Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (27 page)

“So, what does that mean? Did you ask for me to come along simply so I could play the
paodrin
?”

Bolyai turned slowly to peer coolly at Raf out of the corner of his eye.

“Er… I’m sorry, Elder, I don’t mean to be rude. I just don’t understand why you asked
me
. There are other students who’re loads better.”

Bolyai let out a loud scathing laugh which caught the attention of the two men in front who looked back curiously. “True musical talent is less common than you think.”

“But why’s that important, though? It’s just music, right?”

“That,” said Bolyai softly, poking Raf in his chest, “is exactly where you are as ignorant as the other foolish villagers. Music is important! Fundamental.”

“But, how?”
replied Raf, shaking his head. “That’s just the same sort of thing that Bhothy kept going on about, but -”

“Bhothy?” said Tarvil sharply from in front of them. “Don’t tell me you went to the banyans, Raf… You know that’s forbidden!”

Raf clamped his mouth shut and looked down quickly, furious with himself.

“Well?” Tarvil asked again, walking back towards him with a stern expression. Raf nodded glumly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Raf! If your mother knew you’d been, your life wouldn’t be worth living!”

“Wait, Bhothy Manyara? Eliath’s cousin?” asked Bolyai. Tarvil nodded. “I seem to remember he was the village Bard. Not a particularly good one, but the Bard nonetheless, yes?”

“It’s complicated,” replied Tarvil, still frowning at Raf. “He did something very foolish years ago and the Foreman banished him.”

“You banished your Bard?” replied Bolyai incredulously. He threw his arms up in the air.

“It was for the good of the village, Elder.”

“No wonder we’ve got problems! He is the caretaker of our musical heritage, the -”

“More like the caretaker of alcohol...” muttered Raf.

“And I don’t blame him!” retorted Bolyai. “I myself –“

He paused as a shout came from up the path.
“It’s here! The smell!” yelled Fergus.

Raf breathed in deeply through his nose and caught, amidst the floral aromas, a whiff of moldy decay.

“Where is it coming from?” Tarvil scanned the terrain in front of them nervously.

“The path goes into two here, sir, and… I can smell it really bad down the left one. Do you want me to go closer and s-”

“No!” called all of them at once.

Tarvil pointed down the right branch of the path. “We have to hope that it doesn’t extend down there as well. I don’t much fancy slogging our way through the thick brambles around here.”

“There isn’t any smell from there, Mr. Gency. I think it’s safe.”

A rustling to their left drew their attention, and suddenly, with a crash, a man burst out from between two bushes, sprinting across the path directly in front of them. It was the dark iMahli – the fourth
dholaki
. He turned towards them, jumped in fright, and then tripped over a root. He had barely landed on his chest in the dirt before he leapt to his feet again and took off down the path, but it was too late. From behind them, there was a whistling noise over their heads and something shiny flew spinning through the air. The group watched in shock as a weighted rope whipped around the iMahli’s legs and he fell to the ground again. Three other iMahlis crept into view from the thick brush, ululating loudly.

It’s those
dholaki
that mom hired!
thought Raf.

They ran up to the struggling man and quickly encircled him. One had a large bow with an arrow notched, whilst the other two held metal-tipped spears over their heads. They were completely
oblivious to the forester party and Raf glanced at the others who also stood there in surprise, unsure of what to do.

“Edokko,” called Orikon to the leader. “What’s going on here?”

Edokko glanced over to them, his face glistening with sweat. If he was surprised to see them standing there, he didn’t show it. “Nothing to do with you, forester. This
bhesanté
belongs to me.”

Raf leaned over to Tarvil and asked, “What’s a
bhesanté,
dad? I thought they were iMahlis?”

“
Bhesanté
are the largest tribe of iMahlis. Edokko and his men are from the other smaller tribe called
fetumu
.”

“But what are they doing to that guy?”

“I think we need to stay out of this, Raf,” replied his father. “The man is probably a thief or something.”

“Pah, rubbish,” muttered Bolyai. “He’s their slave.
Fetumu
deal in slave-trading. Their favorite prey are their fellow iMahlis.”

The iMahli on the ground gave up trying to undo the ropes tangled around his ankles and called out, “Please!
I a
-” He keeled over as the butt-end of a spear was rammed into his head. The
fetumu
standing behind him knelt down and tried to tie his arms together, but the man struggled away from him, his free arm moving to his leather belt to whip out something that he held up for them to see. The
fetumu
immediately swung his spear at the outstretched hand, knocking something hard to spin through the air and disappear into some bushes near the foresters.

“What was that?” said Bolyai, craning to see over the side of the wagon.

“I couldn’t see,” replied Orikon. “A necklace or something?”

The
bhesanté
groaned and cradled his hand against his chest before two of the iMahlis swooped in to wrestle him physically to the ground.

Fergus sprang away to the bushes and within seconds had picked up something and returned it to Tarvil. “Here.”

Tarvil held it up in surprise. “I know this talisman. It’s Abuniah’s! How did he get it? Maybe the man
is
a thief.” He cast a hesitant look at the iMahli.

Fergus was staring at the scene with wide eyes. “Is that man
really
a slave, Mr. Gency? I thought they only had those in Miern, like the ones in the Pits?”

“I don’t know, Fergus, but I think we need to have a talk with that
bhesanté
and find out what’s going on here.” Tarvil straightened his belt and stepped up towards the group of men, with his hands held up to get their attention.

As soon as Edokko saw him, he lunged forwards waving the notched arrow at Tarvil’s chest. “Stay back!”

“I want to speak to this man,” said Tarvil.

