Fortissima Read online

  Fortissima

  The Woman King Book 1

  Sara Kingsley

  Blue Fern Books

  Copyright © 2017 by Sara Kingsley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Blue Fern Books

  PO Box 54198

  Mana 5247

  New Zealand

  ISBN: 978-0-473-40089-7 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-0-473-40090-3 (epub)

  ISBN: 978-0-473-40091-0 (kindle)

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the

  National Library of New Zealand

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  For my soulmate, M.

  Preface

  I knew you were a girl when you first stretched your tiny wings.

  I had so hoped you were a boy.

  You might have lived, then.

  I told no one about you.

  We were deep underground when you first arrived into the world. It was only me and Lilith—who’d guessed on her own—and that midwife whom I deeply regret. And then you: with your bright and alive ice blue eyes.

  You didn’t make a sound. Right from the start you understood the importance of silence. I held you in my arms for just an instant. It was long enough to memorize your face, and for you to remember mine. And then you were gone, whisked away into the night as we’d planned.

  The girl who should have been King.

  Chapter 1

  When I hear the song of the redbird outside my window I know I’m not going to make it.

  Or maybe I can. If I hurry.

  I jump out of bed and swing out my window, legs first. I’ve got to move fast if I’m going to beat Tui to the other side of the treevillage. Pushing leafy branches aside, I make my way to the first swing crossing in the pre-dawn light. I hurry across it in my bare feet, holding on lightly to the flaxen rope railings so it barely teeters. I’ve walked across this bridge to our treehome thousands of times and can easily do it with my eyes closed.

  Passing the next treehome, I tiptoe as quietly as I can. If I wake Mr. Bright at this early hour he won’t take kindly to it. Mr. Bright’s crossing is rougher than ours. There’s nothing to hold on to, and I have to balance carefully on the narrow swingway strung between his tree and the Evergreen family’s home next door.

  I keep my eyes straight ahead and watch the other side coming closer. I don’t look down, but if I did, I wouldn’t be able to see the ground. It’s at least a hundred feet below, with only more tree branches between it and me.

  I’d been taught from when I was small that falling was not an option. That falling out of the treetops meant you were a goner. Now I know if I fell, I’d just grab onto the flaxen bridge or the next branch and swing my way back up to a platform. That’s the next thing they teach you. By the time I was three, falling was something we did for fun. It’s a lot more fun if mums aren’t around to see how far we fall before we grab on and climb back up into the treetops.

  But I have no time for swinging this morning, and soon I’m on the other side of Mr. Bright’s swingway. I silently make my way among the still-sleeping treehomes and can tell that the sun is getting closer and closer to the horizon. The bits of sky I can see through the branches above are turning baby pink. Birds are chattering and fluttering in excitement all around me. A bluetail sits for a moment on my shoulder. But then he decides I’m going too slow and flies up to the top of the tree.

  I only have a few more trees to go. Maybe I will make it before sunrise after all.

  Finally I reach her, the tallest and strongest and oldest of all the trees that make up our village of Baldachin. Mama Bodhi. I give her a little good-morning bow and quickly scamper up the rope ladder hanging slack from her highest branches.

  On my way up a giggle tumbles down to my ears.

  “Beat ya!” Tui’s triumphant voice calls down.

  Dammit! He’s gotten here before me after all. When my head finally pokes out of the top of Mama Bodhi’s leafy hood I’m relieved to see that even though Tui has arrived first, the dawn is still to come.

  “I overslept,” I explain to my friend, trying to hide my smile. “Older people need more sleep, you know!”

  “You’re only older than me by a month, Raven.” Tui looks sideways at me, his wild black hair sticking up all over the place. He’s trying to keep a straight face, stern-like, but I can tell he’s struggling. Besides, his eyes are smiling, as always.

  “Well, that’s certainly true. But I’m nearly thirteen. I hear when you’re thirteen, you need more sleep.”

