joegoda | BP & G - The Mad Wizard

Weehawk lay back in his saddle, lazily watching the world pass by. In front of him, Squirrelygirl sat between Races haunches, her tail twitching nervously. Weehawk had a smile on his face and seemed unusually satisfied.

"You say this squirrel has decided to ride with me, even though she and Bel are old friends? Milt, I just find that hilarious."

Pewitt looked a bit sour. "She says she finds you curious, like a wind that doesn't blow or water that doesn't ripple." He looked away into the distance, away from Weehawk. "I really don't like this, Weehawk. This hearing what they're thinking. It's just not... natural."

Bel snorted, a negative.

"It may be natural to you, Bel," Pewitt said miserably, "but not to me. Man and animal are two separate beings, not meant to communicate this way. Even humans aren't meant to communicate this way."

Bel whinnied and blew out. Pewitt ignored the discussion.

"Aw, c'mon, Milt." Weehawk said, good naturedly. "I think it's a good thing. Think how much we can learn from them. I wish I could talk to them like you do."

Pewitt mumbled something. "What was that?" Weehawk asked.

"I said, Bel says that Racer understands you just fine. Apparently you just haven't been affected yet. Or so she says." He looked over at where Weehawk lounged. "I'd feel so much better if you could hear them. And if you didn't take so much obvious pleasure in my discomfort."

"What happened to the Pewitt of last night?" Weehawk threw out. "The one who said it wasn't so bad?"

"I had dreams last night. Terrible, terrible dreams. Large monsters made from trees, walking the earth. There was a person, a half man, half goat. Demonic dreams, Weehawk." He turned forward, his discomfort shining ahead of him like a search light. "It's a bad omen."

"Omens. Demons." Weehawk blew out, and so did Bel. "I don't believe in 'em. I guess you never heard the story of Journiey, the Dryad, did you? It's part of Tear's history, and has things like your tree monsters in it. Except they weren't monsters. They were just folks. A bit different, but still folks."

"Tell it to me, maybe it'll take my mind off all this racket. These animals never stop thinking." He looked over at Squirrelygirl. "Or one of them anyway."

Weehawk reached one arm from behind his head and reached forward to scratch the fur of Squirrelygirl. She jumped like she'd be shot.

"She said please don't do that." Pewitt said, sighing. "She's nervous enough not being in a tree, she said." He looked over at Weehawk. "The story, please?"

Weehawk leaned forward and made his apologies to Squirrelygirl. She seemed to not understand him, but just looked at him, blinking her big blue eyes. She chittered something, went k-k-k-kcchh! and ran up his arm to sit on one shoulder.

"What the seven hells?" Weehawk looked over at Pewitt. "I damn sure wish I could talk to them now! What did she do that for?"

"She said, and I quote, 'Story, story, story. Tell the story Oakboy, tell, tell, tell'. At least that's what Bel said." Racer and Bel snickered and even Pewitt showed a bit of a grin. "Apparently she likes you well enough to name you. Oakboy. Why Oakboy, but there it is."

"Oakboy. Fine. Just tell her to keep her tail out of my nose." Weehawk sneezed, almost dislodging his passenger.

Squirrelygirl wrapped her tail around his neck and held on with her versatile fingers to his collar. She chittered again and went k-k-k-kcchh!

"Better tell the story, Weehawk. She's getting noisy again."

"Okay, all right. Just let me remember it." Weehawk started to lean back, but a high squeak made him say sorry and instead settled his haunches over Racers so he could relax. He furrowed his brow and squinched up his eyes. "I'm going to tell it best I can, in the same way my g'mother told me, okay? If I don't get it quite right, it's cuz it was a long, long time ago."

The horses both snorted and nodded, and Squirrelygirl's tail twitched upward, once. Pewitt snorted himself and said "It's all agreed. If you screw it up, it's because you don't remember it."

Weehawk blew a raspberry and said "Hell with you. Here goes."

It was long ago and not so far away, and right after the desert had come to the Plain of Jordan, just north of the Ridge. The water had dried up and the trees with it. Not all of the trees, but most of them. The only trees left were the trees that were around the last pool of water in all of the Plain.

