By

Adelle Bradford and Denis Bonner

Jack the carpenter thought he was making a joke, the first time he called his son a "little magician". Max - who was three and a bit at the time - didn't understand the word, but gravely agreed. "I little Jissan," he said, nodding importantly.

What prompted this?

Well, first you should know that although Jack was a carpenter, he was not a particularly good one. There were just the two of them living in the ramshackle little cottage by the edge of the great dark forest: Max and Jack. So almost from the moment he was born, Max spent most of his time watching his father at work. Sawing, planing, sanding and turning, fitting pieces together to make chairs and tables, benches and stools, bookcases ... all sorts of furniture which the people from the nearby town ordered.

Sometimes, as Max played with the piles of crisp, curly shavings, or trickled the richly fragrant sawdust through his fingers, he heard a lot of complaining noises about cranky grain, or timber that hadn't been seasoned properly. Occasionally, very, very occasionally, there would be a cry of triumph when a job worked out perfectly.

So what did Max do, that first time?

Quite simply he went over to the wood and told it to behave. No warping, cracking, grains unexpectedly running in the wrong direction, and so on. Not that he used all those words. Of course he didn't. Max just asked his Dad which wood he was going to use next, put his hands on it, and sternly told it not to be troublesome. Although he wanted to laugh, Jack didn't because Max had such a look of concentrated seriousness on his little face as he spoke to the wood.

As it turned out, the piece of furniture Jack made with this particular wood – a complicated hall table with turned legs, two drawers with dovetailing and curved fronts, as well as some inlay work – became one of those rare pieces where woodworking perfection was achieved.

"You," he told his son, sweeping him up to hug him joyfully, "are my little magician!"

From then on, whenever Max was there to talk to the wood – and that was just about all the time until he started school – Jack's carpentry always turned out well. What's more, he began to get new customers as his reputation grew. He was very pleased, and very happy. Max like to see his Dad in a good mood instead of being grumpy, but he didn't make the connection, didn't understand it was all his doing.

It was after Max had been in school about six months that he came into the workshop one afternoon and announced: "Teacher read a story today." Then, continuing an unexplained train of thought, he continued, "I am a little Jissan, so I must have a stick."

"A wand?" Jack suggested.

Max shook his head firmly. "Not a wand. Wands are for fairies. The other one." He frowned. He'd forgotten the word already.

"A staff then."

"Yes," Max agreed. "A staff. As tall as me," he instructed. "The staff is always as tall as little Jissan." That hadn't been in the story, it just seemed right.

Jack measured him carefully, deciding not to mention the fact that when Max grew the staff wouldn't. No doubt Max would understand when he got older. Max picked out the wood for his staff - a straight-grained piece of ash – and spent a long time communicating with it. Then he ran off to play - as all six- year olds do - while his father put the wood on the lathe.

The staff was exactly as long as Max was tall, and as the years passed Jack came to realize that he had been wrong. It kept on being the same length as Max’s height, but Jack said not a word about it. Max didn't spend much time in the workshop any more. Now, when a fresh load of timber arrived from the local sawmill, all he had to do was wave his staff over the wood to make it 'behave'.

Jack's reputation continued to grow, but he never became conceited. He understood exactly why he was producing work worthy of a master craftsman after years of indifferent workmanship. He knew his son was, indeed, 'a little Jissan', but it was with some trepidation that he watched Max develop his skills, and observed how he used them. Finally he came to the conclusion that he needn't have worried that the power Max wielded might go to his head, or worse still that he might even inadvertently do something truly awful. There seemed little chance of either of those things ever happening.

It was true that at first Max used his powers in strange ways - but he was very young. The idea, for example, of having a bag of sweets that never ran out must have seemed pretty keen. The stomachache afterwards wasn't so enjoyable, so Max looked for other things to do. He soon learned not to try to change people – with the exception of bullies, and even then only the tiniest bit. Max's school suddenly became a remarkably friendly place once he had identified all the bullies.

Even the teaching improved.

Max thought it was all good fun, but when he turned ten he got around to asking his father the question that had been at the back of his mind for a very long time.

