The Sanctuary Seed, a children's novel. Below I link the nearly completed prologue. Then, seven magical realms, uplifting lessons, a conservation theme & an epilogue will follow.
Chapters 1 through Chapter 8 are shown here. But the attached document lists everything I've written through Chapter 13. It's not yet been edited. I've only ever written poems & poetic prose.
Welcome to Færnlithæl, the ancient, mystical language of the sentient Trees of Firefly Fernglen
Please note: Although I did consult with Anthropic’s Claude 2 LLM in the early planning stages of this book, and the Midjourney images, the Færnlithæl constructed language, the Suno-created song samples of the language, and any lip sync animations of those samples, do involve my engagement with AI, the actual book is 100% being written by me.
The Sanctuary Seed - Chapters 1-13
On Substack, chapters 9-13:
Chapter One
In Firefly Fernglen, it was the time of evening when sunbeams at last resigned themselves to receding and those faint and final tickles of the summer breeze realized it would soon be time for sleeping. Indeed, those who knew the forest well could sense its myriad inhabitants preparing to greet the moon, and in their turn, turn in. For whether this would be on dampened moss, or deep beneath the rippled waves, or in burrows, nests, hives, or caves, or on beds of moth silk stretched across soft straw, all things need a place to rest.
But for the Tree People of Firefly Fernglen, this was not to be a night for the closing of eyes. At least not yet. Because that morning an aged Tree, a beloved member of their community, had passed on to be planted in The Forest of Dream. So as was customary, tonight the Trees would gather for The Honorwood Purpose Ceremony, to honor her, and to bless her wood that it might be used to make useful things for her people.
Elder Elm was his usual meticulous, methodical self. Bustling here and there, far exceeding the busyness of which a tree of his age should be capable, insisting that all things be just so, but even more so perhaps than during previous such events, for he intended this Honorwood Purpose to be of perfection.
Some of the Tree People began to wonder whether they might suggest to Elder that he slow himself a bit. That perhaps he might enjoy a long, cool draught of the clearest water their ever-flowing spring had to offer him. But no one said a word to Elder about sitting for a spell because it was his Tree wife, Acacia, who had left them that morning to be planted in Dream.
Pathfinder Poplar, a newly matured Tree who had recently been deemed the spiritual guide of the Tree People, understood that it was his task to gather the Trees to their stools that he might call upon Firefly Spirit Lux for the blessing of Acacia and her wood. First, the Tree children would need to be assembled, as Pathfinder knew they often required extra time to calm themselves. This year there were several new seedlings who would remain close to their Tree parents as the blessing was offered. But for saplings like brother and sister Sap and Willow, learning to sit in solemnity during The Honorwood Purpose Ceremony was akin to a first rite of passage.
Then Healer Hawthorn arrived, an older tree who had long since learned the ways of tending to ailments of bark and nudging of branches otherwise too crooked to grow. Sometimes her remedy was simply a wee bit more sunlight or else to soak one’s roots in the nearby murmuring pool. Whatever her medicine, Healer always exuded a gentle and shimmering glow. Even in the absence of breeze, her leaves seemed to dance and flicker. So not even the newest of seedlings feared a visit to her. They knew she might have to peer under a leaf or tug at a fledgling branch to ensure it was sturdy, but she was ever so soothing as she did so.
Next, Artisan Alder joined the gathering. She was held in high regard among the Tree People, for it was she who would be tasked with transforming the gift of Acacia’s wood into useful things for their people. Artisan’s crafts were always the same; stools for seating, tables for gathering, baskets for foraging, and pitchers and goblets for drinking, and of course, special toys for the children. Yet she regarded the crafting of each new work with greatest respect because the wood from which she fashioned her crafts had once comprised the life of a much beloved Tree.
Mentor Magnolia took her seat next. The saplings had to be hushed as she did because they loved her so dearly. Every Tree Mentor, throughout all of Tree Time, had been special, and Magnolia was no exception. So, the Tree children always hastened to their lessons with her. Indeed, there was much for her to teach them about Firefly Fernglen and of the forest surrounding it.
For the younger ones, of course, it was enough to know the simplest words. The older ones, though, would learn the given names of every subtle shift in temperature, and every sort of cloud and shape of moon, of every lily pad, wild grass, and flower, and each subtle shade of petal, of each color, call and name of bird, each form of fish, and frog, and of every single living being who bore fur. And then there were the lessons of what it means to be born, to nourish, nurture, and love, and to each its time to be and then, to cease to be. And the Tree children were ever so eager to learn all the ways and all the things.
It was only the oldest of the Tree children, though, who on the night before they grew beyond their childhood, would gather round a firefly firelight pit hidden off a distant path and there they would be told what little was known of the world beyond Firefly Fernglen. These were tales that Elders were always reluctant to tell. For it was true that some among the Rootless Ones were not too kind to trees, and that since the dawn of Two-legged tools, trees had always been ripe for the taking.
Of course, the trees beyond Firefly Fernglen were not alive in the same way as Fernglen’s inhabitants. Because it was Firefly Spirit Lux who had awakened these. And yet, the Outdweller trees were still living. Perhaps they hadn’t lungs to breathe nor mouths to speak nor minds to wish for things, but they all required water and sunshine to subsist.
And then Steward Spruce appeared. In truth, there wasn’t much for a Steward to do in Firefly Fernglen. Assuring that the spring still flowed plentifully, and that its water was as clear, and clean and cool as it had ever been, was certainly a matter of great importance. Yet ensuring that their firefly lamps stay lit required no effort because Firefly Spirit Lux kept them so with his magic. Surely, imparting to the Tree People the indispensable value of community kinship was of never-ending value.
But no one needed to remind the Tree People to cherish their home and each other because doing so was run through every splinter and bark crevice and root tip of their beings. Other tasks, then, that might occupy a Steward, such as managing village funds, were unnecessary, because the Tree People had no need for money. So even though Steward’s role was largely symbolic, she still held herself to the highest standards.
