Mecora’s house was a relatively small hole in the tree, on the third level above the platform... and since it was a hole, and not extruded, it had only one window and was much cheaper. It did have light pipes, which brought light in, and four rooms. The monk— did he say his name was Hyrom, or Hyran?— would have to sleep in the little fourth one.
Mecora, her mother, her friends, her brothers, and the monk made quite a crowd in the front room. There were only six chairs, so that left a few standing. The monk had to sit, insisted Mecora’s mother.
“No, thank you. Sitting is a big part of my job, so I enjoy standing whenever I can. Truly.”
“You aren’t just being gallant?” asked Mereo.
Mecora’s mother was shocked. “Mereo! You know better than to second guess a monk!”
“Sorry,” she apologized.
“No offense,” assured the monk. “I find officiousness insufferable, so I have no rationale to perpetuate it.”
Mecora could just barely understand what he was saying through all the big words. Of course, he would know them all from all the reading he did.
“Do you have any preferences?” her mom asked from the stove. “I can get something special for your first night here.”
“Oh, please, don’t go to too much trouble. If you eat rice every night, then so will I. Or potatoes. I’m not particular.”
“Well, even we can afford more than rice. Mecora? Would you bring the chicken in?”
Me? thought Mecora. Why me? He’s my guest— make Wedar get it!
“Mecora, don’t look at me that way. He’s your guest.”
“Okay.” She shuffled over to the cool-cabinet, a specially ‘shaped part of the wall they shared with their richer neighbors that kept things cool— or even cold, which is where they kept what little meat they could afford for long periods of time.
This chicken wasn’t really very large, but they’d had to splurge on it. What’s Deschule without a chicken feast? Luckily the party provided lots of food as well, so dividing this one chicken five ways wouldn’t leave them hungry. “Here, Mom.”
“Thank you. What do you think, should I use a berry sauce or a spice sauce?”
“How should I know? You’re the cook of the house!”
“Well, dear, I’m just trying to ask your opinion. Which would you like to treat our guest with?”
“I dunno.” She really had no idea, so she turned to the monk, sitting quietly, politely patient and inspecting the room as he bantered with her friends. “Um, Hyran?”
“Yes?”
“Would you prefer a berry sauce or a spice sauce on your chicken?”
“Oh, well, which is less trouble?”
Her mom shrugged. “They’re just sauces that I’ve got on hand.”
“In that case, Mecora, I think the berry sauce sounds just fine.”
“Okay. Mom?”
“I heard. You know where we keep it.”
“In the cool-cabinet, I know.” She went to get it, deciding that to complain was more trouble than it was worth. She gave it to her mom, and then sat down right on the table right in from of the monk. For some reason, he didn’t look so cute in the dim light of the room, but she was determined to get to know him and not have to cook. “So, what... do you like best about... being a monk?” She had almost asked, ‘What brings you here,’ but that of course was an exceedingly stupid question.
“Mmm, I’m not really sure. I guess I’d have to say the texts I copy— that is, reading them, not the copying. That’s exceedingly boring, but at least I get to meditate on the text.”
“Oh.” Mecora wasn’t really interested in texts, since reading was something really smart but reclusive Vle did. Even so, she asked, “What kinds of things can you read about?”
“Nearly anything you want. Mostly in our library we have theological texts, books about how we think about the Great Master. But what I find interesting are the books about history— and some of them were written right after an event happened! That difference between how we see the past and how they saw it then is so fascinating. And then some books are so old we don’t even really remember the countries or kings they mention.”
“Have you ever read a book about, like, ourselves? I mean, how our bodies work? That’s what I want to know someday.”
“Hmm, I don’t know if we have any books about that. But, I bet if you work really hard, you could earn the money to go to the university.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go to all that trouble, I just want to find someone who can answer my questions.”
The monk shrugged. “There aren’t many who can answer that question yet. But if more did, maybe fewer people would die of disease.”
That surprised Mecora. “But I thought people died because the Great Master was calling them to him.”
“I’m not really sure that’s the case. I mean, why should being called to him be so painful?”
