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  THE BOOK OF LIGHT TRILOGY: BOOK ONE

  Tree of Life

  by

  Sarah Joy Green-Hart

  ©Sarah Joy Green-Hart

  Cover art by Olesya Hupalo

  Affectionately Dedicated To:

  My mom, who never clipped my wings,

  my sister, Britta, who insisted I give this story a chance to fly,

  and my sister, Jenice, who still teaches me about the light.

  Strong women who have carried themselves

  with grace amid suffering.

  I love you.

  XOXO

  Prologue | The Year of The Conquest

  Flames from the city grasped at the night sky, fueled by the flesh and bones of hopeless innocents. The president watched the destruction through a haze of smoke, his mind flooding with self-condemnation as he rubbed the quarter in his pocket. A Kyrios member had given it to him as a “reminder of who we are to trust.”

  The Kyrios plotted for years, gaining control through a masterful manipulation of the system. Over the decades, they legislated their dream, brainwashing their adherents with propaganda and the rhetoric of politico-religious extremism.

  The conspiracy theorists had been right.

  During their most recent late-night video conference, the president and the Kyrios attempted to come to an agreement.

  "You spit on the foundation of our country,” the Kyrios claimed. "We will not allow this nation to become godless.”

  With a scoff, the president had mustered all the professionalism he possessed to refrain from laughing in their stupid, superstitious faces. "Our responsibility is to uphold the will of the people who elected us, not to force our personal beliefs on them.”

  "You’ve been warned. God will bless our efforts if you refuse to repent.”

  The call ended, and the attack that followed created a national disaster of unprecedented proportions. In a few days, it brought the nation to its knees.

  The righteous contents of the so-called Book of Light defended their treason.

  Justified in the rioting of their followers.

  Justified in their act of war, despite declaring themselves a people of peace and love.

  Justified in their claim to regard the innocent while slaughtering the innocent.

  Using all remaining forms of communication—which were few—the president announced to the people and faithful military men and women of the nation that they must relinquish their freedom to save their lives.

  It broke his heart.

  The secure locations reserved for his use were reportedly destroyed. Taking his personal security and staff members, he fled to the countryside and took refuge in a forest. This couldn’t be a permanent solution, but at least they were out of the fire. Now, he stood at the edge of the woods, stunned.

  On the most frightening day of their lives, he was too wide-eyed and fearful to console the handful of humanity huddled behind him. No amount of public speaking experience could have prepared him for this.

  He swallowed hard, clenching his trembling hands into fists. “Stay unified. We will survive this night together. It’ll be all right. The trees will”—the statement was idiotic, but he had to say something—"they will protect us.”

  They could only watch, horrified, unable to ignore the cries of their unfortunate fellow-patriots who found no refuge in the woods.

  One | Post-Conquest: 217

  Jesurun’s mom kissed him, covering his face with tears as she stroked his brow with soft hands. "Your father will find you someday,” she said. "He’s the only one with golden buttons and black boots who you should ever trust. Do you understand, Jes?”

  "Yes.”

  "And Jes . . . Honor the trees. They protect the oppressed. Their roots are your roots. Understand?”

  Jes didn’t understand, but he nodded.

  Looking into his eyes, she licked her trembling lips and sang.

  "The moon is new, so we hide.

  We lie in wait, preparing to rise.

  In the earth, we plant our roots;

  Prepared to sprout beneath black boots.

  We are the earth, we are the earth,

  We hide in the womb of night.

  Peacefully unified, stand for the truth,

  And kick back against the black boots.

  Rise and be born the mighty Unified.”

  This was their gate’s song. They sang it while they worked and while they played. They sang it around fires, when they were sad, and when they were happy. They sang it loudest after the first cries of a new baby. It didn’t mean anything to Jes, but it sounded pretty.

  Clinging to a blanket with one hand and a bag of food with the other, Jes lay in the hole his mother had made in the ground. She covered it with sticks and leaves, then left. Not until her soft sobs disappeared did he finally release the blanket to touch her tears on his cheek. Rubbing them between his fingers, sleepiness soon overcame him.

