by B. K. Parent
When I had settled myself more comfortably into the chair, I knew that thinking I could just get up and leave was just plain bravado on my part. I had not lost my awareness of the fact that Carz and I were still outnumbered and still at the mercy of the goodwill of the Huntress. There was really not much I could do at that time that would have helped Da, other than holding onto the strong hope that since he apparently had not followed me into the clearing, he was alright.
“I can see by the look on your face that you are aware of Neebings. Few humans are,” said the Huntress.
“I am a rover,” I said, “and my Da told me rovers have always, ah . . .” and I had to take a moment to think of the right word. Respected? Paid tribute to? Honored? “. . . rovers have always honored the Neebings.”
“You calling yourself a rover, lass?” the Huntress asked. “You certainly are not dressed like any rover I’ve ever met.”
Now what, I had thought. How much should I tell her? How was I going to explain why I had been dressed in a very fancy, if somewhat worse for wear, dress and a fine cloak?
“This is not my choice for comfortable practical clothing, and normally I wouldn’t be dressed like this, but I had a need to be in disguise this night,” I said, hoping she would not call me on my vague answer.
She had not, but rather merely raised an elegant eyebrow, and said, “So, rovers are still in the tricky trade of gathering information,” which had me wanting to ask a dozen immediate questions. I was not to get that opportunity, for the Huntress had decided not to question me further about my being a rover and began to tell me about heart homes.
“When this land was young, this valley and many others were a combination of large woods and small clearings, rather than what it is in our time, where there are small woods and large tracts of cleared land. The land, as you know, was cleared by the early settlers to Sommerhjem in order to expand farms. Soon villages sprang up, which grew in some cases into larger towns. As the woods decreased, so too did the native animals that lived in them. Many, like the hunting cats who need a rather large territory, moved to the forest-covered hills and mountains. Some animals ceased to exist. When the balance began to change in the nature of the land, problems arose,” the Huntress told me. “Sometimes when we change what nature has put in place, what we have replaced it with does not do an adequate job. For example, when we clear-cut the land, wind and water do more damage. Sometimes the good farm soil is swept away in the harsh winter winds, leaving the land not as good for growing. The settlers soon learned that trees and woods were necessary, and so a time of planting windbreaks and woods began. Often within these new groves, a very special type of tree took root. No one really remembers if it is native to Sommerhjem or was brought here by the early settlers. Whatever the case, they grew well here. This tree trunk you are sitting within is one of those trees, which I imagine you would call a quirrelit tree.”
“Yes,” I said. “The wood is quite beautiful, but rare, and there is an unwritten code among woodworkers that you only take what has fallen from the quirrelit tree, and you never, never cut one down or cut branches off of one. I have never really known why.”
“They grow quite large very quickly, are both sturdy yet flexible at the same time, and live very long lives. Because of the rapid growth, many myths and stories grew about quirrelit trees. The early settlers assigned them magical properties and forbad anyone from harming them. The problem with assigning magical properties to something that does not have any is folks often become disappointed when what they thought would give them what they wish for does not. Folks tend to get a bit feisty when that happens and then want to harm what has caused them great disappointment,” the Huntress commented sadly. “Having Neebings claim these trees as home was good for the trees, but sometimes caused problems with the settlers, since Neebings can be mischievous at times. Because the woods are important to the health of the land, and in order to protect them from ever being severely damaged, as they had been when the early settlers first came to Sommerhjem, protectors arose, such as me and mine.”
“Why have I never heard of you and yours?” I asked.
“Mostly because time has forgotten us,” she had answered with a sigh, “but also because we are most effective when there is some mystery about us. No one knows the woods like we do. Over the years, we have mastered some very clever illusions to protect the woods, and mainly scare the beegeebers out of most folks, but I digress from my story. Where was I? Oh, yes. In the case of the particular tree we are now within, it had lived its natural life, and while alive, sent out shoots which in turn sprang up as new trees ringing itself, like a mother with offspring. These new trees grew more slowly. Over time, when the mother tree died, there were many to take her place, and so the groves grew bigger, and the quirrelit trees survived. Quirrelit trees can also grow from seed, but they rarely produce them. The seeds are very small, and look somewhat like a very beautifully carved acorn, or so I have been told. I have never in my lifetime seen one.”
When the Huntress gave the description of a quirrelit tree seed, an image flitted through my mind, but too fast for me to catch it, and I was then drawn back into what the Huntress was saying.
