The Young Tree Takes Stock (2)
Trees don't need money to live.
Granted, once I'm fully grown and just a tree, I won't need it either — but right now, I truly don't need it at all.
"All of this!"
Thermia marveled at the mountain of offerings. Her eyes glittered, and her cheeks flushed pink in an instant.
"All this time, I blamed myself for having a spirit too steeped in worldly things — surely I must be a bad priest, I thought, since the Sacred Tree never showed any interest in wealth. But there was a method to it all along! Please punish me for failing to fathom the depths of your wisdom!"
I genuinely had no thoughts about it whatsoever. I wanted to tell them to give it all back. But they'd offered it of their own accord, to cleanse themselves of worldly greed, so I hesitated over whether giving it back was even allowed.
"Offerings must, by their very nature, spring from a pure heart devoted to the divine! Not payment exchanged between equals, but worship and tribute from those below — that is what befits the Sacred Tree!"
Thermia rattled on, growing more animated by the second.
"I've wasted so much energy nursing a pointless rivalry with the Theocracy, dodging their precedents — but now that you've shown us the true path, I shall follow it with all my strength!"
What scripture had she been reading this time? As far as I knew, religion was something the Theocracy had monopolized. Shouldn't these be called Theocracy texts rather than religious ones?
Yeah, well... sure. Go for it. If people can shed their greed along with their wealth, I call that a win.
Thermia pressed a hand to her mouth, visibly moved.
"I shall proclaim those very words to the entire world!"
Moved by what, exactly? Did I say anything profound just now?
"In any case, it would be unseemly for the Sacred Tree to handle worldly goods directly — just as the kingdom maintains a separate institution to manage royal property, I shall establish an administrative organization in your name! Please wait for me!"
Uh-huh. Right, sure.
And off she fluttered, brimming with excitement.
All that remained behind was a pile of riches that didn't belong in a forest.
Come to think of it — I still hadn't told them that from now on, I should be called the Sacred Young Tree, not the Sacred Tree.
A plain little sapling from the back hill of the village had grown into a Sacred Young Tree.
Every bit of this was thanks to the ever-bright sun that never failed to shine down on me, and to the elves who loved an ordinary back-hill sapling far more than it deserved.
In recognition of that devotion, I supposed I could concede that I was, in fact, a little sacred.
It's hard to argue a tree isn't sacred when it works mysteries and performs miracles.
What I couldn't bring myself to accept was being called a fully grown tree.
I mean, the original villagers all know I'm only in my first year, don't they? I sprang up out of nowhere in a spot where no tree had been before, and everyone knows I grew absurdly fast. That's exactly why they call me a first-year.
The immigrant elves, meanwhile — Hmm, doesn't the Sacred Tree seem even bigger than before? Or was it always this big and I'm misremembering? — would tilt their heads in confusion. But the natives all know the truth.
I really wish they'd notice that calling me a sacred 'tree' in the first place was a fundamental failure of comprehension.
From now on, by wedging the word 'young' into the middle of that erroneous title, the truth could finally be delivered in its pristine form.
I had accepted that I was sacred.
Now the elves needed to accept that I was a young tree.
Even if I was, at present, roughly sixty meters tall.
Come to think of it, back when I was a sapling, my domain radius grew by one-tenth of itself each time — about 6.4 meters.
So how much does a young tree grow, then?
My radius now expanded by roughly 26 kilometers at a time, so...
I was following the logic along when I arrived at a conclusion so absurd I had to stop.
No way that could be right.
A religious organization was born.
With Thermia at its head, some of the would-be bureaucrats who'd studied arithmetic under me joined as clerks instead of pursuing government posts, and the strike squad took charge of security. A thoroughly professional organization snapped together in no time at all.
For the moment, all they actually did was store and manage the offerings on my behalf — but it was, genuinely, the village's official religious organization.
Should I really be allowing this?
Still, now that it existed, I had to admit it felt surprisingly convenient.