Deep and crystal and clear it was. Fishes swam and sang and danced between fronds and frogs. Water bug's ballets were held every day and were judged to be the most beautiful. The trees all agreed that it was the best place in all the world to be.

There was worry, though. It came creeping in at a pace that snails could not keep up with. The trees in their long, slow thinking, slow talking fashion were concerned of what might happen if this last pool should dry up.

"What will become of us?" They pondered in a week-long though. "We remember our brothers, not as fortunate, not as strong or as tall. They were here just last decade, and poof, they were gone. Is that to be our fate?"

For months the debate raged.

Some said they should cast out their seeds to the wind, have it blow back toward the mountains. The seeds would carry their memories and continue their line.

Some said they should stand their ground and just drive their roots deeper. Deep roots make for long standing.

Some said perhaps it was time, as the world was changing and these humans were obviously taking all there was for their own. Perhaps the humans would let them stay in this one place.

"These humans are vermin!" said an old pine, his needles brown and tired looking. Bare spots showed on his bark and his crown shook as if by an invisible wind. "If they let us stay it would be as their furniture and houses. You have all seen what they did to our brothers. All gone, now, turned into kindling and chairs."

"Perhaps that is our fate, though." said an aspen, silver and gold on her leaves. "Perhaps it is time for us to turn our lives over to them, to house their children and support their old. It is a right and proper fate, to help the young and old."

"What about our young? What about our old?", the old pine sapped. "It is not right for humans to take whatever they want. It is not right, I say."

"Argue all you want, that will not keep the water here, nor will it prolong your lives." This was said by a new voice, down below them. It was musical and carefully spoken. It was a human voice, but spoke in tree language, long and slow and the trees could understand it.

When the trees looked down, they saw a woman, a human looking woman. Robust and full of life, she seemed to have just appeared from nowhere, or perhaps everywhere.

"Who are you?" said old pine in a raspy, needling tone. "You don't belong here!" he said in a slow sap filled voice.

"Oh, but I do." said the woman. "I belong here because some of you have called me." and she turned to look at the small grove of sycamores that had become silent during the months of debate. Their leaves turned red with blush and the wind helped them twist and turn as if looking for a place to hide.

"The Sycamores? They're religious nuts, thinking that they could call a spirit of the grove to help us in some way." Old Pine let his scorn show.

"And yet," the woman said, "here I am." She danced a step, her full bodied-ness moving with the grace of a swan on the water.

She was not a small woman, but rather the sort of woman that appeared to take life into herself, make it larger than it could possibly be, and let it shine back out. In her size she was beautiful and in her real heart, which she wore clipped to her sleeve, she was amazing. Her face was oval, with almond shaped eyes the color of a clear sky. Her teeth flashed behind a full bottom lip, and the upper lip was shy and delicate. Her nose was smallish, but well formed and delicate.

"The name's Journiey, by the way, and I'm in charge of this place." She stooped down and watch the waterbug ballet, laughing and clapping her hands with glee. "I like this place", she said, "I think it'll do for me just fine."

Old Pine's branches clattered with anger. "You're in charge? You? You are barely old enough to remember my first seeding. Who put you in charge? Who do you think you are?"

Journiey looked up at Old Pine and smiled. And the smile got bigger. Not just the smile, but the face behind it. Not just the face behind it, but the head, the shoulders, the arms the hands, the waist, the legs, the.... you get the idea. She grew. And grew, and grew until she was a full tree above Old Pine.

She knelt until her eyes were even with Pine's topmost branches. Gently, softly, like the fall of snow on the first day of snow fall, she said "Nobody put me in charge, chum. Or... everyone you've every bullied about. As for how old I am, I was here before your roots were barely an inch long. I was here before the seeds you were born from sprang from your mothertrees branches. I was here before this delightful pond was here."

She stood up, stretched. "I've been asleep for a very, very long time, waiting. I came from the Ridges, just as your forefathers did, blown here by a wind centuries ago. Like a seed I was buried right about here," and her big toe, the size of a small boulder weighing a couple of tons, dug in the earth." and like a seed, I waited for the right time to sprout."

