Chapter 5: The Secret Garden

George and Tia trekked through the verdant forest, Tia bounding over felled longs, so graceful on her long legs. The closer they got to her village, the more energy she seemed to have, as though the forest itself was imbuing her with it. She reached out to brush the colorful flowers with her fingers as she passed, turning on the spot every now and then as she glanced up at the leaves above, so light on her cloven hooves that she almost seemed to float through the undergrowth.

George felt pretty good too. Whether he was feeling a little of that magic himself, or if he was just pleased to see Tia so happy, he couldn’t say. Either way, she was radiant, her smile infectious. It was hard to believe that this cheerful girl was the same person who had embedded an arrow in a Blighter’s skull, who had held a blade to his throat and taken him prisoner.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, watching as she paused to smell a flower that was growing from a patch of furry moss on a tree trunk.

“I am glad to be home,” she replied, her freckled cheeks flushing pink. “I have been away for so long, surrounded only by blighted forest.”

“How far is your village?” he asked.

“We should be coming upon it soon,” she replied, her tone becoming more serious. “Do not expect to be welcomed with open arms. Just remain silent, and let me do the talking.”

He nodded, the pair continuing on.

Their progress was soon halted by a river that wound its way between the trees, this one too deep and too fast to cross. Tia guided them a little further East until they came upon a bridge. As they drew closer, George realized that it was like no bridge he had ever seen before. It was not made from wood and masonry, but rather a tangle of what looked like roots and branches, the structure forming a perfect arch from one bank of the river to the other. It must have been thirty feet wide, at least, and there were even creepers and vines that had been cultivated to form railings. The architects – or perhaps the botanists – had placed flat stones atop it to level out the walkway.

George suddenly heard a creak from the branches on the far bank, along with the unmistakable sound of a bowstring being pulled taut.

“Who goes there?” a disembodied male voice demanded. George dared to glance up at the canopy, but he couldn’t see a damned thing.

“I am Tiaska!” she called back to them. “I have completed the task that the elders entrusted me with, and I have returned home. I took this one as my prisoner,” she added, gesturing to George. “But now, he travels with me as my equal. We ask for safe passage that we might speak with the elders. There is much that I have discovered.”

There was a pause, then George saw someone drop down from one of the trees on the far side of the river, landing gracefully in the ferns. It was another creature like Tia, with the same lithe build, the same deer-like legs. Another dropped down, then another, all of them wearing the same green cloaks with the shadowy hoods pulled over their heads. Their horns were larger than Tia’s, more like the antlers of a stag.

One by one, they pulled back their hoods, revealing their faces. They were male, with somewhat bulkier features than his dainty companion, two of them sporting tufts of hair on their chins that reminded George of a billy goat. These were clearly the males of whatever race she belonged to.

Seeing their faces put George a little more at ease, as he now understood the significance of the gesture. If they were showing themselves to him, it meant that they didn’t see him as a threat. He understood what Tia had meant now when she had told him that he probably wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms. If he had turned up alone, he would have been turned into a pincushion before he even had a chance to announce himself.

Tia guided him over the bridge, and he was surprised by how sturdy it was, not even creaking under their weight. On the other side of the river, they met up with the three guards, George feeling their suspicious gaze on him.

“Is this ... a Blighter?” one of them asked as he looked George up and down. “Did you tame it?”

“He is not of their kind,” Tia replied. “When I found him, he and his companions were fighting against the Blighters. I saw them slay a great number with my own eyes, and when I took him as my captive with the intent to bring him back to the elders for questioning, he saved me from an abomination that attacked our camp in the night.”

“No one man can slay an abomination,” one of the guards scoffed.

