A Song for the Wild Place

Epilogue

Prologue

In the land near yet far grows the magnificent Tree of Life: older than memory, wiser than time, stronger than the earth on which it stands. Barring approach is a massive iron gate; a complex work of flowers and thorny vines, which weaving and tangling in embrace, tell the story of life. The Tree, softening the sharp edges of that tale, stretches over and around it, inviting all who will, to stop and take comfort in its shelter.

The Tree owns a garden and at its center grows a delicate queen. She worships the Tree and claims it for her King. It has promised her eternity; she has promised it faithfulness. Their love is true. Their commitment is real. But their journey together has just begun.

The air is sultry. Half asleep in the arms of her Tree, she’s let a song escape. Unknown lips enter her dreams and capture the wayward melody. Drowsily allowing trespass, she is spun into a silken web, threads of warp and weft intertwining in dulcet tapestry. Entranced by the intricately woven music, the little queen stretches her hands out among the notes, catching and storing them one by one in the treasure box of her heart.

Do you dream of me?

Awaking abruptly and hastily pulling herself upright, she turned to see a young man looking in at her from the other side of the gate. Frowning, she eyed him with displeasure.

He continued, Because I dream of you.

I’m a queen, she answered sharply. No one may dream of me without permission.

I make full confession, your majesty. I’m a prince who has passed this way three times now, each time stopping to dream of you. You must arrest me immediately.

The fire-tinged air paused in its journey between them; a slight breeze turned its face to watch. Hot young blood surged, and with the same catch in the throat, the same small toss of the head, proud spirits examined each other.

In a flash of temper, the little queen jumped off the branch, shaking the Tree and causing a shower of red flowers. She strode defiantly to the gate. From opposite sides of flowers and thorny vines, two pairs of dark eyes offered challenge. Each, the other’s equal in passion, could hold their own fortress. Yet, despite her ready sword and quick wit, unexpectedly, with no warning to herself, the little queen surrendered. Cheeks suddenly aflame, she glanced away and lowered her lashes. When she looked back at him, her smile was shy as her hand unlocked the gate.

Everyone loved him. He in turn, loved everyone back with an enthusiasm that melted resistance. His laughter ignited gold lights hidden in the depths of his eyes, and the silken net he captured with, turned freemen into grateful slaves.

He excelled in adventure, poetry, games of all kinds, singing, dancing, conversing until dawn and rising late. His was nobility, strength and kindness, yet also the aroma of barely controlled wildness. Who could resist?

The little queen’s family enjoyed him thoroughly but warned her, this was not a man to marry. His beauty is too dangerous, they said. His beauty is too powerful, they said.

Solemnly she listened, but the nodding of her head was not to the sounds they made, but rather to the beat of her heart. His curling lashes, his eyes lit from within, the sweep of cheek flowing into swan-strong neck, the smell of his skin…paralyzed her. The strength of his arms, the silk of his lips…it was all too much for such a little queen.

The power of youth is its faith in eternal joy, and on a song-filled sunrise in early spring, young lovers stood, blending two into one with promises meant to last forever. Dressed in white and gold, they exchanged vows beneath the Tree of Life, committing to each other: families, fortunes, and futures.

A thousand guests sang and danced on the sea of emerald grass, a net of sparkling dew diamonds spread across its waves.

The queen gave her prince a gold pocket watch engraved with their entwined initials. He promised it would mark his time, until his time was done.

The prince gave his queen a necklace from which hung a perfect pearl. She promised to warm it with her heart, until her heart lay cold.

The brightness of their love knew no shadow, each day filled with the satisfaction of mutual delight. His pleasure in her softness: the sculpture of her gentle form, the golden color of her skin, the purity of her laughter, never diminished. She in turn, needed only to stand by his side, the lobe of her ear warmed by his whisper, to know completeness.

In the fourth month of their marriage, the happiness they thought could grow no more, exploded into ecstasy, ignited by the discovery of a child sleeping within the queen. A great feast was given to announce this joy of all joys; tears were wept, congratulations proclaimed, thanks raised. Laughter rang throughout the kingdom like the tinkling of a thousand silver bells.

