| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by Cynthia M. Saracco / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| The Wishing Tree |
Lenora woke well before the second sun rose in
Kanjor's purple sky and hurried to fetch fresh water
for Master Jardlin's morning bath. It was fifth day
of the moon cycle, and Master would be up early,
anxious to secure a prime spot by the Wishing Tree.
Sweat trickled down her wrinkled forehead as
Lenora hauled pail after pail to the tub. At last, she
carried an extra bucket to the dining room, dropped
to her knees, and dunked a thin rag in the water.
With effort, Lenora dragged the dirty cloth across
the floor's planks, clearing the remnants of last
night's feast.
In the corner, she spotted the drumstick of a keister
fowl and grabbed it, lifting the carcass close to her
grey eyes. Meat still clung to the bone -- three or
four bites at least. Lenora savored the small treasure,
preparing to lick it clean. But her good judgment
prevailed. Revonites didn't permit her kind to share
their delicacies. If Master discovered she'd sampled
the discarded piece, her beating would be swift and
severe. Reluctantly, Lenora threw the bone away
and continued her cleaning.
Some time later, Master Jardlin stumbled to the
table. He scratched his ample stomach, waiting for
Lenora to bring his porridge, sausages, fruit tart, and
spiced tea.
"Hurry along now," he ordered, rubbing his puffy
black eyes. "And tell my wife and children to get
ready. Early bird gets the worm."
Lenora did her best to cajole the rest of the family into
rising. She promised to add extra cream to Mistress
Henka's porridge and enticed little Franika with a fresh ribbon for her long amber locks. But Drestor, the youngest, proved
stubborn. He stuck his tongue out at Lenora and threatened to soil his blanket if she didn't leave. When she protested,
Drestor spit on her and called her a "stinky Kanjorian." She had to remind him of the rainbow lizard she hid from his
father's knife before the child finally stomped out of bed.
The family arrived at the Wishing Tree before the second sun reached its peak. The tall banyan, brought to Kanjor as a
seedling by the first Revonites, stretched its leafy limbs over the village's dusty square. A single leader branch rose
towards the heavens, supporting dozens of offshoots that shaded Revonites and sheltered songbirds.
No other tree grew as tall or strong as this awe-inspiring banyan. Attempts to harvest seed pods, graft root stocks, and
breed new offspring from the tree had all failed. The Revonites worshipped the old stalwart, believing it ensured their
prosperity and allowed them to commune with the gods.
Every Revonite could recite the First Miracle of the Wishing Tree. Long ago, a bitter drought choked the region, killing
crops and weakening livestock. In desperation, an elder scribbled a plea for rain to the gods. He fastened his message to a
rope, weighted the rope with rocks at each end, and flung his wish into the sky. It caught on one of the banyan's large
branches and dangled in the wind. Exhausted, the old man fell into a fitful sleep. He woke the next day to raindrops
strafing his cheeks.
From then on, Revonites revered their Wishing Tree and marked the fifth day of each moon cycle with a celebration and
fresh round of wishes. For Kanjorians like Lenora, the event simply meant more work -- daily purifications, five nights of
feasts, and the ritual gathering of implements.
Lenora lugged two baskets of supplies while Master Jardlin led his family to the banyan and claimed an enviable spot.
Colorful banners hung from nearby shops flapped in the breeze. Lenora spread a thick blanket beneath the banyan and set
out treats, taking care to place her sack of boiled grains off to one side. Master complained that the stench spoiled his
appetite.
"Make haste now," Master urged.
Lenora scurried to arrange keister quills, ink bottles, and a sheaf of paper at the blanket's center. Beside these she placed
eight large rocks and several strands of sturdy rope. Finally, she retreated to one side.
Master sauntered forward, his lower jaw thrust out. He inspected one stone after another, pursing his lips and offering an
occasional grunt. Lenora stood silent, hands clenched together. Mistress Henka sat down and motioned for her children to
do the same. Franika, ever the little angel, compiled quickly. Drestor hesitated, glanced at his father's stern face, and then
plopped beside his mother's flowing skirt.
