Glade and Ivory Ch. 13

"Thank the spirits of the canopy!" said Glade with relief. "But they'll be hunted down and killed. They've got to get a long way from here!"

"The Knights and some other villagers are running through the forest to gather by the great bark tree. We must get there too before the Mountain Warriors have the opportunity to get organised. Thankfully, they aren't as skilled as us in navigating through the woods."

Glade nodded. "I'd be wise to go now too. It is better that we flee singly and not in a group. To do so would just attract attention. Be careful who you talk to. Some villagers might be more eager to earn the favours of our..." Glade hesitated as she comprehended the implications of her own words, but she continued nevertheless. "...of our new masters, than to protect the Knights. I don't think everyone has forgiven them."

"Do you really think so?" asked Tree Shrew ingenuously.

"Don't tell everyone," Glade continued. "It may be the Knights they want to kill, but I don't think a person who obstructs the Mountain Warriors will be shown any more mercy than was shown Venerable."

Glade hastened into the shelter of the forest and glanced back only briefly at the village where she had lived for nearly a year. She was already remembering her days there with sadness: a life which only that morning seemed set to last forever. She knew well the great bark tree where she was to congregate as did any of her tribe who'd wandered the forest and were familiar with the trees of the forest that were most fruitful. None of the other tribes could have found their way through the dense foliage as easily as the Forest People. The Knights would make somewhat slower progress. She paused only to pluck fruits or scrabble for mushrooms to replenish her energy, but she had never before rushed through the thicket with such haste. Her fear was that she was being followed, or, if not her, someone else from her tribe who was following Tree Shrew's directions.

She caught up with Modesty and her child before she'd run half-way to her destination. There was no sign of Dignity and Macaque, but there were three Forest People and two other Knights in this company. These Knights were a couple, like Modesty and Venerable, who'd survived the revolution because they'd shown kindness towards their slaves, but they were younger and childless. Modesty was agitated and kept glancing back over her shoulder.

"Have you seen my husband?" she asked Glade as soon as she greeted them. "Is he coming from behind? I thought he might be with you."

Glade was tempted to lie. She could see Modesty's distress and didn't want to worsen it. But what could she say?

"He's dead," she said at last. "He was killed by the Queen's emissaries."

"You saw him being killed?"

Glade lied, but only to emphasise the futility of Modesty's concern. "Yes," she said. "But he died quickly. He is even now with the spirits of the river."

As she spoke, she envisaged not his death, which she described more as that of Flying Squirrel when her people first met the Knights, but the suffering he was no doubt still enduring as the Mountain Warriors interrogated him. Modesty would know as well as Glade that this would not be painless, but rather more like the torture the Knights once used to inflict on their slaves. He would already be welcoming the prospect of death.

Modesty collapsed into a wailing grief that startled the monkeys in the trees above them. They launched into a cacophony that reciprocated Modesty's misery.

"My husband was a good man!" she wailed. "He didn't deserve to die. Many Knights did, but not him. His happiest days were when he lived in the river village with you Forest People. Even before the revolution he loved your tribe. He said that, instead of being our slaves, you should be our mentors. Your peaceful ways and your tolerance were an inspiration to him. And now he is dead. Dead!"

The other two Knights, Fortitude and Mercy, were embarrassed by Modesty's outburst. The Knights had no tradition of expressing anything more than respectful comfort to the dead. They were too young, in any case, to know the right thing to say. Glade handed over the young child to the couple to take care of and showered Modesty with hugs and kisses that at last pacified her.

"We must hurry," she told Modesty. "The Mountain Warriors will be looking for us. You must think of your young son."

Modesty nodded. Tears had dampened her face as it had Glade's shoulder and bosom.

"At least we knew some happy days together," she said philosophically. "Perhaps my husband didn't die in vain. He showed that even though my tribe was cruel, we could also be capable of kindness and of living together in harmony with people from other tribes."