The Shadow and the Tree

"There weren't always dragons in the Valley", the old man told the child who was looking wide-eyed at the shadow of one of the winged reptiles in front of the moon.

The light from the candle was now low, and the pale yellow wax had formed a thick ring around the iron candelabrum. Looking up, the young boy could see his granddad's weathered, wrinkled face. His large, round eyes were the darkest of brown, yet they were bright and friendly. As he closed the large leatherbound book, the deep wrinkles around his smiling face moved as he spoke:

“That’s it for tonight Ash, the candle is almost spent, it is time for bed”

“Please grandad, just one more, I’m too antsy anyways, I won’t be able to sleep for a time. Tell me about the night the dragons came to the Valley”

He sighed, debating whether or not to indulge his young friend with another story.

“I don’t know… I really shouldn’t be keeping you up any later”

“No, your stories don’t keep me up, they help me sleep! Please, even the moon is more awake than usual”

He chuckled, “Ah yes, the full moon. Tonight it is particularly bright... I will give you that. A supermoon, little one, and a wolf moon”, he added.

“What does that mean?” Ash asked the old man as he turned his round, heterochromatic eyes back to the moon shining light on the meadows outside their house.

“Well, a super moon is a moon that is extra big, people say it is because the moon draws nearer to us. And the monks used to say that it draws nearer in order to rile up the will of those righteous to the true path of the eternal light force…”

“I don’t understand Grandad”

“Yes, few do now. The teachings of the ancient ones are all but lost. I can tell you that they believed in a conscious connection between all living and nonliving things, and denounced dividing words like ‘us and them’, ‘this or that’. I think we could learn from them, especially in times like these…”

“How ‘bout the wolf moon?”, Ash inquired.

“Ah yes, a wolf moon is a moon of the new year, it is the January moon. It is said that the wolves often howl more than usual on this moon. Curious, this moon reminds me of a night shortly before the dragons came, of the night I found you, little one”

“Tell me again please!”, the boy squealed. He loved hearing his grandfather tell him stories, most of all, the story of the night he found him.

“Ok, ok, then you are to sleep…”, he said with a dreamy sigh as he looked out the bedroom window to the illuminated meadow and the adjacent dark forest that surrounded their land. The old man liked telling Ash his stories, and on this dreamy night he was able to remember better than he could most nights. “It was a night not unlike tonight,” he began, “the night of a supermoon, in this case the Monkshood or Wolfsbane Moon of June. Usually a June moon is a Rose moon, but when it coincides with the supermoon, it is said that an intangible sense of darkness comes out to play with the light of the supermoon, turning the red rose into the vexing purple of the monkshood. It is said that witches and wizards would often wait many years for an opportunity like this one because they followed the beliefs of the fabled ancient ones that said the super Monkshood moon was a time of great Magic. That these latent dark energies rose up from the roots of the Earth and mingled with the luminous light of the supermoon. They said that it was a time when the divisions in the world were blurred, and nature and reality became more fluid… less defined. Some say that on this night you could have a conversation with oak, or laugh with a midnight butterfly. But some are terrified of this moon because it has an intoxicating effect on many, they say they feel as though they have been drugged, and there are many accounts of sensible people doing what others call ‘highly uncivilized things’”, he stopped a moment and took a sip from his steaming mug of chamomile and lavender tea.

