Time of the Twins

“I was never afraid of anything until I entered the Forest of Wayreth,” Caramon said to himself softly. “I only went in last time because you were with me, my brother. Your courage alone kept me going. How can I go in there now without you? It’s magic. I don’t understand magic! I can’t fight it! What hope is there?” Caramon put his hands over his eyes to blot out the hideous sight. “I can’t go in there,” he said wretchedly. “It’s too much to ask of me!”

Pulling his sword from its sheath, he held it out. His hand shook so he nearly dropped the weapon. “Hah!” he said bitterly. “See? I couldn’t fight a child. This is too much to ask. No hope. There is no hope...”

“It is easy to have hope in the spring, warrior, when the weather is warm and the vallenwoods are green. It is easy to have hope in the summer, when the vallenwoods glitter with gold. It is easy to have hope in the fall when the vallenwoods are as red as living blood. But in the winter, when the air is sharp and bitter and the skies are gray, does the vallenwood die, warrior?”

“Who spoke?” Caramon cried, staring around wildly, clutching his sword in his trembling hand.

“What does the vallenwood do in the winter, warrior, when all is dark and even the ground is frozen? It digs deep, warrior. It sends its roots down, down, into the soil, down to the warm heart of the world. There, deep within, the vallenwood finds nourishment to help it survive the darkness and the cold, so that it may bloom again in the spring.”

“So?” Caramon asked suspiciously, backing up a step and looking around.

“So you stand in the darkest winter of your life, warrior. And so you must dig deep to find the warmth and the strength that will help you survive the bitter cold and the terrible darkness. No longer do you have the bloom of spring or the vigor of summer. You must find the strength you need in your heart, in your soul. Then, like the vallenwoods, you will grow once more.”

“Your words are pretty—” Caramon began, scowling, distrusting this talk of spring and trees. But he could not finish, his breath caught in his throat.

The Forest was changing before his eyes.

The twisting, writhing trees straightened as he watched, lifting their limbs to the skies, growing, growing, growing. He bent his head back so far he nearly lost his balance, but still he couldn’t see their tops. They were vallenwood trees! Just like those in Solace before the coming of the dragons. As he watched in awe, he saw dead limbs burst into life—green buds sprouted, burst open, blossomed into green glistening leaves that turned summer gold—seasons changing as he drew a shivering breath.

The noxious fog vanished, replaced by a sweet fragrance drifting from beautiful flowers that twined among the roots of the vallenwoods. The darkness in the forest vanished, the sun shed its bright light upon the swaying trees. And as the sunlight touched the trees’ leaves, the calls of birds filled the perfumed air.