Red Leaves and the Living Token

by Benjamin David Burrell

  "Yes. She's the worst case scenario. She was the first to show the decline and has so far contracted the farthest."

  The Clan Lord stared at the old tree then redirected his gaze to the young scientist in the jacket. "OK. So what are we saying? The rest of the trees are going to hit fifteen percept when they get as old as this tree?"

  "With some margin of error, yes, we believe so."

  "So you have to tear these out and plant new trees? I'm not sure I understand..."

  "The life cycle of the trees isn't the concern." A middle aged woman interrupted. Valance and the Director both turned.

  Lord Valance extended a hand towards the new voice. "Clansman this is Doctor Bihinlem. She's been heading our alternatives research. Go ahead doctor."

  The Doctor nodded in greeting. "What concerns us is the distribution of our production load across the age range of our trees. These relatively few older trees produce almost half of our total yield. As the director said, one produces as much as ten younger trees."

  "OK. I'm still not sure I see the problem. Won't all your young trees grow into large high producing old trees?" He asked.

  "Yes, naturally that should occur..."

  "What do you mean, should?"

  "It'd be better if we showed you." Lord Valance motioned for the Clansmen to follow him, as he carefully stepped over the fallen dead branches from the giant tree.

  He led the group through more rows of the massive old growth trees. It seemed so strange to him; they were such immense creatures; they looked so healthy and strong. In many ways, they were the symbol of his vast empire, his power and vitality.

  The change was abrupt as they crossed over into the younger section of the orchard. From one row of trees to the next, the giants shrank to nearly a quarter the size. Their branches weren't even tall enough to step under.

  "These are the oldest of the next expansion of trees. They were planted a decade or so after the older ones." Lord Valance explained.

  "Only ten years younger? They can grow that much in ten years?" The Clan Lord asked.

  “No they can't. The size difference between these and the old growth represents about fifty years of time.”

  “I don't follow.”

  “These trees, for all intents and purposes, are as large as they'll ever be.” Valance explained.

  “But that's...”

  "The simple matter is this," he paused, "For some reason that we cannot explain, our younger trees are not growing to what we would consider a mature size."

  "Has this ever happened before?"

  "Not that we're aware."

  “Are there other orchards that have been effected in this way?”

  Lord Valance took a moment before he answered. "There are no orchards that have escaped this problem."

  "All of your orchards? That’s more than half of our supply of Manea!"

  He cleared his throat. "Not all of our orchards. All of the world's orchards. All Manea orchards have been effected."

  "What?" He stammered. "How could that be?"

  "We're trying to understand that."

  "So what does all this mean? Have you planted enough new trees to make up for the fact that they don't make as much as they used to? Is that what we're up against? Planting a lot more trees?”

  “Manea does not grow everywhere as I'm sure you're well aware. Otherwise, people would have it in their back yard. It's strangely fickle.”

  “Right. Right.”

  “We’ve been unable to discover any substantial new land that will support an orchard. We’ve pursued this avenue vigorously, I assure you. And if we had missed anything our competitors would surely have found it.”

  “So the old trees are dying and not only are the younger trees too small to make up the difference but you can't plant any more of them?”

  “Yes.”

  "But what about grafting the plants or cross breeding. Can't something else be done?" He asked.

  "Yes. We've made some progress in that area." Doctor Bihinlem answered. "That's my area of specialty, alternate breeds."

  "And?"

  "The grafts have potential, but even if we had a perfect tree now, it would take twenty years to wipe the land and grow a mature orchard." She answered.

  "But we don't have twenty years, right. Is that were this is going? How long do we have? Five?" The Clan Lord asked.

  "Six months to a year." Lord Valance added. "Before the decline in the old trees causes major disruptions in supply."

  "Your business will be ruined!"

  "If the decline continues at that pace, there won't be anyone left to sell too." Lord Valanced added.

  "Lets not be overly dramatic. Besides, what do you expect me to do about any of this?" The clansmen stammered, not making any effort to hide his outrage.

  "Talk to the other Clan Lords. We have a plan." Lord Valance answered calmly.

  -

  Emret heard the click of the door that signaled someone coming in. He wiggled and pushed himself up to a sitting position as Moslin shut the door behind her.

  “How we doing today?”

  “Same as yesterday..." He adjusted his blankets, "...And the day before, and you know… the day before.”

  Moslin smiled and sat down on the bed next to him. She set the large green book down beside her. “Do you want to read a little today?”

  He let out a depressed sigh. “No not really.”

  “No?” She said in surprise. “You’ve been hounding me for the last two weeks to read at every available moment. Now suddenly you don’t want to read?”

  “Sorry. I don’t just feel like it today.”

  “I sense a little discouragement,” She joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “No, I’m fine.” He answered, not catching the sarcasm. “Maybe we could read this one for a bit.” He leaned over to the side table and tried to grab a smaller red book.

