Sunborn Rising (9 page)

9. The Council’s Reach

The trio met in the canopy of the Great Umberwood, the Reach. Tory was the last to show.

“You weren’t waiting long were you?” Tory asked as he swung up.

“No,” Barra said, “But we have to hurry to get there before the meeting starts.”

From where the bups started the Elder Dais was difficult to see in detail. The large black platform rose from the trunk of the Umberwood like an enormous dark flower blooming into the purple sky. The Dais was created from ornate, complex bindings and was large enough to hold thirty Arboreals standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Polished with sappy varnish to an almost liquid sheen, the surface mirrored the lilies growing along the rim as well as the raised and gnarled Knot at its center.

The three took up positions close enough to the Dais to hear but not necessarily be seen, and waited. Barra noticed several makeshift vacant seats in the treescape. Seemed they were a little early after all.

They stared into the illumined sky where magenta shifted to purple between the bright points of light called the Wanderers. The young tree-dwellers were disoriented by the branchless expanse, by the seemingly unending depth of the sky, but the strength of the Umberwood Tree beneath made them steady.

“It’s peaceful up here,” whispered Plicks with reverence.

Tory said, “Yeah, it’s nice. I used to come up here with my mom. Since she left the trees though… I don’t know. My dad says the Reach is no place for us. He doesn’t like it.”

Barra never felt like she could relate to Tory’s loss directly—he’d
known
his mother. Still, there was something about the way he talked about his mother that always pulled hard at her chest. Her eyes shimmered. Her mouth opened, but she found no words waiting.

Plicks didn’t know what to say to Tory either. Maybe there was nothing that could be said. He gazed into the distance over the rolling canopy of the Reach, and hoped the undulating leaves said anything that needed to be said, everything that he couldn’t.

There were many flowers lighting the Loft, but few grew in the Reach, and the Wanderers, as bright as they appeared, offered no light to travel by. The canopy itself was radiant but dim, and so the assembling Arboreals saw mainly by the glow of a magenta cloud billowing from the horizon and filling half the sky.

As time wore on, even the spectacular view wasn’t enough to stave off Barra’s impatience. She peered out over the Reach, focused only on the Dais, and waited for any indication that the meeting would begin.

“Is that the Starwood?” Plicks pointed far into the distance where one Great Tree’s canopy shone brighter than the rest. The surrounding Lofts appeared pitch black by contrast.

Tory’s distracted look washed away. “Yeah, that’s the Starwood.” Tory indicated the Loft between. “See there? Those branches pointing up into the sky instead of arching down? That’s the Grove. Beside it—the dense grouping of thin branches and bramble thickets?—that’s the Braidwood. So, yeah, that one? That’s the Starwood.”

There was sudden movement near the Elder Dais, and it stole Plicks’ attention. He said, “They’re here.”

A Bellbottom flew up and around the Dais, and touched down on the far side from the bups. She sat down in one of the lilies on the rim with her tails behind her, up and over her head. One by one, the rest of the Council members arrived and found their respective seats. There were rustlings from the audience gathering beneath the Dais as the Head of the Council arrived.

A wake of quiet and stillness rolled out from him as he climbed onto the platform.

In addition to his usual robe, Jerrun wore the Elder Story loosely thrown around his neck like a scarf. The Elder Story was an intertwined braid of the Threads of the Elders that had passed before him. It was a monumental piece, and heavy with the legacy of the order. His personal Thread was not yet tied to his forebears, but it would be.

Jerrun’s staff was with him, of course, and the rapping sound it made against the Dais was clear and sharp. He made his way to the center, and then stood solemnly near the raised Knot.

A young Rugosic, smaller than Tory, made her way onto the Dais and over to the Knot behind the head of the Council. She placed her hands over the top of the Knot, and flashed her fingers in a well-practiced gesture. Once she felt ready, she placed her fingers comfortably, but purposefully into openings in the Knot. A rainbow of light passed through the openings, and the Rugosic used her hands masterfully to block and release the various colors. The attendant rested her hands a moment, and saw patterns in the spectrum that were caused by another attendant just like her, at another Knot, just like hers, far away on the Dais of another Great Tree.