  Tui raises his eyebrows. I won’t be thirteen for another six months, but he doesn’t argue. He grins as he looks away from me, toward the east. The sky is growing lighter by the second. I clear my own messy hair from my face, throwing it over my shoulder, and settle down next to him in a little curved seat of a branch, ready to watch the show. My favorite. I’m just in time after all.

  Perched at the top of Mama Bodhi we can see around us for miles and miles. The tops of the trees spread out like a vast, wavy emerald sea. The twittering of birds everywhere grows louder and louder, an orchestra tuned to the brightening sky. The colors this morning are marvelous: fluffy white clouds appear against the pinkening horizon. From the east an orangey glow creeps up from where we know the sun is hiding, like a stage actor waiting behind the curtain. Suddenly the bottoms of the white clouds are lit on fire and the golden glow spreads slowly across the sky, all the way to the west where the sun set last night. We watch the first tiny bit of sun peek over the distant treetops. Dawn has arrived.

  I look over at Tui. He is gazing up at the sky, a goofy grin on his face.

  There’s a noise a bit like a tiny bearcat growl. It’s coming from Tui’s stomach. We both burst into laughter. “Breakfast time?” I ask.

  “I guess so!” Tui pats his stomach. “Your tree?”

  “Beat you there!” I flash him a grin before I leap toward the flaxen ladder and scurry back down Mama Bodhi as fast as I can. Tui skips the ladder and swings down smoothly from branch to branch. He’s not quick enough this time. I’m the first to set my feet back on the platform below and am instantly off running along the maze that makes up our village in the treetops.

  Nearly everyone is awake and the daily bustle of activity has begun. We don’t have to worry about waking anyone up now, and our laughter echoes in the treetops. The sounds of morning reach my ears as we race past treehomes: babies crying for their milk, pots and pans rattling, conversations, the sound of a flute. As I pass windows there are calls of “Good morning, Raven!” and I respond with a quick wave and a smile.

  My stomach lets out a huge growl of its own in response to the delicious breakfast smells of eggs, toast, ham, potatoes frying. There’s a hint of wood smoke coming from each warm home, although most disappears out through the treetops via tall chimneys, for obvious reasons.

  Finally, after a few quick leaps across his narrow bridge, I pass Mr. Bright in his rocking chair in front of his treehome, one hand on his tobacco pipe and the other wrapped around a large mug of coffee. “Morning, Raven,” he sleepily murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes twinkle with a smile. “How was the sunrise this morning?” Mr. Bright always likes to hear about the early morning, as our night-owl neighbor rarely sees it for himself.

  “Best one yet!” I report.

  He winks at me, with a full smile this time.

  Seconds later, Tui catches up behind me.

  “Beat ya!” I tease.

  “I tripped,” he mutters.

&nbs
p; “Sure you did. I’ll slow down for you next time.”

  “You’d better enjoy your victory today. That’s the last time you’ll beat me.” I can tell he’s only half serious. He’s won our races plenty of times, but he knows I’m a formidable opponent. “Congratulations, anyway. Now, where’s your mum? I’m starving!”

  We leap across the final swingway to my treehome, toward the smell of Mum’s cooking. We duck through the small doorway, its curtain tied to the side to let in the morning light.

  Mum pauses in her cooking and laughs at the sight of us, already disheveled and sweaty at this still-early hour.

  “Good morning, early birds! Hungry?” she asks.

  Tui and I nod eagerly.

  “Grab a plate and fill it up. There’s potatoes, bacon, and corncake over there. Plenty of fruit salad too.”

  We’re already piling our plates high with Mum’s delicious cooking, and we devour everything in minutes.

  “Can I have seconds, please?” I ask.

  “Of course you can. Help yourself.”

  I jump up and grab another helping of potatoes and fruit salad. This is the best time of year for fruit salad, early summer. The trees and gardens around our village are overflowing with strawberries, apricots, cherries … you name it. Mum has sprinkled some fresh sugarnuts along with the fruit too. So delicious. I make sure to save some for lunch.

