Freeing Nivaka Read online

  Alija barked a humorless laugh at whatever Dalan had said. “What can we do? Look what happens when we try,” he said, pointing at his bruised face

  Tears stung her eyes at the bitterness in Alija’s voice. He’d always been the optimistic one in Dalan’s group. The anger didn’t suit him.

  Her father stood and ushered the others toward the door, so Ahren stepped closer, not wanting to miss any other bits of their conversation. In her haste, she placed her foot wrong, overshooting the thick branch she normally stood on and stepping instead on a skinny bough that had grown the prior summer. The slender branch cracked, and Ahren leapt back toward the sturdy limb she’d used before. In her panic, she missed again, but grabbed a branch with both hands. Her feet dangled in the air and she looked around, trying to get her bearings.

  Without thinking, she glanced down. Her stomach lurched; she had moved beyond the safety of the boardwalk. Nothing lay between her branch and the ground, nearly seventy feet below.

  Struggling for breath, she swung her feet up toward the branch, but the one she held onto snapped and cracked. Air rushed past her face as the ground sped closer. Her terrified scream sounded foreign, as if it had come from a strange animal, and time stopped. She saw every stick, every branch she passed on her descent, but she couldn’t make her hands work. The ground moved ever closer.

  Ahren closed her eyes, knowing this was the end, and cried out in pain and surprise when something grabbed her arm. She jolted to a stop and crumpled in a heap on the boardwalk at her father’s feet.

  Trembling, she pushed herself up and brushed the sticks and leaves from her hair and clothes. With a sigh of relief, she looked up at her father, but recoiled from the fury written on his normally-gentle features.

  “What is the meaning of this? You could have been killed,” her father growled.

  Ahren stood, arranging her clothes and brushing more sticks and leaves from her hair. “I’m sorry, father. I didn’t mean to spy. It’s just——”

  “We’ve had this conversation too many times before. I thought you had moved beyond this, Ahren.” Valasa kept his voice soft.

  Still shaking, Ahren searched for the words to make him understand. “Father, I swear, I didn’t mean——”

  “You could have made your presence known at any moment, yet you chose to keep silent and eavesdrop.” Valasa sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve reached majority now. You’re too old for these childish games.”

  Ahren flushed at the chastisement and bit her lip. Her eyes flicked to Dalan and Alija before she dropped her head and ran into the house.

  I can’t believe he said all that in front of Alija. A sob escaped, and she ran faster. She had to get away. He’ll never see me as a woman if my father always treats me like a child around him.

  Hot tears blurred her vision, stinging her eyes and rolling in rivulets down her cheeks. The scene replayed in her mind again and again as she rushed through the boardwalk: the snap of the branch, the rush of the wind, her father’s fury, the pity in Alija’s face when she had run away. Regret and embarrassment warred within her at the memory of that expression, and she dropped onto the closest bench, trying to control the wrenching sobs.

  Without knowing——or caring——where she was or who might see, Ahren cried out her frustration and humiliation. Someone sat beside her, but she didn’t acknowledge them.

  Oh, please, just go away! Fresh tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t want to have to explain this to anyone.

  Instead, an arm wrapped around her shoulders and the scent of soap and sweat reached Ahren’s nose.

  “Are you hurt?” A gentle voice asked. “You’re covered in leaves and sticks.”

  Ahren didn’t recognize the voice, so she swiped a hand over her eyes and peered up at the woman’s face. No, she didn’t know this person, though she’d certainly seen her in the village.

  When she didn’t answer, the woman prodded again. “Are you all right? Has someone hurt you? Should I send for the Gadonu?”

  The mention of her father’s station shocked her into responding. “No!” Her voice came out louder than she had intended, and she tried again. “No, I’m all right. There’s no need to get my father.”

  “Well, then, you should probably get home,” she said, brushing Ahren’s hair away from her face. “The sun’ll be setting soon. You don’t want the guards to catch you out after dark.”

  Ahren nodded and drew in a shuddering breath.

  “You sure you’re all right? D’you need to report something?”

  The concern written on the woman’s features nearly triggered another wave of tears, but Ahren swallowed against them. “No, I’m all right. Thank you.” She glanced toward the orange-streaked sky. “What about you? You should get inside, too.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me.” A smile creased the woman’s ruddy cheeks. “I live right across there, so I’ll be fine. You’ll have to hurry, though. You’re quite a distance from the Square.”

  Ahren took stock of her surroundings. She had made it all the way to the outermost ring of houses and sat a few paces from the building where the wash women cleaned and mended clothes and linens from the houses on the Square. She’d have to run if she wanted to make it home before curfew.

  “Thank you,” she blurted, jumping to her feet. “I have to go.”

  She ran as fast as her trembling legs would carry her until she reached the door of her family’s home, and she kept going until she’d closed her bedroom door behind her.

  3

  Repairs

  Dangling above the cistern in the bleak light of an early spring morning a few days later, Alija tried not to look down, but his gaze dropped to the mossy ground some hundred feet below. He jerked his head up before the dizziness overtook him, focusing instead on the bright light of the first moon, Koviom, shining in the pale blue sky. This was what he’d earned for turning twenty: the privilege of hanging above the village and the drudge work of roof repairs.