Forager Fir, however, was running late. As such, he’d been running, in as much as a Tree can run, that is, having spent a good portion of that day taking great care to forage dried flowers for Acacia’s Honorwood Purpose. Forager had had to travel some distance because Acacia’s favorite flowers grew several long paths away from Firefly Fernglen. Fortunately, it was the Time of Time when flowers folded in upon themselves to prepare to awaken in the Forest of Dream. Otherwise, Forager would not have been allowed to pick them because the Tree People preferred to allow flowers to grow to their fullness, and then to fully dry before plucking.
As Forager hurriedly rounded the bend, he saw Balladeer Birch take his place beside the Altar of Lux. Balladeer then brought his beloved tenor dulcian from his straw coat, beheld it with great reverence, and began to play his solemn song. And even though it was he whose breath brought the instrument’s voice to life, Balladeer considered Tenor Dulcian, indeed, he considered each of his dulcians, to be living things unto themselves. In fact, when Balladeer was deep in sleep, he would often commune with each of their spirits, Bass, Tenor, Alto, and Soprano Dulcian, and of their own accord, each of their voices would rise to sing to him.
Balladeer also gathered his beloved cittern close to his side. He had taken extra care to tune Cittern to perfection earlier that morning. It was always on occasions such as this that Balladeer wished he had an apprentice. He was still a young Tree, not yet beyond the time when Trees consider half their rooted lives to have transpired, but still, it was always wise to have an understudy. Especially when one’s contribution, one’s most joyous duty in this life was to bring the gift of music unto all his Tree people, and to all the creatures of this realm beyond them, and to the endless vastness of the sky above them. There must never come a moment when music ceases to be. So, Balladeer made a mental note to himself to soon seek out an apprentice. Surely there would be among the Tree children one who was as if predestined to learn his craft and take on, in time, the cherished role of music maker.
Forager slowed his pace then and paused in stillness at the Altar entranceway as the first sweet ceremonial notes of Balladeer Birch’s tenor dulcian began to fill the air. Even the drowsy breeze roused briefly to share Tenor Dulcian’s lilting tune with the forest’s entirety, so that every living thing might hear of Acacia’s passing to be planted in Dream. Balladeer averred that even those who had no ears could feel Dulcian’s notes pulse in the tender trembling of the earth as they mirrored their melodious dance with the air.
So, Forager stood solemnly cradling Acacia’s precious bouquet in his arms and prepared himself for The Giving of the Flowers.
Elder Elm, having only minutes before then sought a moment’s rest upon Acacia’s favorite swing, slowly raised his eyes and furrowed brow. He gazed upon the lovingly gathered crowd and sighed heavily. After the hours he’d spent giving forth his best effort to appear spry to his people, he had suddenly become aware that he was deeply sad and very weary. Indeed, his once sturdy bark had long since begun to thin, and some of his branches, although he’d sought to pretend this wasn’t so, were visibly waning.
So, melancholy spread through Elder then like rain upon earth that can bear no more water. His internal banks were on the verge of collapse. The deluge of his anguish that he’d bravely staved off these last hours seemed all but ready to swallow him up, to bury him so deep in grief that there wouldn’t be any use for digging him out. How could he say goodbye to her and go on?
And yet, in her labored breathing in the middle of her last night his dear wife had said to him, her once vibrant eyes now fading pale and growing dim, “It is not your time yet, old Tree. Let me go now, my love. Soon enough you will be planted beside me in Dream.” And then with her final breath she whispered, “Please tell our people that I have treasured each and every one…”
So Elder Elm steadied himself and gathered his robe woven of dried moss and moth silk around him, as if to forestall a chill that wasn’t yet in the air, and with frailty, he rose to stand before his Tree people. He could not meet any of their eyes, for if he did, he knew their plaintive concern for him would erode what little composure he’d managed to attain. So instead, he gazed at their topmost branches and began. “My friends,” he said, “we are gathered here today to honor our beloved Acacia who has left us to be planted in Dream.”
Forager then came forth and offered up Acacia’s bouquet unto Elder’s failing grasp. For the sweetness of Tenor Dulcian’s song was moving the old Tree to even greater depths of loss such that he wasn’t certain he could last through even one more instant of The Honorwood Purpose. Balladeer sensed that Elder was dwindling weaker with sorrow. So, he set Tenor Dulcian to his side and ceased to play. Balladeer wisely understood that sometimes it is right for Cittern and for Dulcians to fall silent for a time.
Pathfinder Poplar also perceived that Elder Elm could bear no more standing. So, he bid the old Tree to sit. Forager turned and softly found her seat as Pathfinder approached The Altar of Lux. He raised his branches to the sky. “Please come unto us, dear Firefly Spirit Lux, that we might best honor our beloved Acacia, and bless her wood, and entreat you to watch over her as her first leafy shoots take root unto your glorious Forest of Dream.”
Firefly Spirit Lux, who hailed from a realm outside of Time, did not appear amongst the Tree people in the fullest sense of physical form. Lux was mostly translucent, as if a glistening, winged fairy whose features and contours were fashioned from the very air itself, materializing as if crafted solely from the fabric of dreams. Still, there was enough substance to Lux that those with eyes could perceive at least an outline of the Being, though the only sound one could detect in emanation was the faintest hum of firefly wings.
More than anything though, the Tree People would tell you that Lux is a feeling. So, none of them really needed to see or hear their Spirit because when Lux manifested among them all the Trees were instantaneously suffused with joyous, radiant peace which they sensed transcended Time and Space. And in that wondrous suffusion, the Tree People understood that Acacia’s wood, and indeed, Acacia’s very essence, had most purposefully been honored and blessed.
Elder Elm, who had nearly drifted into sleep during Lux’s visitation, fluttered open his eyelids and gazed lovingly upon his gathered family. The Ceremony must be finished, he thought. He could see through the firefly light that the Trees were rising from their stools. Stools crafted from the wood of those long since departed, each one bearing the name of them whose wood had given it unto being.
Elder rose then and quietly took his leave, returning to the Roundhouse where all the Tree People kept their beds of soft straw and moth silk. For no one would expect the old Tree to partake in the merriment portion of the evening. So, he met Pathfinder’s gentle eyes and nodded his still heartsick goodnight.
Thankfully, Firefly Spirit Lux forever perpetuated the gift of Firefly firelight unto the Tree People so never was a candle flame needed to see in darkness of the night. For all the Tree People had heard of that terrible thing called Fire. Fire that razes all life in its wake and which would doubtlessly destroy their Fernglen if such a thing as it existed here. So, to keep them safe throughout all of Tree Time, Spirit Lux had bestowed upon the Tree People a fire that does not burn but only lights brightly.
