The Seed Tree
5

I stood in the grove and clutched the trunk of a Sleeper for support. As the early sun touched it, I saw the halal's new growth flare like tapers in the half-dark air. I forced my feet to go closer, and saw three mounds of earth with the tops split, as though new plants pushed at the soil, trying to be born. One of the mounds began to crumble, then another. Pushing up through the earth, a new being whitely translucent as any seedling slowly unbowed. It stood delicate and slender, absorbing light. Through its body I could see the ground behind. As a second one appeared, the first was already growing taller, unfolding itself as out of a cocoon.

My heart had told me they would not resemble trees. As I watched, the dream-wind beat in my pulse and sang in my ears. I felt the two new beings greet each other and the sun as clearly as if words were spoken.

I could not stop my feet then. With elation and fear, I went and knelt beside the third mound, on the spot where Norann lies, where the sunlight rests in evening when the sky is the deepest shade of orange and violet. My hands trembled like wind-blown leaves as I carefully scraped dirt away, uncovering the next child.

I stayed all day, neglecting my other duties; there is no duty now that is more important than this. Six more were born before evening. By the day's end, the firstborn had grown to half my height. His top bulb-like formation had shaped itself into a recognizable head and an individual face, but like a sculpture imprisoned in a translucent surface. Before nightfall, one was able to unfold a thin fragile arm from each side of his body. I gasped to see them; they were not unlike my own.

When it was almost too dark to find my way, I reluctantly left to come and feed the tocarra. When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was Norann's shawl on the back of the chair. I watched the animals munch their grasses, occasionally fixing me with an amber stare as I wept.

Twenty-eighth Day of Shamath in the Season of Winds:

They call me Father, speaking to me silently, like the trees. And I thank Norann that I am able to listen. They have knowledge that comes from beyond the sky, beyond the core of the world. They speak of restoration; I cannot see how that is possible, but I am cut from an old pattern. The fabric of my being is sewn with designs ancient and familiar, but these children are new.

I don't know what way they will find to be in the world, to affect the world, but I believe they will find ways beyond my imagining. They carry the knowledge of trees in their eyes.

The moon was full last night, and even though it is not the season for planting, I went out under the halal tree. Silver light rained down through leaves, and I raised my arms and took the bright face of the moon between my hands, as I might have taken yours.

Your shawl lay at the base of the tree, as if you had come first to the festival and I, who was late that night, was supposed to bring it for you to wear home. My feet began moving to unheard music, and I reached toward your shawl, inviting you. In the moonlight, leaves sent down shadow-hands to touch my palm. And I took them. And we danced.

END