20

Tikewa

A thunderous cannon echoed off the walls. Instantly, Dylan was on his feet, weapon in hand. He scanned the room for the source, ready to attack. With the second blast, he lowered his sword and exhaled deeply.

“Whoa! That is some snoring,” he said, looking at the resting Sheil. Dylan giggled to himself and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He looked around the darkened room and swept his hand across the floor to locate his belongings. The brief sleep had refreshed him, and he was ready to go. Sheil grumbled, and Dylan stopped moving for fear of waking him.

“Head back to the lake and down the river.”

“What? Why?” Dylan bent over Sheil.

Sheil rolled onto his stomach and continued snoring. Dylan grabbed his bag, which he had used as a pillow, and crept out toward the dim, orange light coming through the doorway.

The floor of the celebration room was littered with sleeping bodies in several clusters. Dylan thought that they were probably gathered in family groupings. The fire was tended to by a frail old man, who smiled up at Dylan as he stepped around and over the bodies. Dylan nodded and walked past him. Two young men stood outside the cave, guarding the entrance.

“Good luck,” whispered one of them. “We’re counting on you.”

“Wait!” said the other, and he ran into the cave. He returned with a bag and handed it to Dylan.

“What’s this?”

“Food. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”

“Thank-you so much. The people of Tipple are very kind and hospitable.”

The two men smiled and nodded.

Dylan continued walking in the direction he had come from the night before. It was still dark, but he could tell that the sun would be up soon. By the time Dylan got to the spot where he had watched the ceremony the previous night, the sky was beginning to brighten. He stopped and looked out across the lake. It was calm and peaceful. Dylan shuddered at the thought of jumping into it. It looked so much colder this morning in the damp, cold air.

He pulled his hood over his head and continued on. The shoreline was flat and smooth, which made for easy travel. Soon, the lake became a wide and fast-moving river. The forest became thicker and more tangled, and there were spots where the path became impassable. To get around the trees and thickets that pressed up against the river, he headed away from the bank several times but did not venture too far. He always returned to the river that was guiding him to where he did not know.

A delicate spider web caught Dylan’s eye. Light splintered through hanging water droplets and filled the web with color. A large, black spider rested comfortably in the centre. Then, without warning, a yellow spotted insect struck the web and fought to get away. The spider raced over and cut most of the threads that connected the fly to the web. With two remaining threads that acted as an axle, the spider spun the immobile fly and wrapped it in a tight, silk package. Then the spider returned to its resting spot.

Whap!

Dylan was suddenly knocked off his feet. While falling, he sensed a trog land on the ground in front of him. Startled, Dylan jumped up and ran into the forest. The trog began chasing after him, but his wings got caught between a cluster of trees. When Dylan saw that the creature was restrained, he rushed back to attack. Just as Dylan reached him, the trog freed himself and fell forward. Dylan swiped at his wing with Olam and sliced off the tip. As the trog cried out in pain, Dylan took off sprinting through the forest in the direction he had been heading.

Angered, the trog launched itself into the air and over the river, where he noticed Dylan running through the heavy foliage. Dylan stopped. The trog flew past him and then circled back, looking for an opening in the trees. Dylan sensed anger in the creature’s menacing, bloodshot eyes.

After a few moments of indecision, he continued on down the river. Dylan travelled quickly and paid attention to his senses; an hour passed. No sign of the trog. I think I lost him, he thought, relieved. His throat was dry, so he stopped along a muddy riverbank and cupped his hands. He drank heavily, and just as he started to relax, a noise startled him. He spun around, lost his balance, and slipped into the river.

The rushing current carried him away from the riverbank, and soon, he was travelling at great speed. He desperately grabbed at branches and roots that had been bent by the current, but he could not grip the slippery vines. His hands burned from the friction, but he did not pay attention to the pain.

Thump!

Dylan was instantly dazed. A large branch that hung over the river had knocked him beneath the water’s surface. He gasped for air as the force of the river pressed him against a tree, knocking the wind out of him. He reached blindly for a branch above his head and managed to pull himself out of the water.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. The trog flew at him feet first with his wings extended behind him—like an eagle diving for fish. Dylan drew his sword in a flash and stabbed the trog through the heart. Holding onto Olam with all his might, Dylan slid it out of the trog as the creature fell over top of him and into the river. He watched the trog float away from him on his back. His wings spread out across the surface of the water. Then he was gone, over the edge of a giant waterfall.

The branch Dylan held bent with his weight, and he prayed for strength—for himself and the branch. He managed to get on top of the bough, and he hugged it tightly. Then he inched his way toward the tree. The branch swayed as he moved, but as he got closer to the base, it became more stable. Finally, he was aboveground, and he dropped to the forest floor. He lay back and looked up at the sky, trying to catch his breath.

The crash of the waterfall was so loud that it overpowered all other sounds. The air was filled with mist that came down like rain. Dylan was soaked and bruised. His arms and chest were bleeding from hanging onto the branch so tightly. He managed to get up, and he stumbled downstream a few more feet. From the edge of a rock precipice, he looked over the falls. He could not see to the bottom, but he heard the crashing of the water on the rocks below.