“This one can,” Tia replied confidently, the guards exchanging skeptical glances as she walked past them. They fell in behind her, Tia seeming to know exactly where she was going despite the lack of any paths or signposts. George began to notice more guards as they made their way long, these ones making no effort to conceal themselves as the first three had, peering out from their perches to get a better look at him. They were posted in the trees at intervals, high off the ground, keeping a watchful vigil. The forest had looked so peaceful, so serene, but these people were at war. He had to keep the horrors of the Blighters fresh in his mind lest he let himself be carried away by the beauty of this place and lose perspective.

After walking for maybe another hour, George spied something between the twisted trunks of the ancient trees ahead. It looked like a sheer wall made from plant matter, as though a row of trees had somehow been cultivated to grow together, weaving their roots and branches into a solid obstacle. Their great trunks stood tall and stout, reminding him of the turrets of a castle. It was old growth, that much was obvious as a glance, and it had been colonized by all manner of mosses and vines that carpeted it in a layer of greenery. It was a barrier tall enough that climbing it would have been quite a feat, the tops of the tall trees reaching perhaps seventy feet or more.

“It’s incredible,” George muttered, pausing to admire it.

“This is the wall that safeguards our village,” Tia explained. “Our ancestors grew it from saplings, guided the trees, encouraged them to form this great barrier. The villages further South have been abandoned, some razed by the Blighters, others evacuated ahead of their advance. This is our only stronghold now, the only place that we stand any chance of defending. There are more villages that remain to the North, but if this place should fall, it would mean the end for my people.”

She led him around the subtly curving base of the wall, the abundance of tangled roots making the terrain uneven. They soon came upon a massive doorway that had been carved into the structure. No, not carved. The two trees to either side of the passage stood there like marble pillars, their branches forming a perfect arch where they joined together. These people could do incredible things with plants, and George wondered if it was simply a matter of asking them, of requesting that they grow a certain way. Between the two trees was a pair of large doors about half the height of the walls, these made from planks that had obviously been fashioned by hand.

Some of the branches of the two trees were shaped into round platforms where more guards were standing, peering over the railings, but the presence of George’s escort seemed to assuage their concerns.

“Open the doors!” one of them called, and the great gates began to move. They slowly swung inwards, their weight palpable, the old wood creaking loudly as the gap between them steadily grew wider.

Through the aperture, the village came into view. It was like nothing George had ever seen before. When he thought of native settlements, he imagined the temporary camps of nomads, clusters of conical tents that could be quickly packed up and moved to a new place as the need arose. Instead, he was faced with more of the cultivated trees, these ones growing in and around the dwellings. It was hard to tell where the trees gave way to artificial structures, and vice versa, the two blending together. The buildings varied in size and style, some clearly built by the inhabitants, others created solely from the living growth. Tia’s people seemed to favor round buildings with sloping roofs covered over with a carpet of moss, their small, uneven windows visible between convenient gaps in the roots and branches that cradled them. Some were at ground level, while others were suspended in the trees, spiral staircases made from yet more cultivated plants winding their way up the trunks to give the inhabitants easy access. The dwellings were three or four to a tree, sometimes more, rope bridges made from vines linking the higher platforms together. It was easily the size of a colonial village back East, with perhaps a hundred individual dwellings built around what looked to be thirty or forty trees of impressive size.

The wall encircled everything, creating a clear delineation between the village and the forest beyond its bounds, the trees within just as old and as tall as those outside.

“I’m going to have to sketch this,” he muttered, the guards flanking him as he followed Tia under the arch.

There were others of her kind going about their business inside the walls, pausing to stare at him as he passed by. Unlike Tia and the guards, they were not wearing cloaks. Instead, they were dressed in variations of leather loincloths and long skirts made of coarse fabric, the women sporting cloth slings to cover up their chests. Some wore garments made of fabric or leather that hung around their necks and shoulders, almost like a very small poncho, with a triangular hem that came just low enough to cover their breasts. They were woven with colorful patterns, some sporting tassels decorated with beads.

