Refugees

  Chapter 2

  Trees - Brina

  I don’t remember what caused me to suddenly stopped spinning silk that evening. It was one of those perfect nights in which Mama had thrown open the shutters to welcome in the warm breeze and let it flutter into the room, so it could tickle us with its breath and then waft out again into the forest. I had been working steadily, but suddenly I felt restless. I put down my spindle, walked over to a nearby window, leaned out, and looked up to try to see the stars. But only a thin stream of moonlight shone through the canopy above, bouncing off the leaves that danced in the gentle wind.

  Quietly slipping out onto our wooden terrace, I listened as the familiar sounds of my family still at work receded into the background: the steady scratching of my brother sanding wood, the happy chattering of little Ceila, the intermittent mesmeringa nut chopping by my mother, and the rise and fall of musical notes as Glorna plucked the strings of her harp. In an effort to see the sky with less obstruction, I began to wind my way up the wooden stairway that Papa had built to the highest lookout point above our tree house.

  From the height of the platform, as I peeked out between the leaves and branches, I could look down and catch glimpses of the myriad bridges, staircases, and terraces that wound through our trees at so many different levels. I loved the mysterious dancing shadows and deep hidden spaces of the forest. As far as my eyes could see, there were varying layers of wood, branches, and trees in a world that was a tangle of vertical, horizontal, and diagonal lines zigging and zagging in every direction but always dominated by the stretch of the tree trunks toward the sky. I lay down on my back upon the wooden planks and spread out my arms and legs, fully extending the soft flaps of skin which stretched between my ankles and wrists. My long brown hair fanned out around my head. Although I was at the top of my world, I was still far from the stars that branched out across the expanse of sky. I had often lain here like this, pretending that I could drift up and up until I was gliding among the stars.

  That was when I noticed a brightly shining star that I had never seen before. Could this be the new star from Baskrod’s prophecy? I located the bright tail of the Magpie Constellation, then found the bird’s center, and guided my eyes along its right wing. There it was! It was as if the music from the nearby stars in the Lyre Constellation had coaxed it out from under the protection of the magpie’s wing. The new star had appeared!

  I was filled with excitement but also a kind of dread.

  Baskrod was my papa’s friend, the fisherman, who sailed up the Alfon River once a year to trade his catch in Kalpok’s central hall, which was built between the eight greatest trees of our forest. In exchange for fish, Baskrod received tea leaves and healing potions made from our mesmeringa trees. Baskrod was much loved in my village, although he had trouble getting around Kalpok since he was handicapped. He had no claws, and still worse, no glides…just space between his arms and legs.

  Each time he visited, he had struggled up the rope ladder to our home and then on up the multitude of winding stairs to our treetop platform to experience the joy of being closer to the stars. It took courage on his part to reach the top, since there were no railings on the way up. To visit other homes, he had no choice but to climb back down the way he came, walk along the dangerous ground and then climb another rope ladder to the next dwelling, since he could not leap and glide the distances between the bridges and terraces. The villagers stood guard with their bows and arrows to protect him from the ground cats.

  I loved to sit on the platform and listen to his tales of lands far away that were so different from my home. One village he described was in a land that was flat, covered in mud, and almost treeless. It was hard to imagine a world without trees. Who would want to live in such a place? Baskrod was wiser than anyone I had ever met. My papa encouraged me to spend as much time as possible learning the mysteries that Baskrod taught.

  “Even the trees reach for the secrets of the stars,” Papa had said.

  Kalpok was a gift of the mesmeringa trees, gentle giants that enveloped us in their loving arms to provide us with all that we needed. Bunches of small oval leaves drooped from their branches, like jeweled necklaces. We cooked the sweet tasting leaves over a brazier or ate them raw. Young mesmeringa pods were small, with tiny seeds that we soaked in our water to purify it. On large trees, the pods could grow to the height of a man and each ripe seed inside was the size of a person’s head. We ground the pods into a flour to make bread, removed the husks from around the seeds to make ropes, and then we cut into the seeds to find the delicious mesmeringa nutmeat to eat and juice to drink. Nothing tastes better than sliced, roasted mesmeringa seeds with mesmeringa honey dribbled on top. Our herbalists could heal just about any ailment with teas and poultices made from mesmeringa leaves, pods, flowers, and roots. We built houses, terraces, and bridges with mesmeringa wood, and our hammocks were halves of large pods.

  For me, the magical mesmeringas meant not just comfort, but excitement and adventure. Even to travel from my home to the meeting hall, there were many routes through the trees, some of which could involve adrenaline pumping leaps of a distance as far as the trees were tall. To run to the edge of a platform, leap into the air, spread my legs and arms, and glide through the air from one terrace to another gave me a feeling of power and freedom unlike any other. All my life the mesmeringas had wrapped me with comfort, like being folded in glides, while providing me with the option of a release to an exhilarating freedom.