Each day the queen, the prince, and their unborn child, roamed the wide gardens. When the heat rose, they swam in the stream that twisted through the meadows like a sparkling ribbon. Floating on their backs, they watched the clouds form and reform above them. Huge, blue dragonflies followed their course, as the water, bubbling and laughing, pulled them along, silver rushes slipping like silk between toes and fingers.

Observing the sky endlessly unrolling above them, the queen reflected, My parents floated in this water and watched this sky. As did their parents. And their parents’ parents. One day, our children will also float here, watching and watched by, this same blue heaven. The sky is forever, as are you and I.

Seated on the smooth stone banks, allowing the sun to warm and dry their skin, they rested before finally rising and making their way back to the Tree. Sinking into the grass at its feet, the prince would lay his head in the queen’s lap, pressing himself as close as possible to his child.

A son, he whispered in amazement. I have a son. The queen laughed at his presumption, but he was adamant. He sang to his little prince and the queen filled with the pleasure of his pleasure, accompanied him.

One morning the prince, singing softly with his head pressed against the child’s, felt it turn towards him and expose the beat of its heart. Overcome with wonder, tears filled his eyes and he whispered, Your life force pulses with power. You have the heart of a king. A mighty warrior. A conqueror among men.

The queen, stroking the prince’s head and gazing up into the light filtering through the blood-red crown of the Tree, laughed. If he looks like you, it will be enough for me.

The gentle winds of their time carried simple dreams that should have come true, but on earth the season of song is a short one.

In the ninth month of their union, the winds sharpened, taking on harsh and jagged edges. They blew in the demon gods of war, and these monsters arrived in a tempest of fire-snorting horses and flashing steel.

Chapter

2

Gargoyles had come to life. They sneered loudly, belittling the people and challenging the kingdom to a fight. When the discord began, quiet discussions were held and decisions made to protect the populace. Everyone agreed it would be best to ignore the barbarians.

Accordingly, pretending they didn’t see the bad manners, or hear the grating noise, the people turned their music up louder, played their games more intensely and stayed for longer periods behind their walls. They gave each other gentle assurances.

The demons will leave if we feign not to see them. Eventually, they’ll feel the shame of their behavior, tire of their mischief and ride back to their own people, their own gardens.

The kingdom went through the motions with polite dignity. They forced themselves to smile. They tried to be helpful. They looked the other way. They ignored every provocation. Yet, the demons did not tire. They did not feel shame. They did not ride home.

Instead, they became louder. So loud the air was faint from the lack of oxygen. So loud the water shrank at their presence. So loud the land withered, dried, and crumbled into dust. Screaming, the demons dug long, sharp talons into the earth until eventually, Deep Hatred was born and his banner raised high.

The charming prince no longer smiled or laughed. At the castle windows he would stand motionless for hours, watching the eclipse cover the land. The little queen experienced a feeling new to her. Fear.

Patiently she sat beside him, glancing from the corners of her eyes at the sharp gold spears in his own, noting the hardness of his body. Bit by bit, he became one with the darkness and although she could still see him, she knew it was not him, but his effigy in cold marble.

Finally the day came when he could no longer bear the taunts, the pulsing drums, the arrogant, swirling flash of red banners. Royalty from every corner of the kingdom, men whose hearts had also turned to stone, were strapping on their swords.

The prince resolved to be one with them in the cleansing of disease from the land. He put on his armor and slipped his watch into his pocket. The queen brought him a bag filled with gold coins. Thoughtfully, he weighed it in his hands, opened it and chose one.

Only one? she pleaded. You will need more.

Only one, he replied. One will be enough.

Slowly, they walked together through the wide gardens; slowly they approached the iron-gate. The Tree of Life stood over them, witness to their parting as it had been witness to their meeting. Pressing her face into the prince’s neck, the queen embraced him tightly in an effort to stop time. He didn’t pull away, but the force of blood pounding in his breast beat against her cheek, and she knew he’d already left.

They stood close, bodies burning where they touched. The prince knelt and spoke to his child, pouring the love of his soul into his queen’s womb.

It is only my form that leaves today. My heart stays here, connected to the lifeblood that feeds it. Wait for me. I promise you both, that one day, the three of us will sing together beneath this Tree. I will come back and when I do, I will not leave you again.

