Evening’s meal was done and the company-bench had been cleaned and put away in the hall. The children’s dormitory had been sullenly silent for an hour now. The last of the surly-lynxes had grumbled themselves to sleep in their dens. And every single adult was inside and locked up tight and trying to sleep because if anything bad happened they didn’t want to see it coming.
Except for Shorr, the storyteller. Because she’d woken up a few hours ago, had evening’s meal as her first, and was wandering to the edge of the holdfast, looking for her treestump.
There were several to choose from, but she played favourites. And maybe it was a little fussy of her to put stock in such things when the light was almost gone from the edges of the hilltops, but her job was stressful and such things that comforted her were things that she insisted on doing. If they were good for her and harmed nobody, they were good for everybody. So said her mind.
That said, she hoped she found that stump soon. It was getting dark and oh ow ow ow there it was. Her toe resented her for that. Well, the rest of her would appreciate its sacrifice. And none too soon; there was more dark than sky now.
Shorr sat down on her stump, which by now was as polished and gleaming as if her behind were the world’s softest velvet. Time has a way of smoothing things like that. She knocked out her pipe on her boot and she lit it and stared at it and then put it out. She’d promised her daughter she’d stop.
So instead of smoking she sighed, and scratched herself, and into the gathering, thickening, smothering dusk she spoke stories.
She told the tale of Toll the Gecko and the wind calmed.
She told the tale of Little Gret and the bushes ceased whispering.
She told the tale of the Four Brothers and Three Sisters and the glint of light-on-tooth just beyond the edge of sight ducked backwards, slow but sure.
And then she told the tale of the Lost Sun and how the Moon saved her, and the sky was lightening itself already, and her throat was sore, and she was alone in that little shallow valley while everyone else was asleep.
Shorr’s throat reminded her of her pipe, which reminded her of her promise to her daughter. So she didn’t smoke, but went and sat by the well and drank it down, down, down instead, cool and crisp. And she drank more, because her throat was still sore, and a little extra, because it was even worse now, and by the time her daughter was up (first from the children’s dormitory and indeed the whole holdfast to wake, as usual) Shorr was on the ground, coughing and wheezing and making noises that were probably curses but were awful jumbled and came out as mostly-snorts.
***
A little wheezer was nothing to a child. To an adult that had gotten it before, less than nothing. Even an elder who’d escaped the bug for all their years would be at most abed for a few days.
Shorr had never had it before, but she was strong and healthy and so merely lost her voice for a few evenings, which would be long enough to see the holdfast torn down to shreds and shards and stones.
Most of them dealt with this by not thinking about it, the oldest solution. But four of them didn’t have that luxury, so they gathered in the cozy comfort of the decisions-cabinet (one window wide open, to catch the breeze) and drank tea and argued while Shorr dozed in the corner. It was midday, and she was well tuckered.
“Troublesome,” said Killy, the firmsmith. She tapped her giant scarred fists together in the little pat-pat-pat that meant she was thinking. “Maybe if Nnon sang for the night instead?”
“No,” said Nnon, the singer, and she packed a lot of scorn into that syllable. “Don’t be dopey; they can’t stand me. Song is for the songbirds, and those are for the daytime. Perhaps Shorr could be given emergency medicines?”
“Absolutely not,” said Pruut, the bloodfixer. “Look at how limp and listless her face is. I’d have to pack her full to the gills with fillypowder to wake her throat up enough to rasp, and then she’d be sleeping THAT off for half a week. Borrowing from Petra to pay Polly won’t do us any good. How about her apprentice?”
“Oh no,” said Killy.
“Definitely not!” said Nnon.
“Might as well give it a try,” said Grar, the charcoal-cutter.
The others grumbled at that, but it was Grar’s turn to hold the Myturn stick and so they agreed that this was more or less a fair gamble. Besides, it wasn’t like there were any other ideas coming.
***
Fli was Shorr’s apprentice in storytelling. She had a lovely smooth voice that she could make a tree blush, a calming presence, and a firm, reassuring presence. And she climbed up a tree and refused to come back down.
“Get down here,” said Pruut. Besides her, Killy gave the tree another shake. No good; Fli also had a grip like a barnacle.
“I shall not,” said Fli politely.
“Your teacher, your family, your friends, and your fellows have all agreed on this and think you can do it,” said Killy.
“Nothin’ doin’,” said Fli serenely.
“If you don’t get down here,” said Nnon, packing her voice full of civic pride and determination, “the entire holdfast will end up torn to bits.”
“Maybe they should climb trees too.”
“Get me my sawblades,” said Grar.
“Oh, FINE,” said Fli in bad grace, and down she came.
