Walking the Tree

by Kaaron Warren

  "Why did we never question this on the outside? Why don't we know this?" Lillah said.

  "Most of you out there don't care where you came from. Most of you think it doesn't matter. But it's everything about who we are. And it's how we can change.

  "We all descended from the same place. These things happened beyond memory ago, when most of us lived inside the Tree. There were many factions and we have no record of what the arguments were. This is the nature of war, the nature of conflict. The conflict is remembered, not the cause. The cause is unimportant with the passage of time.

  "They fought, and there were deaths. Some small groups found safe havens in the Tree, but many others, tired of living inside the Tree, ventured out. The insiders would say they lost all sense and knowledge. Most people did this. The outsiders would say they saw sense, saw that living inside was wrong, and that outside, where there is sun and fresh air, is the only right place to live. They started eating fish. We would not eat fish.

  "All communication was not lost, though. As time passed, contacts were made and conversations held. There was transfer of insiders to outsiders, breeding between the two, for a long time, then slowly, slowly, the separation became complete. We forgot how to speak to each other and the outsiders began to believe we did not exist."

  They climbed out onto a branch way above the ground. Below them were people, strangers, living their fascinating lives.

  "But do I tell them? Will they listen, and will it change anything at all?"

  "They should at least realise there are no ghosts inside the Tree, just another Order, more Orders, living their own way."

  "There are some who do believe that. They have ghost-free places."

  Santala shuddered. "Some of the places… they are taboo. Places where people die of their nightmares."

  "That is in Pinon. That's what they tell us. Everybody has a different belief." Lillah felt suddenly overwhelmed by all she had heard. "It's so vast, inside the Tree."

  "There is more Tree than there is land."

  This was too much for Lillah to absorb. Too huge, too all encompassing.

  "It is a large land, so varied."

  "It is very large."

  As they moved through and up the Tree, there were surprising patches of dirt resting in deep impressions in the Tree, or filling hollows.

  Lillah realised they were using a rib cage to dig. It provided deep, equal groves to drop seed in.

  "How does anything grow in here? It's hard for us to grow food in the shade."

  "This food has changed so that it no longer needs sunlight."

  "Does it give you enough life when you eat it? Sun-raised food has so much life."

  "We're alive, aren't we?"

  Lillah thought, You are, you pale weak creatures. But not like we live.

  • • •

  She saw a woman she thought was perhaps a Taleteller.

  The woman used a sharp bone to cut words into the Tree.

  Lillah watched her. "On the outside, it's the men who have these jobs. The women leave. The men stay. So the men have these important jobs."

  "We do not travel so much inside. We will meet together near the internal fire sometimes, but we like our small groups."

  "Children, though. How do you make new children?"

  "When we meet a lot of connections are made. And you outsiders leave your unwanted babies out. We want them."

  She etched with a sharp bone tool. Lillah ran her fingers over the story and marvelled at the woman's skill.

  "Clever, isn't she? Will you come to stir the beer?" Santala led Lillah through to another cavern.

  The bowl was enormous; a massive stone scraped and scraped till there was room inside for food. Santala picked up a bone spoon the size of his arm and stirred.

  A yeasty, fermented smell came off the mixture.

  "This will be ready in some months. It draws flavour from the stone and the stone helps turn it into something that will make us all happy."

  • • •

  The walking was slow, which was good because that way she could acclimatise to the changing light and the heat. The closer she moved to the centre, the hotter it got.

  She missed sunlight terribly. Lillah felt her hair dying, falling out, though in the half-light of their existence it was hard to tell. Her skin thickened, coarsened; she could feel the pores when she stroked her face. But the learning, the learning took all physical difficulties away.

  She found the spring that ran out into Douglas. Santala warned her about this stream. He said, "It is so pure it will hurt your throat."

  She sat by it, resisting the urge to swim in it, piss in it, dirty it for the murderous men of Douglas. But she drank, instead, and then lay down and let the dreams of future and past, of lovers and killers, fill her until she thought she would never wake up.

  "Is that noise the leaves? Is there a wind out there? It sounds like talking."

  Her guide shook his head. "It's outthere. They whisper like that all the time. It's nonsense. We can't hear the words unless we creep closer. Sometimes we do it, if we're tired of the pictures in the Bark and bored with each other."

  "What do they say? Can you tell me?"

  He laughed. "Sometimes shocking. Sometimes very dull. Farting in the mother's bed. Tearing away Bark not loosened or given freely by The Tree. Bad thoughts and ideas; these things we hear. Terrible killings, sometimes. Sometimes I whisper back. Tell them things I don't want people to know. We hear the planning of a killing. Terrible killings. One place they leave seaweed oil in their ghost cave."

