Confidence . clarity . path . purpose

THE FAIRY WHISPERER (an excerpt)

The axe felt hard. She knew it was heavy in his hands, but not in hers. In her world, the axe held no weight. It was not real and did not exist. Yet, she could feel its hard surface just the same. She could see the blood it would yet sustain. He could not. It was his tool… his weapon… In truth, it was his unyielding determination to crush what was not his to take... a tree… a life… a coin.

The axe was hard, made dense to increase his power and, determined as he was, he would not let go. She stilled him though… with a touch… and a look… and a knowing. His heart did not succumb to the anger he held. In his heart, she knew, he was kind – though, very, very desperate. She let go.

The weight of the axe in his world fell heavy to the ground. Still clinging to its prowess, the handle remained gripped in his grimy hands. This was his lifeline, she could see, and not the weapon she had supposed. Not on this day, at least. She let him go.

As she turned and walked away, he did not see what had stayed his hand. He did not know what paused his moment. The forest was quiet and he was alone. When he felt himself ready again, he turned to the tree he was aiming for. It was large, and promising. Ancient, he had heard, and full of story only lifetimes could tell – lifetimes his mind was not open to, for he did not care for the reasons the tree had come to twist and grow strong. He did not care why the roots meandered and stretched and held tight in the ground. He did not care the worth nor the value of its years… not its grandeur… nor its veins of ancient life. He did not care… for the tree.

Arrived, he set to work. Removing his coat, removing his cap, he then removed his humanity and held the axe solid in his grip. Feeling its curve, feeling its strength, he drew up its power well over his head and wielded fully and with great purpose and great might and… The reverberation that rang through his body shot pain in every direction, then his mind received the traumatic shock of resistance those years of the tree upheld.

He recovered. He inspected. She watched. The tree root did not yield. Not one cut. Not one nick. Not one dent. Never a notice the man did a thing. Never a notice at all.

It was days and days he wielded and waned. Without a plan for the time he was taking, she watched as berries and nuts and the brook nearby sustained and refreshed his determination. It was treasure, afterall, he came to claim. A wish. A dream. A fervent mission. She left him to it.

The treasure, he was told, was buried long ago and had been taken by the tree. Not so, some said, and his doubt tried to join in. It was the man’s heart that promised him. The treasure was so grand, his life would be changed forever. His heart pushed and pressed, insisting he must search and search and search – and search – and he must discover the treasure, then claim it for his own and he would be free forever… rich forever… loved… forever.

From that tree he stood beside, its roots splayed all around, there was one that was ever large and he just knew it was the one. He stood by the root with its bulk above the ground. So very large, of course it was the one that grew around the chest of coins in gold and swallowed it whole. It was that big, and it was that unyielding, and it was worth every attempt… every strike… and every ache… that drained him.

It was days and days when she returned. He was tired… and slumped… and waiting to refresh. She unfolded her arms, let out a sigh, then walked to him. She crouched to his face and looked in his eyes. He rose to her gaze, then moved aside. Ever so gently, she touched the tree and loved it so. With hardly a notice, she conversed with the root, and it opened. So exhausted was he, the man simply looked. He saw the gold. He saw its light. He saw the essence as it danced with her fingers. The coin was there, but his hand would not be compelled. Instead, he was still. He was kind. He awaited his turn.

She reached into the root, extracted its coin, and placed a few in his hand. With a wave of her own, the root resealed. She stood. He watched as she walked back into the forest as if she had never come. After a moment, he ran his hands over the root, then looked tall up the tree. Respect filled him full – an ancient knowing his heart gratefully remembered and it knew. The treasure had been found.

Returning home, the axe forgotten, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out the coins. Their golden essence met his eyes. Their reality, although felt as if real, were a substance of another world. He recognized the treasure was not as he thought and, to his surprise, he was not angry about that. Even more, he no longer felt the driven desperation of his quest.

That night, he sat in his chair and thought of the tree. He respected that ancient tree and its weathered life. Then, he felt good in himself, and he knew… without his anger… without his desperation… he would be free forever… rich forever… loved… forever.

Just as his heart had promised.