Dark Earth: Reunion

Reunion Part 6

Just over eight weeks later, we stood before Gwydden Wood, this time flanked by rather more assorted and associated assistants. There had been quite a scramble by all types of chaps and chapesses to witness what was going to occur, but the Ministry of Magic put its foot down and capped the crowd at exactly twenty-seven, citing some very vague 'advice'; the Prime Minister had been offered a place, but reportedly knocked it back, saying that he had a job to do. I recognised only a few of the faces who waited for the moment to come, although the pre-dawn light provided a suitably mystery to it all. There was the wizardly cove who had been in Canada, flanked by several other robed fellows and a gaggle of civil servants, naturally, although I could not for the life of me place a small old man (or perhaps he was a tall old dwarf) with a long brown beard, bright blue eyes and a red merry face lined with a hundred wrinkles of laughter. The most notable face I knew belonged to a particular professor who had been Minister of Magic just after the War; it seemed extremely fitting for him to be here.

The largest challenge for this reunion had been the arrangement of transport, the original route being no longer available for a variety of reasons. In the end, it was concluded that an entirely wooden ship would suffice, provided that there was an expansive deck area that could be covered with soil, opened to the sun and take the initial delegation of fourteen Treewives and their accompanying trees to boot. Oh, and it had to have direct contact with the sea, ruling out the easier option of flying across the Atlantic. This lead to a fair bit of scrambling about, as sufficiently large wooden vessels were few and far between, but a solution was finally found when a highly frazzled and half-sozzled civil servant seconded from the Department of Administrative Affairs suggested looking in a museum; he was half right, as they settled upon a museum ship - SS Great Western. She had been pulled out her permanent drydock in Bristol overnight by two skyships, leading to a rash of concerned citizens across the country calling the police to report aliens stealing a ship and a consequent cover story about emergency maintenance to remove Tibetan rot worms being leaked to the press, and hastily overhauled at Scapa Flow. Malevius and I had come along as escorts for the voyage from the Saguenay Fjord, which was one of the safest crossings I've ever made, on account of HMS Hood, HMS Malta, HMCS Canada and a dozen destroyers taking a little cruise that coincidentally happened to be on the exact same route as our own.

Now, as the sun crested the horizon, the Treewives stepped forward with a grace that defied their size. Their song began slowly yet inexorably, soaring higher and more beautiful as their voices reverberated through the crisp air. Flowers bloomed from the grass around them as the music stretched out tentatively, seeking a bond that had been lost for over five thousand thousand days, but never broken. The bushes at the edge of the wood swayed and then bent out of the way, opening a path into the mystical wood. Just beyond the trees, I could see the Treelords striding forward now, their gently sedate pace now set aside as they hurried the last few paces towards this meeting that had long seemed a dream beyond all hope. Both sides stretched forth their limbs with almost tentative desire.

Then they touched.

I have seen many sights in my days, sights of profound horror and abject misery, sights of glorious inspiration and brilliant glory and sights of the benign indifference of nature, yet no sight and no experience will compare to the reunion that then took place. The song of the Treelords and Treewives joined together into a new and wonderful music that swelled into depths and heights of sound beyond hearing and, as it did, the trees and their shepherds alike burst into blossom. It soared and echoed down the valleys, spreading the gold as it went, and love, and peace, and joy, and hope.

As the trees closed behind the reunion and we walked away back down the hill, I looked up into the lightening air and, for a moment the sky seemed to turn to silvered glass and, through the mist, I beheld white shores and a far green country under a swift sunrise. Swelling up beyond that was a shining city of gold.

Then it was gone.

"Was that...?" I could not complete my sentence.

"Perhaps." came an old and gentle voice from beside me. "Long has this world been marred, but it shall not be always. From the shadows, comes the light. From the darkness, comes the dawn."

I turned around to see who it was who spoke to me.

There was no-one there.

So I walked down that gentle grassy hill in the mountains of Wales, ready for the day to come.