The Tree that Was Not Felled

He had gone. Six months had tarried by since I last saw him that day on the evening of his farewell.

The land that I had known all the days of my life seemed suddenly strange and unwelcoming to my eyes. I passed the corridors of a house that daily spoke to me of absence. And though I knew we must one day meet again, a dry knot grew and tightened within me. Distance had stretched our connection as we had known it would, and the loss to me was grievous. That my thoughts could not reach him, that I was bereft of his voice, seemed to me the greater loss. Yet his presence remained still, dimly perhaps, a swath of comfort and warmth in my mind. This I clung to when I lay in bed and sleep eluded me, when the blackness of the night stretched thin until it give way to morning.

In the days after he left, Leo received word of growing disorder in the northern states, and he, too, had set out to the north for council. He had returned only two days before.

Their absences turned my mind to the story of the land. All children knew of it, I guessed. We indeed were taught from a childhood of the age-long disputes between Calatiel and Lyos, though I knew not how to sift through the words to find what is truth and what is myth, and often it seemed that legend and history melded together and could not be teased apart.

The earliest stories began before the closing of the worlds. Calatiel was then a small country, for Lyos was a wild and savage land of people who consorted with the immortals and mystical beings. It was their lot to lie within sight of the borders of the Elven kingdom.

The Elves—strange they appeared to me—that such beings could hold such power, and command the tides of the world. Were we but pawns in a conflict that exceeded the realm of our understanding, that we should live thus beneath the shadow of their threat? For all Calats spoke their name with dread, and indeed in some cities the mention of Elves was beaten from those who dared let it pass their lips.

But I move too quickly. I was speaking of Lyos.

This country in the south, where Leo’s estate now rested on conquered land, knew little of decency, so said Calat history. They were a tribal people, lacking in order, while Calatiel for ages past were held united under the reign of the monarchy. When I was young, Professor Lipit told us no ruler had ever unified the scattered lands in Lyos, yet later he confessed that there existed different accounts that opposed this view. If such an overlord ever governed that country, few records of him remain, and it did not seem any had ruled with much success, save one.

And of that one, much calamity was wrought upon the people of Calatiel.

Little is known of him now, for his reign began and spanned the age a hundred years before the closing of the worlds. Little enough is known of that time. The Unknown King, he is now called, for none knew from whence he came. With a voice like that of some greater being he spoke, and all the people bent to his will. For some men, to rule is not enough; they must have the world.

It is said that those of Lyos knew magic, and this man, if man indeed he was, used their close relations with the Elves to much advantage, for with them he altered the very lands on which we now lived, raising a vast mountain range to turn Calatiel from the riches of the sea. One small opening Lyos left of fifty some leagues, that they might yet enter the northern country through paths known only to themselves. About this breach they drew up a labyrinth of forests, set snares within it that only they could discern.

A hundred years he ruled, driving Calatiel to its knees, for without the northern road, they grew destitute and weak, left to the mercy of the Unknown King, mining their own land and people for tribute to pay to the north. And thus Lyos prospered and grew in might that century.

Alas for the northern realm, or perhaps he willed it thus — who can say? — of the Elves, great favor demands great sacrifice, and before many years had passed, the portals to the Other World closed. The spirits of the earth burrowed deep into themselves and slept, and Calatiel rose in vengeance against the land of magic and demons and drove its ruler from the land. It henceforth named its people Groth as to signify their inferiority, for no higher than dirt could they rise. The name they once called themselves is now lost to time. Without their immortal allies, they scattered, and, in the chaos that ensued, fell into ruin and decay. Of the fate of the Unknown King, little is known, though it is said that he fled across the ocean, and perhaps that is why to this day, Calats fear the northern sea.

Still I knew nothing of why the doors closed, and it made little sense to my mind why the Elves should choose to hide themselves away when too readily it seemed they could subjugate all peoples, though perhaps their magic is bound to mortals that they cannot freely use it, apart from some exchange. Indeed, now I think on it, such was always the way in Hempie’s stories, though the details of such transactions is always a mystery.

Professor Lipit did not take kindly to questions about the immortals. He seemed rather to mention them as a child might skip over a brook, toes just brushing against the water but never to be immersed fully. Often he said such talk was for children and the tongues of old women, not for gentlefolk of noble breeding. 

