Shintullah, Book 1, 2nd Story

Long did Epitome frolic o'er the earth, alone except for the trees and Miranda. Yet she could not often partake in his play, for a pattern had emerged that she could not be distracted from. It seemed that her own wanderings had made impressions in the earth, for in places that she had paused, much magic had gathered, and in places she was restless magic flowed past as easily and unpredictably as wind. And it struck her that the aura of this planet had become like her own.

And she was pleased, for that meant her long years of waiting were finally bearing fruit, and it meant also that Physics would never be allowed to come.

It came to be that the denizens of the were able to manipulate magic as easily, if not as skillfully, as Miranda herself. But no purpose for it could be discerned in anyone's mind until the Great Tree spoke. Thee who's seed was strewn in the remains of Epitome's great flower had acquired a wise and inquisitive mind, and it asked Miranda, "Can you not show us, the trees, the fronds, the fungus, even the stones how to make protectors for ourselves?"

And Miranda smiled beatifically, and granted their request.

With their new knowledge, the Great Tree and its grove created for themselves dryads. They were small, and slender, and walked the earth on two legs as Epitome did. They were as dear to the trees as children, and the dryads adored their parents, and for them would sing songs of wind and growth.

For an age they were happy. The dryads would place choice nutrients at their tree-parent's roots, and strip them of parasites. They could meld into their parent's trunks and dance with the roots and the branches. The trees taught their dryad children the language of the earth and the water, and of the connections within nature. The dryads were as eager to learn as they were to dance among the trees.

It was Tialanis, the Great Tree's oldest and dearest dryad, that first started to sing songs of other than wind and growth. As his knowledge grew, so too did the subject of his songs. And the Great Tree did hear how swiftly the songs spread to his other children, and it foresaw a new age come to the world.

For it's children were as many as its branches, and it was the same with the other, lesser trees. For in the excitement of learning the new spells, they failed to listen when Miranda explained how to end them. By the time all dryads sang happily of things not of the trees, they outnumbered their parents twenty to one. Sheepishly, they requested again how to finish the spell, and without fault or fury Miranda again acquiesced.

It was an early spring morning that the change was truly marked. On that day, Tialanis had gone to the river with Dewlie and Margot, friends who were as dear to him as brother and sister. Together they sang about those who lived in the water and how they go about their lives. In the middle of it, Tialanis stopped, and his face grew solemn, as it had done many times in the past year. And Margot, child of the willow, said, "Many times has there been pause in your joy, my friend. Canst thou finally share thy secret burden? We can willingly lighten your load."

And Tialanis heard these words and sighed, but when he looked upon their faces he saw that the words were far truer than he had expected. So, with a grievous heart, he admitted thusly to them, "I see the birds and the beasts go whither they will, having no boundaries to stop them. I see the beasts of the water, even while confined to the wet, go whither they will. Yet we dryads are bonded to our tree-parents, so that little of our world can be seen. It is base, and I shame for it, but I envy the freedom of the less gifted."

And Tialanis looked into his friends faces, and found that they were not stunned at all. And Dewlie said, "Yea, your sentiments have been clear since you taught us your song about fire." And Tialanis failed to look innocently nonchalant, as he was too embarrassed to whistle.

Margot then led Tialanis around the grove, and it was she who made him realize that it was not just him who yearned for more. All around the grove, his wishes of new frontiers and new traditions were sung gleefully, balefully, secretly. It was Dewlie who told him, in blunt words, that all the dryads were ready to leave to create their own society, if only the one who had proposed the idea would follow through on it. And because Dewlie told him thus with much winking and nudging, Tialanis could not help but glare at him sideways.

But, he saw the eagerness in other's eyes as he passed by. He glanced up to the canopy and saw that the nervous energy of the dryads caused the parent's branches to sway without the wind. And he knew what he must do.

Slowly, he started singing of youth: of being carefree, of learning the ways of the world through loving and caring parents. And he sang of the desire to go out and learn firsthand the wonders of the world. Dewlie was the first to start singing along, and when Margot had deciphered the tune, she too began to sing.

The song grew stronger as time wore on. It was not long before all the children of the trees heard it and sang, but the trees themselves could not bear to hear it. For they were afraid of what might happen to their precious dryads, should they leave their parents behind. And some of the younger trees, those who had never been without the dryads, could not fathom their own existence without them. It was many years between the asking of the wish and the decision.

It was the Great Tree who truly bore the brunt of the burden, being both the wisest of the trees and the parent of the one who first sang. And the heart of the old kalpvriksha was wearied, and begged Miranda for advice. But she instead spoke plainly of what was now happening.

And the Great Tree at last understood that the dryads were unlike saplings, and passed what it thought the best course of action. Long was the discussion amongst the trees, but at long last the Great Tree spoke first to Tialanis and next to all the dryads.

This the Great Tree said: "Thou who art the children of the trees, go ye now to seek thy destinies. But please remember, whilst the road be hard or whilst it be fair, that we have loved thee and and taught thee all we could, and even in your absence we shalt love thee always.

"But hearken, shouldst thou forget what gifts we hast given thou, it should be that we also forget what kindness you have given us. But that will unlikely come to pass, so please just remember our love, and we shalt remember yours."

Thus the Great Tree spoke, and all were moved. And it was with sadness and joy that the preparations to leave were made, and of all the dryads, too many were readying to leave that could be counted. But preparations for the journey were impelled not by Tialanis, but by Dewlie. Saddened by this, Margot went again to ask her friend of his troubles.

But lo, he said unto Margot, "Be not troubled by my absence, friend. For I have learned that we have been blessed with such love that we may never find equal. It thus seems better to me and many others that we not stray from the grove, and instead keep this precious love close to our hearts and families."

And hearing this, Margot would have wept, if an irksome understanding had not dried them. And so it was that Dewlie and Margot led the exodus out of the grove, with Tialanis wishing them the best of luck louder than any other.

Thus did the First Journey begin, and thus did Tialanis become the leader of what would become the taar.