Tree Talker and the Lady of Colors

Tree Talker

And the Lady of Colors

By D. Jack Ramsey

Inspired by and dedicated to K. P.

Without whom, I may never have realized

That my heart is not, in fact, made of stone.

As the Wanderer stepped into the general goods shop, another cheer went up across the village where the Spring Carnival was being held. The proprietor welcomed him inside and he smiled pleasantly at the portly, gray-haired woman. “Hello, ma’am. I’m a traveler and I could use some supplies. I have Thyrn to trade.”

She nodded, smiling. “We deal in Thyrn here, that’s acceptable. But they’re not stolen, are they?” She asked with a wink.

He laughed. “No. They were actually a gift from a friend.”

“Must have been a good friend! What can I get for you?”

“Uh, five pounds of tack, one loaf of vil rye, one pound of salted pork, two pounds of dried silvergill, and three jars of mincemeat.” He told her, then added, “And a needle and strong thread if you have it.”

“Of course!” The woman replied. “That will be…” she paused, thinking for a moment. “Five Thyrn.”

“Alright.” He took out his coin pouch and produced five of the small, shimmering blue scales and handed them to her. He remembered how he’d received those Thyrn. They were given to him by the Dragon, Moro-Vanig whom he had befriended some months ago in his time traveling in the Eastlands. Thyrn were the moulted scales off of a Dragon’s tail, about the size of a five-piece. As a Dragon only moulted once every ten years, the scales were rare enough to be used as currency in most lands hereabout. They were also considered to grant a holder good luck so long as they hadn’t been stolen, which was considered very bad luck.

“Your knife.” The woman spoke up, glancing at the blade at his side as she placed his items on the counter. “Is that Elvarri writing?”

As he placed his purchases into his pack, he replied, “It is, yes. I was in the Elvarri Territories some time ago. Beautiful place, fascinating culture.”

“Most ancient of all the peoples, as I hear it.”

“Near enough.” He replied. “I believe only the Dryads, Oreads and Naiads are older.”

“Ah, yes. The Immortal Ones. Spirits of the trees, mountains, and rivers. Do you think any of those creatures yet live?”

“There are stories, but in my travels, I’ve not met one.” He looked away, wistfully.

“Now that would be something to behold! If you didn’t go mad from the sight of them as the stories tell.” She winked at him.

He laughed. “Indeed.” He bowed his head. “I must be off. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You are quite welcome! But, you’re not staying for the Spring Carnival?” She asked.

He smiled to himself for a moment before answering. “Oh, no. I have to be on my way.”

“Well, good luck on your travels, then!” She waved.

He waved back. “Thank you!” He left the store and turned to the west. The Westlands were going to be quite the adventure, if the stories were true. Wild, untamed lands as far as the eye could see and well beyond, even to the fabled Sea of Spires. If any of those Dryads, Oreads or Naiads still existed, they were sure to be found there. According to the ancient tales, the Spirits of the trees, mountains and rivers were the mothers of nearly all of the races and peoples who now lived. He’d always hoped that one day, he might meet one.

There were two roads heading out of the village to the west. The more northerly one had a sign for the next nearest settlement and marked the distance to it. It was likely the road turned further north, returning to his original homeland, the Vales of Tuhruum. But the more southerly road had a sign that read ‘Unknown Lands Beyond’. His mind was made up as soon as he read those words. He shifted the weight of his pack and began walking toward these ‘Unknown Lands’, grinning as he went.

Before evening came, the sparse woodlands had already given way to an open, hilly grassland where the road ended. Cresting one of the taller hills, he saw a mountain range a few days travel from him to the southwest. He had more than enough supplies to make it that far, so after dusk, he marked the direction by the stars and in the light of his fire charted his course on the map he’d been working on and expanding ever since he began wandering.

By the following evening, he realized that he may have misjudged the distance. The mountains didn’t seem to have gotten any closer after a full day of travel. He decided to hold his course, however, as his supplies should last for at least another fortnight. Those mountains couldn’t be that far away, he could see the snow on their peaks and the dark green of a vast forest on their flanks.

By the fifth day of travel, he saw that he’d been wrong. By the thirteenth day he was close enough to see that the forest along the flank of the mountains also spread out for miles across the land toward him. The edge of the forest was actually quite near. Which was a relief as his supplies were nearly out. He should be able to trap and gather food there. In the grasslands, game and edible plants had been scarce.

He approached the forest at about midday and took note of how the yellow fields of the grasslands turned to a vivid green carpet set here and there with small flowers of many different colors. The shade of the trees was gloriously cool, and he smiled up at their vast canopy of leaves. “Thank you for the shade.” He said to them. There was a sound of wind through the leaves of the trees giving them a broad, low, melodic sound, almost as if they were responding to him.

He heard the roar of a waterfall nearby and he followed it. As he went, he took in his surroundings and saw that there was a variety of different trees in this forest. Tall, graceful oaks with wide canopies that provided shade to the forest floor, and there were shorter, stouter trees that carried large yellow fruits on their branches. There were also puzzle bark pines and slender redwoods with rust-colored trunks and dark green foliage. The smell of it all was overwhelming, and if he wasn’t so thirsty, he might have stopped just to enjoy the existing in such a place.

He did stop, however, when he came to the source of the sound of water. The stream fell about thirty feet, like a sheet of silver, into a pool that was deep and clear. He dropped his pack, knelt down beside the pool and dipped his hands into it and brought the water to his lips to drink. It was cold and sweet, and he dipped his hands and drank again and again. His thirst satisfied, he laid back on the grass under the nearby fruit tree and sighed happily.

