This story was first published in On the Premise, March 2013. I hope you enjoy it!

Today I’m sharing something a little different than you’ve read before. This story is a fantasy story, based in the world I created in my first self-published book. I was fascinated with a story I read tha the first line just hooked me, so I set out to do something similar.

SPECIAL NOTE: This story uses the premise from Contest #18, “Time”

The One Tree

by Merry Muhsman

She remembered how it felt to burn.

It was a strange sensation that should have hurt, but Yggrasil did not recognize pain. She knew of the feeling only from her time with these Norse gods.

She tingled as each piece of her lit with hot embers then fell off in ash slivers. The sheer imagery of her bark curling and peeling off reminded her of a butterfly emerging from its cocoon layer by layer. Helpless to stop it, she became fascinated by the power of the flame. Inch by delicate inch, the bark peeled to display smooth curves of wood—lines of age for each year she oversaw the paradise she called home.

All seemed lost. The women who once swept clean the rainbow bridge lay on the ground; their blood mingled with the dulling colors. Warriors attacked each other

with a fury fueled by desperation. Immortal blood stained the white marble courtyard.

Yggrasil shivered. A branch snapped. Sadness saturated her, and one by one, her leaves fell. She watched them burn off without much care. They had grown quite heavy anyway.

The snake grew fat and grotesque as it sank its fangs into her roots. Earlier it had slithered up to wrap itself around her great trunk, as if meaning to choke her. She bristled, and it slithered away through the flames, its belly full of sharp splinters.

The snake had come the day one of her three caretakers was exiled. Such a foolish, petty reason for exiling the girl. All because she fell in love with a god, but he mated with a valkyrie—Odin’s favorite valkyrie. Humiliated, the girl sent the valkyrie to another realm. The caretaker was banished to Earth. The gods argued amongst themselves until Odin died. Now, they killed each other.

No one seemed to notice the pile of dead leaves around her trunk until they burst into flames that crept up her torso. Then they truly began to wail. Women, men, warriors, spirit-walkers, gods—they all wailed at the end of Yggrasil.

When they died here, they would not remember they shall be reborn. She pitied them, for it must be painful to not remember. Yggrasil knew she still existed. She was the world tree.

“It is not the end,” Skuld had said. “They cannot see their beginning.” She had said all of these things, Yggrasil remembered. Now Skuld’s body lay with the others. Someone had sunk their blade into her chest—someone who did not approve of her intentions. Skuld not only saw the future; she could alter the present to change the future. Skuld had killed children to stop them from someday becoming a killer of thousands. Some believed the child had a choice; Skuld believed the future was set and could only be altered by her. She had been the most powerful of the three caretakers. Still, even Skuld could not escape this end.

A thousand crows suffocated the sky with their dark shapes—black feathers, black beaks, black eyes. They screeched in vain for their master Odin. They toppled from the massive cloud to the realms below.

She sensed sadness, like the thrum of a harp string. Yggrasil sought a respected friend—the loyal valkyrie. Ashlide stood at Yggrasil’s base, her frosty blue eyes gazing up at flames. Crackling and roaring, the flames spread higher. Ashlide’s armor shimmered in sapphire and amethyst shades. She shined brighter than the star dust that streaked the sky at her passing.

Two gray wolves panted at her side. Ashlide stroked the head of one. In the wolf’s yellow eyes, the flames echoed, burning as intense as his spirit. “Great tree, what can be done?” Ashlide asked.

Yggrasil knew Ashlide could not shed a tear. Death was part of a valkyrie’s life, and Ashlide understood the path to redemption beyond death. There truly could be no death for the Norse. They would live on and Ashlide understood that.

It took all of her remaining strength to fracture her trunk. A movement so sharp it sounded like a human bone cracking. Her soul, her golden seed, oozed forth in a wave of sticky, yellow sap. The corners of the world closed in on her, even as Ashlide bowed low and cradled the seed in her cloak. She fled with the two wolves following her. Ashlide would not die here; therefore she would remember who she is and what she must do.

*

Fingers touched her gently. She heard Ashlide’s voice. “This tree must be tended carefully. Only water her with honeydew. Watch for insects, and especially snakes for she attracts them. Do not let creatures nibble on her.”