The offerings that had cluttered the brushy clearing were neatly carted off to the warehouse, and peace without greed settled over us once more.
Then I called for Thermia and told her: now that I've become a Sacred Young Tree, I'd like to be called the Sacred Young Tree from now on, not the Sacred Tree. Without me lifting another leaf, the announcement spread through the entire village.
With a proper organization in place, it took all of a moment.
Wow, this is so easy.
Come to think of it, if we'd just built a religious organization ages ago and I'd publicly declared myself a plain old back-hill sapling, we might have skipped the whole strange chapter of history where a sapling got addressed as a full tree.
I supposed this much compromise had been necessary.
Just as I'd conceded that I was a little sacred, I resolved to live a little more flexibly from now on.
And it seemed the village's administration had gotten easier right alongside me.
Authority and responsibility for all village matters concerning me were consolidated into a single efficient chain, and the confusion caused by my new mysteries washing over the whole village was quickly brought under control.
Thermia conducted disciplinary counseling.
"And how, precisely, did you come to stray from discipline?"
"I grilled meat in front of a sleeping friend and woke them with the smell. What, I ask you, did I do so terribly wrong? I truly cannot fathom it."
"Cannot fathom it, can you? Then on your way out, purge from yourself at the offering box a quantity of worldly filth equal to your conscience. Next!"
Truly, so convenient.
The only snag was that the village's assets, on paper, kept growing. Which I chose to interpret as proof the village was thriving.
I turned my gaze away from the village and back toward the peaceful brush clearing.
The Water Drop Girl sat by the base of my trunk, counting the copper coins she'd earned selling study ink, one by one, over a stack of picture books.
Aww, a Water Drop counting her money.
It would have been a truly lovely scene — if she weren't placing those picture books one by one on top of her sister, the Pebble Girl, who was sleeping on her wooden bed.
Unlike when she'd stacked water spirits, these were flat coins, so the structure was remarkably stable. Whether that was something to be grateful for, I couldn't quite say.
A glance around turned up no sign of the rabbit.
One might think he'd finally given up on being a Rabbit Knight, but no. Knights do, after all, occasionally let their mounts out to pasture, so he was being released now and then under that pretext.
I got the distinct impression he was keeping an eye on me, and his welfare had improved accordingly.
Thank goodness, and thank goodness.
The Water Drop Girl floated up as she piled her coins ever higher, building a magnificent tower, then beamed with pride. A beautiful picture of the joy of honest labor.
It would have been truly beautiful — if she weren't building the tower on top of her sleeping sister.
She wiggled, conjured a water spirit, and perched it on the very peak. Then she looked around in every direction, giggled her kyaruruk, and presented it to me proudly.
Was I supposed to praise this? I mean, yes, technically — but she built it on her sister.
Wow, that's impressive! Although, if you'd built it on flat ground, it would've looked much more like an actual tower. Way more impressive.
The Water Drop Girl agonized over this. Then she shook her head with grave finality.
It only counts as cool if it's on my sister? Thaaat's how it works?
Well, the Pebble Girl was sleeping soundly through it all, so no harm done. Stacking coins beat toppling a pile of water spirits and waking her up, at least.
A breeze drifted through, tickling my branches.
So peaceful again.
It felt like we'd had one uproar after another lately. A tree is supposed to live the leisurely life, after all.
In that case — shall I take a nice, unhurried look at my slightly changed divinity?
When I became a Sacred Young Tree, my divinity shifted from pure nature a step closer to the world of people. Humans are part of nature too, so nature still fit — but the finer texture of it felt subtly different.
The trouble was, I didn't really know what the difference was, so I'd have to test it.
Is there a people-minded impulse I can now act on, even though I'm nature? Maybe because I used to be human, I actually find it harder to pin down what a people-minded impulse even is.
Say I were an elf priestess wielding sacred power.
It's winter, so I'd want the village to be well-fed. Then the villagers wouldn't starve, bellies would be full, and I could eat to my heart's content too.
