The Tree


All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

~ Edmund Burke


The tree stood like a mountain; silhouetted against the burning moon and marbled, hoary sky. Yet beneath its branches the silver dewed grass seemed to glow with a soft light, gentler than the starkness of the moon. Dark shapes flitted towards it, coils of rope over their shoulders, axes – blades gleaming – in their hands.

The tree was ancient, anyone could see that. The branches that spread so wide were gnarled and twisted, broken in places where younger branches had sprouted to fill the gaps. The rugged trunk stood like the waist of a giant, twisted as the branches. It was a noble tree and suddenly those that surrounded it stopped to stare at it, taking in the silverness of its old, tarnished beauty.

"Freedom!" a voice cried. They recognized it as her voice, the high priestess, Isis, the dryad of the silver birch that grew by the waters of the Great River.

"Freedom!" they took up the chant, their tendrilled hair flying over their shoulders like leafy vines, "Freedom!"

They swung the axes from their shoulders and Isis made the first blow. Silver blade struck silver trunk and stuck. The tree remained stolid and unmoving as she wrestled it free and struck again. Now the others had started to swing their axes, blow upon blow on the wide scarred trunk. Chips flew and a strange sweet smell filled the air as the life blood of the tree began to trickle like white water from the depths of its heart.

"Freedom!" the cry intensified as they saw the tree shudder for the first time, branches swaying against the silent moon. Ropes flew in the air as they struggled to tie them to the branches, a sound like rock splitting filled the air as one of the larger branches broke loose and fell with a groan to the trampled grass.

Axes flew with fury and the smell grew stronger. There was a moan deep within the tree and slowly, nobly, it began to fall, wood splitting as it swept down in one last bow to its Creator.

There was silence at last as it lay, then a final cheer tore from their throats.

"Freedom!"

That tree, the tree called the Tree of Protection, the tree that had cursed them was dead. Now nothing barred Jadis, their queen, from taking the land that was hers.


Author's Note: Sorry this is so short, but I've often wondered what happened to the Tree of Protection and when Rose came up with this idea one day, I was hooked. There is a story to go with it, but it is only half thought up and may never happen at all. If it does, it will probably be posted in the fall. It's partially based on Stonehenge.

~Psyche

Disclaimer: All rights stolen from C. S. Lewis; any similarity between his characters and ours is fully intended. We have no intention of giving them back. ;)