Twin Nash

A long time ago, a silly, little boy tried to write a silly, not-so-little book.  In that book he wrote about two trees.  The writing is clumsy, but some key concepts are there…

                …Two tall silhouettes, their branches slightly swaying in the night breeze, caught his attention and he forgot about all else.  As he walked over to the stream, the ground descended gradually until it leveled out, and then he was underneath the branches of the closest tree.  He remained very quiet as he approached, and then slowly extended an arm and placed his hand against the trunk.  It was a bigger tree than the Nash near Malenthir’s Dwindi—this one would take at least two persons to fully embrace its girth—and much older, judging by the bark under his fingers.  He felt all around the trunk and as high as he could reach for any chink in the protective bark, but found it solid and whole.  The young syclyxer wrinkled his brow with frustration, for he could not imagine tearing any of the bark off.  It would be something akin to sacrilege to do so since he did not know the tree well enough to judge where its life-veins would be found.  Even then it might seem an action too arrogant in the face of its age and, what struck the syclyxer in the twilight, as its majesty.  And yet he had a desperate desire that seemed to be rising with a force built on days of holding his curiosity back.  He ran his hands over the bark again to double check, but found nothing different.

                Then he decided he might as well give the other twin a look.  The roots, it seemed, of both trees had grown into the stream and were dense enough to dam the water just slightly.  This made a small swelled pool on the southern side of the trees that was too deep to cross without soaking one’s clothes.  On the northern side, however, the water was shallower, though swifter, and several protruding stones made a dry crossing easy.  The syclyxer nimbly hopped over and drew near to the second Nash.  Running his hands up and down the trunk, he found the bark as impenetrable as the first.  His internal tension only grew stronger and at last he sat down to think, trailing his heels in the small pool. 

                He could see stars reflecting in the water as they peeked through the reflection of the branches above.  There were small ripples blurring the lights in the water and with the accompaniment of the running water on the other side, the syclyxer was soon drawn into a meditative equilibrium.  He did not know how long he had sat there or what his thoughts had been when, seeing the reflections of the branches in the water, he thought of the roots that must lie underneath.  These were, by nature, funnels for multiple life-veins and of course would have little, if any, bark to protect them.  Not caring to sleep in wet clothes later on, the young syclyxer stripped and slipped in quietly.  The water was not too cold, at least not compared to the night air, and leaning back slightly to counterbalance the small but steady tug of the current, he began to feel around at once for the roots.  There was a whole network of them creating a mesh that was responsible for the pool, and it was no hard task to find good handholds coming from both trees.

                Starting with a root from the Nash on his left, he gripped it with both hands and grew still.  He remembered his uncle’s instructions, but found it difficult to relax in his growing excitement.  He still had a lingering meditative calm, however, and regaining the proper frame of mind, he slowly sensed the growing ability to probe.  He had the sensation that his mind’s eye entered the life vein and was traveling downward in some current of the sap.  It was a strong current—rich, vibrant and somewhat intoxicating.  Then it took him, willing or not, and sent him rushing deep into some far recess and soon he was no longer aware of himself as something separate from the sensations he felt.

                He was old, perhaps ancient, and the weight of such ‘ageness’ was heavy beyond measure, though he bore it with the immense strength of the dark earth itself.  Yet that was the skin, the mere crust of who or what he was.  The sensations plunged deeper, realer, and with increasing intensity.  Then there was an expansion of the awareness and he became the life-vein; a river of growing momentum, like a huge body of running water that was narrowing towards its center.  The rushing grew quicker and wilder, and what had started as ripples were growing into white-foamed rapids that smashed and churned and bounced along.  Faster and faster he went till the intensity and excitement threatened to go beyond exhilarating.

                All this had been producing friction and he became aware of a growing heat all around.  Then it was inside him, filling him up till al at once he was ablaze.  He became fire, roaring with flames that rushed upwards with infinite variety.  He was consuming, ever-consuming, but every devoured bit was converted to creativity.  The twisting, flickering, dazzling-colored flames rose higher and higher till he felt himself shoot upwards ith impossible energy.  Then suddenly there was a shift and he felt light as air, as free to move and twirl and hiss as wind itself.  Or maybe not.  Perhaps he was simply unresistant to any push or pull or force or pressure that cared to toss him about.  It was all the same to him; he loved it either way.