  “How about you, Tui. Would you like more of anything?” Mum is never happy unless we leave the table stuffed.

  “No thank you, Mrs. Aegis.” Tui sits back and pats his stomach. “I’m good. If I eat any more, I’ll have to take a nap.”

  Mum laughs at that. Tui’s infamous for napping in the trees when he’s supposed to be at school, or helping his parents with orchard work, or watching his younger brothers and sisters. “No, we wouldn’t want that. What have you two got planned for today? Wait, let me guess—fishing?”

  “You bet,” I tell her. Tui and I both look at the wooden clock on the wall.

  “We’d better get going,” he says. “Wait too long and the fish won’t be running again till evening.” We jump up, quickly piling our dishes alongside the other dirty plates and bowls on the counter. I stand looking at them, feeling guilty.

  Mum shoos us away, telling us not to worry about cleaning up, saying she’d rather we caught some good fish for dinner so it’s not lentils again.

  I grab my pack with my fishing gear in it. Tui and I shimmer down the trunk of my treehome and then we’re on the ground. The soft, grassy, mossy, dirty earth. I love it down here too, and can’t help but have a bit of a roll around in the grass.

  Tui tugs at my hand. “Come on, Raven, the fish!” he says in exasperation.

  I reluctantly get up, leaves falling from my long black hair, and I set off with him toward the river that runs close to the perimeter of our treevillage.

  The bright green grassy meadow along the river is exploding in purple and yellow flowers. I want to stop here and roll in these too, but Tui keeps pulling me along.

  The fish have been running strong this week. After an hour at the river, there’s already a small pile beside us. We lay back on the grassy bank in the sun, talking idly. I love these mornings with Tui, now that school’s out for the summer.

  We’re about to stop for the day when there’s a tug on my line. If I can haul this one in, it will be my fourth fish today. I slowly begin reeling in the line, careful to keep the tension on. As the fish gets closer it leaps out of the water and I see a flash of gold. It’s a golden harp, and it’s a big one! I know exactly who I’m going to give a piece of this delicious fish to.

  But the harp is fighting hard. I yell out to Tui to help and instantly he’s at my side, leather catching gloves on. I reel the fish closer to the shore and Tui wades in up to his knees. He grabs the line with one hand and tosses a net over the thrashing fish with the other. It takes both of us to haul the fish onto the grass. Tui holds it as steady as he can.

  WHACK. I bring the club down hard on the fish’s golden head, saying a quiet thank you as I look into its flickering silver-green eyes. The next instant they turn blank and still.

  “Nice one, Raven!” Tui whoops. “Is this your first harp?”

  “It sure is. I’ve never eaten one, either. But I hear they are the best fish there is.”

  “I’ve tasted it once, a couple years ago. There was some at one of our full moon feasts. It was gone in a heartbeat, though. Amazing!” Tui makes a smacking sound with his lips and pats his round belly. “Boy, are your mum and papa going to be excited to see this!”

  “They will. So will your mum and papa. You helped me haul it in, now give me a hand with cleaning it so you can take some home with you.”

  Within minutes, Tui and I have the enormous fleshy fish cleaned and filleted and wrapped up in separate parcels. Only when we’re done does Tui notice there are three parcels. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of that one?”

  “That piece of heaven is for Miss Lilith.”

  Miss Lilith is my godmother. She’s helped look after me since I was born. But she does much more than that—more than even a grandmother, I’d imagine. I do have a grandmother, but she lives far away in the distant village where Mum was born, in our Kingdom of Nadir. Papa was born right here in our treevillage, but his parents died long ago, before he met Mum. So when I was born, Lilith stepped in to help, and she’s been a special friend of mine ever since. If anyone deserves a feast of golden harp, it’s Miss Lilith.