He noticed that all of the women sported similar headdresses to Tia, their swept-back horns decorated with blooming flowers, as did many of the men. Most of the women wore their hair longer than Tia, either braided or adorned with colorful beads and ribbons.

For the first time, he was able to see one of her kind from the front, their sparse clothing leaving little to the imagination. The coat of velvet fur that he had seen on Tia’s back when he had come across her bathing that night did not extend all the way around their torsos. It stopped at their sides, leaving their bellies and chests smooth.

“Where are we going?” George whispered, leaning closer to Tia as he walked beside her.

“To see the elders,” she replied. “It is better that I take you directly to them.”

She led him through the trees, George glancing up at the dwellings as he passed by them. The ground here was much clearer than in the forest proper, and there were footpaths that had been carved out by what must be years of use, making a snaking trail that led between the gnarled roots and patches of ferns.

At the center of the village was an especially tall tree, probably the biggest that George had seen so far. It was large enough that it could have been hollowed out and used as a goddamned lighthouse. It was immeasurably old, its trunk weathered by time, its wood gnarled and twisted. Despite its advanced age, it was still very much alive, its wide branches laden with green leaves.

Nestled in those branches was a structure far larger than the rest, its wooden walls covered over by creepers and fuzzy moss, its slate roof sagging. It looked almost as old as the tree that it had been built in. The branches had grown around it in a cradle to support its weight, winding along its walls, passing through them in some places. The two had merged into one, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

Tia led him to the base of the tree, where its tangled roots broke ground, gesturing to a narrow staircase that spiraled its way up the tall trunk. The three guards in tow, they began to climb the uneven steps, George keeping a tight grip on the vine railing as the ground got further and further away.

At the end of the stairs was a platform that ringed the main building, two more guards standing between them and the door. They seemed alarmed by the sight of George, but the presence of Tia and the others assuaged those concerns, and they stepped aside to let them pass. As they approached the wooden door, Tia turned to place a hand on George’s chest.

“Wait here a moment,” she advised. “The elders may already be in a meeting.”

She pushed the door open with a creak, closing it behind her before he could get a good look inside. He waited patiently, not exactly comfortable with being left alone with the guards. They hadn’t stopped staring at him since he had arrived...

A minute later, Tia reemerged to beckon to him.

“They will see us now,” she said, George glancing at the guards before following after her. He had expected them to confiscate his rifle before he would be allowed an audience with their leaders, but it occurred to him that they probably had no idea what it was. From their perspective, he was just carrying a long stick.

As George stepped over the threshold, he noted that there were no gas lamps or candles inside. Instead, beams of sunlight broke in through gaps and holes in the ceiling above, illuminating the space. He found himself standing in a large, circular room, the conical ceiling a good twenty feet above him. It was crisscrossed not by support beams but rather by branches that wound their way through the structure, bracing and reinforcing it. He was surprised to see that there was a great deal of plant matter inside the building as well as outside, patches of moss clinging to the walls, mushrooms growing in the shadowy recesses.

At the far end of the room, across a rather uneven floor, was a trio of thrones. They were raised off the floor, suspended by a tangled mass of branches that rose up from beneath the building, cradling them like a pair of skeletal hands cupped towards the sky. The twigs and tendrils had braided together to form three seats, living leaves protruding from them in places, the large backrests rising up towards the ceiling.

Sitting upon the facsimiles of chairs were three aged figures. There were two men and a woman, the same race as Tia, but their hunched postures and their silvery fur indicated that they were far older than she was. Their clothing was more ornate than that of the other villagers, each one sporting a long robe that covered up most of their body, the beige fabric decorated with colorful geometric patterns in shades of green and blue. Their horns were almost large enough to be unwieldy, especially those of the men, draped with sagging vines and plants.

One of the old men reached out with a crooked finger, gesturing to George.

“Bring him here,” he croaked.

Tia guided George to the foot of the structure, making him feel like he was standing before a judge’s bench. He didn’t know how to address these people. Should he treat them as royalty? As public servants? Either way, Tia had told him to keep his mouth shut and let her do the talking, so he followed her advice.

