great-great-great-grandmother. And this is my grandfather. This is my mother. This is my father. This is my brother, who Moved On at the age of eight.”
“Eight?”
said Snowbone. “Can it happen that young? Ithought you were talking about something that happened to really old people.”
Figgis shrugged. “moving on can happen at any time. My brother didn't have an accident. He wasn't sick or in pain. He just started to feel weak.
Wobbly
was the word he used. And suddenly he knew it was his time to Move On. He said he could feel it deep down inside. So one day he came here, chose a nice spot—next to my parents, see?—and slowly,
very
slowly, he turned into an ashen tree.”
Snowbone was fascinated. There was so much to learn about Ashenpeakers. She had imagined they were like wooden humans; now she knew that wasn't so.
“When will
you
Move On?” she asked.
“Oh, bless your heart, I don't know that!” said Figgis. “I don't think I'd
want
to know. Would you? It could happen next week; I might start to feel wobbly. It could happen tomorrow if I was hit hard enough. An accident, say. But it might not happen for a hundred years. Ashenpeakers can live a
long
time. And yes, I know I look ancient to you, but I'm not. I'm in my prime.”
“I believe you,” said Snowbone, smiling.
“I'm glad to hear that,” said Figgis, “but we're forgetting why I brought you here.”
His face suddenly hardened. “Snowbone, listen to me. Those men that Blackeye saw weren't cutting down trees. They were cutting down people.”
“This one has a face and fingers,”
said Snowbone.
“What?”
“Something the traders said. I've just remembered. Oh! This is outrageous!” Snowbone started to pace up and down angrily. “Why are they doing this?”
“Now
that
I don't know,” admitted Figgis. “Ashen sap is strong stuff, for sure. It has the power to heal. But why they'd want it in any great quantity is beyond me.”
“And what was the blue light?”
“Ah,
that,”
said Figgis. “That was the soul of the Ancestor, leaving the body.”
“Where was it going?”
“I don't know. But I do know this: it won't ever come back.”
And Snowbone looked at Figgis and saw such bleak despair in his face, she shuddered. Despite the sunshine, the day had suddenly turned very, very dark.
Chapter 17
ight had fallen by the time Snowbone left Figgis. He had talked all day while she soaked up the words like a sponge. Given the darkness outside, Figgis had suggested she stay the night, but Snowbone had declined the offer. She said she would return the next day and, with that, had disappeared into the shadows, heading for Black Sand Bay.
Now Figgis sat quietly in his house, mending a hole in his work shirt. Except for the occasional creaking of his chair and the wind rustling in the trees outside, there was no sound. Nothing unusual. But Figgis couldn't help feeling there was something wrong.
He put down his mending, eased open the front door and slipped outside. It was too dark to see anything: the moon was tucked up in a blanket of cloud. But the tinker's ears were attuned to the night. To the snuffles and rustles of the forest creatures. And whatever it was, moving out there, it wasn't furred or feathered.
Then he saw a glow: a horn lantern, shining between the trees and
thuud.
The first ax struck home.
And now Figgis was running toward the amber glow. Running, running, running faster than he had in years.
Thuud.
Tearing through brambles, stumbling over roots, hurtling toward the sound of slaughter.
Thuud.
And there they were: the black-haired man and another he hadn't seen before—a towering giant of a man, with hands so monstrously huge, his ax looked like a toy.
Thuud.
Figgis saw his Ancestor standing between them, with a great gaping wound in his trunk. Saw the giant raise his ax a fifth time. Saw the smirk on the face of the black-haired man. And Figgis lunged forward, crashing into the circle of light.
And that was
“Eight?”
said Snowbone. “Can it happen that young? Ithought you were talking about something that happened to really old people.”
Figgis shrugged. “moving on can happen at any time. My brother didn't have an accident. He wasn't sick or in pain. He just started to feel weak.
Wobbly
was the word he used. And suddenly he knew it was his time to Move On. He said he could feel it deep down inside. So one day he came here, chose a nice spot—next to my parents, see?—and slowly,
very
slowly, he turned into an ashen tree.”
Snowbone was fascinated. There was so much to learn about Ashenpeakers. She had imagined they were like wooden humans; now she knew that wasn't so.
“When will
you
Move On?” she asked.
“Oh, bless your heart, I don't know that!” said Figgis. “I don't think I'd
want
to know. Would you? It could happen next week; I might start to feel wobbly. It could happen tomorrow if I was hit hard enough. An accident, say. But it might not happen for a hundred years. Ashenpeakers can live a
long
time. And yes, I know I look ancient to you, but I'm not. I'm in my prime.”
“I believe you,” said Snowbone, smiling.
“I'm glad to hear that,” said Figgis, “but we're forgetting why I brought you here.”
His face suddenly hardened. “Snowbone, listen to me. Those men that Blackeye saw weren't cutting down trees. They were cutting down people.”
“This one has a face and fingers,”
said Snowbone.
“What?”
“Something the traders said. I've just remembered. Oh! This is outrageous!” Snowbone started to pace up and down angrily. “Why are they doing this?”
“Now
that
I don't know,” admitted Figgis. “Ashen sap is strong stuff, for sure. It has the power to heal. But why they'd want it in any great quantity is beyond me.”
“And what was the blue light?”
“Ah,
that,”
said Figgis. “That was the soul of the Ancestor, leaving the body.”
“Where was it going?”
“I don't know. But I do know this: it won't ever come back.”
And Snowbone looked at Figgis and saw such bleak despair in his face, she shuddered. Despite the sunshine, the day had suddenly turned very, very dark.
Chapter 17
ight had fallen by the time Snowbone left Figgis. He had talked all day while she soaked up the words like a sponge. Given the darkness outside, Figgis had suggested she stay the night, but Snowbone had declined the offer. She said she would return the next day and, with that, had disappeared into the shadows, heading for Black Sand Bay.
Now Figgis sat quietly in his house, mending a hole in his work shirt. Except for the occasional creaking of his chair and the wind rustling in the trees outside, there was no sound. Nothing unusual. But Figgis couldn't help feeling there was something wrong.
He put down his mending, eased open the front door and slipped outside. It was too dark to see anything: the moon was tucked up in a blanket of cloud. But the tinker's ears were attuned to the night. To the snuffles and rustles of the forest creatures. And whatever it was, moving out there, it wasn't furred or feathered.
Then he saw a glow: a horn lantern, shining between the trees and
thuud.
The first ax struck home.
And now Figgis was running toward the amber glow. Running, running, running faster than he had in years.
Thuud.
Tearing through brambles, stumbling over roots, hurtling toward the sound of slaughter.
Thuud.
And there they were: the black-haired man and another he hadn't seen before—a towering giant of a man, with hands so monstrously huge, his ax looked like a toy.
Thuud.
Figgis saw his Ancestor standing between them, with a great gaping wound in his trunk. Saw the giant raise his ax a fifth time. Saw the smirk on the face of the black-haired man. And Figgis lunged forward, crashing into the circle of light.
And that was
Similar Books