As quickly as she grew, she shrank as she spoke, until she gained the size she was originally. She walked over to the sycamores and patted one of them on its bark.

"The water that brought me forth, Old Pine, was these humble Sycamores. They know they can do nothing against the humans. They know that time will bring them down and cause their wonderful leaves to fall no more. It is the nature of this place, change and time and tide. It takes all of us, eventually."

"You don't sound like you're planning on doing much to help us." muttered Old Pine, cowed a bit by Journiey's impressive display of size.

"Help you?" Journiey laughed. "There is nothing to do to help you, Old Pine. You are quite likely, if you're lucky, going to end up as a sideboard in some human's house. If you aren't lucky, lightning will strike you in half and the mites will eat you. There is nothing I can do to help you, Old Pine."

"Then... why are you here?" squeaked a small sycamore. "We thought our prayers would bring you."

"Darlin'" said Journiey, now the size of a two story house, "I did come because you asked. I'm here to do what I can." She stroked the soft leaves of its crown and said, "I can't save your lives, but I can save something much more valuable."

"What is that?" said the sycamore, sadly.

"Your children, dear one. I can save your children, and your memories, because I know that every seed you have carried your memories and the memories of your ancestors."

And it is true. All trees carry the memories of all the trees that came before it. That is why trees take such a long time to say or do anything. There is centuries to wade through to get to the present.

Journiey wandered through the glad, keeping her two story size. She stopped at each and every tree and hugged them and kissed them and talked gently to them. "It is my promise to you that you shall not die here, but neither shall you live here. I will gather up all of your seeds and when the time comes and the world has spun so that this place can once again hold your life, I will let loose all of the seeds there are and you shall live in this glade again. Humans or no humans. That is my promise."

"What if there are humans here, Oh Journiey?" Old Pine was not satisfied. "They will just cut us down again, burn us, use us for furniture."

"That may very well be true, Old Pine." Journiey agreed. And I will be here as well, teaching them to ask permission, showing them where to cut, where to harvest." She strode up until she was once again, looking directly at Old Pine's crown.

"You yourself know that there are times when the forest must be trimmed. You have seen the effects of over-growth. It's not pretty is it."

"No," Old Pine agreed, "but what promise do we have that you will keep your word, that you will keep your watch?"

Journiey thought about it for a short while, perhaps as short as a week. The she put on her most serious face and addressed the entire forest.

"Words are only as good as words are. Wind and the rustle of leaves. Dust and sand and all things that blow. Deeds are what last. Words can be forgotten, but deeds carry on. This is what I will give to you."

With that having been said, she ripped open her blouse, exposing her large bosoms. One sharp, blood red finger nail traced a line down her chest, drawing red liquid, the color of her nails. With pain, she tore her chest open, reached into the opening and drew something wet and beating out. It was her True heart.

"This, my heart, I give to you for my word." She said, panting and blanching from the pain and strain.

She once again, walked around the forest, showing her True heart to each and every tree. When it was done, she walked back to the pond where the dragonflies danced and pulled from her sleeve the heart she wore there. She took that pretend heart, what she called her real heart, though not her True heart, and the pin that held it there, and pinned it to the red, wet beating thing that she held in her hand. She grimaced as the pin pierced her beating heart, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"I take my real heart, and I plant it in my True heart, which no one has ever seen, except you. I take my real tears, and water the seed I have planted, and I place it on the earth here at my feet."

This she did. The red mass of her tissue and blood, bearing the pink heart no longer pinned to her sleeve an watered with her tears lay on the ground next to the pool. The pools water turned pink with stain, and the dragonflies wings glowed with red.

As the heart lay there, beating slowly, slowly, it began to change. Veins and capillaries grew from it and reached the earth, to bore into the ground and to lay hold there. Auricles and ventricles reached up, up, up and strained to reach higher still. The whole thing changed color, growing less red, and more brown, more green, more ... tree.

A trunk grew, reddish brownish green, and the tops sprouted leaves that stretched and shimmered with the first sunlight that rained down upon them. It was a tree, but unlike any tree that had ever grown before, and will ever grow since. It was a Journiey Tree.