Like a strike of lightning, his senses kicked in and he spun around. His heart stopped. The arrowhead pointing at his skull dripped a cloudy, poisonous liquid. A quick scan of the area revealed a dozen small, dark men with unusual markings on their faces. Several of them had taut bows with arrows in them pointing directly at him. Those without bows had spears above their heads, ready to be launched. Slowly, Dylan turned back to the waterfall and looked into the bottomless hole. Then he turned to face his attackers and collapsed. He sat cross-legged and stared up at them—helpless.

For several minutes, Dylan studied the men as they did him. Finally, he relaxed. He did not have the energy to resist, and he no longer sensed that he was in danger. His father had told him about the forest dwellers, and he believed that these were them. They were called Tikewa. His father had spent time with them as a young man, so he knew something about their culture. He remembered his father telling him that one of them had even come to live with him in Duffle for a time. According to Macor, the Tikewa were a peaceful people who were closely connected with the earth.

Dylan stood and the natives tensed up. “Tikewa?” Dylan asked.

Quick glances passed among them, and Dylan smiled at their surprised expressions. One of the natives spoke directly to Dylan. He could not understand the words, but he understood the message. With his spear, the man pointed to where he wanted Dylan to go. They parted and made a path for him to travel through. Even though these men were his captors, Dylan felt safe and protected. He knew that if any trouble arose, they would not allow him to be harmed.

He was led into a very dense part of the forest. The sky was barely visible even though it was the middle of the day. For most of the journey, his eyes focused on the uneven forest floor. Movement caught his attention, and he looked up. Another forest native stood in the middle of a clearing. He looked directly into Dylan’s eyes. Instantly, hundreds of Tikewa appeared, and they all stared at him. Dylan did not know where they had come from, for they had appeared without warning. There were women and children and men of all ages.

“Welcome,” said the man who had first appeared in the opening. “We waiting for you.”

The sound of English shocked him.

“You speak my language?”

“Yes, I learn from you father, Macor.”

“How do you know who I am and who my father is?”

The man paused and spread his arms away from his chest. “Wind tells all.” Then he paused again. “My English no good. I not speak it for long time.”

Dylan smiled. “I understand you very well.”

“I am Icka.” Then he waved his hand around his head and said, “These are Tikewa.”

“I am Dylan.”

“Come, Dylan. Eat.”

Dylan followed Icka while everyone else stood motionless. As he passed, they stared at him shyly or nervously; Dylan could not tell which. He glanced at a small child who was holding onto his mother’s leg. He stared up at Dylan and timidly hid behind the woman. A tender smile caught Dylan’s eye, and he smiled back. The child’s mother also smiled.

A spongy, green moss cushioned each footstep as they proceeded toward a lovely bubbling brook. Icka led him to a large boulder with two seats carved into it. They sat down while the Tikewa prepared a special feast in Dylan’s honor.

Dylan turned to Icka, who was patting a gecko and watching it run from hand to hand. “Are you in charge here?” Dylan asked.

“In charge?” Icka asked. “What is in charge?”

Dylan thought about his words. “Are you the leader?”

At this, Icka turned red. “No,” he said quietly. “Tikewa have no leader.”

“But you appear to be the leader.”

“Only because I speaks English. Tikewa have no leader. No leader needed. Long time ago, one man try to lead. He did much trouble. We are a group. All need all. Everyone has a part. We works together. I speaks English, so I get respect for that. Someone else—good hunter. All know who is goodest hunter, but we never speak it.”

“What is that?” Dylan pointed to the gecko on Icka’s arm.

“It is Kado—very important animal. All life good. Kado as important as you. Some people kill without respect. This make us sad. We only kill what is need and we thank the animal for its life. All the world is one. When one life end, we all hurt.”

Dylan turned to face Icka and said, “Do you know Queen Gaia?”

Icka looked up and thought for a moment. “No, I not know Queen Gaia.”

Dylan looked away, disappointed. Why did Ravelle tell me to find her?

“You mean Maia?”

Dylan looked at him. “I was told Queen Gaia. Who is Maia?”

“Maia is every place; in all things, everywhere. She is Kado.” Icka stopped for a moment and watched the gecko run up his shoulder. “She is this rock.” He patted their seats with his hand. “She is all,” he said, spreading his arms and reaching for the sky.

“Where do I find her?”

“You have find her already. You sitting on her, and you breathe her.”

Dylan put his head in his hands and breathed a heavy sigh. He spoke quietly to himself while Icka continued speaking. “Why can’t anyone give me a straight answer? No one knows her. How am I supposed to find her? The people of Tipple are probably right. There is no Queen Gaia, and if there is, she’ll have to find me because I’m not going to waste any more time chasing after a myth.”

Icka continued. “Maia is all that we are and all that the world is. The waters flow—”

“When are we eating?” Dylan interrupted. “I don’t…” He stopped, wishing he could suck his comments back into his mouth. He looked at Icka, who stared at him in silence.

