The Great Tree's Game

Remi felt the tree watching him, but he did not know where to look. Staring down at its roots could imply he was afraid. He shouldn’t look into its web of branches for fear it would be offended at his boldness. Perhaps its trunk? Surely, there was no way the tree would feel offense if Remi looked at its trunk.

Just as Remi was thinking that trees held their age in the rings of their trunks, he caught sight of its leaves. He was captivated in wonder.

All of autumn’s rusted reds, burnt oranges, and glowing yellows blurred and swayed atop the great tree. It was as if the Universe had gathered the most vibrant colors of the season and taken a large paintbrush to stroke them across the canopy of the great tree.

“You must be the most beautiful tree I have ever seen.” Realizing he was gawking, Remi felt his cheeks flush with blood and quickly averted his gaze.

“I apologize, great tree,” he stuttered hastily. “I did not mean to stare.” How foolish he was, he thought. His father had lectured him for staring at strangers.

Remi was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of wind rushing through leaves. It created quite a rustling sound.

“Rustle.” Remi turned the word around in his mouth and felt it roll on his tongue.

“Rrrusstlle.”

The great tree lurched a the sound of its name, its many branches straining as if stretching after a long slumber.

Remi gasped. Colors and light swirled up from the tree’s massive roots. It rose as a sparkling fog, gently gathering in a pool of colorful mist. Then the mist began to rise higher, tendrils of the cloud glittered with more colors than Remi had ever seen. They danced upward into branches of the great tree and tickled its leaves.

Ahhhhh.

Remi jumped and his eyes darted in search of the voice.

I am here, young wanderer.

Remi gazed once more at the great tree. Droplets of the rainbow mist collected on its branches and refracted light at Remi, as if the tree might be winking at him.

Remi immediately knelt to the ground and bowed his head.

“Great tree,” he began. “I come seeking your wisdom. I would be immeasurably grateful if you would help me to-

I am not a great tree, young wanderer.

Remi started at the interruption.

Were I to speak with every soul seeking a great tree, I would never rest. No. I speak only to those who know my name.

Remi contemplated the tree’s words.

“You are Rustle. Named for the language you speak.”

Remi heard the great tree laugh in his head. It sounded like a crackling of bark. Remo wondered if the tree were breaking into an unseeable smile.

The language of the trees may sound to you like the rustling of our leaves in the wind, but we do not hear it that way. Much like you and your kind do not hear blathering when you people speak.

It spoke gently for a tree coated in Magic and dripping with colors. At the same time it was familiar - like talking to an old friend.

You know my name, but what is it you seek?

“I’ve lost my love,” whispered Remi. Several tears fell from his face, pattering onto the soft, grassy floor. “I seek to reclaim it.”

Ahahaha! The great tree laughed. You are such a funny thing to be so sad. You cannot lose love anymore than the sun can lose its rays.

“I’ve lost the one I love,” said Remi, annoyed at the great tree’s callous laughter. “You cannot imagine the pain of feeling your soul ripped from your being.”

The great tree roared with laughter. It was joined by giggling chirps from nearby songbirds and the chuckles of squirrels that played in the great trees branches. Remi could have sworn he heard the cackle of a fox, hidden in the brush. The entire forest seemed to tickled at his despair.

“You delight in my pain?” Remi felt utterly humiliated.

Young wanderer, spoke the great tree. We do not laugh at your woes, we laugh at your misunderstanding.

“Yes, I seem to be doing that quite a lot these days.”

You need not fret. I can see the sparkle of a fool in your eye.

“I am no fool. I am a hero in waiting.”

Ha! Barked the great tree. A hero in waiting, hmm? How peculiar, I did not think heroes took to waiting.

“Not all battles won are fought. Father says a bit of patience can cut deeper than the sharpest of swords.”

That may be true. But haven’t you waited long enough, young hero?

Remi rubbed his temples. His brain felt muddled as he tried to form clever thoughts. It was hard to understand the language of the great tree.

Remi felt stupid and silly for believing his delusions of heroism.

What if I’ve come all his way for nothing? Remi felt the gnarled hand of panic clutch at his neck. It swelled inside his throat and began to choke him.

Remi wheezed and his vision swam. Visions of himself returning home an empty failure spun in his mind. He saw disappointment in his father’s eyes and shame in his mother’s face. Fear gripped his body, freezing it in a trembling limbo. Remi wished he would die there, in front of the great tree. He had come all this way and now here he was, held in panic’s grip. His body shook violently and tears streamed down Remi’s face.