  * * *

  As the sky changed from black to blue, vehicles pulled into Jes’ gate and flooded the air with gunshots and the screams of men, women, and children. It went on for what seemed like hours. He consoled himself with thoughts of happier times. Last night even.

  Only yesterday his mother was smiling and warm, as always. Her licorice-black hair had brushed his face as she kissed him goodnight. Her soft voice caressed his ears with "I love you.” It was just yesterday, wasn’t it? What day was it now?

  Without explanation, smelling of night air and vanilla, she woke him and, with dirty hands, put him in this hole at the forest’s edge, outside their gate.

  Now, here he was.

  After the shooting and screaming stopped, Jes waited, nibbling on the food he’d been given. His body ached. Too cramped in this hole. He had to get out soon.

  As the sun fell beyond sight, Jes pushed the camouflage away and crawled out of his hiding place. The bad people must have gone away by now. Draping the blanket over his shoulders, he carried the bag of food as he approached the gate and came upon the slaughter.

  Not a soul of the dead answered his cries.

  He sat down against a house and poured every drop of his innocence into the little blanket until the rumble of vehicles drew a gasp from him and hardened his tears. He had to get out of there.

  The blanket fell from his shoulders when he ran, but he couldn’t stop. His side ached, and his lungs pressed against his ribs with each breath. Jes ran until the new moon swallowed him into the womb of the night. There he would grow and be born again, but maybe not in the nice way the song spoke of.

  Two | Post-Conquest: 232

  Sunlight Filtered Through the fresh spring leaves and shone into the loft through its only window. Horace held Hesper’s precious lavender sachet to his nose, the shadow and light dancing across his face. Even though he had calmed down since she arrived, his little whimpers and sniffles of suffering troubled her emotions. If only his mama, Deirdre, would hold him instead of sitting in the corner with her sewing basket, staring.

  Glaring.

  Never mind. Deirdre was not a gentle woman. Her arms were unlikely to be comforting. At least the lavender seemed to help.

  Hesper pushed the leg of his deer-skin trouser over his knee. While stable, the fractured tibia still required attention. She filled her wooden mortar with soft, fresh comfrey leaves and ground them with a pestle as the distressed child shed quiet tears. He needed a distraction while she worked, and she had just the thing.

  "In our own land, many years ago—”

  Despite his pain, the boy lit up. "My favorite story, Hesper.”

  She smiled. The Story always worked for children. "The Unified and the Meros lived in one nation,” she continued. "The Meros grew hostile toward our ancestors for th
eir love of science and toleration. They set communities ablaze, flushing our people out of their homes to murder them in broad stone stree—”

  "Why did the Meros do it, Hesper? Why do you think they destroyed it all and chased us in here? Were science and toleration very bad?”

  The question took her by surprise. She had told him The Story many times, but he had never asked for those details. "I read whatever books the hunters can bring to us,” she said. "And based on what I have read, science and toleration are good things.”

  "We do not even study science the way they used to,” said Horace. "We can’t!”

  Deirdre bristled at that and broke from her silence. "Listen to you, mixing your words together like a Meros brat! ‘Can’t,’ he says! We may be the Unified, but our words must never be.”

  "Yes, Mama.”

  "Pure speech creates a strong nation. That is wisdom from the ancestors, and you know it quite well, boy.”

  "I do.” He shrugged a shoulder. "I meant to say that I do not understand why we must hide when we are so different from our ancestors. Maybe we could be friends with the Meros now.”

  "Ugh! Why would you want that?” Dierdre said. "They are hateful, evil creatures who do not honor humans any more than they honor trees. I would spit on a Meros sooner than I would accept friendship.”

  After Deirdre had her say, Hesper opted for the simplest answer. "I am sure they have a reason for hating us, Horace, even if it is not logical. Everyone has a reason for what they do. However, I am curious about your reason for trying to jump to your friend’s loft and falling to the ground, little man.” She eyed him with false sternness.

