Tree Riddles

We crossed the Bridge of Confidence and found ourselves in a deep chamber that had been hollowed out from the earth beneath the Scorched Grove.

Before us stood three gnarled trees, roots curled and twisted. Embers like burning sap glowed through cracks in their charred black bark.

The greatest of these stood in the middle, an immense oak flanked by two other mighty specimens. As we approached, its trunk creaked and groaned. Before our eyes its form changed to that of a giant two-legged treant. It stretched its limbs and the hidden fire within its bark flared brightly.

“So…”, began a voice that shook the cavern with its rumble. “I am to receive visitors?”

This seemed like no time to mince words.

“We are the Defenders of Alderheart,” I declared. “The Aspect of Fire has been freed, the Wood is in danger, and we have come for the Borealis to seal it away once more.”

“And I am Oakheart,” rumbled the treant. “I appreciate the… confidence of your claim. You know what I guard. But you do not look like… Tenders. I must ascertain your worthiness.”

“We are here on their behalf,” said Olive, and brought forth the feathered helm we had received from them weeks before. “This feather was gifted to us by a Tender. A gift of gratitude.”

Oakheart leaned forward, towering over the small Jerbeen.

“That,” said the treant, “could be anyone’s.”

“It could be,” I agreed. “But it is not.”

Oakheart straightened with the sudden crackling, popping sound of a bonfire settling.

“Tenders enjoy riddles,” said the treant. “There are three of you. Three riddles.”

We took a moment to confer.

“I don’t like it,” I said.

“Don’t worry Plume, I’m good at riddles,” said Crispin.

Olive shrugged. “Why don’t we give it a go?”

---

“I am stronger than steel, but I cannot handle the sun. What am I?”

Crispin’s eyes lit up. “It sounds like Plume!”

“What?!” I yelped. “I don’t think hibernating treants would tell riddles about me.”

“Hmm, what could it be,” Olive pondered.

“And who says I have a problem with the sun,” I muttered.

“The answer,” Crispin intoned solemnly, “is ice.”

“Correct,” rumbled Oakheart. “Given the… struggle, I will make the next one easier.”

Crispin gave himself a high-five.

“Sometimes,” I whispered to Olive, “I think we’re just holding him back.”

---

“I am the bird most associated with lifting weights. What am I?”

Crispin’s eyes lit up. “It sounds like—!”

“It’s not,” I said. But I didn’t mind the flattery.

“That is easy,” Olive agreed. “The answer is a crane.”

“Correct,” rumbled Oakheart.

---

“If you are given one, you’ll have either two or none. What am I?”

Crispin’s eyes lit up. Then quickly dimmed. He sighed.

“It’s not,” I said anyway.

We sat in silence and thought for a while. The cavern air was still and every creak of Oakheart’s bark snapped at my attention and frayed my nerves. After a while, I noticed Olive and Crispin staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s your turn,” said Olive.

“We’ve already answered ours correctly,” said Crispin.

“I didn’t agree to this,” I said. “I don’t even like riddles.”

Crispin patted my shoulder companionably. “It’s okay, they’re not for everyone.”

“Um,” I said. “I think it’s something abstract.”

Oakheart leaned in towards me.

“I think the answer is,” I gritted my teeth, “permission?”

Oakheart shook his head. “A choice.”

“Good job this was a warmup,” said Crispin. “We’re ready for the real thing now.”

“Yes…”, Oakheart shook with deep groaning laughter. “You may view it as a warmup… for what is to come.”

The whole chamber shook as the other two treants pulled their roots free from the packed earth and untwisted their limbs into threatening stances. Oakheart backed towards them and lowered his branches into a guard.

“Prove yourselves,” Oakheart ordered, and together the treants advanced on us.

I felt my heart begin to race and my rage, my old friend, sprang up within me. I crowed loudly and charged forward to meet the challenge.

“Why did it have to be riddles?!” I cried and swung my axe wildly, chipping pieces of bark and small branches asunder.

“Get them, Plume,” Olive shouted encouragingly. She was clutching a curious poison bottle of Hue Man Strength with an expression that said she would throw it as soon as she understood where their mouths were.

