tree world

A Bucket in the Sea

THE WORLD OF THE TREE

Henrietta went, as always, to the park near Moulike on Wednesdays. She was a cheerful and cheerful person. She never held any grudges or claims against anyone. Her life was defined by two rules. Rule one: Have as many friends as possible; rule two: Have as few enemies as possible. Near the street leading to the park stood a large, perhaps even enormous, painting that indicated the directions visitors to the world of trees could take. A kind soul like Henrietta, she always followed her heart, not her mind, so she never believed what the painting showed, always trusting what her heart told her. And her heart told her that today in the park she would meet someone named Bart, and he would certainly be a white bard, maybe even a blue one. Her heart emanated various kinds of energy. Its glow was bright pink, a sign of something better. She walked through the ruins of green and yellow bushes, overgrown with red and white roses, which, due to their size, made no significant impression on anyone. She approached a brown bench and looked at her companion. Her small green and yellow dragon dog hovered just beside her left leg. He levitated just above the ground, making no sound. He was like a free atom searching for his… something. Henrietta sat down on the bench and looked to her right. Her heart beheld a short, not particularly handsome blue bard. Her companion had thousands of thousands of hairs, not half of which were responsible for his beard. The faint, unreadable expression on his face suggested he had been sitting there for a long time, and he certainly didn't realize Henrietta had taken the seat next to him. If it weren't for his blue hood and large nose, nothing would have seemed what it was.

"In life, you have to love what you do, otherwise everything is wasted," he said, as suddenly as it was quiet.

"I thought you didn't notice I was here," Henrietta said, confused.

The Bard tilted his head to the left and looked at her with his dark, deep, and expressionless eyes.

"I have my own world. A world where there's only me, where everything is blue and white.

" "And besides your nose, you probably don't see anything else in it," Henrietta said, not too loudly.

"But that doesn't mean," the Bard continued, as if he hadn't heard her at all, "that I don't like other worlds and other..." Bard paused briefly. "...creatures," he finished.

"Probably different," Henrietta corrected him.

"In our Bardic language, others, meaning creatures, you're all different.

" "Let me misunderstand you," she said. "You mean that I, meaning all others, are different from you—the blue Bards, right?

" "Not blue," the Bard replied.

- All the Bards - the dog-dragon joined the conversation.

"Oh, of course I understand," she replied. "And what are little dog-dragons like mine in your world?" she asked.

"There are others," he replied, and Henrietta knew she had had enough of this wonderful conversation.

She stood up and directed her gaze directly at the enormous tree-bushes that stood directly opposite the enormous oak doors that led to another city.

If she let anyone see her now, surely no one would recognize her. She was angry. Worse. She was even furious. And these were traits she tried not to live by. She preferred having a good heart and few enemies to a small heart and good enemies.

She drew closer, leaving the conversation with the other behind, and realized that the trees weren't as far away as she had first thought. She was already close when she heard a familiar noise. A huge pink-blue flame made of grain appeared before her eyes. They were said to possess certain traits that others, but the normal ones, also called talents or gifts. Rumor had it that anyone who wished could avail themselves of their help three times in their life and ask anything they desired.

The Seed Flame always answered all questions posed to it. Legend has it that if it failed to answer any question, the Tree World would cease to exist. Of course, there are those who attempt this from time to time. They try to ask a question so complex that the Seed Flame couldn't answer it. Of course, there's a trade-off. In the Tree World, distance doesn't matter to energy, and if someone asks a question that's already been asked, the Seed Flame informs them by gently burning them with one of its flames, which is usually not very pleasant, not to mention the fact that the opportunity to ask a question is lost forever.

One thing should be mentioned here: In the Tree World, there are certain rules that should not be broken, and certain principles must be followed. This is expected and is a universally accepted principle. There is even a code for this, but only a few White Magicians have seen it firsthand. Supposedly, it's hidden in one of the local wells, but no one seems in any hurry to check it out. So, there are two rules: first, don't break the law, and second, don't do to others what you wouldn't wish on even your most dangerous enemy. It should also be added that you should never, ever associate with the Fern People and the Grunt People. These are two groups you shouldn't belong to. Besides that, there are things here that no one has even dreamed of, like the old city wells, where you can find truly strange things, and through which you can supposedly travel to other worlds, a fact that hasn't been proven yet. Besides that, no one knows which well is which.