Though the bups couldn’t see what the Rugosic was doing, it was clear that Jerrun was waiting respectfully for her before continuing. After a moment, she nodded to Jerrun. He nodded back. He laid the staff down and gracefully sat on the floor of the Dais.

Jerrun greeted the Council, his voice rich and thick with age. He announced the members by name, giving each a deep nod and a few words of praise. There were scholars, poets, archivists, and more. Each brought a unique talent into the circle. Once he’d introduced them all, Jerrun addressed the Dais as a whole reciting a traditional segment about Aetherials. He concluded by saying, “May you find your Star.”

The Elders responded together, “May your Star find you.”

After a moment, Jerrun summoned Barra’s mother. “Please welcome, Venress Brace Swiftspur to the Dais.” The Rugosic attending the Knot went to work transcribing Jerrun’s words for the Elder Councils of the other trees.

Barra’s mother ascended one of the lead branches to the Dais, facing Jerrun. She walked into the circle, but remained several paws from the Head of the Council. She nodded to Jerrun and to the other Elders. Some nodded back. Barra noticed most did not. She tried to recall the introductions, to attach the names to the faces—Barra didn’t like anyone who shunned her mother like that and she planned to remember each one of them.

“And please welcome her witnesses: Venress Vallor Starch, Doctor Yorg Fenroar, and Ven Darby Fenroar,” Jerrun’s thick voice carried clear and true all the way to Barra and her friends. Climbing up to the Dais, the witnesses appeared and then walked to Brace, where they stood slightly behind her.

“Please explain the purpose of your summons,” Jerrun said, addressing Brace directly.

“Thank you, Jerrun.” Brace’s voice was full of respect. She composed herself, and then began, “My family, the legacy of the Swiftspurs, is well known on this hallowed Dais. For generations, we were the protectors of the Umberwood. We fought the drooling Maws during the Rot. We defended the Umberwood against the Barblites during Nihil’s Conquest. We hunted the Lifedrinkers until no more could be found.”

Brace paused dramatically. “It has been many generations since those feats of bravery preserved our way of life. Nevertheless, the Swiftspurs remain fiercely loyal to the growth of the Umberwood. Today, we protect the future by keeping the past close at hand.” Brace looked deeply into the eyes of several Elders before continuing. “We left the Root. We left the Root because we were afraid. Afraid of the malignant growth we created. A growth that threatened to drown us all in darkness if we stayed. We retreated to the Loft. We didn’t fight for the Root, we gave it away.”

Stopping again for her words to carry the full weight of their meaning across the Dais and out into the audience, Barra’s mother stood tall and confident. Barra was overwhelmed with pride as she watched her mother command the attention of her entire world.

“But we were wrong about the appetite of the Creepervine. Not only have we all seen the diminished light, the weakening water, and the softening of the boughs, but we know in our hearts that the Great Trees themselves are faltering. The sickness we left at the Root grows. The Creepervine has breached the Middens!” The attendant at the Knot moved her fingers in sync with Brace’s words.

A murmuring wave of unrest radiated out into the audience. The reaction among the Elders was a mix of disbelief, suspicion, and fear.

Brace continued, “Only two buckles ago, a child found an insect in the Evergreen Coppice with Creepervine fungus growing between its wings.” A din rose up from the attending Arboreals, which did not end until Jerrun struck his staff against the Dais.

Brace waved her hand to her witnesses. Venress Starch stepped forward and relayed her story to the Council. The Fenroars followed with their story and observations. At the conclusion of their presentation the attendant at the Knot spoke, “Elder Jerrun, the Starwood Council poses a question.”

Jerrun nodded and said, “Please.”

The Rugosic addressed the Fenroars, “The Starwood Elder Council would like to know where the afflicted Tricopterus is now?”

Passing each other a worrisome look, the Fenroars took a moment to respond, but eventually Yorg answered, “The specimen burrowed through the bellflower during the evening. She’s gone.”