“For many years, the farmers here were content with the land and recognized the benefits of having the woods for both protection of the land and for the game and plants that resided within. Crestbury was becoming a bustling town, and trade was coming to the valley. Along with it came a man called Halvor, who had strange ideas and was very compelling. In retrospect, what he wanted was power,” the Huntress suggested. “He gradually gained followers but was not convincing enough to all the folk here that his path was the one to follow. One night, a huge storm came up; a driving rain accompanied by a howling wind. The mother quirrelit tree had long been dead and much of her crashed to the ground that night, a natural occurrence in the cycle of these trees. Halvor used the storm and the crashing of the tree, not to mention flooding and other natural disasters that occurred at the same time, as omens, great signs that worse was to come. He told folks they needed to follow him in order to save themselves. Halvor declared the tree had been inhabited by an evil being that was the cause of all the disasters that had occurred of late. He told the villagers that the young quirrelit trees were spawns of the evil being and needed to be destroyed. Halvor knew we would protect the woods, so arranged to start a fire on the far end of the woods away from the quirrelit grove. Then he and his followers systematically cut down all of the new quirrelit trees before we had the fire under control and could get back. It was a bad time for all here, for Halvor was a tyrant. Folks finally figured that out, banded together, and threw him out, but not without much suffering and loss. We have been haunted by the fact that we did not protect the quirrelit grove and have tried to protect the rest of the woods, perhaps in a vain hope Neebings would come again.”
I was so caught up in this story that I forgot I was really skeptical about the existence of Neebings and asked, “Why did the Neebings leave?”
“Quirrelit groves are the heart homes of Neebings. While they can and do live in woods and other places which do not have quirrelit trees, there are always Neebings found in quirrelit groves. No matter where they travel, there is always a specific grove they call home that they return to, if they can, each summer. If a mother tree dies and falls like the one here did, one of the shoots will grow into the next mother tree. I think the trees need the Neebings, and the Neebings need the trees. When Halvor and his followers destroyed the quirrelit grove, there was no heart home for the Neebings to live in or return to,” the Huntress replied.
I felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness after hearing the tale the Huntress had just told. There was such believability to the story that I was almost convinced that Neebings were real, and the Huntress was part of a group of folks who protected their woods, but then I shook myself. This could not be real, could it? Besides, I had more pressi
ng needs than to stay here next to the fire and listen to stories. I was about to get up, tell her I was saddened by her tale, but it really was time for me to leave if I might, when it struck me where I had seen an object like the quirrelit seed before. My curiosity overcame my good judgment once again, and I asked if she could point me in the direction of the privy. I needed to get at my belt pouch, and I did not want to be reaching under my dress in front of the Huntress. Once in the privy, I got into the pouch and drew out two objects. One was the black stone with the fire within, and the other was the beautifully carved acorn, with what I had thought was an oak leaf carved on one side. On closer inspection, in the dim light of the lantern I had used to light my way to the privy, the carving on the object really did not resemble an oak leaf at all.
I made my way back to the chair in front of the fire. I thought the Huntress might be inclined to help me get back to my homewagon since she knew the woods well. Perhaps I could prevail on her sense of fairness to do so, since she did not seem inclined to kill me any longer. Her story about the Neebings and the loss of their heart home had touched me. I had an overwhelming urge to do something, even some small something, to ease the look of sadness from the Huntress’ eyes. How odd that I would want to do something nice for a woman who not long ago had threatened to end my life.
“The rovers have long had a tradition of leaving gifts for Neebings, and sometimes, I think they leave gifts back. You have to understand that I’m still not quite sure of their existence,” I said with a somewhat embarrassed shrug of my shoulders. “I would like to give you one of the Neebings’ gifts in return for a boon.”
“What is it you wish?” the Huntress asked.
“I really need to get back to my homewagon in the campground without being seen. Should I leave here, I know I would stumble about your woods lost, and I really would like to avoid meeting up with the folks who are looking for me,” I stated.
“You need not trade anything for safe passage out of these woods,” the Huntress had replied.
The Huntress went on to apologize for threatening to kill me. Somewhere along the line, she had come to the conclusion that I was not such bad folk.
“I have something that was placed in my homewagon by a Neebing, or so I have been led to believe.” I chose not to even try to explain the whole Neebing room apparatuses, for some rover traditions and secrets need to be just among rovers. “I’d like you to have it,” I said, as I stretched out my hand and opened it revealing the small wooden acorn.
It is hard to describe what happened next. When the Huntress reached for it, bringing her hand to mine, a light arced from the ring on her finger to the stone in my other hand. Both of us jumped back. I am sure that the stunned look on the Huntress’ face was reflected on mine. She certainly recovered much more quickly than I did. In a commanding voice that I did not think for even a second to disobey, she told me to open both of my hands and hold them out in front of me. I did so.
“Oh my,” she had said, softly and reverently. “Do you know what you hold in your hands?”
I knew I held a black stone in my left hand and the carved acorn in my right, but I did not think she was really asking for a literal answer, so I did not give one. I merely waited.
“You really have no idea what you have offered as a gift, do you?” the Huntress had said in a quiet gentle voice, the kind one might use to calm a skittish horse.
“Apparently not,” I answered, feeling still a bit shaken from the experience with the arc of light.
“What you have called an acorn is a quirrelit seed and the answer to years of longing. What you hold in your other hand means that you are to help restore the grove. I should have guessed, and had I not been so wrapped up in my own sense of failure, would have. I have been so determined to guard these woods that I never thought of seeking out a solution other than revenge.”
