The Solitary Tree

A story of who a Whispering Hoods who befriend an angel.

Tales of Whispering Oaks

The Solitary Tree

Draft_2

By: Chase L. Currie

 

1438 in the year of our Lord

Autumn

 

The dark rainy days of Autumn had long come to the realm of Sherwood Forest, and on a good day, Charity Glassleaf would be enjoying the chill but not today. Today the Whispering Hood was fighting for her life.

                Charity paw fell on the tree while her other paw pressed hard against her side. She kept the long dagger in her wound. She knew if she pulled it free she would bleed to death in no time. She couldn’t die, not now, not out here in the wildness.

                She pushed herself from the tree and followed the smell of smoke. She almost didn’t believe there was smoke on the air this far out in the forest. No one lived out here, she thought, but there was the smell, a sweet, warm smell of meat being cooked on an iron stove.

                 Why was someone out here?

What were they doing?

And the more important question were they a part of the Spellcrafter cult she finished hunting an hour ago. She was sure she got them all, it was her duty, and the sole point of her rank as a Whispering Hood.

As a Whispering Hood, she was to hunt and kill anyone practicing magic in the realm; the magic that killed her younger brother, her only brother.

One of his friends talked her brother into playing a game which involved magic, and the game turned deadly. The magic took her brother’s life for the spell the Spellcrafter wanted to cast. The spell needed a soul to be used.

The friend ran away, disappeared, and the next day Charity joined the Hoods giving her word she would find him and kill him.

Charity looked down at her paw painted in a crimson hue of her blood, and all she could think about was how good the meat was going to taste if she lived.

The smoke thickens in the air, and she dropped her black cloak around her wound to hide it. The black cloak and hood with the Royal blue underbelly were a clear sign of her rank. It was the only thing all Hoods shared, that in their hatred of magic.

Anyone at first glance would know she was a Hood and not to mess with her.

The pain ran up her side as she stepped around a tree to find an old black tree in front of her eyes. An ash tree with giant roots twisting into the earth, a tree she didn’t think was in the realm anymore. She was sure they were all chopped down to make black bows ages ago, but there was at least one which survived.

But the tree with its dying gray-blue leaves wasn’t what caught Charity off guard; it was the orange door at the bottom and windows building into the trunk of the massive tree. There was a small brick chimney coming out the side with smoke pouring out of it. Someone was home and cooking dinner.

She glanced down at the handle in her side and then back at the door.

Could she risk it?

Did she have a choice?

Charity stumble forward making her way to the door. She went to knock on it, but the world started spinning and her head did the knocking for her paw.

 

~

 

A few hours later Charity started to come too in a soft bed beside a warm fire, and her wound had been clean along with fresh bandages added to her side. She sat up with pain shooting through her side and found her light leather armor, cloak, and weapons too far across the room for her to reach without getting out of bed.

                She glanced around the room seeing stacks and towers of books long with everything else being clean, very clean for being a tree house. Most of the time trees house was dirty and extremely difficult to keep clean. Most the house she been in had a strong odor of sap, but this room smelled of warm meat and nothing else.

                She sighed a little biting back the pain when she heard footsteps coming up to the room. There was a soft knock from the other side of the door and then a silent wait.

                “Yes?” Charity asked not sure how they knew she was awake.

                “May I come in?” the voice asked.

                “I believe this is your house,” Charity said. “You can do what you like.”

                A dark brown squirrel stuck his head into the room. The squirrel had nasty scars covering his face from one side to the other. It looked as if he had been whipped all over his long face leaving deep trenches in his clean fur.

                He held up a plate of juicy meat and fried apples saying, “I brought you some dinner.”

                “Thank you,” Charity said eying the food. Most squirrels were not too nice to a Hood either out of the fear or out of hatred.  Most of the squirrels would look the other way when a Whispering Hoods came to their door.

                “Who are you?” She asked as he slowly made his way into the room.

                “I am Ansel Tallstaff the 3^rd,” He told her. “I am a Sword Saint, and you are?”

