Wenaiah

Dumana skulked furtively beneath the ornate bowers of tula trees and vibrant pergolas of yawana and fliir. The ancient forest of Bellakura was a place of legend, held in awe throughout the land for its myriad species and vistas of beauty both poignant and surreal. At another time, she would have marvelled at the strands of light that streamed through the forest roof, tinged with hues of magenta and celeste by the leafy canopies, sparkling like mountain streams as glitterflies dashed amid them. Some other time, she might dance and lay at ease among the verdant arbours, and swim in the limpid pools in the Garden of the Gods.

But this was no time for sightseeing.

Many from her party had already disappeared – abducted by some invisible force and no doubt murdered in some lightless corner of the woods. Now Dumana edged cautiously through the thick undergrowth, desperately seeking egress from Bellakura, and above all trying not to be espied by whatever evil had decimated her fellowship.

Keeping as close as possible to the surrounding trees, Dumana sidled through the glade with her back to their trunks, glancing nervously up, right, to the left, so as not to miss the slightest flicker of unexpected movement. Her heart pounded, and she fancied that it could be heard above even the twitter and jibber of the forest fauna, and rustling of the vegetation.

She rested a moment against the trunk of a thick, treelike plant with five green spiralled stems which delved into the ground as roots. They stood, arced as if straddling some unseen obstacle, forming a small tent-like space beneath the plant. Dumana mused that hiding therein would not help her escape from Bellakura. Its canopy was of several crimson leaves the size of floor-rugs, with pale green edges upturned to retain and channel rainfall. In the centre posed a great fleshy flower, lurid pink in colour, which pulsated slowly and heavily as the plant breathed in the forest air. This was the waranna, known – but not to Dumana – as the Sentinel of Wurla, the God of the earth.

A small, brightly-coloured scaly rodent scurried past her, leaping as it went, trying to catch glitterflies in its tiny jaws. Startled by this sudden activity, Dumana stumbled backwards and fell through the gap between the waranna stem-roots, ending up flat on her back inside the shaded enclosure. Having lain deathly still for a few moments, listening for any sign that her fall may have attracted unwanted attention, she brought herself up to her knees, brushed off her simple furskin garb and laughed to herself in silence. The rodent leapt, caught a glitterfly in mid-air, and then scuttled off into the woods with a wheezy giggle of satisfaction.

The Gunungi were not given to jocularity, much less in times of danger, yet Dumana had always been somewhat estranged from her fellows. A keen and fierce huntswoman, she was respected more by the Chieftains than by her peers, who found her dreamy and airy, given to fantasy and far too much of an aesthete. Thus it was that Dumana had been sent – along with three score others – to reap the fruits of Bellakura for the Chieftains’ whim. The party had set out ten days hither, from their homeland of Gununga, to the forest of Bellakura at the foot of the GunungiMountains. Their charge was simple: to enter Bellakura - known by others as the Garden of the Gods – to hunt and entrap the singular species therein, and return them to the Chieftains as viands for their delight, trophies for their chambers.

Viewed from the soaring heights of Gununga, Bellakura was a mere patch of radiant green, dotted and speckled with tiny points of colour. By day, the changes in weather all across the land could be observed from Gununga, but Bellakura wore the eternal golden halo of a sun that never ceased to bathe her.

Dumana had always wondered at this place of such apparent beauty, and as a child would sit for hours on the northeastern foothills of Gununga, casting her imagination deep within the woods and living out all kinds of fantastic daydreams therein. Dumana was lithe and agile, slim yet strong, and easily surmounted the tests of skill and huntsmanship set for her by her elders. While other children underwent additional training, she would steal off to gaze at the distant aura that to all but the Gunungi was Bellakura. Her whimfulness had not gone unchastised, and she had suffered many beatings at the hands of her elders; the mountains were a perilous place, fraught with precipitous chasms and vicious beasts - no place for a lone child to be wandering unattended. Yet for all her dreaminess, Dumana was ever alert, her bright eyes ever vigilant, her ears and senses keen. Many times had she outwitted the mountain cats and other cunning creatures of her homeland, and had returned home unscathed and often with a prize for home or hearth. But still the beatings. The Gunungi were harsh and ruthless with both quarry and kin; and rightly so, for their livelihood depended upon their ability to survive many hardships and dangers, and such distractions could spell her demise. But the Chieftains had become greedy and capricious, and lusted after new tastes and trophies. And so the expedition to the forest at the foot of Gununga.