"This One -- I don't know," Master began, his voice gruff. "It seems light."
He tossed the grey stone in the air and caught it with his meaty hand. "Are you certain it's the right weight?"
"I checked the scale three times, just as you said," Lenora whispered.
Master frowned. "I suppose it will do. Let's begin."
Each family member selected a sheet of paper and penned a wish in a fancy cursive script, with Mistress Henka helping
the children as needed. Following tradition, the family allowed one word per wish and kept each wish secret.
Lenora sat near the blanket's edge, nibbling her grains. She watched families drift into the square with their Kanjorian
servants in tow. The wealthy brought whirligigs and hand puppets to entertain their children, large rocks to secure their
wishes, and savory treats to please their palates. Others made do as best they could.
When the second sun sagged in the sky, the Revonites cradled their packaged wishes. Master Grenshir, the village leader,
silenced the crowd.
"We gather once again to celebrate the ancient ways that afford Revonites our strength and bring us dominion over all
others. Give thanks to the Wishing Tree and its gifts from the gods." The leader bowed his bald head. After a few silent
moments, he continued. "On this hallowed night, cast your wishes into the sky. Pray that this sacred banyan will catch
them and hold them dear until the rising of our second sun."
Young and old flung their wishes into the tree with all their might. The smartest aimed for the strongest, most accessible
branches: a wish fallen was a wish denied.
Master Jardlin took no chances. He positioned his family beneath a low branch. Then he hoisted his children on his broad
shoulders so they could drape their wishes around the sturdy limb.
Lenora kept to herself, picking up crumpled paper and discarded berries. When another family came by to chat, Lenora
spied a quill that one of the children had left unattended. Its wet nib gave her an idea. She slipped the quill in her apron
pocket. Then she puttered about, shifting debris from one area to another. In a short while, only the moon's crimson
beams illuminated the night sky.
Master's eyes grew wild when he saw the state of his family's goods. "Haven't you cleaned up yet?"
Lenora cowered. "I'm sorry, Master. Truly I am."
"That's not good enough," he bellowed. "What if Franika catches a chill?"
"Oh, that would be terrible."
"And it would be your fault!"
"I'd never forgive myself," Lenora muttered, head bowed. "Please, go home. I'll stay and gather your things."
Before Master could speak, Mistress Henka cut in. "Let's go. I'm tired."
The family trudged off. Soon the last stragglers abandoned the square, leaving Lenora alone. The moon loomed high as she
surveyed the Wishing Tree, its branches laden with ropes and rocks. She pulled a crumpled bit of paper from her pocket
and, with stiff hands, pressed the scrap smooth against the hollow of her belly. Then she set her salvaged quill against the
parchment and scribbled a single word.
Next, Lenora scoured the square for a suitable pair of rocks. A half hour passed, and still she found none. Lenora sunk to
the ground, resting her weary legs. The wind stung her cheeks, and soon she heard the low thuds of stones clanging
against branches. Lenora rose again, searching for a fallen wish. The closest she found was a stone dangling from a rope
attached to small twig. Lenora hesitated, unwilling to deny some Revonite his dream. But as the wind whipped about her
threadbare skirt, she reconsidered.
She stood on her toes and thrust her arm in the air. The stone, small but heavy, was just out of reach. Lenora swallowed
hard and jumped.
Her gnarled fingers scraped the rock but failed to bring it down. Her right knee cracked as she landed, and Lenora
struggled to suppress a scream.
Panting, she eyed the dangling stone. Lenora took a deep breath, summoning all her energy. Then she leaped again and
clawed at the rock with both hands. She crashed to the ground clutching her prize: two stones and a bit of rope.
The victory afforded her new strength. She ripped the original wish from its stone and replaced it with her folded scrap of
paper. Ignoring her swollen knee, Lenora hurried to Master Grenshir's favorite spot. The location offered a clean shot into
the Wishing Tree's main branch. Wishes held there were more likely to earn divine favor.