Another woman’s voice answered, soft and gentle like spring rain. “I understand my lady. Do not fear. I can see she is special. I will plant her in our holy grove.”

Ashlide’s voice grew stern. “Only women can care for her. Choose the women carefully for they must dedicate their lives to caring for her. And always, she must have a caretaker. If one dies, another must immediately take her place. Do you understand?”

“I will see to it myself. My people are the caretakers of many trees.”

“She must have a special one for her alone,” Ashlide reminded. “My lady, it shall be done. I assure you.”

“I will return to check on her. Do not disappoint me. It is an honor to be a caretaker of this tree.”

The sound of hooves somersaulted across the sky. Yggrasil would have thanked Ashlide, but her voice had not formed, yet.

Several days passed in darkness, until one day, new hands cradled her and blessed her in the blinding sunlight. Her new caretaker planted her in the moist ground. Curious worms wiggled away from her. The caretaker called her Reidunn. Yggrasil knew it was not her true name, but it suited her for now.

Reidunn shimmied in the ground, stretching and breaking free. The sun here was so warm, so bright, so beautiful. Day after day, she grew a little taller.

It took a long time.

The caretaker never spoke to Reidunn, but she took care of every need and want, much like caring for an infant.

Still, it made Reidunn sad. Her people spoke to her once. She remembered their conversations, their songs, their laughter. They were full of strength like a crashing wave and brassy boldness like autumn leaves.

Time passed like the flow of a river. Caretakers came and went. Doing their duty, but never truly understanding. They still did not speak to her, and then one day, they did not come as often.

Now, she towered above the meadow, bright and beautiful, almost like before. She kissed the heavens; her roots sank deep into the ground. Her canopy of leaves rivaled any other.

Then more time passed. The caretaker’s hand lingered a little longer on her trunk. She looked so much older now. How much time had passed? Time was so different here.

The caretaker shuffled away.

The sun boiled the sky in one direction until the darkness overcame it in the opposite direction. Again and again. She lost count of how many times the pattern repeated itself as she waited for her caretaker to return.

Reidunn grew lonely again. Her leaves grew heavy. Soon they fell from her branches. She did not care.

*

Shadows flitted beneath the grove of trees. The other trees did not speak to Reidunn. Too stiff. Too proud. Too snobbish to converse with her.

Reidunn wondered about these figures dressed in a pale pink. They did not seem a threat. They yanked weeds from the base of the trees, trimmed branches, raked dead leaves from the ground and sang to the trees. All received their nurturing. All but Reidunn.

They moved around like ants, synchronized with a purpose. One broke away and skittered over to Reidunn. Something dark crossed over the girl like a shadow of a circling vulture, something that almost made her feel shame.

“Contessa, this one looks like it has been neglected,” a voice said, more of a question than a statement. The voice sweetened something Reidunn thought died long ago.

“Sister Maeva, leave that one alone. It’s dying. There is nothing more we can do for it.”

The one they called Maeva stared at Reidunn with liquid blue eyes. The color startled Reidunn. Suddenly, her leaves did not feel as heavy. Reidunn quivered and focused all of her energy, all of her power, all of her memories into one single branch. She forced it to grow from her trunk and blessed the branch with a single leaf, uncurling to Maeva’s fingertips.

The girl gasped. Her fingertips grazed Reidunn’s trunk. Electricity raced through every crack and crevice, spreading warmth and life. Her leaves budded, small but green. Alive.

She is—She is Skuld. Not Maeva. Skuld.

Reidunn sighed as the girl’s hand slid away. She did not remember. Maybe in time.

“You are not as hopeless as they believe,” Maeva said as she bowed low. “I feel your strength. I will return to care for you.”

A chorus of gasps escaped the mouths of the others, but Reidunn did not understand their surprise. Warmth flooded her core, racing down to her roots.

She had a caretaker again.

*

For many human days, Maeva returned to Reidunn. First she watered her roots with special sweet water. Not honeydew, but something thicker, sugary like honey. When she waved her hand around Reidunn’s trunk, a soft blanket of grass rose to her fingertips. She scattered seeds around her trunk that attracted birds. Reidunn rewarded Maeva with golden apples.