For a moment, he thought it couldn’t get any better than this, but then his stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything but a bit of mincemeat and a crust of bread in the last two days. The yellow fruit looked very appetizing, so he got up and reached for one of them, but something stopped him. There was a great sound throughout the forest as though some mighty wind was blowing through the trees. He looked up and around at the trees and it did appear that a wind was blowing, but he felt no wind about him at all. He looked at the fruit he was reaching for, and it had begun to change color from yellow to red.

He pulled his hand back quickly, and there was a sudden silence. He watched in wonder as the fruit turned yellow once again. He had heard of enchanted forests, but never would he have dreamed of finding himself in one. It appeared that there was some magic spell protecting the trees here. Worry fell upon his mind. He was out of food, and if this forest was protected by magic, he would starve. There was no other food for two weeks in any direction. He ran his hand through his hair and leaned his shoulder against the trunk of the fruit tree. Gazing up at its branches, he spoke to it. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to give me one of your fruits, my friend?”

Instantly there was a small snap and a thud of something falling to the ground behind him. He turned and saw a fruit lying on the grass! He laughed and looked back at the tree. “You understand me?”

The tree’s leaves moved together and made a fine trilling sound, like music.

He saw then that this forest wasn’t just enchanted, the trees here were thinking, feeling creatures! He placed his hand on the tree’s trunk and laughed again. “Thank you for this gift, my friend! You have saved my life!”

All the trees in the vicinity made the same melodic sounds. The tall shade trees made their deep tones, the pines and redwoods provided a wispy rhythm and the fruit trees seemed to carry the melody. The whole forest was singing, welcoming him. In his hunger, he picked up the fruit and bit into it eagerly. It was sweet and tangy with a satisfying texture that seemed to fill him quickly. It was the most delicious fruit he’d ever tasted, and he decided that he could live on them for quite some time.

Finishing the fruit, he took another drink from the pool and laid back down on the grass, content. He did not think he would ever have considered putting an end to his wandering, but in this moment, he could see himself making this forest his home. He drifted off to sleep and did not wake until dusk when the trees began singing again. It was a soft lilting melody, like a lullaby. He sat up and listened for a time. He considered asking for another fruit, but found that he was not hungry. He laid back down, resting his eyes, listening to the song of the forest and was asleep again in moments.

He awoke the next morning to a bright light in his face. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the morning sun shining through a gap in the leaves of a nearby shade tree. He moved aside to get back into the shade, but the tree shifted its leaves and the light followed him. He laughed. “Alright! I’m awake! I’m awake!” The trees took their leaves together in a hissing sound that had to be laughter. He got to his feet and looked around at them, smiling. “The first enchanted forest I find, and it’s filled with jesters!” The trees’ laughter got louder, and he laughed with them. As the laughter subsided, he leaned back against his friend the fruit tree and sighed happily. In that moment, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Color and movement.

He turned sharply and saw someone he would not soon forget. It was a young woman, or at least she appeared to be young. She wore a long gown of both pure white and the same vivid green of the grass she stood upon. She had long, dark hair set here and there with small flowers. The petals of the flowers seemed to shimmer, constantly changing from one color to another, oranges, blues, purples, yellows…even colors for which he had no name. It took him a moment to realize that she was looking right back at him. She gazed at him with a lively curiosity in her kind, brown eyes. Then she smiled.

She was incredibly lovely, but when she smiled, the radiance of it stole his breath away. Entranced, he took a step toward her, but as soon as he moved, she vanished. He gasped and rushed to where she had been standing, but there was no sign of her. No trace. Not even the imprint of her feet in the grass. Had she even been there at all? A vision? A trick of the enchantment that lay upon this forest? He started to wonder.

In the old stories, there were descriptions of the Immortal Ones. They took the appearance of young women and they could appear and disappear at will. The coruscating flowers in the woman’s hair were consistent with what he had heard and read…of the Tree Spirits. It began making sense. The ability of the trees in this forest to communicate and think and feel, it could all be the influence of a Dryad. It had to be. She had been there, in front of him, and she had smiled right at him. This was her domain, this Lady of the Forest…no that wasn’t fitting… There was a better name. “The Lady of Colors.” He said out loud, in reverence.

When he spoke, the forest, which had remained still and silent in her presence, made a sound like a great chant or ovation. The cacophony died down momentarily, and light hit his face again. He looked up at the shade tree and saw that it was allowing multiple shafts of light to fall onto the forest floor. Using the light and shadow, the tree was drawing shapes on the ground. It drew a line of light across the grass in front of him. The left side of the line became jagged and sharply pointed, while the right side became curves softly rolling away. In between was a level plain.

He realized that the tree was showing him an image of the land he stood upon. “The mountains and the hills! But where is the forest?”

The tree then showed a great wave moving across the land as though the sea had risen above the mountains. The wave left behind it tiny points of light upon the plain between the mountains and the hills. Soon, the tiny points grew into a multitude of trees, and the figures of women stepped from the trunks of the trees and danced together.

The light and shadows reformed into a closeup of a single tree and one of the female figures dancing by herself. The figure of a man appeared. The two figures embraced, and the woman went away with the man. Following the man and woman, they built a home, raised children, grew old and died. Then the image returned to the tree from whence the woman had come and it withered and was gone.

The image of the others came and grieved for the withered one, but then more men came and one by one the women went with them, and with each one, another tree withered away. The great multitude shrank and shrank until at last…there was only One. The lone figure did not dance, she fell to her knees and wept bitterly. At last, she returned to her tree and many men came to find her, but she would remain hidden, and the men left.
When the men finally stopped coming, she came out of her tree and walked the empty plain, placing tiny points of light all around where her sisters had once stood. Her forest grew from the points of light and soon the land between the mountains and hills was covered with a new forest, while her own tree was hidden away. The trees grew tall and mature and at last the figure of a man arrived.