                But it was too much and small mind that was attempting to contain all the sensations could do so no longer, and began to separate itself.  The mind pulled away and somewhere a grip relaxed and followed suit, and then he was Athir once more.  His head and shoulders that were still above the water, were drenched, and he would have thought he had collapsed into the pool if he had not tasted the salt on his face.  He was breathing hard and sat for a long time till his respiration grew steady and the excitement coursing through his blood dissipated.  His reflex was to process what had just happened, but he found his mind blank, unable to contain the experience within any thought.  He was much too tired to fight and so let receding waves of the experience wash over him.

                He had no idea how long the ‘vision’ had gone on, nor how long he had been sitting there in the pool afterwards, when he found himself following the impulse to reach out for the roots of the other Nash.  There was resistance within him, but he was too worn out to identify it or obey it.  Before long he felt himself being pulled down in the current of the life-vein.  Again he was old—ancient with the immeasurable weight of his age—yet bearing it with the equally indeterminate strength of the earth.  This time, however, the sensation did not leave.  This was no skin or crust; or if it was, the inside was just more of the same.  On and on it went—the same ‘ancientness’ and the same strength to bear it.  It went on until at last he no longer noticed it and was aware only of an all-encompassing and serene stillness.  There was no thought of the turbulence before, no thought of even the stillness now.  Only a secure stability that brought thought to a perfect, peaceful rest.

                But this also was too much for the small mind and it retreated, separating itself.  Again the hand followed suit and Athir suddenly gasped for breath like he had been under water far too long—only this time his head and shoulders were dry.  He shook himself over to make sure he was all there, and was glad for the little tug of water around his body that reassured him he was alive.

                He was about to get out of the pool when suddenly he sensed movement above him.  He tilted backwards and looking up, could see branches swaying in some breeze above.  He laughed, for it made him feel jittery and restless like a toddler that cannot help but squirm.  But then he noticed that it was only the Nash on his left that moved while its twin remained motionless.  Perhaps there was no breeze, or else it was getting stronger, since the branches were beginning to sway significantly.  His attention became fixed straight above him where harsh scraping noises were occurring.  Then he understood the noise as he watched the swinging branches that hung over the pool colliding with those of the other Nash that remained still.  The movement only grew and the scratching turned to heavy thuds as the collisions became more forceful.  Then twigs and leaves and bark began to rain down and the syclyxer had to shield his head.  He heard the thwacks of other impacts to his left and realized that not only was the swaying Nash damaging the other one, it was going to break itself apart.  It felt so wrong and this astonished him, for though the intensity of the earlier sensation had been too much for him, it had seemed right and good.  But now what had begun as creative had turned destructive, purposelessly.

                He kept waiting for some change, but the collisions only grew louder and the debris coming down, heavier.  He realized it was not going to stop and suddenly he was horribly afraid for the lives of the trees.  It was becoming dangerous to remain where he was, but on an impulse he lunged for the roots of the Nash on the right.  “WAKE UP!” he screamed with all the mental force he had.  He felt his plea penetrate deeply and was astonished at his own power of urgency.  Then he felt the response, like a heavy sedimentary level near the earth’s foundation rising from below.  The tree itself seemed to rise upward and spread its branches over the other Nash till it was contained.  Then it began to constrict with irresistible strength and authority, causing the movement of the other Nash to become cramped and restricted.  Relief flooded over the syclyxer and he sighed heavily.  By now both trees had grown completely still though the right one remained in its posture of smothering the other.

                Athir, however, was a quick learner and a growing suspicion soon filled him.  The air around him already seemed stifled like what he could only imagine it might feel deep within the earth.  He had heard of certain people who buried their dead in the earth and for the first time he understood the connection and significance.  But he did not care for death, at least not in this context, and knew that the lives of the trees were being threatened again.  He knew what had to be done and placed his hand over the root of the Nash on his left.  He spoke with his mind to rouse the tree, but found his sense of urgency gone and his mental functions groggy.  The stillness was getting increasingly oppressive and with a great effort, he roused himself and spoke again.  To his relief he felt a low murmur of something from below.  He thought he could relax again, but the slight tremor never grew louder.  He mustered his will once more and attempted to coax whatever it was below.  He thought perhaps it had become a ripple, but it would need more force than that to grow.  Such a revival he realized, was going to cost him something.  Some portion of his life for it to feed on, he supposed.  Was it worth it?  There was little hesitation for he wanted the tree to live and so he gave, though with reserve.  It was enough, and the ripples began to grow into waves, and the waves traveled up the trunk to the branches that tossed and shuffled and shifted till they were breaking loose of the inert branches that engulfed them.  A swaying began and the Nash on his right recoiled back to its normal stature.

