A Living Young Tree (4)
A village meeting was called to order.
"Let us review the situation," Teacher began.
The water spirits had demanded proper compensation for their work.
And honestly, the amount of work the spirits did around the village had become considerable.
Merely by existing, the spirits produced water. Thanks to that, no one needed to trudge to some distant river or lake anymore—just keep a spirit in a bottle, and there was always water on hand.
Fetching water used to be the most backbreaking chore for the young elves of the household, so the children were now half-liberated from housework. Granted, plenty of them had been promptly shanghaied into their letters and studies instead, weeping that they'd rather go haul water after all—but it was a very good development regardless.
Laundry was being solved the same way. Drop some water spirits into a large barrel, toss in the wash, pour in the soapy water, close the lid, and—believe it or not—you had an automatic washing machine. It occasionally failed for reasons no one could quite pinpoint, but most of the time it worked beautifully.
Now that the Four Seasons Orchard supplied endless food and hunting had shifted from a means of survival to a source of income, laundry occupied a significant share of everyday labor. With that solved too, most elves found themselves with nothing left to do, free to pour their time into building new skills like their letters.
Thanks to the miracle, they barely slept anymore. They were practically drowning in time for self-improvement.
As a result, the career transitions had gone remarkably smoothly—elves who'd hunted their whole lives were opening general stores or running inns. Even farmers, miners, and blacksmiths, professions with not a whisper of connection to the elven way of life.
The reason devoutly wealthy new merchants had sprung up making voluntary offerings to me was much the same: their lives had grown comfortable enough that they could throw themselves into commerce without fear. And that, in turn, meant the villagers now had surplus labor and time enough for these entrepreneurs to hire staff without a hitch.
Water with a will of its own might not look like much.
But it had gradually brought about unmistakable changes across the entire village. At this point, it was irreplaceable.
To put it bluntly—hand out free water purifiers, washing machines, vacuum cleaners, and dishwashers, and quality of life has nowhere to go but up.
Besides, our religion, thanks to the tireless efforts of Thermia and Teacher, already held diligence and industriousness as cardinal virtues. There was even a ready-made moral justification for compelling everyone to reinvest their newfound quality of life into the village's future.
And here's something even Teacher seems to overlook: having easy access to clean water means being far, far safer from disease.
Even if nothing visibly changes right away, average life expectancy is climbing in real time as we speak.
After all, the great leap in modern lifespans wasn't only about advances in medicine—it was mostly thanks to clean water reaching every household.
"What happens if the water spirits withdraw their labor?" someone asked.
"Our biggest problem would be the water supply to the Four Seasons Orchard. Right now we manage by simply letting the spirits roam the orchard freely. If that became impossible, we'd have to maintain it ourselves, and frankly, we still lack the trained personnel to do so."
Whoa?
...Fair point, actually.
The Four Seasons Orchard was the result of a forced change of purpose, after all. The village had been training field-and-farm personnel when suddenly they were expected to raise orchard specialists instead.
But because it was a Holy Land blessed with miracles, the fruit trees grew splendidly on their own, and the notoriously finicky water management that orchards demanded was handled by the water spirits—so there'd never been a problem. Until now, anyway. Take the water spirits out of the equation, and the food supply unravels first.
Looking back, they did an astonishing amount of work. With this much done on their behalf, wouldn't withholding compensation actually be going too far?
I'm on the spirits' side here.
Truthfully, the water spirits are something the Water Drop Girl makes as a way to amuse herself, so I'm closer to the spirits than to the elves on this one.
"This will not do," Teacher declared.
Chief Eldrin, who'd been running a hypothetical of the water spirits going on strike, shook his head.
"Then let us hear directly from the spirits what compensation they desire."
"Which is why I've brought a representative of the water spirits."
Teacher pointed to one side of the room.
From a table swarming with water spirits stacked in a wriggling pyramid, the Water Drop Girl stepped proudly forward as their representative.
