The Trees

Every tree on Earth keeps a diary in wood — one ring per year, rain and fire and plenty written into the grain. The tree-spirits of this universe are the diaries come walking: seventy-three humanoid keepers, each one grown from a real species, from Ginnan the ginkgo (270 million years old, a living fossil) to Bambou the giant bamboo (the fastest-growing woody plant on Earth) to Dendros the cucumber tree (the only tree that is a cucumber — verified repeatedly, still unexplained).

They have sorted themselves into eight factions. The Ancient Ones are the living fossils, where age is authority. The Skyreach are the tallest giants, ranked by height and renegotiated every season. The Canopy Throne rules the rainforest’s emergent layer. The Painted Bark trades in appearances — the shedding season is an election. The Desert Court banks water; the stored liter is the coin of the realm. The Flowering Court runs on bloom, and no one has ever successfully argued against a cherry blossom. The Deep Root keeps the ledgers — poisonous, patient, and silent. The Wanderers are the palms and spreaders; the road is the only faction. Standing runs from Seedling to Sapling to Canopy-bearer, and the eight War-captains every tree knows by name.

And Joe walks here too — once, he walked the Missing Ring’s year, and he will not speak of it. He passes through the groves the way weather passes: noticed by everyone, explained by no one. “Wisdom is like a baobab tree; no one individual can embrace it” — Akan proverb — and he walks on, because the forest is old and the wisdom is older.