The Young Tree Takes Stock (4)
I poured my will into the seeds.
With Water Drop and Pebble pitching in, they sprouted up fast and grew into fruit trees. As fruit rained down in rustling showers, the elves spread out nets and scrambled to catch it all.
Whew. Is that everything?
Water Drop Girl mimicked me, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her forehead. Pebble Girl let out a long, dragging yawn and rubbed her eyes.
You two worked hard.
When I widened my field of view, the Four Seasons Orchard spread out below, rows of fruit trees standing in neat ranks. Lush green leaves and the fruit nestled among them filled the whole landscape.
From the trees, planted so their branches never overlapped, fruit dropped slowly, one after another. The elves bustled back and forth between the rows. Full baskets were passed along and swapped out for empty ones.
We filled the quota, all right — but it's way too much.
Once a fruit tree fully settled down, it dropped about a hundred fruit a day. And with several hundred trees planted, even spending all day just gathering fruit wasn't enough to keep up.
Since this was my project, Thermia's religious organization had taken official charge of the orchard — and now, with every administrative hand mobilized, the entire situation had devolved into one endless fruit-picking slog.
"Aaagh!"
Thermia, who'd been gathering alongside everyone else, spilled her catch past the edge of the net and groaned in anguish over the wasted fruit.
"We need to expand our organization. We gathered only people we trust, and it's laughably not enough."
That's one way to solve it, but bloating up an organization we just founded until it can barely manage itself doesn't seem necessary. How about setting aside the human perspective a little instead?
"What do you mean?"
Whatever we can't catch — just let it fall.
Deciding to catch every last fruit and put it all to use was simply the perspective of a creature devoted to its own desires.
Fruit exists to fall, to be scattered, to cycle. An animal eats it, spreads the seeds, and those seeds grow into new fruit trees — that's the circle of life. Humans eating fruit is no different, so there's no need to forswear fruit out of respect for nature. But when there's far more than anyone could eat right now, there was no reason to indulge in greed.
"Teacher is going to be terribly upset about this, you know."
Stocking a warehouse to the rafters would certainly be reassuring.
The village already has more than enough to eat. If we ever truly need more, rather than leaning on a warehouse full of hoarded greed, we can just plant more trees.
I looked over the elves working in the orchard. Thanks to my blessing they weren't struggling, exactly, but they were completely frazzled by the endless job of sorting fruit.
Besides, I don't think it's good to work nonstop without ever enjoying this beautiful orchard. If we take our time and savor the green of the leaves and the sweetness of the fruit, wouldn't everyone be happier than they are now?
"Ah...!"
Thermia's face lit with sudden understanding.
I watched the elves alongside her — so busy working that they never once stopped to enjoy the view.
"You're right, Lord Tree. Gazing upon the miracle you've bestowed, we should be learning and awakening — instead we've sunk into worldly filth and are sullying the very scenery itself."
That is... not at all what I said?
I wasn't calling your work dirty. I meant work a reasonable amount, play a little, and enjoy it together!
Thermia cried out.
"Everyone, halt your work! The Young Tree has issued a discipline!"
Work stopped dead, and every gaze turned toward her.
The girl spread her arms wide.
"This is sacred ground where a miracle has descended. It is a place where we must engrave the Young Tree's teachings upon our souls and reflect upon them."
Thermia swept her eyes across the crowd.
"Yet all this while, we forgot that essence entirely. Buried in the fruit before our eyes, we thought of nothing but harvesting the results of a miracle. That is a flagrant violation of discipline. Let us all reflect together, and enjoy the miracle of this scenery with pure hearts."
At her gesture, an elf scurried off and returned with the offering box. Thermia went first, dumping in her entire coin pouch, and then began collecting offerings from each elf in turn.
How do I put this.
I said it lightly. I really, truly said it lightly.
The enlightened elves knelt, spoke words of contrition, and reverently placed their own coin pouches into the offering box. Not a single one of them objected.
I'm... a little scared of you people...
Was I never supposed to admit that I'm divine?
Ever since the official religious organization was founded, Thermia had taken on a heavy sense of responsibility, and she'd grown much more serious.
