The Fairy Tree

The Fairy Tree

In a faraway country, beyond where you or I may know of, there is a big, big tree.

This tree was planted by the Ancient Gods, a race of beings with powers beyond our imaginings. Each of the Ancient Gods took care of a single Element of Existence: Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Ether. Earth being the foundation, Fire being the strength, Water being the connection, and Ether being what we may call Spirit or the Dynamism of Life.

If you did see this tree though, you would be able to see that it is different from all other trees. Because its trunk is short and its branches are long and lanky like bamboo stems, and they intertwine with each other like the road network in a large city. Also, it exudes a strong aura of Ether.

The Ancient Gods created a race of fairies to occupy these interlocking branches. These fairies have aether running through their veins, and have dainty wings like butterflies, but otherwise they have feelings and families, just like you and I. If you are lucky enough to see the Fairy Tree, you may come across the mounds that serve as homes and offices to the fairies.

Before the Ancient Gods left our universe, they taught the fairies a ritual ceremonial dance to preserve the Ether in the tree. Afterwards, the fairy queen set up an Academy of Ritualists to perform this crucial ritual regularly.

For some time, the ritual worked. But one day, the fairies suddenly found that the beautiful flowers were wilting and discolouring. There was a massive panic.

The Ritualists decided that they must be at fault, and so began to add safety measurements to the steps they had received from the Ancient Gods.

Centuries passed. The situation did not improve, and the Ritualists gained a reputation for being fierce and exacting.

Our story begins with a day in a time not too long ago, when a junior Ritualist was called into the Head Ritualist’s office.

This particular Head Ritualist was a towering, stout fairy-woman who bore a scar on her right cheek, it was said, because of a fight she had had with a bird in her youth. She had won the fight.

She had constructed her office as a cube with perfectly sharp edges. In it, she had picked square-topped mushrooms as the furniture.

This young fellow’s name was Dvalin. He was exasperating to his superiors because he insisted on adding small moves – a wave here, a tap there – to the careful choreography. He could not understand why they were so bothered; to him he was just making the beautiful dance even more beautiful.

She was curt and straight to the point, “The Ritualists have a very, very important job in our society. Do you understand how important keeping the tree alive is to all of us?”

“Yes I do.”

“And yet you cannot follow instructions that your elders have not had trouble following, ever. Such a disobedient little kid has no right to be a Ritualist. From now on, you are expelled!”

Dvalin was shell-shocked. His chest deflated, and he sagged in his seat, causing it to squelch, earning a glare from the Head Ritualist. What was the point of a Ritualist who couldn’t perform rituals? The Head Ritualist seemed not to notice his distress. With one long finger, she pointed at the doorway.

Dvalin plodded out of her office with his head toward the ground. Was he really that bad?

He didn’t know where to go. He was too ashamed to return to either his dormitory or back home. He had been granted a very bad disgrace. Disgrace. The word hung over him like a dark canopy.

He wandered down the particular branch without looking where he was going. All he wanted to get away from the other fairies as quickly as possible. He wandered all the way down to the actual trunk of the tree.

He stopped in front of an empty hollow and went in to sit down alone. Which was just as well, because at that moment it began to rain. He sighed and curled up in one corner; soon he was asleep to the sound of the falling raindrops.

He awoke to the sound of a sweet melody. He followed the melody deeper into the hollow. The tunnel seemed to stretch on for eternity.

As he got closer to the end, he realized that there was a light coming from the end where the music was the loudest. The light felt not just bright, but warm and friendly.

He soon discovered what the source of light and music was. A translucent girl-figure stood at the end of the tunnel, and she was dancing and singing a melody. He approached the girl hesitantly.

The moment she saw him, she stopped singing and greeted him, “hi”.

“Hi,” he replied, “who or what are you?”

The girl giggled; in a very melodious way, Dvalin thought.

“You know who I am”, the girl laughed.

“No, I don’t, it’s the first time I am meeting you”.

“In this form, yes. But you see me everyday. This is me.” The girl stamped a foot on the ground.

“You’re the Spirit of the Fairy Tree?” Dvalin asked in surprise.

“Bingo”, the girl winked and gave him a thumbs-up.

“How are you here at all?”

“I am always here. I just don’t always manifest. But this time I have because I need to dance myself.”

“Aren’t the Ritualists always dancing for you?” Dvalin was surprised.

“Are you?” she enquired.

“I was forbidden by the Head Ritualist,” he hung his head.

The Spirit of the Fairy Tree giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Dvalin asked in pained tones.

