Tree Singer

ahead of her. Her friend wasn’t used to so much physical exertion but somehow kept moving without complaint.
They began to climb in elevation, her pack seeming heavier with each step. Mayten tried to focus again on the trees. She loved spring when the trees came out of their winter quiet and started to sing about light, and birth, and joy. Familiar comfort washed over her at the feel of moving sap . . .
Mayten gasped as a sense of wrongness swept over her. The same sensation that had tickled at the back of her throat when she’d last visited the auntie tree. She peered around, struggling to find what was causing the sensation.
What was wrong with the trees?
The sensation faded, leaving her frustrated. She wasn’t prepared for this, she grumbled to herself. How many times had she told Mother she wasn’t prepared?
After what felt like an eternity, the terrain changed again. They’d been climbing steadily up a narrow trail cut through pine trees so thick Mayten could barely see between the trunks. Finally, they crested a hill and descended into a canyon, the trees spaced apart as though the forest had decided it needed to breathe. Her spirits lifted as the rich, comforting, homey smell again surrounded her.
Although she could see only a bit of sky, she felt less pressed in. It was cooler here and her muscles relaxed as she descended.
Her heart skipped a beat as she found herself surrounded by beautiful old redwoods with their soft, furry bark. Redwoods were among her favorite trees. She lost herself looking up at the enormous monarchs with tops so high they seemed to vanish.
The group halted so quickly she almost tripped over Tray. They stood at the edge of a small clearing with a fire pit in the center. The sky had grown dark with dusk, the air chilly and still.
“We sleep here,” said Adven, the first time she’d heard him speak since they’d left the village. His voice had a gravelly quality, like some of the men who smoked too much of the imported tobacco leaves. “Gather wood.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Cather whispered to Mayten, who swallowed a giggle. At least Cather’s sense of humor was back.
Mayten winced as she slid the backpack off her shoulders and lowered it to the ground. Cather let out a small groan as she followed suit. Together they moved into the woods, filling their arms with small branches and old bark that they found lying on the ground.
Birds and squirrels scrambled and scratched overhead as the forest creatures settled for the night. The sounds quieted as the girls hunted for wood, their footsteps hushed by a thick pad of old pine needles—duff, Mayten reminded herself. Anatolian snuffled in the bushes nearby. The peace of the old-growth trees calmed her nerves and exhaustion swept over her as she breathed deeply of air that smelled of mulch and living things.
“How are your feet?” Mayten asked, keeping her voice low.
“Sore. I thought they’d fall off that last hour.” Cather sighed.
“Mine too. I was worried about you. But . . . you’re doing this for Tray, right? Even though the bonehead has no idea—”
Cather turned to her, her eyes shining in the growing darkness. Was she about to cry?
“I’m so sorry, Mayten. I knew you’d be devastated if I left, but I just couldn’t leave Tray. I just . . . couldn’t.”
Mayten shifted her wood to one arm and touched Cather’s shoulder with her free hand. “I know. I knew you would go if they called him . . . if you could find a way.”
Cather looked at her feet for a long time, looking like she wanted to say more but didn’t know how.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Mayten finally asked.
Cather glanced up. “It’s . . . it’s just that, well, they had to send you. You’re the best tree singer, next to your mother. But there are lots of healers they could have sent.”
What on earth did Cather mean?
“What are you saying?”
“When I heard about the trip,” she spoke quickly as if to get the words out before she changed her mind, “I asked to go—begged really.”
Realization tickled along Mayten’s spine. “What do you mean ‘when you heard about the trip?’ We all heard about it at the same time, at the Leveling Ceremony.”
Cather’s gaze dropped again. It wasn’t in her friend to lie. Mayten pictured the night before the ceremony when she’d gone to visit and how Cather had dropped her gaze while they’d visited.
“Just when did you hear about the trip, Cather?” Mayten’s voice was tight with anger. Her best friend had known this was going to happen and she hadn’t said a word.
Cather glanced up, peering from under her bangs. Her words came out in a flood. “My mother told me about a week before the Leveling. She’d tended a clan elder who mentioned it. Mother knew that Tray would be called to go and she knew I’d want the option to go with him, which I did. So—I spoke with the clan leader and asked Solis to send me with him.”
Mayten felt . . . she wasn’t certain just what she felt.
Cather rushed on. “It was the scariest moment of my life, facing that woman alone . . . and then she wouldn’t give me an answer. She said I had to wait until the ceremony. I’m so sorry, Mayten . . . I didn’t know for sure . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Mayten felt like something heavy had dropped on her and she couldn’t get air into her lungs. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to, but Solis made me promise not to discuss it with anyone. She was furious that I knew about the trip at all and said that if I told anyone, there was no way I’d be going anywhere!”
Mayten tried to clear her mind, to think. If Cather had approached Solis, then was the clan leader’s speech—“these children grew up together and are a team”—a lie? Had Mayten been added at the last minute in an attempt to make this quest sound carefully planned?
Could she be