"Dad, why can I change things and the others can't?"

"I'm not really sure, Max, " Jack said. "Though it’s probably because of your mother." There was sadness in his voice.

"Could she change things too?"

"Not that I ever saw. But she was of elfish blood."

"My mother was an elf?" Max's eyes shone with excited curiosity. "So what happened? Where is she now?"

"Her people came and took her away into the forest when you were born." Jack put his arm around his son's shoulders. "I don't know where she is now. They warned me never to go looking, under threat of death for her."

"Why did they take her away? Was it wrong for her to marry you? Did you treat her badly?" Max’s tone bordered on the accusatory.

Jack shook his head. "I don't know why they took her away. And no, we loved each other dearly ... indeed we did." His eyes filled with tears as he remembered the heartbreak of their parting. Though it was more than likely your being born that they didn't like, he thought bitterly, but didn't say. Half-breeds pollute their pure blood and of that they are very protective.

"I will find her one day," Max declared. "A boy should know his mother."

From then on, Max spent much of his free time in the forest. He spoke to the living trees, asking, always asking about his mother, but never receiving an answer. A few times he tried to use his staff on them, but the most he ever got was a waving of branches and the whispering of leaves. At that time he didn't realize that they were telling him about his Mother in a language he couldn't understand, a forest language as old as time.

Over the years, his forest wanderings, although they might have appeared random to the casual observer, took him in precise circles, ever smaller as he moved from the outer edges of the forest deeper into the middle. It was here in this forest his Father and Mother had met, and it was here in this forest that Max would find her. Of this he was positive.

Occasionally he simply sat quietly under a tree, feeling content in the silence that was not silence at all. Leaf hands moved, creating a gentle susurrus of sound as they touched each other, sharing secrets under the urging of small breezes playing through the treetops. Birds called, arguing over territory or bragging about newly hatched nestlings. Squirrels and other small forest animals scurried busily about, and occasionally a deer stopped to gaze at him in wonder before it continued on about its business. During those quiet times Max, who was once the 'little Jissan', was sure he had found the place he sought, the place where he belonged. He was always loath to leave, but his duty to his Father urged him back to their little cabin at the forest edge.

Jack didn't worry about him, even when he was away over night as sometimes happened. He knew what his 'little Jissan' was doing, and in his heart he urged him on. If Max found his Mother, surely Jack would get to see the love of his life again...for however brief a time.

And so the years passed by. Then, one day late summer day when he was almost through his sixteenth year, Max went deeper into the forest than he had ever gone before. He stopped for a while, sitting with his back to a huge old oak tree by a spring-fed pool in a small leafy glade. His eyes were half-closed when he became aware of a different sound, a different feel to the movement in the tall ferns bordering the far side of the small pool. He opened his eyes, and she was there ...

It would not be true to say he realized straight away. But she knew.

“My son.” Her voice was as sweet as birdsong.

He rose to his feet, gazing enraptured at the slim young woman who stood before him. “Mother?”

“We were going to call you Max,” she said.

“He did,” a marvelous moment, “Mother.”

At this second naming of her as his mother she could hold back no longer and danced around the shadow dappled pool to embrace him. “So like dear Jack,” she murmured. “You are truly your father’s boy!”

He hugged her back, grinning. “You are so delicate and light,” he said, “compared with Jack and me.”

“You are oaks, and I am the willow,” she laughed joyously. “The trees told me you were in the forest, so I came to find you.”

They stepped apart now, looking in wonderment at each other. Looking and looking as if this joy might too soon be taken away from them.

“Why?” asked Max.

She understood immediately what he was asking. “Because of you, half elf and half man. The purity of the race is held to be more important than … anything by some of us.”

“But they let you come to find me? They know I am here?”

“Naturally.” She looked uncomfortable. “They also know what powers you command. The trees have told them this.”

Max stroked his staff thoughtfully. “I can do things they cannot,” he murmured, knowing he spoke truth. “I can go to places forbidden to them,” he guessed. "I can find places hidden to them," he continued. "All this I can do and they cannot."