“I’m sorry, Icka,” Dylan whimpered. “I’m tired and hungry. It was rude of me to interrupt you. I have not—”

“Lunch time!” Icka screamed. Then he laughed and screamed it even louder. “Lunch time!!”

Then the whole forest screamed “Lunch time!” in a single chorus. The sound of those two words in this foreign place sounded very funny to Dylan. He looked up and saw that everyone was laughing.

“Come.” Icka grabbed his arm and pulled him off his seat. They stood slightly above the group.

Dylan scanned the feast laid out before him. It was a potpourri of colors and smells. A variety of food had been placed in large wooden bowls and giant, heavy leaves. There was fruit he had never seen, vegetables of unusual shapes and textures, and a number of different types of nuts.

Before they ate, the Tikewa stared up at the sky and then down at the ground. They swayed and spoke in unison. Then they dropped to the ground and placed their noses in the dirt. Dylan tried to follow, but he was too busy observing. Then with a clap and a shout, they all jumped up. Dylan scooped his food onto a leaf, mimicking the others’ actions. Then they sat down to eat. There was little conversation while they ate.

Dylan observed his surroundings and wondered if the Tikewa were aware of the goings-on around them. They keep to themselves, so they probably don’t know about Nero. Then he thought about what Icka had said about the connection of all living things. They would be affected, Dylan decided, but he did not know how or when.

As they were finishing their meal, the forest began to darken. Suddenly there was dampness in the air, and Dylan felt a drop of rain on his nose. He looked up and saw that the sky had clouded over. Another drop fell into his eye. Everyone got up immediately and cleared the feast away as the rain started to come down on them.

Icka appeared behind Dylan and said, “Come.”

Dylan followed Icka a few hundred feet to a shelter made out of bent branches and the very same leaves that had held their food. The den was warm and dark. Dylan felt chilled in his damp clothes.

“Here,” Icka said, and handed him a fur blanket. “Take off wet clothes.”

By the time Dylan had his clothes off, a fire had been lit and Icka was warming himself. Dylan heard voices approaching and he looked out the entrance. A number of people made their way into the den. There were two women, another man, and six children. Then another man came in carrying a small child. Dylan tried to determine who belonged to whom. At first, he thought that one of the women was Icka’s wife, for they seemed to be very fond of each other. Then he thought that the other woman was Icka’s wife. He gave up and thought about more important things, like where he should go next.

Icka broke the silence. “Where you go now?”

Can you read my mind? Dylan thought. He shrugged his shoulders and stared into the fire. No one spoke for a long time. Everyone seemed to be deep in his or her own thoughts.

Again, Icka broke the silence, “Go to Ahava.”

“Where is Ahava?” Dylan asked.

“Never-ending water.” As he said this, he waved his hand around the room. “Water with no end to see.”

“Do you mean the sea?” Dylan asked.

Icka nodded.

“I have heard of the sea, but I’ve never been there.”

Dylan stopped speaking and tried to picture it. He could not imagine a body of water that went on forever.

“Why should I go to the sea?”

Icka shrugged his shoulders. “I not know.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Because you have never been.”

“How do I get there?” Dylan asked.

“Follow the river. It go to Ahava.”

“How far is it?”

“Two days.” At this, Icka wrapped a blanket around himself and lay down. The others did the same.

For someone who claims not to be a leader, he certainly has a lot of followers, Dylan thought.

He watched a drop of water build on his shirt, which was hanging near the fire. It fell. Another drop grew slowly and fell. His mind started to drift to the rhythmic sound of his dripping clothes.

• • •

Where is that pip-squeak?” Nero screamed at the two trogs standing in front of him. “You boobs are useless. There’s a small boy out there killing trogs, and you can’t do anything about it.”

He paced up and down the hall while the trogs stood at attention. They shifted uncomfortably, trying to appear straight and tall. Nero kicked the floor and then the wall.

“I want him HERE! Now, what is the problem?”

One of the trogs spoke. “If you wanted him dead, there would be no problem.”

Nero rushed at the trog and spat, “Well, I want him alive, you smelly piece of crap. Bring him here—alive!”

“We’ve underestimated his abilities.”

“Have you been working together?”

The trogs shifted uncomfortably.

“No? You haven’t been, have you?”

At this, they shook their heads.

“You’re a bunch of insolent imbeciles! You need to work together if you want to capture him.”

The same trog spoke cautiously. “Trogs don’t like each other. We don’t work well together.”

“Well, you better learn QUICKLY,” he shouted, and before the final word exited his mouth, Nero spun around with his sword and lopped off the trog’s head. The second trog winced at the sight and waited for his punishment as his partner’s head rolled across the floor and rested against his foot. The headless body remained upright for a moment before the weight of its sheathed sword pulled it to the ground.

“Feed this corpse to the dogs!” Nero commanded. “Then put the head on a pole and parade it around your quarters. Let it be an example to you all.”

The trog remained motionless.

“Get out of my face before I make mincemeat out of you!”

As the trog walked out of the room with his partner’s head under his arm, he heard Nero scream, “If I don’t see that delinquent in two days, more heads will roll!”