Dumana had rejoiced at the chance to set foot in that place of her dreams, to live out her ultimate fantasy. But now, lost deep within the verdant woodlands of Bellakura, she was at a loss. Was this very place, which had fascinated and enticed her as far back as she could remember, to be her doom? The strange and wonderful new surroundings enchanted, yet engulfed her. The myriad-coloured cupola dazzled and dizzied her, left her bewildered and disorientated. The incessant peeps and warbles of the wildlife both lulled her and set her nerves on edge; her years of training would serve for nothing here. And all the while the intangible feeling that she was being observed.

Ever since she and her company had entered the forest at dawn that day, she had had that feeling of being watched - the eerie sensation that some nameless entity knew that they were there, and that it did not approve of their presence. And now, mere hours later, her companions had all but vanished. Tamika - her lifelong friend - and Rorlin, Zein and A’M’ath, had been two steps behind her at one moment – the next they had vanished without trace. Did the very forest have a will of its own? Had it taken back what they had reaped from it, like for like? Throughout the morning, several other groups had suffered the same fate, and now Dumana knelt in solitude beneath the great waranna flower, and winced with grief.

A sudden movement some way off to her left made her start, and she clutched at one of the stem-roots, crouching and peering out to see what stirred beyond. A rustle of leaves, a hurried shuffling sound, and into view came three of her comrades – Wara, Zemel and Keyn. They were rushing confusedly through the undergrowth, frantically looking behind them as if pursued by some fearsome predator. She tried to call out to them, but before she could utter a sound, the huge bulb-like mass of the waranna flower heaved above her, drawing in a mighty breath, and let forth a horrific whooping sound that resounded across the forest like a siren-horn on high. The Sentinel of Wurla had spoken. The hapless three stumbled past, mere inches from Dumana as she watched, helpless, and in the blinking of an eye were gone. From just beneath the leafy surface of the forest floor came a net of fine thread - barely visible to the naked eye - which whisked them up, up towards the roof of the forest at breakneck speed; muffled gasps, and a brief flurry of sibilant noise from far above, and seconds later all was over bar a shower of many-coloured leaves which wafted back down to the ground from whence they had come. For what seemed like an eternity, Dumana held still, glancing nervously upwards and around. She had not realised that the forest had become momentarily silent, but now the hums and warbles resumed; the breeze once again brushed the gilded fronds, the glitterflies went about their business.

So there was more to this place than met the eye. Something - but more likely someone - was indeed watching them, and had laid fiendish traps for them throughout the wood. The hunters had become the hunted, and had been far outwitted at their own game. How could they have been so foolish? And how had she gone as yet unscathed? Indeed, she had spent the last two hours sidling cautiously against the trunks of trees and larger plants, where these nets could not logically be laid, but earlier in the morning she had been striding boldly with her comrades through the glades and clearings, searching for game. Why had she been spared? In truth, she had not lifted bow nor blade against any of the woodland creatures, having been mesmerised by the beauty of the julula bird, with its indigo plumage and red dorsal antenna which when at rest gave it the appearance of a splendid painted lily (it was in fact part flora, part fauna.) She had stayed her hand when confronted with the graceful slinking form of the catlike halabeena, with its golden leathery hide and dark, almost human eyes. Could the watchers in the woods have shown her mercy for this reason? It was not mercy that had stayed her hand but awe, bewilderment and fascination. Given time to become accustomed to these new environs, Dumana could have slain their occupants more deftly than any other. But alas, she had not been granted such boon.

