Toby and the Secrets of the Tree

  Leo had seen Toby disappear behind the moss. He headed down toward the lake as well. He wasn’t tired. He could feel his whole body focused on one goal: destroying the person who had betrayed him, whose family had made an alliance with the Grass people.

  Leo was going to avenge his father, who had been murdered by the Grass people. And now that he knew what united Toby and Elisha, his anger had turned to rage. Toby was a dead man.

  Leo let out a great cry that echoed around the cliffs. The echo came back to him, spinning like his boomerangs. A frightened moon hid behind an ashen cloud. In a few strides, Leo had reached the middle of the slope. He could no longer see Toby. He turned on the spot, hands on his weapons.

  Swift as the wind, Toby jumped on top of Leo. Locking his arms around his adversary, he kicked him in the back of the knees. Both bodies crumpled, and they set off rolling toward the lake.

  Just above, a young woman was watching this terrifying struggle.

  It was Lila Asseldor. Her clothes were in tatters, and she had chilblains on both hands. She had no strength left to make any kind of gesture or to call out. But witnessing such a violent confrontation, all she knew for certain was that one of the fighters wouldn’t get out alive.

  The heat from the fire had numbed Elisha’s body, but she recognized her mother’s hand stroking her hair. Elisha must have fallen asleep with her head on Isha’s knees. It was a special gesture, forgotten, and each movement of that hand felt like the first.

  Elisha understood that this was a serious moment. The two boys were sleeping. A pink light was rising outside. Elisha felt a warm breath by her ear.

  “I’ve never spoken to you about your father,” Isha whispered.

  Elisha didn’t answer.

  Her mother started to tell her the whole story. She talked about life in the Grass, about the arrival of Butterfly, and she talked about their escape. . . .

  Elisha listened. It was as if now, in her own body, she could feel the swaying of that long journey she’d made across the Tree, in her mother’s womb. Once more, her father’s laughter came back to her. She knew she’d heard that laugh before. She knew she hadn’t dreamed it.

  “Your father had another life before us. He wanted to take us back to it. He had lost his wife two years earlier. He spoke so little about it. . . .”

  Elisha listened to these words, her eyes closed, her breathing a little calmer. Something was unknotting itself inside her. It was as if the shutters on her life were being flung wide open. Everything was becoming light inside her.

  Hearing the story of her father’s death as he reached the Branches of the Tree, Elisha started crying. But she could feel a tender quality to her sadness. A dead father is still a father. She could love him, admire him. And, at last, she could cry for him.

  “He fought back,” said Isha. “The arrows were raining down on him, but he didn’t give up. I never found out where those arrows came from.”

  Elisha snuggled closer to her mother.

  “What kind of person keeps on attacking a man already shot through with arrows? He begged me to run away. I obeyed him because of you, Elisha. You’re the one who saved me. Because I was carrying you inside me.”

  Elisha opened her eyes. Her mother was holding a small oval object in her hand. “I’ll show you his face.”

  Isha’s hand opened to reveal the portrait of Butterfly.

  Elisha looked at it and felt a wave of fresh air wash over her. The face was almost alive. Butterfly wasn’t exactly smiling, but he looked happy.

  Behind that fine layer of lacquer, he was looking at Elisha.

  Often there’s little more separating the living and the dead than this fragile window, misty with grief.

  There was a roar, and a crazed hand rose up from behind the two women to grab the portrait.

  Plok was lying at the back of the house of colors, clutching the portrait of Elisha’s father.

  And he was talking.

  Elisha listened to his mysterious muttering.

  Plok was speaking.

  Not in sentences, but at least some syllables were recognizable. Mostly, it was his tone of voice that was clear. He sounded as if he was defending himself, and he clenched his fists as he stammered.

  After their initial shock, Elisha and her mother had gone to him. Mo, who had woken with a jolt when he heard the cries, was talking to Plok: “Calm down . . . Plok, listen to me. . . .”