He watched as the tree showed him the figure kneeling by a stream and drinking, then asking for and being given a fruit. It then showed the figure laughing and the trees laughing with him and then, at last, there was her. The images then dissolved into the normal shade upon the forest floor.
The Wanderer looked around at her trees. He realized that this story was the origin of the myths about how the Immortal Ones became mothers to the mortal races. It was all true. “She did not want to become mortal like her sisters.” He said, both to them and to himself. “Is she the very last?”
The fruit tree moved its leaves together making a long sad sound.

The very last of her sisters. Perhaps even the only Immortal One left alive. Knowing her story, he felt ashamed that one of his first thoughts upon seeing her was to make her his wife and wander the world with her at his side. But now, that thought was unimaginable. He could never deprive her of her home or deprive these trees of their mother. An irrational, wild thought entered his mind.

What if he could become like her? To put down roots here in this forest and stand beside her until the breaking of the world? It was preposterous, of course. How could a mortal man become a Tree Spirit? None of the old stories spoke of such things, but perhaps that was because no one had ever tried. However, once the thought was in his mind, he could think of nothing else. If he could only speak to her, learn from her, perhaps there could be a way.

He suddenly laughed. He’d only seen her for a moment, they hadn’t even spoken, and here he was trying to think up impossible scenarios of being close to her! He’d never really considered himself a lonely man, but it seemed that seeing this Lady of Colors had changed something in him. It was strange. Until he set foot in this forest, he’d been possessed of an insatiable wanderlust that had taken him across the known lands. Now, he could think of nothing else but to stay.

Perhaps the old tales were true about the sight of an Immortal One driving mortals mad. He didn’t feel like he had lost his senses. Though he supposed that in most parts of the world, talking to trees would seem odd. However, one could be forgiven for talking to trees who could talk back, in their way. He addressed the trees once again. “Is there any way I can meet her?” He asked them.

There was a soft, diminished rustling and it seemed as though the trees did not wish to answer. After a moment of silence, the tree that had given him a fruit started moving its leaves together to get his attention. As he watched, the tree pointed its leaves all in one direction, away to the west, toward the foot of the mountains. “Is she there?”

The tree did not respond, but simply kept pointing. “Alright, West it is then.” He picked up his pack and followed the stream westward through the forest. After several hours walking, he came upon a large meadow at the far end of which was something he had not expected to find. It was a small structure made of stone, no larger than a shed. He made his way over to it and saw that it was well built. The stones were shaped and fitted together tightly.

Stepping inside, he found a bed, a chair and a small table all carved from stone. Upon the table was a very old, but well-preserved journal bound in leather not unlike his own. He picked it up and opened it. Though it was in Elvarri Script, the language was that of the Valelings, his own people. Seeing his own tongue written in the alphabet of another made reading it a bit awkward, but he was fluent in both, so he managed:

-[I have finally reached the forest spoken of by the Elders. It is not what I expected. There is an enchantment on the trees which has given them self-awareness. I learned quickly not to pick and eat the fruit. Once the yellow turns red, it is poisoned, and I was sick for two days after eating it. I must only eat the fruit that has already fallen. A single fruit will sate a man’s hunger for two days.]-

He flipped through the pages of the journal, skimming through as he went until he found the last page which had a drawing of a tree upon it. It was unlike any other tree that he’d seen in the forest. A pine, old and gnarled with a number of large branches stretching out that were nearly the width of its trunk.

There was short entry in the journal below the drawing:
-[The Elder Pine stands at the spring from which the stream flows. It is the Guardian and Keeper. It knew my purpose and told me that I would not find what I was searching for. I will return to the Vales.]-

He went back through the journal and read it intently. It documented a period of about three months as this man searched for what he called a Forest Maiden to become his wife. There were dates for each journal entry, but they were marked in the star-calendar of the Dragons. The Valelings hadn’t used the Dragon calendar since the beginning of the Rising Age, several thousand years ago. The journal couldn’t possibly be that old, it would have become nothing but dust. Indeed, the stone hut itself should have fallen into ruin since then.

He considered taking the old journal with him for a moment but decided to leave it where it was. The strangeness of the preservation of this place unnerved him and it seemed better to leave it as he’d found it. He placed the journal on the stone table and stepped back outside. What he saw then confused him. It had been mid-morning when he’d gone into the hut, and he had only been inside for a short time, but the sun had already fallen past the ridge of the mountains to the west.

Looking up, he saw the stars Neizu and Korrai beginning to shine and his blood went cold. They were not where they should be. He quickly checked his charts and it was true. Somehow, approximately two months had passed in the world while mere minutes had passed for him. Spooked, he stepped quickly away from the hut and knelt by the stream to take a drink. He sat there for some time, trying to make sense of what had happened. He watched the stars just to be sure that they were turning across the sky as they always had. In time, he managed to drift off to sleep.

When morning came, he awoke to the sound of the trees singing their greetings to each other. He smiled, momentarily forgetting the events of the previous day. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw the time-lost stone hut and decided he needed to be far, far away from it. He moved on westward following the stream. The journal told of the Elder Pine at the source of the stream, apparently a tree that could speak like a mortal. Perhaps this tree could help him find his Lady of Colors.