She spun swiftly round as a waft of warm air brushed her nape. Her knife swung up from her hilt, and in a flash was poised at a hair’s breadth from the intruder’s neck. In the same instant, she felt the pressure of two sharp points nudging at her back, and knew that her assailants had the upper hand. She relaxed her stance in defeat, threw her blade to the ground. Before her stood a most curious character. Olive-skinned, of middling stature; legs shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, torso turned slightly to one side, head coyly cocked to the other. And adorning the slight, fay-like visage, the most unbefittingly huge grin that Dumana had ever seen.

“Ho! mountain lady!” exclaimed the personage with a comically gallant flick of his oily black tresses. “Forgive my intruse, but rarely do we make host to comers from beyond!" His tone was strangely flippant and high-pitched, yet sincere in overall effect. Dumana could not help but feel somewhat bemused by his whimsical positure and singular manner of speech. And that broad, beaming smile; those eyes so dark, so very bright – surely they could mean her no harm? The strong, sinewy physique was that of one adept in the arts of stealth and combat – and he had indeed approached Dumana boldly yet undetected – yet she felt somehow at ease, unthreatened by his presence.

“Fellows!” He beamed. “Home your jousts, unmenace the mountain lady!” At once the pressure softened at her back, and she turned to see two other young men of similar aspect - spears butt-end to the ground in one hand, the other perched theatrically at the hip. Through the gaps between the waranna roots, she could see that each wore the same dazzling grin of their comrade. Dumana could not help but laugh aloud, but checked her outburst to avoid offending her captors. Though moments earlier she had been stifled with apprehension, she now felt strangely at ease.

“Long have we scrutined you from on high, mountain lady!” Said the first. “You and the other comers from the mounts of beyond."

“What has become of them?” Demanded Dumana, suddenly remembering that these must be the culprits of her comrades’ fate. “Who are you, and what have you done with my fellows?” Her fists clenched, her eyes darted for her blade. The man before her remained still, his wide smile held in place.

"Quiet, mountain lady. Clasp not ire nor arm! Your fellows have been rised to the lofts of Bellakura, and soon will be downed to Her soil. They have travested Her, and thus must plenish Her anew.”

“What do you mean, plenish Her anew?" Cried Dumana indignantly. "What have you done with them? Are they dead? Tell me at once, or I shall slit you where you stand!”

A chorus of spirited laughter from all before and behind her left her off-set and confused. “The mountain lady does feist and fume!" They laughed. "And even now, pent and three-to-one, does she threat and warn!” Again they laughed.

“You may mock me, forest dwellers, but I am Dumana A'M'tui, huntress of Gununga, and I could slay you like crag-rats with my bare hands!"

“Verily, that may be," chortled the first, "just as you slayed the julula, the halabeena, the lyfa and the kiu? Our fate is to be that of the gurgamota, or that of the scented waif? Ha-ha! Then so it be! The mountain lady shall gaze us and awe, and homewards shall we wend unmenaced!" All three of the forest people chuckled heartily. “No, mountain lady, you shall slaught us not, as you have frained to slaught our wards. Mazed by their beauties, you did home your arms.”

“They posed me no threat," retorted Dumana, cautious to occlude all hint of acquiescence. "But you have beset me as a beast, and I shall fight you as such! Hah!” She struck as menacing a pose as she could muster, but her lack of conviction was all too evident; her hosts’ impregnable jocularity had at last whittled down her fiery determination to frustration and childlike chagrin.

“Cease your feist and fume, mountain lady.” Said the first, calmly and with more warmth than irony. “Do not disgrunt. We are the Koppi, the tree-people; I am Wendu, and this is our home. While guesting here, you shall be unthreatened; rest easy and enjoy. Come!” He hopped out of the shady enclosure of the waranna stems, and beckoned her to follow suit. She did so, and as she blinked in the pervading streams of sunlight, the three Koppi applauded and stamped their feet in approval. Now, in the scintillant light of the glade, Wendu beheld Dumana and himself was a moment awed, for she was beautiful indeed; her lean physique, her golden-hazel eyes and finely-chiselled features, and although visibly accustomed to life in the harsh conditions of Gununga, this gave her a boyish, rugged appeal.