                “Charity Glassleaf, a Whispering Hood,” She said.

                “That much I gather,” Ansel said setting the plate of food down on the nightstand. “Your wounds were pretty bad.”

                “Yeah,” She said taking the plate and the fork with a wince of pain. “The Spellcrafter got me right before he died.”

                “By your sword I guess.”

                Charity said nothing but give him a flat stare. “He was a Spellcrafter,” Charity coughed. “It was my duty.”

                Ansel nodded a little pawing over a cup of water to her. “I know the duties of the Hoods,” He said as Charity took a drink of water. “And you are a little young to be one, might I say.”

                She hissed a little, more out of agony than anything else, “The Hoods don’t care about my age. I’m good at what I do.”

                She fought back a few tears trying to stay seated up. She bites back the longing to cry out from the tubing hole in her side.

                “Let me have this,” Ansel said taking the cup from her. “The blade of was coated in poison called Black Bark, real nasty stuff, but I’ve to deal with the poison before.”

                “You have the antidote?” Charity asked leaning back on the pillows.

                “Oh,” He smiled at her, “I’ve already given it to you.” He shrugged a little. “You are alive, so I think it is working well.”

                “That is good,” She said softly feeling sleep rush over her. She glanced around the room and then asked trying not to pass out, “You like to read?”

                “You can say that,” He said laughing a bit pulling the blanket over her.

                “You live here alone?”

                “Sort of,” Ansel told her before she drifted off to sleep.

 

~

 

Charity sleep for a few days without waking up much. The poison and the antidote fought a nasty battle inside her. A battle she wished was over on the fifth day of rolling in bed.

“You have a fever,” Ansel said beside her bed. “It should pass by the end of the week.”

“Are you a Spellcrafter?” She asked in the heat of a fever dream.

“No.”

“Why did you kill, Jasper?” Charity asked with tears rolling down her cheek.

Ansel rose to his feet planning on walking until Charity shot out to grab his paw. He looked back at her, and she cried, “Why did it have to happen? He " they " were just children.”

Ansel slowly removed her paw and tried to smile down at her. For a moment, she saw massive white wings behind him, and she asked before fading back to sleep, “Are you an angel?”

She slept hard for the next few nights, and at some point, in time she woke to a soft calming voice telling her, “You will live, my friend.”

She knew it wasn’t Ansel voice but someone else; this squirrel voice was softer than Ansel and smoother than anyone she has ever heard before. It was as if he was born of words and speaking them was like breathing to him.

“Who are you?” Charity asked.

“A friend.”

“A friend of who’s?” Charity asked.

“A friend to you now.”

“How do I know this is not a lie?” She questions him still feeling the effect of the fever. She felt him smile at her, a smile which held all the glory of life in it and was a smile she would never see again.

“You are the angel,” She realized.

“Your brother wishes you to know he loves you dearly.”

“What?” She asked shooting up from her bed looking around the dark room to see nothing, nothing but books and darkness.

She fell back to the bed chopping the angel up to the hard fever. She rolled over facing the wall closing her eyes and falling back to sleep. When she woke back up her throat was as dry as a desert, and her cup was empty. She was growing tired of being locked in this bed anyway. She slowly climbed out of the soft of bed feeling her limbs being weak and took a moment to gather a little bit of strength. Once her body had built up what she could, she headed for the door.

She expected the door to be locked but to her surprise, it wasn’t. She opens the door glancing at her sword against the wall thinking she might need it, but a whisper told her to leave it. If Ansel wanted her dead, he could done it a long time ago.

She stepped out into the hall to find more rows and towers of books, no pictures, just books. There was no other door in the hall line with books just some stairs leading up to more of the tree and stairs leading to the bottom of the house.

There was a little bit of light dancing on the wall from the bottom of the tree, so she went the way of the light. She used the wall as a brace leaning against it trying to walk. She made it half way down when she heard voices coming up from the living room area. Two different voices were carrying on a lovely conversation as if they were old friends. It was close to dinner time, and the two squirrels chatted away like they had been talking for hours.

