When Willow's Weep

As with all old stories this one begins in a land far away, lost now to time. It was a land full of wide plains and deep, dark forests; of stark, high mountains, and fathomless rivers that flowed down hills and through valleys. It is in the depths of one of those dark forests, called the Evervale, where this story takes place.

Now, this forest was not as we know forests today. Today our trees are small or tall, most are narrow as so many places have been clear-cut and are only growing back after ten or twenty years. Such a thought would have been anathema to anyone who lived near the forest of Evervale; for this forest, unlike our own, lived. It's many tall, broad, green-leafed trees were sentient.

Of these trees there were many kinds; oak and ash, fir and birch. All of them seemed to hold to their own conclaves and grew together in sun or in shade, depending upon their kind. There was, however, one other kind of tree, of whose kind there was only one. A willow.

The willow grew alone in a small glade at the bank of the river. Hedged in on three sides by the ancient oak trees and on the fourth by the bank of the river as it flowed lazily downstream, Willow (it is simplest to call her this, being the only one of her kind) spent her days and nights listening to the talk of the other trees. The oaks, due to their large stature and wide trunks had voices of deep bass that echoed along the river, carried by the water and amplified upon the rocks. This was how she knew that she was often an object of derision and pity. "Look at her!" she heard once. "She hangs over the water and cries tears into it daily." "What a sad little thing she is, never to have another to speak with, no saplings to grow and protect. Not that any woodcutters would dare come into our forest." It was often this last comment that she wondered about. Willow was a young tree with no knowledge of how she came to be there by the banks of the river. If she was the only one of her kind, how had she gotten there? And what was a "woodcutter?" Whatever it was, going by the sound of the word she would rather not find out. So, she continued to stand by the river; day-in-and-day-out, weeping and wondering as the days slid from one to the next.

Days, months, years pass, and rumors spread through the trees of humans beginning to walk through the woods. Willow has long since ceased to weep and has grown into her stature; a tall, broad tree with sweeping branches that stretch towards the river and dance in the wind. The words of the oaks no longer bother her and her wondering of her beginnings has waned. This new talk of humans interested her though. In all of her life she had never seen one. It was curious to her that the oaks, usually so staid and calm, became agitated and anxious whenever talk of humans arose. What she didn't know, is that she would have the chance to find out.

It was early in the morning, just before the light of the sun begins to filter over the horizon and through the leafy greens of the trees, when Willow realized something was wrong. There was a thick, heavy feel to the air, drafts of hot wind pulling through the trees, swirling low around their trunks. The animals in the woods, from the birds of the air, to the deer, down to the smallest of field mice scurried past her roots and milled up against the rivers banks, where the water swirled deep and dark, swollen with the waters of the spring thaw. "What is happening?" Willow wondered, pulling herself from the restful ease of the night and dark. Becoming more aware she heard the oaks creak and groan in alarm. "The trees! The trees!" they cried. "The humans have caused a fire in the trees!" As Willow heard these cries, she heard other sounds, unfamiliar and strange, sharp and guttural carried on the hot wind. She did not know what they were until suddenly several strange creatures, with large staring dark eyes, wings with no feathers and curious twigs at the end of them, moving quickly but lumberingly on two legs came into view; appearing out of the unusually thick, hot, morning mist, like apparitions out of an awful dream.

The animals that milled around her roots and the river's banks became more alarmed then they had been before, some even leaping into the dark waters as these beings appeared in the glade. "These must be humans!" Willow thought, and she called to the oaks. "What has happened? Why are these humans here in our glade?" The oaks, however, were too busy in their alarm and wailing to hear her and her question went unanswered. "I suppose I shall find out," she thought as she turned back to watch these odd creatures that had appeared. Listening intently to the sounds being made, she began to understand what was being said. "The fire is coming this way! Why did George light that damn brush right by the woods!? He knows the trees don't abide fire. Now the whole forest might go up in flames and the trees will never let us take any wood again!" There was anger and fear in their words and between hearing this and the loud cracks and groans from the oaks as they grew more agitated, Willow also began to feel afraid. "What is fire?" she wondered.

As she continued to watch, she wished she could move from where she was rooted. Once, long before her memory began, her kind had been able to pull up their roots and move from place-to-place as the need arose, but that knowledge was no longer and she and the others were as fixed into the earth as a mountain of stone. The air grew ever heavier and hotter and the movements and sounds in the little clearing became faster and louder and more frantic. Willow began to hear strange cracking sounds; sounds that were not those of the trees themselves when they spoke or moved. Suddenly, with a roar, bright, scorching light leapt against the oaks on the Eastern edge of the glade and their screams rent the air. "No!" cried Willow in horror. Only now did she understand that 'fire' meant death and destruction to her kind. Those giant oaks with their booming voices and centuries old knowledge were dying, and she could do nought. The humans had ended their attempts to block the fire and ran for the river. Panicked beasts leapt over the banks, crazed with fear. Willow struggled to force her roots to loosen, to let go their hold of the earth and stone, but to no avail. All she could do was watch in horror and sorrow as her world ended and her own end came toward her.