  Whenever a hand was held out to him, Plok kept repeating two words that sounded like, “Menotkill . . . Menotkill . . . Menotkillll . . .”

  Elisha signaled to Mo to leave her alone with Plok.

  “Menotkill . . .” Plok repeated.

  She tried to translate. “You . . . didn’t . . . kill?”

  “Me not kill,” Plok replied, nodding feverishly.

  “Who didn’t you kill?”

  “Not kill him!”

  And he waved his hands, which were still clutching the portrait.

  “You didn’t kill him?” asked Elisha.

  “Me not kill,” said Plok, shaking his head.

  “I believe you. I believe you, Plok. I know you didn’t kill him.”

  Isha and Mo were listening and watching Elisha, who had managed to put her fingers on Plok’s wrist.

  “Plok didn’t kill,” she said gently.

  And Plok started breathing more easily.

  “Plok didn’t kill,” Elisha repeated. “Plok didn’t kill.”

  Then in the same reassuring tone, she asked, “Did Plok see?”

  Immediately, he turned his eyes toward Elisha and conceded, “Plok see.”

  Isha shuddered.

  Plok started up again, “Me not kill . . . Me not kill . . .”

  Elisha fell silent for a while. Plok knew. Plok had seen. Plok had been a witness to Butterfly’s death. This violence that had turned Plok’s life upside down, that had robbed him of the power of speech, was perhaps the same violence that had shattered the lives of Elisha and her mother.

  “Who killed him?” she asked.

  But Plok huddled up even more and hid his face in his arms. “Me not kill . . .” he whimpered.

  “Plok didn’t kill,” Elisha repeated. “I know Plok didn’t kill. But who did kill?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to answer, and Elisha didn’t want to push it. She left him in his corner and went to rejoin Isha and Mo. But she’d only taken one step before she stopped. Plok was whispering something.

  Elisha turned back, all ears. He kept saying two words that were hard to make out; they sounded like paper being crumpled. She bent over very close to him and heard: “Joe Mitch.”

  She froze, dumbstruck.

  He kept repeating these words until they gave way to gentle snoring. Plok had fallen asleep.

  Joe Mitch was the murderer of Elisha’s father.

  Gently, Elisha opened Plok’s hands. She rescued the little portrait, its frame now broken. The protective layer of transparent resin was now a fine powder that trickled between her fingers. All that remained was the thinnest sheet of paper, which Elisha took in her hand.

  She stared at the portrait of her father for a long time before turning it over. On the back there was an inscription in capital letters, which had been obscured up until now by the frame. Elisha’s lips mouthed the words: PORTRAIT OF EL BLUE, BY NINO ALAMALA

  Elisha turned to face her mother.

  “Who chose my name?” she asked.

  “It was your father. He wanted you to be called Elisha.”

  Elisha.

  El-Isha.

  El and Isha.

  Daylight slid under the door as far as Elisha’s feet. She stood up. Isha was staring at her daughter, who looked so pale despite the shadow.

  The door was suddenly pushed roughly open by a body that collapsed with exhaustion in the middle of the room.

  It took several seconds for Mo, who was dazzled by the brightness of the morning light, to recognize his sister Lila. Even before he’d had a chanc
e to take her in his arms, she got out the words, “Toby and Leo . . . By the big lake . . . They . . . They’re going to kill each other. . . .”

  Elisha leaped over the fire, out the door and disappeared into the light. She ran toward the lake. She couldn’t even feel her legs under her.

  She just kept running toward the lake.

  El Blue. Her father was named El Blue.

  As she sprinted, she could feel her tears drawing a horizontal line from the corner of her eyes all the way to her hair. Toby and Leo. Those two names clashed together inside her.

  When she came out above the lake, she saw them. They were floating on an ice floe, in the middle of the water.

  They were still fighting.

  Elisha called out their names, but they didn’t hear her. Their piece of ice was heading for the waterfall. Elisha started running along the cliff top.