“Come!” Repeated Wendu, and all three grabbed vines hanging from nearby trees, wrapped them tight around their forearms. Wendu motioned for Dumana to do likewise, and at his gesture all four were hoisted high into the treetops and above the very canopies. Up, up, and Dumana shrieked with fright and hung on for dear life. In seconds they were standing on a wooden platform overlooking the glade from whence they came, but so far above it that it could barely be discerned through the gently swaying foliage just below. Dumana heaved a sigh of relief and tentatively released the vine, looking anxiously around and down, ensured her footing was safe. The Koppi clapped again in delight.

“Welcome to our tree-town, mountain lady!" Said Wendu, beaming. “From here we scrutine and vigil Bellakura fair.” Looking around her to all sides, Dumana could see dozens of similar ledges attached to the sides of the trees, each with vine ladders leading up to further platforms joined to boardwalks, catwalks and gangways, in turn interconnected by vine bridges spanning many yards, and on to still more piers, scaffolds and balustrades as far as the eye could see. Dotted around at irregular intervals were squat, turret-shaped huts with reed-thatched roofs, a mere five or six feet in width and height.

This was the tree-town of the Koppi, the watchers of Bellakura. Centuries earlier, when the world was young, a throng of pilgrims had come to Bellakura to seek out the last vestiges of the Gods in the World. The peregrines had settled in the Garden of the Gods, and sworn to protect what they believed to be one vast living entity - the very embodiment of Bellakura, “The Gardener”, the Goddess of Nature. So long had they dwelt there, so far-removed were they from their former kin, that while other races of the World had progressed and established more advanced lifestyles and semantics, the tree-people of Bellakura lived and spoke as they had done since ere they first set foot in her verdant bounds. Candid, almost childlike in nature, the Koppi knew only of the forests – oblivious to all that erred abroad – and were fiercely protective of the living Goddess with whom they were one.

“You expect explications!” Said Wendu softly. “Follow!” And he flitted across one of the rope bridges, hopped onto the platform at the other end and stood beckoning. Gingerly, Dumana stepped onto the bridge and teetered a moment unsure. But she was nimble and fleet of foot, and it was not long before she was making her way across to the other side, with only the merest hint of quaver. Wendu climbed a ladder leading upwards to the top of a tree much taller than those around it, and into a small thatched structure like the huts below. Having followed him up, Dumana could now see – through openings around the structure - the entire forest laid out around her; vast, sprawling and beautiful, the brilliant crowns of emerald, aquamarine and jade, dotted with topaz, cyan and a thousand other tones of colours – some familiar, others bizarre. Above the tops of the trees, at a similar height to that of this turret, could be seen hundreds of other constructions of like appearance.

Countless times had Dumana gazed upon this place from afar, and now in its very midst she found herself entranced, dumbfounded and mazed. “Now you see, mountain lady, why we must deavour to keep Her safe and salved." Wendu's tone was calm and serene. “She is great and kind, and vigils us as we vigil her. Her fruits aplenty, but not without bound. Balance is the key – the laws unwrote - take and give, don and doff. Many cycles the stars have gyred, many comers been and wentendu climbed a ladderrt hint oder way across to the other side, with only the merest hint od, and the Koppi have ever tained the balance. Those who spect the laws unwrote are not scathed, but those who turb Her balance must plenish her anew. To this end, your fellow-comers, for they did turb and scathe Bellakura and Her childs.”

Dumana shook her head in disbelief. “So you killed my kinsfolk for taking from the forest? That is not balance, it is vengeance! I demand you tell me what you have done with them!” At that moment, another of the Koppi pulled himself up into the turret, and moved towards the outlook. Dumana now saw that she was female, and was carrying a thin pipe some two feet long. Dumana also became aware that in the neighbouring turrets, others had assumed similar positions. Suddenly, a faint whooshing sound could be heard coming from below, rapidly coming closer. Simultaneously, the Koppi raised their pipes to their lips, and poised as if aiming them as weapons. To her dismay, moments later Dumana saw before her a net like that which had ensnared her fellows, and within it struggled frantically four more of her misfortunate kin. Among them was Helek, her cousin. Dumana let out a stifled cry, “No!” but it was too late; a brief flurry of sibilant noise, and all were still.