There had been signs of it — the village chief scolded her once, telling her not to be dragged around by Teacher's opinions.
When I added moral discipline to my Divine Domain Zone, she'd come to check what I meant, slightly frightened amid the great confusion. I soothed her then, but apparently her mindset had shifted anyway.
Then the religious organization formed on top of that, and her sense of duty became truly formidable. She was in her growth years — maybe she was maturing mentally as well.
The future is terrifying.
I think I should never have conceded even an inch on the divinity question.
Well, what's done is done. The remedy is to grow one step further on the foundation of this regret.
One truth I will defend absolutely: that I am nothing more than a young tree.
I will have everyone acknowledge that I lack the seasoned gravity to preach grand disciplines like some centuries-old patriarch.
Then the misunderstanding will clear, and no one will ever again sink to their knees in penance over one offhand remark of mine.
On this point, I will not yield an inch.
The situation was brought under control.
The elves no longer strained to harvest every last fruit; they let the falling fruit fall where it would while filling their baskets, pausing now and then to admire the trees and breathe in the scent of ripening fruit. They looked far more at ease.
"It's a lovely sight."
It is.
"This is what it truly means to receive a miracle."
Thermia smiled.
That is still not what I meant.
By the way — do you really intend to have the villagers live on fruit alone?
It would probably be good for their health. I'd have to run tests, but my instinct said the fruit was densely nutritious. They were elves, not humans — a gathering-based life would suit them better than hunting.
But possible or not, I wondered whether we should — regardless of anyone's taste in food.
"The fruit was so delicious I did blurt it out on the spot," Thermia admitted.
She considered the question.
"We did switch to a mostly vegetable diet, but we still eat dried meat with basically every meal. The amount of jerky we go through is no joke. So if the fruit is delicious and we can live on it alone, that would genuinely be a wonderful thing."
The village had grown to near-city scale.
If hunting alone had to supply that much food, the forest would be stripped bare in no time.
Hadn't Teacher once said that religious teachings exist to contribute to a nation's prosperity? Perhaps this was the moment for religion to labor on behalf of the village's sustainable flourishing — for greed without restraint ends by devouring itself.
Let's bring it to a village meeting and move forward slowly.
"Of course."
Just then, an elf came sprinting from the far side of the orchard with a letter in hand.
"Hm?"
The letter was passed to Thermia.
"What is it?"
"A letter from Velesa," the elf said respectfully.
"Oh, my sister! Thank you. Let's set our business aside and read the letter!"
Ohh, how nice.
We withdrew from the orchard, where things had mostly settled. There was still plenty to do — selling the fruit and whatnot — but that was Teacher's problem.
Thermia came to the thicket clearing where I stood, set Water Drop down from her shoulder, and flopped back into the undergrowth.
For the record, Pebble Girl had already arrived and was fast asleep. Pebbles do not wait for work to end.
"I do hope my sister is well. It's the long gaps between letters that worry me."
She's Velesa, though.
"That's true."
Water Drop Girl sat down beside us and read along.
Contrary to our worries, there was no bad news.
She was tremendously busy hunting through the royal forest with the Queen, her mother-in-law-to-be who shared her love of the sport.
With the Queen actively helping her, she was adapting to high society splendidly.
And a dress of Velesa's own design was now the fashion in the capital, so she had made one for Thermia and sent it along, with a note to try it on.
Thermia shrieked with delight.
"She sent me a dress! I simply must try it on!"
Whoa. The latest fashion straight from the capital, delivered all the way to the western edge of the world.
Water Drop Girl tilted her head, then spread her arms wide. Her watery clothing shimmered and reshaped itself into a wedding dress.
Both pairs of eyes swung toward me and Thermia, asking, Is this the one?
"That's what you wear to your wedding!"
A wedding dress is far too impractical for everyday wear. Halve the skirt length. Just enough that it doesn't drag on the ground.
I thought I'd given a perfectly sensible answer, but Thermia was the one thrown off balance.