His mother nodded. “They were right, you see the truth. Thus it was foretold.”

“Foretold? What task must I fulfill then? Surely there is a task. I've heard the old tales. Elves always exact a price for everything.” His face was full of grim determination.

He looked at her, seeing for the first time the pain in her slanted emerald eyes. She had suffered, too ... lost both her husband and newborn child. "What harm could it have been to let you stay with my Father? What threat to the purity of the elfish race?” He paused, gazing at her. "Why would they be so certain that I would come to find you."

"Because, my son," she replied her tone infinitely sad, "All children of this mixed race come back, unable to help themselves. The forest calls them as it has called you. Even without me, you were bound to come to seek your heritage."

He jumped on the word. "Heritage?" She lowered her gaze as he asked. "What heritage have I here in the forest? What reason to come here other than to find you?"

"It was foretold long ago," she replied, her voice a chiming singsong of sound. "It was foretold in the First Book of Shades and Omens that one of half human half elf blood, one who carried a tall staff made of ash, would return to the forest and save the elfin race from extinction." She stood silent, shoulders slumped, staring at her feet.

Max was stunned. There was no doubting her words or the sincerity with which they were spoken. He looked at his staff, remembering the determination he had felt at the time Jack made it for him. 'Little Jissan' had known that it had to be this particular staff and no other. His attention shifted back to his Mother as she spoke again.

"They had to take me back to the forest. There was a role I knew I had to fill. I didn't want to leave you and Jack, but I went with them because I knew I must. It was my duty and my obligation."

"But why you? Why me? There are others of half-elf, half-human heritage. Why not one of them?" It was a cry of anguish.

"Because I am a priestess, Max, the Keeper of the First Book of Shades and Omens. My bloodline is ancient, dating back to before there was a written history, and my bloodline is your bloodline. The human half of you gives strength, stamina, and physical prowess unheard of in elves." Her voice was almost a whisper now. "That will be needed for the task you must successfully complete before this autumn's chill puts the forest to sleep for winter ... a winter the elfin race will not survive unless you do complete it."

Max was taken back by this revelation. “Mother, I am willing to face this challenge, but only as long as they promise to release you and let you go back to Father. He has suffered too much pain for too many years because of them. My birth cost him the great love of his life, his joy of living, his happiness.”

“You would bargain with the Council of Elders?”

“No. I will not bargain. I will set my conditions. They have little choice ..." He broke off at the look on his mother’s face. “You do want to come back, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s just that I never let myself dream it could happen.”

“Organize a meeting with this Council. Then we shall see what they have to say.”

* * *

It was only a few days later that Max met with the Council. He stood in the torch lit underground cavern confronting the nine white bearded elf elders; they all regarded him with varying degrees of revulsion. He heard them muttering something that sounded like brasknerle and guessed the word must refer to his mixed blood. It sounded particularly derogatory.

“The Priestess Lerinna, Keeper of the First Book of Shades and Omens, has informed us of your conditions,” the oldest elf said. “We agree.”

Max stared at the ancient elves suspiciously. This was too easy.

“What choice do we have Great Jissan?” the old one shrugged. “If you are he who will fulfill the prophecy, we must accede to your wishes. We cannot let our race perish." He looked around at the Council members, then back at Max as they nodded their agreement with sour faces.

"Now the task: the All-Tree is dying. When it is dead, so shall be the race of elves. Only you can make it live, Great Jissan. Only you know how to restore it to full strength and vigor. This is your destiny.”

“Show me this tree,” said Max.

“Ah, that we cannot do. Directions may be given to you ... those words that are written in the Book of which Priestess Lerinna is the guardian. But we elves may not approach the All-Tree, far less look upon it." He turned. ”Send for the Priestess,” he commanded. ‘She must set this brasknerle on the path to the All-Tree.”

When she entered the cavern a short time later, Max’s mother was wearing voluminous robes of green and orange. She was very unlike the lovely woman who had met him in the glade; she seemed somehow ancient now, her shoulders drooping as though the weight of the small black book she carried was too great a burden for her.