“He looks like a Blighter,” the woman said, leaning forward in her chair to get a better look at him. “And yet ... he does not.”

“You are sure that he is not one of them?” the man sitting in the middle seat added, stroking the long beard that dangled from his chin pensively. George was amused to see that there was a small sparrow perched on one of the prongs of his antlers. “A deserter, perhaps? An exile?”

“His people knew nothing of the Blighters,” Tia explained. “They came from outside the forest, from across the plains to the East. I bore witness to their battle, and it was a bitter one. There was no kinship among them.”

“Tell us what you saw,” the woman said, steepling her fingers as Tia began to recount the tale.

Tia spoke for perhaps an hour, recounting everything that she had seen. The movements and activities of the Blighters prior to George’s arrival, the waya that he and his company had killed, the battle that she had witnessed between them. She told the three elders of how she had taken George captive, how she had slowly learned of his true nature, and how he had slain the abomination that had ambushed them that night in the camp. They listened, asking her questions every now and then, their skepticism slowly fading. Much like Tia, it was his weapon that was of special interest to them, this fabled power that could grant its wielder victory when even a whole hunting party of warriors would have been forced to turn tail.

George began to grow frustrated. They were ignoring him, as though he had no voice of his own, as though he was just some stray animal that Tia had brought back with her. Was he not an equal partner in this venture? Had he not played a role in getting Tia back to them safely? Was he not the bearer of the weapon that had them all so intrigued?

He waited for a lull in the conversation, then cleared his throat loudly, getting the attention of everyone in the room. Tia gave him a silent look as if to ask, what the hell do you think you’re doing?

“Excuse me,” he said, one of the elders cocking their head at him curiously. “My name is George Ardwin. I’m a member of an expeditionary team thirty men strong that was sent here to survey the land for resources. I was the cartographer of that expedition. My job was to make a record of everything that we saw, and to map our progress. At present, those men are trapped in the blighted forest to the South. They don’t know what’s going on, nor do they understand the true nature of the dangers that they face. I have already pledged to support your cause in any way that I can, but know that if those men perish, then your hopes will die along with them. It is of the utmost importance that a company of your warriors be dispatched to relieve them with haste if you wish to make use of their weapons. I fear that with each day that passes, their numbers will dwindle, either because they have died or because they have deserted.”

“You have the authority to speak on their behalf?’ the female elder croaked, her tone implying that she didn’t much care for his outburst.

“I am not the leader of the company,” he replied. “That would be Mister Dawes. That said, I know the fellow, and he will be amenable to treating with you. We are all facing the same enemy here. We all share the same fate. They will welcome your aid, and they will repay it in kind. Of that, you can be certain.”

“This one speaks with confidence,” the woman muttered, turning back to her fellow elders. “Is Tiaska’s testimony enough to guarantee that his words are true?”

“The forest spoke to him,” Tia added, the three turning their gaze on her.

“You witnessed this?” one of the men demanded.

“I was meditating with him when it happened,” she explained. “It was only a whisper, but George was acknowledged, the spirits recognized him for but a moment.”

“Then, he may be who he says he is,” one of the men conceded. The sparrow on his antler flapped its little wings as he settled back into his chair, George unsure of whether it was the gnarled wood or his hunched body creaking. “The spirits would not accept a Blighter into their midst.”

“This requires more deliberation,” the other man said, his counterparts nodding their horned heads in agreement.

“Did you not hear me when I told you that time was of the essence?” George demanded. “My company has a defensible position, but they cannot hold out for long, if indeed they have not decided to flee already. Wait too long, and you may arrive to find an empty camp. Worse, you may find one populated by walking corpses instead of willing allies.”

