Photo credit @pyemoney
There were stories, years ago, more a legend than a story in fact. The legend of the tree, excommunicated and disfigured. No tree was as despised as the tree about which horrible stories are being told.
My people consider their point of existence as a concern for the forest and everything that grows in it. As forests exist throughout all our continent, we were nomads. The magic inherent in our race has demanded a lot from us. At the same time, every tree, old or young, demanded attention. For the centuries, the very purpose of our task was not clear to us. We roamed in pursuit of our task.
We were singing songs, settling rituals, although we did not know what were we doing. Care for the trees because it is the pillar of everything enduring in this changing world. After a century of wandering, one of our Elders, realized that maintaining the order in the forests of the Montane continent is what should be our purpose. After that, in the following years, our magic has improved to unexpected heights. For this, the trees were deserving, the same trees that we are destined to care about. It gave us of additional knowledge and perseverance to our care.
Harmony was created and lasted. It lasted longer than anyone remembers. And then a strange sequence of events followed.
Aura of wild magic has covered our forests. On the periphery of the Ubiquitous Wildwood, the tree was wiped out and doused by demonic magic began its growth. Then, at those moments, I was born. Born without a mark, the same mark that guarantees affiliation with my people and possession of magic. For the first time in our history, someone was born without magic.
My mother and I with her, we were condemned to the mockery and maybe a little fear. They feared us. It is because she is obviously damned by the gods of the Forest, because she bore a creature without any magic in it. And yes, I was neglected. They did not even give me the name. I was unmarked, and different from the others.
This monstrous tree grew at an incredible rate and within a few months it reached a height of a hundred feet. There were phenomena that made everyone scared. He did not answer to prayer or magical rituals. Nobody is allowed to come to him more than ten steps away. Sometimes, when night fell, I went to him. And I would just look at his tree or crochet. Something inside me always led me to just sit there and watch it. My mother later told me that whenever I went to visit my "tree" that everyone called him in the village, there would be a turmoil. She said that strange, memorable sounds could be heard in miles around, but I did not hear it. I only deeply felt the need to help this martyr. There was some kind of connection between me and that strange tree. Of course, I can not speak to anyone about this.
Years passed and that savage magic aura disappeared. At that time, the tree ceased to grow and a new need arose in me. I wanted to come in and touch my "my" tree, because I began to feel his pain. Pain inconceivable to the human mind. It's like the earth itself is trying to quench it. I felt his pain in every gust of wind, in every branch. Something is cracking him from inside.
It seems that the Gods of the Forest have forgotten us during this period from the appearance of that tree, and from my appearance. They even hated me more because of that. None of our Elders received a response for their prayers.
As the time continued, the need in me grew as well as the agony that I felt to reach from that poor and tortured tree. One night, a night without a star in the sky, I decided to go and try to help. Of course, I had no idea how to help, but I just wanted to touch it and share with him the pain. The noise in my head was intolerable as I was approaching a huge tree.
Every step closer to him was getting harder. It's like the air itself is thick and it does not let me come in. The agony in that tree now was present in me also. I heard a scream, my scream, but at the same time it was far apart from my being. After a few hours, it seemed to me, my outstretched arm was a few inches from the cracked and dry cortex of the tree. Now that I was so close, in the night without a star, I saw a red glimpse of the outburst between the cortex of the tree. Blood. Blood everywhere, from the smallest root to the last and the thinnest branches.
At the moment, several things happened again at the same time. I touched it and then the bang of light across the sky happened. The frenetic roaring movements started swirling around my body. And a deep voice, a distant and mystical voice.
"The only one who dares, the only one worthy of honor."
Everything was silent, even the land itself was imprinted. I lost consciousness about my body and my senses. And then it was dark, completely nothingness all around me. Everything that was left of me was my consciousness. The consciousness that now belongs to this strange phenomenon that resembled a tree.
Now, I felt it, it's no longer like the one that was, now I, this tree, is the most beautiful thing that has happened to my people. The Gift of Gods, the same ones we thought they had forgotten us.
I was the price that my people had to pay to get back on right path. Although they have rejected me all my life, I do not regret it.
I'll live through ancient magic.