Stalk was walking along the rocky road when he felt a pang of hunger. His stomach told him paradise was not far, very close, in fact. He wasn't wrong. To the right of the road stood a small inn, whose sign indicated it was full of guests. It must have been, for it was the only inn for several miles, and Stalk knew perfectly well who he didn't want to accidentally meet there. Since even he sometimes called himself a brain, as others call him, he would have decided it would be better to take advantage of the stream, which yielded just as little as the innkeeper, but certainly not more expensive. He stepped under the pier and began searching for a suitable spot when a stranger, Closer, accosted him.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a gloomy voice.

Stalk, not entirely convinced he was being spoken to, looked directly into the stranger's eyes and froze.

"Stranger, Closer.

Quite significant, because so far, only cases of drowning or disappearance are known?"

You should also remember to avoid acquaintances with Lisiak and Łodyga. They both belong to groups that are not the good ones, that is: positive.

The World of the Tree, like any world, known or unknown, has a tendency to change. Every year at half past eight in the evening, a huge eagle flies over the branches, announcing that the previous year is ending. In seven days, another one flies by, signifying that another has begun.

(SIGN)

He smiled. It wasn't a mocking smile, nor a pleasant one. Familiar, nor unfamiliar. It was firm and angry. Bringing only bad news. News that makes you lose your appetite for even free oysters.

(SIGN)

The day promised to be beautiful; the echoing sounds of playing stilts and field scarecrows could be heard everywhere. The sun was already high above the tree branches, illuminating much of the city. If it weren't for the fact that there wasn't a single well in the market square today, this day would certainly be no different from hundreds of others this year. There were still eight or seven hours left until the end of the day, enough time for a certain careless and reckless sailor to find the missing well.

Things would probably have happened even faster, were it not for the fact that someone else was searching at sea, and just today, eight hours before the end of the day, they wanted to find the sailor. Since only a few people know this, I'll also add that the seas around the world of the tree are the gentlest seas known, or perhaps not, to history. So far, only one accident has occurred there, and it had nothing to do with the well, nor the sailor, nor the searcher...

The surrounding area was swarming with leaping fish, salmon, and enormous whales, making more noise than one might expect. Any sensible sailor at this time of year would be long gone, either in port or at least heading in that direction. Unfortunately, here we're dealing with a different kind of accident.

"Ahoy, crew!" shouted the tall man, looking around the empty deck.

"Are all the masts in order?" he shouted again.

"Perhaps you're short of food or water?" he looked around again. "

What a paranoid schizophrenic," Turok thought, surveying the entire situation through his ship's binoculars. He was less than half a kilometer away, and yet the sailor couldn't see him. No wonder, he was born nearsighted. Apparently, he also had very poor hearing. Of all the things at this end of the sea, Turok feared two things: the hateful storm and the unintelligent sailors. He'd dealt with both cases before, and it always ended badly for him.

He'd always considered himself an excellent captain and never tried to prove otherwise.

As he watched the distant sailor, he wondered which of them was more wrong. He definitely preferred to think it wasn't him. He hated doctors, and he certainly didn't like seafaring ones.

Poverty sucks, he thought. Better to be alone, just for his own good. At least he wouldn't have to pay anyone.

The sea in the World of Trees hadn't been this calm in a long time, and soon something would surely come that would radically change its character. After all, how many days could the weather stay the same?

The sailor glanced at the small brown chestnut lying carelessly on the white deck, left there by design and not by mistake. It was supposed to be a weather forecaster. It was supposed to tell him when to say the last prayer and say goodbye to that blue dawn of the sea.

It had been given to him by one of his old friends, whom he was about to visit. Today was an anniversary he couldn't possibly forget. He wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't see him and offer him his fresh catch of small, pink shrimp. That was where it all began, or rather, it was about to begin. Several times in the last hour, he'd observed two things that seemed absolutely crucial to him. The first was a dark brown chestnut tree that had been acting rather strangely for the past few minutes. The second was the net with the shrimp, or rather, its end, which indicated that the number of shrimp had long exceeded the rope's strength. The two things certainly had nothing to do with each other, but he preferred not to leave his fate in the hands of fate. And lately, fate had become truly daring, and only a few people didn't make any special arrangements for it.