But Ansel said he lived alone, could he have been lying? Why would he lie about living alone? Could the other squirrel be a Spellcrafter and Ansel has been hiding them the whole time?

It would explain how he knew about the poison and the antidote. The Spellcrafter could have been the one to save her, a way to win her over to not kill him or her, but it wouldn’t matter. She was a Whispering Hood, and she vowed to kill all Spellcrafters. It was the duty of her rank, and there was no questioning it. It was a done deal; there was no way around it.

She glanced back up the steps thinking about going to get her weapon. She might need it now, but before she could make up her mind, Ansel stuck his head up the stairs and said, “Charity, it’s good to see you are up and about.”

“Yeah,” She said stepping down slowly into the room to find only Ansel heading back to his chair and his book. He sat down picking up his books before she made it fully to the last step. “Who were you talking to?” She asked him.

He looked around and said with a grin, “No one.”

 

~

 

Charity glanced around the small room with an iron stove, two reading chairs, and books, so many books. She almost wondered if the tree was made of books or how the wood felt about having so many pages in it. Was it wrong to have books in a tree house?

                She moved her eyes around one more time trying to pick up any sign of an invisible spell but nothing. Normally, a Shadow Walker spell would leave a little outline of the caster, but there were only the fire and the smell of the wood Brunning. No one was using the spell.

                She leaned against the wall a little more fighting back the desired to sit down. Ansel jumped from his chair asking, “You alright?”

                “Still hurting,” She told him waving him away.

                “Let me help,” Ansel said walking over to her and trying to help her to a chair.

                “No,” She said pushing him away. He stepped back holding his paws up. “Who were you talking to?” She asked.

                “No one.”

                “You are lying,” Charity growled at him. “I heard two voices in here. I know what I heard. So, who was it?”

                Ansel backed up from her and said, “No one. It is your fever playing with your mind.”

                “No " no,” she said shaking her head with her body starting to give away. Ansel caught her before she hit the floor and she helped to the other chair.

                “Let me get you some water,” He said disappearing into a small side room. “But with you up and about,” He yelled back at her, “is a good sign.”

                Charity closed her eyes and then opened it them again trying to stay awake. She held her burning head in her paws looking around the room hoping to see something. She stopped her eyes when she saw the angel standing in the door way. The angel smiled at her as Ansel came back into the room.

                “Here you go,” He said giving her the cup.

                “Ansel?” She asked looking dead at him.

                “Yes?”

                “I think the fever is making me see things.”

                “Like?” He asked with a raise eye brow.

                “An angel.” She looked back at the door. “There an angel standing there.”

                “Oh,” Ansel said following her eyes to the tall, perfect angel. “Have you seen him before?”

                “A couple of nights ago.”

                “Well,” Ansel said with a long sigh, “he didn’t tell me that.”

                “What?” She asked not taking her eyes from the angel. “You see him too?”

                “Yes, yes” Ansel huffed. “That is Iahhel. He likes to come during the fall. He enjoys the changing colors of the leaves.”

                Iahhel nodded at her then waved good bye as she stepped out into the cold world.

                “Where is he going?” Charity asked

                “For a walk, I imagine,” Ansel said walking over to his chair across the room and took his seat back. “They like to come and visit me,” He explained. “Normally, they stay for a while, but Iahhel has been here the longest.”

                Charity turns to look at him seeing the staff of a Sword Saint; a staff of twisted wood, looked to be made from an ash tree, and at the bottom of the staff, sheath, was the sword made from ulfberht steel. An unbreakable steel which only a Sword Saint could will. They were the only ones who knew how to forge the steel, but the art had been lost a long time ago. There were only a few of the staffs in existence.

                “They?” She asked looking away from the staff to his eyes.

                He grinned. “Yes, they. Many angels visited my home for some reason. I have never asked why, if you must know.”

                “Is that why you out here alone?” She asked.

                “No,” He shook his head. “I don’t like cities, too noisy, and I prefer the chatter of the trees. I like my isolation. The more I’m alone, the more I can have time with the AllFather.”