“Great Jissan,” she bowed low. “I make welcome the One who will make whole the All-Tree.” She held the small black book aloft. “Behold all the First Book of Shades and Omens.”

The elf elders made obeisance, covering their eyes and muttering an incantation.

When they finished, Max’s mother opened the Book and read:

“That human who is also of the proudest lineage of elf shall take himself into the darkest depths of the forest, guided by the trees themselves. The path to the All-Tree shall be opened up to him and him alone.”

Max waited, but his mother, having read these words closed the Book and secreted it beneath her robes. “That’s it?” he asked. “Nothing more?”

The eldest elf spoke severely, “No further questions are permitted." He turned, "Priestess, depart.”

Max’s mother bowed to the Council and left the room in a swirl of orange and green.

“Great Jissan,” said the old elf, “we hope you commence your journey as soon as possible, for the Book tells us that time runs out at the end of this autumn when the last leaf falls to the ground. That season is advancing even as we speak.”

* * *

How long he had been standing there, Max did not know; it seemed a very long time had passed, but perhaps that was only his imagination. He glanced around. Everything seemed the same, the foliage had not turned color more than it had been when he arrived here; the same flame-colored cardinal still sat on a limb observing him intently. He turned back to the tree.

"Tree," he said aloud. "I appreciate your staunchness in guarding the way to the All-Tree. You are doing the job as it was intended, and you in your generations have done as the Book foretold."

He reached out and touched the rough bark. The tree was old, very old, and totally intertwined and meshed with the trees around it. Briars, vines, and thickets of brush grew close, thorns menacing to all trying to enter this enclosed circle in the very middle of the forest. Leaves rustled all around him, limbs moved, bending unnaturally toward him although there was no hint of a breeze. The forest was sentient, of this Max was sure, and it was not welcoming him.

He sighed. It had taken many days to find this place. Paths that seemed simple and straightforward seemed to make clever scarcely noticed changes in direction. Without realizing it he had discovered himself back where he started half a dozen times before it dawned on him that in order to get where he wanted to go in the middle of the forest, he had to actually move away in the opposite direction. He knew the All-Tree had to be in the center; his years of roaming the forest had familiarized him with nearly every other place. He sighed again. And here he was and the leaves were changing color, painted with brushes of winter coming. He could feel the urgency.

Max turned back to the tree. It seemed to be the one 'in charge'. How did he know? He shrugged. "Tree, I know you understand me. I have been talking to wood all my life. I chose this wood to be my staff." He shoved his ash staff forward until it nearly touched the tree, then took a surprised step back. The tree had trembled, its leaves swinging wildly. More than a few of the brighter colored ones lost their hold and drifted to the ground around them. The tree was still trembling, and he didn't notice the golden leaf settling in his hair or the scarlet one that landed on the shoulder of his dark green cloak, clinging tightly like adornments pinned there. He placed his palm flat against the trunk. He could feel the tremor. Something had had an effect, and Max hurried to take advantage of it.

"Tree, I must pass through. The All-Tree is dying. I must help it if I can." He waited. Nothing. In spite of the clear reaction to the nearness of his ash staff, there was nothing more. Tired, irritated, and feeling pressed for time, Max had had enough. He reached forward and smartly struck the tree with his staff. Afterward he was never sure what happened ... not exactly.

When next he became clearly aware of his surroundings, he gaped in amazement. The briars and thorny bushes had somehow moved far enough apart to leave a narrow, clearly defined path between the trees. The forest was silent, too silent. No rustling of leaves, no song of birds, no sighing of breeze through branches, none of the sounds so clearly a part of forest 'silence'. This was a stillness, a waiting, a breath held in time.

Max gripped his staff. Now the way was clear, he was frightened. He was not a healer. He was a 'Little Jissan'. He could talk to wood. He knew nothing about healing sick trees. What would happen if he couldn't help the All-Tree? And the elves died. His Mother would also die. That thought finally got him moving, and he started down the path that led to the heart of the forest.