“Good,” they all agreed. And that was just fine until evening’s meal was over and someone asked the question ‘where’s Fli?’ and nobody could answer it.
“Let’s get her,” said Grar.
“We can look for her or we can find trees for everyone,” said Pruut.
So they found trees for everyone, and that took a long time they didn’t have, so they were all too busy to notice when Shorr’s daughter walked down to the holdfast’s edge.
***
Shorr’s daughter walked the path much less surely than her mother, but also more quickly. Short legs stride fast.
She took the longest and windingest way possible down to where the ferns grew and the waterfalls grew quiet and plunked down on her mother’s stump, which she recognized from being shown and also because it was as smooth and seamless as a marble from overuse.
And she said “hi.”
Nothing said hi back. Darkness does not say ‘hi.’ But there was heightened attention paid, just past eyesight.
“I’m five years old,” she told the darkness.
The grass breathed in and out, slow and low and steady.
“Wanna hear a story? Mom told me stories. I like the one about the fish. See, there’s this big fish. It’s the biggest fish, and it eats anything it wants, and everyone was frightened of it, but then it ate so much it couldn’t fit in the water anymore and the sun baked it and and it stopped working totally and then it was dead.”
The wind rose, dropped, dipped and twirled, then settled into a state of confusion.
“And she told me about the rabbit-person. And what the rabbit-person did for breakfast. See the rabbit person was hungry but was lazy and the rabbit person told her family she was sick and they all brought her food and she ate all of it until they had no food so then then they brought her hot peppers and she ate them and they said it was medicine and they brought her live bugs and said they were medicine and they brought her a biiiiiiiig rock and said it was medicine and she swallowed it and you know what happened? It stuck. It stuck in her butt. Now rabbits have heavy butts and that’s why their back legs are so big and strong.”
Shorr’s daughter frowned for an instant. “Mom always tells me the stories about people eating too much. I’ve heard them too many times.”
The shadows lightened a little. Maybe.
“Wanna see what I found in my nose? Here, look. Look.”
The wind came back, fierce and quick.
“Okay! Okay! Stop it. Stop! Don’t DO that. You know, you know that one time the wind didn’t ever stop blowing? It did that. Back in the old days it blew all the time and there was no earth, or water, or animals, or plants, just big bugs with big bug wings. And they flew everywhere. But the mosquito queen said she could outwail it, since she was the biggest bug, and she tried so hard with her wings that it broke the wind into little pieces and everything fell down to the ground. But it shriveled her up. That’s why mosquitos are so small, and why you should let them have a little blood. I don’t like that. Mom says it’s okay to swat them after the first one. The first one gets blood for being polite. Are you polite? Mom says I need to be more polite. She always tells me the stories about people being polite too.”
Something settled in the brush, far away yet closer than it should be.
“Okay your turn. I said your turn. Come on, I told you three stories in a row. It’s your turn now. That’s only fair, right? Mom always tells me the stories about people being fair too. Like the story about the old flatsmith with the crooked myturn stick, that always came rolling back to her whenever she made a decision, so it was always her turn even if everyone else watched the stick very carefully. So she got to do anything she wanted and nobody could do anything they wanted, until her apprentice took a rock, and she reversed the crook in the stick, so no matter what she did it wouldn’t come to her and it rolled away and everyone made decisions one after another except her. But they didn’t do anything to her, they just made everyone else happy and that made her mad. I don’t know why that made her mad. Are you mad? I don’t think so. Can you tell me a story? It’s fair. Come on, be fair. It’s fair. Come on. Come ooooon.”
It was fair.
So it told her a story.
***
There was rushing water, and breezes in branches, and pebbles in sand, and bright eyes and brighter teeth, and the sort of urgent, thoughtless patience that formed something more complicated than an imagination.
***
“Oh,” said Shorr’s daughter. Except it was more of an exhalation, because syllables seemed too clumsy and indirect for this conversation.
And she listened. And she talked back, and in what way she wasn’t sure.
Then it was later and she was gently being picked up by someone and put in her bed even though it was just getting bright out.
***
Fli was up in a tree, but a different one. She came down with much protest until someone told her a child without a name had done her job for her, then she came down with much muttering until Killy picked her up and put her in the decision cabinet with Shorr for the rest of the morning. She was a lot quieter after that.
Shorr, by contrast, had her voice back by that evening. She brought her daughter with her, and let her choose the stump, and sat there and for the first time in years she didn’t say a thing all night.
It was interesting. And a lot easier on the voice too. So she brought Pruut, and Pruut brought Killy and Grar, and Nnon brought herself, and well, by then everyone knew about it.
So everyone came down for the evenings, and some of them stayed till sunup and some of them went to bed early. Who can say how much anyone learned.
But they all understood one another better. And that’s important too.