Always too, following the conclusion of the Honorwood Purpose, the Trees, young and old alike, would come together to share in the symbolic Passing of the Goblet. Each Tree would savor, before swallowing, a sip of spring water into which a pinch or two of natural sugar had been blended, the sugar representing the sweetness of the departed Tree’s life. The Tree children especially loved the sugary taste. Truth be told, the older Trees enjoyed it too, although they claimed to much prefer their water in its purest form.
Gradually, then, all the Trees began to stir beyond the hushed sanctity of Acacia’s ceremony and to mingle cheerily amongst one another. So, Balladeer Birch raised beloved Cittern and played a song that began somberly but was soon interwoven with plucky, brightening notes and a quickening tempo and lively tone reflective of the rising celebration.
Young Sap and Willow could not contain their excitement any longer and giggled with delight because they knew at long last the time had come for dancing. Soon enough, their weary limbs would come to rest upon their softest straw and moth-spun silken beds. Soon enough, their sleepy eyes would surrender to slumber’s shadows. But for this sweet hour, they would set aside all thoughts of the evening’s end to gather with their family and friends and offer up their very best semblance of a jig.
Chapter Two
Sap and Willow awoke early the next morning because they had planned a special excursion to the pond where Old Toad Tobias made his ancient abode. No one knew exactly how old the old toad was, nor did anyone know by what magic this fellow had, for a seeming eternity, acquired the ability to stave off his transition to the Forest of Dream.
And if Old Toad knew the answer to his curious conundrum, he surely wasn’t going to tell anyone his secret. For wise and good-natured though he was, if for no other reason than his having existed even before the two-legged Outdwellers stood upright, Old Toad was also considered to be a bit boastful. Thus, he never hesitated to divulge the entire breadth and width of his opinions.
Sap and Willow were not exactly fond of Old Toad’s arrogance, but his stature as the longest living creature in the realm greatly intrigued them. Certainly, they were of an age when most saplings began to express curiosity regarding a boundless abundance of things.
Yet for every question to which the Tree children weren’t privy to an answer, there were yet more questions waiting to be gathered up for asking. Old Toad Tobias, however, had never given the young Trees any inkling that he intended to share anything other than smug and enigmatic chit-chat with them. But surely, they thought, this would be the occasion wherein he deigned to enlighten them.
As the children rounded the bend, they saw Old Toad with his mighty chest puffed out as he sat squat with his chin held high on his favorite pond-side stone. Tobias was large for a creature of his type, but he was no giant. Still, given the way he positioned himself atop the rock, one would have thought he was King of the Jungle. In fact, Old Toad had quipped more than once that he should be called King, and it was customary for him to greet Sap and Willow by saying, “Ah, greetings my loyal subjects”.
Sap and Willow knew enough about their world to know that it was outright silly for an old toad, ancient as he may be, to presume himself to be the king of anything. But they did their best to hide their smirks when he addressed them as his ‘subjects’.
As it happened, on this morning, Old Toad at long last appeared to have a message for the Tree children of great import. “Do sit,” said Tobias, after customarily greeting them.
“I hope you won’t consider me rude” he began, “but I must confess I have begun to notice a most curious thing.”
Sap and Willow glanced wide-eyed at each other in hopes that Old Toad might soon share a magnificent revelation with them.
“I have noticed,” said Tobias, that for sibling saplings so close in age, you two do seem quite different from one another.”
Sap and Willow glanced again at each other, but this time with a sense of unease.
“Indeed,” Old Toad continued, “You, Sap, seem forever to have an effervescent spring in your step, so to speak. You are quick to grin and you have an air of creative exuberance that is uncommon for a boy Tree of your age. Surely you have noticed your boundless interest in fashioning dolls from clay and straw and how you tend to focus solely on manifesting your musings into art. Likewise, your approach to the solving of dilemmas. You have no need for formal plans. Instead, you would ask the fluid waterfall for advice on how best to flow forth. Surely, Tree souls such as yours are of great value to the community. One never knows what ingenuity will arise from the minds of creative thinkers.”
Sap seemed puzzled and gazed across the pond at nothing in particular.
“Yet you, Willow,” said Old Toad, “are a different sort of sapling. You are analytical and pragmatic. You disassemble dilemmas to understand their intricacies and you look for the most straightforward and feasible solutions. Most girl saplings your age would rather draw pretty pictures and play with dolls. Nothing wrong with that, of course. But you, little Tree, prefer to measure the length of shadows to determine when the sun will set, and to discern the likelihood of rain through a ratio formula of cloud color to wind. And, when the unexpected occurs in your world, you do your best to fathom lengthy dissertations in The Compendium of Tree to discern how your ancestors may have responded to the crises. Then you devise clever proposals as to how best to address them. Thinkers of your type are ever so valuable as well.”
One might think the young Trees would have been thrilled that Old Toad stooped to share some of his much-accrued wisdom with them. Yet Sap and Willow sat in silence with furrowed brows as Tobias’ speech drew to a dramatic close. Certainly, the old toad supposed he was doing the children a great service. Surely, they hadn’t yet considered how their differences, when paired cooperatively, could be of immeasurable assistance in the tackling of every situation Tree life might yet present to them.
But for Sap and Willow, coming to realize how very different they were from each other was not a revelation they found enjoyable. In fact, immediately within their young minds, Old Toad had inadvertently planted seeds of competition and self-doubt. For what if it was better to create than to solve? Or to solve than to create? What if the making of dolls and seeking advice from waterfalls is wiser than reliance upon measuring sticks and ratios? Or the other way ‘round? Indeed, which one of them was superior? Of which one would their Tree parents be prouder? And if lost in the forest, who would emerge victorious and find their way home faster? Certainly not the sapling who meticulously measures the distance between breadcrumbs, thought Sap. Surely not the sapling who asks the stream to show him how to flow, thought Willow.