"We now understand that you have become indispensable to every corner of village life. What compensation do you seek? I cannot promise everything, but I will accommodate you as far as I am able."
The Water Drop Girl crossed her arms and pondered.
Behind her, the droplet-shaped spirits watched with hearts fluttering in anticipation.
She turned to look over the water spirits, met their eyes one by one, and nodded. A deeply responsible, utterly dependable expression. The spirits' hopes soared.
Then the Water Drop Girl locked eyes with Teacher. A significant look passed between them.
The girl's expression turned imperious, and she gave a small shake of her head. Teacher's eyebrows twitched. He hurriedly worked his lips, murmuring without sound.
Double, then. The ink payment—double from now on.
The Water Drop Girl deliberated.
When the silence stretched on too long, the attendees exchanged bewildered glances, and Teacher hastily whispered again.
Triple. I'll make it triple.
The Water Drop Girl looked thoroughly satisfied.
Whoa? What? What kind of backroom deal did you two cut before this meeting even started?
Come to think of it, the fact that the Water Drop Girl—a spirit who treats the other water spirits as her personal toys—ended up as their representative was deeply suspicious.
You're really the representative?
"Let me ask again. What compensation do you seek?"
The Water Drop Girl drew a picture in water.
An image began to take shape: water spirits who loved plain pure water.
We simply love plain pure water so, so much. If you gift it to us regularly, you may keep treating us exactly as you do now. We are good and kind spirits, so that alone will make us happy.
All the water spirits tilted their droplet bodies in unison. The entire water-droplet pyramid listed sideways.
The spirits weren't entirely sure whether the representative's statement had actually been their demand.
They hadn't organized or gathered systematically, and it showed—they genuinely had no idea what they were supposed to be asking for.
"Ha! To think you were so devoted to the village all along! It's a demanding condition, but one I shall grant without hesitation!"
Teacher hurried over, produced a water bucket that looked suspiciously prepared in advance, and poured the plain pure water over the droplet pyramid.
Water came cascading down.
The startled water spirits reveled in the baptism of pure water, hopping and bouncing with delight.
Whoaaa... now that I see them receiving it, I guess that really is what they want. "We're satisfied with just plain pure water"—that's the mood.
How do I put this.
O...kay. I get that you guys love plain pure water.
But are you seriously fine with just that? Really?
"So that no such unsavory dispute ever arises again, we ought to record this beautiful harmony in a formal contract and establish it as precedent. Should such an occasion ever recur, it will serve as a valuable reference."
Teacher produced the contract he'd had ready all along. The Water Drop Girl, as representative, accepted the brush, dipped it into her special water-spirit ink.
The signing of the contract was about to commence.
The water spirits bounced about, delighted by this new future.
Hoooold it. Stop right there.
I don't think we should let this slide so easily.
If the water spirits love plain pure water and receive it as compensation, sure, that's technically a good outcome. Even the Water Drop Girl, who loves pranks but never plays them on serious matters like this, agreed on these terms as their representative for exactly that reason.
But is Teacher really going to hand over plain pure water so innocently?
What the water spirits already receive for the work they're mobilized for right now is—wait for it—plain pure water. Whenever a spirit gets wrung out and shrivels up from overwork, it's routinely rinsed and restored with ordinary pure water.
On paper, the characters are different. The treatment, not one bit.
I'm replacing the representative.
We needed someone sharp, decisive, firm in her convictions—not the Water Drop Girl, who'd let this slide just because everyone liked it.
A little while later.
The Pebble Girl, freshly woken from her nap, arrived at the village meeting hall. Teacher, the recipient of a look that promised retribution for whoever had made this situation a hassle, went pale.
Yu-hu. Now the real negotiating partner is here.
The negotiations proceeded smoothly.
At the end of the day, the water spirits didn't want for much. They were genuinely delighted just to receive plain pure water on a regular basis.
But unlike her naive older sister, the Pebble Girl knew perfectly well that a badly made precedent meant suffering later, so she added several clauses before including it in the contract.
