52.3 An Axe at Sadness

General Summary

Days 1058 - 1065

We spend several days relaxing, playing in the forest and in the water, making plans for the next several weeks.   Deldrin is next on our route, with a wedding being dreamt up for the next months. Uncle Red and Mistress have been planning on crossing the Barrier again to check up on Tira, and can also play messenger to arrange for all the wayward family to assemble again in Dreamfall for the winter. Liliales is insistent that ‘everyone’ be there for the wedding, and the timing does seem right to have us all reconvene if we are to make a push against the Collective soon. Everything is falling into place.   So Uncle Red and Mistress depart to round up ‘everyone everyone’ for the wedding. He seems positively gleeful at the prospect of haranguing the Imperial Court again, from his position as Imperial Advisor. And no one in the Capital is ready to see Mistress as her full-fledged self, unencumbered by titles or mandates. Phalieae, too, goes with them, ready to return home.   And eventually, the rest of us are ready to leave as well. I promise to come fetch Jaeril a month before the wedding and help her hide the Grove with a ward while she is gone.   Once the Grove is re-established, she will be ready to start bringing her fae back entirely. She doesn’t want to leak memories back into the Fae of Seasons like the Heart did with the Vanguard - it was confusing and cruel for all of them.   Instead, she thinks that she will speak to fae of seasons who are ready to sing their last song. If they want, they can sing to the Grove of Samsara, and be reborn there. The Court of Seasons might object, but they can’t properly object to a handful of individuals making their independent choices.   Jaeril wasn’t present during the push to rescue the Heart, so I tell her that I’m hopeful that if we remove the thicket of thorns around the Grove, they might object less to songs being ‘stolen’. From what Magdalena has told me, the thicket seems like it is preventing any ancient songs from reaching the new fae, and inhibiting the depth of their power.   Jaeril, apparently, has spoken to the Heart as well, and I’m very surprised by some of what she is able to tell me. Seasonal fae had much longer lifespans before the Pruning and could cycle forever at the same yearly place. The Kings and Queens whose voices I heard so long ago are the result of cycling for far too long and becoming entrenched in a single cycle.   The Seasonal Court, then, must have worked with Ailanthus to imprison the Heart and impose the thicket upon their grove. It artificially constrained their cycle, and I imagine no living member of the Court has any idea about it anymore. It is a longer-ranging plan, but eventually I think Jaeril and I will both be working on disentangling all the complexities that the Pruning left behind. It’s time for her to be something other than “Mother’s Brightest”.   Before we leave, Ausha and I both sing a fragment of song to the little Origin Tree.    

Day 1069

It takes four days to fly from Samsara to Deldrin, with a brief stop at Songwood along the way. The world really is shrinking as my wingspan expands.   A small vibrant village has established itself around the songwood tree, and the tree itself has taken on its own magical presence both innately and from the gardening of the local mystics. It feels like a spiritual anchor for the mystics who tend to it, and perhaps in a century or two it could become the centre of its own faith.   Although Starfield and I land amongst the hills and approach on foot as humanoids, there are still whispers of dragons as we enter. To my surprise, the mystics here are of many races, including humans.  

My eyes see old friends, grown different. True?

  Needle welcomes us in and guides us to the tree, which is surrounded by other plants and trolls who are shaping the garden around it. It is clearly in the second season of creating a Place. Time moves at a crawl here as the trolls move about at their own pace, and a single Spring fae is darting around in frustration.   They’re a young mystic, and clearly anxious to get closer to the tree with this ‘one opportunity’ they have to be a mystic. They want to sit upon the branches and are certain that they would not hurt the tree - but Needle points out that not everyone can have everything, and one fae might become two, four, eight, and harm the tree over time. The little fae pouts and flutters off, upset.   With Needle’s permission, I let my dusk tree free and it shivers with excitement at the prospect of sheltering and guiding this little songwood tree in its growth. Being a fae tree, and not a troll tree, it springs into its full growth as soon as it has ascertained that the environment is safe. The spring fae eagerly zooms up into the branches as soon as I give my assent (and tell them to as the tree for permission as well). While I wait for Needle to bring tea for us, I entertain many of the human mystics with answers about the tree and where it came from.   The senior mystic amongst them is and elderly woman bringing her students on a pilgrimage, and had been good-naturedly turned away from the elvish orchard trees. Next, they will head to Deldrin to see the library and then perhaps she will let her students go off on their own pilgrimages. Despite being in the midst of a pilgrimage, her students all seem eager to hear about the Great River (which everyone thought was a myth) and hopeful that they might be able to travel there one day.   We give some advice about how to reach the river and what customs to follow (Qishali says they should pretend to be vegetarian until they can tell what is an animal and what is a person),   Needle returns with tea and with Bark.Over the course of a few hours, we drink together and I delicately probe Bark’s feeling about Songwood, Place, and the forest that they might return to. Bark shakes their head when I bring up the forest.  

That place is Trunk’s place. When this place grows enough, there will be time again for walking.

  I explain that Trunk does not have a place there, and needs to grow. But Bark points out that Trunk themself is root bound, and cannot grow. They only grow sadness.   Eventually, I grow too anxious to hear Bark’s thoughts directly. I name Root, Canopy, Muck, Pinecone, Lichen, and…Bark - asking if all of them are rootbound, or if there is still hope.  

Those names together…you know. Watered by blood and tears. Shame.

  I watch Bark think for a time, their expression growing heavy before telling me that they still feel they have no place.  

To have a place is to let one’s heart beat for that place. My heart stopped beating for me, long ago. No place while heart is still. This place must be Needle’s. These hands - too stained to nurture. One day.

  I take Bark’s enormous hands in mine and squeeze gently. It’s an honest hope, and one that I admire.  

Children of Surf have returned. After this place, will visit there. Cannot tend trees; perhaps will tend kelp. Maybe surf can wash away.

  Ausha flutters over and wraps them up in a hug - the surf is good at washing away tears.  

Trunk is dangerous. This time…will tell Trunk ‘no’. This time, maybe swing axe at sadness. Thank you, noble friend.