  He pointed a finger at her. “Hesper, if you scold me, I will run and hide and cry like the Unified ancestors. Then you will feel bad and leave me alone like the Meros left our ancestors alone!”

  Such a good-natured, smart boy.

  “And when you come out of hiding at last?” She leaned in and winked. "I will snatch you up the way they do, but I will tickle you instead of kidnap you! Explain how you are going to run from me with a broken bone anyway!”

  Horace giggled.

  With her hand, she scooped moist, ground comfrey from the mortar and gently applied the herb to the affected area of Horace’s leg, careful to not drop any on his bed-pelt.

  Only a few moments later, Horace blurted, "You know, Hesper, I want to go out and feel the sunlight and see a Meros.”

  She could do without seeing a Meros, but how good the sunlight would feel out in the open. She had visited a few sunny clearings in her life. They were far away from the community, though.

  "Only naughty children and hunters leave the trees. It is a serious thing to be a hunter, and many of them never return. Try to remember that.”

  "Listen to Hesper,” Deirdre barked. "You certainly do not listen to me about this!”

  Hesper smiled at the boy and laid a cloth over his shin, then she carefully pulled his trouser leg down over it. He did not need a wooden splint if he was a good boy, which he was. She wrapped the leg with buckskin and secured it with rags. "Rest well, Horace.”

  Tomorrow, she would return to apply fresh comfrey, so she would need to harvest more in the morning. Maybe Adahy would be home with ice to alleviate the swelling, too. Unlikely but possible.

  Hesper shouldered her bag and rose to her feet. "Feed him good broth.” She handed Deirdre a small leather bag of dried stinging nettle. "Cook this in it. And keep him off his feet, of course.”

  Dierdre stood. "You have such a touch. That boy was screaming. I was so scar—” A rap at the hatch in the floor interrupted her. "I am here!” she called.

  The wood panel opened on its leather hinges as Adahy’s hands and bearded, bronze face peeked over the floor. He climbed into the loft and offered an obligatory bow of his head to Deirdre before sharing a smile with Hesper.

  "Do you have ice today?” Hesper asked.

  He frowned. "You needed ice?”

  "No. Not until now.” She gestured to Horace. "Poor fellow tried to leap to his friend’s loft and broke his leg.”

  Adahy whistled. "Horace, you’re fortunate to be alive—and to have such excellent care.” He winked at Hesper, burning her cheeks.

  "He is taking it well,” Deirdre admitted. "Horace may be reckless, but he handles his failures with dignity. I suppose he should receive praise when praise is due.”

  "He is a fine boy, ma’am.” Adahy slid the bag off his shoulder and set it on the ground. The bright red poppies Hesper had beaded on its flap last winter still looked lovely. Whenever she saw him, she assessed her work, always pleased that it held up so well to the hunter’s life.

  The sack collapsed on itself as he drew out a circular wooden box, pyrographed with swirls and flowers. He set it on a small table and lifted the lid to reveal a creamy-golden wheel of cheese, wrapped in muslin. Deirdre left it to dig through a basket of sewing—for payment, no doubt.

  It was the loveliest wooden box Hesper had ever seen. She traced its pyrographed designs with her finger.

  "It is a well-made one, isn’t it?” Adahy said. "I thought of you when I saw it.”

  The smooth surface of the lid whispered under her calloused palm. "The markings are interesting.”

  Deirdre offered Adahy a pair of moccasins and a handful of geodes. He fit the items into his bag and, with a nod to Hesper, left the loft through the hole in the floor.

  "Left the hatch open!” Deirdre huffed. "Such a man. It has always bothered me that he mixes his words so often. He is probably the reason my boy does it. They all look up to him, those young ones, and he refuses to concern himself with setting an example with his speech.” She grabbed a knife from shelves on the wall behind her. A knowing look on her face, she pointed the knife at Hesper. "He is a stig. Not a doubt in my mind! You had best bear that thought in yours.”