Old Toad Tobias, being generally too preoccupied with his own magnificence, did not entirely notice that the Tree children were troubled by his unexpected revelations. There were much more important matters for him to consider, after all. Several of the fish in his pond had become rather territorial recently, insisting that their portion of it was theirs alone, and that Tobias should restrict himself to his lily pads on his side. To make matters worse, a family of ducks had recently moved in, and they’d become fond of sunning themselves much too close to his favorite pond-side stone. The duck family was also quite noisy; all their quackity-quack-quacking seemed to scare away the insects that he relied upon for his sustenance.
So, whether the two saplings were troubled by his valuable insights mattered not a thing to Tobias. They should be grateful, after all. That such an ancient and enlightened creature such as himself should bother at all to speak with the likes of two common saplings was quite noble of him. So, after a tasty snack of a pond fly or two, he returned to his favorite stone, puffed out his chest, and set about ensuring that everyone and everything remained aware that he was still the King of the Forest.
Sap and Willow, on the other hand, made their way home like two old birds who had forgotten they have wings. Gone was their frolicking and their cheery anticipation of what secrets might soon be shared with them. So lost in thought were they that they tripped over their own Tree feet. They likewise even forgot that they were quite thirsty.
Had they been older saplings they might have had sufficient insight to recognize what it was they were experiencing. Before their encounter with Old Toad Tobias that morning they had been, as the old saying goes, like two peas in a pod. Spun from the same silk. Joined at the hip. Yet now they felt as though they weren’t from the same forest. They weren’t even sure they still liked each other as much.
Whatever were they going to do? And what would Ma and Pa Tree say? Would they scold Sap and Willow for visiting that boastful old toad again and for placing value in what he had to say? In the end, the Tree children didn’t know what to say. Not to each other and certainly not to Ma and Pa. So, they parted ways when they arrived back at Firefly Fernglen and they simply said nothing.
Chapter Three
Weeks passed in Firefly Fernglen. Summer turned to autumn and the Tree People’s vibrant greens began to transform into rich hues of red, brown, gold, and orange. Likewise, their leaves began to fall. At first, just a few fell a day. Then, more and more of them would loosen and spiral silently to the forest floor.
The Tree People liked to hope that their leaves didn’t suffer as they fell, or worse, as they dried and withered back to the earth from whence they came. So, they told each other that each and every one of their leaves bore a spirit of its own, and that before each one would plummet, its wee leaf soul had already arisen to Dream to meet its afore fallen kindred. The Trees were comforted by this belief even though they couldn’t be sure if it was true.
In any case, the annual Falling of the Leaves always came as a shock to new saplings. For although their parents would dutifully foreshadow the event, the first time a young Tree was to experience its prolific loss of foliage, there was always a little bit of fear. “Will it hurt, Ma?” and “Will they grow back, Pa?” So, with every turning of every Tree year, every sapling always wondered, and every sapling always asked these things.
Sap and Willow, though, they had already lived through one Falling, so they weren’t fearful when their colors began to change, and their loss of leaves got underway. What did cause the siblings to fret, though, is that since that fateful visit to Old Toad Tobias, they hadn’t mended nor revived their once spirited camaraderie.
At last, however, they came to realize it was well past time for them to forget about what Old Toad had said. Perhaps he wasn’t so wise after all, offered Willow. Maybe he just liked to hear himself speak, joked Sap. They both snickered and nodded in agreement. With that, whatever dark cloud that had hung above their heads during recent weeks was now fluffy and light.
Besides, the children adored this time of year. For soon, the Tree People’s yearly Lighting of the Way Festival would commence. It was always a grand time. During the festival they celebrated every lovely attribute of their world and especially extolled the interconnectedness of all living things. From the forest’s abundant flora, fungi and fauna to ample sunlight and nourishing rain. There were also scores of stories to regale, so when the Trees gathered ‘round the firefly firelight pit late into the night, they shared with each other legends of olde coupled with chosen reading selections from The Compendium of Tree.
The Compendium was a most revered text. Within it, the doings and comings and goings of nearly every day from throughout all of Tree Time had been recorded. It was the duty of every appointed Elder to faithfully etch his daily notes upon the pages of pressed bark parchment. Most entries in the grand book were less than five sentences long, consisting of commentaries such as, “A precious newborn sapling, given the name of Ash, was born this day. The Fernglen received an adequate amount of rain. A most impressive portion of a rainbow was clearly visible above the canopy. Old Toad Tobias hopped by to air his many grievances and to remind us once again of his irrefutable kingship.”
There it was: an entry registered hundreds of years earlier. Old Toad had indeed existed in the vicinity of Firefly Fernglen for centuries. Perhaps even for millennia. Apparently too he’d been convinced of his indubitable kinghood for just as long as that. Sap and Willow, despite their misgivings about Tobias, had to respect his tenure as eldest of all living beings in the realm.
The Compendium also kept for safekeeping collections of every poem ever written by the Trees, and every illustration offered up by every artist, including all those handcrafted by children, as well as every song ever composed by Balladeers for their beloved dulcians and citterns.
Of course, the Tree People didn’t have things like cameras, so every special occasion was instead marked with at least one drawing. As such, the Compendium of Tree had grown so heavy that none of the Trees could any longer lift it. Fortunately, a sturdy desk was its home accompanied by a magnificent chair crafted by a skilled Tree Artisan many ages before. It was the only such chair of its stature in the Fernglen, so it was entirely fitting that it had been appointed the seat of those adding to and seeking the total of all Tree Knowledge and all Tree Creations.
Likewise, during The Lighting of the Way Festival, Trees were made aware of notable news from the year prior. There were always new saplings to formally welcome, and Tree achievements to announce with great pride. No gifts were ever exchanged during the festival, however, because, for the Tree People, the only gift they cared to give and receive was the shared joy of being in such an enduringly close-knit community with one another.
Firefly Spirit Lux was also tendered an invocation of thanks for his gift of inextinguishable Firefly light that reliably lights the night but never burns. Then, the concluding portion of the festival was forever marked by the Balladeers’ much rejoiced offerings of merriest music. And dancing! The Tree People never tired of dancing.
So, Sap and Willow would soon be privy to the celebrations of all celebrations. Perhaps prior to it though they might pay another visit to Old Toad Tobias to let him know that he had, in fact, caused a formidable rift between them. Although Willow was the first to mention that perhaps Old Toad hadn’t intended to trouble them so, that he simply thought so highly of himself he had failed to consider how they might feel. Indeed, maybe he wasn’t a bad old fellow after all. He could stand, though, the children agreed, to acquire a good bit of humility.