                Charity sat forward and asked, “Have you meet Him?”

                Ansel laughed. “Oh no, I haven’t seen him just his massager. The angels stop here for my tea and conversation. Sadly, I don’t think my tea is all that good but don’t tell them that.”

 

~

 

Charity sat back feeling the fever catching her mind in a spinning flame making her wish to drink some more cool water hoping the water would put out the fire out for a bit, but there was no such luck. “I can’t believe this is real. I must be going mad. The poison is causing crazy effects on me.”

                Ansel laughed again. “I thought I was going mad to the first time an angel showed up at my doorstep.”

                “I don’t know what to do with this,” She told him. “How do I go about my life with this knowledge?”

                “Did you not have faith before this night?” He asked.

                “I did,” she said. “Maybe a little less than I would like but I had some.”

                “Then live your life the same,” Ansel said. “Just let your faith grow because faith is not about rather the AllFather is real or not, that is the easy part, but rather if you trust Him or not.”

                Charity stared at him for a moment letting his words sink into her mind.

                “Do you trust Him?” Ansel asked.

                Charity looked at the door almost hoping to see Iahhel there, but he wasn’t there. She didn’t look away from the door as she said, “No, not really.”

                “Why?” Ansel asked not helping himself.

                “He took my younger brother from this world,” Charity solemnly said.

                “Did He?” Ansel counter. “The AllFather came down from the Heavens and took your brother away with Him?”

                Charity turns to gaze at the Sword Saint. “No.”

                “Ah,” Ansel said with a tight nod, “Then someone else, did it?”

                “Yes,” She said flatly. “A low-ranking Deathcrafter convince my brother and his friend to partake in a spell. The spell killed them both. “

                “So, it wasn’t the AllFather who did it then.”

                “He could have stopped it,” She growled at him. “He could have come down and saved them both.”

                “He could have,” Ansel agreed. “I’m sure He could have, and then He could have stopped all the sin in the world. Then stop your ability to choose between good and evil. He could punish you for all your sins too. Like the fact, you told your father you would watch over your brother but lie about it.” Charity was a shock at the truth. A truth she didn’t want to admit to anyone most of all herself. “So yes, the AllFather could have stopped it all, but He allowed you and your brother the freedom of free will, and with that freedom one day you can ask Him to forgive you, one day, maybe.”

                “How?” She barely asked.

                “You said far more than you thought you did in your fever,” Ansel said. “You told me a lot.”

                Charity sat up a little and said, “But my brother is still dead.”

                “Sadly, yes,” Ansel said, “but he walks the halls of Heaven now, right?”

                Charity thought back to what Iahhel said to her the other night. He told her, her brother was in Heaven with all the angels. She didn’t say a word.

                “He is,” Ansel answer for her. “So maybe your grief is more about your selfishness then not trusting our God. You want your brother pulled from the joys of Heav---”

                “How dare you,” She interrupted. “What do you know about loss or grief?”

                Ansel grinned a little and glanced away. “Oh child,” He said almost not talking to her, “only if you knew.”

                She started to hiss to word but was stopped when Ansel calmly said, “My family died in the Great Sickness of 1427.” He turned to face her again. “All of them.”

                Charity sharply looked away from him and then down at her cup where she said, “I’m sorry.”

                “There is no need to be,” Ansel said. “You didn’t know, and your anger is just. It does not bother me at all.”

 

~

 

“So, all I have to do is trust the AllFather,” Charity said with a heavy sigh.

                “That is all,” Ansel said, “but that is a lifelong quest, my friend.”

                “You think I’ll see my brother again?” She asked fighting back the idea of crying over her brother’s face locked in her head.

                “I do,” Ansel told her. “But I do wonder if it is going to matter when we stand in front of the AllFather. We are going to get to experience His glory knowing they got to do the same. Is it going to matter at all how much we miss others.”

                “It is a nice thought,” Charity said with a sly grin.

                “May I ask you something,” Ansel question her.

                “Yeah, sure.”

                “Is your brother’s death the reason you joined the Hoods?” Ansel asked.