  Adahy had been bringing them supplies from the outside world for years, but Deirdre regarded him with suspicion? Hesper had never heard anyone suggest such a thing before now.

  Deirdre opened the box of cheese and sliced the wheel in half. She set one half aside on the table. "He is too wealthy to avoid marriage, and I pity the woman who gets him. Oh, the uproar when he is found to be a stig! I will be the first to fight for his expulsion.” Again, she stabbed the air with the knife.

  The hatch was still open.

  Hesper kept her voice low. "He has been among us for several years and not one woman has accused him of touching her. He has exceptional self-control. That, I think, is an uncommon virtue among stigs.”

  Deirdre’s hard face broke with a laugh. "Do you ever have a bad thing to say, Hesper?”

  Hm. Did Dierdre have any good things to say? "Not of people with his character.”

  "Let us consider the possibility that very few women would complain if he touched them.” With a wry smile, Deirdre replaced the lid on the box and handed it to Hesper. "I hope you remain this trusting and innocent all the days of your life.”

  Hesper stuffed the box into her bag as far it would fit.

  "You be still and obey your mama, Horace. Are you listening to me?” She knelt beside him and stroked his hair.

  "I hear you, Hesper. Come kiss me.”

  She kissed the top of his head. "My little husband.” In a few years, he would be too old for her to kiss. She had better do it more now.

  * * *

  After being in the warmth of the loft, the night’s coolness shook Hesper. She looked up with hope for a clear sky beyond the treetops. One star stood out with a faint flicker, nestled between the sway and flutter of the leaf-cluttered sky she had been born under.

  "Searching for stars?”

  Adahy stood nearby, and because it was always a pleasure to see him, she smiled.

  "Yes.” She glanced his way, then returned her eyes to the sky. "Always an obstructed view.”

  "It’s torture for you, isn’t it?”

  "Not that bad.” She shook her head. "I am usually content. Helping others to h
eal and savor their lives is one of the most sensible purposes for my existence, and yet I feel a small pang inside of me when I think of a great world I will never see because of a hatred none of us know the reason for.”

  Adahy leaned back against Dierdre’s tree, unwrapping a resin-like ball of candy. "Hesper, the danger that comes with the beautiful things in the outside world isn’t worth it. I have yet to find a wonder that compares to the forest, but even if the forest were not here, your friendship is better than anything I’ve encountered out there.” He smiled and put the candy in his mouth. "Would you like one?” The question came with the spicy fruit scent of his breath.

  "No. It smells good, though.”

  Her friendship was better than anything in the outside world?

  Her heart rate and busy mind required all her attention. Pride and nerves must be handled promptly. Gratified pride caused division. She must forget what he said, but it felt so nice, how could she?

  Adahy scrunched and opened the candy wrapper a few times. "I, uh, I waited to speak with you and overheard your conversation. I appreciate your friendship, Hesper. Very much.”

  "You heard her talking?” Hesper closed her eyes. How embarrassed he must be.

  He chuckled and stood up straight, tucking the wrapper into his bag. "No. Not much. I only cared about your talking. I heard that much clearer, even though your voice was softer.” Hand placed over his heart, he said, "Very courageous stand made, Hesper. Tactful. Well done.” He rustled through his bag and drew out and held a small wooden box, tied closed with white string. "Bring this to your mama and papa for me. It’s a gift. I hope you all will like it.”

  Hesper took it, careful not to touch his hand. "It is a nice little box.” She stroked the edge of the smooth wood with her thumb and gave it a quick sniff. Adahy’s queer, amused expression brought a half-smile to her lips.

  Several yards away, the community fire whispered and crackled, and a few birds chirped to each other over Hesper and Adahy’s heads. The lofts, held by the branches above them, creaked with the steps of Unified families. All the sounds of home and love, combined with Adahy’s presence and attention, made Hesper feel too good to think of anything except pleasing herself. It was time to go home.