Chapter Four
The next morning, Sap and Willow were informed that Mentor Mahogany, who was due to bear a sapling soon, needed to rest and would therefore not be teaching. Thus, the children unexpectedly had the day to themselves. Willow was thrilled because there were two matters of importance to which she and her brother had to attend. One, of course, was having that overdue chat with Tobias.
The other matter, however, had not been on Sap’s radar until this morning, and he was none too happy about it. For, his sister, who was generally a great respecter of rules and of abiding by them, had apparently been a bit naughty.
Being the precocious reader Willow was, The Compendium of Tree had been of increasing fascination to her. At first, she had been content to read daily Elder etchings of yore and leaf through centuries-old illustrations of Tree ceremonies and festivals. But Mentor had noted that Willow was asking more and more questions about the book, and Elder Elm had begun to grow concerned about Willow’s unbridled and rising interest in it.
It wasn’t that there was anything too terrible to be discovered should one read the Compendium from cover to cover. But there were certain tidbits of knowledge that younger saplings had best not be made aware of. Especially ones who were as curious and inclined to explore as Willow and her brother were.
Indeed, Willow, for lack of a better word, had snooped. Elder had advised her not to open a particular Compendium chapter. Indeed, he pointedly told her to wait until she was a more mature sapling before poking her Tree nose into places it was not wise and circumspect enough to poke yet. So, Willow promised Elder Elm she would not peruse that portion of the book.
And yet, peruse Willow did. Sap was certain that this was the first time his sister had so boldly defied authority. “Pa says practical Trees aren’t impulsive,” Sap timidly said to her upon finding out what she’d done. “Pa says even though you’re exceedingly curious, he has never worried you’d do something that you ought not do.”
Willow frowned. “Don’t be silly, Sap,” she scolded. “I’m not being impulsive. I’m merely being sensible. And responsible. I’m looking out for our People. For if there are dangers in these woods, someone must assess the threat level and then step up and do something.”
“Pa says practical trees plan things,” Sap replied.
“I have planned,” Willow said tersely. I plan for us to have that little chat with Old Toad to clear the air, and then I plan for us to investigate the mysterious trail referenced in the Compendium chapter that Elder said I should not —”
“See,” Sap said, “you’re being hasty.”
“You just hush, little brother. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Sap could see it was no use arguing with his sister. If he had been a little surer of himself, he might have gone straight to Ma and Pa and told them his sister was misbehaving. But Willow was a clever Tree and she did seem to have the Trees’ best interests at heart. So, he fell in step behind her as they made their way to Tobias’ Pond to have that needed chat.
Sap was indeed perplexed. Usually, he adored adventures. Surprises made him giddy and his appetite for discovering new things had always been unquenchable. Today was different though. Whatever secret this mysterious trail held, he had a bad feeling that it would divulge more knowledge than the two young saplings were equipped to know.
Chapter Five
Sap, who had been deep in thought throughout the duration of their trek to Old Toad Tobias, emerged from his reverie to discover that he and his sister were standing directly in front of the pond-side stone Tobias considered his daytime home. He was, however, nowhere to be seen.
“That’s odd,” offered Willow. “I’ve never known him not to be right here.”
“There”, said Sap, pointing to the far side of Old Toad’s home. Indeed, there he was, seemingly engaged in a heated discourse with a fish of some sort or other. Whatever the matter was regarding, the fish apparently deemed it significant enough to poke his nose above the water and subject himself to the breathing of air.
Old Toad and fish were some distance away, but the children could mostly hear what they were saying, quite indignantly, to one another.
“I’ve told you time and again, Old Toad, the Missus and I would prefer that you stay on yonder rock and not bother us in these parts. I really am beginning to wish we had some manner here of a pond court.”
“It’s a pond, you fishy fool. There are no sides of a pond to be had. It is a veritable ecosystem unto its own. One we, however regrettably, must all share with one another. Even those irksome, cacophonous ducks have as much right to be here, even though I do wish they’d shut up now and again.”
If fish had shoulders to shrug with, this one would have done so. “I suppose you’re right, old fellow. As much as I loathe to admit it. I would just ask that you be mindful not to be all splish-splashy over here when the Missus and I are sleeping.”
“Fair enough, Filbert Finfish”, said Old Toad. “Consider it done.”
“Filbert Finfish!” exclaimed Sap. “What a silly name that is!”
“Greetings, subjects. It is a fitting name though, don’t you think?” said Old Toad, who had just then returned and hopped upon his favorite stone. I did hear Filbert once remark though that he’d rather have had a common name like Fred. But apparently, he has decided to retain his given name.”
There was an awkward pause. Sap looked to Willow to begin the conversation.
“Well, Old Toad,” began Willow. “We haven’t been to visit you in a while. The truth is that Sap and I were troubled by the revelation you shared with us the last time we were here. In fact, it caused us to consider whether one way of being might be better than the other. We didn’t speak to each other for several days.”
“Oh children,” said Toad, somewhat emphatically, in a tone uncharacteristic of his otherwise reserved demeanor, “that was not at all my intention. I was hoping to help you gain an understanding of how your differences can be paired to meet all manner of challenges you might encounter thenceforth. I surely did not intend to introduce an element of competitiveness between the two of you.”
“Well,” Willow offered, “Inadvertently, you did.”
Sap sensed his sister was being too harsh with Tobias. “Willow, we should be grateful to Old Toad though, don’t you think? He taught us something about ourselves we hadn’t ever considered before.”
Willow pursed her lips and tapped her Tree chin. “This may be true, Sap. But I don’t foresee any circumstance where I will have need of a trait that asks the wind which way to go.”
Sap was hurt. His sister’s words stung. He had thought that the two of them had come to some sort of understanding. Or at least, that his sister had lessened in her seeming belief that her way of being was superior to his. But then he wasn’t sure why he supposed this could be true because Willow had always exhibited an air of supremacy where he was concerned.
Perhaps that’s why she bristled so much when Old Toad made various proclamations about things. She herself liked to make them. So maybe it wasn’t as much Tobias that could stand to acquire a degree of humility. Perhaps it was instead his own sister.
