Moon searched the ground with the hunters, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Unless the groundlings had camped for a long period while trying to find a way into the tree, the damp and time would have wiped out any sign of them. And if they did find old evidence of a camp, it wasn’t as though there would still be tracks to follow.
But there just wasn’t anything else they could do at the moment. Casting over the ground in a stand of reeds, he passed a clearing where Jade, Stone, and Flower were talking. He heard Jade ask Stone, “Does it have to be that seed? Can we get another?”
Stone didn’t sound hopeful. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Flower wasn’t as discouraged. “I told Heart and Merit and the others to unpack the court’s library. The answer should be somewhere there. I’m going to join them now.”
Moon continued through the reeds, working his way further out. If we could get another seed… It was a hope to hold onto, at least.
As the roots spread further away from the mountain-tree, they grew smaller, only as big around as the trunks of the big fern trees. Some roots arched up off the ground, forming fantastic shapes, supporting curtains of moss and vines.
Then Bramble, one of the hunters, slipped out of the brush and made a faint clicking noise, beckoning Moon. Startled, Moon ducked under the foliage to follow her. He had been so convinced they wouldn’t find anything.
They came to a tall thatch of big green flowers with brilliantly red centers. Bramble crouched in its cover and pointed.
Not far past the flowers was a shallow pond, barely more than a widened section of stream. It was home to a collection of snails with dark brown shells. And there was something crouched over the pool, watching the snails.
It was a groundling, but of a kind Moon had never seen before. Its legs and arms were skinny as sticks, lightly furred, and its torso was narrow and flat, and seemed to be all ribs; its stomach and bowels must be tiny, and he couldn’t tell where it kept its sex organs. The head was squarish, eyes and mouth round, the nose just a slit. It had vines draped around its body, or maybe they were growing on its skin; it seemed to wear them like clothes.
Moon would have been half-inclined to think it was just a big treeling, but it had a bag slung over one shoulder, made of braided grasses, and a couple of sharpened sticks lay beside it on the rocks. Moon also thought a treeling would have noticed them by now. He looked inquiringly at Bramble, who shrugged to show she had no idea either.
It didn’t look at all like the dead groundling, but if it lived here it might know something about the theft. Moon eased forward, and made a clicking noise in his throat.
The groundling glanced absently around, saw him, and froze. Then it shrieked, bounced up, and splashed across the pool to dodge off between the ferns.
“Go get the others,” Moon told Bramble, and lunged after it.
He caught up with it in two bounds, landed on top of the curve of a root as it ran beneath. He could have caught it, but he was afraid if he dropped on it his weight would crush it like a bundle of sticks.
It ran through another stand of trees and he jumped to the ground to follow. Several hunters caught up with Moon just as he reached the end of the copse and slid to a halt. He had found a village.
Big round structures, huts made of woven sticks, hung from the undersides of the tallest roots, connected by elaborate webs of vine rope. There were dozens of them, strung all back through this part of the roots, as far as Moon could see. More of the strange groundlings gathered on the ground below. They sat on grass mats, weaving vines or sorting through piles of vegetation. They stared in blank surprise at Moon and the hunters. Some leapt to their feet or called out, but none made threatening gestures.
Chime dropped down next to Moon, and a moment later Stone walked out of the trees. Stone was still in his groundling form, which was probably a good thing, since they didn’t want to terrify these people.
“These aren’t anything like the dead groundlings we found,” Chime said, studying the strangers. “The ribs were too big.”
Stone eyed the nervous groundlings. “These are Kek. They’re native to this forest, like we are.”
Jade landed beside Moon and folded her wings. Song came up behind them, while Root and Vine perched on the fern tree branches overhead. The hunters gathered around, their spines pricked with curiosity. Jade said, “These people live under the roots?”
Stone said, “They’re good for the tree. They help keep the soil around it healthy. We didn’t have any Kek when the court left. They were dying out in this part of the forest.” He stepped forward, holding out empty hands.
One of the Kek came toward them as the others gathered nervously behind it. It looked old, as far as Moon could tell. Its body was thin even by Kek standards, and it had lots of white stringy things hanging off it in odd places. It was wearing a necklace of small shells, and carried a staff with tattered leaves attached to the end.
Stone added, “They don’t have any reason to take the seed. But they might have seen who did.”
With Jade and Chime, Moon sat down on the spongy carpet of moss that covered the ground and listened to Stone talk to the Kek. The Aeriat and the hunters gathered behind them, perched in the fern trees, and the other Kek, reassured by Stone’s overtures, came out to gather around their leader. Some tiny Kek, the young of the tribe, peered at them from the safety of the hanging huts.
Fortunately Stone could speak a pidgin version of the Kek language, which he had learned when he was a boy, who knew how many turns ago. The old leader, whose name was something that sounded like “Kof,” could speak a pidgin version of Raksuran, but not Altanic or Kedaic or anything else Moon recognized. With gestures and a lot of fumbling for words, Stone drew out their story.
These Kek had left the roots of their original colony tree when their population became too large for comfort, splitting off from the main tribe. When applied to for help, the Raksura there had given them directions to this colony tree, long abandoned, and they had traveled across the ground in search of it, finally reaching it about twenty turns ago.
“They know a lot about us,” Chime said hopefully, “Maybe they took the seed for safe-keeping or something and they’ll give it back when we ask.”
To that optimistic suggestion, Stone replied, “Shut up.” Moon nudged Chime with his shoulder in sympathy. But he didn’t think there was much hope that the Kek had taken the seed. If the Kek knew a lot about colony trees and depended on their roots as a place to live, they would know better than to do anything that might hurt one. He couldn’t see these delicate creatures breaking bins and jars searching for treasure, or knocking inlay out of carvings. They didn’t even wear wooden beads; everything they had was made from plants, with flowers or snail and insect shells for ornaments.
And when Stone asked about strange groundlings coming here recently, Kof shook his staff in assent.
It had been when the warm rain season ended and the cool rain season started with the second growth of the moss-flowers, which Stone identified as being a little more than a turn ago. When he asked if the groundlings had come on foot, Kof had waved vaguely.
“They must have come on foot. They couldn’t get a wagon through here,” Moon put in.
“They might have had a flying boat, like the Islanders,” Jade said. “That would have been more of a clue to where they came from.”
Stone coaxed out more information. Apparently Kof hadn’t seen them himself. The Kek who had approached them to talk had been attacked, and three killed. The village had feared they were being invaded, and all had fled to a safer position on the far side of the tree. But the scouts who had stayed behind had seen the groundlings enter through one of the doorways in the roots.