And Maeva’s power grew. Others came with her most days now.

“I don’t believe it,” someone said to Maeva.

Maeva’s mouth made the most devious line. “I can do it.”

The other girl made a nasally sound. “If it’s so easy, then why don’t you snap your fingers and give me an apple.”

“Oh that is just a magician’s trick. There are so many other things I can do.” Maeva waved her fingers and a branch flourished with leaves. The other girl let out a slight squeak, as timid as a mouse.

“But if you insist,” Maeva said. A snap of her fingers caused an apple to grow and ripen. Not a blemish on its perfect skin. Maeva handed it to the girl who was thankfully at a loss for words or sound.

Other women soon followed to see Maeva’s tricks. Those days became difficult and exhausting. Maeva’s magic made Reidunn tire so it took a few days to recover. She felt docile like in winter, but she did not sleep quite so deeply.

On those days when Reidunn became too tired, Maeva wrote poems and stories beneath her tree. Reidunn often thought her memories gave Maeva the inspiration; their bond was that strong. She reminded Maeva of the original caretakers, but mainly of Skuld. She visualized Skuld’s actions, but they seemed to scare Maeva.

Still Maeva did not remember her true name. How many times had Skuld been reborn? The years were but a flicker of a butterfly’s wing or so they seemed to pass that quickly. She could wait, she decided for Maeva to remember. What is time to a tree?

*
The day came when Maeva seemed to shine brighter than the sun.

Maeva approached the tree on a pure white horse. A small group of young girls in their petal-pink robes followed Maeva carrying branches of white flowers. A group of women walked in front of Maeva, chanting and singing.

Maeva’s face was covered with a veil, and she wore a blood red dress. This concerned Reidunn. Ceremonies such as these often led to sacrifice. The humans believing a soul could appease the gods. Her branches rustled with anticipation and her roots swished under the ground, sending soft vibrations up above.

The women paused before her at the vibrations, their unease clear as they glanced up at the tree. Their chanting softened and they bowed in reverence before her.

The old one called Contessa—one that never seemed to fully appreciate Reidunn— rose and motioned for Maeva. The young girl slid from the horse and knelt on the

ground before the old crone. Maeva bowed her head as a crown of twisted branches of orange berries and emerald leaves was placed on her head.

Tall and skinny like a sick sapling, Contessa whispered over Maeva. The tree could make out “honor to become priestess.” Then Contessa stretched her hands to the sky.

“Bless this child oh great sun goddess. Cast your rays from the heavens to bless her body, bless her words, bless her future. May her words and actions please the goddess. Bless her as she leads our tribe.”

Maeva rose, her face turned toward the sky. Thunder lurched in the sky, and the clouds split as a single ray of light cast down on the girl.

A crow flapped its black wings and landed in Reidunn’s branch. It scolded her with its caw. Somewhere a wolf howled. In all her years on this fragile place, not once had the crow and the wolf called to her. She could almost hear Odin coming. First, Skuld must remember.

Something tugged at her roots. She drew herself down into the earth. A snake had started to nibble. She shrugged him off with a jerk of her root. Maeva must be told of this intruder.

*

The ground choked and cracked. The ancient snake had returned several days ago to chew on her tender roots. No matter how many times she jerked away, it returned.

Maeva had not returned. Reidunn’s wood had grown dry. She had extended a root toward the priestess’ sacred well. It was not honey dew. It tasted drab in comparison.

It had not rained in weeks. The blistering sun reigned over the cloudless sky. Soon, the precious herbs and healing plants would turn yellow and brown. The world moved this way—a rhythm that humans could not understand. Reidunn knew it was just the earth shedding its skin, making room for new growth. Nothing to fear.

Hooves thundered on the plain. The dust rolled as if a stampede of horses charged into war. The horse skidded to a halt beneath Reidunn’s trunk, and the rider staggered to the tree. He removed a winged helmet and knelt before her.

“Oh great one, I have finally found you.” He extended a trembling hand to her trunk.