  The torrents of water drowned out her voice. Toby and Leo had fallen onto the ice again. She could see their bodies rolling around on it, leaving a trail of bloodstains. Elisha shouted out again, “Toby! Leo!”

  Elisha was still up on high, at the top of the cliff, running toward the waterfall. As soon as she made it there, exhausted and hoarse, she started wading through water, getting nearer to the place where it gushed over the edge. She was battling against the current in her bid to see the two adversaries, as the edge loomed closer and closer.

  No sound came from her mouth. She could see the bodies of the two boys far below, directly underneath the waterfall. Bodies that were hardly moving on the white lake.

  She headed back up the current for three or four steps and then flung herself off, jumping into the water.

  Her tiny body could be seen rotating in slow motion in the waterfall, tumbling inexorably toward the lake.

  Down below, one of the boys had stood up and was looking at the other one. He bent over to scoop up an enormous block of jagged ice.

  Elisha’s body plunged into the water without a sound, a stone’s throw from the ice floe, and disappeared into the violet shadows of the lake.

  Toby was holding the block of ice above Leo Blue, who writhed around, arms crossed, his face covered in snow and blood.

  Flashing before Toby’s eyes were all the times in his past that would be wiped out with this one gesture. He saw Leo as a small boy again, as someone he’d shared so much with. He remembered a friendship in which they had even combined their names. They were known as Tobyleo. They were inseparable.

  Toby’s nose was bleeding. He wiped his cheek on his shoulder, since his arms were taken up with the murderous block. He knew he had to go through with it.

  Leo had no strength left to move.

  “Once,” said Leo, “I saved your life. . . .”

  Toby felt his arms growing tired.

  “Once,” Leo went on, “a very long time ago, I was with those hunters in the night. I knew you were there, in that hole, and I blew out my torch, Toby. I saved your life. Do you remember? I . . . I’m not asking anything of you. . . . Just that you remember that. . . .”

  Yes, Toby could remember that day, but he wasn’t giving anything away. The blood was trickling down his neck. He had to bring this block of ice crashing down on Leo. He had to find the strength to hurl this block of ice.

  A head popped up in the cold water close by, but neither of the opponents noticed it. Elisha took a few more strokes to get even closer to the ice floe. She grabbed hold of the ledge of ice and hauled herself up, body trembling, lips muttering inaudible words. She paused for a moment before crawling over the ice. Toby had his back to her, and Leo was blinded by blood.

  Toby raised his arms even higher to ensure maximum impact. Leo closed his eyes.

  Elisha tucked her arms around Toby’s ankles and pulled with all her might. He toppled and felt the block of ice escaping his hands.

  Toby’s body slumped. The ice had exploded just a finger’s width away from Leo’s face. Elisha managed to clamber to her knees in her soaking-wet clothes. She looked at Toby. The cold was clawing under her skin now.

  “Elisha . . .”

  Toby had just sat up.

  “Elisha . . .” Toby said again.

  She was there.

  She was there in front of him.

  Elisha gathered all her strength to speak. She took a deep breath and collapsed on the ice.

  Toby dragged himself toward her. Their ice floe had just washed up on the shores of the lake.

  “Elisha . . . Elisha . . .”

  He took her in his arms. The young woman’s body was no longer moving. Toby held her more tightly.

  “Elisha . . .”

  His voice was weak. It was impossible to hear what he was saying. He spoke for a long time, close to her face, as if he’d never spoken before. From time to time, the odd word was decipherable on his lips, words such as “never” and “always” and “forever.” The only other word that could be heard was “please.”

  But Elisha looked at peace, and her body no longer trembled at all. Just the scent of her hovered above, tickling Toby’s nostrils with a hint of pollen or spice. It was a perfume that was still very much alive, a smell that brought tears to his eyes.

  Choking with emotion, Toby fell quiet and put his cheek to Elisha’s.

  Elisha opened her eyes and let out a scream.

  She rolled over with Toby as the boomerang embedded itself right next to them.

  Leo had stood up and was holding the second weapon in his right hand.

  Over on the beach, Arbayan had just appeared.