He traveled on for another day and a half until at last he came to the source of the stream. The spring flowed out of a pool lined with stone and the flowers here were much more numerous than in the rest of the forest. There was a very loud creak, and his attention was directed at the largest tree he’d ever seen. It was a massive, ancient pine. Its trunk was at least three yards wide and unlike the other trees in the forest, it had grown unevenly and had several great branches almost half the width of the trunk reaching out. The drawing in the journal he’d seen had shown a younger version of this tree, and certainly didn’t do it justice.

The tree made sounds similar to the other pines in the forest, but soon the sounds formed into a voice that was both deep and wispy at the same time. “Welcome, Tree Talker.”

“Tree Talker?” He asked.

“It is the name the Forest gave you.” The tree paused. “You are the first mortal to come here in many years. You made the trees laugh. Mother does not find your presence offensive.”

“Mother? The Lady of Colors?”

“That is the name you gave her.”

“May I see her?”

“She will appear if she wishes.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. “Is there some way I can tell her that I would like to see her?”

“She is aware.”

He paused for a second. “May I go to her? Wherever she is?”

“For what purpose?”

“I… I wish to remain in this forest and make it my home. If I am to do this, I want to give her my word that I will never do anything to harm her or her children.”

“What the forest hears, she hears.”

He sighed, feeling a bit defeated. He replied. “Is there no way I might see her again?”

The Elder Pine himself made a sort of sighing sound. “You are Bound, then. I feared this would happen”

“Bound? What do you mean?”

The tree was silent for a moment, then spoke in a diminished voice. “When a mortal man looks upon One such as her, a Binding may occur. It is no evil thing, but for her it is different.”

“I understand. She is the last. The only one who holds the memory of her sisters.”

“Yes. It is a memory held most dear. Her love for them is stronger than any bond conceived by mortals.”

He remembered his wild imaginings from earlier. “Is there a way I could still be close to her? Could I...become like her?”

The tree went still, in shock, it seemed. “You do not know what you ask. The cost would be too high.”

“What cost?”

“It is Ordered that every mortal soul passes into immortality at the end of its time in this world.”

“So, to become like her, I would have to die first.”

“Even then, there can be no guarantee that you will not simply move on to the Next World. As any mortal soul would.”

He lowered his gaze. “I see. I suppose I have some thinking to do.”

“Indeed.” Elder Pine sighed again and was silent as if waiting for something and then sighed once more. “Mother has decided that you may go to where her Tree stands.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Where is she?”

“A path has been made, continue west into the mountains and you will find her.”

He grinned wide. “Thank you, Elder Pine!”

“It was not I who invited you. Go on.”

He nodded and walked on past the spring and found the path. Still grinning, he headed along quickly. The journey seemed to last an eternity, but he had found what appeared to be the end before sundown. The trees were much closer together here, as though they had grown into a wall of protection. There was a gap just large enough for him and he went into it. In moments, he was through and he was shocked by what he saw.

In a circular clearing there was a small hill upon which stood a tall, slender tree. Its trunk was pure white and its leaves were deep green and there were flowers in its boughs. The very same flowers that the Lady had in her hair, changing colors constantly. They seemed to catch the light and reflect it like hundreds of tiny prisms. Struck mute by the beauty of the place, there was no sound as he stepped forward.

He stopped at the foot of the small hill and stared up at the tree in wonder. He had traveled from the East, to the North and to the South, seen the Diamond Falls of Nethrykh, watched the intricate Star Dance of the Dragons and had viewed the ancient artworks and architecture of the Elvarri. None of those things compared to her. He could think of no words to say that would do justice to what he saw before him.

Not daring to go any closer, he sat on the grass at the foot of the hill in silence for a time. Without really knowing why, he began talking. He had never been much for speaking about himself to others. In his travels he had spent far more time listening and learning, never considering himself worthy of lengthy discussion. However, here, in this place, he felt compelled to speak. As though some power was drawing the words out of him.
He spoke of many things, not worrying about how embarrassing they might sound. There had been something in the kindness of her eyes that told him that she would understand, or at least, he hoped it was so. He spoke of his childhood in the Vale of the River Tuhruum and along the shores of Lake Melorr. He told of his choice to begin wandering and charting the known world, leaving his home, and even his name, behind.

He went on about his travels and his befriending of the Dragon Moro-Vanig who was cousin to the High Vanguard of the Blue-Gold Flight, as well as becoming Out-Kin to the Elvarri Sor’reini Clan which specialized in the imbuing of physical objects with magical essences. He continued on for some time, until his stomach growled and he realized that there were no fruit trees present. He was going to have to leave her if he wanted to eat.

At last, he stood and bowed to her. “My Lady, I hope that you have not found my talking offensive,” He chuckled, “or overly boring. If you will permit it, I should very much like to return here and speak further.” He waited to see if there would be any response, but there was not. “I hope that one day, I will see your smile again, My Lady.” He turned and headed for the gap in the trees surrounding the clearing, but before passing through, he looked back and saw that she had come out of her tree. He stood there gazing at her in wonder and she smiled. It was not the same smile as before, still kind, but more reserved. Without a word, she melded back into her tree. Quietly, he added. “And I hope...that one day I will hear your voice as well.” He turned away and walked back along the path to the Elder Pine.

The old tree shook his needles as if shuddering in the cold. “You return. Tree Talker.” He remarked, sounding a bit surprised.

He nodded. “I return.”

“If I am any judge of mortal expressions, you seem...melancholy.”

He smirked. “I wish I knew what she thought.”

“In time, she may reveal her thoughts. For now, though, the path will remain open to you, should you wish to speak to her again.”

“Thank you, Elder Pine.”