“Your concerns are duly noted,” the female elder replied, her patience clearly tested by his insistence. “Still, committing such a force to mount an attack so deep into blighted territory is no small thing. It will be dangerous, and it will leave the village vulnerable. We must weigh the merits of this carefully.”

“That will be all,” another of the elders said. “Remain close, and we will send for you when we have come to a decision.”

George wanted to say more, but Tia took him by the arm, guiding him back over to the door. Once they were outside, she breathed a sigh of relief, then wheeled around to glare at him.

“Did I not tell you to let me do the talking?” she asked, planting her fists on her hips.

“They’re just rattling on about nothing while my friends might be dying,” he replied, unapologetic. “They needed a kick in the pants.”

“Well, at least they’re actually considering it now,” she added. She made her way over to the wooden railing, looking out over the village, the wall rising up in the distance. “They are not known for their expediency when it comes to such matters. I hope that they will not drag their hooves.”

“What are we supposed to do until then?” George asked.

“If they decide to grant you the support that you have requested, we will be facing another long trek into the blighted forest. The road ahead will be difficult, dangerous. We may not prevail. We should treat what time we have as a gift from the spirits, enjoy it to its fullest.”

“I suppose we could both use a break,” George sighed, leaning on the railing beside her. “There’s nothing that we can do to hurry them along?”

“We must wait,” she replied. “I know that it is difficult, but their authority must be respected.”

“So,” he added, turning to look out at the village. “Do you live here? When you’re not out in the forest, I mean.”

“My home is that way,” she said, pointing into the trees.

“Let’s go take a look.”

Tia led George through the village, and they arrived at another of the little wooden dwellings, this one nestled in the roots of a great tree. It wasn’t below ground, but the way that the roots had climbed over and around it certainly gave that impression, the slate roof covered over by a carpet of flowering moss.

Tia gripped the handle of the wooden door, trying to open it, then giving it a harder shove with her shoulder. After a second, it creaked open, Tia turning to give him a sheepish grin.

“I have not been back in a while,” she said, stepping inside. George followed her, having to duck under the door frame, as it was a little low for him.

The interior was small, the ceiling just high enough that he could stand upright with his six-foot frame, the distance between the walls perhaps twice the span of his outstretched arms. There was a wooden chest pushed up against one of the walls, along with a bed, the wooden frame built to follow the curve of the building. It was piled with fluffy animal pelts rather than blankets. Just like the room where he had met the elders, the roots of the tree pushed through the structure in places, bracing it like support beams. There were patches of moss on the walls, and there was a cluster of mushrooms growing through the uneven floorboards, but he didn’t know if that was a consequence of her long absence or not.

“This is my home,” she said proudly. George nodded approvingly, not wanting to burst her bubble. What he might call cramped and dank, she saw as cozy and homely.

“Doesn’t the rain get in through those cracks?” he asked, gesturing to the ceiling above. Wherever the roots had pushed through the planks and tiles, shafts of light shone through, providing the only illumination.

“Not if you ask it not to,” Tia replied, George cocking an eyebrow at her. Perhaps things like structural integrity and insulation were moot points when you could just ask the rain to stay away and petition the cold to respect your property line.

The first thing that Tia did was hang up her bow and her quiver of arrows on a simple rack that looked like it might have been fashioned from hottah antlers, then she knelt in front of her chest, prying it open. When George stepped closer to peer over her shoulder, he saw that it was full of pieces of fabric that might be clothing, along with other items that were probably simple tools. This little chest might contain all of her belongings. Her people lived off the land, and an abundance of property would only slow them down.

He paused to examine his surroundings in more detail, noticing several trophies that were hanging from the walls, no doubt the pelts and horns of animals that she had hunted. There were more weapons, too. He could see a spear carved from a knotted branch, strips of leather wrapped around the haft, the pointed tip made from what looked like a shard of obsidian. There were shelves, too, laden with what looked like cooking utensils. Her people didn’t seem to have metalworking, so they were all made from polished wood or clay.

