The Island of Two Trees

by Brian Kennelly

  “Whoa, what?” Connor asked. “Excuse me? Can you say that again?”

  “You have entered a new dimension, children. It is known as the Realm of the Imagination. Each person where you come from has a place in this realm where his imagination lives. Right now, you are within a piece of your father’s imagination, the piece that brought this island to life.”

  With this new revelation, the children finally understood why Anastasia had called them the “children from the outside.” Connor, Maggie, and Lucy began to look all around the grand throne room, as if that might help them understand, as if they might see some sign they were within their father’s mind, though none of them could have said what they were looking for. Were they expecting to see the inner part of his ears or the backside of his eyes?

  “Look all around you,” the Mysteria Queen offered, holding up her arms and motioning at the throne room. “I assure you this is real. What the human imagination creates may seem like pretend, but here in this realm those things are very much real. This is where your stories come to life. I know this sounds strange, but recall that we were just talking about love. Love is invisible in your world, and here, for that matter, but in another realm higher than even this one, love is a real, tangible thing, something you can see and touch. So don’t be confused by what your senses tell you is real, for not all real things can be found where you live.”

  The children felt like they were in the midst of an adult conversation since all this was so confusing, and yet, it wasn’t so confusing after all. Lady Mysteria had a way of saying things very plainly. Connor, Maggie, and Lucy each felt she was telling them things they already knew to be true, she was only helping them realize it, like when you have a fever you know it because you feel so crummy but the thermometer tells you for sure.

  “So my dad’s imagination created all this?” Connor asked.

  “In a sense, yes. But he did not create it alone. No story from your world is told solely by the storyteller. They tell their stories in tandem with someone else.”

  “Who?” Lucy asked.

  “There is a force in the universe known as the Counselor of Chronicles. Since before time, he lived alone in this realm, though he was perfectly content in his solitude, for he was filled in his inner being with stories, fables, and tales. They lived inside him the way heat lives in the fire’s flame, or the way air lives in the wind. But several millennia ago, the Giver of All Things unleashed the Counselor into your realm, asking him to be the giver of life to the human imagination. He does this by imparting the Seven Gifts of Storytelling: Creativity, Perseverance, Discipline, Diligence, Vision, Patience, and Empathy. Through these gifts, he helps stories dance in the minds of humanity and gives them the will to tell their stories. But the Counselor had to be hidden because his power would overwhelm the human imagination. Thus, the Giver of All Things hid him in the moonlight.”

  The children’s ears perked when they heard this. Perhaps they were finally about to discover the source and meaning of the “moon magic.”

  “Your father and the other storytellers of earth receive inspiration for their stories through the Counselor’s power that flows from his innermost being, and the moonlight acts like a canal that carries his power to your imaginations. It falls down upon humanity while they sleep and seeps into that inner part of them, and this includes you. Actually, the moonlight falls especially bright onto the beds of children, since as you probably know, children have the strongest imaginations.”

  “So every story we’ve ever heard,” Maggie broke in, “it was told by whoever told it to us, but also this Counselor?”

  “That’s right,” the queen answered. “This is why you will often hear someone say parts of their story seemed to come from nowhere, that the story is just as much a mystery to them as anyone they tell it to, or that the story has a life of its own. Just as a spring of water can bubble up from the unseen regions below the ground, the imagination has a mysterious font that feeds the mind with ideas and visions. The Counselor of Chronicles is that font. He works with them from behind the veil to help tell your stories, so that all stories are told in harmony between your realm and this one. He does everything from generating big ideas that set the storyteller off on a new journey, to filling in minor details the storyteller might have overlooked, and everything in between. The reason you see so much more than what your father has told you about is because specific details, from the inner halls of my castle, to the characters down in the village, to the individual flowers on the mountainside, were all generated by the Counselor. He painted in the missing colors of your father’s story, bringing every last detail to life. That is why you can walk through this story at this very moment and it all feels so real, feels like so much more than what your father has told you.”

  The queen finally paused, letting everything sink in. Lucy shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at the moon the same way again.”

  “Me neither,” Maggie added.

  The queen smiled. “Why do you think strange things happen when there’s a full moon?”

  “Even if we were to believe this Counselor fills our imaginations through the moonlight,” Connor said, trying very hard to make sense of all this, “I still don’t understand how this ‘moon magic’ actually brought us inside my dad’s imagination.”

  “It may help to think of the moon like a portal, or a doorway,” she answered. “Through that doorway, he bathes the earth with his power, given to him by the Giver of All Things. He sends his life out from his inner self in this realm and into yours. This is how he brings your imaginations to life. But at times, when the situation calls for it, he may reverse the flow of life. He can bring something, or someone, from your world in to this one. The moonlight acts like a path, or like a tube through the air, and when it hits water it forms a magical river that bleeds into our world. The moonlight drew you up into the air like a vacuum in your world and thrust you into the moon river in ours, or into Kristoff’s ship, that is. But of course it all happened so fast you didn’t know what was happening, nor would your parents have heard anything, for the vacuum of light silences all noise outside it.”