My gaze landed on the fallow farm field.
Is there really any need to leave that sitting idle?
Yes, it's winter, so you can't farm — technically correct. That's the way of nature. The seasons don't change for nothing; the land needs its rest.
But if I were an elf priestess with sacred power?
I don't think I'd feel like leaving it alone at all. Wouldn't leaving it untouched, never even trying, be a dereliction of duty?
I had no concrete idea how to do it. But then, I'd never worried about method before either.
So I poured my will into the farm field.
Be a land that knows no seasons. Be a land that lets no one go hungry. Be a land that brings plenty to the village.
This was no easy thing.
Pouring my will into so vast a stretch of earth felt like scattering a single tiny thought across an endless plain.
Carrying a heart that defied nature — or rather, loved one small part of it — I patiently, patiently poured my will into the soil.
With my old, purely natural divinity, holding such a wish would have produced little effect.
But if my divinity had changed to become a bridge between nature and people, then I believed it had to work.
A day passed as I poured. Then two.
The Teacher came to see me.
"Do you recall, esteemed Tree, my saying that I intended to visit the Lord's Castle even if it meant postponing the village's education schedule? Quite apart from the matter of rescuing the slaves."
Oh — uh, yeah? Did I?
"...Forgive me — are you busy at the moment? Shall I return later?"
No, no, you're fine. Go ahead.
I was listening diligently, after all. Even if my field of vision and my mind were both out at the farm field, so I had no idea what expression he was making.
"With the current King's coronation, several policy directions have been publicly declared. Among them is the reorganization and development of the navy — a force the sluggish late King left to rot."
Ooh, I see. Interesting.
"...You are busy, aren't you."
I'm not! Keep going. I'm attempting something and it's turning out much harder than expected, that's all — my mind's just in another place.
"It is nothing urgent. I shall brief you another time, when you are at leisure."
The Teacher folded up his papers.
"I cannot say whether I can be of help in whatever you are undertaking, young as you are — but if there is anything you desire, speak it. This village will assist you in any way it can."
Oh. If I'm taking the human perspective, I should just... ask a human, shouldn't I?
What do you think about leaving the fields fallow through winter?
"A great pity, I have always thought."
And what if I used sacred power to make the farm field yield harvests in all four seasons?
"You can do that?!"
The Teacher recoiled in astonishment.
"If such a thing is possible, then the plan I championed at the very first village council becomes possible in an entirely new sense! We could harvest crops out of season and sell them to the city! Or select only the finest produce and supply it to the Lord's Castle on a regular basis!"
I think so too. Sounds good to me.
The direction didn't seem wrong in any particular way.
Although, since this is less an act of nature and more like a peculiar desire held by one small part of it, it isn't going very well, and — oh? Oh, it worked.
A sudden wave of emptiness washed over me.
Light burst from the farm field like an explosion. All the will I'd poured out had finally taken form, and it lit up the world.
The Teacher stood staring, dumbfounded, at the farm field as its pillar of light shot skyward.
All across the village, people going about their winter routines turned as one toward the radiance, mouths hanging open.
Did it work?
The Sacred Four Seasons Orchard has been established.
Light shimmered across the wide stretch of land.
Yay, it worked! But why is it called an orchard?
A holy land created by a sacred being who fixed a portion of their divinity into the earth. It knows no seasons, and every fruit tree planted within is granted the blessing of mystery.
Wha — what?
The farm field had been forcibly rezoned into an orchard.
I'd packed my wish full of desire, and apparently I'd packed in plenty of my own tastes along with it.
It's no secret that I've always been a little repulsed by fields — places where the crops get harvested and everything collapses back into dirt mounds.
Now, how exactly was I going to explain this forced rezoning to the village?
They worked so hard to build those fields and settle in, and then the Sacred Young Tree abruptly turned them all into an orchard — quite the momentous event.
Though, honestly speaking, isn't an orchard better than a farm field?
You don't have to agree. It already happened. Yep.