36

Cahan did not know what he expected as they approached Harn with the boy.

A fanfare? Flags? The people running out to greet the returning heroes?

None of these things happened of course, though the gate guards did not bar their way and demand a bribe. Tussnig, the monk of Tarl-an-Gig, stood in his headdress of sticks and watched them pass, he glared but did not speak. Maybe this was the nearest to a welcome Cahan could ever expect from Harn.

Within the walls the people had gathered, quiet, distrustful, staring. Cahan and Udinny walked towards the Leoric’s house and Cahan thought it would not matter what he did for the village, he would never belong here. Never be welcome here for want of a little paint on his temple. He would always be clanless. If he helped them they would think they were entitled to it, if he did not help them it would only confirm what they thought of him.

“He lives,” Cahan heard it whispered from behind him. Then another whisper.

“Lost Anjiin! He brought the child back!” A babble of voices, the door on the Leoric’s longhouse was pushed open and she appeared, followed by her second, Dyon, who wore a conical yellow hat that he had pulled so low it almost covered his eyes.

“Issofur?” said the Leoric, she said it to Cahan. Her face frozen in fear. He realised he blocked her view of the travois.

“Here,” he said, removing the straps and pulling the travois round so she could see the sleeping child.

“Issofur,” she said again, and she caressed his cheek, smiling and cracking the white make-up over her face. The boy’s eyes opened. He looked up at her.

“Firstmother,” he said softly. “I am tired. I had a strange dream.”

“Sleep, Issy,” she said softly, “you have been on a great adventure.” He nodded.

“I made new friends,” he said, then laid his head back down and returned to sleep.

“So you are friends with my son, now?”

“He does not know us, Leoric, he slept all the way back,” said Cahan. Her face twisted in confusion. “We should talk.” Worry, on her face now.

“Come into my longhouse,” she said, “Dyon!” Her second nodded and held the door open while she picked up the child and led them into her longhouse. Inside it was smoky, the fire burned in the centre and over it was the same bubbling pot of broth Cahan had seen before. “You must be hungry,” she said and walked into the back to lay down her son, reappearing a moment later.

“Yes,” said Udinny before Cahan could speak, “we have eaten only our shoes for the entire journey.” The Leoric, Furin, gave her an odd look and then took some bowls off a shelf and spooned broth into them. It was thick with gravy and vegetables, and even had a little meat in it. Cahan sat on one of the stools around the fire and took a mouthful.

“This is good, thank you,” he said.

“It is better than good,” said Udinny. “I have travelled the length of Crua and I swear to all the gods who have been and those who will be that Furin makes the best broth in the entire land.”

“Thank you, Udinny,” said Furin. The Leoric looked tired, worn out as she joined them to eat.

“It is the herbs,” said Udinny through a full mouth.

“What happened in the forest?” she said, turning from the monk. Cahan raised his eyes from his bowl, glanced at her second, Dyon, standing behind her.

“Dyon has been with me for years,” she said. “You may say anything before him you would say to me.”

“He does not seem to like me much,” replied Cahan.

“Forester,” said Udinny, “I thought our journey through the forest had cured you of surliness.” He stared at her until she shook her head and returned to her broth. “But it appears not.” The forester turned from the monk and back to Furin.

“Your son was foreststruck, Furin,” he said.

“I know that. We are not entirely unaware of the ways of the wood, we live within it after all.”

“He was chosen by the boughry.” She froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. Then she placed the spoon back in the bowl and put it on the floor.

“But you returned? How? They let none return, not with their lives.” Her voice wavered, quietened. “Not for long anyway.” She stood. “My boy, is he—” She began to move and Cahan raised a hand, stopping her.

“Udinny offered herself in the boy’s place.” She stared at him.

“They did not hurt Issofur?”

“No,” he said. She turned from him to Udinny who was still gulping down broth.

“And you, Udinny?”

“I am not hurt,” she said, “but I have a fierce hunger.” She held out her bowl and the Leoric stared at her, so many questions on her face. Udinny pushed the bowl towards her again. Furin hesitated, for only a moment, then took it and refilled it.

“They let us leave, Furin,” said Cahan as Furin passed Udinny the full bowl, “but said they will want their price paid at another time.” The Leoric picked up her own bowl, stared at it then poured the food back into the pot. Her appetite was gone but food was too precious to waste.

“I do not have the words to thank you,” said Furin quietly.

“You do not need to,” said Udinny. “We had a fine adventure.”

“They freed your boy, Leoric,” said Cahan, “but few are ever the same once they have been in Wyrdwood.”