The Tree of Life wept with them and shaking loose its hair, gave the prince a flower for remembrance. Touching it gently to the lips of his queen, then to his own, he laid it over the entwined initials inside the lid of his watch. The queen touched the pearl hanging from her neck and whispered her promise that she would wait. Then she opened the gate and turned away her face, unable to watch him leave.

Chapter

3

The days passed and Deep Hatred fed his demons until they grew into bloated giants that consumed everything in their path. What they did not consume, they befouled.

The distress in the land was such that those who could, were departing immediately, leaving all behind in their flight. The queen’s family also became anxious to escape the fierce anger now racing unharnessed throughout their world.

They pleaded with her to leave but she was resolute. She insisted they go ahead and leave her to follow when she could. She’d promised to wait for the prince. If she left, he might not find her in the chaos of exodus. She must wait for him. She couldn’t leave without him.

Her family in turn, wouldn’t leave without her. The love that bound them won out over the fear that threatened to separate them, and so it was, that her parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, various children, servants, and others who’d taken temporary refuge at the castle, insisted they would all wait together.

Each hour was filled with tense preparations for sudden departure. There were professions of confidence and peace in the decision to delay, but the slightest disturbance quickly lifted eyes to the distance in search of a returning figure. When the horizon proved flat and empty, a deep sigh lowered those same eyes and returned them to the task at hand. When anyone did venture a spoken word, it was only to encourage the queen and lighten the heavy load she carried. He will come, they assured her. He will come.

Midnight? No past midnight. Awakened from restless sleep, the queen sat up in alarm. Something was wrong. The child was trying to wake her. Why? Was it time already? It couldn’t be. Yet sharpness pierced the still, hot air: anticipation, tingling, a very faint music somewhere in the distance. Listening intently, she was certain she heard her name being called.

Wearing only her nightdress and the never removed pearl necklace, she made her way barefoot through the dark castle, hurrying across the vast, moonlit garden spaces, making her way instinctively to the gate, which she finally reached gasping for breath. The air sizzled with heat and the Tree’s fragrance was strangely overpowering. She leaned herself against the trunk, unsteady, heart beating off-rhythm, peering through the darkness, fixated on the gate, ears straining for the sound of his footsteps on the road.

It wasn’t long before a sound did make its way through the blackness; however, it wasn’t the awaited footfall of a loved one. It was a vibrating that grew louder as it neared, ripping open the night, trumpeting the arrival of giant birds that swooped down from the sky like lightning, open beaks shrieking a piercing song of destruction.

Trembling violently, hidden beneath the arms of her Tree, she watched as the silver birds came to rest on the far roof of her home. Touching it, they exploded upwards into brilliant fountains that turned night into day. The castle in which she’d been born, gasped and fell to its knees. Walls that for centuries had stood proudly erect, buckled, slid and finally groveled, sinking shattered faces into the dust. Ancient books, paintings, sculpture, porcelains, tapestries, rugs, crystal, gold, jewels…all were dressed as for a party, in bright red and orange flame.

Invitations to the lively dance were forcefully extended to the people sleeping peacefully within. They flew up from their beds in an explosion of energy and almost instantly, were laid back to rest forever from their exertions. The Tree, in wild grief, violently tossed its head. An ear-piercing whip-crack split the heavens, and for a moment the queen stood paralyzed, her feet buried in a blood-colored carpet of flowers.

Then she began to run.

A deep roaring, the wild laughter of a monster, filled every space between the molecules of air. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t swallow. There was no escape from the pain. Holding her swollen body, she ran barefoot over what had once been the gate; out and onto the streets of death.

She ran past mutilated shapes of what had once been humans, past scattered parts of what had once been animals. She ran swerving to the left and whirling to the right, running between glittering shards of glass that fell like rain from the sky. She ran through pools of blood that coated her body and soaked her nightdress. She ran past twisted monsters of metal and stone. She ran into naked Violence, twisting and feinting to avoid his hands. She ran past all that had been beautiful and familiar, now deformed, demented, unrecognizable in its agony. She ran until she could run no more, and falling, she ran on her knees, clawing her way into a ditch on the side of a road.