“Flee.” Crispin held out a paw and pointed to one of the flanking treants. It turned and lumbered away to the back of the cavern.

Oakheart’s branches raked across me and I stumbled, trying to duck away from the onslaught. With my guard down, Oakheart tore a boulder free from the ground and heaved it towards where Olive and Crispin were standing.

Crispin’s mouth was frozen open in surprise as the rock bore down on them. It was Olive who acted, pushing Crispin out of its path and throwing herself into harms way. There was an awful crack as it knocked her backwards into a heap where she lay, still and unmoving.

“Olive!” I cried and redoubled my efforts. My axe was a blur, thudding and crashing to keep the treants at bay, away from my friends.

“Don’t worry, Olive, you’re going to be alright,” said Crispin. He pre-chewed a medicinal toffee and dropped it into her mouth. With Crispin’s help she staggered to her feet.

“Quick, my lute,” said Olive. Crispin hooked it off the back of her pack and placed it carefully into her arms.

Olive narrowed her eyes. “Take that,” she said, and strummed.

The lute strings crackled with sparks of lightning and a gigantic boom of thunder sprang from the little instrument. A sonic wave of force blasted into the boulder and knocked it back the way it came, spinning through the air towards the treants.

I stepped quickly aside and ducked as the boulder slammed into Oakheart and ricocheted off him and into another treant, knocking it back and pinning it to the ground.

Crispin took a moment to consider his next spell.

“After that, he’s probably already deaf.”

He raised his paws again and, with rapid movements, guided a thick and murky cloud of darkness out of the shadows to surround Oakheart’s head. The treant stopped its assault for a moment, and swung out an uncertain branch.

Olive scampered past me, the smaller treant in close pursuit. She stopped with enough distance to make a sharp shriek that shook leaves from her pursuer and fractured its bark into cracks that ran all the way down to its roots.

Unfortunately, it also drew Oakheart’s attention. The great treant slammed its limbs out towards Olive, narrowly missing her once, twice, but the third time connecting and knocking her backwards through the air almost to the side of the chamber.

Crispin appeared at my side. “You can do this,” he said.

“Help Olive out,” I replied.

With that, he was gone. His paw left a glowing gold print on my armour.

I harried Oakheart with all I had left. I struck quickly and darted back, weaving between the crashing branches and grasping roots, taking full advantage of his temporary blindness to break through his defences.

Off to the side I heard the squeaky pop of a potion being uncorked.

“There…” said Oakheart and turned toward the noise.

I struck him furiously in what I could only suppose to be his back. The great treant swayed, ready to topple. Oakheart took another step, then I saw the glint of a rapier blade slashing and the mighty tree fell to its knees.

Olive grimaced and flourished her blade.

“Enough…” Oakheart breathed. “I have seen enough.”

---

We stood before him, weapons sheathed but wary. The other two treants lay forgotten where they had been felled. Crispin waved one paw through the air and the shadows that surrounded Oakheart’s head vanished.

“I did not like that,” said Oakheart pointedly.

“Was that proof enough?” I asked.

Oakheart lowered his head wearily into a respectful bow.

“As we fought… I watched you. You each have merit. Each showed will and courage.” Oakheart reached with twisted branches to a shattered section of his trunk. “You are worthy indeed… I bequeath the Borealis to you.”

Oakheart’s branches pulled apart and, with a visceral splitting sound, tore open his chest to reveal a dark hollow within a mass of fiery sap. In the hollow was a delicate staff glowing with the cold light of winter.

“Protecting the Borealis has been my only purpose,” murmured Oakheart, the brightness of his sap fading and cooling. “To unseal it, the source of my life, well…”

“Others have given up so much that we might succeed,” I sighed. “If you are certain, then we will try to live up to your sacrifice.”

Oakheart reached into the hollow, brought forth the Borealis, and placed it gently on the ground before us. Then he leaned backwards and breathed a sigh, perhaps of relief.

He seemed to smile. “I am very old…”

“What, thirty?” asked Crispin.

His last words were a chuckle. “Older.”