  She turned and picked it up for him. “Ah, we’re finally getting around to reading one of the books your dad bought for you. He’ll be happy his effort didn’t go to waste.” She jokes.

  He forced a smile and nodded his head.

  “You don’t seem that excited about this book either,” she recognized.

  "What's to be excited about? It's just something somebody else made up.”

  She re-adjusts her position to face him a little more. “Books aren’t just something somebody made up.” She paused. “Well, maybe some of them are but not all of them.”

  He looked up at her, the first sign of life showing on his face since she arrived. “So how do you tell if the book you’re reading wasn’t just made up by who ever wrote it?”

  “Well…” she took a moment. “There are some books that are based on researched fact. School books, for example, they show you at the end of the chapter where they got their information, so that you can double check it.

  “Biographies, for another example, are about certain people’s lives. Usually based on interviews with the person or people who knew him or her. Then there are historians who study records of events in the past and write about them.

  “And then of course there are books like this one..." She held up the smaller red book that they were about to read, “...that are stories based on someone’s thoughts and experiences, and even though they may not be something that actually happened, they can still be terribly meaningful.”

  He squinted at her skeptically.

  “The people that write them do so in a way to express something that they’ve found to be real and meaningful to them. But instead of just telling you in a text book way that a+b=c, they take you through a life experience with them and show you what its like to have that happen. You get to draw your own meaning from sharing that experience.”

  He furrowed his brow, trying to grasp the idea.

  “Say I were to ask you what it would be like to raise two twin boys. What would you say?” She asked.

  He looked up at her, then glanced away. “I don’t know.”
/>
  “Well, if you wanted to know what it’d be like to be a parent of two little babies at once you could read someone’s story about it. They would take you through the experience of child birth, staying up all night with them, and trying to figure out how to feed them when both were hungry at the same time. They could share how much fun they had watching them both learn to hold their heads up and then sit up and crawl. Even though you’re just a boy yourself, when you read the story you get to be the parent and see things how a parent has seen them.”

  He nods his head. “I think that makes sense.”

  She put the red book aside and picked up the larger tattered green book. “But its my guess that you’re not talking about books in general. I’m guessing that you want to know about this book in particular. Whether or not this book is actual fact or simply made up.”

  He stared back at her waiting patiently for her to continue.

  “Are there sources of information that can be verified? Possibly. Are there historical records that could be cross referenced? It would take a little work. It's possible. Are there scholars who could tell us if the book is consistent with what they believe the historical facts are? Maybe.

  “But really, your concerns and questions aren’t actually about this book either?” She continued.

  They aren’t? He thought, surprised. He was pretty sure they were.

  “This is about you trying to wrap your head around whats happening to you. This is about you being thrown towards the edge of a cliff, and you not knowing why, or who's doing it. This is about you wanting this all to make sense.

  “This book has some ideas about all that. Can they be proven, cross referenced and verified? No. That makes your dad uncomfortable. He doesn't want you to get wrapped up in something that isn't true. I can understand that.”

  She puts the green book down on the side table. “So its you’re choice. The book offers the idea that the world is not lost in chaos; that we haven't simply been thrown into the wind, waiting to see where we might land, that there is order in everything, structure, that there are patterns that extend beyond this world and this life, even though we may not see or understand them, that we are not just on a globe, hurdling through space at a million miles per hour, completely out of control, waiting to crash into the next immovable object in our path.

  “If those kinds of ideas appeal to you, then read the book. No one can tell you if its right or wrong. You have to decide that for yourself. It's up to you to find the meaning in the book by experiencing the stories as you read them.”

  Emret processed this, reflecting on the stories she'd read to him so far. The most compelling of those was about a young boy called up to fight a monster. How did that fit into what she was explaining? He wondered.

  He tilts his head to the side slightly, then asks, “the story about the boy who fights the monster?”

  “Yes?”

  “How was that story about life being full of order and purpose?”

  “Very good question,” She admitted. “How does your own life fit into that order and purpose? How can that story help you understand your own relationship to this life? The story is a repeating pattern. Not a historical account of something that happened just once. It explains a pattern that we may fit into in one way or another and in different ways at different times. The structure of that pattern may help us to understand the structure of our own life, the choices that are available to us. Sometimes we are not even aware of them until they are pointed out.”

  He follows through the analysis out loud. “This boy, who is called up to fight the monster. What choice does that represent? What great order does reading that give to my life?”

  I can't answer that question for you.

  He looks down, not happy with the answer

  “When you were excited about reading it, what was it that you liked so much?” She asked.

  He looked at her firmly. Moisture forming in his eyes.

  “The boy wins! Everybody says he’ll die, but he doesn’t. He wins.” He answered.

  “Well, there you go.” She patted his leg. “That pattern has meaning to you.”

