Deep in the dense dark forests, high in the sun dappled canopies live The Wardens; the self-proclaimed protectors of the Forests and woodlands. From the jungles of the south to the pine forests of the north, they have sworn an oath to guard and protect the Trees with their lives.

 

But why??

 

As with most things, the path to the truth isn’t completely clear. Instead we are left with the two distinct narratives; the practical and the myth.

 

Firstly we will address the practical. The common sense. The one that makes most people feel less uncomfortable.

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As the post rift humans found their individual ways in the world, gravitating into their distinct factions, a small group found that living high in the trees afforded them a relative safety from the deadly Trolls below. As the community grew so did the network of walkways, gantries and treehouses. Whole communities lived almost exclusively high in the treetops, adapting to life hundreds of feet above the ground. And so to protect and guard the forests and woodlands was to protect their homes. Common sense. Practical. Comfortable.

 

The other version is less so…

 

Many years ago, shortly after the rift, a group of humans found themselves being pursued through a thick, dense forest by a lumbering Forest Troll. They weaved and ducked their way through the thick undergrowth the best they could, arms, legs and faces whipped and scratched by branches and brambles, but they were unable to shake the persistent Troll.

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The forest they had found themselves in was huge. They had been wandering through it for days with no end in sight, always managing to carefully avoid contact with the deadly Forest Trolls. But you can only avoid Trolls for so long! Knowing they couldn’t fight the huge creature, they ran for their lives, deeper and deeper into the heart of the Forest. After what felt like a lifetime of running and just as they thought their time was done, they ran out from under the twilight gloom of the canopy and out into a large circular clearing, at the centre of which was a huge beautiful Oak tree. The trunk was huge and magnificent and ancient. They allowed themselves a moment to admire this King of the forest before continuing on and across the clearing.

 

As they passed the Royal Oak they were alerted to a whistling sound from high in the branches. They glanced up to see what at first appeared to be a young boy say high in the trees, but it was only as they approached that they noticed that something about the boy wasn’t right. The boy gestured for them to climb the tree out of danger, but something in the way he looked held them back. His eyes seemed too big for his face and his skin flickered, as if it was undecided on how to look. Or maybe that was the sun on his face, dappling through the leaves of the tree? The sound of the Troll gaining on them broke their hesitation and they all scrambled up the huge tree and into the safety of it boughs.

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Luck was on their side that day, or so it would seem, as the Troll crashed into the clearing and stumbled straight past the tree. Never stopping to look up into the wide branches above. It smashed into the forest on the opposite side of the clearing and was gone. They had escaped!

 

As the group began their climb down out of the tree, they noticed that the odd boy who had helped them was no longer sat in the tree, but was instead stood at the base of the trunk looking up at them with his now huge wet, black eyes. His face now no longer looked like that of a boy but instead looked more like an Owl. As he looked up at them he spoke:

 

“There are many things in this world beyond the Trolls. Dark creatures and Beings of light. Some that will save you and some that will kill you and some that will do both. The trees have agreed to keep you safe. You will protected from the Trolls. This will now be your home, the trees will be your family. But for this gift of safety you must give something in return”.

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As he spoke these final words the tree began the quiver and shake, leaves falling to the forest floor below. A dark hole opened like a toothless mouth, appearing at the junction where the branches splayed out. The group stared down into the endless dark of its gapping woody maw.

 

As they all sat looking down into the darkness one of the group understood what was being asked. Wordlessly he clambered down and lowered himself into the hole until only his head was left showing. The hole creaked and groaned and closed around his body, until all that could be seen was his head. Almost immediately the skin on his face began to darken and thicken, becoming more and more like the surrounding bark. Within minutes the mans head was nothing more than a woody bump.

 

The Owl boy, now more owl than boy, spoke again, “Your blood now flows through the roots of the forest and serves as the bond. To sustain this union you must repeat this process every 160 moons. Feed the trees, protect the trees, live safe. If you fail to do so the dark creatures of the forest will awaken and your people will die.”

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With that the boy/owl now fully turned into a bird flapped once and flew over the clearing and away. The Wardens were born.

 

The tree is still there, huge and beyond age. Sacred and holy and guarded permanently, it is now known as the Tree of Life and Death. And legend has it that the Wardens have kept their word, secretly performing the ceremony every 160 moons, when a member of the community sacrifices themselves to the forest, performing the greatest honour, becoming one with the trees.

 

And while most people believe this to be just a myth, a tall tale told to children to keep them from mischief, many still avoid the Tree of Life and Death, just in case they happen to be there on the 160th moon and end up becoming a permanent part of the forest they call home.