THE REVISED EDITION > PART 1 — DESERT

The Green Man of Destiny: 3 — Deep In the Gusha

Truths and Distortions

Two streams were pulling at him.

One stream proclaimed the power of the Tradition. The other flowed deeper through underground darkness and brilliant light.

The Eight was the one he thought he knew. It made him proud to be the son of Wry, to be Gren, chosen to find the Green Man. To bring him back to restore the ghosts of the trees and the forests and the meadows and the watersheds.

“Me …Gren,” he said. He jumped down from the wagon to run through the woods, along the banks of the brook meandering there. A finger of mist appeared, following the course of the brook. Gren’s graceful young body cut the mist as he dodged in grand leaps from one side of the water to the other. Landing from his last leap, his shoe took on water, and he fell onto the moss grinning widely. Looking up, for a second, he saw a dancing girl in a thin shaft of sunlight.

He was distracted by the wagon crossing the second bridge. And he lit off in that direction, rejoining his father and uncle as the road turned. Out of the stand of trees and up through the meadow to the village the slow wagon rolled.

He climbed aboard the wagon and sat beside his uncle.

“Uncle, I have seen the joy light, in the mist. Does she live here?” Gren filled with excitement, eyes wide. Tipadoe laughed.

He elbowed his gaunt brother, who ignored him.

“You have seen joy light as it has been written. Not everyone can see her. She lives close to the Green Man.” Tipadoe clasped Gren’s shoulder. He pulled him close to his water-heavy belly, then released him. Gren relaxed.

“Or it could be that little girl Silken who likes to play tricks with the light,” said his father. His father sighed, and Gren’s mind wandered, remembering Silken as a little girl and their play in the stream. “Your Uncle Tipadoe likes to tell stories, some true, some not.”

“Did I see joy, Uncle Tipadoe, or was it Silken?” Gren jumped up and down without moving.

“It was both.” Wry cast a stern eye at his brother. Tipadoe continued chattering.

“I have seen much joy in Silken, as I’m sure you must recall, brother Wry.”

The uru climbed the road steadily, to the edge of the village. A tall man in a Raven Mask, robed in a multi-colored coat and carrying a tall staff in stillness. As steadfast as the old trees, he stood evoking images of greenery in Gren’s mind that had covered the land eons before. It was the One — who waited. The wagon climbed and Gren saw his father tense as they passed the One. Yet the calling was deep in the boy, and he dropped down from the wagon and ran back.

The father pulled the uru to a halt and turned sharply in his seat. Tipadoe put a chubby hand on his brother’s knee.

“What harm can the One do to Gren, when he has passed the Initiation of the Eight?” Tipadoe asked, and Wry relaxed a bit. “Besides, it would be best not to show disrespect toward the One. He is old and wise.”

“Hmm,” the father grunted, filled with suspicion. He had many thoughts toward the One. “Old, yes, but no longer powerful — the Tradition of the Eight holds the power now.” Wry took a deep breath and turned forward again. He reminded himself the One was a weak, feeble old man who could no longer stand against the Tradition, as he had tried to do so long ago.

Gren walked with the One in silence for a while.

You will be leaving soon, the One spoke to Gren, into his mind without speech. Tomorrow after your feast, come to me for my blessing. I will give you practical medicine for your journey. Then we will talk. Now go back to your father.

Gren, turning, felt the hand of the One on his shoulder. The One whispered some words into his mind: Though I have never seen the mirror ocean, you may see it. The truth may be revealed there. Be like the steady tall trees of old in their stillness when you look upon the mirror.

“Now go,” he said, louder than a whisper.

Gren felt the hand of the One propel him to a run. He went back toward his father and the wagon as it wove between the village huts toward his family’s compound.

“What is this far away being that is watching me? Not my mother. A female.” Gren said to himself as the presence faded.

They entered the wealthier part of the village, with its gnarled old shade trees. Gren’s great-grandmother opened the gate and let them through into the wide yard.

©2019 F. K. Ontario

next chapter:

previous chapter:

Contents:

Thank you for joining me in the hero’s adventures across a dying planet ready for resurrection through the ways of alchemical magic. And in search of the Being to restore the world to greenery once again.

Blessings, Passion, and Grace on your journey. May whatever or whomever your looking for — find you.

(If you do NOT wish to be tagged, let me know, and I’ll tag you not):

Barbara Murray | K. Pearson Bradley | Rebecca Romanelli | Joseph Lieungh | Dr. Preeti Singh | Pene Hodge | Dr Mehmet Yildiz | Kris Bedenian | Alberto García 🚀🚀🚀 | Blaine Coleman | Lee David Tyrrell | DL Nemeril | David Price | Rip Parker | Annelise Lords | Libby Shively McAvoy |