“Udinny seems herself. Unchanged,” she said, pointing at the monk as she spooned food into her mouth. The monk of Ranya looked up.

“Oh, you are wrong, Leoric,” she smiled and wiped broth from her mouth. “I have seen much, my eyes have been widened by my journey. My faith in Ranya strengthened.” Cahan could not help but notice that the Leoric’s eyes flickered to her second when the monk mentioned Ranya. He wondered if Dyon was stronger in his faith than her. And the idea that Udinny was unchanged, well, he did not think that true either but if it helped Furin to believe it, then he would let her.

“Good,” said Furin softly. Then she sat straighter. “You are still not intending to preach of your god?” her eyes flicked to her second again.

“That is not Ranya’s way,” she said between mouthfuls. Dyon stared at the monk.

“You intend to stay, though?” said Dyon, and from his tone Cahan was sure he would rather she did not. The monk nodded.

“Well, we owe you. A place to stay is the least we can do,” said Furin. “It is good to have you to look after Issofur, as well.” She glanced at Dyon again and then leaned forward to say more quietly, “But stay out of Tussnig’s way.”

“Is there more broth?” said Udinny. The Leoric smiled and shook her head in amusement. She clearly found some small joy in the familiarity of Udinny’s appetite.

“Help yourself, Udinny, and you too, Forester, you have done me a great service.” Cahan nodded, though he did not take more broth. The people of Harn were not rich and his farm provided enough for him. All that he wanted was to return to his solitude. Udinny’s company had been good, but to be around the people of Harn once more, and to see the way they had looked at him only reminded him why he avoided them. But, as he sat there, among their poverty and saw how freely the Leoric offered her food, though she had little, he felt he must share what else he knew with her before he left.

“There is something else we discovered in the forest,” he said. The Leoric looked at him in a way that confused him. As if she feared what he would say as much as she feared the boughry. “There has been treefall, in Wyrdwood.”

“Treefall!” This from Dyon behind her, and for the first time since Cahan had known him he smiled. “Furin, this is wonderful. We will be as rich as Harnspire! Truly, Tarl-an-Gig has chosen to bless us.”

“Speak quietly, Dyon, less the Osere hear and grant your wish,” said Furin, “life is not as simple as you imagine.”

“But treefall, Leoric,” he said, coming forward, “it will provide all we could need for generations, it is what made Jinneng rich, it is…”

“Forester,” said the Leoric softly, “did you come across this treefall by accident, or were you directed to it?” She cocked her head to one side, a question in her gaze, and he thought about what she said. About how the Forestals had sent them towards the branch.

“Directed, I think.”

“By Forestals,” added Udinny, “they were not the monsters we have been led to believe either, they gave us a wondrous thing called…” her words tailed off at the look the Leoric was giving her. Then Furin turned to Dyon.

“This is not the gift you believe, Dyon,” said the Leoric softly. “The Forestals have been raiding our caravans though there is little enough for them to take. Do you not wonder why?”

“What does this have to do with treefall?” said Dyon.

“It is a trap,” said the Leoric softly. “Treefall will bring riches, you are right. That is what the Forestals want, a better class of person to rob. Riches, merchants.” She let out a long breath. “The Rai.”

“Let them try and rob us,” said Dyon, with an unpleasant laugh. “With the money from treefall we can hire professional guards. The Rai will protect us.”

“You have never dealt with the Rai, have you?” Cahan said to Dyon.

“I have seen them many times,” he said. “When I performed the duties of the gods, before Tussnig came, I even held a ceremony for one. We gave the lives of three of our best crownheads to Tarl-an-Gig.”

“They will come here,” said the Leoric, no emotion in her voice, “see what we have and take it.”

“But it is ours,” said Dyon.

“Rai do not care,” said Cahan.

“Maybe not about you, Clanless,” said Dyon, he did not even look at him. “But we are people,” he touched the clanpaint on the side of his face. “I have ten generations’ claim on this land.”

“The forester is right, Dyon,” the Leoric stood. “We are poor, and we are not of them. The Rai care nothing for your ancestors or mine or anyone else’s. They will simply roll over us and take what they want.” She let out a sigh. “It is better we do not talk of the treefall to others, Dyon. Better we pretend we never heard of it.” He stared at her. His face changing, make-up cracking.

“You knew,” he said. “You knew about the treefall?” She nodded. Cahan felt the anger within burn a little brighter on realising he had been used. Not by the Leoric, but by the Forestals. He knew now what message he had been asked to send when he escorted the traders through Woodedge. Why they had sent Udinny and him eastward in Wyrdwood. They wanted the treefall found, so they could prey upon those it would bring.