Part II: The Old Oak

Across the river, through miles of forest and underbrush, at the foot of the mountain, stood the Old Oak. He had another name once, but this is what he was known as in the forest of Evervale. No tree had stood longer than he. He was from a time before, a time when trees still had the ability to pull their roots from the earth and move from one place to another. The Old Oak had been a wanderer in his younger days, but centuries had passed since then. Now, he was content to be rooted in the soil, close to the base of the mountain where he had a view over the forest and could see all the comings and goings within it. Unbeknownst to him, that was about to change.

On the morning when Willow awoke to her world crashing down around her, the Old Oak was on the move. More than two centuries, rooted in the same place, had come to an end.

Several days earlier . . .

The midday sun had chased away the cool of the morning, mountain air. The mist had vanished, and the forest was alive with its steady rhythm of everyday life. Squirrels launched through branches and chittered at anything that moved, the woodpecker could be heard "knock-knock-knocking" on a distant tree, the swallows twittered and flitted about in search of food, and the trees rustled and whispered, at ease in the warm, midday sun. The Old Oak stood contentedly, listening to the world about him.

Suddenly, a call. "Oak! Oak!" he heard from the East. A fir at the edge of the meadow called to him, worry clear in his voice as his branches creaked in agitation.

"What is it?" called The Old Oak. "It's humans in the woods! To the East! They've taken down some of the young trees! Cut them from their very roots during the dark of night and started a fire!" came the anguished reply. The Old Oak growled in anger. "What of the Pact? Have they no longer any care for what the Forest will do?" he demanded.

As the thought of what had been done to his kin threatened to throw him into rage, he began to shake. First, his crown began to churn and weave as if cast with a strong wind, leaves falling in a storm. Then his trunk began to creak, groan, and crackle as bits of bark began to flake off. Finally, his very roots began to pull up from the unwilling earth. With a might 'crack' and a heave, the Old Oak tore his reluctant form from the earth with a shattering roar of anger.

Birds scattered to the air in a cacophony of caws and trills and the trees shook in awe at what the Old Oak had accomplished. Most had forgotten this gift of the trees. Shaking his huge figure, the earth beneath his roots trembling with each thud of his movement upon it, the Old Oak wove through the jumble of rocks and earth towards the fir who had called to him.

"Show me!" he rumbled. "This way, this way," called the Fir and Oak and Ash, "Towards the East, through the valleys and over the mountain and across the river." As the ripples of calls and sounds shushed through the leaves and needles, the Old Oak strode through the forest, wrath smoldering within him as he drew ever closer to the foolish humans who had harmed his kin.

Two days later . . .

The Old Oak finally crested the final ridge of the mountain, weary now from unused limbs and the climb up the mountain. His wrath had solidified over the past two days, it had not cooled, merely sharpened. What caught his attention as he stumbled over the ridge, however, was the dark, smoke-filled sky, visible in the early morning light. The Eastern side of the river was nearly destroyed. Thousands of mighty trees lay now in ashes and ruin and fire continued to roar and ravage towards the river. From where he stood, the Old Oak could see only a cluster of oaks and a lone willow still standing. Around and through them wove panicked animals and humans, their brays and screams and cries echoing up the mountain side.

"Damnation!" swore the Old Oak, gathering his strength and throwing his great bulk down the mountain as swiftly as he dared. "It is time," he thought as stone and earth crumbled and slid around his rapid descent. "They must learn to be what they once were upon this land. Great trees, full of knowledge and strength, yes, but able to shake the earth from their roots to protect themselves and their lands." Long ago, the trees had formed a pact with the humans. The humans would only take from the trees already fallen or ill with disease. For their fires they could take the detritus of winter limbs that fell to the earth, but no fire was to be lit near the forest, else they would face the wrath of the trees. This was granted in exchange for the trees taking over many grasslands and fields that had once belonged to the humans. For with their constant comings and goings the trees had grown weary and longed for a place to call home. Now, what the Old Oak had so long feared, lay before him; and as he rushed towards the flames, determined to save those he could, he both feared and rejoiced that he was once again free of earth's chains and that his brethren would learn the ancient knowledge for themselves. Many would not wish to know, he knew. They had become earthbound, sliding ever deeper into themselves until they were barely aware or awake. But he would do what he must, and onward he pushed.

Down in the valley, by the bank of the river, Willow shook and wept. Her end was coming, and struggle though she might, she could not pull her roots from where they entangled with stone and earth. Yet, just as it seemed all was lost, a mighty roar echoed down the side of the mountain, crashing off the boulders and eclipsing even the sound of the flames. Startled out of her fear, Willow looked towards the mountain to a startling sight. A giant, ancient Oak, gnarled and rough, covered in moss and mostly leafless, raced down the mountain side, scattering rocks and gravel as he more slid than wove downwards. "Watch out!" Willow cried, "The river!" Just in time, the Old Oak stopped, strong roots winding to grip at the edge of the river embankment. Before Willow had a chance to say more, the Old Oak began to sing. The sound was deep and broad, it trebled through the roots and leaves of the trees, bounced from stone to stone, rippled across the water, and seemed to rise to the heavens themselves; and in that sound Willow felt knowledge. Not knowledge, carried through words or written form as the humans would have understood it, but through sound and resonance, a knowledge known only to the trees.