  Rhado. Lillah thought. I won't tell him my mother is from there.

  "We heard them, many of them, whispering about a boy and how they would kill him. They don't like those who are flawed, do they? They don't see the strength in flaws."

  "Those people should have been jailed."

  Santala smiled. "Jail. It looks nice, to us. Sitting in the water and the sun. It seems warm and cool at the same time."

  "You would think so. And at first it is. The prisoner thinks they have got off easy, that there is no worry at all. The water is refreshing the sun is warm, and they are not required to do any work. Most way-breakers are lazy. I don't know if that is the same inside the Tree as it is out. But they are mostly lazy, and try to get out of doing work."

  Santala nodded. "They are lazy here, too."

  "It may not seem to be a punishment. But it is terrible. They move ceaselessly, lifting one foot at a time out of the water, stepping and stepping."

  "Their feet would begin to rot, if they are there a while," Santala said.

  "The cages rise and fall with the tide, and their feet are often in the water. Once the foot starts to rot, when there are open sores, the salt water gets in and those people are in agony."

  "It's hard to tell that from this far back. It looks pleasant."

  "Sometimes it's not good to be close to a thing. Their feet are destroyed by it. You've seen that?"

  "I've seen them crawl from the cages. Yes. But I don't remember seeing their feet. I wouldn't like your life out there. You have so few freedoms."

  Lillah wondered how he could think such a thing.

  Some crystals were set in the walls and Santala, using a bone tool, scraped them into a small bag.

  "This is our salt," he said.

  Lillah pitied him. "Our red salt can heal bruises," she said.

  As they talked and long days passed, he led her through roots, tunnels and caves.

  "How do you know where you're going? We understand a straight line; this seems to be circles and spirals."

  "The Tree is a very complex organism. You must have noticed that from the outside. Many species merging to one heart. So my map is to follow the species. This track we're on takes us to jasmine, which is surrounded on most sides by almond. Almond leads to Rowan, and that's where we'll eat tonight."

  "Is it near the centre of the Tree?"

  "It will take us many more months to walk to the centre of t
he Tree."

  They climbed and walked, dropped from branch to branch. Lillah felt warmer, uncomfortably so.

  "Thirsty?" he said. He seemed to understand her physical state. He handed her a wooden bottle to drink from.

  "We'll fill it at the next well."

  "Is there is fresh water in here?"

  "Of course. It's the source of all water you use on the outside."

  "We're almost there," he said. "Through here, and we'll be there."

  It was very warm. Lillah couldn't understand where the heat was coming from, but she was too tired to form the words to ask.

  They stepped through a fissure and what Lillah saw there made her scream.

  "What's the matter?" her guide said, his composure gone for the first time.

  "Fire, the great burning fire! The stories are true. The Tree is burning from within."

  Lillah sobbed. She had never really believed these tales, and never told them herself, yet here it was. The Tree being destroyed as they watched. There was a large cavern, fifty steps at least, maybe a hundred going the other way. You could not walk in there, though, because the ground burned. There were no twigs or sticks, no logs burning. The ground was the wood of the Tree and it burned at a constant red glow.

  "Lillah, it's good. It's good fire. The wood here is so ancient it doesn't burn, just appears to. This flame has been alight since before I was born. One of my first memories is playing up against the burning block, because it was warm and I loved the crackle of it."

  "We hear that outside sometimes," Lillah felt calmer, knowing it wasn't her responsibility to save the Tree. "There are crackles about the Tree. Sometimes an internal Limb will shatter with dryness. That crackles."

  "Come and eat. This fire is a great comfort. The eternity of it gives us faith. My grandfather sat by this flame. His grandfather."

  As her eyes focussed, she saw there were others in the cave.

  "There are other flames burning. This is ours. This one has been burning for many years, and it is a reminder of battles that should never be fought. A battle between two good men ended with the flame going out so long ago. It was many years before it was lit again. Now we are wary of war and careful with our fire."

  The cavern filled with whispering people. Mostly they were naked though some wore strips of material around their necks to wipe their fingers and noses on.

  They watched Lillah, and smiled if she looked at them, but did not surround her.

  "They'd love to talk to you, but don't want to frighten you," Santala said. "They feel like they know you; we watch you all out there."

  "They can talk to me. I'm not frightened," though she felt overwhelmed. There had been much interest in her travels, but this was different.

  "They know less about you than others. They don't hear the whispering as much. The secrets. One young girl, the story goes, hid and listened. She knew all the secrets. She didn't use them wisely. The people killed her for knowing the secrets, but before she died, she cursed her killers. She said, 'With me dies the Tree'. But the Tree still stands, and she is long gone."