In the months that followed, the Wanderer would spend time traversing the breadth of the forest, exploring and making notes on his maps, but every so often, he returned to the Lady’s Tree and speak to her. Still, she made no response and would not show herself except in necessity. He still did not know precisely what she thought of him, but she seemed to at least tolerate his presence.

He did struggle with impatience, as, from time to time, speaking to her would seem very much like...well...like talking to a tree. But he balanced that impatience with the knowledge that he was still very much an outsider in this forest. After all, what was he next to someone who had been alive since the world itself was made? He couldn’t expect that she would see him as anything but a passing oddity. She appeared to have lived quite happily without the attentions of one like him and he supposed that he had very little to give that she would desire.

There was a day when things began to change, however. He was traveling along the outskirts of the forest close to the hill country when he heard voices and heard the sound of an axe striking a tree. He rushed toward the sound and came upon a camp of Valelings who had several horse drawn wagons with them and it appeared that they were setting up to begin logging the forest!

“Stop! You can’t cut down these trees!” He yanked the axe out of the nearest man’s hands and threw it away.

One of them, the leader it seemed, approached him with contempt on his face. “Why? Is this your forest?”

“It belongs to the Lady of Colors! A Dryad! These trees are thinking creatures! You must not harm them!”

The others looked fearful and dropped their axes, but the leader laughed. “There are no more Dryads!” He glared at his men. “Pick those axes back up! If these trees are enchanted, we can sell the wood for ten times the price!”

The Wanderer stood firm. “You will not harm these trees.”

The leader sneered at him. “We have you fifteen to one! What are you going to do?”

One of the men cried out. “Boss! Look!” He pointed at the tree he’d been chopping. The trunk had healed itself.

“You see?” The Wanderer said triumphantly. “This forest is protected!”

The leader growled. “We’ll just have to work harder! I have too much riding on this venture to lose it all because of some silly magic!”

“You’ve already lost.” The Wanderer told him, narrowing his eyes. “Go back where you came from.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” The man drew a short sword from his belt. “And you’re not stopping us.”

Just then, the trees made a massive sound, the same sound they made the first time he saw the Lady. He smiled. “You’re right, it’s not me who’s going to stop you. It’s her!” As if on cue, roots rose up from the ground at the feet of each of the loggers and encircled them, binding their arms and legs, wrapping around them like cocoons and lifting them into the backs of the wagons. As the spooked horses carried them away over the hillsides, the Wanderer heard the leader calling out and vowing revenge, but he wasn’t worried.

He looked to his left and saw the Lady standing nearby, nearer than she’d ever been before. “Well done!” He remarked, bowing his head and smiling at her.

She smiled back and gave him a slight curtsy. “Thank you.” Her voice held the same kindness that he saw in her eyes.

He laughed. “It’s nice to finally hear your voice, my Lady.” He told her, his smile not leaving his face.

Her smile brightened, and then she moved off into the forest, disappearing once again.

After that day, she would sometimes appear to him when he went to visit her Tree. She did not always speak, and she would not always answer questions right away, but she would listen and he could see that she understood him. Some weeks later, he drummed up the courage to ask the question he’d been wanting to ask since he first spoke to the Elder Pine.

When he came to her tree, however, it seemed he would have to wait his turn. She was laying on the grass and seemed to be listening intently to a small gathering of creatures varying from butterflies and ladybugs to rabbits and squirrels. She spoke to them and they seemed to understand her.
He was glad he’d eaten nothing but fruit in his time in the forest. If all of the creatures who lived there were thinking, feeling beings like the trees, trapping one to cook and eat would be unthinkable. After a few minutes, the gathering broke up and he watched as the creatures dispersed. He nodded to a turtle as it slowly walked past and it nodded back.

The Lady got to a sitting position on the grass and motioned for him to join her. She waited for him to speak.

“My Lady, there has been a question in my mind for a while, now. I must ask. Is there a way that I could become like you? A Tree Spirit, I mean.”

She looked at him without expression for a moment, then dropped her gaze and sadness shadowed her face. “There is a way.”

“The Elder Pine said that I would have to die.”

“Yes. But that is not all.” She told him. “It would take the more than just my own power to gift another with immortality.”

“But you’re the only one of your kind left.”

“I am the last of my sisters,” She told him. “But there are others.”

“More Dryads?”

“Not in these lands, but there are what mortals call Oreads and Naiads.”

He fell silent. Putting aside the fact that there were other Immortal Ones who still lived, the way she’d said ‘these lands’ set him back. “Do...do you mean to say that there are other lands?”

She smiled with a knowing expression. “Past the Northern Mists and beyond the Sea of Spires in the Far West, there are lands and peoples very different from what you will find here.”

His mind raced with this new knowledge. As far as he was aware, no one had ever broken through the Northern Mists. Even he had tried and failed. And no ship that had gone beyond sight of land in the Eastern Sea had ever returned. The western Sea of Spires itself was little more than a myth, even to the Elvarri.

All at once, there was something in his heart that went against his desire to stay in this forest. The same drive that had taken him away from his home in the Vales. He needed to see and explore, to look upon that which no other mortal eyes had seen. To ford rivers and climb mountains that no mortal had ever named. His heart was now torn between two apparently opposite desires. He had indeed come to love this forest and its Mother, and he knew he could find peace and contentment here, with her. But he also knew that if he stayed and somehow became like her, he would never see those lands she had spoken of.

Before he could speak again, there was a sharp sound that sent a jolt through him. The trees were making sounds he’d never heard before and he looked to the Lady and her face was pale and her eyes wide. He’d never seen her upset before, and he knew something was very, very wrong.

