Post by Xander on Aug 1, 2015 15:08:08 GMT -5
Merick sat down heavily. He felt a head-ache coming on. He was overwhelmed by swirling memories, his mind racing after the events of the day. Dead comrades, hell spawn everywhere he turned in this god-forsaken forest and now this - a creature revered above all others in his folklore was asking him to be a part in its murder. Pain exploded behind his eyes, pulsing through his body in agonising waves. He doubled over in spasm and knuckled his fists into his eye sockets in a futile attempt to hold back the tide of torment. A familiar black smog began to billow across his vision and choke the colour out of his thoughts. The dark memories, as usual, were too powerful to resist, panic and terror scattering any attempt Merick made to organise a defense against them. Trunt turned and fixed two gazing brown orbs on the writhing soldier. Through his own excruciating pain and burden, Trunt reached out to the man and allowed his benign magic to flow. The thick, roiling black smoke suddenly shifted and a ray of white light burst through. Merick felt a cool breeze blow over his clammy skin and heard the calming rustle of leaves far above his head. Abruptly, he felt a sharp "CRACK" resound through his head, and he was ejected from the black cloud, carried by a gust of wind which cut through the banks of fog, into the white light. Deeper, unadulterated memories began to flow, stimulated by the Treant's presence in Merick's mind. The man's muscles relaxed from their spasms as the opiate effects of nostalgia overtook him...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hakLKzjArL4
Mac-Aodh's arms pinwheeled as he sprinted from the small farmhouse, so excited was he to get to his lessons. He dashed through the fields of cattle behind the house and on past the farmstead, racing along the roughshod dirt path. He stopped on top of the huge hill, his wee chest heaving. He raised an arm and wiped his nose on his sleeve, looking around as he drew air into his small lungs. The mountainous hills and lochs of Galiecia were laid out before him. Far in the distance he could see the ripe yellow sun beginning to crest the heather blanketed glens and below him, in the glacial valley, diamonds began to dance on the surface of Loch Erne. A satisfying breeze swept his unkempt hair around his face and blew his kilt around his legs. He turned away and resumed his journey at a leisurely pace. He was approaching the forest now, the trees resplendant in the emerald regalia of the Summer court. Streams of children were entering the forest from all sides; some from the lowlands accompanied by anxious parents, scrubbing their dirty faces with handkerchiefs, but most travelling from the highland mountains as Mac-aodh was. He squealed and laughed delightedly as he skipped through the tall, elegant pines, dancing with the other children and jumping at the pixies and sprites which flitted over their heads. He found his friends and they ran on to the centre of the forest together. The trees thinned out, parting to form an idyllic, sun-dappled clearing. In the centre of the clearing was the huge Tree-folk who served as a tutor to all the children for miles around. Booming, sonourous laughs echoed around the glade as the Grandfather was tickled by a swarm of infants and toddlers scampering up his trunk and across his boughs. The other, human, teachers stood by, watching and laughing to themselves.
"Now now children..." Grandfather chuckled, his voice the ancient groan of an oak shifting in the wind.
"We have lessons to get to." He raised his leafy crown to greet the last of the children; then, with one enormous leafy bough, gestured for them to sit. All of the children did so without question, dropping cross-legged onto the soft carpet of pine needles. The hours passed, and Grandfather spoke on, imparting his wisdom and centuries of learning to his students. That day was numbers and Common. Mac-aodh's Common wasn't very good. Sister Willow said he mangled all the "r"s. He didn't like Sister Willow. She was too strict, and she didn't have rough bark, like Grandfather, or his deep, ponderous voice. After lessons were over, the dryads came to play, stepping out of their trees and waving the children over. Mac-aodh wandered over to Grandfather, who was having a nap in the amber sunlight. He stood, hesitating for a moment as to whether he should wake the tree.
"Grandfather?" He piped up, over the rumbling snores of the Treant. Grandfather snuffled and one bark eyelid slid open slowly to reveal a great, polished orb of wood which regarded the boy with bemusement. Leaves rustled as the giant turned its head to face Mac-aodh and reach a hand down to him. Mac-aodh stepped lightly onto the leafy boughs of Grandfather's fingers and giggled as he was lifted up to his eye level.
"Mmmhhhello Child..." Grandfather blinked and opened his cavernous mouth to yawn, a gargantuan noise which shook the whole clearing.
"Mac-aodh..." He said after a long moment.
"You're the rascal.... who stole Brother Rowan's wand!..." His hand began to shake and Mac-aodh gasped in fright, but then he realised that the Grandfather tree was just laughing.
"Ho ho ho!", the tree shook with mirth, "He was as red.... as a tomato.... Ha ha ha!"
Mac-aodh himself blushed a similar shade.
"He left it on the table!" he squeaked, "I was just taking it back to him! I promise!"
"Sssuaimhneass child." Sunlight glinted mischeviously in the huge wooden eyes, "Grandfather... knows... Now. What can... an old tree like me... do for a rascally little boy... like you?"
