The Tree King
Tristan sat in the courtyard of the Duke’s Palace. Frostgale lay by his feet with her pups suckling at her teats. Rodin was Duke of Old Kohl’s Shire, bordered to the south and west by Sheridens Forest. The forest stretched for hundreds of miles along the Duke’s Road, headed towards the capital, Lindonium.
But today Tristan’s mind did not stretch so far beyond his own borders. His concern was for his father’s words. The Ana’nitia were returning, and the birth of the Snow Wolf was a major sign of the Return. Tristan was seated on paved grey stone that surrounded a raised fountain, clear waters filled it with many red-and-white striped fish, each the size of a wolfhound pup. They swam through the lily reeds and rose to make splashes where Tristan tossed small handfuls of pellets consisting of mixed vegetables and dried meats.
‘You look sullen today, boy!’ Feligrihir pronounced in deep baritones. Tristan looked up in surprise, though the old man often appeared without Tristan noticing his approach, even on a bright clear day. The man had once told him it had to do with light and shadows. And sight lines. His steps were also silent: today he wore soft leather slippers under his grey-blue velvet robe with gold lined cuffs. ‘Your father told me what’s been troubling you,’ his deep blue eyes changed from concern to empathy as he said, ‘Tristan, do not worry for your father or your family. The Eastwarden will ensure our boundaries are kept safe.’
‘But my father is Warden of the East,’ Tristan replied with tears filling his eyes. ‘Who will watch out for him while he’s protecting our borders?’
‘Why my boy, it will certainly not be me.’ Feligrihir gave a light-hearted chuckle before seating himself on the paved fountain ledge. ‘Perhaps you will be old enough to join him, soon I think.’ His large round eyes glared through his spectacles like a tawny frogmouth. The Court Bard and Alchemist had watched over Tristan since birth, like a grandfather.
‘Tell me a story, Wirraman,’ Tristan insisted. ‘Make it a nice one this time, not one with any demons and such.’
Feligrihir smiled warmly, ‘Not sure that I know any without some sort of evil folk involved, boy.’
‘Tell me the one about Ardua and the Tree King.’
‘I think that has a few demons in it there somewhere.’
‘Tell it anyway. The Festival is only ten days away.’
‘Yes, the Three-Day Festival of Ardua and the Tree King,’ Feligrihir replied. ‘What parts do you wish to hear?’
‘All of it!’
‘All of it?’ the man asked with bushy grey eyebrows rising like furry caterpillars. ‘It would take me the better part of a week to relate the Songs of the Branch Weavers, not to mention the Songs of Mourning. Pick a part, something that relates to the Festival.’
‘I can’t pick a part I like best about a story like that, Wirraman,’ Tristan replied with an earnest sigh. ‘Some stories have to be told in full.’
‘I doubt you’ve heard even a fraction of the true length of that tale, Tristan. The Son of Aman lived for thirty years or more before he became the Tree King. There are many deeds even a simple man can complete in such time, though El’Tihir was greater than any other man to ever live.’
‘Is it just a story?’ Tristan asked, throwing another handful to the fish. ‘I mean, just a myth, like the Revellers of Baraduresh, and the Seventy Towers of Josaia’Seth, and the one about the Three Barrow Kings?’
Feligrihir’s eyebrows drew down in a line, as he straightened his spectacles to glare at Tristan with some agitation. ‘You’d be wise to keep such questions to yourself, dear boy. There are some that would not take kindly to hearing them, even from an innocent child.’
‘Are you accusing me of blasphemy?’
‘Some would,’ the man replied with snort. ‘I’m not so sure. As a Master Storyteller, I have had to learn over eight hundred entire stories by heart, every word, every line and letter,’ he pointed to his skull, ‘stored up here.’
‘You mean you keep them under your hat?’
‘Don’t play games with me boy,’ he snarled, snatching his wide-brimmed purple wizard’s hat from his bushy grey head. ‘I don’t keep them in my hat, I remember them!’
‘Of course, it was just a joke.’
‘I’ll remember that for next time,’ his eyes were smiling again. ‘But boy, some say that all stories can be traced back to an older version of themselves, going back through time immemorial. After memorizing so many of those stories, I begin to see threads of similarities between them.’
‘Like how, what do you mean threads?’
‘Similar plotlines if you will. One that springs to mind is synonymous with you and I right here right now. They call it, the Horns of Destiny. It refers to a time when a mentor will set his young apprentice on the path to his adventure, like the sounding of a horn precedes leading men into a charge on the battlefield.’
