Tree Singer by Jacci Turner (best novels for beginners TXT) 📕

Anatolian kept pressed close to her side as they walked, calming her. He’d always been in tune with her feelings. She was grateful her mother had sent him on this quest. His presence had been a constant comfort to her.

“Have you given any thought as to why the trees are dying? Have you seen anything like this blight in your travels?” She kept her gaze on the trail, not sure she wanted to see the count’s expression. Light filtered through the trees, leaving dappled shadows on the ground as the forest thickened. Soft duff covered the ground, quieting their footsteps.

“I did come across a similar situation when I was in Caspia. That’s one reason I wanted to come along on this expedition, to see if it might be the same thing. We had quite a mystery on our hands there too. Turned out to be a bug so small it was invisible to the naked eye. The infestation decimated thousands of trees.”

Fear crawled up Mayten’s arms like thousands of angry ants. “If that’s true, then more than this forest is in trouble. The king sent shiploads of logs from affected trees to other ports.”

The count nodded. “So I heard. I was quite worried last night but didn’t want to cause undue alarm. Not until we had more information.”

“Stopping here,” yelled Adven, who had walked down into the canyon of old-growth redwood trees.

Why were they stopping so early? Mayten wondered. Adven usually drove them until they were exhausted. Was he being careful because the prince and the princess were along?

Or perhaps he’d noticed the count was having difficulty keeping up.

When she and Monroe arrived at the camp, Adven and the others were gathering firewood. Adven dropped a load of branches on the ground as they stepped into the clearing.

Count Monroe dropped his pack onto the ground, wheezing. Should she have offered to carry it for the older man? He did not look well.

Adven waved an arm at the trees. “Go do—whatever it is you do. That’s why we’re here, after all. But stay within shouting distance.”

Mayten waited, expecting to feel the sting of wounded pride. But Adven was right. That was her reason for being here.

She went off the trail into the woods, Anatolian by her side. The peace of the old-growth redwoods surrounded her as the duff beneath her feet thickened. The trees were giants. She craned her neck to try and see their tops but it was impossible. As she passed each one, she reached out to touch their soft furry bark and say hello. Rich green ferns contrasted with the rust red of the tree bark.

Anatolian darted in front of her and growled. Mayten froze as a man rounded a tree a few paces ahead. Rafe, the woodsman, slowed and kept his distance from the dog, glaring at her as he went by. He was a thin man with ropey muscles. He wore a large hunting knife on his belt on one side and a hatchet on the other. The look in his eyes said he’d rather kill her than talk to her.

“What’s his problem?” she whispered to Anatolian when the man was out of earshot. She stroked Anatolian’s head, grateful for the millionth time to have him by her side.

Rafe hadn’t been carrying an armload of wood and he hadn’t brought back a rabbit or other game. What on earth was he up to?

She let herself relax, reaching for that ancient connection with the gentle giants around her. Some of these trees had been around for centuries. Most were so wide she couldn’t get her arms around an eighth of their trunks and there were no low branches to swing up on.

Of course, she didn’t need to climb in order to listen, but she liked to be as close to a tree as possible.

She scouted around and found a burned-out hollow similar to the hollow she’d fallen asleep in following Hunter’s devastating encounter with the mountain lion. This tree dwarfed that tree, though. The hollow could have held a small family.

And she had it all to herself—almost. Mayten crawled into the hollow and Anatolian followed. Had the early island people once lived in here? The tree certainly seemed old enough.

She ran her hand over the smooth burn as her eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior. The only smell was that of damp soil. These trees were survivors, adapting to the harshest conditions, even fire.

She could learn something from that. They all could learn from the trees.

:Hello, Grandfather.:

:Hello, child.:

Surprised at the prompt response, Mayten said the first words that came to mind. :What pains you, Grandfather?:

Stupid, she snapped to herself. She should have asked a more specific question. This giant tree, unlike those trees that lived in more exposed areas, had shallow roots. That’s why the redwoods preferred canyons out of the wind. Their roots intertwined with other trees, keeping them standing for eons. The groves stood together as a family stood together.

This particular tree had likely been standing for several thousand years and was connected, in consciousness, through its root system, to hundreds of other trees.

Pictures, feelings, and impressions from the tree’s extensive history flooded her: strife among people the trees had loved, animals that had scarred their bark, beetle infestations, droughts, the birth of a fawn, a nest of hatching eggs . . . the memories took Mayten on emotional highs then crashed back to earth, reliving the devastating events of history.

Clan wars between the first inhabitants of the island.

The struggle for existence when outlanders came.

Memories a thousand years old, including the terrifying fire over five hundred years ago, flooded her mind and heart. The images kept pounding at her, over and over, until she could take no more . . .

The sound of Anatolian barking dragged her free of the tree’s memories. She was curled up like a newborn on the floor of the hollowed-out space, her face wet with tears. She crawled from the tree, touching the wood gently and sending what peace she could.

Someone stood in front