“You fairies … I have watched over all of you for centuries … young fairy, has your Head Ritualist deprived you of your legs?”

She extended a hand to him, “will you join me in a dance?”

Dvalin took hold of her hand in a shaking hand. Immediately, she swept him up into a choreography so graceful it made him weep. They swayed and spun, and twirled and swung. All the while, she hummed her private song. Following her movements, Dvalin rose up on his toes, then slid his arms like a wave one at a time. He felt exhilarated.

The movements accelerated.

When they finally stopped, he was gasping for breath. But his heart felt much lighter than hours ago.

“See? Didn’t that feel good?” the Spirit queried.

“Yes, it did.” Then it struck him. The moves that they had done were not moves he had ever practiced before at the Academy. He strained his memory to recall if there were any similar moves in the extremely detailed choreography of the Ritualist Manual. But he couldn’t think of any.

The Spirit of the Fairy Tree was seated leaning against one wall of the hollow. Noticing his perplexed expression, she laughed again.

“No, it is not one of the movements taught by the gods,” she laughed.

“So there is a new movement to learn?”

She took his palm and waltzed her fingers upon it, “yes and no”.

“What do you mean?”

“Look around you. Feel around you.”

He did so. The bark of their hollow was smooth and soft, as if it had just been grown the day before. There was also an indescribable sensation that caused his skin to prickle just like the touch of the Spirit. He realized that this was what the Fairy Tree with its full energy felt like, and was amazed.

“If your fellow Ritualists did it the way we did, my body would heal in no time at all.”

“Really?” he was excited. “Well then, what are the steps; I am sure we did many, many moves.”

The Spirit gave a tired sigh.

“Steps, steps, it is all you Ritualists obsess about. That is why I am dying. That’s why my answer to you is ‘no’, it won’t work for your Ritualist friends.”

Dvalin was confused. Why wouldn’t the choreography of the Spirit herself not work? If it worked for him, surely it would work for fairies with more discipline than him?

The spirit registered his furrowed brow, and laughed again.

Now, he was even more puzzled. He buried his head in his arms.

“Young fairy, water flows up the channels of my bark. Similarly, Ether flows through the hearts of fairies to mine, and back, in one massive continuous cycle. The power that enables this is the vibrancy of enjoyment, the essence of heart, of Ether.”

The vibrancy of enjoyment? Dvalin closed his eyes and remembered the dance they had just had. He remembered the feel of wind through his hair; the wild giddy feeling as they spun round and round on the same spot; and the exhilaration of movement. And it struck him what the Spirit was telling him.

The Spirit, acknowledging his thoughts, gave him a nod and a wink, and vanished.

Dvalin was excited. He leapt up and pranced back home.

It was late when he reached his home mound. Dvalin lived with his mother and elder sister. His sister had been taking care of the family since his father was killed in his job as a Forager, that is, a fairy who picked nectar from the Fairy Tree’s flowers as a source of food. That is a dangerous job for fairies, since the various sparrows and hummingbirds that land on those flowers are small to you and I, but are like giants to the fairies.

She was furious at Dvalin for making her worry so much.

“Where have you been? Mum thought you had been killed!” she demanded.

“Sis, you won’t believe it, but I met the Spirit of the Fairy Tree!”

She slapped him on the cheek, “exactly what have you been eating that is making you so crazy?”

“It is true!” Dvalin protested as his sister shoved him into the half-acorn that was his bed.

“If you think it is so true, you should go tell your Head and see what she says,” his sister challenged him.

“Indeed, I will do just that!”

And that is exactly what he did the next day. But when the Head Ritualist heard his tale, she burst into laughter, “honestly, the Spirit of the Fairy Tree would actually appear before you worthless excuse for a fairy?”

“She did … “

“Really, and I suppose you would say next that she was of the same age as you?”

“Yes, she was … “

“That is ridiculous. The Spirit of the Fairy Tree is even older than me. There is no way she would appear as a young girl.”

“Perhaps the Ether she has received over the centuries keeps her young?”

“Or perhaps you are spinning this yarn up because you are refusing to accept your unsuitability to be a Ritualist! That’s your plan, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t! Really Ma’am, you HAVE to believe me!”

“I will believe you if I have proof. Until then, just stay out and let wiser ones than you think!”

She pushed him out of her office, and slammed the door in his face.

Dvalin dashed all the way back to where he had met the Spirit. She was sitting down, soaking her legs in a raindrop.

“The Head Ritualist won’t listen to me! She thinks I am making the whole thing up! She demands proof!” he shouted breathlessly, “will you come with me and tell her?”

