his most recent meal is deposited to the floor.
Thinking it best not to follow such a large, nervous, man up a hundred metre ladder, I head for the rope and arch my eyes up. Zander has just reached the end of the first section, the first of five, and looks to be happily bouncing his way up the next. Kervan, meanwhile, is already onto the third and his voice is falling back down to our ears with another call to ‘hurry up’.
I take his advice and set any minor fears at bay. I’ve never had a fear of heights, but at the same time I’ve never been required to test the limit of that possible phobia either. The best I’ve done is probably the ladder at the factory I used to climb, which was more than half as short and more than twice as sturdy.
I gather my thoughts into a single desire to reach the top, and quickly clear the first section. Looking down, I see Rhoth giving himself a little pep talk as the kids continue to hover around him, giggling at the sight of such a big man too afraid to do what comes so naturally to them.
Adding to his embarrassment, I call down: “Oh, for goodness sake, are you a man or a mouse?!”
The goading seems enough to force the issue. Suddenly, I have a rather large man angrily stalking me up a rather large tree. My life is nothing if not full of surprises.
The higher I go, the more Kervan’s advice to ‘not look down’ resonates. I still do so occasionally, just to make sure I maintain my head start on Rhoth, but each time feel more than a little queasy. I’d rather not empty the contents of my stomach onto the great Fang’s head, so speed my pace and don’t look back again until I reach the top.
With a cold, whistling wind beginning to brew, I clamber onto a platform constructed among the highest branches and suck in the longest and freshest breath of my young life. Then, seeing the view that commands Zander and Kervan’s attention, my lungs empty once more.
Both my brother and Rhoth had it right. The view here puts the others to utter shame.
The world lies at my feet, stretching out for a hundred miles in every direction bar that blocked by the mountain. I stumble absent-mindedly towards the edge of the platform, blocked by a wooden rail, and begin a circuit around it. Everywhere I look I see a world that I hardly ever believed existed. Rolling hills, craggy outcrops, woods and rivers and the hint of larger, wider plains and mountains litter the distant horizon. I look out with only my regular vision to take in the view, and imagine that I could spend days up here zooming in and out, gathering as much detail as my Hawk-eyes can consume.
My trance is only broken as a wheezing form reaches the last rung of the swaying ladder, and Zander quickly rushes over to help him finish the job. Heaving with all his might, he pulls Rhoth up to safety, and the big man takes a moment on the floor, panting like a dog on a hot summer’s day.
“Don’t…say…anything,” he manages between breaths, before hauling himself onto his heavy feet and going as still as the rest of us.
His eyes take in the spectacle, and Kervan smiles at the sight. He allows him a moment to enjoy the view before uttering: “Unfortunately, the climb down is even more scary.”
I fear he might have picked the wrong moment, but in actual fact his timing is perfect. Rhoth is
so entranced by the view that he merely nods and mumbles his agreement in some vacant manner, causing both Zander and I to burst into a short fit of laughter.
Eventually, after a good few minutes, it seems we’ve all had enough of a taste of the panorama to pass our full attention to Kervan.
“You say that we see much of the world from up here in our village, Rhoth,” he says. “If that is true, this is the perch from which we drink in the sights.”
He turns from the Fang and looks to my brother and me.
“Now, young saplings, what is it that you wish to see?”
I look at Zander and let him take the lead. His eyes swing westwards, beyond the woods that stretch for so many miles, and the plains beyond them that take up the reins, and all the way towards a blurred frame of mountains that seem to call an ending to the world.
He spends a few moments fixed in place, clearly zooming in with his eyes and trying to answer the question for himself. I do the same, searching for settlements far away, for movement, for any sightings of this gathering force we’ve been warned of.
When my brother speaks, he does so with his own query.
“Do you have Hawks among your tribe?”
Kervan nods silently.
“And I can see that you have the same gifts, both of you,” he says, leaning in for a closer look at our eyes. “This view is very special, but for our Hawks, it is a lookout point for all things that lie beyond.”
“Our Hawks?” says my brother, now peering at Kervan as he did us. “You’re part of that number, aren’t you?”
“Ah, a Hawk can always spot another Hawk,” he chuckles. “I have spent more time up here than I care to admit or remember. It is home to me, my great nest here at the top of the world. I have seen many things…”
“An army?” I ask. I could sense some sort of speech coming on. I’m not sure anyone has time for a monologue right now.
“An army?” he asks. “Yes, yes an army. I’ve seen your army enter the city not so long ago. I’ve seen an army leave to the west as well, and one spread to the larger buildings in the east. I have watched your war play out from up here and…”