‘Papa says I have to serve as the Steward to the Tegean Princess. Will I need to do any fighting?’
‘If necessary, though, your father has surely explained your duties as Soulwarden, for now anyway. Your primary role will be to provide advice when requested. I have great trust that your arrows will cut down any man that wishes to harm her.’
‘Is she pretty?’
‘Princess Cybele? Why I’ve heard many reports of her beauty, some from those who’ve actually laid eyes on the girl. But you are to serve and protect, not to wed, young man. Don’t get your hopes up when you think you’re about to drown in her big emerald eyes.’
‘Why do I have to serve as Soulwarden? Why doesn’t her eldest brother perform the role? I’ve heard he’s pretty good with a spear.’
‘Tradition mostly, Tristan, arranged marriages and other such traditions forge strong alliances. It keeps nations from going to battle, economies improve, winners all around.’
‘I’d hate to be forced to marry Lady Elysia,’ Tristan said with arms crossed. ‘She calls me slow-witted.’
‘Does she now?’ Feligrihir was hiding a smirk behind his hand after scooping up an assortment of herbs he must’ve been picking for his alchemy. He waved a crimson hurtswane pod under his nostrils, sniffed: then placed them back on the paving. ‘Women are hard to predict, at the best of times. I do think the Lady Elysia favours you to your younger brother Robert.’
‘He’s a baby,’ Tristan said with a scowl. ‘She would hardly want to marry him.’
‘Perhaps someday she might if she decides you have no interest.’ Tristan chose to change the subject. He was sure he must be blushing. ‘I don’t care who she marries. Tell me the story of how the Tree King came into the world.’
‘Same old story, virgin gives birth to Saviour Child, wizards visit the babe to pray. That is a story old as the sprites and fae, my boy.’
‘Now who is guilty of heresy?’ Tristan asked aghast.
‘A little joke just between us then,’ the man adjusted his spectacles casually as his eyes suddenly darted left and right to see if anyone was near enough to overhear. ‘No really boy, I don’t know up from down about where the stories began and how to sort the truth from the myths. Does it even matter?’
‘What about Aman then? Does he exist?’
‘The Eromulari would split me with an axe if I denied it!’ He spoke in an emphatic whisper. ‘They’ve imposed monotheism upon our people for generations. They’d do it double quick if I even suggested the Son of Aman was a myth too.’
‘Are you saying they don’t exist?’
‘I’m saying our gods always served us well enough, before the Eromulari charged in and changed everything. I know that’s no myth, I’ve read the record books.’
‘You mean the historical scrolls in the Great Library of Arc De’Trey?’
‘Yes boy.’
‘Isn’t that where the myths come from too?’
‘Yes, what of it?’
‘Well then,’ he sat thinking about it with a serious frown, ‘how do you tell which ones are historical; and which ones are myths?’
‘The myths are in the Myths Catalogue.’
‘Do you speak truly?’
‘Of course not, boy, I was joking!’ Frostgale turned her head sharply at his tone, a very low growl sounding from her throat, and now the old man wore a solemn frown, as if the thought was just dawning upon him. ‘It relates to evidence boy, witnessed accounts, recorded testimony, time and degree of witnesses that separate from the recorded event.’
‘What’s a degree of witnesses?’
‘Remember your lessons. Firsthand witnesses see the event with their own eyes, hear with their own ears, sometimes they get to touch the event as it takes place, or are touched by it, affected physically in some way.’
‘Sorry, I remember, and second and third hand witnesses are those that are told of the event by firsthand witnesses, and the chain goes on and testimony gets more doubtful with each retelling. Sorry Wirraman.’
‘Do you even know what that name means, Tristan; that name that you call me?’
‘What does it mean?’
‘In Old Tegean it is pronounced Wyr’Rhi’Aman, and it means “They Who Serve the One True God.”’
‘But you said you prefer your old gods better, just now!’
‘I do prefer them, Tristan, but don’t tell anyone I said that either. I’ll deny it.’
‘Then why does everyone call you that name? I’ve heard father call you that since I could crawl.’
‘Because the bloody Eromulari make people call me that, that’s why! And because of old ties between Tegean and Romulean rulers, maintains strong trade routes, gold, silver, iron, copper and bronze, transported along the Fertile Riverlands of Tegea between the two deserts. Riverboats to transport precious cargo, including sandstone, granite and marble, remember your studies before you ask such questions.’
‘What does trade have to do with the One God?’
‘To the Eromulari, it has everything to do with it.’ He was composed again, running a hand through his bushy grey beard that fanned to his waist. ‘But now we’re jumping to philosophy.’