“Anyways, as one who loves any full moon, and the feeling of magic in the air, as you well know, I went out to collect herbs and mushrooms under the light of the moon, hoping to catch a glimpse of some magic, while foraging for some rare ingredients. I had been practicing making brews and tinctures from various herbs and mushrooms for some years now, and as it was June, I was hoping to find some flowers that were in full bloom. I had read that there was a rare flower with extraordinary powers that bloomed just once a year under the light of the full moon. I remember walking and foraging for a couple of hours and then having a sense that the magic of this night was taking me. My memory went a little bit fuzzy and I remember wandering into a forest (a forest that I was never able to locate the following days) and hearing the howl of wolves in the distance, and seeing many shadows moving and dancing underneath the potent moonlight that penetrated the canopy of the forest, the shadows seeming to dance between the large trunks of the trees. I remember having not a worry in my heart, nor really a recognition of self, I was simply wandering. After a time, I caught the smallest whisper of the most intoxicating and inviting smell I have ever come across. It smelled of a deep, dark velvet, a bottomless dark purple, soothing like lavender and enticing like the scent of a beautiful young woman. I followed the scent, and as it became more potent I saw waves of a purple like a dark amethyst, moving across the forest like smoke from a fire if it meandered horizontally rather than vertically. I felt my heartbeat race, I needed to find the source of this scent, I knew it was important. More than important actually, I could not conceive of a reality where I would do otherwise. I started to run, following the trail closely, then I was sprinting, I was mad, and I was now very much aware of it, but it did not matter, all that mattered was the task at hand that had quickly consumed me. The trees grew thick, some of them stood ten paces wide, and although I did not stop to check, I’m sure that if I had stood at their base I would not have been able to see their tops, even with the aid of sunlight. They appeared more like black pillars reaching into the heavens rather than trees.

Then I noticed the animals: hares and owls, squirrels and foxes, and flocks of ravens and doves moving in every direction around me. I remember locking eyes with a nightingale following me by my left side, feeling the sensation of lift beneath my arms, and looking down to my right and seeing a man, whom I did not recognize, but felt a sort of kinship to, with scratches on his face sprinting wildly alongside me. I could hear laughter and shouting, there was movement and life all around me. I was absolutely hysterical, I was not myself now and I felt elated. I felt like I was being swept up by a wave of the nocturnal and had become more beast than man freed by the release of identity”

Ash’s eyes grew wide as he peered into Grandad’s eyes, now opening wider than he had ever seen them, glistened with tears, in complete awe of the tempo of his voice, the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, and the look on his face as if he was reliving this moment here, in Ash’s small room, with the light of the moon shining brightly in through the window, as the candle slowly began to die. His voice had risen and you could feel it reverberating on the wooden logs of the room, it shook what was left of the flame of the candle, causing his shadow to dance on the wood-paneled wall behind him.

“I was scrambling, I could feel branches and brambles whipping my face, I could feel dirt and rock and root underneath my hands as if I was running on all four. I was joining in on the songs of the forests, bellowing words and sounds I had never made nor heard before, syllables and whispers that sounded like the chant of some great ritual, intermingled with the calls of the birds and the howls of the wolves. I felt as if I was leaving my body and becoming a part of the night. But the wave of purple only grew stronger, the scent entering into my very soul, and my soul willfully submitting to its call. I lost all control and can only remember glimpses of mad animals, red and green eyes, the feeling of bloody hands, hooves, and paws, not knowing what was mine and what was not. Then I felt complete immersion, like a herd of deer, a pack of wolves, a flock of nightingales we felt the sensation of some complete chaotic burst of energy, the feeling of a million beating hearts of varying sizes and pulsing giants of trees, we felt like one singular wave of life, all of us one! I flew through the forest! Leaping over branches, flying through the canopy, moving through the earth like roots or fungus at a speed no one man has ever experienced! And then…”

He was standing now, shaking with the rush of energy he felt recalling the story, his voice now wavering slightly, his mouth so wide the sides of it practically touched his eyes, and his face soaked with tears. He looked like the happiest lunatic that could be imagined. His voice tapered off, it softened, his features grew softer and he sat back down.

“Silence… I had burst through the forest’s edge. I had come back to my senses. My hands were covered with cuts and dirt, soaked in blood, with splinters and small pebbles jammed into the lacerations. My hair too was textured with blood, dirt, sticks, and leaves, matted down, and it felt longer. I reached up to touch it and felt soft fur like that of an animal, and feathers of varying sizes and shapes twisted between my hairs. My clothes were in tatters, there was more missing than there was intact. I took a moment to try and recall what I had just experienced, but very little came back to me as if I had just woken from a dream. Then I looked up, wondering where I was. In front of me was a small grove. I noticed that mushrooms lined the grove, which seemed to be perfectly circular as if some kind of huge ferry ring. The supermoon was very bright, I had little trouble seeing anything. At the center of the grove was a beautiful Ash, it looked older than any other tree I had ever seen. It reminded me instantly of the sketches of the ancient sages, sitting upon their mountain top meditating: hunched over, skinny, wrinkled things, the epitome of old.