  “But why are we here?” Connor asked. “What did you mean when you said ‘when the situation calls for it’?”

  “Only when a story reaches a critical level and evil threatens to overtake it does the Counselor draw in help from your world. In this case, he brought you three in, and he did so at my request.”

  “What did you say about evil?” Lucy asked, for remember she did not like bad guys and the very mention of anything sinister worried her.

  Lady Mysteria finally stopped walking. She had been leading them down the long throne room toward a pair of tall, arched doors. The children had seen these doors coming in and wondered what was behind them.

  “Perhaps it is best I show you something before going any further,” she said.

  She pushed the doors open, bringing in a gust of air and revealing a balcony. When they walked outside and approached the balcony’s stone railing, the children beheld a vision of the entire island. They saw the descent of the mountainside below the castle and the river that ran down it. When the river reached the cliff’s edge, a waterfall plummeted into the lake hundreds of feet below. Circling the lake waters, they could make out the village where little huts dotted the plains. Dirt pathways bordered by wild flowers wrapped in and around the huts like little brown worms, and villagers, who were only the size of little insects from so far up, were scurrying around going about their day.

  Beyond the village grew the lush forest, with green trees huddled together like friends hugging. The vegetation was so thick the children couldn’t see the ground for a long, long way, only the tops of the trees. And then, rising in the distance behind the forest and piercing the sky, the children saw the Shadow Tree.

  10

  THE STORY OF THE TWO TREES

  Lucy began to cry when she saw the Shadow Tree. She knew it would be there consider
ing the rest of the island was so similar to what they had created back in their garage, but her emotions overwhelmed her when she actually saw the twisted and gnarled black tree rising like an ominous monster against the blue sky. She couldn’t believe this horrible, nasty tree was real, much less the evil creatures who called it home and their beastly leader who lived down within the mud.

  Maggie came over and hugged Lucy, rubbing her back.

  Staring at it, Connor said, “It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”

  “It has grown much in these last days,” the queen said, also peering across the island. “Its power is nearly beyond defeat now. It will soon destroy the Mysteria Tree if we do not take action.”

  “It wants to destroy the good tree in the mountain?” Lucy asked. “Why would it do that?”

  The queen sighed. “As I said before, there are parts of this tale that even your father does not yet know. Certain things began to frighten him, and so he refused to develop the story. His failure to work in harmony with the Counselor left him with a cloudy image of how things came to be on this island. But now that you are here, it is time you learn the full story of the two trees this island is named for. It began with the One whose name bends all knees…”

  It took the children a moment to figure out she was talking about Jesus. This surprised them since he was real, and this story was only pretend (at least it started out as pretend). It seemed to them reality and fiction were not meant to cross. But the queen said these two things were more intertwined than they might think. It was not uncommon for the Counselor to inflame certain tales in the minds of storytellers that were based on the true history of the world, and then paint them with a brush of fiction to reveal deeper truths that are neglected and forgotten until seen in new colors.

  This, as it turned out, was the case with their father’s story, which found its origin in the Bible but chronicled events that only took place in the Realm of the Imagination, where decent and honorable fables lived. And though these fables could not be found in the true history of men, their surrounding events were woven from the same fabric and contained truths that transcended all realms, bridging them across time and space.

  She said it began on the night before his death when he journeyed to the garden with some of his disciples. Just days earlier he had come into Jerusalem, riding upon a donkey who trampled the palm leaves his adorers had laid down before him. But now those who hated him sought to kill him, and he was sad.

  The books of men, said the queen, chronicled how his friends succumbed to their exhaustion and fell asleep, leaving him alone in the darkness that shrouded the garden of trees. He prayed to his Father and cried about the shadows that fell upon the world and what would soon happen to him. An angel of light came to comfort him, but still he was sad. All this, the people knew.

  But what happened next was the part of the story hidden between the words and lines of humanity’s greatest book, only to be revealed in the Realm of the Imagination. For it was at this time that he sought out the tree that would become his cross. Having been abandoned by his disciples, and with the soldiers who would come to arrest him not far off, he finished praying and rose to his feet, so that he might approach a large oak tree. Putting his hands on it, he looked up into the branches and said, “Will you sacrifice yourself for me, dear tree?”

  The tree, now alive from the touch of the Divine One, bent over to look him in the face. “Whatever do you mean?” the tree asked.

  “Tomorrow death comes for me, but it also must come for one tree, for it is to a tree that I will be nailed. Will you be the one? Will you share this sacrifice with me? Will you allow yourself to be cut down and shaped into a cross so that I may carry you to the place of the skull and meet my death?”

  “I will not be cut down. Off with you!”

  Taking one of its branches like an arm, the oak tree swiped away the Son of Man and flung him across the garden.

