In Oli's recollection, Luthold sat on a low seat, bending toward the children circled at his feet. Oli, to his left, prepared the quills and ink. Adalina had gathered the shaggy cap mushrooms the day before, which he crushed now into a black goo. Ingo was there in his memory, and Pasha too.
“Do you all know where the letters come from?” Luthold asked with a soft smile on his face. He would tell the story whether they answered yes or no. Some of the children nodded and others shook their heads. Oli’s father shut his eyes.
“It began with Hurean and the other gods’ arrival in the world. The Lord of Heaven bore a gift but did not yet know upon whom to bestow it. He looked first to the high people, already powerful and blessed with knowledge. But he saw suspicion in their eyes and passed over them. He observed the cunning of the under people but noticed their cruelty too and knew they would twist his gift to wicked ends. After examining all beings, he chose the low people. They were little more than beasts, but he saw in them a desire to become something more.”
“Who were the high people?” quizzed Ingo. “Where are they now?”
Luthold frowned at the interruption. “According to the Southerners they were a beautiful, learned race who left this world, jealous of the power the gods gave to us. Others say we fought a war against them after leaving the swamps and the beaches. In the monasteries of the West, they say ‘high people’ is a hint of what we might become, if we grow in power but forget where power comes from. Anyway,” he coughed, “the high people are not important in this story.”
Aimar’s hammer rang in the distance. They heard men and women working on the roof of the storehouse, which had blown loose in the autumn winds. They huddled closer, and Luthold continued.
“Hurean gave the low people the secret of fire. There were no priests in the days before the wars, and he showed all people the humble method of flint and kindling. He taught them also to speak the truth, above all to themselves, and to cast out the deceitful from amongst them. When the low people followed his command their backs grew straight and they began to walk upright.
Then he challenged the other gods to offer gifts of their own, saying that none would surpass his. Terlos, his elder brother, who at that time still obeyed him, was the first to rise. He gifted the low people the secrets of the Earth. He taught them how to raise crops, keep animals, and how to hew precious metals from inside stone. And he taught them to be humble, too, and suspicious of those who elevate themselves only at the cost of others.
The next to come forward was Hurean’s eldest, Farlean. She taught the low people how to bind wounds, how to avoid illness by keeping clean, and how to nurture the fire of love beyond the kindling sparks of lust.
Maralon, the next in line, taught the merits of courage and vigour, and showed the low people how to corral powerful winds into traps made of cloth – and traverse vast distances across the sea.
Even Sindrah, Hurean’s wife, deigned to make an offering to his new charges. She taught them how the movement of shadows and stars could be used to measure the passage of time. She exhorted them to be cautious, too, and to watch the shadows in their hearts, lest the gifts of the gods turn in their own hands against them.
But Hurean was not content. The low people forgot Sindrah’s advice and employed the gifts to selfish ends. He listened to them changing the commands of the gods as they passed them to their children, to suit their own desires and growing self-regard. He called upon his two youngest, neither of whom had yet made offerings.
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His wayward, unruly daughter could not be found. She hid behind mountains and at the bottom of oceans. She fled laughing across the tops of forests when he called her name, until he gave up calling it and would speak it no more. She played games with the creatures of the world, forgetting her own divinity and drifting ever further from her father’s sight.
But his youngest son responded. He brought a handful of flat stones to his father. On every stone was carved a different symbol, so that each could be discerned easily from the other. ‘These are the sounds they make with their breath, locked forever into stone,’ said Manafel. None of the gods could fathom his purpose, but Manafel went to the low people and shared his gift with them.
When Hurean saw what the low people did with his son’s gift, he roared with delight and the skies lit up with his joy. ‘Look!’ he declared, ‘Manafel’s gift has rivalled even mine! For short though their lives may be, the low people now have a memory like the gods’!’
Hurean then decreed they would no longer be known as low people. They walked upright with dignity and each generation now built upon the achievements of the last. He formed a sound in the air, a blend of his own name and his youngest son’s. He breathed life into the new word. Henceforth, the low people were known as humans.”
Oli’s home acquired a sense of grandeur during the storytelling. For once, he was proud of his unusual roundhouse, with its hangings depicting scenes from beyond the forest and its pile of scrolls stacked up against the wall. Ingo broke the hush with a question.
“Why do Seveners barely use the gift of letters, if Hurean himself said it was so great?”
If Oli had asked the question, he would have done so to cast aspersions upon the practice of writing, which he found so dull. But Ingo’s emphasis seemed to question the clan itself. Certainly, that’s how his father took it.
“Perhaps we Seveners have been remiss, Ingo. Perhaps our truth would be better known if more of us were able to write.”
Then he frowned and added with a serious look, indicating the scrolls behind him.
“Remember this – the letters I’m showing you are not something borrowed from the world beyond. They were given to all people by the gods. They belong to us, just as much as they belong to the townsfolk. You should never forget that.”
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Lying awake, listening to the sound of Kastor’s snoring growing quieter, Oli wondered for the first time if he should have taken more interest in the world beyond Saltleaf Forest. His father, uniquely in the clan, could have told him about it - at least second hand. But Luthold had never told them why their grandfather had left the forest, or what he had done outside it before returning. Perhaps if he had, Oli might understand the things Kastor talked about. He’d mentioned a glass garden and a Prophet Emperor as though everyone knew what they were. Oli felt for the first time that this vast forest in which he lived, which spread for miles in every direction, might not be all there was to know.
Oli noticed that Kastor had grown silent. Slowly, full of dread, he opened his eyes. Is it there again? Is this something he brought here from beyond the forest? No. This had the forest writ large all over it. He turned his head, keeping the rest of his body still, and looked across in the darkness at the outline of his companion’s form. At first, he saw nothing but the vague, long shape of a sleeping man. He watched, unsure if he was willing the creature to show itself or to remain invisible. He watched in the way he watched the river for a fish - with patience and intent. Slowly, the darkness above Kastor’s chest deepened until a shadow of blackness, deeper than the darkness of night, defined itself in the gloom. Certainly, it had wings, though he could make out little more than that. It did not scare him as much as the first time. It seemed to cock its head. Not moving a muscle, he stared. Two red pinpoints appeared and stared back. They looked, each unblinking at the other, just as Oli and Kastor had locked eyes a few days ago. Oli had the sudden impression that it was angry, sad, confused and afraid all at the same time. Lost. The impression came as though they had shared a thought. Slowly, the red eyes dimmed and disappeared. Then the shadow was gone. He turned his head to the sky, exhausted. I’ll give Kastor one more day, he thought as he closed his eyes.