The Line of the Cross (part 3)

The next day, Riolin and Laedril came without her. Both of them walked slowly, their heads hung. The tree’s sap ran cold, and it asked what was the matter.

“The sword of summer begins to cut us all,” Riolin said. “The time is short, even as men reckon it; the time from Easter until Samhain is a moment’s whisper to the Faire Folk.” He paused. “Eärdressa…” He stopped, throat dry.

Laedril put a hand on his shoulder. “Middle-child, oldest of the common Folk and youngest of the wise, lovely elf-maiden of the See, has been chosen as the Tithe.”

There was little time to waste. The months were already breathing down their necks. Riolin and Laedril cried. Eärdressa came later that night and smiled sadly at the tree, dressed in a pale shroud. She said nothing. But the tree had an idea.

The tree turned its attention to itself. Perhaps it prayed. When its first leaf fell, it put its plan into action.

The sun set, and the tree’s leaves took on a fiery hue. The four friends were gathered. “Why did you call us?” Riolin asked.

The tree only said, “Close your eyes.” They did. The tree reached within, and tore out its own heart, leaving it on the ground. “Now.” The tree’s friends opened their eyes, and gasped as they saw the hole rent in the tree’s trunk.

“Eärdressa. Riolin. Laedril.” It called them by name. “Hide inside me.” They looked to each other, then crawled into the tree. It seemed to them to have become a portal into heaven.

The night came on in full, and boggarts and bean-sidhe and sadist-smiling leprechauns and all manner of Unseelies crawled out of the shadows. Endlings crawled right up to the tree itself.

“The sacrifice, the sacrifice,” they said. “The tithe. Where is it?”

“What value is faerie flesh and faerie blood?” the tree asked. “I offer you wooden flesh and running sap, the bones of the earth and memories of the third day. You know that three is a number of power. My heart is your tithe.” It pointed to the wooden heart on the ground. “Take it.”

They all turned to look at the one who was leading them: a Deeping pixie, whose eyes seemed to absorb all light. The pixie nodded. Like wolves running across a night sky they descended, grabbing the tree’s heart in their hands and tossing it back and forth between them like children. They did not notice as it burned their hands.

The Unseelie had a revelry then, dancing and screaming and hissing like snakes. The little Deeping pixie flew high into the air, his fist raised in rude defiance against the stars. But when midnight came—when the blackest was thickest, what should have been their hour—the Samhain night became the day of Saints. And all who had touched the tree’s heart with evil intent gasped, and wretched, and were undone. The tree covered the hole with branches, protecting its hiding friends from the sounds of their screams.

When it was done, they walked out of the tree, trembling but safe.

A Man was standing in the field. The faeries bowed to Him, but the tree did not recognize Him. He walked forward, smiling gently and placing His Hand on its trunk.

“I can never forget the feel of this wood on my back,” He said.

“Your back, sir?” the tree asked.

“It is good wood, strong and hard. It was rough and drank my blood. That was your mother tree, it was—many have come between you and her, but you are her son truly. You proved that tonight, protecting the ones you loved from a tithe that should never be paid and taking the price on yourself.”

“Lord?” the tree whispered. “I do not understand.”

He kissed the tree. “Actually, I think you do.”

He healed the scar and turned to the heart. He knelt and placed His hand on it, and it became a second tree like the first. The trees saw each other and fell in love. Then the Man turned towards the first tree and smiled. He reached out His Hands again (the tree saw the scars there) and reshaped the tree in memorial of what he had done. Three branches grew from the one trunk.

Then He made Eärdressa, Riolin, and Laedril lords of the Fair. And that tree endured, and the pact between that tree and the faerie lasted forever. Even the Unseelie would come and awe at it, for that tree had carried the touch of love in its wood for generations, to demonstrate it to them.

To this night, each spring the Courts come and revel in front of that tree, and the hole that is a testament to love and friendship, where the faerie captives hid from hell, can still be seen.

And in the morning, the faeries leave.

Both trees still stand, still in love with each other. They cast shade that gives rest to all who stay there.

And a girl, with her Bible and her little book, relaxes under them, reading and studying and worshiping the Three-in-One God.