(a bit of the manuscript was clipped ’cause it stank)
“I’m afraid of the dark.” One child spoke, her voice quivering.
“Why?” The priest asked her.
“I don’t know what is out there.”
“Ah. I will tell you what is out there and tomorrow you will see it. There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all. We are inside a circle of tall stones, each of them at least twice my height. Where we are is dirt and grass but where the stones sit is a circle of rock underneath them. This is sacred place from a long time ago.
“The stones are gray and silver and some black, swirled together. None of them have moss although they are weathered by the world as it passed them by. Once there were words and drawings on them but they cannot be seen anymore. Those words and drawings were for the people of that time, not this one.
“Beyond the stones are trees almost as old as the Mother Tree herself. They are tall and proud, almost too proud at times. Some of the trees have grown together to form what looks to be one tree, but it is not. After the Mother Tree chose her first two priests, she told the trees here to make her a temple.
“Five trees leaned toward each other, their branches and trunks entertwining. The Temple to the Mother Tree is made from those trees. The Temple is alive and we must treat it as such. Other trees leaned together so their branches formed a ceiling over an area where the priests live. No rain or snow falls on the ground they protect, even now. Yet still more trees adjusted themselves over the years to provide sunlight where it was needed to allow the priests’ crops to grow.
“All of this is to our right and behind us. In front of us is another clearing, quite large. This is where a village once stood and now will stand again. That is where you will make your new homes. So there is nothing to be afraid of, children, for the trees are commanded by the Mother Tree herself to protect and take care of you.”
As the priest had spoke, most of the children lay down and fell asleep. By the time he was finished, only the young carpenter was awake. “Is it true? Did the trees actually move themselves to form the Temple?”
“It is true. In the morning you will see for yourself.”
“Uncle, I am a carpenter. I use wood for my craft. How am I to do this here? I would feel as if I am murdering the relatives of my protectors.”
“Beyond these trees is the usual forest. There are wind felled trees as well as branches and trunks broken during the winter. Those are what we use. To return to the earth, they feed the other trees. To be used by the priests is to serve the Tree. Either way, they do not mind in the least.”
“I see. Still, I feel as if the trees are watching me, as if they know the names of every tree I have helped cut down.”
“They may be watching you, yes, because they can sense what your trade is. But the trees you cut down did not have names. They had no spirit in them and therefore were not truly alive. Not all trees have a spirit, a sense of self. The closer to the Mother Tree, the more that do.”
The young man was silent. “So just as one tree is harder than another, so can one tree have a spirit and another not. I will sleep on this, Uncle.”