Treespeaker (9 page)

Outside the door, Dovan paused once more. He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. How had all that happened? He’d come home with a lot of questions to ask his father. So many strange thoughts kept coming into his mind and he’d hoped his father could explain them. The last thing he’d expected was to end up homeless. Why was the man so bad-tempered these days?

Now he had another question. Who had spoken as he left? As he had turned away from his father, he distinctly heard a voice saying,
‘Don’t go’
. It sounded like his father, yet it couldn’t be, for the words echoed as if spoken inside a cave. Then he heard screeching and just for a second everything went dark in his mind.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened. He had heard another voice earlier today when he sat with Beldror and the others, but no one in the room was speaking. It was a quiet, soothing voice, but echoed just as this one did. Though he couldn’t understand what it said, it made him feel safe. He’d been suffering from a sudden headache and the voice lulled it away.

He shook his head. Was he going mad too? Beldror believed that his father suffered an illness that affected his mind. Could it be infectious? He wished he hadn’t drunk so much mead tonight. He couldn’t think straight.

He looked about him, acutely aware of his predicament now. The sun had slipped away, leaving a golden glow through the silhouetted trees, and the cool air nipped at his hands and face. He shivered a little as he stepped away from the door and strolled onto the path. He threw his cloak around his shoulders, fastening it as he went.

Where should he go? Maybe he should see Beldror. After all, his friendship was the cause of all this and it would certainly show his father that he’d meant it when he said he could choose his own friends. The thought of further annoying his father brought a surge of pleasure, but the last memory of his father’s face quickly overwhelmed it. There had been anger in his eyes, yes. But there had been pain and fear too. 

No,
he thought,
he was at fault. I won’t go back.

With stubborn tread, he headed on down the path, past the Meeting Hall and up the other side. Then he stopped. Thirty paces ahead of him, a figure struggled along, bent almost double and panting so hard that he could hear her even from that distance. He watched for a moment before setting off again at a quicker pace.

“Megda!”

At his voice, Megda lowered whatever she carried. She peered through the fading light.

“Who’s that?” By now he was only paces away and her voice softened as she recognised him. “Dovan! Where are you off to?”

Dovan was glad of the near-darkness to hide his discomfort. Where was he off to? He had no idea. “What are you doing?”

Megda sighed. Without seeing her face, he could sense her impatience. “I’m being a silly old woman.” She waved her hand in the direction of his cottage. “Your poor mother just spent much of the day with me, tending to everything, doing all my chores. But I forgot, until now, that my water butt was almost empty. So I had to go to the well. It was always something that Kattan…” She trailed off, twisting away from him, her shoulders drooping.

“Let me take it.” He rushed forward and took the bucket.

Megda patted his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Dovan, just like your father.”

Dovan coughed and said nothing. In silence they walked up the hill to Megda’s cottage. A light burned inside. Megda opened the door and he rested the bucket just around the corner.

“I’ll fill your water butt for you tomorrow,” he said smiling. He moved to leave.

Megda stayed him with her hand on his arm. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have interrupted your journey. Now you’ll be late.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said without thinking. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

The old woman’s eyes glinted in the candlelight of her cottage. “Why would a young man take a walk in the dark?” She smiled, cocking her head to one side. “Have you got yourself a sweetheart, Dovan?”

Dovan’s face burned. He hoped it didn’t show in the poor light. “No. It’s nothing like that.” He picked at a loose splinter in the doorframe, avoiding her gaze.

“What’s nothing like that?”

Damn, I shouldn’t have drunk so much honeyed mead today. I’m making a complete fool of myself
.

“Have you eaten?” Megda’s question brought his head up.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Then will you take some mead with an old woman, by way of thanks?”

He hesitated. To stay would mean more questions, he knew, but where else could he go? Anyway, Megda looked as though she needed company. He didn’t want to disappoint her. He loved her like a grandmother.

 “Maybe tea?”

Megda laughed, as if understanding him perfectly. She closed the door, took his cloak and waved him to a cushion by the low table in the middle of the room. As he made himself comfortable, she scooped some water from the bucket into a pot, threw in a handful of dried herbs from a jar on the mantle and hung the pot to boil. She didn’t say a word until the tea was ready and she placed a cup in front of him.

“Now, my boy.” She lowered herself onto a cushion opposite him and rested her arms on the table. “What’s going on?”

Dovan felt his face burning again. Megda watched him with keen interest. “Nothing’s going on. I was just walking.” He knew it sounded feeble.

“Just walking. In the dark.” Megda nodded her grey head with each statement as if trying to affirm the truth of it. Then she shook her head. “I’m an old woman, Dovan. I’m nosy. I like to know what’s going on. And I don’t believe you.” She smiled, but obviously waited for another answer.

 Dovan shrugged, tracing the wood grain on the table with his finger.