“No! He is mine.”

“Not according to our laws, iMahli. I must insist that you let me talk to him.”

Edokko stepped forward in-between Tarvil and the
bhesanté
and one of the others jumped to his feet and whipped his spear into the air. Tarvil moved back defensively until Orikon appeared at his side, his bow and arrow also drawn and notched. The hunter was a tall and powerfully built man, but the iMahlis showed little fear. However, when there was a metallic click from behind Raf, they all stopped and looked past him nervously. Raf turned to see Bolyai standing over a chunky crossbow that was resting on the rail, two thick ironwood bolts loaded, and his finger curled casually around the trigger.

Edokko barked a quick order to his men and the two behind the
bhesanté
immediately hauled him to his feet and shuffled backwards with their weapons still trained on the foresters.

With a roar and a shove, the
bhesanté
broke free of his guards and sprinted through Edokko and the other man, knocking them sideways. Edokko reacted instantly and brought his bow up in one
swift motion to unleash an arrow at the back of the fleeing man. It whizzed through the air, narrowly missing him and pierced one of the
saanen
behind them with a wet thud. The animal bleated in agony and stumbled over onto the ground. The iMahli next to Edokko took a step forwards and started to throw his spear, but stalled halfway through as an arrow suddenly thudded into his shoulder. He dropped to the ground, roaring in pain. Seeing Orikon setting another arrow to his bow, Edokko shouted something back at the others and they turned as one and fled.

The foresters stood their ground and watched as the iMahlis sprinted away, one stumbling as he cradled his injured shoulder. They didn’t look back once as they ran down the left fork of the path.

Raf stood up on the wagon back, stuttering, “Is… isn’t that…”

“Wait!” shouted Tarvil, running forwards. “Don’t go that wa-”

It was too late. A cracking noise rumbled through the ground, interrupting him. The iMahlis skidded to a halt and stared around in confusion. With a ripping sound, the ground around them split open and the iMahlis were sucked downwards, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Their screams faded very quickly.

“We must move!” urged Bolyai, watching as the ground continued to buckle and crumble outwards.

Orikon whipped out his hunting knife and in two quick slices cut the cord binding the
bhesanté’s
hands, and then the tether harnessing the dead
saanen
. He took the animal’s body and hoisted it onto the back of the wagon as Bolyai shouted loudly and flicked the reins. The two remaining goats tugged hard and the wagon jerked forwards along the path.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

They travelled for half a mile or so before finally slowing down. Fergus crept around the area and came back to report that he couldn’t smell anything bad around them, so they relaxed on the ground and caught their breath.

The iMahli crouched down on his heels and rubbed the back of his head gently.

“You got a bit of a knock there,” said Tarvil.

The
bhesanté
shrugged and then said, “My thanks.” He patted his chest. “I am Tiponi.”

“And how is it that you came by this, Tiponi?” Tarvil held up Abuniah’s talisman.

“Your griot, he gave it to me. He said if I need help, to show that.”

“Griot?” Raf looked at Tarvil.

“Their word for a musician,” said Tarvil. He turned back to Tiponi. “Have you met our griot before?”

“Those
fetumu
who died there,” began Tiponi, “they were taking me somewhere in the forest. Your griot knew who I was and gave me this gift. I escaped this morning.”

“What do you mean he knew who you were?” asked Raf. “Who are you, Tiponi? Someone important?”

Tiponi gave a scowl, as if angry with himself, and then turned away. Bolyai had sat up, giving the iMahli a strange, intense look.

“We’re all friends here, Tiponi,” encouraged Tarvil. “You have nothing to fear from us.”

Tiponi shook his head firmly. “It is not fear, forester. I owe you my life, but it is not for me to say who I am. Please, do not ask me to do this thing.”

Not for him to say who he is?
Raf thought.
What’s that supposed to mean?

As if echoing Raf’s thoughts, Orikon gave a half-smile and said, “Who but
you
can say who you are, iMahli?”

Tiponi ignored him.

“He’s not allowed to say who he is because it puts certain other people in danger. Am I right,
Tiponi?” Bolyai sounded uncharacteristically excited and the others turned to look at him. “I’ve never met one before. Excellent!” Bolyai broke into a delighted smile. “Tiponi is a go-between!”

The iMahli’s expression turned to utter dismay. “How do you know this?” he spat. His whole body tensed, and it seemed to Raf that he was steeling himself to either attack them or run away.

“Just a good guess, friend.”

“This is…” Tiponi’s voice cracked with emotion. “This cannot happen! No-one can know this! I cannot betray my Trust!” He held out his hands imploringly to the group, his breathing ragged.

“Calm down, go-between. Your secret is safe with us,” replied Bolyai.

“Safe? How can I trust you?”

“Well, for one thing, we saved your life. You owe us a debt, my friend. Secondly, I am a Forest Elder.”

“You? You are
ishranga
? This is how you know these things?”

Bolyai nodded and Tiponi touched his fingers to his forehead in an oddly reverent way.

“Elder, what is an
ishranga
?” asked Tarvil.

Raf closed his mouth, relieved his father had beaten him to asking the question.

“An iMahli Elder. Tiponi is the link between the tribe and their
ishranga
. The reason he’s so worried is because no other iMahlis, apart from the go-betweens, know where these
ishrangas
are. Being hidden keeps them safe from harm.”

“Why would someone want to hurt
an Elder?” asked Fergus, horrified.

“Well, boy,” replied Bolyai, “in iMahliland,
ishrangas
are the carriers of the tribes’ lore and traditions. They are important and dearly respected.”