  The youngest members of the carpenters’ association (like Alija) automatically got assigned to the less desirable jobs, like this one, dangling above the village, working on roofs and fixing the wooden shingles on the second levels of the nearby homes. That didn’t mean he had to like it. When he’d agreed to join his father in the trade, he’d imagined working on the intricate tile patterns that decorated the front of most of the houses in the village — designing and assembling images of forests, waterfalls, streams, and clouds — not this uninspiring and dangerous work.

  “Don’t you worry,” his father shouted from the boardwalk below. “We’ll have you down in no time! We’ll get that pulley working again.”

  The older man yanked on the rope attached to the counterweight, but nothing happened. Again.

  Alija was stuck. He could do nothing but wait for the men below to fix the problem and lower him to safety.

  Once again, his gaze fell past his father and the other workers to the ground below the boardwalk. Above him, something creaked, and a loud popping filled the air. The rope went slack, dropping him until his cheek grazed the top of the enormous wooden cistern and jolting to a stop.

  A wave of anxious nausea rolled through him, but he raised his eyes to the village he called home. From his perch on the southernmost tip of the village, he could almost see the whole thing. Broad wooden boardwalks arranged in concentric circles connected with more boardwalks leading toward the center like spokes on a wheel. They formed the foundation for the two- and three-story homes perched on the branches of the massive Shadow Trees that supported the entire village some fifteen feet above the treacherous ground. At its center, the tall, pyramidal roof of the Pavilion stood above the other buildings, marking the edge of the open area known as the Square. The large homes lining the Square belonged to the most important (and wealthiest) citizens of Nivaka, and the lower-class villagers lived in smaller houses on the outer circles. His eyes dropped to the moss-covered dirt below the boardwalks again, and he swallowed against the
bile that rose in his throat.

  “We almost have it now!” His father’s voice sounded distant as if he called from a mile away. “Enmet is coming up after you, so just hold tight a bit longer.”

  Gulping for air, Alija forced his gaze to the men on the walk beside the cistern. From where he hung, they looked tiny, easily small enough to live in the upper canopy with the fairies that served the village’s religious leader.

  Another pop, this one closer, dragged Alija’s attention away from the men gathered below. Heart pounding, he searched for the source of the sound. Leather snapped and stretched, and the left leg of his harness gave way.

  Heart pounding, he struggled to find the breath to shout to his father. “Hurry!” The word came out a ragged whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “My harness is breaking!”

  “We’ll get you down,” his father shouted. “Can you pull yourself onto the roof? It should hold you until we get there.”

  His trembling fingers struggled to find purchase on the newly-repaired shingles. He found a grip and pulled, but his sweat-slicked hands slid loose, and he swung over the pitched roof and back out over the ground below. Worse, the movement sent him spinning. He watched, helpless, as the soft browns and greens of the forest and the bright yellows and reds of the village alternated in his vision. Sweat beaded on his forehead, icy cold in the early spring wind.

  “Grab the roof! You’ll break your rope spinning like that!” This voice was closer than the others, and Alija reached out a hand, grasping for anything that would stop the awful rotation.

  His fingers caught on the rough edge of the roof, the newly-cut wood shingles slicing into his palms. Heedless of the pain, Alija clung to the solidity of the cistern and waited for the dizziness to pass.

  He raised his head, searching for the source of that steady voice. Less than an arm’s length away, Enmet’s skinny form raised closer with each breath. Relief flooded Alija’s body, making his arms as limp as overcooked carrots. He released the death grip he’d had on the roof and swung out over the boardwalk.

  “No, don’t let go,” Enmet said, “Your rope is fraying. I’ll hook you onto mine, but you have to be on the roof.”

  Alija glanced down at the rope where it joined the leather bands at his legs. It was, indeed, fraying, and at the exact spot where his harness had broken. His breath caught in his throat and fresh sweat beaded across his face. He waited out the rope’s swing, grabbing for the roof when it was within reach.

  His fingers slipped off the fresh wood, and he swung back out over the boardwalk, the ground, and back to the cistern. This time, he grabbed the shingles and held on with all his strength.

  When he had regained control of his breath, he pulled himself over the roof, twisting to place his bottom on the rough shingles. He stared out at the forest beyond the boardwalk and waited for his pounding heart to slow. Beyond the open park where the carpenters worked below, he could just make out the narrow line of the trail that led toward the edge of the forest. His father called it the market path and told stories of Nivakans selling their wares in the river cities of Imah and Kainga, but that had been before Tavan had taken over. Now, they had to give their creations to the governor and his men or keep them hidden in their homes. He sighed and wondered if he’d ever have the experience of making things for paying city customers.

  Enmet settled onto the wood beside him and turned his face up into the crisp spring sunshine.

  “Ah, I’ve missed this. They don’t let me climb up here much anymore.” He smiled into the sky for a breath and turned to Alija. “Come on. Let’s get you down from here.”

  “Well, you can take my place any time you like,” Alija said. “I’d rather not have a repeat of today.”

