The week following his decisive victory, Malo trapes up valley through Wailing Woods to see his auntie Ge’get, with a heavy bag of coins. There’s no path or road to follow, he follows game trails if they happen to run in the right direction, but mostly is trail blazing through untamed woods. Ordinarily a healer of her renown would have a path beaten to her door from the surrounding towns. His aunt isn’t ordinary, she doesn’t ask for payment for any of her services. Her complete disregard for the social forms of in-kind exchanges and haggling makes people uncomfortable. She has a reputation for being off, maybe even crazy. When you account for her reputation and the fact that her home is located in the Wailing Woods, an area haunted by a ghost that can be heard crying most nights, people are content to wait for her to come down to their circle each month if they need help with something.
Malo enjoys hiking to her home, at least the end of the journey; she cultivates the landscape for maybe a hundred yards in every direction around her house. The untamed undergrowth gives way to clusters of herbs, fungus, and flowers she uses to make the reagents, poultices, and medicines used to treat so many illnesses. Some areas are farmed for food, he’s helped her harvest potatoes and wild onions from the very patch he’s presently walking over. There are some trees and bushes that aren’t found anywhere else in the valley that produce the tastiest fruits. Malo often wonders where she gets these exotic plants but has never been curious enough to ask.
He turns seven tomorrow, maybe next year things will be different. He wishes people would stop treating him like a little kid, other seven-year-olds are dating, some have jobs, and they’re almost done with study. Everyone says he’s slow because he didn’t talk or read after six months. So what if it did take him a year to start talking and two more years to be a good reader, he studies twice as hard to make up the difference. Ge’get understands him and treats him like a proper seven-year-old kid. Also, she makes pies, those are the best; the smell of apple pie leads him by the nose the last thirty yards to her front door.
Malo politely knocks on the door of the quaint building set against a sheer section of mountain wall. It’s made of a single large room; it must have at least 15 square yards of floor space which is ample room for its loan occupant to live and work in solitude.
“Come in Malo and happy birthday,” Ge’get says from somewhere inside.
“Thanks, Ge’get! I came just like you told me too and papa says greetings. He also wants me to give you this. It’s getting heavy, he adds more every year, can’t you keep it this time?” Malo sets the bag of coins on the floor next to the door. He knows he’s going to be carrying it back with him.
Coming closer and carrying a hot dish fresh from her oven. “I wish I was owed what everyone thinks I did. I could heal everyone in this valley a hundred times and I’d still be in debt for my past. One day you’ll understand what that means and never want to talk to me again.”
“I know what it means. You think because you used to do bad stuff that you should be treated badly. That isn’t you anymore. You told me that liking myself was all that is important. You need to start liking yourself too, Auntie. You said you were reborn, doesn’t that mean the old you is dead. The dead can’t pay back anything, and the living shouldn’t have to pay for the dead. That was something Friar Lash once said.”
“Freshly turned seven years and you’re already wiser than any 500 year old witch I ever met.”
“Does that mean you’ll let people pay you now,” eyeing the bag by the door.
“Sorry Malo, not until the ghost of these woods goes silent. In the meantime, we should have some pie, don’t you agree?”
“I do,” Malo excitedly agrees!
Ge’get, or Greta as everyone else knows her, is estimated by most people to be around seventy years old. She’s actually far older. Her raven black hair is peppered with greys that match her eyes. Her full lips and round face give her a somewhat sultry appearance. She does nothing to accentuate her good looks, in fact she downplays them by dressing modestly by anyone’s standards. Her navy-blue dress has long sleeves and a full skirt, a grey cape covers her bodice.
In contrast to her efforts to disguise herself as a modest healer, Malo is unapologetically an exuberant, energetic child in every way. His blond hair and brown eyes shine with youthful vigor. His limbs are gangly, his feet and hands indicate his body has a long way to go to catch up. In seven years, he’s grown to the same height of most young men at age fourteen. Nobody knows for sure how tall a runt will grow.
The two sat themselves at her kitchen table, occupying two of the three chairs. A pie on a cooling rack, a serving knife, two plates, and two forks await them in its center. Ge’get uses the knife to carve out a quarter of the pie for Malo, and an eighth for herself. Then she sits back with fork in hand and watches Malo shovel pie into his mouth with enthusiasm. It’s moments like these that fortify her spirit. As if he was reading her thoughts, Malo pauses his frenzied feeding long enough to ask a question.
“Why do you plant so many flowers and tend to the forest around your house?”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Ge’get smiles at the question, it will give her an excuse to teach him something valuable if he listens.
“I need many ingredients to make my medicines, having them close by saves me a walk.”
“I knew that was why you planted most of them. But I’ve never seen you use some for anything more than decoration and you made this area look all nice and stuff. It’s still a forest but it’s a tame forest. Why do you do that?”
“You’re asking me why I scatter wildflower seeds in the meadows every spring? Why do I trim and prune the trees and bushes? Why I build flower beds around some trees and not others?”
“Um, yes. That’s what I meant.”