Then I smelled it again. Not as strong as before but undeniable: an intoxicating sweetness, enticing me with wondrous notions of perfectly harmless darkness. I approached the tree and saw a single plant, standing about 2 feet tall, a few paces away from the tree that seemed to be looming over it lovingly, like a mother watching her infant child sleep. As I approached the plant I saw that its flowers were of an incredibly dark purple hue, yet there appeared to be speckles lining the flower that glistened and sparkled in the moonlight. I crouched down and looked closer at the flower and then pushed my nose towards it and took a great big sniff. Pure euphoria rushed over me. It smelled so good I wanted to just eat the whole thing. Then I realized what it was, the pictures of the witch’s infamous ‘flying potion’ flashed through my mind as I recalled reading about this flower: Monkshood, named for the purple flower's shape resembling that of the ancient one’s hoods. Also known as Wolfsbane, because farmers often placed raw meat soaked in the tea around the borders of their pastures to kill any wolves that came near their livestock. It was revered by the ancient ones for its powerful effects, it is said to trigger an easy flow of magic in any who partakes of its flowers, leaves, or roots. Its precise uses by the ancient ones are not known, but many practicing witches and wizards use it in order to connect with hidden sources of magic. Witches were said to use it in their infamous “flying potion” which allowed for them to take off in flight on switches of Ash and Alder trees. However, it should be noted that anyone looking to use any part of this plant shall be warned: It is one of the most deadly plants known to humankind. With a single flower able to kill even the largest of men. And its roots, properly prepared, contain enough poison to kill a small village.

` Yes! I thought, Monkshood… How strange it is to find this ominous plant on this auspicious night. Monkshood on the Moon of Monkshood. A great find… but wait, I thought. Any forager with any respect for the Earth knows you can never take more than half of any available source of plant life from a site, preferably a much smaller fraction than that. And there is only this one flower.

I remember feeling disappointed yet resolute, this flower had seemed too beautiful to dig up anyway. Although I would have loved to grow some near my house. As I took one long last look at this gnarled mass of a tree in preparation for the long journey home I heard what sounded like a sniffle. Next, I heard a wolf from far off let out a loud howl. As if in response, coming from the base of the ancient tree I heard a small, soft giggle and then what sounded like a cheap imitation of the howl “howw-ooo”. Was the tree talking to me, like I had heard they do on nights like tonight? I knew it wouldn’t have been the strangest thing to happen to me that night. No, in the shadow of the base of the twisted trunk of the tree, nestled right between the tree and the flower, was a child. An infant, a baby. Shocked, I reached out and gently touched its face to make sure I was not hallucinating. Its face was the softest of soft, it reminded me of the smooth surface of the Monkhood petals I had just a moment ago been admiring. I picked up the baby, as anyone who had just found one alone out in the wilderness would, and figured I had to bring it home. Surely, it would die out here alone in the woods, the fact that a wolf hadn’t gotten to it amazed me. As I walked away the glint of the Wolfsbane caught my eye, a soft wind rustled one of its top petals as if it was winking at me. I laughed, ‘Thank you’ I said. And walked off.

I told as many people about you as I could, but no one could tell me of anyone that had lost or abandoned a baby, and stranger yet, I was never able to find that forest again…”.

“Ok, now you must close your eyes and go to sleep”, he added.

He tucked an awestruck Ash into bed, his round-raccoon eyes looking off towards the supermoon, still visible through the window. Ash’s mind was now even more active, wondering about the circumstances of that auspicious night.

“Ok, Grandad, thank you. Good night”

“Sweet dreams, little one” he whispered and shut the door.