Destiny had recently had a strange habit of changing her plans regarding her heroes or the other mortals she cared for. She was already old, and this perhaps made her want to toy with the fate of others. After all, she had no one higher than her, so she didn't have to fear punishment, for example. In most cases, she intervened only out of old affinities. For example, she helped to lift a spell or curse from one of the heroes of the tree world, or conceitedly watched the fate of villagers who constantly labored fruitlessly at their harvest. She gave some a chance, even by slipping a small gold bar under a plow or a grater. The result wasn't always what she had envisioned, as some villagers placed no value on luck and tossed the bar aside, occupied themselves with their normal tasks in the fields. Sometimes they would give their finds to others, who in turn would give them back, leading to constant verbal exchanges intended to prove the uselessness of such a thing as a gold bar. However, fate always faced one serious problem, one for which she had yet to find a solution. Namely, she couldn't please everyone. She simply didn't have enough time. Moving didn't take her long at first, but with age, she became increasingly slower. Furthermore, she also lacked the sharpness of her memory and concentration, which were crucial to determining whether a given event merited a change of fate. Therefore,

whenever she went to the seaside, she was happy because she knew she would encounter so few people there that she certainly wouldn't forget how she was supposed to change their destiny. Today, however, was different, for, as luck would have it, she had definitely forgotten which event she was dealing with and was completely at a loss as to which way to turn the wheel of fate.

The sailor sailed at an above-normal speed, carefully observing his chestnut. He was growing increasingly concerned about his condition. Something should have happened long ago. Something was brewing, and only minutes separated him from it.

Several times he thought he saw someone watching him from afar, but he quickly realized he must have imagined it; besides, he had to focus on more important things. The shrimp line was already so taut that it seemed a mere touch from his littlest finger would be enough to tear everything apart. If he had a helper, the world would be different, he thought, and immediately focused his thoughts back on his chestnut, which was now moving paranoidly, a constant reminder that something was about to happen. He only wondered if it would be something good or the opposite. Besides, he finally decided to give free rein to his wandering thoughts and fish a pile of shrimp from the seabed.

He went down and reached for the rope that was undoubtedly hanging taut on one of the sides. He grabbed it with both hands and tugged gently.

At that same moment, fate realized she was too hungry and certainly didn't want to return to land only to make the same journey again, only with a full belly. She looked down and saw two ships. On one, she saw the Turok, whose destiny had long since been written into the pages of history, and which would soon take shape. On the other, she saw a fisherman about to haul in a pile of shrimp, which she wasn't particularly fond of. She felt like playing a trick on the sailor, though, and since she knew he was a real slob, she decided to investigate his destiny. She quickly focused her attention on a small, dark brown object that seemed a bit suspicious. But she didn't bother with that for now. She was busy correcting the sailor's fate. What she saw seemed boring and unrelated to real life, yet she desperately wanted the fisherman to experience real life.

He could skip the stupid, pointless fishing adventures, she thought, and spun the wheel of fate with redoubled force. The wheel had a peculiarity: it worked slightly differently over the sea than over land, for it was affected by the additional force of gravity, which often altered the course of fate. This time, it spun very quickly. Even fate was surprised by the wheel's turn. She hadn't expected to ever see someone again whose fate would be as dangerous as it was enigmatic. She was about to give him a second chance when, right in front of her, she saw a pile of shrimp, which seemed a more interesting pursuit. At least for the moment. She left the wheel and turned to the meal she so desperately deserved. The work was slowly wearing her down.

The sailor couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a miniature, bright green bag at the end of the rope, not even wet and completely devoid of a single shrimp. He threw it on deck and decided to check what was inside this utterly useless object. What he saw inside made absolutely no sense to him. He couldn't do anything specific about it, but he knew for sure why the chestnut tree had stopped spinning. Something strange had happened. At the bottom of the bag, he found a bucket with a metal rope hanging from the end. The same kind used for wells in the city. He looked to his left, now one hundred percent certain it wasn't a dream. On the horizon, he saw another sailor whose daring swimming style reminded him of a certain acquaintance he preferred not to have on deck today. He climbed higher and gave an order to the nonexistent crew.

"Starboard," he shouted, then headed for his cabin to inspect the strange find.

The tree world welcomed with honor those who deserved it and with displeasure those who were sulking marauders. He disliked some people—like Turok—but he had to acknowledge them and had no right to interfere in their lives. That was why there were others.

The young Potter sat on a park bench near the courtyard, watching the people bustle around. He couldn't understand how anyone could fail to notice such a significant loss.

"Are you, humans and non-humans, blind?" he finally shouted, but only a few looked at the young man. "Don't you see there's no well in the market square?" he said bluntly.

A few stopped and looked at him thoughtfully, but after a moment they continued walking, deciding he was just a deranged orphan trying to get attention.

Perhaps they were too busy with their own affairs to notice that the young Potter was right. Of the dozen or so wells that had always stood in the courtyard, one was missing, and worse still, the potter's worst suspicions might have come true, and that one well might be the one, the unique well that had long enigmaized the World of the Tree.

The fisherman must have been very surprised—she thought of fate, but after all, it wasn't up to her. Fate can't be undone, or so they say.