"I want to hear the stories again Grandfather. Tell me about Cuchulain!" Grandfather, scrunched his face together for a long time, deep in thought.
"Hmmm... I knew Cuchulain... He was a rascal as well - he never... did his homework! I have a different story.... for you today... my child... No more warriors or battles... Have you ever heard... the Tale... Of Merrick?"
(Skip to 21:14 in the music)
Merick sat alone, weeping openly. He was so tired. He wanted to scream, to struggle and yell and destroy something, but he was too tired. He slumped onto his knees and let his head roll back until he was looking up at the stars.
"What do you want from me?" He whispered between sobs...
The cold, uncaring silence of the sky was infuriating.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM MEEEEEE!" He threw a fist at the sky.
"YOU WIN! DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU WIN!" He fell back panting.
"I thought you'd taken everything. My country is DESTROYED. My king is DEAD. My friends DIED so that I could stagger back to my home... and find..." He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, "But no. I see now! HA! You weren't done yet! You took my strength. You took my mind! WHEN I THOUGHT I COULD START AGAIN - YOU TOOK GRETA!" Merick slammed the ground with his fist so hard, a web of cracks appeared in the earth.
"And now... you're going to take my honour... you're going to take my culture - everything that I AM!..." He clenched and unclenched his fists, clawing at the dirt. There were no more tears. He was exhausted. His voice shrank to a whisper again.
"What are you trying to teach me? What did I do wrong? Please... tell me!"
The rustle of leaves, and the gentle roughness of bark shook Merick from himself. A familiar voice resonated throughout him. Two wooden orbs, filled with kindness looked down at him.
"Sssuaimnheass my son." The treant embraced Merick. Woodlice and centipedes dropped from the cracked bark and as he drew Merick in, he saw a large hole in the Treant's trunk which had been rotted by some unknown disease. The Tree spoke again.
" You are Galieck... no? Ahhh... Your face tells all. Do not fear for an old Tree Shepherd. Your spell... eases my passing... I would like it if... you would stay with me... until my end.... whatever it may be... and tell me about... some of the other Tree-folk... You have met.
I hear the forests... of your homeland... are full of us!" Even through the anguish and torment which racked the Treants body, a glimmer of amusement found its way to the burnished spheres gazing down upon Merick. Merick met the gaze with his own despairing eyes. Suddenly he was a little boy again, crying with the dryads and hugging Sister Willow.
"Treefather... Don't die."
One large bough around Merick's shoulders, the Treant swung his other hand round and opened it so that the palm faced Merick. A single leaf, the only green left on the tortured creature's blackened bark, was sprouting in the middle of the palm.
"There are darknesses... in life... And... there are lights. You... like this leaf... are one of the lights. You and your friends... must not allow the darkness... to extinguish you... Take this leaf... and honour me... in the way of your people... You do know... the rites... yes?"
With surprising gentleness, two huge fingers reached down, caressed the leaf and plucked it from the palm. The ent handed it to Merick. Merick pawed at his eyes and accepted the leaf, holding it as though it were a newborn child.
"Yes Treefather." He said quietly.
"Good boy..." The ent smiled through its pain and raised its cracked-bark brows.
"Now... What of these other... Tree-folk? You didn't happen... to see any... lady ents?
Did you?"
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hakLKzjArL4
Mac-Aodh's arms pinwheeled as he sprinted from the small farmhouse, so excited was he to get to his lessons. He dashed through the fields of cattle behind the house and on past the farmstead, racing along the roughshod dirt path. He stopped on top of the huge hill, his wee chest heaving. He raised an arm and wiped his nose on his sleeve, looking around as he drew air into his small lungs. The mountainous hills and lochs of Galiecia were laid out before him. Far in the distance he could see the ripe yellow sun beginning to crest the heather blanketed glens and below him, in the glacial valley, diamonds began to dance on the surface of Loch Erne. A satisfying breeze swept his unkempt hair around his face and blew his kilt around his legs. He turned away and resumed his journey at a leisurely pace. He was approaching the forest now, the trees resplendant in the emerald regalia of the Summer court. Streams of children were entering the forest from all sides; some from the lowlands accompanied by anxious parents, scrubbing their dirty faces with handkerchiefs, but most travelling from the highland mountains as Mac-aodh was. He squealed and laughed delightedly as he skipped through the tall, elegant pines, dancing with the other children and jumping at the pixies and sprites which flitted over their heads. He found his friends and they ran on to the centre of the forest together. The trees thinned out, parting to form an idyllic, sun-dappled clearing. In the centre of the clearing was the huge Tree-folk who served as a tutor to all the children for miles around. Booming, sonourous laughs echoed around the glade as the Grandfather was tickled by a swarm of infants and toddlers scampering up his trunk and across his boughs. The other, human, teachers stood by, watching and laughing to themselves.
"Now now children..." Grandfather chuckled, his voice the ancient groan of an oak shifting in the wind.