  With deft fingers, Enmet unhooked Alija’s broken harness and attached a newer, undamaged one, connecting them both to the same unfrayed rope. He lowered them quickly to the safety of the boardwalk below, and Alija staggered to a nearby bench to catch his breath.

  The others left him to recover while they examined his broken harness and worked to free the stuck pulleys.

  Boots scraped on wood nearby, and Alija’s head jerked up. Only the soldiers wore their boots in the village. The citizens wore specialized shoes that wouldn’t damage the wooden floors and walkways. His stomach sank when Bakko dropped onto the bench beside him.

  “You got lucky this time,” the guard whispered. “But don’t worry. I got plenty more ideas to get rid of you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your trap shut.”

  Alija shook his head, ready to deny telling anyone, but Bakko jumped up and regained his teammates as they strolled through the park.

  4

  Trouble

  “’Scuse me, Gov’nor.”

  Tavan looked up from his ledgers at the young soldier who had just entered. He wracked his memory for the lad’s name. “Amneris, right? I take it your expedition has returned?” He set his pen aside and sprinkled gomme sandarach on the page. “What news do you have? Did you find it?”

  Amneris stared at Tavan, eyes wide as saucers. “Well, sir, only two of us returned. I’m afraid we didn’t find the answers you’re looking for.”

  Tavan stood, placing both hands on the desk between him and the soldier. “And why not? What happened to the others?”

  “W-well, sir, I’m not really sure. There’s more to this forest than what we see with our eyes, and it… well… it…” He trailed off, tears streaking his pale face.

  “That’s enough of that,” Tavan shouted. “This is a forest. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s filled with all the things you expect in a forest. Trees. Deer. Bears. Yes, there are the enemies on the ground, but they’re easy enough to avoid if you sleep in the trees.”

  Amneris shook his head. “I beg your pardon, sir, but there’s something else out there, too. It screams like a banshee in the night and takes your men while they sleep.” Fresh tears welled in the youth’s eyes. “We never saw what it was, and we didn’t find any sign of the men it took.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve never heard of such a thing. This,” Tavan waved at the forest beyond the window, “is just a bunch of trees and stupid animals. If something did hunt you at night, you clearly failed to set the bear traps as I instructed.”

  “But… we did, sir. We did set the traps. They weren’t touched.”

  “You said two of you returned. Where is your companion?” Blood pounded in his ears, but Tavan lowered himself into his chair. “I want to speak with him. Bring him to me.”

  “I’m afraid he’s badly hurt, sir. I took him straight to the healer’s place, so he could get some help.”

  “Hurt by what?”

  “I…” Amneris took a deep breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t see how it happened, sir, but somehow Guthrak walked into a wall of fire. He’s badly burned.”

  “A wall of fire.”

  “Yes.” Amneris paled further.

  Tavan leaned over his desk but didn’t stand. “In the forest.”

  “Yes.”

  With a heavy sigh, Tavan leaned back in his chair and waved to the door. “Leave me. I’ll see your partner later today and see what he has to say for himself.”

  When the youth had left, Tavan counted to ten and shook his head, willing some level of calm into his mind. It didn’t come.

  “Corlim!” The windows rattled from the volume of his shout, but he only waited a few seconds before bellowing again. “Corlim! Get in here.”

  A middle-aged mountain man with long, tangled blond hair and matching beard rushed into the room. “I take it you’ve heard.”

  “Twenty years.” Suddenly exhausted, Tavan dropped his head into his hands. “For twenty years, I’ve sent men into this forest to find the tree Helak’s looking for, and for twenty years, they come back burned, mangled, or not at all. I’m no closer to finding Helak’s prize than when we first got here.”

  “Yes, sir. Some of the locals have a theory about what’s happening.�
� Corlim dropped into the chair in front of Tavan’s desk and crossed his legs. “Besides, you haven’t exactly spent all of those years looking for the tree. You’ve spent at least half that time fighting with the little people and trying to harvest the Shadow Trees.”

  “Yes, and look what a mess that’s been,” Tavan snapped. “Must you make yourself so comfortable in my study, Corlim?”

  “With as much time as I spend here, I might as well be comfortable. Now, do you want to hear what the villagers have to say?”

  “No. I’ve heard their myths and legends before. The forest is not ‘protecting its secrets.’ I need answers, not children’s bedtime stories.” Tavan’s gaze shifted from Corlim’s to the man’s crossed legs.

  The silence stretched, until eventually Corlim stood. “Should we send word to Helak of this latest expedition, sir? If they left now, the messengers could be out of the forest before nightfall.”

  “No. He doesn’t need to know every detail. I’m going to find the center of this miserable jungle, take the prize back to Helak, and take my rightful place as his top general. Start putting a new expedition together. They’ll leave at dawn.”

  5

  Practice

  A day became a week, then two as Alija healed from his injuries. After the workers had discovered the vandalism that had damaged the pulleys and harness, Valasa had suggested Alija stay indoors until the bruising had faded, so the story of Bakko and the children would reach as few ears as possible. Each day, Dalan and their friends, Wayra and Kai, came to Alija’s house to keep him company and fend off boredom while he healed.