Those books of history I read, the only ones I cared for, did the same, and a hush seemed to lie over such things. It seemed those with the power to shape the story of the world wished to strike from memory all mention of supernatural things. 

Indeed to the minds of many Calats, there seemed little difference between the Elves that had brought their country so low, and the Groths that had been hand in hand with them, as I was made intimately aware the first year the estate suffered a poor harvest. In vain did Leo ameliorate the suspicions of the more superstitious servants, and though we suffered no great loss, I felt many a wary eye upon me in the months following, and their tongues stilled only for fear of punishment, no doubt.

The thought entered my mind then that I never learned from Hempie what had led to the closing of the worlds. Had the Unknown King risen so high that the only fair price was to bring him low, and by so doing, sacrifice the good of an entire nation? Had the Elves, wary of the way their power had been used, chosen this course and wrought just retribution on the one who forced their hand? Perhaps Geoffrey had coaxed the story from Hempie, for his mind lifted to tales of the immortal beings, and I could not but think in a secret part of his heart he wished to see the land of such lore as he was told as a child. He often enticed our nurse from her chambers, even in her old age and long after he ought to have outgrown childish fancies, to walk with him beneath these same trees. Together they would speak of old fables. Even after these long years, Hempie’s deep well of lore seemed far from running dry. I recalled Geoffrey’s words when we were young: “Magic and wonder have gone from the world, and we are left to live lesser lives than those of our forefathers.” Always he had nurtured a great love for such things and did not fear them.

I had never seen any part of the world beyond the gates of the estate and was never brought on errands to the north, though Geoffrey began accompanying Leo on such journeys since many years past, while I was to be set to take charge over the house. Never could I unravel the uncertainty in my mind, whether I desired to join them or no, for though it had been long since I endured ill treatment of the glaring sort, still I perceived that some of the household yet nursed a bitterness toward me, and nevermore was such feeling transparent than when I became the sole master of the house. I did not know what looks I should receive if I should venture into the north, where surely greater distrust against my kind has grown still deeper roots.

I remembered then Geoffrey’s last charge to me, and I turned my purpose to seek out Hempie in her room. Do you see? I sent over the bond, forgetting once more he was too far to hear.

With a little effort, Hempie could be persuaded to leave her chambers and accompany me about the grounds, and so together we set out.

The summer days were quickly waning, and a new harvest would soon be upon us. Already the days cooled, and a cool breeze swept through the air, rustling the leaves above us. Hempie shared with me a love for the trees that grew about the land, delighting to watch for some length of time the glow of the sunlight upon the leaves. Her calmness mirrored mine as we walked, arm through mine. The closeness of her presence strengthened me. I knew her to be happy. There beneath its eaves, all was well, and my loneliness eased a little.

“Do you know, child, of the eldritch shapeshifters that dwell in forests of ancient days?”

“Tell me again,” I said.

“Well, tis said among wise folks that there hide deep amidst the trees, beings that hold no form. At least, none know their true form, for their ears are sharpened to the footfalls of strangers and they are clever things that shift into rock, bush, and tree at the approach of mortals. In olden days when spirits of the earth still roamed freely, one could at times see a glow among the trees, as of firelight, and that was enough to warn off any from entering the copse where they might be reveling.” Hempie stopped to lift a hand to the trunk of a birch tree, where the bark had begun to peel away and looked to the foliage above where the leaves had yet to fall. “Ah, I see the autumn is making an early entrance this year.”

“It seems so,” said I, who knew the signs of the seasons as I did my own body. “Hempie, if no one has seen these shapeshifters, how do we know they existed?”

“Of course, because of the unhappy few who angered them,” Hempie said, walking on. “Sight is but the least of many senses; you know that.”

“Such spirits always seem angered with far too much ease. All tales speak of them as though they sit about waiting to be angered that they might unleash punishment on some poor, unwitting soul.”

“Yes, it would seem so to our eyes. They are each a race too different from us and our customs, not unlike the divide between north and south, if I may speak boldly. Their thoughts are to us of little sense, as are ours to them.”