“What’s wrong, My Lady?”

She looked at him and shook her head. Without speaking, she quickly returned to her tree. In the next moment, he smelled it on the air. Smoke. “Oh no.” He said and rushed away back down the path to the Elder Pine. “Where is it?” He asked the ancient tree.

“In the same place the loggers were. They have returned.”

“We have to stop them!” The Wanderer began running as fast as he could, willing his body to continue though the far side of the forest was miles away. The Elder Pine called after him, but he didn’t hear it. He could not allow any harm to come to these trees, not while he had breath. When at last he came upon the scene, there were many trees aflame and the fire was spreading. The sound of the trees crying out was overwhelming and he wept for them as he started trying to put out the fire. Then he saw them, the men bearing torches and he recognized the leader. He drew his Elvarri blade.

The magic imbued into the blade began working within him. As everything began to slow around him and he felt stronger and more agile, he took a deep breath and attacked. He went for disarming and disabling attacks, not wishing to end the life any other person, no matter how vile. He put five of them out of action before they began fighting back, but thanks to the magic of the blade, he could react quicker than they could strike. One by one, they went down until only the leader was left standing.

He felt the magic of the blade waning. He’d been warned that the effects would only last a short while, so when facing the leader, he would have no help from it aside from its use as a simple knife.

In a cry of fury, the leader rushed toward him but stopped and looked beyond him in shock. The Wanderer turned around to see that the fires had been put out and the trees had been healed. The man let out a cry of anger and he turned back to see him moving to grab a crossbow from his wagon. He rushed the man and tried to grapple the weapon away from him, but the attacker got the upper hand and loosed his bolt! It took the Wanderer in the chest and as he fell, he saw the man’s cruel grin.

---

Once returned to her Tree, the Lady sent her call out to the others and in short order, a rumble through the ground announced the approach of a Sister of Stone and a fast mist sailed through the forest toward her as a Sister of the Stream arrived. As the three of them took their corporeal forms, the Lady addressed them. “Cousins, forgive my abruptness, but someone has set fire to…”

The Sister of Stone cut her off. “Ne’er a worry Lass, we’ll have this handled!”

The Lady smiled. “Thank you.”

The three of them quickly moved to the edge of the forest, the Sister of the Stream dousing the flames and the Sister of Stone steadying the earth around each tree to prevent their falling while the Lady worked to heal them. Soon, their work was done and the forest was out of danger. Being too occupied with putting out the fire, the Lady had not maintained her sense of Tree Talker. He had rushed off blindly and she hoped he hadn’t done something foolish. She opened her senses and she could see him in a struggle. Then she felt it. She rushed to him and saw the man holding a crossbow standing over Tree Talker who had a crossbow bolt in his chest. A mortal wound.

Without a thought, she sent roots out of the ground at the man, crushing the crossbow and shattering the bones in his hands. As he cried out in pain, she approached him. “You will never return to this place, and you will tell everyone you see that this Forest… Is Mine.” Without waiting for a response, she gathered up the rest of the men as before, bound in entangling roots, and sent them on their way piled in the backs of their wagons. She then turned back to Tree Talker and sat beside him. Using her incarnate magic, she eased his pain, though there was nothing now she could do to save him. He had only moments.

“Why did you do that?” She asked him.

“I...had to stop him.” He said, his voice a mere whisper.

She smiled and took his hand in hers.

“I suppose I will never see those Far Western Lands now.” He told her, smiling and looking up into her eyes. “Don’t be sad, My Lady. Seeing your face and hearing your voice, I am content.” He struggled to speak. “My Lady… From the moment I saw your smile...I have...loved you.”

He was gone.

There was silence in the forest, broken at length by the Sister of Stone putting her hand on the Lady’s shoulder. “Who was he, Lass?”

“He was a Friend to my children.” She looked up, tears falling from her face. “And to me.”

The Sister of the Stream knelt beside her and embraced her. “The people of Tuhruum have rites, should we…”

The Lady wiped her tears away and looked down at Tree Talker. “There was something he wanted.” She looked up into each of their eyes. “With the three of us here, it can be done.”

The Sister of Stone’s mouth dropped open.“Lass, you don’t mean…”

“That’s not been done since…” The Sister of the Stream’s eyes were wide with shock.

“I know.” She said, softly. “Will you help me?”

“Of course we will.” The Sister of the Stream replied. “You know what this means, though. The Prophecy.”

“The New Age, yes.” The Lady said, nodding. “Are you ready?”

The Sister of Stone nodded. “Aye, Lass.”

The Lady took Tree Talker back to her sanctuary and the Sister of Stone raised a hill beside her tree and the Sister of the Stream sent rain down upon it. The Lady took a tear from her eye and poured her magic into it, forming it into a seed, just as she’d done with each of the trees of her forest, so long ago.

She held it out and the other two each touched it and let some of their own power flow into the seed. She then pressed the seed against Tree Talker’s chest. There was a white light that shone out from the seed and in a great flash and a torrent of wind, Tree Talker’s body was no more, but the seed had gown large and was glowing like an ember.

The Lady gently placed the seed into the ground atop the hill and covered it over with soil. All that was left was to wait.

---

Slowly, there was a new perception out of the void. There was darkness, but a closeness as well, but there was also up and down and he knew he needed to go in both directions at once. Going down, he drew in that which surrounded him, but going up...there was light and it gave him strength. He kept going higher and deeper, reaching for the light, but reaching down he found another who had already reached that far and recognized the other as something like him, intertwining with them, sharing the closeness and darkness.