A horse was there, entrails ripped out, eyes frozen open, long purple tongue twitching in the dirt. It screamed at her, "Run! Run! Run!" But she could no longer run and there in the blood-filled shallow she held onto the carcass, screaming as she gave birth to a princess.

For two days, dressed in filth and flies she lay in the sticky entrails of the animal, the tiny blood-covered baby curled at her breast. On the third day, strangers hearing a whimper, stopped to look, and taking pity, pulled the mother and child into a shelter of trees. They gave her a sip of water, a crust of bread, and a rag to cover the infant. Then they left to provide for their own.

Like a terrified beast, during the hours of sunlight she hid in holes or under piles of debris. Clasping the baby to her breast, she lay completely still while the demons moved about and around her. Sometimes they were active for many days. Hidden in the grave, her tongue would grow thick, her throat shrink with thirst, but she refused to move. Sometimes it would rain and she could drink her fill, but her bed of dirt would turn to thick mud. During those times she stayed on her back, holding the baby in place on her chest, trying to keep it out of the filth.

When the demons finally slept, the queen, along with other creatures of the night crawled out from their holes to scavenge for bits of discarded food, rags, and useful trash.

During the darkest hours of early dawn, she hunted, traveling as fast as she could, moving each day farther away from her home. Tiny, she could always find a new hole in which to hide, rarely returning to the same place twice for fear of discovery.

She lost track of time, conscious only in the beginning that days became nights. Then, somehow…she lost a few days. Initiating a mental search, she found the crafty days re-dressed as weeks. Trying to hold fast to the slippery weeks, she found they were treacherous. If she turned her back for an instant, they shifted into months whose names she couldn’t remember. Soon she stopped trying, and time itself became just an inconvenient memory, easily replaced by eat or not eat, cold or not cold, wet or dry.

The baby learned quickly not to cry or make even small noises. It watched her face the way an animal does its master, studying every tiny muscle for signals. The princess would lay still, her large eyes absorbing the world, wondering at its dark face. If there was no food, she slept as long as she could: wasting no energy on tears, ignoring the impulse to open her eyes and greet the shadows of another day.

The queen, curled up like a leaf, holding the baby to her breast with one hand, would touch the pearl to her lips with the other. She wanted to talk to her Tree but couldn’t remember where it was. She wanted to ask it for a song to make the hunger go away. Licking the pearl, its smooth surface comforted her. Where had her Tree gone? She whispered to the pearl that it must find it. Tell it of her fear and misery. Tell it to come and help her.

But no…wait. It was she who’d gone. Where had she gone? And how would she go back? Which way was back?

Crouched in her hole, rolling the pearl over her tongue, she’d quietly recite that day’s food harvest or lack thereof and consider her hunting strategy for tomorrow. She tried to be discrete when she whispered her fears to the pearl, for she imagined the baby might take fright.

When they’d not eaten for almost five days, she knew she must crawl out and hunt before she weakened further. In an attempt to harness strength, she slept for a long time and the Tree came to her in her dreams. She couldn’t see its form, but she heard it singing. It sang from the blood-red flowers in its crown: a song that consoled and told her it was near.

She awakened to a hard rain. The small hands of the baby were examining her face. Sliding carefully out from her burrow, she immediately spotted, not ten steps away, a discarded bag. Slithering towards it on her belly, she quietly took it in her teeth and slithered back out of sight before clawing it open. Inside were a smashed, hard-boiled egg and a partially eaten chicken thigh.

The Tree sang to her in dreams, Survive. I am with you.

With this song, the months came and went, maturing into twenty-four. They were months of fear that stopped the heart, months of desperation that paralyzed the mind, months so hungry they ate the souls of a queen and a baby princess.

Chapter

5

A battle?

They were in a shallow depression bound by twisted tree roots on the side of a ravine. During the night she’d laid dead branches, leaves and ivy over the small opening, crawled in under the roots and planned to stay no longer than two days. Finding some fallen fruit, they’d fed on the unspoiled sections, before lapsing into unconsciousness.

Shivering with fever, burning with thirst, a too-close sound made her eyes shoot open in fright. The child also came abruptly to life, and the queen could feel the tiny heart pounding through the thin chest. Pinpoints of light streaming through their covering foliage revealed that the sun was high. Why was the noise so loud? So near? What was that smell?