Lenora paused, uncertain what to do. She knew no Revonite prayers -- her people were forbidden to participate in their
rituals -- and she began to doubt the tree would even receive her wish, let alone grant it. After all, what good had the
ancient banyan ever afforded a Kanjorian? Still, if the Wishing Tree could work miracles, it seemed worth a try.
Lenora steadied her hands and lifted the stones to her chest, repeating her wish over and over. Then she hurled the
package into the air.
Her rocks sailed upward, buoyed by the wind's growing force. Lenora strained to follow their path, anxious for the banyan
to embrace her wish. One stone crashed into a northern-facing branch and bounced towards the center, bringing the
package to rest on the joint of a limb that sprang from the great tree's trunk.
She couldn't have asked for more. This bit of good fortune -- her first in decades -- brought tears to her tired eyes.
Lenora's luck carried her through the night. Master had already gone to bed, enabling her to creep into the house
undetected. She unrolled her straw mat on the kitchen floor and dozed.
Just after the rising of the first sun, a high-pitched wail roused her; a young Revonite was screaming at Master's door.
Lenora tried to shield the family from the commotion, but it was too late. Master stormed into the kitchen.
"Come quick!" the gangly lad implored. Lenora recognized the awkward child as the village leader's grandson. "It's the
tree. We're doomed -- doomed!"
Master bolted from the house. His family followed, the children still in their nightclothes. Lenora wasn't far behind.
Near the square, the sobs and shrieks reached a fever pitch. Women tore at their hair, men dropped to their knees, and
children cried until their voices grew hoarse. A middle-aged Revonite clutched his chest and collapsed, his dead eyes open
wide in horror.
Lenora's heart pounded as pushed her way through the din. Soon, the source of the hysteria was in full view. A high,
sturdy branch in the Wishing Tree had cracked, its limb dangling from the trunk. The damage had ravaged many lower
branches, toppling them to the ground. Almost half of the tree sat raw and exposed, sap oozing from its gaping wounds.
"It's dead, I tell you. Dead!" a frantic Revonite shouted to no one in particular. "Look up at the top. The leaves are turning
brown. It's the end for us!"
Fresh screams erupted from the crowd, and a brawl ensued. Several men hustled their families away.
Lenora stumbled to where she'd stood the night before. Master Grenshir was there, begging the crowd for calm.
"Perhaps it can be saved," he shouted in vain.
Then he hung his head. "Perhaps the banyan means to teach us a lesson. Perhaps the weight of our wishes was too great
to bear."
A nearby councilman overheard the remark and seized upon it. "Perhaps it was the weight of one wish that caused the
branch to break. Look there, at the base of that limb."
Master Grenshir squinted into the morning sun. A pair of rocks hung from the joint of the torn branch near the trunk.
"Quick. Fetch my grandson."
The councilman hurried off and returned with the gangly boy on his arm.
"You must do something right away," Master Grenshir told the boy. "It's very important, understand?"
The child sniveled.
"Climb up the tree and bring me the wish around that branch."
The boy's eyes widened in fear.
"It won't hurt you," Master Grenshir insisted. "You want to help me find out who did this, don't you?"
The boy nodded.
"Then get up there. And hurry."
Few people noticed the child scrambling over the fallen branches and up the trunk. Most were too busy wailing, arguing,
and running about. Lenora, of course, fixed her eyes on the boy. She saw him reach the area below the torn limb and
wrest the packaged wish free.
Soon he scurried down, hiding the dreaded wish beneath his shirt. Master Grenshir snatched the package and searched for
a sheet of paper. He found a small, folded message tucked beneath the rope secured to one of the stones. He tore at the
twine, cursing. By his side, the councilman and the boy watched. So did Lenora.
Several long seconds passed before the rope gave way. Master Grenshir flung the stone aside, hastening to read the wish.
His lip curled as he shoved the message in his pocket.
"Meaningless," he mumbled.
"What does it say?" The councilman shifted on his feet.
"Nothing important."
The councilman stared into the old man's eyes. "How can you be certain?"
"Some imbecile wished for something he already has," Master Grenshir shrugged.
The boy finally spoke. "What?"
His grandfather paused and snorted, "Freedom."
