Refugees Page 2

  I must do something. If I remained hidden, the beasts might come back in my direction, find and kill me, or crush me underfoot. I pushed up from the mud, wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands, glanced behind me, and then crept along the ditch for a better view of my village. It was inundated by “mud beasts.” They had surrounded my house and the other houses. The large fleet footed beasts had four skinny legs and long haired tails. These must be what Baskrod calls horses. Both the animals and their riders had manes on their heads. Logic told me they must be separate beings, yet their seamless movement made them seem like one.

  Some villagers were bombarding the invaders with stones from their rooftops, while the horse warriors picked them off with their arrows. Stricken men fell from the rooftops. Houses went up in flames, causing the inhabitants to run out into the night.

  I watched in horror as my brother, Agga, ran out of our door, swinging a sickle around his head menacingly. One of the raiders on horseback, charged at Agga and struck him with an axe. He went as stiff as if he had been shot with an arrow between the eyes and fell backward while a torrent of blood spouted from his body. At first I froze, but then I saw my mother come running out of the house toward my fallen brother. Like a snake’s tongue, a long cord rapidly flicked from the mud beast and encircled her body. The beast turned, causing her to trip over the cord and fall to the ground. As she was dragged toward a spot where other captives had been pulled, I felt as if my heart was being dragged out of my body.

  My feet finally went into motion, as if on their own. I raced toward my mother, ignoring the havoc that spread across the fields. I was focused only on a group of mud beasts now encircling some of the captives on the ground. I don’t know what I thought I could do.

  I only made it a few steps before something grabbed hold of my arm, swung me around, and threw me to the ground. I flailed my arms and legs at my attacker.

  Through my fear I made out the words, “Amanki, you can’t!”

  “Baskrod?”

  I struggled, but he held my shoulders down with both hands and said, “You can’t save them!”

  “I have to try!” I yelled and twisted my body to get free.

  Then Baskrod struck me in the face. “It’s too late! We must get to the boat. Run for the river, now!”

  He grabbed me by my upper arms, lifted me onto my feet, and pulled me toward the river. How could a crazy old fisherman be so strong? With regret, I realized he was right. I could not save my mother. It was too late. I dashed after Baskrod, back toward the irrigation ditch that ran into the river. As we ran, Baskrod started to fall behind, when his strange feet bogged down in the wet mud. Taking the lead, I grabbed his arm and pulled him along. Finally, we collapsed in the thick reeds by the river’s edge, panting for breath.

  “Get up,” he rasped, “the boat…”

  As I was about to dive into the river, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back from my hiding place in the reeds toward where the raiders had dragged my mother and other captives. Many of these mud covered men who rode with such fluidity had dismounted and gathered around prisoners on the ground. Some carried torches. I searched for my mother among the captives, with a mixture of hope and dread.

  I immediately wished I hadn't.

  One of the men unsheathed a small sword and lifted my mother by her long braided hair. As she struggled to get free from her binds, the man made several slashes along her head and shook her hair violently. Blood flew onto the other prisoners as her scalp separated from her body. She crumpled into the mud.

  “Adon, save us! Amanki, we must flee!” Baskrod tried to push me toward the boat.

  I held my ground against Baskrod as another mud man leapt from his beast and yelled angrily at the first man. Unthinking, I stood to watch. Was he trying to save my mother? The only hair on top of his head formed a thin line to his neck, like the mane of the beast he had ridden. In the torchlight I could see his thick, dark eyebrows above his deep set piercing eyes. His hooked nose made him resemble a hawk. Golden rings encircled his arms, tight mud-covered trousers girdled his legs, and a coiled rope was wrapped over his shoulder. He held a decorated axe with a curved blade. Without warning, he swung his axe down toward where my mother had fallen. The axe cut through her ankles like a sickle through ripe barley. My knees started to buckle, but Baskrod grabbed my arm and dragged me the last steps to the river.

  “Dive!” Baskrod yelled in my ear. Glancing back, I saw mud beasts heading our way. We had been seen.

  I dove for the water with Baskrod at my side and we swam for the boat faster than if poisonous snakes were chasing us. Baskrod threw himself into the boat, while I yanked up the bag of stones that anchored the boat in place. Then, I shoved off from the river and flung myself into the bow of the already moving boat. We both grabbed the oars and pulled with all our might as an arrow whisked past me and a spawn of the beast let out a whoop worse than a wounded mongoose. The mud beasts gathered along the bank, heaving spears, waving axes, and shooting arrows at us. Some even splashed into the water behind us. But, we had the lead on them.

  The stream of the river caught our boat which rushed forward in the current.

  “We made it!” I declared in relief, turning to Baskrod. He was keeled over forward with blood streaming from his body.

  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 laid 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 laid 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 my eyes followed 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 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. 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 rolled over, 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, deep, 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 said, 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 E
ej, 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.

  Chapter 3

  Mud - Amanki

  I had just dropped my oars to rush to help Baskrod when I heard a large splash in the water from along the bank behind us. Instinctively, I turned. One of the beasts had leapt into the water from the shore beyond the reeds and appeared to be swimming toward us. Oh no, these things can swim?! The horse held up the long nose of its large head just above the water. It had a black mane that arose from the top of its head and continued in a line down the back of its neck like a donkey, only the hair was not stiff but fell to one side. As the beast swam toward us, to my horror, I noticed several webbed feet dangled gruesomely from the ropes the rider used to guide his animal. I looked at the rider’s face. It was the man with the hooked nose who had brutally attacked my mother. Those are my mother’s feet. Just as this jarring realization was fully sinking in, the man reached over his shoulder with a swift movement and produced a bow. I started to duck as an arrow whizzed from his bow straight for my chest.

  But for a miracle, I would have been dead. At that moment, a small but steady gust of wind caught our square reed sail causing the arrow to fall short of our craft. The archer began to yell in a language I could not understand, but I knew he was cursing. I lifted my eyes to the heavens in praise for an instant. Those friendly winds I had longed for earlier while lying on my roof drenched from the heat, had come to my rescue just at the right moment whisking me away from my enemy.