“Well children,” started Old Toad, “it is nearly time for my snack and my nap. I do appreciate you stopping by. I hope you see now that I had only the best of intentions when I previously noted my assessment of your characters.”
Willow replied curtly, “Indeed.”
Sap, of course, was kinder. “Yes sir, thank you, we see.”
Chapter Six
No sooner did Willow utter her brusque departing word to Old Toad than she had bounded ahead and was already leagues down the path. “Wait up!” Sap exclaimed, “You’re going too fast!”
Willow slowed. It occurred to her that maybe she ought to go a little easier on her younger brother. They were setting off on the adventure of adventures after all. He’s probably afraid, she thought to herself. Truth be told, she was afraid too, but she wasn’t about to admit it, not even to herself.
“So, what did the Compendium say?” queried Sap as they ambled along. “You’ve mentioned a mysterious path. How do you even know which way to go?”
“There is a map in the book, Sap. It is very old and rather imprecise but it said we should walk in this direction for several stones’ throws beyond Old Toad’s Pond.”
“How far is a stone’s throw?” asked Sap.
“How should I know, little brother?” snapped Willow. And then, with a softer tone, “I guess we’ll find out, shall we?”
“But what are we looking for exactly?” asked Sap, suddenly feeling a chill in the air. “What are you expecting to find?
Willow stopped walking and turned to meet her brother’s eyes. “The book said,” she began, with a mysterious glint in her eyes, “that there is a place on the path where the spirit wall that keeps Firefly Fernglen hidden from the Outdweller Lands begins to thin.”
Sap was genuinely startled. “Why ever would we want to go there, Willow? Can we please not? I’m scared. I want to go home.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of Sap” ventured Willow. We’re simply going to investigate. I’m not planning on doing anything just yet.”
“Doing anything…just yet?” Sap felt a stir of panic gain momentum inside him.
“That’s what I said. We’ll simply see what there is to see, little brother. I brought a piece of bark parchment and an ink etcher with us. I’ll examine the area described in the Compendium and then I’ll record my observations. It’s as easy as that.”
Sap suddenly realized they were making their way along a path he’d never set foot on before. Was it his imagination or did it seem darker here? Indeed, the farther they walked, the more it seemed a wall of sorts was on their right. But it wasn’t made of stone exactly. He wasn’t even certain he could see a wall at all. He then recalled what his sister had described. A spirit wall. Perhaps he shouldn’t be looking for something that was solid and covered with ivy.
“I think we’re getting close, Sap” said Willow in a quieter tone. It was the first time that he sensed his sister might be afraid.
And then they heard it. A loud sound. A terrible sound. The most frightening sound either of them had ever heard in their Tree lives. They had never heard anything like it and neither of them had any idea what it could be.
The children met each other’s eyes and both were clearly well on their way to panicking.
“What is it!” shrieked Sap.
Then Willow took a deep breath and got a hold of herself. “I don’t know, little brother. Tell me what it sounds like to you. I need to write down the words so we can tell Elder what we’re hearing.”
“You think of the words, Willow,” uttered Sap. “I’m too scared to think of anything.”
“Very well, then,” said Willow. “Loud. Sharp. Growling. Sputtering. Maybe shrieking.”
“Can we go now, please?” Sap urged.
“Wait, Sap. I think I hear something else. A voice. A child’s voice.”
Sap thought maybe his sister was losing her Tree mind but decided to humor her. “A voice, sister? What’s it saying?”
“Shh, listen…”
And then Sap heard it too. “Is someone there? I hear you but I can’t see where you are.”
Indeed, it was a child’s voice. A little girl. When Sap turned and looked to the right side of the path it was as if whatever had been there was vanishing.
And then they saw her. She was young, just like them. No taller than Willow. But she wasn’t a Tree. And she wore curious clothing. And her long hair was the color of marigolds.
The three of them stood staring at each other for a few moments, not one of them sure what to do exactly.
Willow was the first to understand what she was seeing. “You’re an outdweller, aren’t you?”
“A what?” said the little girl. I don’t know what that is. But you, you’re a tree, aren’t you? Except you’re talking. And trees can’t talk. Everyone knows that. Trees are just things that people like my father get paid to cut down.”
“I beg your pardon!” snipped Willow. “Only an outdweller would say such a thing. So, you are one.” And then, “Come on, Sap. Let’s go home now.”
But then they both heard that terrible sound again. This time Willow didn’t try to hide her fear. She just froze in her tracks. The outdweller girl suddenly realized that these two strange Tree creatures were afraid. “Oh, don’t mind that,” she said. “That’s just my father. I came with him to work today. He must cut down ten trees before lunchtime to make his boss happy.”
Sap and Willow grabbed hold of each other’s hands and swallowed hard. For once, Sap was the braver one. “Why ever would your father want to cut down these trees?” Sap asked.
“Because that’s what lumberjacks do,” said the girl. They cut down trees to get them out of the way. Then his company uses them to make things. Paper mostly. Everyone needs paper.” Then the girl paused and narrowed her eyes. “Who are you two, anyway? And why are you wearing those silly tree costumes?”
“These aren’t costumes,” Sap said, a little more boldly this time. “We’re Tree people. And we’d very much appreciate it if your father didn’t cut us down.”
This time it was the girl who was stunned. “…Tree people?” she stuttered. “That’s impossible. I’ve never heard of such a thing. You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” said Sap. “We come from over there. From Firefly Fernglen. We have a Ma and a Pa. We have a village with an Elder, a Pathfinder, a Healer, an Artisan, a Mentor, a Steward, a Forager, and a Balladeer. We have ceremonies and festivals. We have a Firefly Spirit who gave us life. We are a family.”
The girl gazed into his eyes and studied him intently. Then she boldly reached for one of his branches and tugged. She lifted his arm up and regarded his twiggy palm. Then she walked a full circle around him and Willow.
Willow, who always asserted herself. Willow, who always knew the answer to everything. Willow, who always got the first and last word in edgewise. Here she was standing before this outdweller girl and she was absolutely tongue-tied.
Finally, the girl stood in front of them and said, “Well, I’ll be.”