Fighting was raging directly over and around them: deafening explosions, the shaking of the ground, the screaming of panicked men and animals, the smell of oily fire and burning flesh. Like a mole, she scratched and dug, frantically trying to burrow deeper beneath the tree.

The terror continued for three days, and the queen did not venture out even in the darkest hours. She fed the princess the spoiled, wormy parts of the fruit. On the last night she’d hunted, she’d found a discarded bottle. Delighted with this treasure, she’d filled it with a few inches of ditch water and brought it back with her to the hole. This she now used to wet the baby’s lips every few hours. To make the water last, she herself did not drink, and after three days her tongue swelled and her mouth could not close over it.

Each morning, she told herself, Tonight, I will take courage; go out and find water. They will stop to rest. Even demons have to rest. However, night would come and the unceasing fury would keep her curled up in place. In the darkness, she would lightly touch the face of the princess, trying to wake her when she slept too long. Carefully, she’d rub the bony chest and moisten the small tongue. In her dreams, she agonized to the Tree about the possibility of surrendering to save the baby.

The Tree said, No. They will dash her to the ground and kill her with their feet.

Yes. But perhaps that death will be less painful than this one?

On the third day she again awoke from a period of unconsciousness. It was the unnatural quiet that made her lift her head and test the air with her ears. The silence was deep. Too deep.

Another day of this frightening absence of noise passed, before the queen in desperation, cautiously wiggled her body halfway out and squinted fearfully into the light. For the first time in months she saw the face of the earth clearly.

It was shockingly unfamiliar. And ugly. Like a ravaged hag, worn out with weeping, hunched over, numb with pain. The queen inched across the soil on her belly: her eyes darting to the left and right, her body ready to burrow instantly back into the dirt. She froze every few seconds, cowering in place, barely breathing. Only when absolutely certain nothing else was moving, did she raise herself up slightly more like a human. Half standing, half crouching she shifted her feet from side to side, terrified by the brightness.

Watching, smelling, tasting the air, listening intently, every fiber of her being was alert. Were they hiding? Or was the world now empty? Squatting near her hole until the sun was high she finally made her decision, dug out the princess, and crept to the hunt.

The air was filthy sweet with the smell of death, and the buzzing of huge blue flies provided persistent, macabre background music. Her eyes caught not the slightest movement, for the harvester’s scythe had swept across all that could be seen. Even the trees were scorched and splintered, and where grass remained, it had shed its green dress for a black one.

She searched quickly, pushing over corpses in search of the canteen she knew had to be attached to at least one of them. Finally finding it, using a knife pulled from the owner’s belt, she cut it free. The water was stagnant, but clean. Kneeling, she dribbled it carefully over the child’s head, cooling and washing the caked eyes and cracked lips.

Holding the canteen steady against her chest, she coaxed the water drop by drop into the parched little mouth. When the child would take no more, she lifted the canteen to her own lips and emptied it. Thus revived, she began to shake and retch.

The child, seated on the ground, looked back and forth from the corpse to the agonized queen. Noting it, the queen spoke sharply. Don’t look at it! Pulling herself up, she mounted the girl on one hip, and knife in hand, returned to her search.

She harvested a packet of hard tack biscuits, a hunk of stale bread, six pieces of rock candy, and a handful of dried fruit tied into a bloody handkerchief. A collapsed canvas tent displayed the outline of at least four bodies beneath it. Studying it thoughtfully for a few moments, she used the knife to hack and rip some strips from a part of the fabric that wasn’t scorched. These she rolled and tucked into a rag tied about her waist.

Searching further among the blackened corpses, she found an interesting one. Its claw hand still clung to a leather bag. Stepping on the wrist, she wrenched the bag from its grip, hoping to find food inside. Disgusted that it held only tools and very long iron nails, she tossed it aside. Angrily moving on, she paused, stared into the air and returned to it. Emptying the contents out onto the ground, she considered them. Choosing the longest of the iron nails, she hid it among the rags about her chest.

Noting the distorted shape of a vehicle in the distance, she knew there must be a road, so