“Would you step out for a moment?” Tia asked, rising to her feet with a bundle of colored cloth in her arms. “I have not changed my clothes in a while.”

George nodded, ducking back through the doorway, then closing it behind him. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment, giving a pair of passing villagers who were staring at him a hesitant wave. After a couple of minutes, the door creaked on its hinges, and he stepped aside to see Tia emerge.

Her green cloak was gone, and around her narrow shoulders, she wore one of the pieces of fabric that he had seen earlier. It was a collar made from a coarse material akin to hemp that hung down over her chest in a V-shape, just low enough to preserve her modesty. It was decorated with woven patterns in shades of blue and yellow, tassels adorned with glass beads hanging from the hem, perhaps as a way to help weigh it down. There was nothing attaching it below her modest bosom, leaving a tantalizing gap between its point and her torso where it hung free.

Like the other villagers, her body was mostly clear of fur from the front, the subtle contours of her abdominal muscles visible beneath her smooth skin. Tia’s body was lithe, lightly-muscled, honed by a life of athleticism. Her porcelain complexion gave way to the chestnut coat that covered her back and legs, velvety and shiny, patterned here and there with white spots.

Her slim waist flared into hourglass hips, now adorned with a narrow belt of leather that was holding up a simple loincloth made from the same material as her collar, embroidered with more geometric patterns. The nature of the garment revealed her thighs, which were just as stout as he had come to expect, packed with the wiry muscle that let her leap through the trees with such ease and grace. They were covered with reddish fur, patterned with faded spots on the outside. Her velvet coat seemed to cover her from the waist down, but he wasn’t quite so bold as to look that closely. Legs had been more apt a name than he had realized at the time – they were so long and slender...

His glance had only lasted a moment, and when his eyes met hers again, he was greeted with a warm smile.

“This is how we usually dress,” she explained. “The cloaks are just tools, like a bow or a knife.”

“You look ... good,” he stammered, watching her freckled cheeks warm at the compliment. “Hey, do you mind if I store my stuff in your house?” he added as he gestured over her shoulder. “I’ve been lugging this pack around for hours.”

“Oh, go ahead,” she replied as she stepped out of his way. “My home is your home for as long as you remain here.”

He pushed through the narrow doorway, then shrugged off his pack, setting it against one of the walls. After considering for a moment, he decided to keep his rifle slung over his shoulder. It wasn’t that he feared his new hosts, but it was his one bargaining chip, and the idea of leaving it unattended didn’t sit right with him. As he returned to Tia’s side, she noted that he still had the weapon, but her lack of comment suggested that she understood his reasoning.

“So, what do you do to relax around here?” George asked. “I’m assuming that you don’t spend all of your free time meditating?”

“Come,” she said, taking him by the hand. “First, I will introduce you to my friends. It feels like it has been an age since I last shared a cup with them, and I am sure they will be interested to hear of our exploits!”

She was so cheerful again, energetic, a spring in her step as she began to lead him into the village.

They arrived at a larger structure, this one situated between two tall trees, the roots of both reaching out to wrap their tangled tendrils around it. It was larger than the rest, with a more conical roof, smoke billowing from an opening at its apex.

As Tia led him through a pair of doors, he quickly saw that it was some kind of social space. In the center of the circular room was a roaring fire surrounded by a ring of large stones, recessed into the dirt floor. More flat stones had been arranged to form a primitive cooking area, heated by the flames beneath, and there were several spits suspended over it. The scent of cooking hit him like a wall, making his mouth start to water. There were several bubbling pots hanging over the flames, along with cuts of meat that were roasting on their spits. On the flat stones, the villagers were cooking batches of the bread that Tia had shared with him during their travels. The wall of the room was stacked with shelves and chests, along with wooden barrels and receptacles that looked like they might hold liquids. There were tanning racks where fresh leathers were being cured, and there were racks of meat and fish that were being dried for storage.