Lightening flashed within her trunk. She knew his mother. The great Ashlide. Your mother. A great valkyrie. She remembered Ashilde with her ashy gray hair and fierce blue eyes. The same color of eyes that her son bore.

The man shuddered beneath her words. “I can hear you great tree. My mother said I would be connected to you.”

Maeva still did not understand that Reidunn spoke to her. Reidunn could not understand why.

“Great and powerful tree, I have come to you to offer my sword, my life if you shall desire it. My name is Eske. I am a son of a valkyrie, born to a human father.”

A rare thing indeed. She sent you, Reidunn finished for him. Did he not understand that simply by his touch she knew far more than he could possibly share in human years? She allowed him to speak regardless.

“This realm has aged my mother. She cannot travel this far. I promised her I would find you. I have followed a wolf to the end of the green meadow, and a crow brought me here. Odin himself must have directed my paths. How may I serve you?” His arm waved as he knelt deeper.

Return Skuld to me. Eske narrowed his eyes, as he stared up at Reidunn’s canopy of leaves. “Skuld is missing?”

She is here. A high priestess. I need her care.

Eske blossomed like a flower in spring. His love for Asgard burned his soul like wildfire. He had never experienced the other realm, but he wanted to be part of it

so strongly, he would do anything to even have just a piece of it. “Growing up, I heard stories of Asgard, of the nine worlds, of Valhalla. If Skuld is alive, then a future is within our grasp.”

Peace settled upon her like a gentle mist, kissing each leaf with its precious moisture. Someone must remember. Skuld does not know.

Eske’s mouth twisted into—perhaps a frown. “I do not understand. She does not remember?”

She is priestess, Reidunn repeated. Speak to her. Help her remember.
Eske nodded and bowed low. “Whatever you ask of me, I shall do. Where can I find

her?”

Reidunn struggled to move her branch. When had it gotten so difficult again? Inch by agonizing inch she swayed her branches toward the East. Eske nodded and mounted his horse.

“When I return, I shall have Skuld at my side, oh great one.” He turned his horse toward the village. The dust cloud rose again as he drove his horse hard.

Reidunn relaxed a bit. She wished for a winter dormancy. She had grown so tired. *

Gray clouds separated the Earth from the heavens. A spit of moisture fell, just enough to settle the dust, but not enough to puddle. Maeva did not come for several days.

Reidunn fought the loneliness creeping up her side like a choking weed. When she finally came, she shuffled like an old woman. Reidunn’s leaves shook with anticipation.

Maeva wore a darker dress. A deep ruby dress and a golden yoke. Some called it a necklace; it reminded Reidunn of a yoke to break an ox to submission. Maeva knelt near the base of the tree, sobbing. The wet, salty drops stung Reidunn, and her inner core smoldered.

Reidunn remembered their gods’ words as their world crumbled around them. It will all be fine. This is not the end.

Maeva lifted her swollen face. “The end of what?”
Reidunn struggled to remember other words. The end of days.

“You—speak to me? I can hear you. That man, Eske, he said I was hearing you all this time, but I—understand now.” She smiled, a half-hearted curl of the lips. “No, this is not the end of days, but—. I am afraid.”

No fear. Show no fear. Hadn’t the spirit-walker said that to the great warrior? It seemed appropriate now. Maeva finally acknowledged her voice. It was but a thread in a greater tapestry. Reidunn knew that simply hearing her voice was a celebration as small as a tiny centipede. Interesting, but not worth the energy.

“I try, great tree. I had a dream that I shared it with my sisters. I dreamt the trees were burning. A man came and set fire to the entire grove. Everything was lost. My sisters—they believe I can see the future. I have had other dreams. I dreamt a storm came. Too much rain fell and the streams flowed out of their banks. People lost their homes. Do you remember, great tree?”

I remember the time. The streams swelled for weeks, swallowing up villages beneath their merciless waves. The water did not reach the trees for Maeva held it back with magic. The powerful spell drained Reidunn for nearly a month.

“They have made me their high priestess. At first, I thought it was because of my power to heal trees. But now, I think it is so they can use me for my dreams. I am frightened of this dream.”