My increased look of confusion must have finally gotten through to the Huntress, for she gave me an apologetic look and tried to explain.
“It never occurred to me to hunt for a quirrelit seed. A bit of irony for you. As to you, and what else you hold, well, you are Neebing blessed,” she said, as if that made everything clear. Thankfully, she went on. “According to clan lore handed down from generation to generation, the establishment of a new grove, or in a case like these woods the renewal of a grove, needs a number of things to come together at the same time. A quirrelit seed, of course, at least two firestar gems, and as many Neebing blessed as can be gathered. The seed you hold in one hand, and in the other, you hold a firestar gem. We are both Neebing blessed. If you would help me this night, it might be possible to restore this grove.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Maybe time passed at a different rate in the grove of the Huntress, for I am sure hours went by as we prepared for the ritual that was needed to plant a quirrelit seed and assure its swift and healthy growth. Yet as I stood now in my homewagon looking out the back window, the sky was just beginning to lighten up with the coming of the dawn. The Huntress had shown me a place to bathe and had given me the soft green gown I was even now wearing. While I had been cleaning up, she had taken my firestar gem and mounted it in a ring made of wood from the quirrelit tree. Just when I returned to the main room from my bath, with some alarm, I saw her toss the ring, mounted now with the black stone, into the fire. When I would have rushed to rescue it, the Huntress had calmly informed me I need not worry, the fire would not harm either the wood or the firestar gem. The fire would join them together and make both stronger. It would seem she knew what she was talking about, for a short while later, using tongs, she drew the ring out and dropped it into a bucket of cold water to temper it.
The sound of the hot ring hitting the cold water caused a pang in my heart. So often I had heard that very sound when Da would put the hot metal he had been working on in cold water and that familiar hiss would sound. All of a sudden, I felt an overwhelming pull calling me home, but I was not sure at this moment where home really was. Was it the cottage near Mumblesey, or the homewagon, or somewhere different all together? Where was my heart home? I was pulled out of my thoughts when the Huntress pulled the ring out of the cold water, and with what seemed to me some reverence, polished the ring and gem until they shone. She handed it to me with ceremony. I was surprised to note that the wood no longer looked like wood, nor did it look like metal, but rather something in between. The same patterns I had noted in the carvings in the room we were standing in appeared on the ring. It was a beautiful piece, but subtle. At first glance the ring appeared to be a rather plain band with a dark stone, but if you looked closely, it was an object of rare beauty.
“Come, we must hurry now before the light of dawn breaks,” she had said and had rushed me out the door.
What happened next was both strange and a memory I think I will never lose, but also one that I do not think I will ever share with anyone. I have the impression that an outsider would not have been allowed to witness the planting of a quirrelit seed, but sometimes necessity creates strange partnerships. A partnership between a huntress and a rover I do not imagine has been seen before and may not be seen again in this land. I still do not know what being Neebing blessed means, but in this case, it may have saved my life. After the seed had been properly planted, the Huntress mentioned that had I not been Neebing blessed, I would have perished during the planting. I am glad she had not mentioned that prior to hustling me out the door. When the planting was done, the Huntress invited me back into her home and again thanked me for the gift of the quirrelit seed.
“You have given a gift this night greater than I can explain, and my clan and I are forever in your debt,” she had told me. “In return, I would give you several gifts.” When I had tried to protest, she had quieted me with a look and preceded to hand me a satchel. “Open this later and feel free to use any of what is contained within. More immediately you need to know the properties of
the ring you now wear on your finger. As you know, when the firestar gem is near an object that is more than what it seems by its outward appearance, it grows warm.”
No, I had not known that. I felt rather stupid at that moment, because I had not put together the incidents of feeling warmth with coming into possession of something at the same moment, like the two rings I wore around my neck or the object I had passed off to Beezle.
“When the firestar gem is near another firestar gem,” the Huntress had continued, “and it is in the possession of someone with good intent, it will arc, of like to like. It will be a way for you to know friend from foe should you be wandering in other woods. Also, those of my clan, should they be near you, will know you are a friend of my clan and the Neebings just by the carvings on the ring. That may be helpful to you at some point.”
The Huntress had then told me to follow her while it was still dark, and upon leaving her home, she led me down paths I would never have seen even in the daylight. Sooner than I would have thought possible, we were back at the edge of the woods right behind my campsite.
Clasping my hand with both of hers, the Huntress said, “Be safe, clan friend. Should you ever need and we are near, concentrate on the firestar gem and call. We will come.”
With that said, the Huntress had squeezed my hand, turned, and was soon lost in the shadows of the woods. I looked down and saw Carz touch noses with each one of the Huntress’ four hunting cats, and then they too slipped quietly back into the woods and were gone. Carz then turned and nudged me forward, and we moved quietly from the cover of the woods the short distance to the homewagon and slipped inside. It had been a long night; perhaps longer than I knew, and since I had been almost asleep on my feet, I had lain down to catch a nap before dawn.