“Yes, I knew,” she said. “Have known for well over a year.”

“Well, I…” began Dyon and she cut him off with a slash of her hand.

“Will do as I say, if you care at all for our people,” she hissed.

“I think,” said Cahan, standing, “I should leave now. I have missed my home and would like to get back.”

“Very well, Forester,” said Furin, turning away from Dyon, “and thank you.”

“I will see him to Woodedge,” said Udinny and she escorted him out, helped him retrieve his staff from the travois they had made. He passed villagers, some of whom were cordial, others contemptuous; like the butcher Ont, who stood with Tussnig and a little gaggle of villagers. They stared silently at him as he passed, though Tussnig’s attention was focused on Udinny. Cahan did not care. Let Harn sort itself out, let its monk bleed them dry, let the Leoric and Dyon fight over treefall. It was of no consequence to him. He would never be welcome there.

At Woodedge Udinny stopped. She squatted and put her hand on the floor.

“Ranya’s web,” she said. He did not know if she spoke to him or to herself. She sounded lost. “I never knew…”

“You can come with me if you want, Udinny.” She looked up, as if woken from sleep.

“I must stay here,” she said. “I think the Leoric is right about the treefall. Maybe I can help her convince Dyon not to speak of what we know. He is not unreasonable, just distrustful.” She put her hand on the ground again and sighed. “They used us, didn’t they? The Forestals?”

“Yes, they did.” He leaned in closer. “Watch Dyon. I do not think he cares much for your god, he wears the trinkets of Tarl-an-Gig on his clothes.”

“He does, most people do now, Cahan.” She smiled at him. “But Ranya speaks to all in some way.” Cahan glanced back at the wooden walls of Harn. “You look troubled.”

“Only thinking, monk.”

“Of what?”

“The treefall, she knew of it but ignored it. I did not bring the Forestals’ message to her. Then the child is taken, and we bring news of treefall again.” He scratched at his beard. “It is almost like the forest wants these people to know of it.”

“The Forestals sent us to the tree, not the forest.”

“They live in Wyrdwood, Udinny,” he said, “there is no telling how it has changed them, or how it uses them.”

“But why?”

“For nothing good,” said Cahan.

“I will tell her,” said the monk. “She will be wary, well, more wary.” Cahan nodded and whistled for Segur. The garaur came bounding out of Woodedge to scale him and wrap itself around his neck.

“Ranya’s blessings to you, Udinny,” he said to her.

“And you, Cahan Du-Nahere,” she said and he turned and began the walk back to his farm, though he could not shake the feeling he was not done. The great forests of Crua were huge, eternal, and if they wanted a thing they did not give up.

It was a pleasant walk through Woodedge. These paths, unlike those Udinny and Cahan had walked, were kept clear by use, both by animals and by hunters and foragers from Harn. The fringes of Woodedge that surrounded the village had always felt friendly to him in a way Harnwood and Wyrdwood did not. Segur was happy to be in a place that was familiar to it and left his neck. He could hear the garaur thundering around through the undergrowth around him. He felt a happiness like nothing he had felt in as long as he could remember. Behind him he left Udinny, who he thought of as a friend, and a good deed. It could never be wrong to save a child.

He even felt that he shared some common ground with the Leoric; her wish to have nothing to do with the treefall, despite the riches it could bring, seemed sensible to him. He had written off her and the villagers as fools obsessed with nothing but themselves, like the Rai, but it was not true. Her concerns appeared to be for her people.

Though the way it seemed the forest wanted Harn to know of treefall bothered him.

He made a decision then and there that surprised him: going forward his farm would contribute to the tribute Harn must pay. It did not matter that he cared little for the Cowl-Rai’s war, the truth was by withholding from the village it was only them he hurt.

When he broke from Woodedge and saw his farm in its clearing he could not stop smiling. It would be good to sleep in his bed, eat food cooked by his own hand and tend to his crownheads.

Cahan spent the following morning with Segur, rounding up his animals, and found that those animals that had vanished had been returned. Together with a fine male that he had not bought, but had been marked with a pink dye very similar to his. It left him with a warmth inside that was entirely new. He found himself looking forward to a life where his relations with the villagers were of cooperation, even if it was grudging from some of them. If he had earned himself a little goodwill then he intended to keep it.

There was a saying among the people of Harn: “No good tree goes uncut.” He did not know it then, in those hazy, warmer days of Least that followed, but the axe was already coming down.

Many would fall to it.