Episode 235: The Tree and the Phantom Thief — Chapter ???

The Phantom Thief worked his jaw with single-minded industry. Down, and then up. Up, and then down. Like a beast at its meat. Like the repetition of a machine. Like the slow flux of the earth. Like the birth of a star…….

The mask laughed. It went on laughing, as if this moment were not merely happy but rapturous—as if it had fallen into ecstasy at the rising of its own worth.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. A long, straining creak, and then crunch.

Many. Many. Many. Many. Many. Many.

They were in heaven, and they were on the earth. The whole world was branches: branches the tree had brought forth by sacrificing itself. Not one of them could be left uneaten. That would be bad manners. To give oneself away so easily, for the sake of another—could even a saint who shouldered every human sin and ascended, or a prince who won enlightenment and slipped free of the wheel, be set beside this?

No, that's going too far? So what. If the Phantom Thief thought so, then that was how it was. No one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was here but the Phantom Thief and the tree, and not even those two worthies could easily intrude upon a rite so sacred.

Smack, smack, smack. Is it good? It is good—good enough that one could almost understand why the tree fell into appetite. But it still was not enough. Not enough to reach the tree.

More. More. More.

The Phantom Thief had to strive, if he meant to pass the trial and take the tree for his model. Look. The tree is smiling, and yet—doesn't it seem, somewhere, unsatisfied?

Heave-ho. Heave-ho. Let us eat quickly, until every branch is gone. A few thousand years remain, at the very least. The tree will be glad to wait.

Perhaps.

Forever.

A few thousand years, more or less? Honestly, even if I knew, it wouldn't matter. What matters is that the Phantom Thief has at last eaten every branch!

Magnificent—to devour heaven and earth entire! A feat that will never come again in the life to come, and a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠boast he can chase his drinks with for the rest of this one!

The Phantom Thief was proud. A will that refused to quit had given him a gift. Everyone, applause! Praise him for taking that first step.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Well. Done."

"Waa. Aaa. Aaa. Aaa. Aaa. Aah."

"Kieeeeeeeek!!!"

"Save m—"

"Enough."

I do thank you for the warmth of your praise, but praise in excess spoils the manners. The Phantom Thief has only passed the first stage. Lift your heads and look properly. The first step may seem beautiful, but the road ahead is pitch-dark, without a single light in it. All that stands there is the tree, silently cheering us on.

The way is long. One must not grow conceited merely for having finished the branches.

In the beginning, do you suppose heaven and earth came first? No. In the beginning there was nothing but the Void and Nonbeing. A single existence—save for that One, great, and greatly great. Back to the age when beings who had never been permitted could not be born, and were not.

The Phantom Thief must imitate. Through the tree. And so what is he to do? If you have time to sit idle and think of something else, hurry up and eat. You are still learning, aren't you? You do have to pass the test.

The second stage is the bark: the tree's dead tissue, and the vital armor that protects the living flesh within. It will be harder than the branches. Who in the world wants to walk about naked? It offered no defense while the branches were taken, but this time will be different. Perhaps the tree grew bored of keeping still. It said that from here on, it would interfere.

Yes. If it were all the same, where would the fun be?

The Phantom Thief composed himself, body and mind, and set his mask against the bark. And a span of time no one could resist began to pass.

Crrrrunch.

Quite a lot of time has passed…….

Ugh. Truly. Even I, watching and narrating, have gone on so long that my eyes are bloodshot and my flesh is worn out. It takes something on the order of an eternity to get like this. A real eternity must have gone by.

Is this all right? Has he not broken beneath the karma of time? I worry, where no one can see.

Ah! Thank goodness. The Phantom Thief is perfectly fine! The tree is fine as well! Both of them are extraordinary. Their trust in each other kept them from losing their reason!

And through all of it, our Phantom Thief seems to have passed nearly every trial the tree set down. The bark that was the tree's pride, the roots, the teeth, the power to bring forth, the appetite, the will, the mind, the emotion, the purpose, the dream……. He ate them all.

At the last, only an eyeball remained, stranded there with an empty pupil. The Phantom Thief gazed at it in silence. Was his belly full? Or was he paying his respects to the tree that had sacrificed itself for him?

The tree, physically and philosophically, was not dead. Even with nothing but an eye. Plant it properly in the earth, and it can live again! A planet-eater indeed. Even a god would envy that vitality.

The Phantom Thief picked the eyeball up, clutched it carefully in both hands, and went off somewhere.

Oh? That—that's a dining table. A pure-white cloth is laid over it, and upon the cloth sit a finely arranged plate and a burning candle. It calls to mind a European noble's table. Onto the plate, the Phantom Thief sets the eyeball with reverence. Seated in the chair, he draws a napkin and ties it about his neck.

This scene…… it stirs the memory. It must have been my first meeting with the tree. How adorable it was. That ravenous desire—dazzling, and decadent. The universe was wide, and I was very good at tricks.

Heeheeheeheehee.

I repaid the tree. As the old line has it: know the other and know yourself, and a hundred battles hold no peril. It liked to eat, and so I taught it the position of being eaten. Regrettably, and contrary to my expectations, the tree was a little short on strength of mind.

No matter. We've met again like this, haven't we? I could teach it again. I could eat it again.

Look. This eyeball, which I—first-rate even as a cook—have prepared so carefully. A seasoning called despair. An atmosphere called Chaos. And Nihility. It is going to be far too delicious.

The mask tore. And inside it, there I am.

I reach out a tentacle, catch the eyeball, and just like that—nom, nom.

Crunch. Crunch.

Buuurp.

"Dear Tree. If we meet again, I hope we might be friends."

I rub a belly packed tight with satisfaction. Mmm……. We've had our fun. That was delightful! That was worthwhile! I ought to give it back before long. I did receive permission. Even so, it isn't my body. If I had my way, I would make it a Divine Avatar…….

I'm joking. A joke.

"■■■■, put that down. Is the audience permitted to storm the stage?"

"Get out, if you don't want to die—is that what you're telling me?"

"Fine."

Tch. And this was the finale we were meant to land cleanly.

Ahem.

Did everyone enjoy the show? The burning friendship of the tree and the Phantom Thief—the vast epic of their triumph over adversity. It is thanks to your love that we have come this far. It was a short tale, a clumsy little work with a great deal to regret. The ending does leave a rather unsettled aftertaste. But that we did our best—please grant us that.

Yes? What the next work will be? Well. I haven't particularly decided.

Will the tree appear again? The tree? And who is that? There is no such person on my stage.

It was here just a moment ago, you say? Please don't tease me. Speak nonsense, and you will be removed by force.

Well then. I've nothing left to say.

The end!

Ending!

Drop the shutter!

Cut!

Thud!

Scientist gasped for breath. Death hung thick on every side, and it was melting him.

His protective suit had lost all function long ago. On a rationality like steel, he dragged his legs. A little farther. Only a little farther, and he would reach it—the secret weapon he had hidden with such care.

At last Scientist found the coffin set at the center of death. A coffin for honoring the dead. But the coffin was nothing more than a means of sealing a secret.

"Hah. Hah."

Scientist wrung out the last of his strength. Grunting with the effort, he pushed the lid with his hands. The lid sank into death, and the thing the coffin held was laid bare.

It opened its eyes.

In its hand was a single book.