Chương 34: Chapter 24: Grovekeeper — Part I

Several pairs of eyes turn toward me. Apparently, nobody intends to rescue me from this conversation. I should have expected as much. The entire afternoon has been spent discussing the grove, debating its future and determining what role it would occupy within the city. The people gathered beneath the Silverwood have spent that same afternoon waiting for answers. Unfortunately, I am now expected to provide them and that does little to improve my mood.

"Well?" Ciara asks. The question is directed at me, though I notice Havlar watching with mild interest. The city lord, it seems, has decided this is my responsibility. I am beginning to suspect that becoming involved with city administration was a mistake.

"The council recognized the grove," I say. Nobody speaks immediately. The words are simple enough, yet the meaning behind them takes a moment to settle. Around us, the garden continues much as it always has. Residents move between the growing beds. Children race along the pathways. The irrigation channels continue their steady journey through the earth. Beyond the walls, life in the eastern district carries on entirely unaware that something significant has just happened beneath the Silverwood.

Aibell is the first to break the silence.

"They actually did it?" There is something almost cautious in the question. Hope, perhaps or disbelief.

"They did," I reply. The smile that follows is small. Yet somehow it changes her entire expression. For weeks, every improvement within the district has carried an unspoken uncertainty. The gardens have grown. The grove has expanded. People have rebuilt their lives here. Yet none of it had ever been guaranteed. Now, for the first time, there is permanence. Ciara reaches that conclusion almost immediately.

"So, we're not temporary anymore." The statement isn't phrased as a question. Havlar nods.

"No." The city lord's gaze moves briefly across the garden before returning to the group.

"The grove is now officially recognized by the city. The amending of district records have already been started." For a moment, nobody speaks. The words carry a weight that no council debate ever could. Because they aren't speaking to merchants, or engineers, or councilors. They're speaking to survivors. People who have already lost one home. People who know exactly what it means when a place is acknowledged. Eammon frowns thoughtfully.

"So, they can't make us leave?" The simplicity of the question draws every eye toward him. Havlar's expression softens slightly.

"No," he says.

"They cannot." The boy nods, satisfied. Apparently, the matter is settled. Aine, meanwhile, is examining a flower she picked several minutes ago and appears only vaguely aware that history is occurring around her. Her priorities remain refreshingly uncomplicated.

"What else?" Ciara asks. Trust Ciara to arrive immediately at the practical concerns.

"The council wouldn't spend an entire afternoon discussing a garden."

"It isn't a garden anymore," Garrick points out. The captain of the guards' gestures toward the Silverwood towering above us.

"That argument became difficult to maintain several trees ago." A few smiles appear. Even Ciara's.

"Fair enough," she says.

"Then what else?" This time Havlar answers.

"The grove is protected. Future development projects within the district must account for it. The city recognizes the residents living here. Any disputes involving the grove now have an official process for resolution."

"That sounds useful," Aibell says.

"It is," Havlar replies.

"It also sounds suspiciously administrative."

"It is that as well," Havlar admits. Garrick groans. The sound draws several amused looks.

"I knew it," he says.

"Knew what?" Aibell asks.

"The city found a way to turn magical trees into paperwork."

"That is an oversimplification," Havlar says.

"Is it?" Garrick asks.

"Yes," Havlar replies. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Garrick folds his arms.

"The city turned magical trees into paperwork." Havlar opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again. Merrow's eyes narrow slightly.

"He's not denying it," she observes.

"He cannot deny it," Garrick says.

"Because I am correct." The city lord chooses not to engage. A wise decision. The conversation drifts briefly into speculation regarding how many forms might be required to govern a grove. The answer, according to Havlar, is more than anyone wishes to hear. Eventually the laughter fades. The questions do not. Ciara studies me carefully.

"The council recognized the grove," she says.

"The city gains a process for handling disputes. Development projects now require coordination." I immediately recognize that tone. She is assembling pieces and unfortunately, she is very good at it.

"Someone has to manage all that," she says. The statement settles over the group. Beside me, Garrick suddenly develops an intense interest in a nearby Heartwood. The traitor already knows where this is heading. Aibell notices the same thing moments later.

"So, who is it?" she asks. Merrow says nothing. Yet her attention shifts toward me. Eammon follows her gaze, then Aibell does, then Ciara. One by one, the entire group turns in my direction. A faint feeling of dread settles into my stomach. It feels remarkably similar to the one I experienced inside the council chamber.

"Kaelen," Eammon says slowly. I already dislike that tone. The boy points directly at me.

"You have that expression again," Eammon says.

"What expression?" I ask.

"The one you get before something annoying happens." Garrick laughs. The sound is entirely unhelpful. Eammon ignores him.

"If someone has to manage all the council things..." he says slowly. I immediately dislike where this is heading. The boy's eyes widen as the pieces finally connect. Then he looks toward Havlar.

"Wait." The city lord appears far too amused for my liking.

"Does that person get a title?" Eammon asks. For a moment, nobody answers. Unfortunately, the silence is answer enough. Eammon's eyes widen.