  He rose slowly to his feet, dusting the earth from his cloak. Peering around the darkness of the garden, he sought a different tree, one that would be willing to sacrifice itself. Each of the other trees came alive through his penetrating gaze, but they all turned and twisted their trunks so that their backs were to him. There was not one who would meet death with him.

  The Son of Man heard the rumble of footsteps approaching. In the distance, he saw the tiny glow of torches piercing the darkness. The soldiers, led by his betrayer, were nearing. They would be upon him in minutes. His eyes watered.

  “I will go with you to the place of the skull,” a soft voice came from behind him.

  He turned and walked in the direction of the voice, curving around the larger trees. A glimmer of moonlight fell upon a small olive tree.

  “Was it you who spoke to me, little olive?” asked the Son of Man.

  “Yes, Lord. I will allow myself to be cut down and shaped into a cross. I cannot scale the hill on my own, but I will give myself to you if you promise to carry me.”

  The Son of Man approached the olive tree and placed his hands on the trunk. “It is you I will carry. And because you have done this, you will grow again in a new world where the everlasting water will flow through your roots forever. Though there will be those who hate you, glory will follow you and many will fall before you with thanks. They will love you for your sacrifice, and they will protect you all the days of their life from those who despise you.”

  At hearing this, the oak tree turned and said, “This glory you did not mention. Had you done so, I would have gladly sacrificed myself. Please, take me as your cross.”

  The Son of Man said to the oak, “True sacrifice only blossoms from faith. This one has offered himself without the knowledge of what awaits him beyond the veil. But even had you known of the glory that awaited, you still would not have offered yourself, this much I know, for trees who cherish their own roots and seek to drench them in the waters of this passing earth will never be a willing sacrifice. Yet this one, who offers to have his roots pulled up from the earth, I tell you all, his roots will never thirst again.”

  The Son of Man turned back to the small olive tree. “My captors are not far off. Will you hold me now and comfort my somber heart, so that I may have the strength to hold you tomorrow?”

  The olive tree smiled and held out its branches. The Son of Man rested against the trunk as the olive tree hugged him and stroked his head with its soft leaves.

  He composed himself and went to wake his disciples. He spoke to them but was too far off for the trees to hear. The legion of soldiers holding their torches and weapons swept into the clearing in the garden and encircled him. His betrayer approached and blistered his cheek with a traitorous kiss. As the soldiers seized him, there was a scuffle, but he commanded his followers not to fight back. A moment later, he was in chains and being dragged toward the city.

  Alone in the darkness, the olive tree grew sad and fearful of what awaited, but never doubted the decision it had made. The other trees, envious of the love the Son of Man had shown it, did not reach out with their branches to hug and console the olive. The oak tree especially grew bitter with rage and jealousy and vowed to have revenge on the little tree who would attain such glory.

  The following day the soldiers returned with axes in their hands. They laughed as they went about the garden trying to decide what tree to cut down so that their leaders could kill this man who claimed to be the King of the Jews. They came before the small olive and said, “This one here’ll do!”

  And so they began to chop it down and pull up its roots from the earth. Though the soldiers could not hear, the olive tree cried. The other trees turned their backs so that they would not have to watch as the little olive was carried off by the soldiers.

  Once back in the city, the soldiers began to cut and shave down the tree, forming into a cross. They carried it to the gateway of the Roman courthouse and laid it atop the back of the Son of Man. The tree was scared and cried, but the Son of Man whispered, “Do not fear, littl
e one. You are with me. Your sacrifice will not be in vain, for it is joined to mine.” And so he carried the tree throughout the city as hundreds gathered ‘round. Many laughed and jeered at him and the tree, or threw things at them and spit on them.

  They journeyed outside the city walls and up the hill called the Place of the Skull. The tree was laid on its back and the Son of Man atop it. The soldiers took out foot-long nails and impaled them through both his hands and feet and through the tree’s wood. They both shouted in agony. The soldiers raised the tree into the air and waited for the Son of Man to die.

  Few friends and family stood upon the hill to be there with the Son of Man—only his crying mother and a few friends—and none of the birds that used to nest in the branches of the olive tree came either. It was mostly those who hated the Son of Man that remained there watching them both die, yet still he forgave them. And after three hours of torment, the Son of Man and the little olive died, and darkness came over the land.

  The tree was eventually taken down so the Son of Man’s friends could remove him from it, taking his body away for burial. Meanwhile, the tree was tossed down the other side of the hill where it came to rest in a forgotten valley. No one except the Son of Man understood the sacrifice the tree had made. For several weeks it remained there, lifeless, until the Son of Man returned to find it. He came and laid his hands on the little olive, and to life it came once more.

  “My Lord, how is it that we are alive and that I am able to speak with you again?”

  “The Son of Man has conquered death. It shall have no more victory. The glory promised you is close at hand. Your body will remain here for others to find and venerate, but I must take your seed to another place where it will grow in the everlasting waters.”