“How then do they express their displeasure? Locking people away in elven castles? Or perhaps by tearing apart their cows and livestock? Or maybe they are tricksters who leave fruit for people to find that then cause strange visions?” I could not keep the laughter from my voice, caught a loose branch and struck a rock with it. “If this should be one such troll, will it drag me beneath the earth and there keep me until the end of ages?”

Hempie smiled indulgently and gave my arm a gentle pinch. “I see the years have not cured you of your mischief. Fortunate child you are, that they sleep still and cannot be troubled by you. No, they do none of those things. These eldritch beings are patient and will wait for the coming of a babe, then before it has suckled at its mothers breast will snatch it from her arms and replace it with another made of wood. A day perhaps such a change will go unnoticed, save that the child grows ill, but before the next setting of the sun, the false baby will die, while the human child lives trapped in another world.”

“And what would they do with the human child?”

A pause stretched before Hempie answered. “None know the answer to that question. I have heard of one who crossed back to our world, but with greater might than any earthborn being had a right to be. Some stories say she ruled the world until she unmade herself.”

I pondered the eeriness of the Unknown King, whose close intercourse with Elves left the world changed and him lost beyond the sea (perchance), and this woman of whom Hempie now spoke, who passed a lifetime with the immortals and lost herself. Dealings with such beings could not be entered into lightly, seemed the tale these stories told.

The sun had climbed to its zenith, and in between the leaves cut sharp lines of light across the forest floor, strewn with clumps of the dark green of foliage. White blossoms of the spring had long faded, sunk into the ground to nourish the earth. Not until the next spring would we see them bud on the hawthorns again. Above us, the sky threatened no rain as often it did, even in summer months, but remained blissfully clear as we strode beneath it. 

After a time, I spoke once more. “Hempie?”

“Yes, child?”

“Many tales of deceptive beings have you told. Are there no stories of kind-hearted spirits that seek only the good of us mortals?”

Hempie paused as though to ponder the question. “Indeed, many of the beings from the Other love to play tricks on men. I do believe in a way because we are mere infants to them, it delights them to watch us run after the fleeting and the eternal when we ourselves lack foresight and wisdom as they must do. Yet I have heard tell of Elves who took little delight in the tricks of their cousins, though it seemed to me you children found better amusement in the mischief of lower beings.” She laughed heartily at this, and it brought a smile to my lips, for of that she spoke true. “These Elves, being of higher nature than their kindred perhaps, mingled less with humans and rarely did they walk in their midst. They were healers of the land, setting their hands to that which has been ravaged by war or disease. Little love for the affairs of mortals did they have, yet once in a thousand perhaps one might stoop to aid in some way if the look of one pleased them somewhat.”

“Still they seem to have no order to such acts. Who are they to judge who is worthy and who not, that the one should live while the other perish?” Where such musings arose in me I could not tell, but with Hempie I had always felt a kinship with the immortals, as nearly as though she were one herself. How old was Hempie? She had been with us so long I did not think of her age, only that she was as constant to me as the stones in a riverbed. “It seems most unjust.”

“I daresay it is. That is why our ancestors must have the utmost care when dealing with creatures of the Other, respecting the earth, keeping a watchful distance, guarding greedy hearts from stretching out hands farther than one should reach.”

“Even so, it seems most unjust.”

“Ah child, injustice is the way of the world, and for my part, I should rather suffer it at the hands of beings higher than myself than at those of fellow men.”

We fell to silence, leaving me to ponder why she so loved her cryptic sayings. To my mind, “higher beings” could not be said to hold much more wisdom than humans, though they be immortal, for they concerned themselves with their higher matters and could not be trusted to judge mortal actions with wisdom. How could they, when they are ageless while we are made of flesh and bone, to be broken with a snap of their fingers, wasted away in a single breath they take? How can they fathom the strange realness of a limb bending at its joint, making contact with the moss and dirt of the earth, yet with the folds of ever-sagging skin that shall never return to the smooth firmness of a year-old babe?

Better still to trust nothing, not even oneself.

“It is good to leave the confines of my chamber,” Hempie said. “You still favor the taste of my thin noodle soup, yes?”

I nodded, marveling she still remembered.

“Then tomorrow I will go to the market for ingredients, and we will see if my weathered hands still have their touch.”

“With oxtail,” I said like a spoiled child.

She laughed. “With oxtail.”