"Eh? Really? Shouldn't a noblewoman's dress trail along the ground? I heard somewhere that insisting on unbecomingly comfortable clothes is something only commoners do."
Huh? Is that how it works?
Well, it was possible, I supposed.
Thermia rolled her eyes, then giggled.
"I'll go try it on and show you! You go on reading the letter!"
The girl skipped away, humming a little tune.
Part of it was a genuine experiment in what noble dress actually was, but she clearly wanted to try on the dress more than she wanted to keep listening to the letter. She was at that age, after all.
I watched the wedding-dress-clad Water Drop Girl flit off after her, then turned back to the letter.
The latter half grew heavier.
For all that Velesa had settled into high society, the position of Crown Princess was not so easily won.
Unlike the Queen, the King looked upon Velesa with displeasure. Apparently he had been pressing the issue — that the good-for-nothing Crown Prince had gone and brought home a consort on his own whim.
In a way, it read as an extension of his debauched past.
When a man who had caroused through countless women suddenly claims he's reformed and presents a commoner elf as his consort, few royals would truly believe he'd changed.
If anything, they'd think: he ruined himself chasing one woman after another, and now he's fallen for a commoner and will ruin the kingdom next.
So the King is a sensible man, then.
Just as Velesa was adapting to noble society, the Crown Prince was striving to prove that he had truly changed. Word was that he had taken personal responsibility for putting down the rebellion of the old faction's remnants in the kingdom's east.
Could he actually manage it?
A wasted past cannot shore up the present, no matter how much one reforms. The rebellion hardly seemed like something a former wastrel could crush into victory.
Truthfully, I worried more that he'd get hurt.
The Crown Prince is the kingdom's only heir of the direct line. If he overreached and something happened, Velesa might end up shouldering blame that was never hers.
And it seemed I wasn't the only one carrying these worries.
Through the sword I had gifted the Crown Prince, I sent a thread of my will across the miles.
I switched my sight at once.
A training yard came into view.
Resplendently dressed nobles and knights ringed the yard, watching. Truly close friends, apparently — the Queen and Velesa stood among them, arm in arm.
At the center of the yard, the Crown Prince and the King faced each other, eyes locked. Both carried swords.
Whoa. Whoa, wait? What is this?
"War is not the light trifling matter your contemptible insolence makes it out to be. Under a commander's foolish orders, innocent soldiers die, and from a king's careless words, his subjects starve. Cast off this youthful recklessness and seclude yourself in the palace."
The King spoke with a frozen face, merciless.
The Crown Prince's throat bobbed, and he shouted hoarsely.
"You would go this far?! Must you truly bar your son's path and grind him into the dirt before your heart is eased?!"
"It was you who blocked your own path!"
The King roared back, his own temper boiling over.
"You! You who abandoned your duty! Abandoned your responsibility! It was you who squandered everything until now!"
His blade cleared its scabbard and leveled at his son.
"If you're so determined to be stubborn, then prove your worth with victory in this war! If you cannot even manage that, then hold your tongue and keep to your quarters, you worthless boy!"
"Father...! Do you truly believe I cannot?!"
Enraged, the Crown Prince drew his sword.
Objectively speaking, though, he had no chance.
The King, who had climbed to the throne through countless battlefields, possessed not only his veteran's experience but a body of hardened muscle forged over long years.
The Crown Prince, by contrast, had only just begun training — his body was still green. A squandered past cannot hold up the present.
The knight commander, who had been trying to intervene, went pale at the King's harsh command.
He stepped back helplessly and announced the start of the bout.
Dust swirled up from the ground.
The King stomped forward, driving straight across the yard.
The Crown Prince rushed to meet him.
How do I put this.
Family matters are not the sort of thing one ought to meddle in.
But family matters, once they tangle, tangle beyond all reason. If it could be cut clean through with a single stroke, wasn't cutting it the right thing to do?
I poured my will into the sword.
Strength that would not yield to your opponent.
Senses that would let nothing slip past you.
The heart of one who wins.
A torrent of light spiraled upward.
A storm of radiance swept across the training yard.
Within the light, blade met blade.
The shockwave rang out.
The King's eyes went wide.