“Hey, okay, don’t get crazy about it. I know you hate running from opponents, it’s not my fault they had us outweaponed in a narrow place.”
Makri’s anger suddenly leaves her and she sits down heavily.
“Now I’m depressed. In fact I’m as miserable as a Niojan whore. Damn these mood swings.”
I ask her what is going on.
“It’s a month since we left Turai,” she replies.
“So?”
“So it’s my period again. Any complaints?”
I sigh. “No. None. But try not to bleed over the Tree Palace. Kalith will be furious if that happens.”
“To hell with Kalith,” says Makri, lighting up her thazis stick. “Of course I don’t have anything with me, seeing as I didn’t get a chance to pack before I leaped into the ocean. Maybe Lady Yestar can lend me a towel or something.”
By this time I’m in need of a little relaxation myself. I smoke another thazis stick and consider the situation. There has to be a path around here somewhere. There’s nothing for it but to keep chopping our way through till we find one. I’m not certain if the Avulan forest contains any dangerous predators. It certainly contains a lot of insects, several of which seem to have decided that nothing tastes better than Thraxas the Investigator.
“If this blunts my blades someone is going to pay dearly,” states Makri. “I hate this. My legs are getting scratched. Why didn’t you tell me to wear something more suitable? You want to go in front for a while, I’m sure I’m doing all the work here. Put some effort into it, Thraxas, we’re going to be here all day at this rate.”
It’s exhausting work and I am soon dripping with sweat. Eventually we break through into a small clearing. I slump heavily to the ground.
“To hell with this.”
“Give me another thazis stick,” says Makri.
I was planning to ration my thazis carefully, but the situation seems to call for it so we light up some more, smoke it, then set off again. We’re heading in the general direction of the Palace. At least I hope we are. I’m trying to navigate by the sun but the sun is rarely visible through the trees. Makri’s mood continues to alternate between anger and depression. I’m fairly furious myself.
“Damned spearmen. If I’d known this was going to happen I’d never have jumped.”
“We should have stayed and fought them. I’ll kill them when I get my hands on them. Hell, I just got stung.”
After what feels like several hours of hacking, chopping, cursing and complaining, we finally find a clearing in which a ladder ascends to a walkway above.
“Thank God for that.”
We climb. When we finally make the top I sit down exhausted. Makri has drawn her swords, eager for another sight of the spear carriers, but the walkway is empty. She sheathes her weapons angrily.
“I’m in a really bad mood,” she says.
I pass her a thazis stick. We smoke them and walk on.
“Where are we?”
“No idea. Look, there’s an Elf sitting in that tree.”
We shout to the Elf, asking which way the Palace is. He points, and we head in that direction.
“I’m in no mood to talk to Lady Yestar,” Makri says. “Better give me another thazis stick, mellow me a little.”
I figure this is a good idea. No point in being flustered when we arrive. We light two more thazis sticks and smoke them as we walk. Wherever we are, it seems to be a sparsely populated part of the island, and we pass no further Elves.
“I hate this stupid forest,” says Makri.
I pass her another thazis stick. We walk on.
“Look. Elf houses. Don’t you think they look sort of funny?”
Makri giggles. “Houses in trees.”
It does seem quite funny, now she mentions it.
“We better have some more thazis before we hit the Palace. Don’t want to arrive there in a bad mood, what with me menstruating and everything.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, and light us up a stick each. I remember my flask.
“Some klee?”
“Thank you,” says Makri.
The walkway brings us into the centre of the island, ending in a long ladder down to the central clearing. The Tree Palace is visible on the other side. Elves stare at us as we pass. We greet them warmly.
Once we reach the clearing Makri halts, looking thoughtful.
“You say thazis isn’t used among the Elves? You think they might not like it? We’d better smoke some behind this tree, before we get to the Palace.”
This sounds like a good idea.
“You are good at having good ideas,” I tell Makri.
“I know. I think about things a lot,” replies Makri, inhaling the thazis smoke. “Important things.”
“I think about important things too.”
“It’s good to think about important things.”
After all the thazis my mouth tastes funny. I take some klee to clear away the taste and pass the flask to Makri. She coughs as it burns her throat. We sit under the tree and gaze at the beautiful blue sky for a while. Butterflies flutter around our heads.
“I never realised how beautiful butterflies are,” says Makri.
“Neither did I. Aren’t they pretty?”
We watch them for a long time. A few clouds drift across the sky.
“Where were we going?” asks Makri, eventually.
I think about this.
“The Palace.”
“Right. What for?”
“You know. Just to see it. Talk to the Elves.”
Makri blinks. “Right.”
We sit under the sun.
“Should we go?” says Makri, after a while.
“Go where?”
“The Palace.”
“If you like.”
Our discussion is interrupted by a furious debate. A large group of white-robed Elves appears out of the forest, all talking heatedly at once.
“We cannot omit the scene where King Vendris butchers his children,” says one of the actors, angrily. “It traditionally appears after the Tree-burning scene. . . .”
“Then it is time for a change,” counters a grey-haired Elf, whom, from the way he seems to be taking the brunt of the anger, I take to be the director.
“And who are you to change the telling of the ancient tale of Queen Leeuven?” demands an actress, possibly Queen Leeuven herself, from the gold tiara in her hair.
“I am the man appointed by Lord Kalith to put on the play,” retorts the grey-haired Elf.
“A terrible mistake!” cry several of the actors, with feeling.
“Just do as I tell you if you want that prize. . . .”
The group carries on across the clearing, finally disappearing back into the forest, still arguing.
We stare at them as they go.
“You know, Makri, I kind of thought that traditional Elvish actors would be more dignified. That Elf with the tiara reminded me of a chorus girl I once knew. I had to help her flee from Turai after she burned down the theatre.”
We lapse back into silence.
“I haven’t had any thazis since we landed on Avula,” says Makri. “Did you bring any?”
“I think so,” I reply, hunting around in my bag.
We saunter towards the Palace, thazis in hand. More Elves walk by. They stare at us, but say nothing. When we’re walking between the two pools by the Hesuni Tree Makri stops to admire the view.
“I’m thirsty,” she says, and kneels down to drink.
“Me too. You know, I think that thazis might have affected me a little.”
Makri says she feels fine. I figure I’ll be fine too after I’ve had some more water. I almost imagine that someone is shouting at us, but it’s only a fleeting impression. Makri bends down to splash water over her face and I do the same. It’s cool and refreshing. I drink some more, and feel the intoxication passing from my body. I realise that someone is indeed shouting at me. It’s an Elf I recognise, looking angry.
“Don’t you know it’s forbidden to drink from the sacred pools that feed the Hesuni Tree?” he cries.
“Sorry,” I say.
“No one mentioned it,” adds Makri.
Our Elvish inquisitor looks at us with disgust. It’s Lasas, brother of the murdered Tree Priest.