Jerrun inquired, “What of your tests?”

“There wasn’t enough of a sample from such a small specimen to generate conclusive results,” Yorg said matter-of-factly. Then he looked at Darby, and continued, “We were planning to grow more—in a controlled environment of course—but as I said, the specimen was gone by morning.”

“Are there other fungi that behave as you’ve described?” Jerrun asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Yes, but…”

Jerrun waved off Yorg mid-sentence. The Rugosic indicated there were follow up questions from the other Councils, but Jerrun only raised a hand to her. She removed her hands from the Knot.

“I assume then, that it is your
opinion
,” Jerrun spoke the last word with particular distaste, “that it was the fungus of the Creepervine causing the ailment…”

Yorg, expecting a question, interrupted, “Yes, absolutely.”

But Jerrun continued talking over the Muskkat, “… which is worth almost nothing to this Council.” Jerrun leveled his gaze on Barra’s mother. “I assume, Brace, that you wouldn’t waste our time?”

Brace shot back, “I wouldn’t ask for your time if I didn’t need it. Respectfully, Jerrun, it’s my job to raise the alarm…”

“
Not
your job, as I recall. You were discharged from that responsibility quite some time ago,” Jerrun interjected.

Brace continued, undeterred, “
And
I stand before you as the only authority on the Creeper.”

Jerrun flashed a patronizing smile, and said, “An authority? Brace, for the last—what has it been? Ten rings?—for the last ten rings, give or take, you’ve tried very hard to establish these theories of yours and failed. Even Gammel’s work refutes—“

Brace broke in, “Gammel was in the middle of his research when he was reassigned by
you
!”

Jerrun would not be talked over. “—
refutes
the existence of the Creeper in the Middens. Gammel found nothing down there! His work will not be revisited yet again, nor will your conclusions about it be regarded as fact. He acted without regard for this Council, without regard for you, or his daughter. Who knows what he was doing down in the Middens? I certainly don’t claim to know. Gammel fell and his Thread fell with him.” Jerrun paused to collect himself, and then finished his thought out loud, “That was the end of his story.”

The tension on the Dais was palpable. Even the bups felt it. Anger burned in Barra’s belly, and the heat swelled through her body and poured out of her eyes.

Plicks saw the uncanny resemblance between mother and daughter in that moment and knew he’d never want to be on the wrong side of either Swiftspur.

Jerrun shook his head, and then sighed heavily. He gestured to the Rugosic at the Knot to begin again. “I sincerely hope you have more, Brace,” he said, his compassion a show for the audience, like he was helping an old, wayward friend.

“My daughter was chased from the Middens yesterday by Kudmoths,” Brace said, sending another disturbance through the crowd. Again, Jerrun had to strike his staff to quell them.

Unprompted, Brace continued, “Before you ask, I have no proof but my word, and the word of my daughter. Still, the archival record written by the Aetherial, Ren Argus, states that where there are Kudmoths there is Creepervine.”

Jerrun seemed amused. He said, “The archives? A valuable resource true, but the archives also say Cerulean was created by an Olwone from the Outervoid. Should we take that literally?” There were pockets of laughter, some stifled, others too loud.

“The Creepervine is here, Jerrun! We should have fought it long ago, but we retreated! We’ve lived in the dark for too long!” Turning to the audience, Brace implored, “We gave the Creepervine our past and it’s taking our future! It’s been strangling the life from us since Argus created it!”

Jerrun returned coldly, “You speak of legends and myths as facts—”

Brace interrupted, “We have the Aetherial’s sheaves and—”

Jerrun spoke over her, “Wrinkled and decaying artifacts of a time lost and forgotten.”

“Not forgotten!” Brace lost her poise, her voice shaking. Jerrun raised an eyebrow, but remained silent for the moment.

Raging, Brace continued with fire on her lips, “You say you want facts, but so few have explored the Middens. We don’t know what’s down there. How are we to grow
up
if we don’t know the nature of what’s beneath us?!”