Jah planted the Tree of Life in Casoria, not because he favored the Casorians, who were a no-people then, nor because the earth was rich, for the soils of the Southern Plains were already known for their sweetness, but because he chose to. Ruse would understand this, but Ruse would not be born for nearly three hundred years.  

The tree grew tall, ringed by others but always distinguished by its glossy leaves and delicious scent. The scent came from a single blossom, a white five-petaled flower nesting among the top branches of a tree which could have produced hundreds, yet yielded only one. The flower glowed like a pearl by day and at night was a star.

The effects of its scent became legendary. One breath could erase fear, two breaths could instill hope, a day spent in the confines of the garden cleansed the blood and made one young. The flower gained many titles, some poetic, others grand, but the name by which it ultimately became known was common among rich and poor, young and old alike. The Outer Flower, five petaled fruit of the Tree of Life, always with them and always out of reach. One touch would mean death. Saar had told them, but Saar had not believed.

            Saar was the Earth Skyll, the one chosen to pass through the Veils of the Deep, nurtured in its mysterious womb, who wore the three scars of privilege. His place was first among the Heptarchy of Skylls, and it was he who walked the garden, planted other trees yet refused to count them, allowed no paths other than those worn by his own feet. He breathed continually of the Tree of Life and still lived. 

            None of the Heptarchy had more than two scars – or stripes as they were called – some only one. Ganesen of the North wind, Tulle of the South, Aaron of the East and Gunnar West; Brit, Skyll of Fire, Tianne, waters and seas, beloved from the first. Their names and lives bright strands from the sky, bright colors against Saar’s dark vein. All could fly but for Saar, who was tied to the earth.

            Progress was rapid in Casoria. A warrior declared himself King and founded a Kingdom. A castle was built, called Ursaulis, an impregnable structure of timber and stone which blazoned from a hill. The Outer Flower shone, a pearl by day and a star by night. The people became part of her legends. Casorian hands were nimbler, their minds quicker, their children did not die at birth. The land was blessed, and so the people sought to include the Heptarchy in their praises of Jah, but the Earth Skyll remained aloof. 

            Envy had entered the heart of Saar through a series of small humiliations. He had come to hate the earth he was bound to, had come to despise the commonplace tasks. He’d be bent over, engaged in transplanting a seedling or, even worse, spreading dung, when another of the Skylls would sail by, creating a wind. The taste of compost always lingered in his mouth. His life was bitter. Yes, he had been to the Deep and had earned the three stripes, but he didn’t want to be bound by anything, even the Tree of Life.

            He wanted to fly.

            After they witnessed the birth of a star, he decided. The others of the Heptarchy came to him then, even Tianne who rarely left her waters, and described the wondrous sight. He didn’t respond and Ganesan, sharpest of the winds, complimented his carefully tended seedlings. Saar detected a sneer.

            In his anger, he promised the flower to the Dark. In return, the Dark promised him flight. He would soar above the clouds, he would shame the rest, but first he must pluck the bloom. The bargain was sealed.

            The tree was sturdy but its branches were tangled, a crisscross of limbs and leaves that made it nearly impossible to climb. Saar persevered until he reached the flower. Only then did he pause. He’d not counted on its aching beauty, the exquisite scent. In these final moments, the petals quivered, offering a lament. Then he remembered Ganesan and the quick look of pity from Tianne, and Saar stretched forth his hand. 

            He was shattered at once; no one can hold life and live. As for the tree, it turned to bone, and the bloom disappeared.

            One by one, the Skylls were called into the Deep, save for Tianne, who in her grief and shame, would not go into Jah’s presence, but asked for a place in the sea. Touched by her suffering, Jah granted her request and made a promise: Your tears will cause a star to rise from the sea. 

            Tianne stretched forth her hand in supplication. Then, she was too was gone.

            Time rolled forward. No new Skylls hovered around the throne except for the Earth Skylls, and these were born crippled. Tianne’s position remained unfulfilled. The King residing in Ursaulis was called the High King: some were good, others bad.

            Nor was life without surprises.

             The vacuum produced by Saar’s betrayal caused a spiritual bedlam. New gods woke up hungry and demanded to be fed. Sorcerers abounded, seeresses prophesied, men with strange callings formed bands. In Glynnis Fen, it was said that witch spirits crowded the air at every female birth while in Glarry Glen, the fairies squandered the light fashioning baubles. 

            On Barker’s Ridge, a man arose called the Gibbor, by all accounts an enigmatic man. He was said to shun disciples yet led The Brethren of the Blue Stone, an esoteric band. He spoke of peace while ministering to the Pentacas, a war-like white-headed clan. He counted his enemies yet feared only Jah. 

            In the North loomed the Nevers, a realm of neither travelers or trade.  The stronghold of the Dark was more impenetrable than before. Rumors from the borders would come, tales of strange cruelties and unnatural beasts. Civilized men would mock them as exaggerations of the lonely. 

            Yet the legend of the Outer Flower remained and, serving the imagination, was recorded: the white blossom appeared in paintings, jewelry, and was stitched on christening  gowns. A static image whose name inspired neither hope nor fear, not even a curse.

             The children of the streets knew better. In a grace only given to the poor, they spelled out the mystery in a game they played with rocks:

Two signs and then 

the Sea Star shines,

a hasty trick is set in time. 

: 

A Hunter comes

Truth turns to lies

Fate hangs in a needle’s eye.

A mother’s cry,

A love in bloom,

The silence of a bloodstained room.

Mountain, River,

Vale and Hill,

A witch does another’s will.

Spirit beneath a star-strung sky

Carries a woman

With tears in her eye.

Bottles break

Evil groans

An imposter sits on a King’s throne

            The urchins chanted in the streets and the alleys, tossing rocks in smooth dirt before taverns, sometimes beneath horse bellies at hitching posts.

            The adults paid them no mind. Children’s games, childish chatter. One must work to eat, and they had much to do. 

copyright Joan Spilman, 2023

joanspilmanbooks.com