‘So, let me get this right, you say stories that include miracles like the Tree King, are dubious because they talk of magic, even though there are many firsthand witnesses, but that the Eromulari, an entire people, preach the Word of Aman because it makes them money?’
‘You’re too smart for your own good, boy. Keep those words to yourself.’
‘What about my story?’
‘Oh, yes, now then. The tale of the Tree King. The heavily edited version.’
***
‘Long ago, Ardua, the Many-Faced God, was King of the Mountains beyond the Realm of Men, high in the Cloud Realm. And in these days, it was unusual for a Maker of Magic to have learnt more than one Element, and although this is also the case today, there was a time when many Magicians, Sorceresses, Spellcasters and the like, would learn more than one Elemental Wielding.
‘It was, however, still very rare, for a Maker of Magic to learn more than two Elements, in one lifetime.
‘Then, during the Age of Spiritual Reckoning, a child was born who was said to be the offspring of Ardua, who was said to have mated with a mortal woman. The child’s name was Manu’Atua, and he was skilled in magic from a young age.
‘There came a day when Manu’Atua was a man himself, and he fathered a son, who was named El’Tihir. This name meant Cloudwalker. His father, Manu’Atua’s name meant, Descendant of Gods. Though El’Tihir was not given this name when first born.
‘For in this Age of Spiritual Reckoning, the Seeking for the Source, which was the Pathway to Entering True Magic, was often obtained by first learning to Ride the Winds. This was the skill learnt by those who were then known as the Cloudwalkers, and those that obtained the skill were also given the name El’Tihir, though in their case it was as a registry of their level of rank.
‘And so, it was the same with young El’Tihir, who was as a lad named Sor’Ra’Kenma, and this name, given to him by his mother, meant, Offspring of the Monkey-Faced God. For this was another name for the Many-Faced God, who was El’Tihir’s grandfather.’
‘Is this a genealogy, or a story?’ Tristan interrupted.
‘Yes, yes, just going through the backstory first, boy. Patience, please.’
‘And so, it was one fine spring morning, when El’Tihir first learnt to Walk the Clouds. At first, he could only step from one cloud to another, by moving from the ground to one of the lowest clouds in the sky, first, before he could reach one that was higher. Though, as he was of the blood of gods, it was not long before El’Tihir could leap from one side of the heavens to another in a single bound. During his time in the heavens, he met his grandfather, the Monkey King, or the Many-Faced God as he was also known.
‘Ardua, the Monkey King, gifted his grandson many Secrets Into the Ways of Magic, during their time spent together in the heavens, and it was from these secret lessons, that El’Tihir eventually learnt the Secret Magics of all Five Elemental Sources. El’Tihir had already mastered the Element of Air, for which Cloudwalkers were most commonly known, and the other four were Water, Earth, Fire and Spirit. It is believed, that if a mortal ever masters all five of these basic Magic Sources, they would then have power over all of the world, reality, time and space, to the point that they would then become gods themselves.’
‘So El’Tihir is the Monkey King?’ Tristan asked.
‘Not exactly boy, weren’t you listening?’ Feligrihir replied. ‘In a way he is one and the same with his grandfather, though he is also the descendant of the Many-Faced God.’
‘What about Creator, Seed and Sacred Presence?’ Tristan asked. ‘Aren’t they all one and the same? The Eternal Cycle of the Serpent of Flame?’
‘Yes, yes, very good boy, but you’re missing the point. While his grandfather was an Immortal God, El’Tihir was a Demi-God, half mortal, as was his father. El’Tihir was in fact born of two generations of half mortal bloodlines, so he was very different to his grandfather in make and might. Still, they say there has never been another one like him!’
‘Mortal or Demi-God?’
‘Neither one of them like him ever before; nor ever since, boy,’ Feligrihir adjusted his spectacles with owl eyes glaring.
‘So, then what happened? Tell me why he is also the Tree King.’
‘You play games with me, Tristan. You know this tale as well as I do.’
‘Tell me anyway,’ he smiled up at his teacher.
‘Very well.’
El’Tihir was not so unlike a mortal man in appearance, at least for his upbringing. There was a kind of Elfish way about him, he was tall and thin, muscular and youthful with pixie ears. His skin was slightly tanned, flowing dark hair that was said to burn like midnight, his eyes great pools of shadow like some stalking panther. That was before he Divided, and it was said that women nearly fainted whenever he entered a room, for he was so striking and beautiful.
