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Authors: Stephen Palmer
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his face. He looked back to see the leering face of Mehmatha. A boot had connected with his ankle.
“No more questions,” Raïtasha said. “Just watch where you are going.”
CHAPTER 4
Nuïy spent the next week assimilating and categorising his surroundings. Alone, he explored all the sectors that he was allowed to enter, including the Orchards to the east and north, and the open yards and autodog kennels of the south east. The western quarter was barred to initiates.
He slept in the dormitory with the other five. The group was split precisely in two, the quiet trio practising the occasional prank but on the whole keeping themselves to themselves, although they clearly disliked Nuïy. A tenuous alliance emerged between the sly and furtive Drowaïtash and Nuïy. Eletela tagged along; he ate like a horse and was rather stupid.
During the day the Leafmaster would see to their education, which he took in groups of ten, encompassing writing and learning, strenuous work with the shillelah that was the preferred weapon of the Green Man, and lessons in the dialect of Emeralddis. Nuïy came to realise that there were about fifty other initiates, some novices like himself, others a decade older and soon to be inducted into the tree itself, so to become a branch. These almost-clerics set themselves apart and lived ascetic lives. Nuïy admired them and tried to copy them.
He resisted all attempts to drag him into dormitory games and intrigues. The evening was free time, and he would either memorise clerical texts that he stole from the bedside tables of older initiates, returning them when finished, or he would sit by the south wall of the Drum Houses and listen to the echoes of drumbeats. Once he had identified a particular rhythm he was able to spot every mistake of the drummer, and many an evening he would grind his teeth or beat the ground in frustration at the sloppy work he heard. Precision was his fantasy. He lived in exact sequences of time. But as the week ended he realised that one drummer approached the same rhythmic perfection that he found so natural. He wondered who this man might be, and vowed to meet him.
One day, he and nine others were performing push-ups in snow covered yards by the autodog kennels when an old man appeared from between two initiate dormitories and approached the Leafmaster. Nuïy eyed the man as he pushed up and down. He was old, with a balding pate and a grizzled, unkempt beard, wearing a simple sea-green cloak and boots. He had a bit of a belly, but he looked fit. He spoke to Raïtasha, who in turn glanced at Nuïy. Then he nodded and gestured to Nuïy with one crooked finger.
Nuïy approached. Raïtasha indicated the old man and said, “Do you know who this is?”
“No.”
“This is Deomouvadaïn, the Recorder-Shaman of our Shrine. He wants to speak with you. Go with him. Then return here to yer class.”
Nuïy looked at Deomouvadaïn and said, “I trust I have done nothing ill in the eyes of the Green Man?”
The old man shook his head and began to walk back to the dormitory buildings. Nuïy followed. He led the way through the Drum and Tech Houses, past the west gate and into clerical accomodation, where the houses were tall and stern, with iron clad doors and shuttered windows. The grounds they were set in had been cleared of snow.
Deomouvadaïn stopped at a house, but then shook his head and led Nuïy around the back, where a garden of considerable extent lay. Nuïy noticed that all the snow had melted.
Clearing his throat, Deomouvadaïn said in a guttural voice, “What d’you make of this?”
“It is a large garden, very wet. It is filled to choking with herbs.”
“Yes. It’s mine. I work here. This is my house.”
Nuïy nodded.
Again Deomouvadaïn cleared his throat of phlegm, spitting it out to the ground. “I want you to answer some questions. Be truthful. Don’t exaggerate. Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“The Leafmaster’s mentioned yer virtues. He says
“No more questions,” Raïtasha said. “Just watch where you are going.”
CHAPTER 4
Nuïy spent the next week assimilating and categorising his surroundings. Alone, he explored all the sectors that he was allowed to enter, including the Orchards to the east and north, and the open yards and autodog kennels of the south east. The western quarter was barred to initiates.
He slept in the dormitory with the other five. The group was split precisely in two, the quiet trio practising the occasional prank but on the whole keeping themselves to themselves, although they clearly disliked Nuïy. A tenuous alliance emerged between the sly and furtive Drowaïtash and Nuïy. Eletela tagged along; he ate like a horse and was rather stupid.
During the day the Leafmaster would see to their education, which he took in groups of ten, encompassing writing and learning, strenuous work with the shillelah that was the preferred weapon of the Green Man, and lessons in the dialect of Emeralddis. Nuïy came to realise that there were about fifty other initiates, some novices like himself, others a decade older and soon to be inducted into the tree itself, so to become a branch. These almost-clerics set themselves apart and lived ascetic lives. Nuïy admired them and tried to copy them.
He resisted all attempts to drag him into dormitory games and intrigues. The evening was free time, and he would either memorise clerical texts that he stole from the bedside tables of older initiates, returning them when finished, or he would sit by the south wall of the Drum Houses and listen to the echoes of drumbeats. Once he had identified a particular rhythm he was able to spot every mistake of the drummer, and many an evening he would grind his teeth or beat the ground in frustration at the sloppy work he heard. Precision was his fantasy. He lived in exact sequences of time. But as the week ended he realised that one drummer approached the same rhythmic perfection that he found so natural. He wondered who this man might be, and vowed to meet him.
One day, he and nine others were performing push-ups in snow covered yards by the autodog kennels when an old man appeared from between two initiate dormitories and approached the Leafmaster. Nuïy eyed the man as he pushed up and down. He was old, with a balding pate and a grizzled, unkempt beard, wearing a simple sea-green cloak and boots. He had a bit of a belly, but he looked fit. He spoke to Raïtasha, who in turn glanced at Nuïy. Then he nodded and gestured to Nuïy with one crooked finger.
Nuïy approached. Raïtasha indicated the old man and said, “Do you know who this is?”
“No.”
“This is Deomouvadaïn, the Recorder-Shaman of our Shrine. He wants to speak with you. Go with him. Then return here to yer class.”
Nuïy looked at Deomouvadaïn and said, “I trust I have done nothing ill in the eyes of the Green Man?”
The old man shook his head and began to walk back to the dormitory buildings. Nuïy followed. He led the way through the Drum and Tech Houses, past the west gate and into clerical accomodation, where the houses were tall and stern, with iron clad doors and shuttered windows. The grounds they were set in had been cleared of snow.
Deomouvadaïn stopped at a house, but then shook his head and led Nuïy around the back, where a garden of considerable extent lay. Nuïy noticed that all the snow had melted.
Clearing his throat, Deomouvadaïn said in a guttural voice, “What d’you make of this?”
“It is a large garden, very wet. It is filled to choking with herbs.”
“Yes. It’s mine. I work here. This is my house.”
Nuïy nodded.
Again Deomouvadaïn cleared his throat of phlegm, spitting it out to the ground. “I want you to answer some questions. Be truthful. Don’t exaggerate. Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“The Leafmaster’s mentioned yer virtues. He says
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