Tree Singer

completing the circle.
Her oldest brother Oleaster was the mirror image of her father and like her da was happiest with his hands in the dirt. Where her father sang their flowers, though, her brother sang their food.
She also had two older sisters—twins—who had married men from the Ocean Clan and had gone to live by the sea. She thought of the twins this time each night. She also thought about the two siblings who had died during that awful winter when fever swept through the clan.
Her da raised his arms, and the family joined him. He looked around at each of them, seeming to drink in each face with such love it made Mayten’s heart hurt.
Had his gaze lingered overlong on her face?
It was hard to tell in the lamplight, but she thought his eyes glistened more than usual. He had to clear his throat before speaking the sacred words.
“Our feet are planted in the earth from which we came. Our hands reach to the stars which give us hope. We thank You for all that we have. We trust You for all we have lost.” His voice broke, as it did every night. Her da still hurt over the loss of his children and desperately missed his older daughters. Perhaps he was just missing them more tonight. “For everything and everyone between the stars and the earth we give thanks to you, Great Singer.”
“We give thanks, Great Singer,” Mayten echoed with the rest of her family. She never tired of her da’s warm voice.
They lowered their hands, each member going his or her way. Mayten kissed the top of Wollemi’s head as Mother came to get him. He squeezed her hand extra hard.
“Tonight,” he whispered, “when I sing to my stars, I’ll sing for you to be a tree singer!”
She chuckled and kissed him again. What did Wollemi see in the stars? They were beautiful, of course, but he seemed to have the same kind of relationship with stars she had with trees. He’d probably be a star singer, she realized. One of the rare people called to study and understand the stars and the signs and portents they held. A star singer was more unique than a story singer.
She whispered her thanks as her mother pulled him away. “Mother, can we talk . . . ?”
“Not now,” her mother snapped as she ushered the smallest ones off to bed.
Stung by her mother’s words, Mayten stood rooted in place, the hurt from her mother’s rejection staking her to the ground like one of Oleaster’s unruly vines.
Taiwania had no trouble moving and neither did Oleaster. Taiwania hurried back into the house as Oleaster grabbed a lantern and headed toward the village. He was seeing a girl, someone he hoped to join with at the next three-clan gathering.
Moths circled the lanterns dangling from the eaves and crickets sang somewhere in the dark but Mayten paid them no heed. She’d done something wrong, though she had no idea what. Something so horrible her mother—
A warm hand fell on Mayten’s shoulder and she glanced up to find Da smiling down at her.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
She studied Da’s kind face, the deep smile lines around his eyes and mouth made deeper by the shadows.
“I guess I’m a little nervous about having to stand up in front of the whole clan,” she finally said. “But Tray and Cather will be with me. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“You’re not worried about your calling?”
“No, why should I be? I was born to be a tree singer.” At least she could be sure of that. Some people even said that she was the strongest singer in the clan, maybe even stronger than her mother . . . if she ever learned to stop daydreaming.
“All callings are equally important to the life of the clan,” said her da, quoting the start of each Leveling Ceremony.
Mayten smiled even though she doubted his words. Everyone knew that questers, travelers, and clan story singers, like Taiwania, were valued above the rest.
Mayten decided she needed a walk. She had to see her best friend. “Da, can I go see Cather? Just for a little while?”
“Tomorrow you’ll be making your own choices, so I guess I best get used to letting you go,” he said in a tight voice. “I don’t know when you grew up. It happened so fast.” He kissed her forehead. “Take a lantern with you . . . and take Anatolian . . . and be back before bells.”
She laughed and hugged him tight. Before he could change his mind, she snatched a nearby lantern from its hook and hurried toward the village, whistling for Anatolian as she ran.

Chapter Three
The enormous dog bounded toward her, his tan-and-white chest heaving as he ran. Mayten laughed as the dog arched around behind her and barked at her heels.
“Hey, I invited you, silly,” she scolded. “No need to push.”
The dirt path leading to the clan center flew beneath her feet. Mayten loved to run in the dark. The lantern swung as she ran, illuminating the well-worn path with swaying light. She didn’t really need a light. She’d been tromping this path barefoot since she could walk and knew every tree root and slippery place along the way.
The dog seemed delighted in the late outing, sniffing trees and plants along the way. Every other tree or so he stopped to make his mark, then raced to catch up.
The smells changed as Mayten drew closer to the village. Damp forest smells were replaced by the tang of cut lumber and the odor of people living close together. She didn’t like the smell, preferring the scent of growing things to those of the village.
Though she knew it was coming, the feel of cool stone beneath her feet shocked Mayten. She slowed to be sure of her footing, listening to the quiet sounds of clansfolk settling in for the night. She preferred the quiet of the village at night when the regular noises of sawing and building—typical for a clan of boatwrights and