“Helek!” she screamed, and her hand went to her scabbard, but the knife was not there.

“Fret not," said Wendu, “for they are at rest and unscathed. Your other fellows were venomed and have ceased, but these do not share the same end. They are merely drowsed, and when they are waked, they will oblive these last moments.”

“Then what will be of them?” Cried Dumana, fighting back tears of woe and rage. “And what of the others? Venomed and ceased! You have murdered them, and now you have even more wicked plans in store for these four! One of them is of my very blood!” Desperation and mazed frustration tugged at Dumana’s heart and at her voice; she knew that aggression was futile, and yet her ire compelled her to act. At the same time she felt strangely disinclined to avenge her departed kinsmen, as if the whole situation had a meaning, and that bitter as it might be, this was how it had to be.

“You must understand,” said Wendu fervently, and gently touched Dumana’s shoulder. She turned and looked him in the eye for the first time since they had left the forest floor. His dark eyes still gleamed with seemingly inherent benevolence, but in place of that perpetual grin was an expression of the purest sincerity and love. “You have scried the beauties of our home – we have noted your awe and maze and loathness to take up arms, and I note in you a feeling still deeper than regret – that of love. Is it not true that you ail and quaver at the thought of Bellakura’s decline? Should you not be merrier in Her vigil than in Her slaught?” As he spoke, the netted captives were slowly lowered down to the forest floor. "They will return to the mounts of beyond with tales of their loss, and all shall hark and heed and tread no more these bounds.”

True it was indeed – these brief hours within Bellakura, though fraught with angst and peril, had seemed to quench in her an unheeded thirst – an innate longing to be as one with her world - to be cherished and nourished, and in turn to cherish and nourish and offer up her very being to this oneness. She had indeed felt loathness to cull the creatures before her, and had subconsciously begun to question whether such acts were not a travesty rather than a right.

Reflecting now upon all that had occurred, and the firm yet serene words of Wendu, Dumana became absorbed in thought. Gununga seemed somehow vague in her mind, somehow foggy. All her life she had unquestioningly played out her role in Gunungi society, and for what? What meaning had that life? She remembered her hours of solace on the foothills, gazing across at Bellakura; her waking reveries in which she wandered and marvelled at she knew not even what; the call of her kin; the beatings... Was there not a higher meaning to her existence? To all existence?

As her vision cleared Wendu stood before her, solemn yet serene, smiling warmly. From way below she heard the scampering of many feet and voices as if in distress. Helek and his fellows parted for the hills and looked not back to the forest. The Gunungi never again set foot in Bellakura, believing it cursed and tainted with unseen witchery. Dumana was at last resolved. The expectant yet confident gaze of Wendu’s met hers and she smiled, though she blinked back a tear from her eye.

“Come, sister." Said Wendu, holding out his hand. "Be welcome among us. Behold your new home!" And together they descended the vine ladder to the tree-city below.



In the weeks and months to follow, Wendu would verse Dumana in the ways of the Koppi and the laws of Bellakura. Many hours they spent together each day, and great love grew between them; though flourish or bloom it did not, for although Wendu was not altogether uncomely, Dumana had found her true love, and harboured no desire for another.
Wenaiah she was called by her new kin, which was “lithe from afar" and she was loved by them as an equal - no more and no less, neither shunned nor revered.

And so Wenaiah lived out her days – and they were long – in the garden of her dreams, the Garden of the Gods. Her stealth and dexterity stood her in great stead as she put them to use now not as a means to kill, but to protect and nurture the halabeena, the waranna, the hooj, the thruspid and the scented waif. Rejoice she did as she wandered freely among the tula trees, and swam in limpid pools ‘neath vibrant pergolas of yawana and fliir.