Now, there was another exceptional Magic Way, of which El’Tihir was perhaps the greatest of his kind, that of Division, or the Art of the Divider.
This Magic Way was the ability to Divide any object into two, and so creating another duplicate of the first item. This might not seem very useful at first, but what if you had only one egg, and two mouths to feed. Those with El’Tihir’s rare ability, could Divide the egg, to create two eggs, or four, or eight, and so on. In this way, one egg could feed an army. And this is exactly what El’Tihir did, for an army he was marching with in the Age of Spiritual Reckoning, when they rested, for one afternoon, during a retreat from a great demon army.
The demons had routed their forces: and outnumbered the warriors by at least one hundred demons for every warrior. But this was not the half of it!
For amongst the demon forces were some of the most foul and terrifying of beasts ever to walk the Earth. There were common demons by the hundreds of thousands, man sized beings of shadow flesh and eyes of flame, but there were other creatures forged from nightmares. Some stood so tall and were so muscular and scaled, even the Gor’Ora’Drhrin would not face them in battle. These demons were so foul and terrifying that their very gaze could turn a man to crystal bone or shatter them into a pillar of burning dust. Those warriors amongst the army that were immortals, such as the Elves and Demi-Gods amongst them, were impervious to these dark spells, but there were tens of thousands of mortals amongst those forces that could not stand in the presence of these demons without being turned to ashes and dust.
The losses were heavy on both sides, as the forces of good fought bravely and with unwavering might, despite knowing they could not win. They used cunning, stealth and methods of combat that have been lost to legend, though there was little hope of escape, as the enemy continued to push them towards the Cliffs of Ardua, that were said to climb to the very heavens they were so tall.
The army knew that their last hope would be an attempt at climbing the craggy cliff face, in hope of finding a cave to climb into, though it was steep as a vertical right angle. The demon forces arrived too soon however, and even El’Tihir could not fight them on his own to allow his people to escape. The army would be crushed like grapes against the stone cliffs.
And so, El’Tihir made request to his grandfather to send the Gods to his aid. His call was not answered, and when the demon armies began to advance and devour the front defence lines, El’Tihir cried to the heavens, “Why have you abandoned us!”
In his moments of grief and lost hope, El’Tihir gave his life, by Dividing his Soul, one part pure, the other half tainted.
Now this is the important part, boy,’
‘I’m listening,’
‘To Divide the Soul is the most dangerous spell a Divider can ever cast. This is because it creates an imbalance of pure and impure energies that form the Sacred Presence. This was only attempted one other time in history, and that is a tale for another time.
However, when El’Tihir Divided his Soul, he allowed the pure half to transform into a great seed as tall and wide as a full-grown man. This seed was planted in the earth by a blinding bolt of fire that launched from the peaks of the Cliff of Ardua.
Then the Great Tree Yurg’En’Drassil began to sprout from the earth, and the armies were soon rushing to grasp hold of the leaves, branches and twisting vines that rose and spread to collect all of those desperate souls that still fought with breath in their lungs. Though there were many that sacrificed themselves so that others could be lifted up into the air by the Great Yurg’En’Drassil, tens of thousands of lives were lost that day in fact, though many more were saved.
When the Great Tree climbed into the heavens of the Cliffs of Ardua, the trunk spread wide and thick, though after all the lives that could be saved were climbing into the sky, there were no new branches for the demons to be carried upwards also, and so they could not pursue.
Enraged by this, the Demon Lords ordered the tree be cut down and burnt, so that those above could never be free. But there was no fire they created, and no blade they forged that could dent the Mighty Oak.
The legends say those peoples escaped to the Mountains of Ardua: and became Angels in Service to Ardua and the Gods, though Ardua gave great lamentation for the loss of his grandson.
‘Though the legends also say, that when Dividing his Soul, the part that was negative energy re—’
‘Tristan!’ his stepmother called. ‘It’s time for your riding lesson. Be quick, to the stables, my son.’
‘We’re in the middle of a very important story, Mumma!’ Tristan pleaded, but there was nothing for it. He groaned in frustration. ‘We pick this up later. After supper. I’ll meet you in the small library. Bring a book with pictures?’
‘I will have devised your evening lesson by then, young master. Now, be off with you.’
Tristan was halfway to running when he looked down to the wolf and her cubs before shouting, ‘You’ll take her back to my quarters, won’t you?’
‘Not a problem!’ he almost grunted, at which point Frostgale began to growl, as Feligrihir waved goodbye with a nervous grin.
‘Thanks for the story, Wyr’Rhi’Aman!’