Chapter Text
More than a hundred years ago, two young women were wandering in the forest behind the Thunder River after nightfall. One of them was completely wrapped in white, the other in black. The fabric clung to their silhouettes. They carried bundles in their arms, made of the same fabric. Huddled close to their chests, they ran like timid deer. Fleeing from the wolf. But there was no wolf, only the spirit of their conscience driving them. Side by side they ran through the thicket, bushes grasping at them with long fingers, pulling at their clothes, their hair, their bundles. There was a crackling under their feet. An owl called out. Shame, they were sure of it. They held hands as the wolf manifested a body behind them and howled. The full moon shone through the freshly sprouted treetops, illuminating their faces and their path. The smell of water rose to their noses. Mud. Wet stone. They kept on walking until they arrived at the Thunder River. They followed it. Suddenly the woman dressed in white stopped, pulling on the arm of the other. "Look." she spoke, pointing to the water. The one dressed in black stopped just as abruptly. She blinked in disbelief, looked into the white woman's face, and back into the water. "Is that...?" The other nodded. "I think so." Silence. But not silence. The splashing roared in her ears. The river sounded wrong. "It flows backward." The one in black covers squinted at her. "You mean upward." The latter nodded. "That's what I'm saying. An omen." Spellbound, they looked at the river, its water lapping as usual but flowing up the hill in front of which they stood. The fish didn't seem impressed but went about their circles untouched under the silver of the water's surface. Goosebumps afflicted both women. Howling again snapped them out of their trance. They ran up the hill. They gasped. The ground crunched. They held hands and pulled themselves up.
Soon they were standing next to the river. It flowed beside them, still wrong. There was a rustling in the bushes. They walked on, following the course of the river. They kept moving, the forest gradually thinning out. Soon they were standing in a clearing. It was not big, a stone's throw away. The river disappeared into the rock at the foot of a gigantic tree. Its roots enwrapped the stone in an embrace. The woman dressed in white said, "It holds it together. Everything. The rock. The clearing." The black-clad woman shook her head.
"No. He's holding them captive. He's their king, and everyone knows it. Every blade of grass knows it." They were silent as they walked toward the tree. The other trees and bushes seemed to bow and grow reverently out of the way. Wet moss smacked the soles of their bare feet. The two women felt the warmth of one another as they approached the tree more and more. Then they stood in front of it. Both had a big lump in their throats. One of the kind you can't swallow. They looked at each other. Then they looked at the tree. The moon was caught in its branches, and a few stars. Otherwise, it looked like an ordinary big tree. The woman in white cloths reached for the hand of the other. The latter took it and squeezed it. A smile played around the lips of the smaller woman, but it gave way to drooping corners of the mouth and drawn together eyebrows. The black-clad woman pulled her to a bush that grew under the tree next to the river. Where the bush was, soft moss parted on one side, teeny purple flowers on the other. Sand thyme. Quender. The fragrance wafted toward them. Beneath the bush itself, white lavender stretched its little heads skyward.
"Do you think this is the place?"
Nodding. "I think it's the only right thing to do."
The woman in light sheaths took a deep breath. "I know. I'm afraid they might lock us up if they found us. Or worse."
Another nod. "You're right."
They fell silent. Then they knelt in the moss. The dark stuff got even darker, and the light stuff got even lighter.
"Do you think the legends about the tree are true?"
"A little late, don't you think?" asked the black-clad woman. She glanced toward the bush. "We can only hope." Then she laid her bundle on the moss. The white-clad one copied her, placing her bundle on the quender. Then they stood up. The buds on the bush suddenly opened, and beautiful rose blossoms glistened in the moonlight. The moon was reflected in the dew. They held hands, again, and the woman dressed in white wept softly. The moon was also reflected in her tears.
"Come. We have to go." The black-clad woman pulled the other with her. Quickly. Running. Both with tears in their eyes. As they descended the hill, they heard weeping and crying. The crying of infants.