“No,” the Spirit said, “I cannot. What you see of me is a projection. The further away from my heart the projection is, the less able I will be to hold it together. And me here is the vital conduit of Ether.”

“So what do I do then?”

“Dance. Dance with energy, dance with passion, dance with joy. I have faith in you.” And then she disappeared, leaving Dvalin to wonder why she had repeated dance four times.

He returned to the Head Ritualist’s office and declared to her that the Spirit of the Fairy Tree had shown him the correct way to perform the Ritual; and so he could demonstrate to everybody the correct moves.

The Head Ritualists was sceptical, but after he insisted repeatedly, she gave in, and announced a gathering of all the Ritualists outside a particular wilted flower.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, Dvalin closed his eyes and recalled the movements that he had performed with the Spirit. He took a deep breath and performed the choreography.

But nothing happened.

He tried again. Still nothing happened.

He tried a third time. Once more nothing happened.

The crowd was getting restless, and many Ritualists were smirking and sneering at him.

What was he doing wrong?

He sank to the surface, and buried his head in the bark.

Why, why was it failing now? This was his only chance at proof.

Was he really that useless?

Tears welled up in his eyes. The Fairy Tree had entrusted him with something, and yet he couldn’t deliver. He must have been the wrong choice.

Then, he heard a small familiar voice, “don’t give up yet, little one.”

“Spirit?” he looked up, but the spirit was nowhere to be seen.

“Here,” the Spirit whispered again, “I am the tree. I am all around you. I chose you because you have flow. Just be yourself, your real self, and give me a hand. Follow the flow of Ether. Enjoy it. Like you did with me at the root.”

At once, Dvalin hit a realization. Dancing wasn’t the important part. The important parts were energy, passion and joy. The vibrancy of enjoyment.

He started dancing again, but this time he focused on what made him happy. His audience was incredulous as he performed what seemed to them to be chaotic, meaningless movements. A tiptoe here, a clapping there, a poking elsewhere.

The Head Ritualist could not tolerate it any longer, and hollered, “How long more are you intending to waste all our time? Other more serious folk than you have other more serious things to do.”

“One more movement!” Dvalin shouted back. Give me a hand. He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and placed his right palm onto the bark he was standing on. Instantly, he felt something like a spark dance from his fingers onto the tree.

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent. Dvalin opened his eyes.

The flower beside him was glowing. Its wilted petals rose up to close over a new bud, and the bud began to open.

The Ritualists burst out into cheers. Even the Head Ritualist grudgingly smiled at him.

By the time Dvalin finished his dance, the flower was back in full bloom, and the scent of its nectar was pungent enough to attract bees.

Dvalin gave a bow. The crowd dispersed excitedly.

A few days later, Dvalin found himself in front of the Head Ritualist.

The Head Ritualist told him, “We apologize for thinking that your moves were nonsense. Since they work, we would like to record down the choreography so that we don’t get it wrong again.”

He stunned the Head Ritualist by saying, “Ma’am, the moves were indeed nonsense. Because what gives energy is when fairies like what rituals they are performing. Because we all got obsessed with the details, we stopped liking what we did, and so no energy was produced. If you don’t believe it, try it for yourself. What do you personally enjoy doing?”

“Cartwheels. Wait … you want me to do a cartwheel?”

“Why not? And treat it with the focus of a Ritual.”

The Head Ritualist scratched her head, but agreed. She took Dvalin out onto a tree branch, and did a few cartwheels in such manner. Immediately, small mushrooms sprung out along the path of her cartwheel.

She was amazed, but at last fully convinced.

She not only gave Dvalin back his job, but also promoted him to a new position as her assistant. She announced his promotion by holding a grand party amongst all the Ritualists. And of course, at the party, she got him to lead everyone in a Ritual Dance, but one with lots of laughter.

That was certainly one revel you or I would have enjoyed ourselves, for the fairies certainly did, from sunrise all the way to sundown.

And so here our story of the fairies and the Fairy Tree ends.

What happened to them? Well, they lived happily ever after. As for Dvalin, he did eventually get the position of Head Ritualist, and lived to a ripe old age.

He tried many times after to seek the Spirit of the Fairy Tree, but could not find her ever again.

So, if you ever come across the Fairy Tree and see sparkles of light in the high reaches of its branches, those are the fairies performing their Ritual. And perhaps you would see one sparkle a little way off – that’s the Head Ritualist Dvalin, ensuring that none of his fellow Ritualists ever lose their spark of joy again.

THE END