  That is why I did not want to rise from the platform on which I lay to go and tell my papa the news. I had known this night was coming for most of my life. My papa had taught me that everyone must fulfill their destiny, and that my destiny would mean that I had to leave my family, Kalpok, and the Mesmeringa Forest to travel to Tzoladia, the far away capital of the Tzoladian Empire. Once in the capital city, I must find two other young people from very different cultures who had been chosen like me. I accepted and even embraced this destiny, but I had hoped the appointed time would not have come so soon and that Baskrod would have come for me in his boat. But there in the sky was the promised star, and Baskrod was nowhere to be found. I was filled with the dread of facing the journey alone.

  I stood up, walked to the edge of the platform, and looked down, trying to see the earth far below. A pattern on the forest floor caught my eye. Was that a ground cat? I squinted my eyes, but I saw no movement. It must have been my imagination. I began the descent to my home. From the terrace, I looked down at the spot again. There it was. I could see it now. Sitting on its immense haunches, staring up at me without moving a muscle, the lion patiently waited, watching and hoping that I would come near the ground. I shuddered at the thought of being snatched into the jaws of the silent night watcher.

  Returning to the comfort of my home, I slipped past the other rooms and into my father’s woodworking shop. Surprisingly, he had put down his tools and was napping in his hammock. He did not often nap during the night hours, but like most Gliders, waited until daylight to sleep. I watched him for a moment before waking him. His beard and temples had strands of grey and his forehead was lined. On the outer edges of his eyes were little lines that went upward as if he were smiling with his eyes. His hands were large and worn from woodworking. I had seen him sleeping like this in his hammock before, but on this night I wanted to keep him there forever, peaceful and strong. I froze the picture in my mind.

  I touched his shoulder gently. “Papa,” I whispered. “Papa.”

  He awoke, startled for a moment, and looked around. Then his deer-like brown eyes settled on me. “Brina? What is it?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, reaching up and putting his hand on my arm in a comforting gesture.

  “I think it’s the new star. Come look.”

  He needed no further explanation but quickly swung his legs over the side of his hammock, stood up, and hugged me silently.

  “Show me,” he sa
id, and we walked out onto the terrace together.

  I reached my finger up, the skin of my glides draping open gracefully until it was taut. His eyes followed to the point of the extended claw at the end of my finger and leapt into the sky to the precise spot where the star was gleaming.

  “See, Papa, just like Baskrod predicted.”

  “Yes, Brina, I think you’re right. The star shines brightly, just like my bright little girl,” he smiled at me. He sometimes spoke to me as if I were still Ceila’s age, even though I was sixteen years old, but it didn’t bother me. I liked being his little girl.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I had hoped this would not happen so soon,” Papa said, echoing my thoughts. “But there is an appointed time for everything.”

  I wanted to cry. I was not ready to leave my family.

  Seeing that I was near tears, he softly lifted my chin in his large hand, his claws retracted. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Sweet Brina, do not be afraid. The star would not have come if you were not ready.”

  “But Baskrod isn’t here,” I worried. “I hope nothing has happened to him. Nobody can expect me to go alone on such a journey, right?”

  “Perhaps he is on his way. We will have to meet with the Council of Eight before you can leave, anyway.”

  “I’m worried what the council may say.”

  “The council cannot stop your destiny. They cannot hold you down when you were born to soar.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My little Brina, the star is there just as predicted, so all will come to pass. Do not worry. You will be given the strength to face the council tomorrow night after you get a good day’s sleep.”

  “Maybe it’s not the star Baskrod told us about. Maybe I’m mistaken.”

  “I love you so, Brina. This will not be easy for any of us. But you have been trained well, and that training shall lift you up. Come. I’ll help you tell the others, so we can all prepare for your great journey.”

  Papa helped me break the news to Mama. Afterward, I quieted my spirit with the familiar and comforting act of maintaining my bow and arrows. My wooden bow, Eej, was a work of art, created for me by the master bow maker. It was just the right length and flexibility for my size and strength. I had received my first bow at the age of three, and a new one each year until I had stopped growing two years ago. Eej was crafted from wood, oryx horn, sinew, and fish bladder glue, while the string was made of silk. Baskrod had provided the carp for the glue.

  I carefully inspected the curves of Eej, marveling at the way its power lay in the very bend that should weaken it. Next, I applied the beeswax to the string, gently gliding my fingers up and down its length before confidently returning my bow and arrows to their silk case, called a gorytos. Eej was ready. Maybe I am made like Eej, I thought. Maybe I am stronger than I think. Before long, as the sunshine streamed through my window, I fell asleep in my gently swaying hammock, wrapped in the sweet earthy smell of the mesmeringas. Surely, Baskrod would come for me.