Walking the Tree

by Kaaron Warren

  "I haven't noticed," Lillah said.

  "He has it covered up. He doesn't want them to see."

  Thea hadn't noticed the children nearby.

  "He's got Spikesfoot! He's got Spikesfoot!" they sang.

  "Don't tell," Thea said, but the children looked at her as if she had asked them to dive into the ocean and swim far away. They ran off, and Thea jumped to her feet. "Should I warn him?"

  "About what? He's got a sore foot. What will they do?"

  Thea shook her head. "You are so caught up in your own world, you can't see outside it."

  Soon a group of people gathered in front of Thea's lover's cave. It was a quiet group; no words were needed.

  Thea's lover came out. Someone bent to inspect his foot.

  "I scraped it on a shell," he said.

  "It's Spikesfoot," the person said. The group walked with him at the centre to the roots of the Tree. The roots here were very broad and tall and he could stand between them, one hand on a root on either side.

  A ruth-stripling was pulled from the Tree and the Bark removed. Two men held him still as another used the ruth-stripling to beat his legs a dozen times, until blood beaded behind his knees and soaked the weapon. Then he was led to the water, where he rolled in the salt of it, shouting.

  The ruth-stripling was thrust into the Tree.

  "Take Spikes from us," they said. "Let the internal fire take it." Lillah wondered at the sense of sending disease into the Tree rather than out to sea.

  "But that will draw the ghosts out," Lillah said. "That will make them know there is a weak man ready to be taken."

  Bursen shook his head. "Only if the illness will kill him anyway. It's a form of sacrifice. An indication of honesty. And the Tree purifies all as the sea cannot."

  Lillah put her arm around Morace. If word got out his mother was ill… She needed to keep him safe.

  They took the children down to the sea to bathe. Zygo stripped naked as he ran, and he wheeled and turned like a swimming fish.

  "I've only just realised. They don't have a seawalk here," Lillah said.

  "They rarely go beyond thigh level."

  They looked far out to sea, to the line where the sky met the water.

  The people didn't stir until the sun was high in the sky. It was odd to wander the Order with most of them asleep. She bent to look at the shells that lit their way at night. They seemed dull, lustreless in the sunlight and she admired the ingenuity with which they had been laid in the path to light the dark night way. Lillah went back to bed and slept some more. Bursen reached for her in a lazy manner, barely raising a sweat. She laughed at him, saying, "Let's wait until your energy returns, la?" and he closed his eyes, unprotesting.

  "Wake up, Lillah," Bursen said. She didn't want to wake up. She was enjoying a pleasant dream of climbing the Tree, finding small gifts in the branches and throwing them down to the children below.

  "You'll want to join in. We're picking the flowers tonight. You're here on a very good day. We only collect in full moonlight."

  Then there was stirring from the home of Corma, the teacher who had caught child.

  There was a groaning noise. A whimpering.

  "She refuses to go. She refuses, as she has all along," said the expectant father. "She won't listen to sense. I said I would go with her. But she wants to stay."

  Someone whispered to Lillah and Melia, "She thinks it's a myth. Untrue. That jasmine oil is safe for women who have caught child. Would you risk your child's life to prove such a point? Not many would."

  Moans again.

  "Her baby isn't due yet?" Lillah asked.

  He shook his head. "The smell is upsetting her. If you're not born to it, it can be intense."

  "True. But she smelt it many times before. What worries her this time?"

  "Jasmine oil excites the senses. It is an oil of sensuality. But overuse can lead to bad things. Because it can take away minor pain, some use it to take away major pain, and that is never a good thing. When we make it, even those used to the smell can be carried away by it."

  "Can we watch it being made?"

  "Of course. We would be honoured."

  The teachers gathered the children for the next lesson. Erica rose from a comfortable bed. The pain was gone and she was ready to join the group.

  "I learned about this when my school passed through. I was only eight," Lillah said.

  "You can learn something of it now, but every skill requires deep and abiding knowledge in order to teach it," one of the young men standing next to Bursen said.

  They picked flowers for a long time, mounds and baskets full.

  The smell of the flowers was too rich, too thick, and it made Lillah's stomach clench. She worried that something bad might be covered by the smell.

  The flowers were collected in mounds.

  The men stripped naked and ran down to the sea, where they rolled in the water and rubbed sand to clean the dirt off. They walked dripping up to the oil press.

  Someone handed Bursen a young switch, cut from the Tree.

  He lifted the switch and with a flick, hit himself on the back. He flinched, lifted the switch, flicked it again. Agara's lover joined him.

  Both men did this until their skin was reddened, with small cuts in places. The people seemed unconcerned they might be frightening the children. The Order's children were clearly not bothered by it.