  When Leo lowered his gaze to look at Elisha, he saw the blue glow under her feet.

  A Grass girl. Elisha was a Grass girl!

  “You’re one of the murderers?”

  “The Grass people never killed anyone.”

  “Be quiet —”

  “Listen to me, Leo Blue. Listen to me,” sobbed Elisha. “Your father —”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me about my father —”

  “Your father was killed by Joe Mitch.”

  “Liar!”

  A voice rose up immediately behind Leo. “Listen to her. . . .”

  It was Minos Arbayan, and he had heard Elisha’s words.

  This time, the boomerang nearly took off.

  “Stop!” roared Arbayan.

  And then, adopting a flat tone of voice for his boss, he began to explain, “I was the one who sent El Blue to the Prairie. People had told me about a field of flowers, a paradise for butterflies, far away from here. I was frightened of going there. Your father, Leo Blue . . . Your father offered to undertake the adventure on my behalf. I entrusted him with my equipment. He set off alone. I never saw him alive again.”

  Toby and Elisha were still on the ice.

  “What does that prove?” muttered Leo.

  “I remember his body was found by a young Border Guard who was starting to breed weevils,” Arbayan continued. “You know him. His name was Joe Mitch.”

  “You’re a liar too!”

  Arbayan seemed overwhelmed.

  “Your father was a friend of the Grass people,” said Elisha. “Your father was a friend of the Grass people!”

  Elisha was talking and sobbing at the same time. “When he died, El Blue was accompanied by a woman who came from the Grass. He loved her!”

  Leo brandished his boomerang again.

  “Don’t dirty the name of my father!”

  “Let me speak. You can kill us afterward, if you still want to.”

  She caught her breath again and said, “When El Blue crossed the Great Border, he wasn’t alone. There was a Grass woman with him.”

  “Be quiet, Elisha!”

  “That woman was my mother. She was expecting me.”

  This time, Leo fell to his knees. Slowly, his head sank toward the ice. He put his forehead to the ground.

  Arbayan hadn’t moved. He was looking at Elisha.

  So she was El Blue’s daughter. Leo’s half-sister.

  Elisha closed her ey
es.

  Toby picked her up in his arms and carried her away. They walked along the beach and disappeared into a moss forest.

  Arbayan put his hand on Leo’s shoulder.

  “Come.”

  Leo was stunned by Arbayan’s loyalty. He turned toward him. “I want to ask you one final favor.”

  “Tell me what you’d like me to do.”

  “Yesterday I sent two men toward the Grass. They’re already on their way. I’m begging you to find them and stop them from doing what I asked them to do.”

  Arbayan never took his blue eyes off Leo.

  “What did you ask of them?”

  Once again, Leo lowered his forehead into the mix of water and snow. “They’re going to set fire to the Prairie.”

  Toby turned around to get a good look at the lake. He didn’t dare wake Elisha; he could barely feel her weight in his arms. He saw Leo. From up there, he looked like a small cross on the beach. The water from the lake washed the blood from the ice and stroked his hair. Arbayan had disappeared.

  Leo was alone.

  Toby turned his back to him. He didn’t even look down at Elisha, who had her head pressed against his heart. He just kept going toward the house of colors.

  Had she been conscious, Elisha would never have let herself be carried like a child in his arms. She was too proud. Toby knew this and smiled at the liberty he was taking.

  During the short journey between the lake and the house, he didn’t think about the battles he still had to fight. He was looking beyond all that, to a horizon that was further away. He was contemplating the life that was lying in wait for him once the fight was over. . . . A life he wanted to spend seeing the sun journeying across the sky, watching bread rise, a life as a couple or a family of three walking together, holding hands.

  A quiet life, where the biggest adventure is to set out in the middle of the night to free a gnat caught in a web. A neighbor wakes you up. The web is surrounded by lamps. And when the gnat finally flies off, everyone shouts, “Hurray!” Neighbors invite each other to celebrate with a drink, and households are woken up.