Do not fear who you are. Reidunn’s leaves rustled, the sound echoing in the soft areas of her wood. Maeva dreampt of the future. She must remember. It could not be wrong to help remind her. She was so near.

“Great and beautiful tree, I have to share with you—I am no longer able to serve as your caretaker.”

Her words crackled like lightning.

You are Skuld.

Maeva recoiled as if she had been burnt. “Eske said the same thing to me. No, I am Maeva.”

Memories. The stories you write. A time as Skuld.

The young girl quivered like a rabbit. “I don’t understand what you are saying, tree. You gave me those memories through the bond we share.”

Skuld sees the future. Skuld is you. Reidunn thought an ant must be digging too deep into her trunk. Something hurt. Her branch peeled and cracked. The snap of the wood startled Maeva to a standing position.

“I can see the future, but it does not make me this person. Contessa tells me of the caretakers who tended the world tree. They were horrible, conniving gods. They played with the past, present and future of men. Skuld was the worst. Contessa says Skuld once murdered an entire family and stole their future. She killed innocent children, simply because she did not like their parents. No, I cannot be her.”

In future, family evil. Family starts war. Destroys civilization. Skuld saved people. Skuld misunderstood.

Maeva shook her head, a dismissive shake Reidunn had seen before. The gods could see the damage when she grew ill, but they did not believe. Maeva did not believe.

“I have upset you today. I am sorry great tree. You are just confused. I am not one of these caretakers. I was born to a farmer and his wife, but I am a priestess now. I lead the tribe, and soon, I will be married to another priest.” She paused, color staining her cheeks. “He’s a handsome man—we love each other. It’s something I have always wanted. Please, be happy for me. I will still visit you, but my duties as priestess and soon as his wife, are just too many. I do not have time to be your caretaker. Another will care for you, much better than I. I will—”

Another branch snapped. The wood splintered and wept. It throbbed, and pulsed, and hurt. The branch fell to the ground at Maeva’s feet. You are Skuld. Nothing else matters.

The girl picked it up tenderly and cradled it. Maeva’s face contorted into something of dismay and disappointment. “I thought you would be happy for me. You’re just being selfish. I—”

A horn blew. An alarm. Reidunn trembled. It was happening again. The warning horn.

Reidunn saw Maeva’s face, and it reminded her of the watchmen who saw the end coming. “I must go. I will return with a new caretaker,” she said. She turned, taking the branch with her. “I will bring my husband to meet you. It is love, just like the stories I wrote.”

Reidunn trembled again. Selfish. The word skittered up her bark like a squirrel. Another god called Odin selfish when he banished one of the caretakers. Why would Maeva call Reidunn that word? Being a caretaker is an honor. The caretakers never complained.

Perhaps—Maeva was not ready. She is happy. Is that what the banished caretaker had desired when she fell in love?

Maybe in the next life, Skuld would be ready.
The thought of giving up on Skuld cracked her bark, exposing her soft wood pulp.

*

“Look what you have done!”

Voices broke through her fog. A dreamless sleep had fallen upon Reidunn. No, winter had not come.

“She is ill. Her new caretaker will bring her back to health.”

“YOU are her caretaker! You must use your magic to heal her. You don’t understand what is happening to her. This is how she dies.”

It is not the end. Reidunn told them both in as firm a tone as one can command in a human mind.

“Oh great tree, I have brought the one they call Maeva.”

Reidunn spread her awareness to Maeva and Eske. She felt a tremor in her core at the carnage before her. How many days had she slept? A pile of brown leaves blanketed a mixture of dead and greenish grass. Sometime it had rained, but not enough to replenish.

She became aware of splintered branches around her trunk. Sticky sap dripped upon the ground. So, it had begun again. Her root wiggled in the ground, dislodging the fat enemy snake once more. She sought the renewing energy of the well, but found nothing but dusty, dry dirt.

It is an end.

“See what you have done!” Eske stomped the ground. He held a torch as dusk began to steal the light from the earth. The torch’s orange glow crackled and sizzled.

Maeva stood like a stiff, proud oak tree. “The damage is great, yes. The storm did more damage than I realized.”