  "I told you they would beat us," Morace said. Lillah hushed him.

  One of the fathers said, "We need to be very pure to make the oil. The oil cures Spikes, so there can be no infection amongst the creators."

  "Any contamination can make Spikes come," someone said. In Lillah's Order they had talked of Spikes. They understood that it had happened quickly, that one sick child meant two, meant four, and therefore sick children should be isolated until they are well. If they didn't get well, they should be treated.

  Lillah felt her cheeks redden at the sight of those reddened backs.

  Thick reddish brown oil drooled from the lip of the jug. A broadening puddle of it formed, flecked with impurities dropped from the Tree and blown from the sand.

  It went unnoticed by the rite-makers, although wasted oil would not make them popular. They would cover it with dirt; hide it to prevent panic.

  The Order liked their oil pure – the oil makers pure as well. They were proud of the fact they had never lost a citizen, but sending their women away to give birth elsewhere skewed this number, as did their encouragement to old people to "take the walk": women to their original Orders, men out to sea.

  An unfair arrangement, Lillah thought. Bursen stepped around lightly on his toes, watching the procedure carefully.

  "This is very specialised knowledge," he said. Behind him trailed two young men, watching everything.

  They would take over one day, if they could keep up, prove themselves. It was very competitive, to be the smartest man in the Order.

  "They need to understand how everything they do has a reaction, so they must do the right thing. If I push a child, he falls over, and his mother will beat me. If I use the wrong flower in perfume, it will smell like rot from the bottom of the sea. You cannot guess these things; you must know them."

  Lillah admired Bursen, her lover, for his cleverness. He thought to the next step, did not merely accept.

  "Everything we take, everything we do, everything we combine, has an effect," he said. His assistant yawned.

  "They don't like my talk." He took Lillah's hand, a bottle of fresh oil in the other.

  "I like it," she said.

  "You will learn more than most on your journey, then."

  His assistant said, "I'm glad I don't have to travel elsewhere. I like to be where I know."

  Bursen nodded. "It's good to be a man."

  Lillah knew many men feared 'elsewhere', and was glad to have the curiosity to walk.

  He took her to the water's edge, where small deposits of salt lay. "I have heard there are places where red
salt lines the shore. I believe that salt with this oil, rubbed into the skin, will make the flesh strong and pure."

  Lillah smiled. "How did you get your position? You are very young."

  "I fought long and hard and had the desire from a childhood spent at work. I passed many tests. Those young men will have no chance. There's another, very young, just back from school. I plan to take him as my apprentice. I believe he will be successful."

  Lillah watched the talkfire for a while. It was a wild one, but they didn't seem concerned. Later, though, when the wood seemed alive it was so hot, one of the logs rolled off and into a pile of cloth. It burst into flames in high, hot tongue.

  "The fire!" Lillah shouted, her heart pounded. The other teachers panicked also, knocking things over as the fire spread.

  Calmly, the apprentices fetched water and put out the fire.

  The majority of the jars of jasmine oil were set aside. "Will you trade these at market with Ombu?" Melia asked. Ombu's main trade was Jasmine oil with Aloes and perfume with Laburnum, so they could make themselves smell nice.

  "No, those are for Ailanthus. We owe them for the birthings of the last year."

  It was strange. Lillah's father had been right: people were very different when you got to know them. The contrast of the welcoming party, full of joy, and the rare glimpses that Lillah had had, on rare previous visits, were different to the way the people were. The purity of them, the devotion to cleanliness. They wouldn't drink water if there were impurities in it. They used polished wood plates and discarded any with cracks. They passed the plates, each person touching their lips as they did so.

  "Why do you touch your lips each time?" Melia asked. She always wanted to know answers. The man next to her said, "It is to give thanks to the Tree for the flavour the wood brings to the food."

  They nodded. Yet, when Melia questioned them further, another said, "It is to wipe Spikes from our lips. Take the disease away." They nodded at that, too.

  "Which is it?" Melia said. Their vagueness frustrated her.

  "It is to remind ourselves that food is the essence of life. We do not take the food for granted," said one woman, and they nodded again. Lillah touched Melia's arm. Leave it, now.

  Mugs of tea were passed out, ceremonial tea for strength and happiness. Lillah was used to the taste of Jasmine, now, and it didn't seem so strange to her.

  They drank the tea.

  On their final night, they bathed in the sea, using salt to rub off the oil. Fresh water only for drinking, much to Melia's disgust. The teachers were used to the intensity of the smell by now. The children gathered to rub their scalps with jasmine, thread flowers through their hair.

  The Order gathered to farewell them. By now they avoided Melia: they thought she asked too many questions.

  A david-sapling was planted along the path by which they had entered.