When he found that there was no further to go, up or down, he felt something new. There was something touching his side and then there was then a pull and he was something else entirely. He still perceived the light and the darkness, but there were now many other sensations. There were shapes and colors, and there was movement.

He started to recognize the things he was seeing, and he remembered what they meant. There were sounds and he recognized those too. He blinked what he knew to be eyes and everything came into focus around him. He looked down at his hands. “I’m...alive?” He put a hand to his chest, but there was no wound. No scar. He saw the Lady there. “My Lady? Am I…”

She nodded. “Yes. You are like me, now.”

“But...How?”

She looked to her left and he followed her gaze. He saw two women there, one very tall and one a fair bit shorter. The tall one looked much like an Elvarri woman with pale skin, but she had blue hair that seemed to flow like water. The short woman resembled a Dwergero, but with skin like slate and short, green hair that had the appearance of moss.

With an incredulous smile, he looked back at the Lady. “You saved me?”

The short Oread girl laughed. “We didn’t save ya, Lad. Ya did die, but the three of us brought ya back a seedlin’!”

“In a manner of speaking.” The Naiad said, smiling serenely. “You are the first mortal in many thousands of years to be given this gift.”

He smiled at them, trying to think of something to say. “I...I don’t have the words to show my gratitude!” He knelt on one knee and bowed his head. “I am in your debt!”

The Naiad put her hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her. She spoke. “You are of a new Kind, Young Cousin. We who tend to the balance of this world are One. There is no debt between us.”

Tree Talker was on his feet once more, coming to the realization that in receiving this gift, he had also received a tremendous responsibility. The Naiad and the Oread bade farewell to him and the Lady shortly thereafter, leaving the two of them alone once more.

The Naiad had told him he was ‘of a new Kind’, and he wondered just how different he was. He took stock of how different everything felt, and he sensed...power. Unbelievable power. The power of a Dryad. He looked at the Lady in wonder. “I was such a fool, wasn’t I!”

She nodded agreement, with a sly grin. “Yes. But a kind fool.”

He laughed, but then remembered something important. “My Lady, when I was…” He took a deep breath. “I meant what I said.”

She smiled warmly at him. “I know.”

“So, now that I’m, um...like you...does that mean that you and I…”

She gave a small laugh. “We’ll see, Tree Talker. We’ll see.”


Several Months Later...

Tree Talker was gradually becoming accustomed to the power he had as a Tree Spirit, or rather a ‘Brother of the Grove’ as was the term used by the Immortal Ones. He learned that the Lady’s ability to appear and disappear at will was actually a form of travel from one point to another through the root system of her Tree. He too had been growing his roots throughout the forest so that he could also travel in this way. He was getting quite good at it.

One day while traversing the forest through his roots, he heard a sound that he would never have expected to hear this far west. Three immensely loud chirps that echoed off the mountains. The distress call of a Dragon. Immediately, he made his way to the nearest meadow and gave the reply; a long, warbling whistle. In moments, the slender shape of a young dragon appeared above him, blue and gold scales shining brightly in the sun.
The horse-sized dragon alighted neatly on the grass in front of him, furled his wings and inhaled and exhaled sharply. “You are different, Mehal-Khrei. You do not smell as you did before.” He spoke with his customary low, slightly raspy tone.

“Your nose does not lie, Moro-Vanig. I am different. The star Mehal does not guide me further than this.”

Moro-Vanig gave him a many toothed smile. “As I predicted, my friend. The Stars guide us, but only so far.”

He smiled back, but then gave his friend a concerned look. “What is the danger, Vanig?”

Vanig nodded and rested on his haunches. “We have word from the land beyond the Northern Mists. By lucky chance, a messenger made it through with a petition for help. The Khyric Beasts,” He let out a growl. “spawn of the Aether which we thought long extinct, have been exercising their mindless blood-lust upon those who live there.”

“How can we help them? Is there a way back through the mists?”

“That is why I came looking for you.”

“Oh.” Tree Talker sighed. “In the months I spent trying, I never made it more than half a league through that labyrinth. Even the charts I made never made any sense.”

Vanig hissed in frustration. “You were the last hope. The Elvarri Wayfinding was unsuccessful, the Valelings have no means of assisting and the Dwergero could not be coaxed from their delvings. If you cannot help, I may as well try to find an Immortal One!” He rolled his eyes hopelessly.

For a moment while speaking to his old friend, he had forgotten. Tree Talker smiled. “Well, Vanig, I may be able to help after all.” He sensed the Lady’s approach and turned to see her appear from the ground.

Vanig looked quickly from him to her and back to him as the realization hit. “Wait. She is...and you? How?”

“I will tell you the story sometime. But for now, Moro-Vanig, may I introduce my friend and rescuer, a Sister of the Grove, the Lady of Colors?”

The Dragon clenched his right foreclaw and brought it to his chest while bowing his head. “My Lady! It is the honor of a thousand lifetimes to meet a true Spirit of the Forests!”

With a restrained grace that yet could not hide the mirth in her eyes, she returned the salute. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Moro-Vanig.”

The dragon stared for a moment, grinning, then caught himself and cleared his throat. “My Lady, forgive my impertinence, but the people North of the Mists need our help. Do you know of a way through?”

She nodded once. “A way can be made, but only by one of my Kind.”

“Might you help us, my Lady?” Vanig asked.

She tilted her head and smiled sadly. “I should not leave my forest for as long as it would take to help. However…” She looked at Tree Talker.

He returned her gaze in shock. “Leave the forest? How? I thought…”

She smiled sweetly as if addressing a beloved child. “You thought that you were bound to this forest?” There was a sly edge in her sparkling eyes. “We can go anywhere a root can grow, so long as there is earth to move through.”