The councilman turned aside, shaking his head. Lenora looked to the tree and gave thanks.
Kanjor's purple sky and hurried to fetch fresh water
for Master Jardlin's morning bath. It was fifth day
of the moon cycle, and Master would be up early,
anxious to secure a prime spot by the Wishing Tree.
Sweat trickled down her wrinkled forehead as
Lenora hauled pail after pail to the tub. At last, she
carried an extra bucket to the dining room, dropped
to her knees, and dunked a thin rag in the water.
With effort, Lenora dragged the dirty cloth across
the floor's planks, clearing the remnants of last
night's feast.
In the corner, she spotted the drumstick of a keister
fowl and grabbed it, lifting the carcass close to her
grey eyes. Meat still clung to the bone -- three or
four bites at least. Lenora savored the small treasure,
preparing to lick it clean. But her good judgment
prevailed. Revonites didn't permit her kind to share
their delicacies. If Master discovered she'd sampled
the discarded piece, her beating would be swift and
severe. Reluctantly, Lenora threw the bone away
and continued her cleaning.
Some time later, Master Jardlin stumbled to the
table. He scratched his ample stomach, waiting for
Lenora to bring his porridge, sausages, fruit tart, and
spiced tea.
"Hurry along now," he ordered, rubbing his puffy
black eyes. "And tell my wife and children to get
ready. Early bird gets the worm."
Lenora did her best to cajole the rest of the family into
rising. She promised to add extra cream to Mistress
Henka's porridge and enticed little Franika with a fresh ribbon for her long amber locks. But Drestor, the youngest, proved
stubborn. He stuck his tongue out at Lenora and threatened to soil his blanket if she didn't leave. When she protested,
Drestor spit on her and called her a "stinky Kanjorian." She had to remind him of the rainbow lizard she hid from his
father's knife before the child finally stomped out of bed.
The family arrived at the Wishing Tree before the second sun reached its peak. The tall banyan, brought to Kanjor as a
seedling by the first Revonites, stretched its leafy limbs over the village's dusty square. A single leader branch rose
towards the heavens, supporting dozens of offshoots that shaded Revonites and sheltered songbirds.
No other tree grew as tall or strong as this awe-inspiring banyan. Attempts to harvest seed pods, graft root stocks, and
breed new offspring from the tree had all failed. The Revonites worshipped the old stalwart, believing it ensured their
prosperity and allowed them to commune with the gods.
Every Revonite could recite the First Miracle of the Wishing Tree. Long ago, a bitter drought choked the region, killing
crops and weakening livestock. In desperation, an elder scribbled a plea for rain to the gods. He fastened his message to a
rope, weighted the rope with rocks at each end, and flung his wish into the sky. It caught on one of the banyan's large
branches and dangled in the wind. Exhausted, the old man fell into a fitful sleep. He woke the next day to raindrops
strafing his cheeks.
From then on, Revonites revered their Wishing Tree and marked the fifth day of each moon cycle with a celebration and
fresh round of wishes. For Kanjorians like Lenora, the event simply meant more work -- daily purifications, five nights of
feasts, and the ritual gathering of implements.
Lenora lugged two baskets of supplies while Master Jardlin led his family to the banyan and claimed an enviable spot.
Colorful banners hung from nearby shops flapped in the breeze. Lenora spread a thick blanket beneath the banyan and set
out treats, taking care to place her sack of boiled grains off to one side. Master complained that the stench spoiled his
appetite.
"Make haste now," Master urged.
Lenora scurried to arrange keister quills, ink bottles, and a sheaf of paper at the blanket's center. Beside these she placed
eight large rocks and several strands of sturdy rope. Finally, she retreated to one side.
Master sauntered forward, his lower jaw thrust out. He inspected one stone after another, pursing his lips and offering an
occasional grunt. Lenora stood silent, hands clenched together. Mistress Henka sat down and motioned for her children to
do the same. Franika, ever the little angel, compiled quickly. Drestor hesitated, glanced at his father's stern face, and then
plopped beside his mother's flowing skirt.
"This One -- I don't know," Master began, his voice gruff. "It seems light."