                This time the syclyxer allowed himself no time for relief and watched carefully, hoping the motion would level out at some point.  But it did not.  I was as persistent as momentum itself.  Noises grew and the debris began to fall and Athir moved over to the other Nash once more.  The pattern was consistent and the syclyxer soon found himself shuffling back and forth, invoking the forces of life and death in turn.  He knew he had to find a balance and desperately tried to control the rises of motion and stillness to that end.  He tried holding back on his urgency, but if the response was not strong enough it would settle back down and hten he would be fighting two momentums to invoke a second response.  Yet every time the response was enough it would grow beyond its need and dominate with increasing insistence.  He was attempting the impossible of balancing forces far greater than himself on the point of a needle.

                Then at last, by some fluke chance, there was a semblance of equilibrium.  He happened to be at the Nash on his left and its branches were swaying slowly while the branches of its twin were just barely holding on to their network of a cage.  When they looked like they were about to give, the syclyxer shifted over and coaxed.  Then then the motion started dying and he shifted back.  He went back and forth several times, just barely hanging on to the precarious equilibrium when he got the idea of holding roots from both trees in separate hands.  This mad e things easier and he thought perhaps the impossible might be feasible after all.

                He never knew how long he had sat there, straining for balance.  Eventually he became aware that his body ached, and especially his shoulders and neck, which were burning.  But his head ached too and his eyes stung from trying to stay focused on the branches above that he might know which tree to encourage.  He began to wonder if it was worth it, but every time he did, the equilibrium would be offset from his lace of concentration.  He resolved that he must continue till he could no more, for he would not let the tree destroy themselves.  But as his struggling continued, a rising enmity began to tug at his conscious mind.  When at last, at the risk of upsetting the balance, he acknowledged it, he was surprised since he knew it was directed at the trees themselves.  How could that be, had he not held them as sacred?  But he was enslaved and miserable and they were the source of it all.  He could not remember ever feeling so wretched and he was beyond exhaustion.  Finally, hating himself now as well for giving up, he let go with his hands, too tired and frustrated to do anymore.  He lay in the water, half floating, half standing, and closed his eyes.  Somewhere in his brain, it registered that the Nash on his right must have won out since he could  hear nothing and felt no leaves or bark falling down.  Yet this time he did not feel the suffocating weight, for his detachment made him immune.

                His anger began to subside while guilt and a sadness took its place.  He had been a fool to probe on his own.  Who knew what kind of irreparable damage he had caused with his inability to keep things under control?

                “O Mahelil!  What have I done?” he groaned.

                He was on the verge of tears when he noticed the water around him had grown warm.  Quite warm in fact, and it felt very soothing.  He opened his eyes and saw nothing unusual, but he could feel the frustration washing out of him.  Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he watched the Nash on his right shrink back to its normal shape.  Athir nearly laughed aloud with relief, so overjoyed that things would be all right again.  Then he sensed a change as the water seemed to be creating some sort of pulse.  The twin Nash began to quiver as if in answer and the syclyxer waited expectantly.  Nothing changed, however, and he got eh peculiar impression that the trees were waiting for something as well.  Then it came, but this time it was within him, like a voice saying, “Now take hold of the roots.”  He was reluctant to do so, but whatever the voice was, it insisted.

                Slowly, and amazed at the calm he now felt, the syclyxer took the roots—one in his left hand and another in his right.  The pulse in the water began to grow in intensity and it took ahold of him.  It filled him and then went through him into the Nash on his left.  The familiar ripples and waves traveling up the trunk sent the branches swaying once again.  There was a moment of apprehension for the syclyxer, and then he felt the motion of the tree pass through him to the Nash on his right.  This time the rippling traveled up its trunk in similar fashion as it had with the one on the left.  Only now, this Nash took the ripples and waves and steadied them, weaving them into patterns so that by the time the motion had traveled up to the branches, they swayed in a dance of complex yet exact precision.  This too, Athir felt come full circle and pass through him back to the Nash on his left, all the while feeling himself throbbing with the pulse from the water.  The pattern traveled upwards, but now the tree took it and added more or just changed the swaying as it pleased.  This in turn passed through the syclyxer and the other tree formed the motion into something consistent again.  Then back it went; and then back again, until Athir was pierced with a joy he never forgot for the rest of his life.