  Santala handed Lillah something, twice the size of her fist, on a skewer of wood.

  "What is it?"

  "It's delicious," he said.

  "But it's…"

  "Spider. It's spider. We farm them not far from here."

  "I can't eat that!" Lillah said. The insiders looked at each other.

  "We've seen the terrible things you eat out there. You eat crab, which goes red when you cook it."

  "Crab? Crab is good to eat. Some people don't eat crab, though. I can understand why you might be cautious. We never eat the crabs that eat people, though. We've seen them, and we've seen the bodies left, chewed and meatless. We don't eat those crabs."

  "Spider is delicious."

  Lillah looked around at her and knew this was an important moment. She had to eat. She had to be brave. They may not be offended but they would think her a complete fool if she starved herself to death.

  "We see the spider as something to be worshipped. We don't eat the things we worship," she said.

  "Anyone worthy of worship would rather be eaten than let his people die." Lillah could see the sense in that.

  An old woman squatted beside them, staring at Lillah.

  "We don't see you here. Not young ones."

  "Old ones? Some old ones come inside?" Once, she would have been excited at the possibility her mother had walked inside. She wished for a moment this had been the truth, that Olea was alive and well and living inside. "Do they?" She spoke more loudly than usual.

  The old woman winced at the noise.

  "A few old women come in. The ones looking for home."

  "But this is not home to an outsider. How could it be home? The old women walk, my mother walked, they walk around the Tree until they reach their birth Order."

  "Yes, that's right. And most will stop there. But some… not your mother… some will feel the draw into the Tree."

  They paused to collect a colony of spiders. "Not that one. See? She's got babies inside. That's next month's meal."

  "So I'm the first smooth-skinned person inside? The first young person?"

  The old woman seemed frustrated. "No, not the first. I didn't mean to give you something to be proud of. But very rare. That's all."

  "They haven't seen too many from outthere," Santala said. "Certainly not as many as are sent outward."

  "What happens to those who enter? Who survive?"

  "They are absorbed into Tree life. They may live alone in a Tree cave. They may climb higher. Some become members of our small community."

  The old woman leaned forward. She was toothless, and Lillah found it hard to understand her words. She touched Lillah, saying, "I thought I was cold while waiting for the sun. But here the sun has never reached. Here is never warm. We did not always eat the spider. Until one day one long time in the past, when the moss was gone, the mushrooms, the sacrifices and the findings. All gone. We were dying inside and out. It was then that the spiders began to drop, many, many spiders dropping to us, some into the fire and some beside it. It was a sign to eat the spiders, to stay alive. And this is what we did." She gave Lillah a piece of bread, mimed eating it.

  "All food has a partner, an opposite. Tomato and basil. Corn and potato. The spider once had an opposite: a white bird that flew low, caught fish and like to eat on the shore. A foolish creature. The last of his kind was eaten by those outthere many generations ago. The bird and the spider worked together. Spider flew on bird's back and bit the bird. In the spit of that bite was a good thing, it kept the bird travelling. Outthere, if they knew it; they would take every last spider for themselves. The spider survived, the bird did not. We always thank the spider when we eat it." She sprinkled one grain, maybe two, of sea salt onto the spider. "This is to remember the saltiness of the bird's blood. Salt is precious inside. You don't know that out there, where you have it in abundance."

  "Not everywhere. And you need to work for it."

  Lillah took the skewer and sniffed the spider. It smelt like cooked bird. Charred. They'd taken all the fur off, and removed the legs, though these Lillah could see on a plate close by.

  She closed her eyes and bit into the spider. She chewed. "It's not bad. It actually tastes a bit like crab!"

  Lillah closed her eyes and imagined she was eating crab. The texture was nasty; much chewier than it should be. And the thought of it made her ill. But she could feel it doing her good; every bite restored energy.

  "Would you like to view a baby new born?"

  "How do you know there's one? Nobody has brought a message."

  He cupped his hand to his ear. "Hear the quiet talking? They call out who gave birth and where the child."

  They travelled to see the baby. Lillah asked Santala where the placenta would be buried, or how they cooked to eat it.

  "We would not eat it. How would we know which will be our leaders?"

  Lillah remembered then that h
e had told her; they buried the placenta, then dug it up when the child became an adult. If the placenta was still perfect, that child would be a leader.

  The mother wept. The tears of the insiders were thicker than those of the outsiders; opaque. Saltier, perhaps, Lillah thought.

  She did not feel inclined to lick a tear from the face of the crying mother to find out.