As he walked he heard small rustling sounds behind him. He turned to see that the path was closing itself.  No-one else was going to get through … presumably the forest was going to let him back out when he had completed his task. He tramped on until he came to a clearing. This was it.

The All-Tree stood alone, its trunk scarred and bent, like an old, old man. Even its branches seemed to droop with age. There were patches of dead leaves on some branches. Not changing in color and then falling as they should in autumn, but simply dying on the tree.

Max walked slowly around it, examining this ancient tree. Lightning had struck it more than once, and something - a storm most likely - had ripped whole branches from it. It was not the huge tree he had somehow expected, although its trunk was massive. He approached, held out a tentative hand, and gently placed it on the All-Tree’s gnarled surface. It trembled.

Ahhhhhh. A wispy creaky voice filled his head. At last. A sigh.

Max jumped back involuntarily, stared around the clearing. Then looked back at the All-Tree. It had spoken! He touched it again.

You cannot heal us, the sibilant voice told him.

"The elves will die! My mother will die!" Max spoke aloud.
No, the All-Tree said. You must plant a new tree.

"Seed? Seedling?" Max scanned the ground around him, using his staff to push aside leaf litter, looking for a bright new growth, however tiny.

You hold it in your hand.

"My staff?"

Your staff.

And my powers? Max thought to himself. Will I lose my powers when I plant my staff? The thought chilled him. Give up the power that had been his so long it was part of his identity? Become just Max, no longer the 'Little Jissan'?

The All-Tree said nothing, but he felt its impatient urgings.

"All right. If I’m going to do this, I’d best do it now. Where do I plant?"

There, by the fallen branch by your feet, the tree instructed. There we can reach it. Transfer ourselves.

Max placed the tip of his staff on the ground, focusing on the earth, which loosened and slipped aside to let the staff slide down.

Perfect. We have it now.

"The ground is too dry. I will need to water the staff to make it grow."

That is necessary. There is a stream nearby. The Guardians will lead you to it.

 Max walked to the closest of the encircling trees and they, already informed of his need, parted, forming yet another pathway to a small stream that flowed through the forest in near silence. He found a sheet of bark and required it to form itself into a wide scoop. There was great satisfaction in knowing that he could still command wood, even without his staff, and he smiled. After several trips back and forth to the stream, the All-Tree told him that was enough for the time being.

"How long must I stay?" he asked.

Until you see the first shoots of new growth on your staff.

I’m going to be here for some time, Max realized.

The Guardians will assist you with shelter and nourishment, the All-Tree informed him. They will look after you well.

And so it was, as the last days of autumn came to a close, the leaves changed to their brightest colors and fell as they always did, and time moved inexorably toward the onset of winter. Max was getting very worried. He checked the staff several times each day, and saw no slightest bud to herald the coming of greenery. He slept on a pile of fallen leaves nearby and ate the nuts and sweet late berries that seemed to suddenly appear nearby.

On the morning he awoke chilled to the bone and saw the frost-covered ground, he gave up hope. He walked to the All-Tree and spoke. "All-Tree, we have lost the race with winter. The trees are all but bare now. The elves said if you were not healed by the time the last leaf fell this autumn, they would die."

He really didn't expect an answer. The old tree was dead. He could see that. The transfer of its life forces to a new tree sprung from his staff had failed.  He looked around, defeated. He saw only one leaf, and as he looked at it in dismay, it loosed its hold and fell slowly to the ground. It was over.

He turned back to his staff. No need to leave it here. He might as well have it, though such dismal memories were now attached to it. The death of the elves, the death of his Mother. Tears stained his cheeks and he dropped to his knees by the planted staff. As he touched it, miraculously a leaf uncurled from a small bud. As this new pale green life opened to the sun, quite unnoticed, the leaf that had attached itself to his cloak also loosened its hold and fell. The prophesy was fulfilled. The All-Tree was alive, renewed and healed before the last leaf of autumn had fallen.

Yesssss. I live. The sibilant whisper in his mind followed him from the glade, and the trees once again closed behind him as he walked toward his future.