The great tree observed Remi’s convulsions. Droplets of color and light dripped off the tips of is branches. They splattered ono Remi’s forehead and instantly he felt his mind clear. His body relaxed as if he were resting in soft blankets on the coast, watching a sunset with ocean waves gently whooshing through grains of sand. He found himself breathing slowly and deeply, without any effort. Remi was experiencing each second as it passed. Each tick of time and pocket of space moved along in his mind’s eye and he watched it with awe.

Remi blinked after several moments. He’d lost himself in reverie and now found his eyes were fuzzy. Eventually, his sight returned with full clarity bringing with it a blissful peace.

“What did you do to me?”

Hmm? Oh, I did nothing, young wanderer. The Magic felt as though it would rather like to be a droplet. Droplets fall, as they do, and there you were, came the response in the rustling and whistling tongue of trees

Remi giggled. He did not understand.

Tell me young wanderer.

Which love have you lost?

“I have lost the love of my life.”

I understand. But which of the loves have you lost?

“The love of my-

Young wanderer, I am asking which type of love you have lost. I fear your language may be failing you. In the tongue of trees we do not have one word for love. Do you love your brother the same as your mother? Do you love a stranger the same as a lover?

“No.”

Then why would you describe them with the same word? We trees have two-hundred and twenty-two words to describe what humans use only a single word for.

“I do not speak your language, great tree. I know only one word for love.”

A breeze spiraled through several nearby trees and the great tree rumbled in contemplation.

Words, powerful and wonderful as they are, will fail us here. A game is what we require!

As the great tree spoke, a barn owl poked his head around an exposed knot in the great tree. He hooted emphatically and floated down in front of Remi. The owl puffed its white-feathered chest and cocked his had to the side, studying Remi closely.

After several moments he squawked as if satisfied. A colorful mist flowed in a stream from the great tree into a pool between Remi and the owl.

Gradually, it materialized into a game board.

“Chess.”

It is indeed.

“How will a game of chess help me to understand your many words for love.”

This small game is not different than any other game. Even the big game.

The owl hooted emphatically and brandished a large wing and slid a white pawn forward to another square on the board.

The game has begun. The great tree settled into its roots to watch the game.

Remi looked down at the board in front of him. Something deep inside his belly boiled up. It was a warmth, a tingling of excitement. The competitive spirit overtook him and he moved a black knight to accept the owl’s invitation.

After a hoot of delight the owl studied the board. He pushed a confident wingtip forward and responded to Remi’s advance. Remi reacted, and the game ensued.

Close to an hour later came the owl’s victorious screech. He’d cornered Remi’s despondent king into checkmate.

The owl beat its wings emphatically and the great tree chuckled.

“I would like to play again,” said Remi to the great tree.

It is not up to me.

Remi looked at the owl meaningfully, but the animal hooted in defiance and flew up into the great tree’s branches. Remi regarded the tree carefully.

“Rustle, among your two-hundred and twenty-two words for love, do you describe the love of competition.”

Ha! That we do. It is a glorious love. A love for battle and combat. A love of competition. A love of excellence. It is a most marvelous love.

“Noble owl,” said Remi with a sweeping bow. “Would you indulge me one more time? You are a far more talented and clever thinker than I. Surely, you would take a certain victory for yourself in the name of the love of competition.”

The owl, chest puffed out, slowly turned its neck around and studied Remi. He took a few waddling steps on the branch he was perched at and gave a contemplative hoot.

“I would hope I could learn from you noble owl,” said Remi, stilled bowed.

The owl swelled a the flattery and glided gently down to the soft patch of grass across the chess board.

“Have you any advice for me?” Remi asked the great tree as he reset each chess piece onto their respective squares.

Not all battles won are fought.

The owl hooted, eager to begin and the two played once more. The great tree looked on. There were great traps set by the owl that Remi could only barely avoid. He pushed strongly into the start and held his game even with the owl, he began loses pieces in rapid succession as the owl mounted a brutal assault. Nearly two hours after the game had begun, Remi sat staring at the board in dismay. He possessed only his king while the owl had hardly lost a piece.

Remi groaned in thought while the owl patiently nipped at dirt in it’s feathers.

Just as the great tree was about to offer Remi the opportunity for a gentlemanly surrender, the young wanderer broke into a wide smile.

Excitedly, he advanced one the owl’s pawns and resurrected a fallen bishop.

The owl hooted in surprise, but the great tree rumbled with a deep, satisfied laugh.

And why would you do a curious thing like that?

Remi examined the owl and the tree. His heart beat nervously and he answered, “A love for my enemy delivers me from him, great tree. For I am him and he is me.”

The owl squawked in derision. The young wanderer had broken the rules and now spoke with the great tree in riddles. With a dissatisfied hoot, he blustered away.

Remi laughed at the owl’s huffed exit and in a spur of love ran to embrace the great tree.

The leaves of trees around rustled a chorus of excitement, pleased to feel Remi’s love.