“I remember taking a walk in the dark once,” Megda continued suddenly. “In fact, it was raining, as well as dark, but I went out anyway. Wandered around for hours getting wet and cold.” She stopped and stared up at the candle on the mantle behind him, scratching at her temple as if deep in thought. Then she cocked her head at him. “Do you know why?”

“Why?” He wasn’t sure he liked this game.

She leaned forward. “Because I’d just had a huge argument with my parents. They were in the wrong, of course. They had no right to try to rule my life. I was an adult. I could run my own affairs!”

Dovan couldn’t help grinning. She was a wily old woman. “So where did you go?”

“After I’d wandered around for hours getting soaked to the skin? I went home…and spent the next three weeks in bed with a chill.” Her eyes sparkled. “Now sup your tea before it gets cold. Then if you want to talk about it, I’m listening. If not, you can go on your way.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional slurp from Megda as she drank her tea. At last she set down her empty cup and smiled at Dovan, one eyebrow raised.

He lowered his cup and licked his lips, trying to think what to say. His thoughts spun around his head like leaves in an eddy, making it difficult to know how to start. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to start. At last, words came pouring from his mouth as if of their own volition and he immediately wished he could swallow them back up.

“What’s wrong with my father, Megda?”

The old woman sat up straight, her eyes wide. “Your father? There’s nothing wrong with Jakan, as far as I know. Why? Do you think he’s ill?”

Without really wanting to, he found himself retelling the argument. Megda listened without a word, though her face showed clearly what she thought. At first, the words stuck to his tongue like dry acorn flour. They left the same bitter taste. As he went on, however, he found that the telling calmed his own mind and the words came more easily. At last he had told her all.

Megda sat staring at him for a moment in silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but terse. “You said that to your father? You said that to the Treespeaker? And you wonder why he lost his temper?”

Dovan felt hot all over. Why was everyone so mad at him tonight? “I told him I didn’t believe it!”

Megda’s face softened. She reached across and took his hand. “Dovan, before this Outlander came, before Kattan died, who was your father?”

 “He was Jakanash, the Treespeaker. He still is.”

She nodded. “Treespeaker, yes. And did he not have the respect of everyone in this village?”

“Of course!”

“Does he still have that respect?”

“Yes, of course.”

She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “Are you sure? When even his own son doesn’t defend him against the suggestion that he has been tricking his people for the last twenty-five years? Has everything he’s done been a lie?”

Dovan felt sick. He was embarrassed to find tears springing to his eyes. He pulled his hand from Megda’s and covered his face. What had he done? When he looked up again, Megda had stood and moved towards the curtain of her sleeping quarters. She disappeared for a moment. He could hear her moving about. She returned carrying a sleeping roll; her short arms hardly long enough to go around it. With an effort she dropped it by the fireplace and turned to him.

“Well, I expect you need somewhere to stay for the night. To sleep off that mead.”

“You’re not going to make me go home?”

She regarded him, her face stern. “I’m not helping you. I’m giving your father time to calm down, without having to look on the son who has dishonoured him.”

He chewed at his bottom lip. He felt six years old again. Part of him wanted to rush from the cottage in indignation, but the other part knew that would be foolish.

“There are, of course, conditions to you staying here,” Megda continued. “When your father’s ready, you’ll apologise to him. Until then, you’ll keep me supplied with wood and water. Agreed?”

He nodded. He could think of nothing to say.

“Good.” Her expression softened once more. “Don’t worry, Dovan. Your father’s a forgiving man. And he loves you more than his own life.”

Dovan gave a quick nod.

Apparently satisfied, Megda furled out the bedroll and went back to her room to get covers. She deposited them on the bed and turned once more to Dovan, who now stood fidgeting, feeling very sheepish.

“When you started to tell me about the quarrel with your father, you asked me what was wrong with him. What did you mean?”

“It was nothing.”

“What did you mean?” She came to stand in front of him.

He looked at his hands. “Beldror says Father’s losing his mind.”

 “Ah… Beldror.” She took a firm hold of his arms and looked him in the eye. “I know no saner man than your father, Dovan. I know strange things are happening, but your father is the one constant. Right now, he needs you to believe in him more than anything else. Kattan told me before he died that there was an evil coming. Your father is our one hope. I believe that firmly. But he needs our support. Now, go to bed!”

She reached up and stroked his cheek before turning and walking to her room. As she went, she pulled the wooden comb from her hair, letting her grey locks fall about her shoulders.

Dovan stood for a moment, thinking on her words. He shook himself from his reverie with difficulty. So many thoughts spun in his head that he didn’t think he would ever make sense of them. He tried hard to make his mind blank while he settled himself down on the bedroll and covered himself with the furs Megda had left. He stared into the dying fire for quite some time before sleep finally came.