Through her tears, Journiey smiled between grimaces and said "I always said I had an uncle who was a wandering Jew." And she laughed, bitterly. She laughed alone, because trees are notorious for lacking a sense of humor.

She pulled her self up right, buttoned her blouse over the hole where her heart once was, and pointing at her heart, still not quite tree, but certainly not quite heart, cried, "That is my promise to you! I have become what you are, and no matter what befall you, I will remain. My tree is eternal, and will not die. Time will pass, the desert may come, and the desert may go. Humans will settle here, and they will build around this tree, and this tree will protect your seeds until such time as your seeds may safely be planted again. You have my word and my deed and my heart!"

Old Pine bowed. He said, in the first gentle voice he had used in decades, "You are a True One, Journiey, Spirit of the Wood. I ask that you take my seeds first." And so saying this, let loose with such a shaking that his seeds spread all around him.

Journiey looked at Old Pine, a twinkle in her still wet eyes. "You ain't half bad, Pine. Your bark is much worse than your bite. You just need someone to come shake your branches every so often." She stooped and gathered the seeds of Old Pine and placed them in her blouse, to fill the hole where her heart had been.

She moved from tree to tree, gathering seeds and placing them in that sacred wound, to be kept safe, to be her new heart, to stay there until such a time as the world was safe for them again.

When she was done, she shrank herself to the size of a human woman and walked to the base of the Journiey tree. She sat at its base and drank from the pond. She looked pale and a bit weak.

"I am done for now." she said. "It was a lovely party, and I thank you all for inviting me, but you know I can't stay." She stood up and touched a low knurl in the tree. Slowly, the trunk split open, until a gap just large enough for her to squeeze her tired body into it appeared.

"I'm going, but only for a little while. In a few years, perhaps a century or so, I will be called forth and then it will be time for you to be reborn. Do not give up hope, do not give up life. It is, after all, eternal." She blew a kiss to all the forest. "Love you all."

She closed her eyes and smiled as the opening sealed itself around her, closing her into the trunk of the tree forever.

Weehawk said "That's it. That's the story. There are some that say that Journiey's back. Like that old hooch hound at home. I dunno, though. Maybe, maybe not. That's why I say that talking animals may not be such a bad thing, Pewitt. It opens your eyes to possibilities. It doesn't have to be evil. It's just different."

Pewitt stared at Weehawk, dumfounded. "That's it? That's your story? There wasn't any monsters in it! It was just a bunch of stupid trees whining about being cut down. Nothing scary, nothing that even related to my dreams." He crossed his arms and looked disappointed. "I feel cheated."

Squirrelygirl blew him a raspberry k-k-k-kcchh! and said "I think, I do, I do, I do, that it was a wonderful, marvelous, incredible story, I do, I do, I do!"

Weehawk said, with wide eyes, "Hey! I understood that!"

"Well ladeeda. Welcome to my world." Pewitt was still not terribly happy.

"Look, Milt. I said there weren't any monsters in it. I said there were things LIKE your tree monsters. And I can hear this squirrel talking!" Weehawk looked forward to Racer. "How bout you? Say something."

"There's Growler." came a voice in his head.

"Woo hoo! I can hear her speak!" Weehawk was bouncing in his saddle, tossing a squeaking Squirrelygirl around and about, nearly scaring the poor thing to death. "Uh, What's a growler?"

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop." complained Squirrelygirl. When Weehawk had settled back down, she climbed onto his shoulder and pointed past where Pewitt was sitting. Pewitt's mouth had fallen open, and didn't look like it would close for a while.

There was a mound of dirt and leaves and sticks and twigs and branches directly in front of him. A mound of dirt and leaves and sticks and twigs and branches is not such an unusual thing, in and of itself. However, when it's taken into account that there were also big round eyes and a large flat nose, and a broad mouth, and very large elephantine ears, that is something all together unusual.

"Hello." came a voice from somewhere deeper than the center of the earth. It came from the depths of a moaning cavern filled with bats. It rumbled from somewhere the blind fish swim and the blinder scorpions crawl. It was deep. It was dark. It was dank.

"That's Growler. It is, it is, it is.... Oh me, oh my... stew and bones... oh me, oh my!" squeaked Squirrelygirl.