With the Old Oak's song and the knowing that it carried, Willow let loose a cry of triumph and tore her roots from the earth, exulting in freedom. Swinging her vines wide, she cast a net across the glade gathering all within it, human, bird, deer, it mattered not, and casting them all into the river. As the remaining Oaks of the glade pulled themselves loose, Willow forded the river to the Old Oak, secure in the knowledge that now, now things could begin, and perhaps all was not as lost as she had thought.

Part III: Ash Down

As the Old Oak and Willow stormed across the forest groves, singing the trees from their slumber and their bindings to the earth, the Ash stood alone in a hollow, filled with smoke and ruin. Miraculously unscathed by the fire that had raged around him but maddened and bitter at the destruction it had wrought. Even had he known how, the Ash could not escape the hollow. On every side the fallen, blackened trees smoldered, smoked and flared with an angry red as if of many eyes sparking in the obsidian ruin. As his leaves and bark became befouled with the scent of smoke, the Ash wept and raged in helplessness, and could do naught but wait.

Meanwhile ...

The Old Oak and Willow, having forged the river and escaped the flames, now strode across the land, singing to the trees, calling them to rise, awake, come to the aid of their brothers and sisters, and end the travesty the humans created.

To the humans, it was as though the land and the old stories had risen up from myth and come to life. The very forest seemed to swell and spring into motion, sounds not heard in centuries rippling out across the land as roots and earth and stone separated, and the trees walked again.

"Where are we going?" asked Willow of the the Old Oak as they strode through the valley along the river. "To see if there are any more of our brethren who survived across the river and to call the land back to life. Our time as sentinels has come to an end. It is time to walk the land once more. The humans have broken the Pact. Now they must learn how to fend without the trees," growled the Old Oak angrily in response.

And so, through the smoke-filled valley, a sea of rustling green and crackling, groaning bark seemed to flow over the land, growing ever wider as the Song of the Trees breathed new life and knowledge into the trees, young and old alike.

Across the river, in the ashen and smoke-filled hollow, the Ash continued to weep and rage, hopeless. Yet, as the wind began to swirl and bluster through the barren hollow, he heard a sound that made him pause. "What was that?" he thought to himself. "What did I just hear? A sound, on the wind. Was I mistaken?" And he strained to listen, to hear that sound again over the crackle and hiss of the fading fire. "There!" He heard it again! It was a sound never heard in his lifetime, an ancient song that pulled at his roots and caused his leaves to rustle in anticipation. The air in the hollow seemed to still as if waiting, before suddenly swirling and blowing, bringing the sound of the song clearly to the Ash. As the wind brushed along the Ash's trunk and rustled through his leaves, his very being was filled with the knowledge carried in its sound and with a jubilant roar he called out to the others across the river. Crying out that he was "Here! Here!" Wait for me! I am coming too!

The Ash was the last survivor of the devastating fire of Evervale. Out of the destruction and ruin of the forest, few survived to tell the tale of what happened that day. The Ash and the Old Oak and the Willow lead the trees from that valley; away over the mountains and across the Plains. The humans, who in their foolishness and carelessness had cause the Fire of Evervale watched in awe and fear as the forest crackled and groaned away, gradually fading into the West. They would, once again, have to learn to fend for themselves, to forage from the barren plains, and learn to live without the shelter and protection of the trees.

The stories that are told, passed from generation to generation, are that, should the humans be humble and contrite for the damage they caused, one day, the trees might choose to return and breathe life into the Plains once more. Tales are told of the Willow, who, travelling with the Old Oak and the Ash, finally learnt how she came to be on that river bank, surrounded by oaks. It was the Old Oak, himself, who placed her there.

In the time before, when the trees first settled in that place, some chose not to remain. The willows. They wished for warmer climes and damper air. However, before leaving, they placed Willow in the care of the Old Oak; saying that one of their kind should remain as a reminder. That should the day come that the trees strode the land once more, the willows would be waiting, far to the West and the South. And, should they so chose, they could rejoin their brethren once more, and Willow would be returned to her own.

So she was, and so the story goes.

(I published this story first, two years ago, in three separate parts. I've finally put it all together as a whole. This turned into one of my children's favorites as they often ask me to read it to them as a bedtime story. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it).

Author's Note

As a girl, my mother read us J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings." for our bedtime story. One chapter each night. I loved it. Out of the entire story, what captured my imagination was not the Elves, or the Dragon, or the Hobbits, or the Wizards; it was the trees. The idea that the trees were alive and stood watch. Acted as shepards and protectors of their own. To my young mind that was the most fascinating thing of all. I would spend days out in the trees, going from one to the next, poking and proding and talking, hoping for a response or a movement. I didn't know the difference between fact and fiction at that age, but I like to think that there is some truth in all stories and that each created world has a life of its own. These three short stories are my attempt to express some of my own world, from a younger time. I hope you enjoy reading them :)