"We have lessons to get to." He raised his leafy crown to greet the last of the children; then, with one enormous leafy bough, gestured for them to sit. All of the children did so without question, dropping cross-legged onto the soft carpet of pine needles. The hours passed, and Grandfather spoke on, imparting his wisdom and centuries of learning to his students. That day was numbers and Common. Mac-aodh's Common wasn't very good. Sister Willow said he mangled all the "r"s. He didn't like Sister Willow. She was too strict, and she didn't have rough bark, like Grandfather, or his deep, ponderous voice. After lessons were over, the dryads came to play, stepping out of their trees and waving the children over. Mac-aodh wandered over to Grandfather, who was having a nap in the amber sunlight. He stood, hesitating for a moment as to whether he should wake the tree.
"Grandfather?" He piped up, over the rumbling snores of the Treant. Grandfather snuffled and one bark eyelid slid open slowly to reveal a great, polished orb of wood which regarded the boy with bemusement. Leaves rustled as the giant turned its head to face Mac-aodh and reach a hand down to him. Mac-aodh stepped lightly onto the leafy boughs of Grandfather's fingers and giggled as he was lifted up to his eye level.
"Mmmhhhello Child..." Grandfather blinked and opened his cavernous mouth to yawn, a gargantuan noise which shook the whole clearing.
"Mac-aodh..." He said after a long moment.
"You're the rascal.... who stole Brother Rowan's wand!..." His hand began to shake and Mac-aodh gasped in fright, but then he realised that the Grandfather tree was just laughing.
"Ho ho ho!", the tree shook with mirth, "He was as red.... as a tomato.... Ha ha ha!"
Mac-aodh himself blushed a similar shade.
"He left it on the table!" he squeaked, "I was just taking it back to him! I promise!"
"Sssuaimhneass child." Sunlight glinted mischeviously in the huge wooden eyes, "Grandfather... knows... Now. What can... an old tree like me... do for a rascally little boy... like you?"
"I want to hear the stories again Grandfather. Tell me about Cuchulain!" Grandfather, scrunched his face together for a long time, deep in thought.
"Hmmm... I knew Cuchulain... He was a rascal as well - he never... did his homework! I have a different story.... for you today... my child... No more warriors or battles... Have you ever heard... the Tale... Of Merrick?"
(Skip to 21:14 in the music)
Merick sat alone, weeping openly. He was so tired. He wanted to scream, to struggle and yell and destroy something, but he was too tired. He slumped onto his knees and let his head roll back until he was looking up at the stars.
"What do you want from me?" He whispered between sobs...
The cold, uncaring silence of the sky was infuriating.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM MEEEEEE!" He threw a fist at the sky.
"YOU WIN! DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU WIN!" He fell back panting.
"I thought you'd taken everything. My country is DESTROYED. My king is DEAD. My friends DIED so that I could stagger back to my home... and find..." He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, "But no. I see now! HA! You weren't done yet! You took my strength. You took my mind! WHEN I THOUGHT I COULD START AGAIN - YOU TOOK GRETA!" Merick slammed the ground with his fist so hard, a web of cracks appeared in the earth.
"And now... you're going to take my honour... you're going to take my culture - everything that I AM!..." He clenched and unclenched his fists, clawing at the dirt. There were no more tears. He was exhausted. His voice shrank to a whisper again.
"What are you trying to teach me? What did I do wrong? Please... tell me!"
The rustle of leaves, and the gentle roughness of bark shook Merick from himself. A familiar voice resonated throughout him. Two wooden orbs, filled with kindness looked down at him.
"Sssuaimnheass my son." The treant embraced Merick. Woodlice and centipedes dropped from the cracked bark and as he drew Merick in, he saw a large hole in the Treant's trunk which had been rotted by some unknown disease. The Tree spoke again.
" You are Galieck... no? Ahhh... Your face tells all. Do not fear for an old Tree Shepherd. Your spell... eases my passing... I would like it if... you would stay with me... until my end.... whatever it may be... and tell me about... some of the other Tree-folk... You have met.
I hear the forests... of your homeland... are full of us!" Even through the anguish and torment which racked the Treants body, a glimmer of amusement found its way to the burnished spheres gazing down upon Merick. Merick met the gaze with his own despairing eyes. Suddenly he was a little boy again, crying with the dryads and hugging Sister Willow.
"Treefather... Don't die."
One large bough around Merick's shoulders, the Treant swung his other hand round and opened it so that the palm faced Merick. A single leaf, the only green left on the tortured creature's blackened bark, was sprouting in the middle of the palm.
"There are darknesses... in life... And... there are lights. You... like this leaf... are one of the lights. You and your friends... must not allow the darkness... to extinguish you... Take this leaf... and honour me... in the way of your people... You do know... the rites... yes?"
With surprising gentleness, two huge fingers reached down, caressed the leaf and plucked it from the palm. The ent handed it to Merick. Merick pawed at his eyes and accepted the leaf, holding it as though it were a newborn child.
"Yes Treefather." He said quietly.
"Good boy..." The ent smiled through its pain and raised its cracked-bark brows.
"Now... What of these other... Tree-folk? You didn't happen... to see any... lady ents?
Did you?"