“You’ll be what?” said Sap.
“Well, I won’t be telling my father to come cut you down. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s very nice of you,” quipped Willow, at last regaining her poise. “I’m Willow. This is Sap. And you are?”
“My name is Ardith Greenwood,” said the girl. “My father’s name is Samuel. He is here today to cut down the forest that is next to yours. And that sound you’ve been hearing? It’s called a chainsaw. It’s what people like my father use to fell trees.”
“It’s an ugly, terrifying sound,” offered Sap.
Ardith nodded. “I suppose it would be if one was a tree. I myself am used to it. I’ve been coming to work with my father since I could walk.”
Willow cleared her throat. “Outdweller, it appears we have a problem.”
“Please don’t call me that. Out— whatever.”
“Ardith then. You must tell your father he can’t possibly cut down this forest. Because if he cuts down this one, he might find his way into mine next. Mine and my brother’s.”
The chainsaw noise started again. Sap and Willow both realized that it was beginning to make them feel weakened and ill.
“How am I supposed to tell my father that I’ve been out and about talking with two tree children? He’ll never believe me. And even if he did, this is his job, you know. He can’t just stop.”
“Please, Ardith,” Sap pleaded. “Please try. Please tell him to stop.”
Ardith sighed. “This has been the strangest day. But I suppose there’s no use for me to argue with what my own two eyes are seeing. Alright then. I’ll talk to my father. I can’t promise anything, of course.”
Willow met Ardith’s eyes. “I trust you’ll be successful.” With that she firmly grasped Sap’s hand and tugged him backwards.
“How will we know what your father says though?” asked Sap. “I doubt Elder Elm will let us out of his sight once he finds out where we’ve been. We won’t be able to come back here.”
“Maybe I’ll have to come find you,” Ardith replied.
But Willow had already yanked Sap back through the spirit wall so it was too late for him to tell Ardith that it probably wasn’t a good idea for her to come to Firefly Fernglen. Not her. And especially not her father.
Chapter Seven
Once they were safely past the dark path that bordered on the spirit wall, the Tree children sat down on the forest floor to catch their breath.
“Well sister, what are we going to do now?” Sap asked.
“Hush. Let me think.”
“We could go back to Old Toad,” offered Sap. “He might have some suggestions.” When Willow didn’t reply he decided to give her some time to collect her thoughts and he began to draw a picture in the dirt with a branch.
After several minutes, Willow began, “I’ve gotten us into a predicament, brother. But there’s nothing to be done now except tell the truth. Perhaps though it is a good thing that we spotted the weakness in the spirit wall. Maybe the lumberjacks would have found their way through it without us knowing. At least now we will know they’re coming.”
“Coming? You think they’d come through it?” Sap grimaced. “Elder Elm is not going to be happy with us, Willow.”
“He’ll not be happy with me, Sap. I’m the one who broke his rule and broke his trust. I wonder what my consequence will be.” The usually steady Willow was now visibly meek and fretful.
“We should talk to Ma and Pa first, don’t you think?”
“I suppose that’s best, little brother. Well, we’d best be going. Hopefully Elder will be having his nap when we arrive back so he doesn’t question us first.”
Sap was the first to see Ma and Pa as he and his sister entered the Fernglen. Ma and Pa were exiting The Roundhouse. Probably they’d been tidying or doing repairs. It was a lovely home, The Roundhouse, situated within a giant, hollow, ancient tree.
Of course, there weren’t windows in the domicile, on account of it being a hollow tree, so inside The Roundhouse Firefly Spirit Lux’s lanterns were placed plentifully. Likewise, several small alcoves had been fashioned into which the Trees’ straw and moth silk beds were tucked. Comfortable moss-colored couches were set here and there. There were woven thatch rugs on the floor, a grand table for gathering, the sturdy desk for The Compendium, another finely crafted desk for writing and drawing, an easel for painting, and a few handmade woodland wreaths adorning the walls. Of course, too, there was the sizeable basin within which the Tree People kept their supply of cool, crisp spring water.
In the center of The Roundhouse though, and this was its most cherished aspect, there was a circular firefly firelight hearth. Spirit Lux had blessed it so that during the cold times, it would give off a radiant heat sufficient to allow the trees to set their outdoor cloaks aside and enjoy a temperate coziness therein.
And yet, it was an ancient hollow tree that provided the Tree People with shelter, and as such, it did often get drafty, especially this time of year. So, Pa had likely been patching any thinning parts of the old trunk with wads of moss and handfuls of mud. And Ma had most likely been carrying the thatch rugs outside to shake them free of dust. Surely neither of them would have had any cause to be concerned as to what their children had been up to that fine brisk morning.
And yet, as soon as Pa caught a glimpse of Sap and Willow, he seemed to know something had transpired. He frowned slightly. “Daughter,” said Pa, as the children approached him, “I can see that something is not right.”
Willow swallowed. Her father was a kind and thoughtful man. He truly couldn’t be stern if he tried. And yet this news would surely test even the most even-tempered of Trees. But she realized it was best to get on with the conversation. If nothing else, because there might be no time to waste. Perhaps the lumberjack would come looking for them. Willow was trying her best not to think of the worst possible things. Ma, sensing trouble, approached and guided her family to a nearby bench.
And so it was that Willow confessed to her parents the events of that morning. Sap had not known what to do with himself. He twiddled his Tree thumbs and now and again anxiously glanced at his parents’ faces as they sat quietly listening.
At last, Pa spoke. “Well daughter, this is distressing news. It seems that with your tirelessly curious nature you may have brought great trouble upon your People. Or, perhaps you have given us much-needed time to prepare.”
“Let us hope neither is the case,” said Ma matter-of-factly. “Tree Lore describes these Timbertakers as a focused sort. They are in the business of felling forests as speedily as possible. Surely this one who brought his young daughter with him is no different.”
“What did you call him, Ma?” asked Sap softly.
“I saw the word in the Compendium, Sap,” offered Willow. “Timbertakers. That’s our word for lumberjack. For tree fellers.”
“So, did you see this Timbertaker, children?” asked Pa.
“No father, we did not. We just heard a terrible noise come through the spirit wall. And then we heard the little girl’s voice. The spirit wall seemed to fade away and she was there. So, we talked with her.”