She’d never really thought of that before. And then she realized that this monk, who she’d expected to be perfectly believing and always professing a by-the-book faith, was not. “Do all of you monks think that?”
“Oh, not at all! There are quite a few who would think that what I just said was blasphemous. There’s a whole spectrum of thought up there.”
“But, how can you all get along? I’d think everyone would get into a big long argument.”
“Not at all. For one thing, we’re too nice. And for another, diversity is good. We’re always challenged to rationalize our thoughts, and for some of us, that confrontation strengthens our faith in what we believe. Or we may eventually change our minds.”
“So, why isn’t it the same down here in town? We have to believe perfectly, by the book! It’s really hard!”
“I know. But if you’re trying to be perfect, then you’ll pass on to a higher life when you die. It’s just that part of my job is to help figure out what perfect is even as I try to be so.”
Mecora shook her head in confusion, and decided that it would be easier to try to follow her friends’ conversation. They were on her favorite subject: clothes, of course. “Did you see that vusha-colored silk at Caber’s yesterday?” Handa was saying. “I tried to convince Mom to buy me some, but she wouldn’t. It woulda been perfect for today!”
“Oh, I know! But what about the blue silk next to it? Now that was beautiful! It would go with my yellow blouse so well...” As she talked, she became more and more aware of Hyran listening, but unable to take part. Of course, he couldn’t. All he ever wore were the robes, usually wool. This week, he’d be wearing his white robe the whole time, but that still restricted his selection.
A knock came at the door, and everyone looked to see a young boy. “Mereo! Mom says come home for dinner.”
“Oh! Is it time already?”
“Probably,” said Mecora’s mother. “I’m just about done here, myself.”
“Well, see you later, right?”
“Yeah, Mereo. Meet at our usual spot?”
“Sure. Are you bringing Hyran?”
Oh, yeah. Mecora looked at him. “I dunno. Hyran? Would you like to get drunk with four giggling girls?”
“Well, I don’t drink...”
Her mother brought dinner over and looked right in her eyes. “I’m sure he’d rather enjoy the party from an adult’s point of view.”
“Oh. Right, Mom.” And for inexplicable reason, she felt a pang of jealousy.
“Your mother is probably right. You four can have more fun without me there.”
“Well, we’d better be going too,” said Ueal. “Handa? Would you like to come to my house for dinner?”
“Um, can I come later...” replied Handa as they went out the door. Mereo left after them, with a hurried “See ya later.”
That left just the five of them. “Come on boys, dinner’s ready.”
As usual, her brothers complained. “Aww, can’t we play a little longer?”
“No, we have a guest, and dinner’s ready right now. Put your toys away and wash your hands.”
In fact, everyone decided it was a good idea. Soon they were back at the table, enjoying their small portion....

It seemed like an eternity before dinner was over and she could meet her friends at the statue. However, she was the first there, giving her time to inspect the likeness of the priest who had founded the monastery. The first inhabitants of the town (which was originally on the ground) were the treesculptors who actually built the monastery. It was some centuries, though, before the town moved up into the trees it now occupied.
“Hi!” said a voice. “Waiting for someone?”
Mecora turned to see Fastell, a dark, geeky boy about her age. “Yeah, so you’d better go.” The last thing she wanted was to be seen with him around.
“Oh.” But he didn’t go. “Have you had fun so far? How drunk have you gotten?”
“Yeah, I’ve had fun, but I haven’t gotten drunk enough yet. Now, please, could you go?”
“Yeah. I’d- better go find... my dad.”
“Good idea.” Phew. Sometimes she didn’t know which was worse— the geeks, nice as they were, or the warrior-wanna-be’s who had such an overinflated view of themselves. It seemed that regardless of color, they always fell into one category or the other.
Finally, Ueal and Handa showed up. “Was that Fastell I saw walking away from here?” asked Ueal.
“Oh? I dunno. I didn’t notice.” Would it work? Had they actually seen him talking to her?
But the matter was dropped as Handa asked, “Did you hear they’re having a band play in the plaza?! They actually got a band to play here!”
Mecora shrugged. “What’s the difference? We’ve always had music.”