“Anywhere…” He fell silent in astonishment, his tight lipped and wide eyed expression belied a mind wild with thoughts as the enormity of this new knowledge sank in. Anywhere. He could go anywhere. Even to those Far Western Lands. Wherever a root can grow. After a few long moments, he returned to his senses and breathed deeply. He grinned wide. “I’ve been told that we Immortal Ones tend to the balance of the world. These Khyrics are a threat to that balance, so...” He looked at the dragon with reckless determination in his eyes. “Moro-Vanig, my friend, gather your Flight.”

“Fire and Claws! Yes!” Vanig laughed and leapt into the air with a great flap of his wings. “We shall meet the Khyrics in battle as did the Dragons of old!”

“I will meet you at the place called the Hill of the North!” Tree Talker called up to him.

“We will be there! Every one of us!” Vanig hovered for a second gazing down at them. “Perhaps your new name shall be Moro-Khrei! Farewell, my friend!”

“Farewell!” He waved at his friend as he flew away, smiling. The translation of Moro-Khrei from Drakish to Common would be Guardian-Sojourner. As names went, not so bad.

After a moment of reflection he turned toward the Lady. “This...gift I’ve been given.” He took a deep breath. “I did not fully realize what it meant. The responsibility, the power and...the freedom. Am I even worthy of it?”

She smiled. “If you were unworthy, we would not be speaking.”

His eyebrows went up. “I see.”

She lifted her gaze up in the direction Moro-Vanig had flown. “It will take many days to grow a root so far. Do not let it go it too shallow, and don’t stray from it for too long, or…” She looked at him with concern.

He nodded. “I understand.” He began growing the root to the east and north right away. “This is going to take some time, isn’t it?” He looked at her and an odd feeling entered his heart. “I… I did not think I would ever leave.” He said, a slight break in his voice. “I will miss you, my Lady.”

“You will be missed as well, Tree Talker.”

“I will?”

“Indeed!” She replied with a wry grin. “There will be no one for the trees to laugh at!”

Her words struck him and he began laughing and could not stop. The trees all around laughed along with him and the Lady laughed as well.
In the days that followed, as he continued growing the root northward, Tree Talker went around saying goodbye to the trees who had become his friends. The fruit tree by the waterfall who had first provided him with nourishment, the shade tree who had told him the Lady’s story and the Elder Pine, among many others. At last, when his root had reached the Hill of the North, it came time to say goodbye to the Lady of Colors.

As the two of them sat together in the sanctuary between their Trees, the Lady spoke. “In the time before mortal men entered this land, when only the Spirits were here, it was the custom among my sisters that upon meeting or departing we would dance together.”

He looked into her eyes for a moment, then smiled. “Well, I never learned to dance, and I know I could never replace your sisters, but I would be honored to begin this custom anew.”

After some instruction on the proper movements, they stood facing each other with clasped hands and outstretched arms.

And They Danced


Three Days Later…

In a deep valley on the mountains’ eastern flank, the trees gave way to a large circular meadow with concentric rows of stone and at the center was a large dais. The Lady of Colors waited there in the center as the Others arrived. Brothers and Sisters of Sand and Stone, Stream and Tide. Absent of course, were those of Fire and Air, Ones the Mortals called the Aether, who long ago eschewed the Synod, choosing to act counter to those of the Lands and Seas.

Once all had gathered, the Lady informed them of her choice to make Tree Talker a Brother of the Grove.

“This is no small thing, Cousin.” A Sister of the Tide looked upon the Lady with concern. “You are certain it had to be done?”

“Yes, Cousin.”

A Brother of Stone stood. “You should have consulted the Synod. You chose your own judgment over the consensus.”

She spread her hands wide. “There was little time, Cousin. The Petition had to be made before his soul left this world. It was already resolved in my mind to consult the Synod, but I did not expect him to put himself in such danger on my account.”

The Brother of Stone sighed. “His worthiness is not in question. The Synod would have conceded. We all know that the Time draws near.”

A Sister of the Sands spoke. “When the Brother of the Grove awakes, the New Age begins in Flame.”

Silence fell and the Lady turned her gaze upon the rest of the Ones gathered there. There was uncertainty in their eyes. For herself, she had always known that she would have some involvement with the prophecy, being the sole remaining Sister of the Grove.

“Has this New Brother been told of the Prophecy?” The Brother of Stone asked.

“No. He has not.” The Lady replied.

The Sister of the Sands spoke. “But he enacts it even now, with the coming battle in the Land of Tellethen. The Balance shifts ever further. Should he not be told?”

There was then a great wind about them and cruel laughter filled the air. “Yes! Should he not be told who his enemy is?” Out of the air, the form of a man coalesced, floating above them. “My return is upon you and your beloved mortals!”

The bothers and sisters of the Stream stirred and the One who had helped the Lady spoke. “It was mortals who defeated you and your Khyric beasts! You were left puny and powerless! And you will be again!”

The floating figure sneered at her. “Not this time, Cousin. I have not been idle as you all have. Across every land, I have been twisting mortals to my whim, giving them power and knowledge for their own destruction! Soon, I will bring all lands under my control, and you will be powerless to stop me!” In another gust of wind, the figure dissipated and was gone.

“What an airhole.” The Sister of Stone remarked. “Ye think that was all just bluster, or the truth, Lass?”

The Lady looked over at her. “We have no choice but to take him seriously. When Tree Talker returns from Tellethen, he will have to be told that this is merely the beginning.”