No one-sided treatment. We understand you want the dishes washed, but do not trap them in nets and forcibly wring them out—simply ask.
Astonishingly, when asked politely, the water spirits did the dishes without complaint. Not by having their bodies wrung like rags, but through perfectly ordinary manipulation of water.
No human hands required—in fact, it was more efficient that way. It surpassed modern technology.
Additionally: payment in advance wasn't necessary, but any request had to carry the implicit premise of compensation, and whether or not to accept a request was entirely up to each spirit.
Though it never made it into the written document, the understanding was reached that for ordinary tasks, plain pure water was more than enough to satisfy a water spirit.
Beyond that, common courtesies were put in writing—treating one another with basic respect as equals, and the like.
It was less a contract than a basic accord between people and spirits.
One could even say it was, in a sense, an explicit declaration: do not treat nature as a tool.
They were no longer tools, but active companions sharing a life together.
Some might see it as turning nature into a tedious thing you had to converse with and negotiate. Even so, I think it's a good thing.
Even the smallest change might, through this, shift a great many things.
Just look at how slavery—propped up by the cry that slave labor was more than sufficient—was abolished, and the world then surged forward on the unleashed creativity of free people.
Dishwashing and laundry, once tasks demanding human hands even with spirit-tools involved, were now handled with ease through the spirits' command of water, after a simple conversation.
Once conversation with nature became second nature, people and nature would gradually cooperate in even greater ways, and together change the world for the better.
I'm really glad I became the Sacred Young Tree.
Truly glad.
"A swimming pool... how exactly do we make one of those?"
Thermia fretted as she looked around the village.
The plan was to build a plain-water swimming pool for the water spirits.
"What even is a swimming pool?"
Think of it as an artificial lake built for enjoying a swim. The water spirits aren't particularly big, so rather than a lake, something pond-sized should do, no?
"So there's no need to construct a building?"
I'd say not. They like getting rained on, after all.
I mulled it over, then offered an idea.
"Would something like that really be enough for them?"
Don't think so much in human terms.
Taking my advice, Thermia headed straight for the tree inn next door.
At the window, Priest Dahlia happened to glance down.
"Is something the matter?"
His spirits apparently recovered to some degree, Priest Borlidon belatedly leaned down to look as well.
"Oh! It's nothing to do with you two! Just some village business."
"I see?"
"Pay it no mind!"
Waving them off, Thermia pressed her forehead against the inn's tree trunk. She murmured, a touch embarrassed.
"Tree, oh tree... could you make a water puddle with your trunk?"
The tree inn did not respond.
"Huh? That's not it?"
Show nature a little more respect.
"Oh, right."
The girl pressed her forehead against the trunk again and tried once more.
"I'll give you delicious fertilizer. And if you'd like, I can even give you a nice, refreshing pruning."
The inn tree responded.
A section of the outer wall's trunk grew a little, thrust outward, and reshaped itself—forming a shallow, sunken basin just right for catching rainwater.
When the plain pure water was poured in, it rippled and filled to the brim.
A miniature lake made of living wood was complete. With a few extra leaves sprouting at the edge for atmosphere, no less.
Yu-hu. It's lovely.
"Is this good?"
Yep.
Thermia looked around, then waved at the water spirits clustered along the inn's outer wall.
"Hey, everyone! It's a plain-water swimming pool! Come enjoy it!"
The water spirits, understanding not a word, tilted their bodies and cocked their heads.
I moved my mana.
Picking the spirits up one by one, I plopped them into the miniature lake.
Splash. Splash.
The startled spirits murmured in confusion for a moment, then absolutely loved it and simply bobbed about, floating free.
Bob. Bob.
"Wow! They really love it!"
It's great, isn't it.
Looks like the plan is one plain-water swimming pool per building.
"What on earth am I witnessing this time..."
Priest Borlidon muttered blankly, watching from above.
Then, his mind departing once more, he collapsed face-first onto his bed.
Poor guy.