“But not a traveling band! They’re gonna play the kind of music they’d play in a city!”
“Oh! Well, I just hope we’re not too far behind to catch up.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” boasted Mereo. “I can teach you all the new moves.”
Ueal rolled her eyes. “We’ll see about that! Let’s go!” And the foursome moved off and up a level toward the center of town. The first stop was the first pub.
“I’ll just have a peach wine,” said Handa.
“What?! You’re too young for one of those,” exclaimed Mecora. She took a swig of her beer.
“I am not. I just don’t feel like getting that drunk tonight. There’ll be other nights.”
“We’ll make sure of that, then,” said Ueal. “C’mon, we’re missing the music.”
Back out in the open air, the sounds of strumming and piping could just be heard over the babble of the crowd. Once again, the girls pushed through, meeting friends along the way.
“Hey! Where are you going?” asked one.
“To the front, of course!” was the answer. In this way, their group grew until there were eleven girls right up next to the band.
Mereo took the chance to show off. She danced with every form she knew, and the crowd backed away to watch.
Ueal was not to be outdone, so she joined her friend in the center and danced equally well with a different set of forms. Mecora just watched, and wondered who to emulate. Certainly, Mereo’s forms came from the east and Ueal’s from the south, where their people’s strongholds were, and both seemed exotic. But Ueal was a very good dancer— sinuous and muscular, she made dancing an art form.
Well, that was true in Mecora’s eyes. She knew there were better dancers, who were older. But Ueal was destined for greatness.
Mecora plucked up some courage and joined them, doing her best to copy some of the moves. It wasn’t easy, since she’d never done them before, and because the strong beer was getting to her. Finally, the song ended, and the circle broke. “Phew!” she said. “Let’s go get another beer.”
The other girls, sweating a bit, agreed, so they pushed through the crowd again. Along the way, they saw some boys, practicing some of the moves. Mereo laughed. “Boys! They’re so clumsy!”
“Well, maybe they’re just drunk,” suggested Handa.
“Hmph!” said Mecora. “Boys are so clumsy they’re better dancers when drunk.”
“Not that one.” Handa pointed to an older boy in a blue shirt, as light as Mereo and dancing so hard his sweaty hair spun droplets into the air. The girls watched for a moment, then pressed on.
The bartender served up another round without a word, and the girls rested as best they could on their feet. Mecora wished for a place to sit, but there simply wasn’t one.
Or was there? Wasn’t that an open spot? She had to hurry. As the other girls asked her where she was going, she pushed through toward that stool. Closer, closer, and then she stumbled, spilling what remained of her drink. Up again, she pushed closer.
But all she found was a wall. She turned around to go back—
And found she couldn’t see her friends anymore. They were at the bar, she remembered, and she did her best to push through, stumbling twice this time. Sure enough, there they were.
“Where did you go?” asked Mereo.
“I though’ I, uh, saw a, um, uh, what do you call, it, a, place to sit?”
“Stool,” replied Ueal. Then, she hiccuped. “You missed another round of drinks, you know.”
“No problem.” She had no trouble getting another one, and was back quite quickly. “See?”
“But we’re almost done, already.”
Mecora thought. How to fix that? She guzzled her beer down to a quarter full. “So’m I.”
“Shall we go out and dance again?”
“Sure.”
All eleven (or so— had the group grown some more?) drank what was left in the glasses and put them down somewhere. There really wasn’t much space left for more, but there was a little boy around, collecting them as fast as he could manage.
It seemed easier to push through the crowd this time, maybe because it was thinner. They danced, and danced, and danced. In fact, Mecora didn’t even remember stopping.

It was surprisingly bright out, and the bed was surprisingly hard. It took her a while to figure out why: she’d never made it home. Her head felt like a tree had fallen on her head, but there was no tree on her, and she was still on the platform. The band was gone, as was much of the crowd, but her friends (even Handa!) were still there.
Handa rolled over. “Good morning, sunshine. How do you feel?”
“How do you think? And please, don’t yell.”
“I’m not. I’m whispering.”
“I suppose you feel just fine.”
