Month: April 2007

(a bit of the manuscript was clipped ’cause it stank)

“I’m afraid of the dark.” One child spoke, her voice quivering.

“Why?” The priest asked her.

“I don’t know what is out there.”

“Ah. I will tell you what is out there and tomorrow you will see it. There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all. We are inside a circle of tall stones, each of them at least twice my height. Where we are is dirt and grass but where the stones sit is a circle of rock underneath them. This is sacred place from a long time ago.

“The stones are gray and silver and some black, swirled together. None of them have moss although they are weathered by the world as it passed them by. Once there were words and drawings on them but they cannot be seen anymore. Those words and drawings were for the people of that time, not this one.

“Beyond the stones are trees almost as old as the Mother Tree herself. They are tall and proud, almost too proud at times. Some of the trees have grown together to form what looks to be one tree, but it is not. After the Mother Tree chose her first two priests, she told the trees here to make her a temple.

“Five trees leaned toward each other, their branches and trunks entertwining. The Temple to the Mother Tree is made from those trees. The Temple is alive and we must treat it as such. Other trees leaned together so their branches formed a ceiling over an area where the priests live. No rain or snow falls on the ground they protect, even now. Yet still more trees adjusted themselves over the years to provide sunlight where it was needed to allow the priests’ crops to grow.

“All of this is to our right and behind us. In front of us is another clearing, quite large. This is where a village once stood and now will stand again. That is where you will make your new homes. So there is nothing to be afraid of, children, for the trees are commanded by the Mother Tree herself to protect and take care of you.”

As the priest had spoke, most of the children lay down and fell asleep. By the time he was finished, only the young carpenter was awake. “Is it true? Did the trees actually move themselves to form the Temple?”

“It is true. In the morning you will see for yourself.”

“Uncle, I am a carpenter. I use wood for my craft. How am I to do this here? I would feel as if I am murdering the relatives of my protectors.”

“Beyond these trees is the usual forest. There are wind felled trees as well as branches and trunks broken during the winter. Those are what we use. To return to the earth, they feed the other trees. To be used by the priests is to serve the Tree. Either way, they do not mind in the least.”

“I see. Still, I feel as if the trees are watching me, as if they know the names of every tree I have helped cut down.”

“They may be watching you, yes, because they can sense what your trade is. But the trees you cut down did not have names. They had no spirit in them and therefore were not truly alive. Not all trees have a spirit, a sense of self. The closer to the Mother Tree, the more that do.”

The young man was silent. “So just as one tree is harder than another, so can one tree have a spirit and another not. I will sleep on this, Uncle.”

“That is not difficult, Nephew. I am old. I need assistance with the upkeep of the Temple. The Mother Tree only accepts children as her keepers.”

“How many did you see in your dream?”

“I did not count them. Perhaps there were twelve. Perhaps less, perhaps more.”

#

The villagers murmured amongst themselves after the announcement. To the side sat the scions. There were twenty of them, two of which would be of the age of consent within a season. The two older boys would be given the choice to stay with their village or go with the priest. The villages’ elders would also have the choice about the others.

“We do not want to give up the orphans for the sole reason they are a burden. They are not. They are as loved as any child.”

“Some villages are burdened. The harvest has been too small. The game animals are leaving to find better food themselves.”

“Our village has five orphans due to the illness last spring. We are short on those old enough to help with the harvest yet have many to feed.”

When they were done, fifteen of the orphans would go with the priest. Some villagers were crying, others were emotionless. Some seemed relieved.

The elder left the priest’s tent and went for a walk alone. He thought of the villagers left at home. Most of them were either too old to make the trip or unmarried. Every child had been brought to the presence of the Mother Tree. He turned and walked toward the group of tents from his own village. As he approached, he heard the sound of children laughing. He changed his direction to go see.

He found a large group of children playing the game of Hunt and Prey. Some ran low, others ran and leaped about. Others remained in place, reaching out to grab someone as they went by. It was a game that built strength and encouraged group thinking.

He saw that all the children bore the mark of their village. Did the priest’s dream meant they were to lose all the children? His heart skipped a beat at the thought of any village without the sound of children playing. He continued to watch, trying to understand what the dream meant. He watched a boy run fast and leap over a log. He was the grandson of another elder. He not only wore the mark of the village, but the mark of his family. Both were embroidered bands of cloth around the thigh. When the child reached the age of consent, the cloth would be exchanged for a tattoo, his first of many.

He watched the boy who was the hunter after the other. He didn’t leap over the log but ran around it. He cut across the circle, always staying close to his prey. The elder watched the boys’ legs as they ran. Then he saw it. The hunter wore only one mark: the one of his village. He didn’t wear one for his family. The elder stood straight and looked at everyone’s legs. Most wore two, but there were some that wore only the mark of their village.

Scions, the orphans of the villages. Lacking any family, not even a distant cousin claim them, they were children who had no family tree. The village was the rootstock to which they would be grafted.

Scions were taken care of by their village and lived in a communal hut or lodge. Each family was obligated to donate food from their own supply; the more scions a village had, the harder it was for the village as a whole.

Food had been scarce in the past several years. It was why there had been only seven children for the ritual. If the priest took some of the orphans, the burden would be less for each village and there would be more food for each family and more to put into storage for the harsh winters.

But the secret of the sacrifice—the fact that no child was actually killed—needed to remain a secret. So how to explain the scions’ departure with the priest?

“Nephew, I had a dream last night.”

“Was it a good dream, Uncle?” The elder sat on the dirt in front of the priest.

“I do not know. Let me tell it to you. I think you can help me with it.” In the priest’s arms lay one of the babies. She drank from a leather teat, her little hands clutching it. The other lay nearby, playing with the fringe from his leather vest.

“In my dream, I returned to the Temple to find a village of tents. Everyone was young, from these infants to as old as just starting a beard. Each had the markings of their home village, and there were many represented. They were building a new lodge from wood from the Mother Tree. They were laughing and playing as they worked. Older ones were up high while the younger ones were down low. They took turns watching over those too young to help. Once the village was built, we all went to the Mother, who accepted the blood of everyone and everyone changed their village markings to one similar to the mark of the Temple.”

“Has their never been a village around the Temple before?”

“Not in many lifetimes. We sometimes found the stones of a foundation.”

“And everyone was children?”

“Yes. Some were just reaching the age of consent.”

“I do not understand how I can help you with this.”

The priest shifted the baby to his shoulder where he began patting her back. “Do you not know of a group of such children and youth?”

“With the markings of all the different villages? No, I do not.”

“Go and think on it.”