“Because it pleases me. I like the look of it. Taming this forest while not changing what it is gives me a purpose that is mine and mine alone. When I walk around my home, I see proof that I was here and that I can make something beautiful. It fortifies my spirit and keeps it strong.” She hopes those words stay with him, and he learns to feed his spirit to keep it not only strong, but healthy too.
“Friar Lash says we aren’t supposed to build things out of vanity. Is this different?”
“Friar Lash is a nice man and I like that he brings you books. But he doesn’t know a thing about which he speaks. The Free’er told many people different things, much of it contradicts itself. Don’t rely on the teachings of a dead religion, listen to your spirit. Our spirits are our connection to the greater universe and what waits on the other side. Without that connection our world would end.”
Malo was contemplating his next bite of pie more than auntie’s answers, but not all her words were lost on him. Listening to his spirit sounded odd, does she mean he should hear a voice and do what it says? That sounds too literal and must be one of those colorful phrases older people are always using. One day he might understand them. His thoughts return to pie.
Greta watches her young ward gulp down his slice of pie, offers him a second. Malo heartily accepts, and just as enthusiastically devours it. While he’s finishing up, she takes the remains and slices it in two. Wrapping each in a clean cloth and place them in a small woven basket with a lid; a gift for Malo’s father Pekelo.
They’ve not spoken in years, not since Malo was old enough to make the trek to her hut on his own. Once Malo turned one, she approached their home for the first time in a year. Pekelo had done an amazing job raising Malo considering his size and slow development. At first, he didn’t want to let her near Malo, but he’s a smart man and listens. Greta explained the danger Malo faced and how it could impact everyone in Feltworks and accepted her protection. Now every year she reapplies a new spirit cloak to mask his presence and to keep him hidden from her old Master.
She experimented with every combination of cloak and knot and has yet to find a way to make one last more than a few years. When applied to Malo they all burn away from the inside in under 10 months. Her solution has been to keep him wrapped in two cloaks. The under-cloak burns away, allowing the outer cloak to take its place. Every year she adds another layer of protection, every year one burns away. She can protect him like this for the rest of his life she’s certain; so long as nothing changes.
Later, Malo walks home with a fresh layer of protection. He likes this time, the first few months after his visit to Ge’get’s hut, reactions towards him are tempered. The outright hostility from people like Rin becomes a moderate dislike that doesn’t require constant open hostility. Malo feels at peace with the world.
The sun on his right is well away from setting, maybe another two hours of solid daylight. Thoughts of looking for Kaden to see if he wants to go up the gully and work on their fort cross his mind, but then he remembers the pie auntie gave him to share with papa. Responsibility wins out and he heads towards the ring of homes where his house can be found. The valley is full of similar rings, some have merchant stores on the bottom floor like Rin’s house. Some homes are surrounded by pastures of cavi or planted with food crops. The valley floor is filled with trees that are likely hundreds of years old and dotted with islands of humanity.
Papa isn’t home yet and won’t be until near sunset. He runs the feltworks that their community is named after and is always the last to leave. Malo tidies the home without a second thought, putting off studying until later. He knows he needs to work twice as hard as everyone else, but he feels too relaxed to learn right now. It amazes him how other kids only need to be shown a problem once or twice and they suddenly know how to solve it, they call it waking a memory. He doesn’t have any sleeping memories like they do. He has to be shown how to solve problems, step by step, and practice for hours. It’s like learning to talk all over again, other kids hear words and know what they mean, while Malo has to figure it out through context or look the word up in a dictionary. This handicap has made him an excellent listener and a master at pretending to understand things while he’s desperately trying to figure them out.
His home is empty most days, other than breakfast and dinner preparation there isn’t much activity here. Malo sometimes wonders what it was like when his six brothers lived here. It must have been so crowded and noisy. They might have moved out soon after he was born, but he knows them all as well as if they still lived here. None have moved far, and they all still work with Papa at the feltworks or as they often say the `works. Liko, the oldest, lives less than 20 yards from here. Makai, Kye, and Puna live together in the `works barracks. Tangi and Ahe are his youngest two brothers who are married and have their own homes down valley, walking almost a mile each way to the feltworks. They all come together or individually from time to time for dinner and on festival days to see him and papa. When together, they recite stories of mama and the trouble they would give her growing up. He wishes he could have met her more than that one time. He’s heard so many stories of her that he’s built up a memory of the day she held him and died. He imagines papa is there and auntie Ge’get of course. Without her healing how could a runt like him survive being born. It would have been a sad night, raining as it does so often in the summer. He’s always wanted to ask papa about that night but is afraid it would bring him more grief.
Pekelo, his papa, comes home; they trade stories of their day while preparing dinner. Like most nights it’s cavi and whatever vegetables papa picks up on the way home. After dinner they each have a piece of pie, then Pekelo goes to bed. Malo sits down at his desk and opens his algebra book and starts working through the problems. He starts Calculous soon and needs to be faster at working these problems or he’ll never be able to keep up.