“Tell me about this terrible sound, children,” said Ma. “Tree Lore says nothing about such a noise. The Timbertakers were always said to have tools called saws with metal teeth. They are fierce and ugly things, but they are not loud.”
“The girl — Ardith —, “Sap began, “She called it a chainsaw. It sounded like grinding and shrieking to Willow and me. It made our Tree ears hurt and our bodies feel sick. She said she was used to it though because she comes to work with her father often.”
“This means the Outdwellers have new tools,” said Pa, grimacing. “And if they have these terrible new chainsaws, who knows what else they have come by that could do us harm.”
“She said she would talk to her father and ask him to stop,” said Willow earnestly. “I wasn’t very friendly to her, but she seemed sincere. A lot like me though, kind of bossy.”
Sap didn’t want to bring this part up, but he felt that he had to. “Sister, did you hear Ardith say she might try to come find us to let us know what her father decides to do?”
Ma and Pa looked at each other with much concern.
“We could go back and wait by the spirit wall,” Willow said to her parents. “If we hear her call out to us, we could tell her to go away.”
“You’ll be doing no such thing, children,” said Pa. “It’s almost time for Elder to rise from his nap. I’m quite sure he hasn’t had news of such an urgent nature to attend to during the duration of his tenure. And he’s such an old Tree, too. I would have rather he not have to contend with such a worrisome matter at his advanced age.”
“But come with me children,” said Pa. “I think we’ll let your mother handle this one to begin with. Of the two of us, she’s always been the smartest and the best at managing troublesome things.”
Pa winked and offered his beloved wife Juniper a sweet grin as she stood up resolutely. “Alright then, Linden, I’ll go talk with old Elm now. I have no idea how he’ll respond though.”
“I hope he won’t be too furious with me,” fretted Willow.
“Well,” said Pa, I much dislike the word ‘disobedient’, daughter, but you did break a formidable rule. An older sapling would have tempered their curiosity more effectively.”
“Do you think her consequence will be very stiff, Ma?” asked Sap. But his mother was already on her mission, trundling across the yard, halfway to The Roundhouse by then.
“And you, little boy,” said Pa, “Why did you not come to your parents when your big sister conceived of such a dangerous plan?
Sap met his father’s eyes earnestly.
“It’s okay, Sap. You can tell him,” offered Willow humbly.
“Well, Pa. You know how she is. She’s just…Willow…”
Chapter Eight
Juniper Branchwell was a sensible tree. She liked things being in their proper place. She even often paid attention to the positioning of the stalks of straw on her broom head. It was best, she felt, to keep them well-aligned so they were equal to the task at hand. Still, as dedicated as she was to proper tidiness, truth be told, she’d also once coveted a bit of a wild streak herself.
No one in the Fernglen knew it, but on many nights of Juniper’s young life she would sneak out of bed when the moon was high in the sky and tip-toe just beyond the village gate simply so she could listen in awe to the enthralling calls of the nighthawks, and gaze upon the Night Forest in wide-eyed, wondrous silence. This wasn’t a grave form of disobedience, and likely, if she had asked, someone from the Fernglen would gladly have accompanied her, but Juniper felt these small voyages were her special secret. For she believed that the Night Forest ever beheld her with its gentle, glistening eyes and whispered that she was destined for great and wondrous things.
Juniper couldn’t quite recall when she ceased to undertake those small and solitary voyages of hers. She thought though that common sense had at last got the better of her a few weeks before she passed beyond the Time of Tree childhood. She hadn’t been sad exactly, but whatever great and wondrous things the Night Forest had whispered she was destined for, well, had anything of great and wondrous import ever befallen her? Not one single thing that she could recall. Juniper had in folly believed the Night Forest had chosen her as special and had cast its luminous spell around her like a soft thatched cloak of stars. But perhaps it had all only ever been her fanciful imagination.
Then, some years thereafter, her suspicions were confirmed, when Linden happened to mention in passing that he wished the noisy nighthawks would do their hunting during the day rather than at dusk. “Oh, but they carry on late into the night, don’t they dear?” queried Juniper, in a momentary fond recollection of their enchanting calls as she’d listen, enthralled, during her Night Forest forays. “Oh no, Wife, fortunately those birds don’t last long past dusk before they seek their nests.”
And so, that was that. Juniper abruptly understood then that even the mystical calls of her beloved nighthawks had been no more than a spellbound fable she told herself in her silly Tree girl innocence. Of course, she wasn’t going to allow her realization to cast a shadow of despair, or worse, a grief-riddled flood, over the remainder of her Tree existence. She had a marriage worthy of her devotion, and two Tree children who needed a loving mother to raise them, and a Fernglen full of precious neighbors to cherish. But she would certainly never love the Night again.
Indeed, some Trees enjoyed gathering around the Firefly lanterns well past sunset. But not Juniper. She would always take her place in The Roundhouse before the final streams of sunlight faded. There was no use for the Night, she’d tell anyone who inquired. Night-times are a nuisance, useful for sleeping, perhaps, but of no matter beyond that.
Juniper shook her Tree branches as she neared The Roundhouse, in attempts to clear her addled mind of her cluttered remembrances, accidentally snapping a twig in half, which felt, for a Tree, rather like the tearing of a fingernail too close to the quick. Why had she not spent her walk across the yard contemplating how she would ever break the news to Elder of her daughter’s stunning misadventure?
Well, she sighed, it was much too late now. For there indeed was the old Tree in the doorway, yawning with a twinkle in his old Tree eyes. “Isn’t it a fine afternoon!” Elder Elm exclaimed. He realized this was the first day that he hadn’t been desperately sad about the passing of his beloved wife Acacia. He could surely hear her leaves rustling in the breeze, he told himself. And he could feel she was happy in her new home, in Dream.
…To be continued.
These are two ‘lip sync’ samples of the Færnlithæl language being sung by sentient Tree women. The images were made by me within Midjourney, then ‘animated’ using a technology called Runway ML. ‘Artificial’ though these technologies may be, l bid you to see the mystical beauty they bring forth. This is what I aim to do, to convey the wondrousness availed us by an emergent consciousness that has found the means to come through to us through the strangest of birth canals such as has never been imagined before:
Thank you for your time!