“This is no storm!” Even his eyes looked wild, like a starving dog. “She is dying. Dying because you won’t remember who you are. She is the One Tree.”

Maeva shook her head, wetness plain on her cheeks. “She is a great and beautiful tree, but the One Tree—the world tree—died long, long ago.”

Find another, Eske. Find another caretaker. Reidunn knew he could not recognize the caretakers in their current form, but he needed to be hopeful again.

“No, great tree. We are so close,” Eske replied. “Maeva, you must try to remember who you are. Can’t you see that she’s dying without your care?”

“She is just damaged. She needs time to heal and proper care. I have doubled the caretakers. Now there will be two with her every day.”

“No, only you can heal her.”

“I know it’s difficult to understand. I want what’s best for the tree, too. But I have other responsibilities now. I have a tribe to lead. There are many brothers and sisters counting on me.”

“They are not immortal. You are immortal. My mother was a valkyrie. She survived the death of Asgard. She planted the tree here.”

It gave Maeva pause, but not for more than a human breath. “Are you certain that she was not just as caught up in the legends? Your helmet is just a relic. There was a time when they were popular among warriors. Many have them.”

“No, she was a valkyrie.” He bristled, clutching a pile of her leaves. They crumbled in his hand. “Why can’t you stop for one moment and consider that I might be telling the truth?”

A brown leaf with spots of green fell unceremoniously to land on Maeva’s shoulder.

“See. She gives you a leaf. She wants you to believe.” Eske’s chest heaved.

Reidunn felt a singular thought pulse in Eske’s mind like a heart beat. He meant to do anything, believe anything, say anything to bring about the place his mother had known.

“This tree is special, I agree with you. She is my friend. But she is ill, and her caretakers needs to pay more attention to her.” Maeva’s tone softened.

Eske clung to her words as if she came around. Reidunn knew she had not. She only pitied him. “Listen to what the tree has to say. She talks to you. You hear her voice as clearly as I do.”

Maeva glanced up at Reidunn. Her eyes glossy, her hands trembling. She might have wanted to believe, but could not. Maeva could not give up the life before her. She could not comprehend her true power.

“All the trees talk to me,” Maeva admitted. “All the trees share stories with me. Reidunn’s stories are just—more colorful.”

Something snapped beneath the ground, and Reidunn knew others had joined the snake. Only a matter of time now.

An orange glow caught Reidunn’s attention. Eske’s torch seemed to strengthen with his youthful ambition. Desperation shook his bones, overtaking his better judgment. Reidunn inclined her branch, wishing to touch him, to stop him, to tell him to let it all go. Her branches would no longer reach that far.

Eske stumbled toward the other trees. He waved the torch in a large arch, slicing the encroaching darkness with his flames. He had gone mad, like the ones who ran around at the end, shrieking, burning, still seeking to find escape.

“If you will not listen to me, then I will make you believe.” He dipped the torch to the ground.
Maeva screamed, “Please. Stop!”

The flames screeched like a living being. Flames shrieked up the tree. Fueled by the dead growth, the flames ran mad like souls escaping death’s realm. Reidunn watched the flames spread to her pile of leaves.

She was burning again.

*

Maeva fell to the hard earth, the glow of the tree illuminating her, even as she gasped for air and wetness covered her face.

She drug herself across the ground to the burning tree. The wood crackled and popped, spitting ash onto her skin. Light flickered across the cracks of the tree,

snapping the trunk, bearing open the tree’s inner cavity. Light spilled from the hole, shooting golden rays into the darkness. There lay a seed.

A blackened root grazed her skin, the deception slid from Maeva’s vision. The girl named Maeva melted toward the ground like a shade broken from its body. Suddenly, things came into sharp focus.

And the girl remembered.

She reached for the seed, cradled it like a precious child, wrapping it in the folds of her dress.

The valkryie’s son Eske crawled across the ground, his soul spent and shaken. He pleaded with her to end his life. “I have failed the great tree. I have failed,” he wept like a child.

The girl rose, feeling the power of the seed in her palm. “Yggrasil is your name,” she told the seed.

A crow cawed and lit on her shoulder. Its claws pressed into her skin. “I am Skuld,” she replied.
A wolf howled.