"There is a title."

"There is," Havlar confirms. The boy immediately turns toward me.

"What is it?" I consider leaving. The idea survives approximately two seconds. Unfortunately, everyone is already looking at me. Even Aine has abandoned her flower.

"What is the title?" Aibell asks. I look toward Havlar. The city lord pretends not to notice. Coward.

"It is hardly an important detail," I say. The reaction is immediate.

"That means it's important," Garrick says.

"It absolutely means it's important," Ciara agrees. Merrow says nothing. Which somehow feels worse. Havlar finally takes pity on me or perhaps he simply wishes to see what happens next.

"The council established a formal position to represent the grove," he says.

"The title attached to that position is Grovekeeper." Silence settles across the clearing. Not because the title is impressive but quite the opposite. It is simple, straightforward and practical. For several moments, everyone appears to be considering it. Then Aine brightens.

"I like it." The declaration arrives with complete confidence and Eammon nods immediately.

"It sounds important."

"It sounds like someone who looks after trees," Aibell says.

"Which is considerably better than most council titles," Garrick adds.

"I am standing right here," Havlar reminds him.

"That is why I said it." The city lord sighs. Ciara ignores them.

"What exactly does a Grovekeeper do?" she asks. There it is. The real question. What it means. Around us, the afternoon breeze stirs the leaves overhead. Sunlight shifts across the roots of the Heartwoods while the Silverwood stands quietly at the center of the grove. For the first time since leaving the council chamber, the title feels real and the people gathered beneath these trees are trying to understand it.

"What exactly does a Grovekeeper do?" Ciara asks again. The question draws everyone's attention back toward Havlar. The city lord appears relieved by the change in direction. Titles are one thing. Responsibilities are another. Judging by his expression, he finds the latter considerably easier to discuss.

"The practical answer," Havlar says, "is that the Grovekeeper serves as the city's primary point of contact regarding the grove. Development projects, land disputes, resource agreements, infrastructure concerns and any future matters involving the grove will eventually pass through him." The explanation lasts only a few moments, yet by the time Havlar finishes, several expressions have changed. Eammon looks horrified; Aibell looks sympathetic; Garrick looks entertained.

"That sounds terrible," Eammon says.

"Thank you," I reply.

"You're welcome." The sincerity somehow makes it worse. Ciara, however, remains focused on the details.

"If someone wants to build something near the grove, they speak with you?"

"Or through him," Havlar replies.

"If the city plans changes in the district, they speak with you?"

"Generally."

"And if there's a disagreement involving the grove?"

"The Grovekeeper represents its interests." Ciara nods slowly while considering the answer.

"So, you're the person standing between the city and the grove." Havlar takes a moment before responding.

"That is probably the simplest way to describe it." The title sounds different when framed that way. Less like a position created by a council and more like a responsibility someone has to carry. Aibell seems to arrive at the same conclusion.

"You accepted," she says. The words are quiet enough that they almost disappear beneath the rustling leaves overhead. I know what she means. The discussion has spent the last several minutes focused on responsibilities, meetings and council decisions. Aibell isn't talking about any of those things. She's talking about the choice. For weeks, the grove has existed in a strange space between refuge and home. We built it. We protected it. We lived beneath its canopy.

Yet some part of me always treated it as temporary, as though eventually the road would call me elsewhere. Accepting the position feels uncomfortably close to admitting that may no longer be true. Before I can think of a response, Garrick rescues me entirely by speaking first.

"To be fair," he says, "the council did not exactly leave him much room to escape." Several people glance toward him. The guard captain shrugs.

"What? We all saw the expression."

"I was considering my options."

"You had options?" Garrick asks.

"I could have refused."

"No, you couldn't," Merrow says. The answer arrives so naturally that nobody reacts immediately. Merrow simply watches me with the same calm expression she always wears.

"You were never going to refuse."

"That sounds remarkably certain," I say.

"It is."

"And what makes you so confident?" Merrow gestures lightly toward the grove around us. The gardens stretch beyond the trees. Residents move along the pathways carrying baskets and tools. Children play beneath the orchard trees while conversations drift through the afternoon air.

"You stopped treating this as temporary a long time ago," she says. The observation settles more comfortably than I would like. I cannot find a convincing argument against it. Eammon looks between us before turning toward the grove itself. Then he looks back at me.

"So, we're staying?" The question is so direct that it catches me off guard. Children have an impressive ability to remove every unnecessary layer from a conversation. My gaze drifts briefly toward the Silverwood. Its pale trunk rises through the canopy above us while the Heartwoods stand around it in silent watch. Beyond the garden walls lies the city. Beyond the city lies the road. For a long time, choosing only survival seemed to require leaving everything behind.

Now, for the first time, I am no longer certain that is true.

"Yes," I say. Eammon grins immediately. Beside him, Aine points at me.

"I knew it."

"You knew what?" Garrick asks.

"That." The explanation clarifies nothing and yet Aine appears entirely satisfied with it. Unfortunately, that makes two of us less satisfied than she is.