He tossed the grey stone in the air and caught it with his meaty hand. "Are you certain it's the right weight?"
"I checked the scale three times, just as you said," Lenora whispered.
Master frowned. "I suppose it will do. Let's begin."
Each family member selected a sheet of paper and penned a wish in a fancy cursive script, with Mistress Henka helping
the children as needed. Following tradition, the family allowed one word per wish and kept each wish secret.
Lenora sat near the blanket's edge, nibbling her grains. She watched families drift into the square with their Kanjorian
servants in tow. The wealthy brought whirligigs and hand puppets to entertain their children, large rocks to secure their
wishes, and savory treats to please their palates. Others made do as best they could.
When the second sun sagged in the sky, the Revonites cradled their packaged wishes. Master Grenshir, the village leader,
silenced the crowd.
"We gather once again to celebrate the ancient ways that afford Revonites our strength and bring us dominion over all
others. Give thanks to the Wishing Tree and its gifts from the gods." The leader bowed his bald head. After a few silent
moments, he continued. "On this hallowed night, cast your wishes into the sky. Pray that this sacred banyan will catch
them and hold them dear until the rising of our second sun."
Young and old flung their wishes into the tree with all their might. The smartest aimed for the strongest, most accessible
branches: a wish fallen was a wish denied.
Master Jardlin took no chances. He positioned his family beneath a low branch. Then he hoisted his children on his broad
shoulders so they could drape their wishes around the sturdy limb.
Lenora kept to herself, picking up crumpled paper and discarded berries. When another family came by to chat, Lenora
spied a quill that one of the children had left unattended. Its wet nib gave her an idea. She slipped the quill in her apron
pocket. Then she puttered about, shifting debris from one area to another. In a short while, only the moon's crimson
beams illuminated the night sky.
Master's eyes grew wild when he saw the state of his family's goods. "Haven't you cleaned up yet?"
Lenora cowered. "I'm sorry, Master. Truly I am."
"That's not good enough," he bellowed. "What if Franika catches a chill?"
"Oh, that would be terrible."
"And it would be your fault!"
"I'd never forgive myself," Lenora muttered, head bowed. "Please, go home. I'll stay and gather your things."
Before Master could speak, Mistress Henka cut in. "Let's go. I'm tired."
The family trudged off. Soon the last stragglers abandoned the square, leaving Lenora alone. The moon loomed high as she
surveyed the Wishing Tree, its branches laden with ropes and rocks. She pulled a crumpled bit of paper from her pocket
and, with stiff hands, pressed the scrap smooth against the hollow of her belly. Then she set her salvaged quill against the
parchment and scribbled a single word.
Next, Lenora scoured the square for a suitable pair of rocks. A half hour passed, and still she found none. Lenora sunk to
the ground, resting her weary legs. The wind stung her cheeks, and soon she heard the low thuds of stones clanging
against branches. Lenora rose again, searching for a fallen wish. The closest she found was a stone dangling from a rope
attached to small twig. Lenora hesitated, unwilling to deny some Revonite his dream. But as the wind whipped about her
threadbare skirt, she reconsidered.
She stood on her toes and thrust her arm in the air. The stone, small but heavy, was just out of reach. Lenora swallowed
hard and jumped.
Her gnarled fingers scraped the rock but failed to bring it down. Her right knee cracked as she landed, and Lenora
struggled to suppress a scream.
Panting, she eyed the dangling stone. Lenora took a deep breath, summoning all her energy. Then she leaped again and
clawed at the rock with both hands. She crashed to the ground clutching her prize: two stones and a bit of rope.
The victory afforded her new strength. She ripped the original wish from its stone and replaced it with her folded scrap of
paper. Ignoring her swollen knee, Lenora hurried to Master Grenshir's favorite spot. The location offered a clean shot into
the Wishing Tree's main branch. Wishes held there were more likely to earn divine favor.
Lenora paused, uncertain what to do. She knew no Revonite prayers -- her people were forbidden to participate in their
rituals -- and she began to doubt the tree would even receive her wish, let alone grant it. After all, what good had the
ancient banyan ever afforded a Kanjorian? Still, if the Wishing Tree could work miracles, it seemed worth a try.