  Tui and I pack up our fishing gear and set off for home. We have so much fish that we need to use the pulley basket to haul it up behind us as we climb.

  “See you later, Raven!” Tui calls out as he heads to his treehome. “Nice fishing. Give me a call if you need help reviving your mother when she sees your catch. And say hello to Miss Lilith for me!”

  “Will do!” I holler back.

  Miss Lilith’s treehome is a few platforms past ours. As I cross the last swingway to her home I can see her watering the pots out front. I've always thought she has the prettiest, coziest cabin of any in our treevillage. It’s almost hidden behind all the bright flowers and green plants that grow in containers around it. The roof is covered in moss, and twirly flowered vines run across the outside walls. It has only one room, as Miss Lilith lives by herself. But she’s hardly ever alone; there’s usually a neighbor or two over, and children run in and out all the livelong day. She always keeps her cookie jar full.

  “I have a surprise for you!” I declare as I reach Miss Lilith’s side. I keep the packet of fish hidden behind my back.

  “Well, it’s a surprise to see you so late in the day!” she teases. It’s about nine o’clock in the morning. She sets her watering can down and grabs my cheeks, planting a big kiss right on my nose. She steps back, notices my arms tucked behind me, and sniffs the air with exaggeration. “Hmm … methinks you’ve been fishing, eh?”

  “I have indeed!” I can’t wait any longer, and thrust the package of fish out in front of me. “This is for you!”

  Miss Lilith takes the wrapped bundle, then suddenly leans forward as if it weighs a hundred pounds. “Oh my!” Her eyes are wide. “What have you caught?”

  “A golden harp,” I say proudly.

  Miss Lilith sucks in her breath. I can tell she’s being dramatic. But I love it anyway. “Raven! Fantastic. Is this all for me?”

  “It sure is.”

  “Well, I’ll never be able to eat it all myself. Although I’d sure like to. These fish are scrumptious. Please bring your mum and papa and yourself for supper tonight, okay? We’ll make a feast of it.”

  “I’m sure they’ll think that’s a great idea,” I say.

  “Come on inside for tea and cookies.” Miss Lilith waves her hand toward her round cabin.

  “Don’t mind if I do!” I set my pack against the outside wall and step through the open front door into her tidy home.

  Miss Lilith has her small round table set for tea with a plate of fresh lemo
n cookies. She busies herself at her wood stove, putting a kettle of water on to boil. I sit down on one of the worn wooden stools and help myself to a cookie.

  “I hear you have an adventure coming this week,” she says.

  I’m taking a trip with Papa, over the mountains to Greenhollow, the town in the valley beyond. He goes every couple of months to trade his carvings for things we can’t get here, like flour, sugar, coffee, and wool for knitting. He’s been promising to take me for years and now the time is here at last—my first trip away from Baldachin.

  “Yes! Greenhollow with Papa,” I reply, as she pours the tea and sits down opposite me. “I’m a little nervous about it, though. I’ve never been far beyond Baldachin, not even past the other side of the meadow. Papa has told me lots of stories about his trips to town. I’m looking forward to seeing it for myself, finally.”

  “Yes, it is something. Quite different from here. You be careful there, Raven. It’s not like here, where you can trust everyone.”

  “That’s what Papa says too.” I remember a story he told me a few months ago, about one of his first trips to Greenhollow, to trade his carvings. He’d given a man a beautiful one, a fish standing upright like a statue, its fins spread like wings. The man had agreed to bring Papa his gold coins the next day, saying he needed to go home and show the carving to his wife first. Papa had agreed to meet him at the inn at noon. He waited all afternoon and the man never showed. Papa told me he’d traded that statue for a good lesson.

  As Miss Lilith and I sip our tea and fill ourselves up with lemon cookies, I tell her about catching the golden harp this morning. Then she describes the new plant seeds she wants from Greenhollow—a few new herbs and gourds that she hasn’t grown before. I say I’ll get them for her.