  -

  Handers clicked open the door to his son’s room and pushed through, finding a very familiar sight. Moslin was sitting on the bed next to Emret. He looked around for the over-sized green book she usually had open but didn’t see it. They both looked up at his arrival.

  “Hi Dad.”

  “Where's Rinacht?” Raj asked.

  “We sent him to look for you.” Emret replied.

  “Oh.” That was strange, Raj thought. He wondered where he’d gone. He set some food down on the corner table and moved in closer to the bed to give Emret a kiss on the head. On the side table behind Moslin, he noticed the big green book. So it was here after all, he thought.

  “What’re ya guys reading?”

  “We were actually just talking this time. For a change.” Moslin answered.

  “Oh?” Raj said, his attention still focused on the book.

  She got up off the bed and grabbed her book.

  “Hey”. Emret protested.

  “Sorry, its your fathers turn for some attention.” She patted him on the head then smiled at Handers.

  “You don't look so good. Everything OK?” She asked.

  Handers didn’t meet her gaze, just stared at the book. They were just talking? He thought. But she still brought the book to read even though he’d politely asked her to read other things more times than he could remember. She noticed that he was staring and followed his eyes down to the book.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment,” he asked, motioning her towards the door.

  “Sure.” She answered hesitantly then followed him out the door.

  Handers waited for her to pass then closed the door slowly behind her, waiting for the click. She turned and leaned up against the wall holding the book behind her.

  “I know, I know. You want him to read other things.” She started to apologize.

  “I think maybe if you didn’t bring it with you it might be easier for him to choose other things to read.” He interjected.

  “No, you’re right. You’re right. It’s just… I have a hard time saying no to him. You know? He’s stuck in that bed and it's the only thing that seems to make him happy.”

  “Well I guess that's kind of the problem. I didn't want him getting obsessed with it. Looks like it’s a little to late.”

  “I know, I'm sorry.”

  He shifted his weight and paused for a breath. “What is it that's so appealing?” He asked.

  She flipped open the book and stopped on a two page illustration of a young boy holding a white glowing sword.

  “Well, the stories he's most interested in are all about a young boy who’s sort of the least likely hero candidate yet ends up becoming the hero anyway.”

  “That doesn’t sound to bad,” Raj admitted.

  “He’s small and gangly and doesn’t really have a whole lot going for him. Yet when his village is threatened by a demon he’s the only one who volunteers to try to fight it.”

  “Courage. Thats good.” He added.

  “Everyone thinks the boy will fail. That he’ll die. But he doesn’t. He wins, and he lives.”

  “How does he do that?” He asked.

  “Well… The story says that he had a firm belief that no matter what he was up against if he trusted in the power of the Reds they would deliver him. And in the story, despite facing impossible circumstances, the Reds not only saved him but helped him turn away the demon.”

  She finished the story without making eye contact, as though she already knew he’d disapprove of the conclusion.

  “So the boy overcomes death by divine power?” He asked, agitation already creeping into his voice.

  “Well, its symbolic...” She tried to explain.

  “You don't see the problem with this?”

  “No. I don't.” She defended firmly.

  “What happens when t
he things in that story don't happen for him in real life? He's building hope and expectations in something that can’t possibly happen.” He demanded.

  “The expectations and relationships in the story go beyond life and death. If the boy in the story had died in the end, he still would have succeeded. That was the point of the story.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Handers argued.

  “Because he trusted in the Reds, they changed who the boy was. They helped him become more than he ever could’ve on his own. They gave him courage, confidence, strength. If he had died at the end, it wouldn’t have mattered because the change had already happened. He would’ve faced that moment of death with a hero’s heart, regardless of the outcome.

  “What your son needs, what your son wants, more than anything, what he’s searching desperately to find, is some courage to face his own death. He’s scarred, Raj. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him. So I bring him these stories every day because he tells me that when he reads them he isn’t afraid.” She explained.

  “Moslin, this is what you get out of these stories. This is your interpretation. Emret is just a boy. He doesn’t understand that things are not always meant in a literal way. If he became obsessed about a story where the boy is saved from death through a miraculous power and then suddenly you noticed his fear had gone away, wouldn’t it be possible he’s just putting the two together? I mean, how do you know what's going on in his mind? How can you say he isn’t thinking that if he believes hard enough he’ll be saved too? And that’s why he isn’t afraid.

  “How long before he figures out the miracle isn’t going to happen for him. What do I tell him then? Can’t you see how much more difficult this is making things? Not just for him? But for me?”

  “I’m doing the best I can to help him.” She said.

  “Well I don’t think you’re helping. In fact, I think it would be best if you stopped helping him all together.” Raj turned away as he finished, “I’m going to ask that you not be assigned to my son any longer.”

  Moslin's mouth dropped a little in reaction. She turned and cleared her throat trying to regain composure. “You only get one chance at this with your son. Don't screw it up!” The words came out of her mouth like venom. The anger was palatable.