Lenora steadied her hands and lifted the stones to her chest, repeating her wish over and over. Then she hurled the
package into the air.
Her rocks sailed upward, buoyed by the wind's growing force. Lenora strained to follow their path, anxious for the banyan
to embrace her wish. One stone crashed into a northern-facing branch and bounced towards the center, bringing the
package to rest on the joint of a limb that sprang from the great tree's trunk.
She couldn't have asked for more. This bit of good fortune -- her first in decades -- brought tears to her tired eyes.
Lenora's luck carried her through the night. Master had already gone to bed, enabling her to creep into the house
undetected. She unrolled her straw mat on the kitchen floor and dozed.
Just after the rising of the first sun, a high-pitched wail roused her; a young Revonite was screaming at Master's door.
Lenora tried to shield the family from the commotion, but it was too late. Master stormed into the kitchen.
"Come quick!" the gangly lad implored. Lenora recognized the awkward child as the village leader's grandson. "It's the
tree. We're doomed -- doomed!"
Master bolted from the house. His family followed, the children still in their nightclothes. Lenora wasn't far behind.
Near the square, the sobs and shrieks reached a fever pitch. Women tore at their hair, men dropped to their knees, and
children cried until their voices grew hoarse. A middle-aged Revonite clutched his chest and collapsed, his dead eyes open
wide in horror.
Lenora's heart pounded as pushed her way through the din. Soon, the source of the hysteria was in full view. A high,
sturdy branch in the Wishing Tree had cracked, its limb dangling from the trunk. The damage had ravaged many lower
branches, toppling them to the ground. Almost half of the tree sat raw and exposed, sap oozing from its gaping wounds.
"It's dead, I tell you. Dead!" a frantic Revonite shouted to no one in particular. "Look up at the top. The leaves are turning
brown. It's the end for us!"
Fresh screams erupted from the crowd, and a brawl ensued. Several men hustled their families away.
Lenora stumbled to where she'd stood the night before. Master Grenshir was there, begging the crowd for calm.
"Perhaps it can be saved," he shouted in vain.
Then he hung his head. "Perhaps the banyan means to teach us a lesson. Perhaps the weight of our wishes was too great
to bear."
A nearby councilman overheard the remark and seized upon it. "Perhaps it was the weight of one wish that caused the
branch to break. Look there, at the base of that limb."
Master Grenshir squinted into the morning sun. A pair of rocks hung from the joint of the torn branch near the trunk.
"Quick. Fetch my grandson."
The councilman hurried off and returned with the gangly boy on his arm.
"You must do something right away," Master Grenshir told the boy. "It's very important, understand?"
The child sniveled.
"Climb up the tree and bring me the wish around that branch."
The boy's eyes widened in fear.
"It won't hurt you," Master Grenshir insisted. "You want to help me find out who did this, don't you?"
The boy nodded.
"Then get up there. And hurry."
Few people noticed the child scrambling over the fallen branches and up the trunk. Most were too busy wailing, arguing,
and running about. Lenora, of course, fixed her eyes on the boy. She saw him reach the area below the torn limb and
wrest the packaged wish free.
Soon he scurried down, hiding the dreaded wish beneath his shirt. Master Grenshir snatched the package and searched for
a sheet of paper. He found a small, folded message tucked beneath the rope secured to one of the stones. He tore at the
twine, cursing. By his side, the councilman and the boy watched. So did Lenora.
Several long seconds passed before the rope gave way. Master Grenshir flung the stone aside, hastening to read the wish.
His lip curled as he shoved the message in his pocket.
"Meaningless," he mumbled.
"What does it say?" The councilman shifted on his feet.
"Nothing important."
The councilman stared into the old man's eyes. "How can you be certain?"
"Some imbecile wished for something he already has," Master Grenshir shrugged.
The boy finally spoke. "What?"
His grandfather paused and snorted, "Freedom."
The councilman turned aside, shaking his head. Lenora looked to the tree and gave thanks.
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