Handa shrugged. “Like I said last night, I didn’t feel like getting drunk. Don’t worry, I won’t lay a guilt trip or anything.”
“Thanks. Could you please get me some willow bark tea?”
“Of course.” She got up, and moved softly in the direction of her mother’s chemist shop. Meanwhile, others of the group woke up. Mereo woke up with a whimper.
“Oh, I must have danced too hard last night!”
And that got a number of complaints, including from Ueal, in the theme of “Quit yelling!”
“Sorry,” Mereo whispered, and slowly crawled over to Mecora, who sat waiting patiently for her arrival. “I need some willow bark tea, but I can’t even stand up to go there.”
“Handa’s getting it,” Mecora replied with a small smile. “You know, I think this whole thing was invented by her mother.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Mereo replied, and then thought differently. “No, I’d better not.”
Far away, almost beyond Mecora’s blurred vision, Handa came out of the chemist’s and headed their way. “Here she comes,” Mecora alerted, and everyone looked that direction. Handa walked as quietly as ever, as if she weighed thirty leabers less than she did. She arrived, flask and clay cups in hand, and bent her knees gently. “Mom gave me this flask so that I could sell as much as I could,” she explained. “But for you, it’s free.” She poured some for the three, and then turned to everyone else. “One bit, one cup,” she announced softly, and distributed it to those who happened to have the amount she was asking.
The tea worked quickly at first, allowing them to shuffle home to get more sleep.

The week went by quickly, during which time the monk began to seem like a fixture. The exception was at mealtime, when the money and the food went faster than normal. And Mecora never liked the effect he had on her mother.
The morning of the ninth day of Deschule, she woke alone in her bed, as usual. Her mother always got up early to fix breakfast, but lately she’d never started it before Mecora got up.
She tossed the covers aside and stood, pulling on a simple shift. Then, she shuffled into the front room, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Good morning.”
Hyran was there at the table, facing her, while her mother had her back to the cold stove. “Good morning, Mecora.” She loved the way he said her name so gently.
“What would you like for breakfast?” asked her mother. “I got some flour, so maybe we could have flatcakes.”
“Would you mind if I cooked?” asked Hyran. “It’s the least I could do as thanks for your generosity this week.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you could. Just sit there and relax.” With amazement, Mecora watched as the monk stood and walked confidently over to the stove. He took the container of flour and measured some out; then he took a pair of eggs from his robe and mixed it in. “Mecora, would you mind getting some milk?”
“Okay.” For some reason, she was more energetic now, watching this man expertly wield a stirring spoon. But she wondered why he was starting the recipe before the fire inside was stoked. She handed him the milk, and he added it without even measuring it. Then, he pulled some small bottles from his robe, and added some drops from them. The mix now smelled quite sweet.
He put the mix aside, and bent down to open the stove. Into the darkness, he tossed a small ball. When it bounced, it burst into flame, and the fire was going. Then, it was a simple matter of pouring the mix onto the griddle and waiting for it to cook.
Mecora couldn’t believe it, and then saw how transfixed her mother was. Father had never cooked, claiming it was a woman’s job. Obviously, it wasn’t, and Mom definitely admired Hyran’s ability. Another odd pang of jealousy hit her. She hid it.
Her brothers came out in time to sample the first flatcake, lured by the good smell. They simply ate quietly, while she, her mother and the monk talked. Mostly, it was a competition— to see who could keep his attention longest.
Finally, breakfast was over. Hyran stood, bowed, and said, “Thank you, for this opportunity to spend the week with you. I wish you the best of luck in your life. Mecora—”
Her heart jumped when he said her name.
“— I can see an important future for you, one which holds wonders you cannot yet imagine. Just remember that you have what it takes to do what you want to do, become what you want to become. You may need it. And please, any of you— if you feel like writing, feel free. I enjoy letters from town.”
“I’ll write,” Mecora volunteered enthusiastically. Then, she felt foolish under her mother’s gaze.
Hyran only smiled and bowed again. “Goodbye, and thanks again.”
“Goodbye!”
Thereafter the house seemed so empty...