Sylas looked around him but could see no sign of a town. There were no homes or walkways or streets, not even any people.
Simia could not restrain herself any longer. “I’m going inside,” she said, tugging at his sleeve. “Are you coming?”
Filimaya was already turning to leave. “You’ll find everything you need. Someone will come and get you in the morning,” she said brightly, as she disappeared into the forest.
Sylas turned and eyed the dark opening, wondering at the mysterious forces that had made it. Then he followed Simia inside.
“The spirit of the valley never dies. It is the root of heaven and earth.”
SYLAS STEPPED BEYOND THE threshold and gasped. It looked for all the world like the inside of a house, but instead of walls there were planes of living timber; in place of doors there was a honeycomb of oddly shaped openings, all seeming to be part of the tree, rather than cut by hand. Covering the floor there was a carpet of fine, spongy green moss, which felt luxuriously soft beneath the feet, and the hallway that he was now standing in – for that was what it seemed to be – was lit by lamps set into natural alcoves in the walls, so that it was well lit and cosy.
Sylas and Simia dipped through the nearest opening and saw to their delight a room set out with a table and chairs and alcoves containing cups, saucers, plates and all manner of things they might need to serve a meal. In a recess at their side there was bread and cheese; in another, all kinds of fruits; in another still, what looked like a cured ham wrapped in a waxy cloth. All this was lit by two more lamps and natural light that came in through a large slit high in the external wall. In the far corner, they could hear the tinkle of flowing water coming from a depression in the floor and when they looked they saw the glistening surface of an underground stream. Set neatly to one side was a pitcher and a set of glasses.
They rushed into the next room and found what seemed to be a lounge or parlour, but instead of a sofa the mossy floor was raised in one corner to form a comfortable platform covered with an even thicker layer of moss, to which someone had added a scattering of colourful cushions. They resisted the temptation to jump on it and ran into the next two rooms, where they found similar platforms that had been made into beds, with thick eiderdowns and feather pillows.
“How did they know to get this ready for us?” marvelled Sylas.
Simia lay back on a bed and closed her eyes blissfully. “Filimaya always kept at least one room ready for visitors in the Meander Mill. Not that I was ever allowed to stay in any of them.” She yawned. “Yep, I’m definitely going up in the world.”
Sylas grinned and laid his bag down, before heading to the dining room where he cut himself a piece of bread and ham. He took it with him to the lounge and sat back on the surprisingly soft and warm sofa, biting contentedly into his sandwich. He devoured it in seconds and then settled back to relax.
He smiled to himself as he thought how different this was from Gabblety Row – from the bricks and beams and winding corridors, from the growling roads at its corner and his uncle’s grubby little apartment. He laughed at the thought of his uncle Tobias. What would he make of all this? He imagined that accountant’s brain trying to make sense of it all, make it all add up, like a good tax return. Well, nothing about this world added up. It would defeat his uncle absolutely and completely, and something about that made Sylas happy.
He yawned and put his hands behind his head. What was his uncle doing now, now that he had no one to run his stupid little errands, no one to snipe at, no one to blame?
His eyes were just beginning to close when he heard a movement in the room.
He opened his eyes. Simia was leaning on what passed for the doorframe, chewing on an apple.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked disapprovingly.
“What do you mean? I’m relaxing – I thought that was what you were doing!”
Simia was incredulous. “Isn’t there a curious bone in your body? I mean, here we are in the great Valley of Outs, and all you want to do is have a kip?”
Sylas stared at her for a moment and then managed a weary grin. “Come on then,” he said, hauling himself to his feet and brushing off the crumbs. “Let’s go explore.”
In the forest the sun was just setting, painting the trees with pink and orange, which only added to their magic and beauty. Walking alone they were free to wander and gaze all about them, to take in the sheer scale of the towering trees. But they also tried to look beyond roots and trunks and branches to find any sign of the town Filimaya had mentioned. And the more they explored, the more they discovered.
They saw the first of the townsfolk in the crevices and folds of tree trunks, in dark openings that now, in the failing light, showed themselves to be entrances to warm, glowing sanctuaries, where people sat around tables and laughed and chatted, where children played and argued and readied themselves for bed. And they saw homes in other, more unusual places. Sylas was the first to see one beneath the roots of a grand old tree, partly in the folds of the tree and partly underground. Then Simia saw one high in the canopy, nestled in the crook of four intersecting boughs, wrapped all about with a lattice of branches like a giant nest. But these branches had not been cut or placed or woven. They were alive. They had grown that way.
They walked further into the forest and saw more and more of these strange dwellings high in the treetops, some beginning to glow with flickering lamplight. But what was even more magical was that they saw people walking from one to the other along the tops of the largest boughs, as though ambling through the roof of the forest was the most natural thing in the world. The more they looked, the more people they began to see, until they realised that the entire canopy was connected by a network of walkways. Some people walked quickly along the great branches, rushing to a late appointment or to get home for dinner; others walked beside a companion, chatting or taking in the evening air. One woman even walked along reading a book. But what Sylas found most surprising of all was the sight of children running between these great trees without a care in the world.
“Why aren’t they scared?” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.
Simia followed his eyes and shrugged. “Nature wants to help us,” she said matter-of-factly. “Remember what Merimaat told me that time? When I was trying to cross the river on stepping stones?”
Sylas remembered well Simia’s story of Merimaat – the great, lost leader of the Suhl – her strange words sticking clearly in his mind: “They aren’t trying to trip you,” she had said of the stepping stones, “they’re trying to help you.”
“That’s what the Suhl are brought up to believe,” Simia continued, “that Nature is part of us and we are part of Nature. She’s on our side.”
Sylas looked back up into the treetops in time to see an entire family walking almost directly overhead, laughing and joking, the children racing each other to the next trunk.
“Well they believe it, that’s for sure,” he said, under his breath.
They walked on, and as the sky grew darker they began to see a galaxy of orange lamplights dotted throughout the trees, casting a beautiful, magical light across the forest floor.
Soon they had reached the steep incline to one side of the Valley of Outs. They pressed on, hoping to climb high enough to look down on Sylva. At first they made good progress through the tangle of bushes and branches, but then, quite abruptly, the ground levelled off.
Sylas stopped. “This can’t be the top,”