  "That's for my baby," Corma said. "They plant a david-sapling for every one of us who leave. Some of those are for teachers. They plant a david-sapling a year after the teacher has left. Some of these david-saplings are there for babies who never existed, or who died, but they don't seem to see that. I think it's bad luck. I don't like it. I wish we could pull it up or something, but I don't want to risk offending them."

  "Try not to worry about it. You're going to an Order where they understand childbirth. A better place. You may not even come back." Lillah helped her stand.

  "They'll make me come back. You know that. There are other men here who have said they'll be fathers."

  She stretched in the sunlight. Lillah saw her belly as her shirt lifted up; broad, brown, stretched, it looked uncomfortable.

  Behind her a father appeared. "It's well past time. It will take you too long to reach Ailanthus if you don't leave soon. You don't want to birth in the sand, do you?"

  "She is testing her resolve," Melia said.

  "What is the point?" Lillah said.

  "You are one of the wise teachers," the father said. "Some teachers are wise. Not all. Some are chosen for strength, health, beauty or humour. You, I think, are wise."

  Lillah laughed, choosing not to be insulted.

  The last night with her lover was odd. Lillah wasn't sure if she should be thanking him, or gifting him, and she realised this was something they hadn't been taught.

  He said, "You don't need to give me a gift. I'm sad you're leaving. I would have liked you to stay."

  "I would like to give birth in the place I choose as my home."

  "Yes. Then let's not talk with our mouths any more."

  As they left, they were each given a small jar of Jasmine cream for the pain of childbirth and of menstruation.

  Erica took hers greedily and asked for another. It was hard for Lillah to understand; she had never suffered that pain and always thought Erica was making a fuss for attention. The reaction of the women here showed her that this pain was a thing many women suffered.

  The teller stood by the Tree, whispering events passed. Lillah wanted to know what he was saying, have the chance to tell the Tree what really happened. Could she do that in another Order?

  As the school departed, there were no tears, not even from Morace. The children were excited to move on. Erica was so grateful for the pain cream she hugged everybody and smiled, rare behaviour for her.

  Corma and Hippocast stepped into place behind them. "Do you mind if we walk with you?"

  "Of course not. You are both walking?"

  "I am allowed as far as the next Order to see Corma safely there. Then I must come back," Hippocast said. He ran forward to walk with the children.

  "You don't need him to keep you safe. What are they thinking?"

  "He begged them to come and I think it's very nice of him," she said, turning her back.

  "Of course, of course, if you want him with you that's different! He seems to be a good man. They are all good men."

  As they walked, Lillah asked Corma to talk more about the jail in her home Order. "Are there others? We don't hear much about the jails."

  "I believe there are others, though I haven't seen any. They are modelled on ours, though."

  "And is it only people from your Order locked in one?"

  "No. I think they take people from along the Tree."

  "Tell me about it again."

  "Why? It's horrible."

  "I know. But sometimes I like to hear about the horrible."

  "They are small cages dangling over the water. They float, so that the criminal's feet, or some part of his body, are always in the water. They are given some food but they mostly catch fish and eat it raw. The only thing for them to do is to catch fish and watch the Order. It is a terrible punishment. They are isolated and lonely. They get sick from eating so much raw fish. Sometimes they get belly Spikes and then they have to be treated."

  "It sounds awful. But they do get to spend more time in the sun out there. That would help the sadness. And there has never been a fish with Spikes. We have not known one."

  "Nor have we. You will never be in a cage, don't worry."

  "Do you ever feel like swimming out to talk to one of them?"

  "Never. Who would do such a thing? One thing I've heard about Ailanthus is they know how to stop the bleeding."

  Lillah, while startled by the quick change of subject, said, "Magnolia bled all over the place. I collected an armful of spiderwebs and we stopped the bleeding with that."

  "You can't take the webs from spiders. Haven't you heard the story? A man was climbing the Tree to steal some tender shoots. He swept aside a giant spiderweb, that had caught in his fingers. He didn't care; he pushed more out of the way.

  "He stole the shoots, then tried to climb down.

  "He slipped and fell; this a man so surefooted he ran on the rock pools at tide down never slipping, as we all did.

  "The spiderwebs caught him. Hooray, you think. But no. They caught him around the neck in a stranglehold and no one could climb up to reach him. There he stayed.

  An
d he grew two extra arms, so he dangled like a giant spider until he rotted and fell to the roots."

  She ate some nuts. "You don't touch spiderwebs. Too much bad luck."

  • • •

  In her mapping, Lillah told the Tree: Jasmine smelling far too much, clever oiling from the flower, clever thinking brain using fear of spiderwebs, danger for those who have caught child.