                “Yes.”

                “Is it out of revenge?” He asked

                She stared at him for a moment and then said, “I don’t think so.”

                “Then why did you join?” He asked.

                “I don’t want anyone to suffer the way my family did,” Charity said coolly. “If I can stop just one family from burying a child than I’ll die happy.”

                Ansel nodded not saying a word.

                Charity drank some of her water and then turn to look at the door again and asked, “You think he’ll come back?”

                “I don’t know,” Ansel said. “I’m sure he will. He does seem to like you.”

                “He likes me?” She asked.

                “Yup,” he said. “Maybe, he’ll join you on your quest.”

                “Wait, what?”

                “He might follow you around for a bit,” Ansel said.

                “Do I get a say in that?”

                “You won’t know he was with you,” Ansel explained to her. “Unless he wanted you to know.”
                “I’m not sure I like that,” Charity said.
                He shrugged a little and said, “Well, if he comes back you can talk to him about it then.” Charity sighed. “How are you feeling?” Ansel asked.
                “Tired,” Charity said, “but good.”
                “Would you like to go back to bed?” The Sword Saint asked.
                “No, no,” Charity said too tired of being in bed to even think about going back into it. They didn’t talk much more, and a moment later she fell fast to sleep. It was a nice rest in a comfortable chair then bed. She never wanted to be in a bed again.

                She woke up a few hours later in the same chair but in an empty room. Ansel was nowhere to be found and the fire in the stone fireplace had started to fade away. She moved to get up but found herself a little too weak to stand. She sat there gathering her energy to rise from the warm chair.

                “How are you feeling?” Iahhel asked from somewhere in the room.

                “I’m fine,” she said looking around for him but couldn’t find him yet.

                “That is good,” His warm voice said.

                “Where are you?” Charity asked.

                “Here,” he said appearing in the chair Ansel once sat in and she stared at him as he smiled back at her.

                “Ansel said you might want to travel with me,” Charity said.

                Iahhel nodded and said, “I was thinking about it.”

                “Are you going to ask me if it is all right?” She questioned him.

                “Do you not want me to join you?” He counters her question with a question with a slight c**k of his head.

                “You know my rank,” Charity responded. “You know I do some hard things, things an angel might not want to see.”

                “I have seen the pits of Hell,” He explained. “I have also seen the deepest darkness of the hearts of squirrels.”

                “Still doesn’t mean I want you to see my darkness,” Charity told him.

                “I understand,” Iahhel said, “but my duty is to watch and learn about the squirrels of this Realm, and I wish to do it with you.”

                “Why?”

                “Because,” He said calmly, “I have seen your heart, and I know what choices you have to make will be the right one.”

                Charity said nothing for a moment thinking what it would be like to have an angel traveling with her. “Will you help me when I need it?” She asked. It would be a winning weapon to have an angel on her side, and the knowledge, he is there.

                Iahhnel glanced away and put a paw under his chin. “No,” He said, “I can’t.”

                “Can’t or won’t?”

                “I won’t break the laws of Heaven,” Iahhel said never looking at her. “So, no, I cannot tolerate interference.”

                She couldn’t help but asked, “And if you did?”

                He looked at her for a moment and said, “I’ll no longer be an angel. I’ll lose my halo.”

                “Oh.”

                “Yes,” Iahhel said, “It is not a good thing at all.”

                “Well,” Charity shrugged and said, “if you wish to join me then so be it.”

                Iahhel smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”

                “Don’t thank me yet,” Charity told him. “I do not do the easy quest and some of my foes not quite evil.”

                “I’m sure I’m going to learn a lot,” Iahhel said.

                It was another month before Charity could leave Ansel house. The poison was even deader than she ever imagined but sooner or later she had to get back to her duty. She packed her things, thanked the warrior monk, and set off back into the Realm. As she traveled she had the feeling Iahhel was with her, unseen, but still, like a cat on her heels. He was with her until he was called back home or until the end of her life.

                Charity hoped he was ready for this adventure. She hoped she was ready for it as well.